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dinner-djarin · 3 years

Text

dar'manda (Mando x f!reader)

Chapter 1: The Only Way Out is Through

Summary: Things have been quiet since The Mandalorian's disappearing act on Nevarro. However, things change quickly at his sudden return, and the changes are sure to impact your own life. That is, if you don't screw it up for yourself.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, yearning/awkward flirting/reader doesn’t know how to act around Mando, Cara Dune lol (I feel like she needs a warning)

Word Count: 3.8k

Prologue - Next

In the weeks that the Mandalorian had been gone, things on Nevarro had taken a turn for the worse. Ever since making his grand escape, remaining Imperial officers seemed to get word of a Mandalorian bounty hunter gone rogue. He took some sort of “package” right out of their hands, and they really didn’t like that. So, they sent out every bounty hunter idiotic enough to go after a Mandalorian. And to double their efforts, they effectively made Nevarro their new base.

Well, that probably wasn’t exactly accurate, but either way it seemed like every stormtrooper left was sent to keep watch in case their prize ever returned.

You could not imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to come back to the place where they so flagrantly disregarded every rule of the Guild, and yet – there he was. Walking into town at the side of his...former boss. As he approached however, you noticed he probably wasn't there by choice. His hands were bound in front of him, and a muscley looking woman, with a very large gun, was not too far behind them. Well then, you think to yourself, I guess no one crosses the Guild, not even Mando.

Just as they enter town you being to consider the precarity of your own situation. With the town being occupied by stormtroopers, times are tough. Curfews have been put in place and wandering through town is highly discouraged. The marketplace has turned into a ghost town as people have become less and less inclined to spend time outside of their homes. They might come by for the basics, but business is definitely not what it used to be. So, you often find yourself with “free time” – moments you should realistically be working – where you instead spy on the invaders who have ruined your already unpleasant life. Basically, the exact thing you were doing in that very moment.

It's a matter of fate that he showed up just as you made your way to the town entrance. Even more so when you overhear a conversation between the Guild leader and the Mandalorians captor.

“Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse” you hear the Guild leader say.

“Slip him his blaster” whispers the woman. These words bring you utter confusion. Did she mean slip Mando his blaster?

“Not yet,” he says under his breath.

And suddenly you are more confused than before. Why would she say something like that? How did any of this make sense? You’re thankful you were not seen as they pass by you, but you think you perceive a subtle change in the reflection from the shiny metal helmet that your eyes have been locked on to. His gaze fell to the metal orb that was trailing the trio through the city centre. When he looked back up however, he did not return his gaze to the direction he had been looking previously. Now you think, and you know it’s completely self-centred of you to do so, but you feel like he is staring straight at you. You don't think he would be able to see into the shadows that were providing your cover, but something about the angle of his visor as he walks by sends a shiver down your spine.

The three of them and the metal orb enter the cantina and you adjust your position in attempt for a better view. Only a few minutes later does a blaster shot eviscerate the long transparisteel window on the front wall of the building, allowing you a glimpse of the chaos inside. A plethora of various blaster bolts ricochet through the building, evidence that the situation was drastically more complicated than you initially observed. However, the next events prove that things could still get worse for the group inside.

From the safety of your hiding spot, you see the scene unfold. The entire courtyard of the village is filled with stormtroopers in seconds, and then you hear it. The unmistakable screech that has haunted you since you were young. A sound that would forever be branded into your head, as it signaled the end of your childhood. The last time you heard that sound was the last time you saw your father and brother.

The Tie Fighter lands right in front of the cantina, completely blocking your view of any further events. You take that as your sign to get the hell out of there, knowing the level of destruction that is sure to follow. Even with the high amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage to keep a level head and find your way back to the marketplace, where most other citizens are gathered.

You quickly alert everyone to the impending danger nearby, and although some are slow to react, they begin to gather their belongings and search for safety.

Luckily, you recall a nearby alley that would lead to the part of town furthest away from the calamity, and you tell them all to make their way there immediately. Once you were sure that no one was left behind you head towards the alley only for an explosion to go off somewhere near the cantina. And although the source of the blast is far enough away not to injure you, the shockwave ripples through a one of the buildings, whose integrity was already questionable, causing it to crumble and block your previously secure exit route. With your mind in panic mode, you glance over to a spot which had caught your eye a hundred times before, a spot you kept noticing the Mandalorian disappear to.

You quickly run for cover hoping no other buildings decide to fall apart in the meantime, and you find the passageway was actually concealing a staircase which led to the sewers. Unsure of where to go next, your adrenaline high mind keeps you moving fast, taking random turns, having no understanding of where the tunnels lead to and where the safest exit may be. It wasn't until you rapidly took a corner and ran straight into an armoured chest plate that your mind stopped running wild.

A few second too late you realize it wasn’t the armour you would have hoped to see. The Mandalorians captor stands in front of you, with a package wrapped in her arms. Beside her is the Guild leader. You stand there dumbstruck and panting, unsure of what move to make.

The Guild leader approaches you, but you recoil, stepping back.

“What did you do to him?” is all you can think to growl at them.

“He’s just sleeping.” She attempts to assure you, “Wait how do you know the kid?” the woman asks, evidently confused by your accusation.

“What kid? No, the Mandalorian. You captured him. I saw you two walk in to town with him handcuffed”

“Young lady, I think you are confused. Please allow me to explain our situation.” the leader states, taking another step closer to you. This time you stand your ground, making clear you want answers.

He explains his name is Greef Karga, and the woman is Cara Dune, an ex-rebel shock trooper. And despite walking into town with Mando handcuffed by their sides, they were actually all in on the plan together. However, it seems that once they got inside things went south, a habit Mando seemed to be making for himself. It turns out that this elaborate scheme was set in place in an attempt to save a tiny green baby from the Empire, which now rests in the woman’s – Cara’s – arms.

You have no idea what to think. There's no way any of this can be true. Although, you then recall the conversation you overheard as they entered the town, and everything else seems to line up with your own experiences of the past hour.

You also realize that the Child must be the reason Mando went rogue in the first place. And after sneaking a peak at his resting wrinkly face, you completely understand why. After only one look, you’d probably jump in front of speeder for that little guy.

But before you can make up your mind on whether to believe Karga or not, Mando rounds the corner being supported by a very tall, very thin droid that you recognize to be an IG unit. As they approach, Cara hands off the baby to the droid and attempts to support Mando, and for some maker-forsaken reason you decide to help too. As you slide your arm under Mando’s shoulder and rest your hand on his back you feel him tense – you know you’ve made a mistake. But it’s too late to turn back now, so you carry some of his weight and continue on down the ominous path. The only way out, is through.

Your mind is running at 100 parsecs per hour. This is the closest, physically, you’ve been to anyone in years, and if that weren't enough you seem to be in the middle of both your wildest dream and worst nightmare. You can’t remember the last time you were tucked under someone's arm, and pressed up against them so tightly, if you ever were. And in your panicked state you start to realize you’ve basically been holding your breath this whole time, making your heart beat erratically and your head throb. But just as you think you might pass out from your stupidity, the Mandalorians voice shakes you back to reality.

“Stop.” His word sends you into a new panic. Were you thinking out loud? Could he read your heartbeat through his helmet? Did he know what a complete mess you were at his touch? “I can stand,” he says, finishing his thought.

Oh thank the gods.

He lets go of you and switches something in his helmet to look for tracks, and you allow yourself to finally take a deep breath.

“We’re close,” he states. After a moment of stabilizing your heartbeat and focussing on your breath900, you quicken your pace, subtly placing yourself just behind Mando’s left shoulder as he leads the group through the tunnel. You’re close enough to catch when he mumbles, “I know you.”

“And I know you,” you respond playfully, disregarding the severity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re not quite sure how Mando’s mere presence can affect you so brutally, to the point of forgetting how to act like a normal human being.

“From the market.” He doesn’t ask.

“That’s me, good to see you in one piece. I was worried when I heard about the stunt you pulled. Crossing the guild...not sure I've ever heard of anyone getting away with that.” Oh man why are you talking so much. You just need to shut up now. Literally no one wants to hear-

“Worried?” a hint of genuine curiosity hidden in his question. Well of course he found the one word in your entire sentence that incriminates you. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your crush now.

“Umm well of course, I think everyone was. It’s all anyone could talk about for weeks. Nothing that exciting has happened around here in a while,” you quickly blurt out. He turns his head for a moment and examines you.

He is silent, evidently noticing the way you awkwardly avoided his question. You stare at him trying with every muscle in your face to remain composed. You know he sees right through you – must be that bullshit reader – but you think if you maintain eye contact long enough, he’ll just move on from your stupidity. And he does.

“How did you get here?” He returns to his task of following footprints. The question and abrupt change in topic jars you, although if you had to guess, you think he must have picked up on your complete awkwardness, possibly confusing it for suspicious behaviour. You hope he doesn’t think you untrustworthy because if it.

“There were explosions, and I tried to help everyone out, but the path became blocked and the only way out was some curtain hiding a staircase.” Your explanation, you realize, now sounds completely ridiculous, especially in the flustered manner you are depicting it in. Even so, you continue, “I went to hide but it turns out it led straight down here. So, I tried to find an exit, but I bumped into them instead,” you finish, glancing behind you towards Cara and Karga.

“If you came in from the market you should have passed the covert,” Mando stated almost accusingly, increasing your worry over whether he thought trusted your story.

“I’m not sure I didn’t really see any-” but his question is immediately answered by the pile of discarded Mandalorian armour in front of you.

The Mandalorian stops, and you can see just how suddenly his body language changed. Even injured, he looked deadly as he led you through the tunnels, but at the sight of the remnants of his clan, he is weak. You can feel the sadness, remorse, and pain emanating from him all at once. And as you stand beside him you barely realize you’ve gently reached for his hand, gripping it tight and squeezing it to convey your condolence for his immense loss.

But after a moment, he moved forward and away from your grasp to kneel at the sight of his fallen brethren. Cara suggests the group leave, but he won’t. He will not leave the armour in its discarded state.

Suddenly, the mood shifts, and you see the Mandalorian transform before your eyes. He storms towards Karga, accusing that he and the Guild members must be responsible. Karga denies, but you think Mando might be on the verge of strangling him when suddenly another modulated voice fills the tunnel.

A golden warrior stands before you. Her presence shocks you. It reveals some element rooted deep, a feeling you can only describe as warm… or familiar? She explains, as she gathers the scattered armour, how revealing the covert brought the presence of Imperials. When Mando offers her to join him, she rejects, maintaining that her place is to gather the remains of her people.

You all follow her into a small room with a forge in the centre of it. “Show me the one who’s safety deemed such destruction,” she demands.

“This is the one,” Mando responds. Gesturing to the baby that was wrapped tight to the IG unit’s chest.

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?” she asks.

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.” And with that statement you find both an answer, and more questions. That baby saved him? How the-

“From the mudhorn?” she asks.

“Yes.” he responds, making you even more confused than ever. The baby saved him from a mudhorn?

“It looks helpless” she states.

“It’s injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.” As if this conversation could get any weirder. Move objects...with its MIND.

The Armourer begins to detail battles between Mandalore the Great and some species of wizards; the species this child belongs to. She also tells Mando that he is now responsible for the baby – his foundling. And finally, she tasks him with finding these sorcerers and returning the baby to them. When Mando questions the outrageous turn of events the woman has only four words in response:

“This is the Way.” Suddenly that warm comfort you felt before resurges, but only for a moment, as Cara reminds the group of the urgency of their situation. You need to find a way out before Imperials catch your tracks. The Armourer then suggests the group find a river of lava that will lead all of you out of the tunnels. Right…

River of lava, or Imperial Troopers. What the heck did you get yourself into? Either way it seems you don’t have much of a choice. After receiving a mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the Armourer pronounces that he and the child are bound as father and son; a clan of two. Cute little family they’ll make. When the droid gets ready to defend the group from incoming Imps, it hands Cara the child who looks very uncomfortable with it, so she passes him to you.

Stunned and confused you look to the Mandalorian who shows no sign of discomfort with you holding his now adopted son, not that you’d probably be able to tell. Either way, it seems you’ve acquired a new responsibility.

Blaster fire rings just outside the room as the woman hands Mando some flying contraption, and your group decides you might need to get a move on.

You approach the lava river, only to notice the boat has melted to the docking point. Karga and Mando struggle to free it, but Cara just gives you a smug look. “You boys mind getting out of the way?” she warns only to blast the points where the boat was attached, successfully freeing it from its molten chains.

The boat quickly begins to drift from the dock, but just as you start to lift your foot over the edge to make your way inside, you feel a strong hand against your lower back, guiding you the rest of the way. Once you steady yourself on the boat you glance up at the visor which is pinned straight ahead, unwavering and unwilling to meet your gaze. His seemingly disinterested reaction makes you anxious to know the true intention of his touch. He must just realize your safety is attached to the bundle you are currently cradling against your chest. Obviously, he is only looking out for the child, you just happen to be the person responsible for his transportation. If Cara were the one holding his son, he’d probably be helping her instead. Right? Simple as that.

Even so, you can't help but notice the way his hand flexes after it returns to his side.

For just a moment your mind slips, and you let yourself think that there might be something there. That the short conversations and fleeting looks shared all those weeks ago might have held more weight than you believed. That when you were admiring his head-to-toe armor upgrade, he may have been examining you back. That he might have actually liked the fact that you worried about him in his absence. You allow yourself to think that underneath that metal, stands a man who might be gentle, and kind. A man who helps you into a boat when he himself is injured. One who is willing to leave behind everything he knows in order to ensure the security of a child.

You snap back to reality, however, when Karga notices the light at the end of the tunnel. But just when you think that your journey is almost over, Mando informs you otherwise. A battalion of stormtroopers line the edges of your only exit route. No one in your group can come up with any satisfactory solution, until the IG unit comes forward.

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate them, and you will escape.”

Mando is quick to point out that the droid would never make it past the troopers, but the droid insists. Apparently, his manufacturer's protocol dictates that he cannot be captured and must self-destruct. He asks that Mando look over the Child once he is gone, and you swear you can hear a hint of sadness through his filtered voice. Your hypothesis is confirmed by the IG unit, and your heart warms slightly for the metal man. The droid reaches over to say goodbye to the child for the last time, patting him gently on the head, then steps into the lava river and heads down towards the mouth of the cave. You all stare silently as you watch him approach the troopers when suddenly-

Fire consumes your vision, and it overwhelms your senses. Not having actually seen an explosion in your life you seem to be the only one on the boat who is at all fazed by the sudden wall of heat and deafening boom created by IG-11’s sacrifice. In the process you cover the child with your body and wince back into the hard wall behind you. Cradling the child and shielding yourself, you almost don’t notice when the wall grabs your hip and steadies you in front of it.

Suddenly, you’re flushed with embarrassment, realizing all at once the wall was the Mandalorian and both of his hands were still gripped onto you, holding you tight against his chest plate.

But your shock only lasts a moment before the unsettling screech of a Tie Fighter pierced your ears for the second time that day. And before you could process, the Mandalorian was using his body as a shield, protecting you and the child from the blasts, and simultaneously shooting at the new threat barreling towards your group.

Will this day ever end, is the only thought in your head before Mando is flying through the air using the jetpack given to him by the Armourer only minutes ago. However, you distinctly remember her saying he would need time to get used to it before it would ‘listen to his commands’. Nevertheless, he jerks through the sky in a desperate attempt to bring the Tie down.

You watch as one of the wings are ripped off by an explosion and the tie crashes to the ground. The Mandalorian lets go just in time and falls quickly towards the ground, igniting his jetpack at the last second to make a rough landing right in front of you.

The child squirms in your arms at the first sign of peace so you set him down gently. He awkwardly runs over to Mando and hugs his leg, creating possibly the cutest sight you had ever seen. Again, your heart can’t help but melt for the new little family, and you wonder how these two are going to get by. A child with magical powers, and a father who’s built to kill. Not a pairing you would bet on.

Cara and Karga then try to convince Mando to stay on Nevarro and help the both of them sort out the aftermath of today's events. But the Mandalorian insists on sticking to his mission. The child is now his first priority and finding a group of near-extinct ancient sorcerers does not sound like easy work.

“We have a long road ahead of us, but the journey is necessary. I must return him to his kind, no matter how long it takes.” You hear him reason with the pair, refusing their kind offers to remain on the planet with them.

If you know one thing about the Mandalorian it's that everything he does is completely intentional. No one could force Mando into something he doesn’t want to do. If he is sure of this path, he will follow it through till the end.

And from your short interactions, you know he spends time forming his thoughts in order to get his point across. Each sentence is carefully crafted so that they are clear and concise. You know he means every word.

Maybe that's why the next words out of his mouth come as a complete shock to you.

“Would you like to join us?” he asks directly to you.

What the kriffing heck did he just say? You're so taken aback that you embarrassingly bark out your response, your brain evidently getting no time to process the question, so instead if vomits out the first word it can think of: “No”.

You follow it with polite ‘thank you’s’, hoping to erase the awkward tension in the air, and the Mandalorian jetpacks off with the child leaving you to dwell on your utter stupidity.

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Chapter 2

Notes: Honestly, I hate this chapter too wow. I really spent so long trying to edit this into something I could bare to publish, but I still really hate it. I did not want to write a chapter like this, but I also needed a way to put the reader into the story and the only way I could think to do that was by using an existing episode. So here we are. But I SWEAR, after this it gets good. Like not only does the story get good, but so does my own writing (relatively) so if you just bare through this, I think you’ll enjoy the rest.

Taglist: @peppywitch @tobealostwanderer @thecraftyartist

If you wanna be included in the tag list let me know! The next parts are gonna get great. I hope

#mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal #mando #din #the mandalorian season 1 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

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Exu crew and an artificer kid? The crew enters the kids home town and they don't seem that happy about it but doesn't say anything, everyone goes different ways to shop/explore/etc and while everyone goes their own ways the kids old bullies pull them into an alleyway and just bully them breaking anything kid made/name calling/pulling hair just being unbelievable mean. The bullies all freeze, then kid looks over their shoulders and sees the whole group behind them looking intimidating, the bullies run away while the other ask what's going on and try to comfort their child.

Wow this was longer then I expected SORRY!! I hope you have a wonderful day ❤️

There’s no need to be sorry for an idea 😁 I hope this turned out good

(Second piece to deal with a bullying theme, dang)

Fine Craftsmanship

ExU Crew & Child!Artificer!Reader

The trip to Byroden was a longer one then you first thought, having to make a few pit stops to rest and restock on food, but it did have its perks, giving you time to work on some projects while on the road. They weren’t anything huge, you wanted to surprise everyone in the group with a personally crafted item, everything was fine at first until you recognized the town you were currently approaching.

"Are you alright (y/n)? You seem a bit jumpy." Dorian comments, having noticed your fidgeting hands. You take a quick second to calm yourself before replying.

"I’m fine, this is actually my hometown. I haven’t seen it in awhile, you know." He gives you a small nod and gets himself a better look out the window.

"If you’re from here that means you know where all the good stops are right?" Dariax asks excitedly.

"I’m still a kid, I wouldn’t know what’s 'good' in your opinion." You stare blankly, it was a bit strange sometimes to be one of the smartest people in the group.

"Right, right. No drinking for you." Dariax says, as if he already knew all this. You playfully roll your eyes at him and smile a little, maybe this wouldn’t so bad after all, so long as you stayed close to everyone. You enter the town and find a good place to park the Glitter-Shitter (I can’t even write the word with a straight face) before making your way into the marketplace and instantly Opal is off browsing the different shops and stalls of the market, dragging Fearne along with her and Fy'ra Rai trailing behind them, telling everyone to meetup in an hour. Dorian heads over to the tavern hoping to sweet talk the folk there for some food for the road, Dariax tagging along most likely to grab some drinks and test his luck with some gambling. Orym had disappeared from your sight entirely, heading off to do his own thing if you had to take a guess. You sigh unsure of where to go, now just hoping things go by quickly and without trouble as you sit by the wagon pull out some tools and continue to tinker away at a small gift you were making for Fearne for a while, placing your mind into a false sense of security.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to come home." You hear a chillingly familiar voice spite at you and look over at the three people you were hoping not to see. There was Marty, Hamna, and their self proclaimed leader Fion (I just made up some names here, idk), they used to terrorize you relentlessly until you’d finally had enough and snuck on that cart to Emon, which lead to the adventure you were on now, a story come full circle in the worst way to you. You get up quickly hoping to dash over to where Opal and Fearne where looking at some sparkling necklaces for protection, you don’t move quick enough as you’re yanked back by your hair by either Marty or Hamna as Fion covers your mouth to avoid you shouting for help. Once pulled into a nearby alleyway, away from public view, Marty and Hamna each restrain one of your arms. You thrash and struggle to try and free yourself, managing to loosen their grip slightly only to get socked in the jaw by Fion giving the other two the chance to readjust their grip into a more secure position, trapping you.

"Let go! Leave me alone!" You shout as you continue to squirm to try and free yourself.

"Awww, and what are you going to do if we don’t?" Marty teases. You wanted to cast something to no avail with their tight grip preventing you of freeing yourself and grabbing your tools.

"Look at them," Hamna laughs, "they’re too weak to even break free." You glare at them. Fion walks over to you and starts rummaging around your bag, mindlessly throwing around the various items you’ve worked on for a long time to make.

"What’s this supposed to be?" They ask, holding up a hair clip you had intended to give to Opal.

"That’s for my friend! Put it back!" You shout a little too loud for their liking and the two holding your arms use their free hands to cover your mouth, muffling your words or cry’s for help. The one holding the hair clip looks it over in their hand before looking you in the eyes and snapping the item in half.

"Oops, sorry. My hand slipped." Their voice dripped with sarcasm. They continue to rummage through your bag, or look through the small pile of items they threw out of it, pulling out items you wanted to give to everyone as gifts. Every time they’d inspect one item, they'd just as quickly break it, smashing it on the ground or snapping it in their hands. You struggled and tugged against the two still holding you back and muffling out your voice, but it was no use, you were restrained, unable to call for help and left to helplessly watch as they destroyed your hard work. As if things couldn’t get worse, they pull out your tools, the literal lifeblood for your magic, look you straight in your eyes and while struggling a bit manage to break them too.

"Awww, they’re crying like a baby." Hamna laughs.

"That’s because they are a baby." Marty continues.

"If you really want to cry like a baby, we’ll give a reason to cry." Fion eggs on, getting the other two to harshly shove you to the ground. You curl into a ball preparing for the worst, you wait a moment and when nothing happens you peek up to see the three of them frozen in place with fear in their eyes. You adjust yourself to have a look over your shoulder and see everyone standing with intimidating looks on their faces.

Dorian stared daggers at the bullies, while also subtly fiddling with his handaxe. Opal twirled her knives in her hands, magic sparking at her fingertips, and if you looked closely enough you could see a faint glow emit from her necklace. Fearne stood tall, her snake staff coming to life and hissing at the three, Mister well perched on her shoulder screeches, purposely showing the fiery interior of his mouth. Orym takes a step in front of you, acting as a shield for you while placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, you knew well enough he wouldn’t actually draw his sword on the other kids, but they didn’t know that. Dariax on the other hand looked very ready to strike at the three, holding a tight grip on his spear.

"Are you hurt bad?" Orym asks quietly, looking over to you. You shake your head giving an equally quiet "no".

"I’m not a fan of people hurting my little friend here." You hear Dariax say, now fulling pointing his spear at the others, the three each take step back. You finch at the feeling of being suddenly lifted off the ground, finding yourself in Dorian's arms, he gives you a concerned but reassuring smile.

"Let’s get out of here!" Fion commands and the three turn to leave but are stopped when Fy'ra Rai blocks their exit, her eyes burning into them with fury.

"You’re unjust actions should not be left unpunished. You dare to put down this child as if they are weak, when it is you three that are the weaklings. Knowing you would never stand a chance alone you group together and single out the ones you see as vulnerable. It is sad and pathetic, now leave while we still show you mercy." Her voice held such a powerful tone to it, it almost felt like the ground itself shook at her words. Fion, Marty and Hamna scramble over each other before running off, one of them crying for their mommy.

"Who where those children? Do you know?" Dorian asks. You let out a long sigh and explain to everyone a bit about your life when you still lived in the town.

"What’s all this stuff here?" Opal speaks up, staring at the broken pile of items.

"I wanted to surprise you all with some gifts I made, but now their all broken." You sigh sadly.

"You made theses for us?"

"I tried to, I know they aren’t that good but you’ve all been so nice and carding to me, I wanted to retune the favour."

"That’s really sweet of you." Fearne smiles, giving you a pat on the head, you smile a little at this.

"Why don’t you just fix them? I’ve seen ya do stuff like that before." Dariax butts in.

"I would, but they broke my tools too." You pout.

"Well that’s easy, we'll just buy you some new tools." Dorian states, shuffling you in his grip a bit to have a better hold on you. You look up at him with big hopeful eyes.

"Really? I don’t want to bother you."

"It’s no bother at all, your our little genius, the last thing we’d want are some small town jerks preventing you from ever thinking that." He proudly proclaims, getting affirmation from the others. Fy'ra Rai walks over and gently lifts your chin up to look at her.

"Listen to me little one, you are much stronger then you'd ever believe, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise." You give her a small nod, not entirely sure what she means but finding her words encouraging nonetheless.

"You know what? I do remember seeing these really awesome looking tools, while searching for a cloths shop. Here I’ll show you." Opal brightens up a bit, grabbing and dragging Dorian and by extension you off into the market again.

"Opal!" Dorian calls in surprise, holding tighter to you so you wouldn’t fall. You just giggle at the two, looking over your shoulder to see the others hurrying to catch up.

#critical role #critical role & reader #exandria unlimited #exandria unlimited & reader #dariax zaveon #dariax & reader #dorian storm #dorian & reader #fearne calloway #fearne & reader #opal #opal & reader #orym #orym & reader #fy'ra rai #fy'ra rai & reader

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 3 years

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Goddamn it Kyra I wasn't even interested in the Lego Lokis before, but now that you've so rudely posted pics of the options I'm probably going to have to buy some. So, couple questions: I'm not familiar with the website you linked to (it doesn't help that I'm on my phone lol) - do you get them from that site or just Aliexpress? I've kind of poked around there but I don't think I've ever actually bought anything - do you have links to those ones you bought or any tips for finding them on the site? (or like. using the site in general without getting scammed or something? Idk much about it other than stuff being low priced lol).

😇😇😇

putting the rest behind a cut because oops this got long

OKAY SO the cool thing about knockoff Lego figures is that a) there are a ton of them, so you can probably find multiple versions of most characters, and b) they're super cheap, so if you do end up getting ripped off, you're probably only out a few bucks. plus if you don't get ripped off, you feel like a genius, because authentic Lego minifigs tend to cost way more than they should (and if you get them online, you probably don't have a good way to know that they're authentic) and here you are getting something just as good or better for way less.

the site I was getting pictures from is HeroBloks, which I only just discovered myself a couple days ago; it looks like mostly it's good for tracking your collection (and learning more about bootleg Lego minifigs in general, maybe--I didn't really realize until now how many different companies there are making Lego-like minifigs) rather than buying, with individual pages including sale links that are only mildly useful. like, the extremely sad TVA Loki has an AliExpress search link that apparently just searches for "blocks," which is the least helpful search term imaginable; the eBay link uses "xinh+xh1745+loki (tva)" as the search term and that's definitely better, although it doesn't actually turn up anything. maybe that one's too new to be widely available yet, I don't know. (I hope that's the case. I need him and his sad little face to come and live with me.)

anyway--eBay is a possible source. searching for "loki minifigure" gets me results for several of the new ones I’ve been seeing, and they all seem to be shipping from Japan or South Korea. the problem is they're all selling for $4.99 plus $7.49 shipping each, which is...more than I want to spend on something I know is a knockoff of some kind when I don't know anything about the quality control and I'm not guaranteed to get what's in the picture. (here's another listing asking $40 total for all 8 figures I bought yesterday, which is actually a better price, and I'd probably end up doing that if I hadn't found them elsewhere, but that's because I have a problem.)

this is why I like AliExpress, because the risks are slightly higher but the prices tend to be much lower, even with shipping prices having gone up a bit over the last couple years. as I understand it, the site is basically just a huge marketplace for tons of different sellers in Asia, like if eBay only allowed fixed-price listings and it was based in China. the vast majority of the site reads like it went through Google Translate, because it probably did. you can find...basically anything there. I have no idea if any of it's authentic. (I also don't know anything about how or where any of the knockoff stuff is made, so...there is that.) I would not, for instance, drop $300 on a Hot Toys Loki from here, even though I absolutely would have the option to do so, for the obvious reason that I'm not going to risk that much money on an item that might be a cheap knockoff or could arrive broken. there is, in general, a solid possibility of breakable things arriving broken, because decent packaging costs more. cheap shipping will be slow (by which I mean like...up to 90 days), and most purchases either won't have tracking at all or won't have accurate tracking, so this is absolutely not a place to buy anything you want to get quickly. you also don't want to just buy something and forget about it, because there are (variable but generous) time limits past which you can't get a refund if you don't receive your items. the site's UI is...mostly functional. you often have to get a little creative with your search terms to find what you want (and sometimes you won’t find what you want through searching, but through looking at related items on the pages of things that aren’t quite what you want or are what you want but aren’t a good price). you will, absolutely, come across a lot of stolen art on things like pins, t-shirts, stickers, and phone cases, which you might not realize until you see something you recognize from a fanartist you like, and obviously that sucks. listing photos are nearly always stock photos, so in many cases they won't tell you anything about the item you're actually getting. you know the Wish app, and all the crazy things people get from that? you can find all the same stuff on AliExpress, at similar levels of quality.

however, if you approach it keeping all that in mind, it can be a great resource. I can't make any guarantees about the site's safety, but to the best of my knowledge it's secure and I've never had any weird charges show up after buying something. it's also my understanding that Alibaba, the parent company, is more or less the Chinese equivalent of Amazon in terms of the amount of business it does, which would probably be pretty tough if customer data were routinely being exposed to thieves, you know? I've also successfully gotten several refunds for items that never arrived, which actually hasn't happened all that often--but knowing that it can happen and that the return period expires, I’ll check back on the site if it seems like it’s been an unusually long time and I’ll make a reminder for myself of the deadline so I can contact the seller in time if necessary.

so the way I shop there is, I don't buy expensive or fragile things in general, because I recognize there's a nonzero chance I'll get a cheap knockoff, or something that was broken in transit because the seller tossed it in a box with no padding and called it good, or sometimes nothing at all. but like eBay, the sellers and items have ratings and reviews from customers, so that helps avoid some risk. items with lots of reviews tend to include at least a few customer photos, which are great for getting a better idea of what the thing you're buying actually looks like. I took a bit of a risk last year buying a Hot Toys (or the equivalent, I actually have no idea) Steve Rogers head for about $20, for instance, but I wasn't super worried about it because the customer photos looked good, the seller I used had a lot of sales and a lot of good ratings, and it was still a lot less than I would've paid for an authentic Hot Toys Steve Rogers head--and in fact he got here just fine and he looked fantastic. I also spent about $20 for a knockoff Iron Studios Loki statue, because in that case it was like...yep I’d love the real thing, nope I’m not willing to spend hundreds of dollars on it, yep I am willing to spend $20 on something that doesn’t look quite as nice but still looks good enough for me in the customer photos. well, and I’ve also bought knockoffs I knew would look bad, because they were cheap and I want all the Lokis and I have enough of an addiction that all the Lokis does in fact sometimes mean “even ones that look really bad” to me.

anyway, uh, Lego-type minifigs. this is an especially good area to go knockoff, because--okay, apparently I can’t link to a page of HeroBloks search results for some reason, but it’s the best resource I’ve found for this type of thing that isn’t just authentic Lego figures. but if you go there and do a search for “loki” you’ll get a bunch of results and you’ll see that they come from like...9 or 10 different brands. Lego specifically has only four Loki options: Avengers Loki in black, Avengers Loki in gray for some reason (which, frankly, looks like a cheap knockoff but isn’t), movie-inaccurate Ragnarok Loki with the blue outfit and the full helmet, an ugly Classic Loki, and a mostly green Loki from I guess the first Thor movie (and then I think they’re going to release a TVA Loki, a Sylvie, and a Throg). all those other results--all those different outfits from every single Loki appearance, and different variations on those outfits, nearly all of them more screen-accurate and/or detailed than the Lego versions--are technically knockoffs. they’re better and you can buy them for way less. (I mean, a lot of them are new so I don’t have them yet, but I do have frost giant Loki, better Ragnarok Loki, better Avengers Loki, opera Loki who actually has another face that’s half-Jotun, and at least one chrome-helmet option, and they all look basically like the photos. so I think I can reasonably expect most of the new ones to look basically like their photos too.)

for reasons that I don’t understand aside from a vague guess that it’s copyright-related, AliExpress pretty much no longer shows full pictures of Lego-type figures in their listings--instead, you have to pick just based on the heads. this is a problem when lots of heads look very similar to each other! luckily, the listings also typically have the actual serial numbers for each figure, as do the HeroBloks listings, so you can cross-reference them to see what you’re really getting. for instance let’s take this listing because it’s cheap and it offers most of the Loki figures that are currently available. say you’re interested in one of the horn-less Lokis. there are...let’s see, five of them, but you have no idea what they actually look like aside from slightly different facial expressions and maybe weapons. however, the first one listed says XH1359 for its color...and what do you know, 1359 is the serial number for this Loki by a company called Xinh. okay cool, how about the last one? the “color” is listed as WM2182--and yes, HeroBloks has a listing for a Ragnarok Loki from World Minifigures with the serial number 2182. (I just ordered all 8 of the new World Minifigures ones yesterday, so again, I can’t personally guarantee yet that they’ll look as good in person as in the pictures--but I think they probably will, and more importantly they cost a whole dollar each.) and if HeroBloks doesn’t have a particular figure, you can probably find something useful just by googling the serial number.

I specifically bought from this listing yesterday because they currently have a bit of a sale going and a deal for free shipping if you buy 10 figures, and I wanted a couple duplicates, so it worked out to be the cheapest option. the same store has another listing for a bunch more Marvel characters, including a couple more Lokis I already had, so it should be pretty easy to get the free shipping so the figures are less than a dollar each and you’re only risking about $10. if you’d rather try one or two and see how it goes, it looks like this listing is probably the cheapest, with figures currently going for a little over a dollar each once you add shipping (although it’s totally possible shipping is more for me because Alaska).

that’s...probably already way more information than you really wanted, but I hope at least some of it makes sense. feel free to ask other specific questions if they come up--I might not be able to give answers exactly, but I can probably tell you what my experience has been, which is better than nothing.

#loki #action figures #lego #marvel cinematic universe #conversations #scintillatingshortgirl19

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

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Douxie Appreciation Week day 3: Camelot

“I’m not so sure that this is a good idea.”

Douxie grinned at his familiar. “Ah, c’mon, Arch, that’s the FUN of it!”

Archie pawed the edge of the bridge to Camelot. “We’ve gotten run out of a lot of villages, Douxie. What makes you think that a bigger village will be any better?”

“Nah, that’s the magic of the city. It’s too big to get run out of, you can just hide.” Douxie picked the cat up. “C’mon. It’s a new start.”

“A new start doing the same thing,” Archie muttered as Douxie passed through the gate. Douxie let his familiar down.

“Big city means plenty of opportunity to do something new. We don’t have to do the same thing here, Arch, we can do whatever we want!”

“Provided… we don’t… do any magic…”

Douxie followed Archie’s gaze to graffiti on the wall that read Magicians are murderers. No one seemed to be making any attempt to clean it up. He gulped. “So people don’t always like magic. That doesn’t mean it’s illegal, right? Right?”

“Who can say?”

Douxie tapped the shoulder of the nearest passerby. “Um—hi!”

The woman glared at him. “What do you want? I’m not giving you any money.”

“O-okay, but I just… had a question?”

She folded her arms. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“What? No! Look, I was just wondering if magic is illegal.”

“Unfortunately not yet, but it looks like it will be soon, thank Excalibur.” The woman turned around and smacked at the hands of a young boy who was trying to slip his hands into her pockets. “I knew it! You were just a distraction! I’m gonna—”

Before she could describe and/or carry out exactly what she planned to do to Douxie, he was gone, jumping a fence and disappearing down an alleyway. “Oh, yes,” Archie commented, “A great start we’re making.”

“That wasn’t exactly our fault.” Douxie crept back and peered over the fence. The woman was dragging the kid who’d tried to pickpocket her towards a knight, yelling angrily. The kid didn’t look like much of a thief—just hungry.

“No,” Archie said sharply.

Douxie wrinkled his nose at his familiar. “No what? I haven’t said anything!”

“No, but I know what you’re thinking. You’re about to go play hero.”

Douxie grinned. “Try and stop me.” He backed up and vaulted back over the fence, dashing up and grabbing the boy’s wrist, dragging him away before the woman or the knight could react. The boy stumbled after him, barely able to keep up on his short little legs.

“They’re going to catch us!”

“Not if we run fast enough!” Douxie replied with a grin, “C’mon!” He ducked through a crowded market area, feet pounding on cobblestones, the knight in hot pursuit. Two carts were blocking off a side street and he hit the ground in a slide, pulling the kid under with him. He bounced back up on the other side with a laugh of exhilaration as the knight shouted at the cart owner. He and the boy trotted away into a quieter area where they stopped, panting, Douxie still laughing breathlessly, his hands on his knees.

“Whew—haven’t done that… since the last time I got chased with pitchforks.”

“Why?” the boy wheezed, “Why would you save me? I almost got you in trouble!”

“I used to be you.” Douxie stretched as Archie finally caught up, hissing angrily at him. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Hopefully not,” Archie said disapprovingly, “I shouldn’t think you’d wish a life on the run on someone, Douxie.”

The boy yelped. “Your cat! It talks!”

“And flies, too,” Douxie chuckled. He clicked his fingers, and a torch lighting up the alleyway went dark. “Let’s call it our secret, okay?”

“Whoa,” the boy breathed, “Magic!”

“It’s not as bad as everyone thinks. What’s your name?”

“Lanval.”

“Right, well, Lanval, remember, magic isn’t good or bad. It’s the person who uses it that decides that.”

“And you’re good,” Lanval said confidently, “You saved me!”

Douxie dug around in his pockets. He was pretty sure… yeah. He pulled out a couple of coins, probably the last of what he’d made in the last village to chase them out about a month ago. “C’mon, bet you’re hungry. I am.”

Lanval stared hungrily at the coins. “Are you… sure?”

“Yeah. My treat.” They made their way back to the marketplace (thankfully devoid of angry women and knights) and Douxie bought a few tiny pie things. He tossed one to Archie, who snapped it out of the air, and a few to Lavan, who scarfed them down, looking around like someone might take his food. Douxie knew the feeling. He ate his own pies, his eyebrows shooting up. Those were good. Right. His new mission in life was to earn/con people out of as much money as possible so he could buy as many tiny meat pies as possible.

Lanval gave him big eyes. “Can I live with you?”

Douxie let out a startled laugh. “Yeah, you’re welcome to crash next to me in whatever alleyway I decide to take a nap in.”

Lanval’s brow furrowed. “How are you not rich if you have magic? Can’t you use magic to get what you want?”

Douxie stalled for words. “It… doesn’t work that way. Look, Lanval, Archie’s right. Life on the run constantly, stealing what you need to survive… it isn’t the life I would have chosen if I’d had a choice.”

“It’s not like I have a choice, either!” Lanval said defensively, “I don’t have anyone to take care of me!”

“So take care of yourself. Find something you’re good at—and I think we can both agree that you’re not very good at stealing—and find a way to make it a way to survive.” Douxie glanced at Archie. “A long time ago, someone a lot smarter than me tried to tell me that. I didn’t listen. Here I am, planning on sleeping in a gutter somewhere. Maybe if I’d listened, I wouldn’t be in that situation. So, seriously. Find something else to do.”

“If you’d listened, you wouldn’t have been here to save me,” Lanval said simply, “So, thanks for ignoring them. But okay. Thanks for the food, and for saving me.”

Lanval ran off, and Archie wound around his legs, purring. “That was very mature of you.”

“You’re just pleased because I called you smart.”

“Maybe.”

Douxie stretched. “Well, today wasn’t so bad, was it? Made a new friend, didn’t get killed or imprisoned. Let’s find a nice gutter to sleep in.”

“I’ve got something better.” Archie stalked off, and Douxie followed him up a flight of stairs and on the ramparts. Archie padded across a plank that was laid across to a roof. A small shed/cover thing was set up on top, but there was nothing inside except for an old coil of rope.

“It’s perfect, Arch,” Douxie said with a grin, sitting down under the covering, “Look, we can see the sunset. And the stars, I’m sure, when they come out.”

Archie purred. “Who’s the best familiar?”

“Definitely you,” Douxie assured him. He sighed in contentment, watching the sun bathe Camelot red. “I like it here.”

Archie snuggled up next to him. “You know, I rather think I do, too.”

@moppetwithamanbun@einahpetsyarcip@ohfuzzbuckets

(Fun fact: Lanval is the name of a knight from one of the French spin-off Arthurian legends who married a faerie)

#toa #tales of arcadia #douxie #douxieappreciationweek

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cryptoevent · 3 years

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Is the cryptocurrency epicenter moving away from East Asia? – Cointelegraph Magazine

It probably came as little surprise last year when crypto intelligence firm Chainalysis declared East Asia “the world’s largest cryptocurrency market,” accounting for 31% of all cryptocurrency transacted during the previous 12 months. The region has a broad base of retail users along with a solid foundation of crypto traders and institutions, and China alone was at the time mining around two-thirds of all the Bitcoin in the world.

In July 2021, Fidelity Digital Assets surveyed 1,100 institutional investors in the United States (408), Europe (393) and Asia (299) between December 2, 2020 and April 2, 2021. The study reinforced this idea, with the firm reporting that digital asset adoption rates are substantially higher in Asia (71%) than in Europe (56%) and the United States (33%). In March 2021, a Statista consumer survey of 74 countries on cryptocurrency ownership and usage determined that the Asian nations of Vietnam and the Philippines are ranked second and third globally, respectively.

But the past is not always a prelude to the future, and there is no guarantee that East Asia will remain the world’s center of gravity for crypto adoption. China’s attachment to crypto is tenuous at best, and Beijing’s rollout of its digital yuan could cause reverberations throughout the region.

When asked about the crypto prospects of East Asia, Kim Grauer, head of research at Chainalysis, tells Magazine that the region has recently experienced “a major decline in cryptocurrency adoption compared with other regions globally,” further adding:

“This drop-off is driven by a decline in Chinese activity beginning 6 months ago, which coincided with various crackdowns there including the mining ban and the halting of derivatives trading by major exchanges. We hypothesize that much of this activity has migrated to DeFi, but that hasn’t picked up enough that it makes up for the losses in the derivatives market yet.”

China’s dominance in Bitcoin mining made it “a natural marketplace for crypto,” says Lennard Neo, head of research at Stack Funds. But as reported, many rigs are moving elsewhere, including to Canada, Kazakhstan, Russia and the United States.

Asked if Asia is likely to maintain its crypto dominance, Eloisa Cadenas, CEO of Mexico-based financial services firm CryptoFintech, tells Magazine: “It is a difficult question to answer because, when we think of Asia, we automatically focus our attention on China which, as we know, has taken quite restrictive measures in relation to Bitcoin, crypto assets and of course, mining.”

China’s digital yuan is likely to have a big impact on the region, Cadenas says. Indeed, she anticipates that other Asian countries will try to replicate the digital yuan model, and “It is likely that there is also an intention to block or restrict the market for crypto assets in such a way that only the CBDCs of each country can proliferate.”

If that happens, the mass center of crypto adoption could move elsewhere — to Latin America or Africa, opines Cadenas. These are two regions where, according to her, there is “a greater possibility of adoption, since the economic, social and political context is different.”

Asia’s crypto crown could indeed be in play now, as Latin America and Africa aren’t the only contenders. Here’s who could potentially fill the void if and when Asia falters:

North America

Traditional “reticence” on the matter of digital assets is the result of three principal factors, according to another report by Fidelity Digital Assets: price volatility, concerns around market manipulation, and the lack of fundamentals to gauge appropriate value. But U.S. respondents appear to be coming to grips with digital assets, despite these shortcomings.

“The strength of concerns [in the U.S.] decreased notably vs. last year across most factors,” reported Fidelity Digital Assets. “Price volatility concern fell 13 points, concerns around market manipulation fell 6 points and lack of fundamentals fell 8 points.”

Elsewhere, some of the United States’ top legacy banks — including State Street, BNY Mellon, JPMorgan Chase, Citigroup and Goldman Sachs — have been making forays into the crypto space.

On the mining front, the U.S. was already the number-two mining nation before China’s May crackdown on crypto mining, albeit a distant second. Back in September 2019, China contributed 75.53% of the global Bitcoin hash rate. But more recently, China’s portion of the hash rate has ebbed to 46.04%, while the U.S. has broadened its share to 16.85% globally. Henri Arslanian, crypto leader and partner at advisory firm PwC, tells Magazine:

“The United States is probably the one country that has a lot of momentum now. The regulations are becoming clearer, there are numerous large crypto companies and there is a lot of capital flowing into crypto both from institutional investors and retail.”

Meanwhile, north of the U.S. border, Canada has been innovating on the crypto front. The Purpose Bitcoin ETF, North America’s first crypto-based exchange-traded fund, launched in February and has been a big hit by most accounts. It was followed in April by an Ether ETF, with strong volumes reported.

Many believe that it’s only a matter of time before Canada, with its vast hydroelectric resources, becomes a major player in crypto mining, particularly as more miners seek out renewable energy sources to power their rigs.

Latin America

The Latin American region could become a crypto adoption hotspot, and not only because El Salvador declared Bitcoin legal tender in June when it issued its Bitcoin Law — a historic move in the view of some.

Many regional economies are sustained by remittances — i.e., money sent home from workers abroad. They account for 23% of El Salvador’s gross domestic product, for instance. In Honduras, remittances also exceeded 20% of the gross national product in 2019, according to Pew Research Center. By comparison, Mexico saw only a 3% share of its GDP driven by remittances, but its gross numbers are high — $42.9 billion in 2020, according to the World Bank, which is a number behind only China and India. Crypto and blockchain technology potentially offer a more efficient way to transfer overseas payments.

The trend in Latin America ��is toward retailers and unbanked users because with cryptocurrencies you can create cheaper financial products that, eventually, could promote greater financial inclusion,” CryptoFintech’s Cadenas tells Magazine.

There is also evidence that El Salvador’s dramatic action may be encouraging other countries in the region to devise their own crypto strategies. Paraguayan legislators introduced a cryptocurrency bill to the nation’s Congress in July, for instance.

“Where El Salvador has led, we can expect other developing countries to follow,” said Nigel Green, CEO and founder of financial service company deVere Group. “This is because low-income countries have long suffered because their currencies are weak and extremely vulnerable to market changes and that triggers rampant inflation,”

There isn’t much CBDC fervor in the region either, which means that Latin American countries are less likely to clamp down on crypto for competing with a government’s digital currency. “What I do see [in Latin America] is financial institutions creating alliances with crypto-asset companies to facilitate operations through crypto-assets, mainly with stablecoins,” Cadenas says.

Stack Funds’ Neo perceives some similarities between Latin America and Asia. The latter was historically home to a number of “restricted” currencies that were subject to government controls — such as the Chinese yuan, Indian rupee, Indonesian rupiah, Malaysian ringgit and Philippine peso — making them difficult to convert. These restrictions encouraged investors to turn to crypto “as a hedge against these limitations,” explains Neo. Similar tendencies may be emerging in Latin America where citizens increasingly appear to “prefer crypto over fiat [currencies], which are exacerbated by political turmoil.”

In its “2020 Geography of Cryptocurrency Report,” Chainalysis cites Venezuela — which ranked third globally out of 154 countries in its Global Crypto Adoption Index — as a stellar example “of what drives cryptocurrency adoption in developing countries and how citizens use it to mitigate economic instability,” adding that “Venezuelans use cryptocurrency more when the country’s native fiat currency is losing value to inflation, suggesting that Venezuelans turn to cryptocurrency to preserve savings they may otherwise lose.” Chainalysis saw the same pattern in other Latin American countries, as well as those in Africa and East Asia.

Cryptocurrency adoption in the region may not all go according to plan, of course. Eric Anziani, chief operating officer of cryptocurrency exchange Crypto.com, tells Magazine that “El Salvador officially accepted Bitcoin as legal tender, but this news is a two-edged sword. If the experiment is successful, then it will promote crypto in the region; otherwise, it could make local governments look at cryptocurrencies with greater skepticism.”

Europe

As in North America, institutional interest in crypto is growing in Europe. Today, nearly 80% of institutional investors “believe digital assets should be part of a portfolio,” according to Fidelity Digital Asset’s July report. And while “this belief is strongest in Asia,” it is also strong and growing in Europe: “More than three-quarters (77%) of European investors share this belief, up from two-thirds the prior year.”

The European Commission’s proposed Markets in Crypto Assets (MiCA) regulation, undergoing its first reading in the European Parliament, is expected to create a harmonized European crypto-asset market that “will definitely attract more and more large institutional investors — hedge funds, pension funds etc. — that have been wary of investing in this asset class due to regulatory concerns,” says Patrick Hansen, head of blockchain at Bitkom, an association of German companies in the digital economy.

When MiCA is implemented, a crypto firm receiving authorization from any one of the 27 European Union countries will be able to share its services across all the other EU states. Hansen also foresees greater mainstream adoption in the region and among its 450 million residents.

On the flip side, the European Central Bank is moving ahead with plans to introduce a digital euro that could be used by the 19 countries in the eurozone as “an alternative to third-party payment services and cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin,” reported Deutsche Welle, mainly because “Central bankers fear the widespread use of foreign or unregulated currencies could destabilize the economy.”

In other words, Europe’s crypto-wary central bankers could still have something to say about crypto adoption in the region.

Africa

When focusing on retail adoption, regions in the developing world such as Africa can’t be overlooked, Monica Singer, ConsenSys’ South Africa lead, tells Magazine. “Nigeria has one of the highest numbers of retail users of Bitcoin,” for instance — at least on a per capita basis. It ranks first among 74 countries in Statista’s March consumer adoption survey. She further adds:

“In countries where there is no trust in the fiat currency, and the population is young and mostly all have access to the internet, it is a natural progression that they will use cryptocurrencies to transact, in particular for remittances.”

Three African nations — Kenya, Nigeria and South Africa — made the top 10 in Chainalysis’ 2020 global crypto adoption index. “Remittances are an early use case for this developing cryptocurrency economy,” notes the report, adding that many of the region’s countries are also plagued by severe currency devaluation and instability, making them ripe for Bitcoin and its fixed, anti-inflationary supply.

Still, many African countries have restrictive policies with regard to currencies not backed by central banks, which could impede adoption, Singer tells Magazine. In early 2021, Nigeria’s central bank effectively banned commercial banks from providing account services to crypto exchanges.

The dominant mood is optimism, though, as epitomized by Cardano founder Charles Hoskinson’s keynote address at Blockchain Africa in which he compared Africa’s emerging economy to China in the 1980s — both offering case studies of new technologies leapfrogging legacy systems. Indeed, Hoskinson predicted: “There’s a great potential for that to be African nations — not Germany, not France, not England, not the United States, not China or Japan.”

East Asia

Of course, there are good reasons that nothing much may change at all — and East Asia remains crypto’s adoption epicenter. Asian countries have embraced digitalization, while their appetite for crypto was whetted by their early exposure to pioneering crypto firms. Indeed, by the end of 2020, six of the 10 largest crypto “unicorns” were Asia-based — including Bitmain, Binance, OKEx, Huobi, BitMEX and FTX.

Moreover, many East Asian nations that have embraced e-payments are used to public market investing and encourage STEM subjects in their school systems. Charles d’Haussy, managing director of the Asia-Pacific region at ConsenSys, tells Magazine that Asia’s “new wealth,” as well, is keener to embrace new asset classes, compared with “established wealth in the Western World which is more drawn to traditional asset classes.” For these reasons, he concludes that “Asia has a head start and will remain a leader [in crypto] for the decades to come.”

Even without China, Asia may be deep enough with regard to crypto adoption that it won’t lose its leadership position. Winston Ma, adjunct professor at New York University School of Law and author of The Digital War: How China’s Tech Power Shapes the Future of AI, Blockchain and Cyberspace, tells Magazine:

“Asian investors are used to inflation risk in their economies and high volatility in trading markets, and they embraced digital assets to hedge against the fiat money printing across the globe.”

“The lead may shift from China to Southeast Asian countries, as well as other countries with less restrictive regulations and laws with regard to crypto,” Yu Xiong, international associate dean at Surrey University and chair of business analytics at Surrey Business School, tells Magazine. In addition, Hansen notes that crypto-favorable regulatory frameworks have emerged in Singapore, Hong Kong and Japan.

Meanwhile, on the institutional front, “Regulatory clarity and tax treatment of crypto markets relative to their other options — stocks, derivatives, etc. — will matter a great deal more than it does for retail investors,” says Gina Pieters, assistant instructional professor in the Department of Economics at the University of Chicago. Here again, East Asia often seems further advanced than other regions. Pieters adds:

“Japan’s tax treatment of gains from crypto investment is much simpler than USA tax treatment, and so all else equal it would not be surprising to see higher adoption in Japan by institutional investors compared to the USA.”

Overall, if one were to categorize the competition, it would be the history, culture, professional traders, exchanges and first-mover advantage of Asia pitted against the youth and economic needs of Latin America and Africa, the investment capital and entrepreneurial vitality of North America, and the wealth, size and regulatory harmonization of Europe.

Who will prevail?

The case could be for Latin America or Africa, where the need is the greatest and a clear solution seems at hand. But, of course, it’s really anyone’s guess.

#Crypto #Bitcoin

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newsies-of-corona · 4 years

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@cinn-a-mom here’s my part of the trade!! I hope you enjoy it!! (And thank you again for that beautiful Letter to the Refuge animatic!)

Broken Pieces

“Hairstripe! Hurry up, you slow poke!”

Hugo runs through Old Corona village, Varian trailing behind him carrying as much glassware as he possible can.

He tediously walks, one step at a time, trying his hardest not to drop any.

“Well...may-maybe you could give me a hand instead of, you know, yelling at me!” The glassware pile says from behind Hugo.

Oh wait, that’s Varian.

The beakers and vials begin to teeter over in the alchemist’s hands and almost hit the ground before Hugo swoops in and grabs half of the pile.

“Oh. There you are Hairstripe! You’re so short I couldn’t even see you behind all this stuff!” Hugo jokes with a smug smile.

Varian rolls his eyes, “Shut up, heh.”

He looks at the situation they had gotten themselves into with a small frown.

“Heh. Note to self...next-next time we definitely have to bring dad’s wheelbarrow when we buy glassware, heh.”

He almost drops a vial but steadies himself and continues walking.

“Yeah, no kidding. Though we wouldn’t need so much if someone didn’t blow everything up every two minutes,” Hugo remarks snidely.

“Hey! The last time was with your compound!” Varian fires back.

Hugo opens his mouth briefly, but remembers Varian is indeed correct.

“Touché...” he grumbles.

The two continue walking until they finally pass the marketplace. It’s only a couple more blocks to their house. They can make it without breaking any beakers, right?

Suddenly, a loud crash resulting from a broken flask causes Varian to whip his head around to face Hugo.

“Heh, now who’s-“

The alchemist immediately cuts himself off when he sees the boys’ biggest nemeses walking towards them: Hunter and Curtis.

Hunter is taller than Varian, but a lot shorter than Hugo. His brunette bangs swoop in front of his eyes on the left side of his face, covering one of his hazel eyes. Hunter’s father is a close friend of Quirin, and Varian has known the boy since they were kids. Only recently did he team up with Curtis when Varian exploded the town yet again. Curtis, a fiery red-head with a temper to match acts as the brains of the team while Hunter acts as the brawn. The two have been tormenting the brothers for about a month now, practically every time they leave the house.

“Right on cue...” Hugo whispers as he kicks away the glass.

Hunter is the cause of broken flask, and he stands there blocking the Hugo’s path along with his partner in crime.

“If it isn’t the Old Corona Menace and his assistant...” Curtis mocks, moving to block Varian’s path directly.

Hugo isn’t one for conflict, but he doesn’t like anyone insulting Varian either. And he especially hates that nickname that the village generously bestowed on his brother. He’d gladly take the fall for that one. He shakily delivers a snide comment.

“Oh, come-come on, fellas! You really need to step up your game on the insulting nicknames! I mean, Hairstripe may not look like much at first glance but he’s no assistant-“

Hunter laughs cynically and steps closer to Hugo. The brunette boy is significantly shorter than the blond, but he still intimidates Hugo enough to make him back up.

“You’re the assistant.”

Hugo stiffens slightly and gulps as Hunter gives him a shove, shaking him up and causing another test tube to crash to the ground.

Varian narrows his eyes at Hunter and grits his teeth. He’s heard the “Old Corona Menace” nickname multiple times before. He deserves it, but Hugo? Hugo should be allowed to have a better reputation.

“Sorry, what-what did you say to him?” Varian asks slowly.

Hunter starts to walk away from Hugo but Curtis stops him, enclosing in further on Varian.

“You heard him. That weakling orphan you call a ‘brother’ is just adding to our problem.”

“Yeah and that’s you Vari-jerk!” Hunter speaks up.

Hugo rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Oh come on, that’s not even clever,” he voices under his breath.

“Shut it, Huge-o!” Hunter yells, trying to regain his ego.

Hugo resists the urge to roll his eyes again in fear of being beat up. Hunter may be shorter than him, but he and Curtis together can do a lot of damage. Especially considering the heaps of fragile and dangerous glassware that the alchemists were carrying.

“Listen, guys, we have a lot on our hands right now, literally,” Hugo puns. “So, maybe we can move our weekly bullying session over a day?”

He starts sweating nervously and backs up more when Hunter smirks at him, drawing even closer than before.

“Uh, or-or a month?”

A cynical laugh on Varian’s side causes Hugo to shift his focus away from Hunter.

“No this is a great time,” Curtis replies mockingly as he snatches up one of the flasks on top of Varian’s pile.

“Heh, uh, please don’t touch that...” Varian asks, trying to bottle up and distract from the anger he feels.

Curtis looks it over and tosses it back in forth in his hands.

“What is this anyway? Some kind of jar for your magical spells?”

Varian corrects him, just like he does everyone else. Even if this time it’s a little more strained.

“Heh..technically it’s not magic, it’s alchemy, and-and that’s actually a-“

Curtis drops the flask on the ground before Varian can finish, and it shatters into a million pieces.

“Ugh you’re such a nerd. Both of you. Let me let you in on something: no one cares about your sorcery-“

“Alchemy.” Hugo speaks up under his breath, but unfortunately Hunter hears him. He rolls up his sleeve, jumps up, and punches Hugo straight in the face.

The blow is so unexpected and so forceful that it causes him to stagger back. He drops all the glassware and it shatters around his feet. Hugo holds his injured cheek which most likely contains a bruise.

“Just another one for the collection...” he whispers, trying to stay strong.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Huge-o. You should have just stayed an orphan. You’re more of a nothing now than you were before.”

Hugo tries to keep in his tears, but Curtis’s words cut deep. He simply looks up at the boy with hurt and angry eyes.

“Awe. You gonna cry?” Hunter taunts, glancing kicking some of the glass in Hugo’s direction.

Varian stays silent through this whole exchange...but livid. His eye begins to twitch as his grip on the glassware tightens, causing some of the beakers he’s holding start to crack from the pressure.

“Whatever you call it, we’re tired of you morons blowing up our town! And if we get all your magic stuff out of the way...” Hunter moves over to Varian and grabs two test tubes from his pile, smashing them both to the ground.

Curtis crosses over to Hugo who’s still holding his injured cheek. The red-head threateningly stalks closer and hits the inside of his hand with his fist.

Varian can’t hold it in anymore and he throws down all of the glassware he’s holding. The sound of the glass shattering causes both bullies to stare straight at him.

“Don’t you dare touch my brother again,” he warns between gritted teeth.

Curtis and Hunter glance at each other nervously for a moment. After all, this is the kid who blew up their entire village only a month prior. Both of their houses were damaged in the explosion. There’s no telling what the “dangerous wizard” could do to them.

“Hairstripe, don’t-“

The desperation in Hugo’s voice seems to push Curtis on, even though he’s still wary of Varian.

“Wha-what are you gonna do? Explode us?” Curtis asks with a nervous laugh.

His comment gives Varian an idea and he readies a smoke bomb from his pocket.

He glances to Hugo behind him and backs up.

“Come on, Vari-jerk! Show us what you got!” Hunter chimes in.

Curtis shoots him a look. As far as they knew, Varian could kill them if they weren’t careful. However, this doesn’t stop the bullies from cornering the alchemy brothers anyway, their fists dangerously close to the alchemists’ faces.

At the last second, Varian gives Hugo a short nod and throws his purple smoke bomb on the ground. Before it hits, the brothers sprint away as fast as they can, leaving their attackers coughing and surrounded in smoke.

The two run all the way back to their house, stopping right outside of the farm to catch their breaths.

“Varian...the glassware-“

The alchemist cuts him off, still angry at the bullies.

“Hugo, I could care less about the glassware. We can buy more...eventually...”

He trails off, knowing it won’t be any time soon. They were in danger every time they left their house. He sighs and continues voicing his grievances.

“But Curtis and Hunter have-have been tormenting us for too long. I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing!”

Hugo rubs his cheek, his fingers hitting an old bruise next to his fresh one. Varian sees him wince in pain, and furrows his own eyebrows.

“We-we’re telling dad what happened.” He states matter-of-factly as he marches towards the house. “He’s the village leader, for Demanitus sake! He-he can do something-“

Hugo catches up with Varian and stands in front of him. The last thing he wants right now is to cause more problems for his family...

“No, Hairstripe. I’ll just say it was another acid burn...if he asks.”

“But Hugo-“

The blond calmly cuts him off again.

“There’s no reason to get them into more trouble. I mean we already destroyed their houses, which they won’t let us live down...”

Varian starts to raise his voice, not understanding why Hugo doesn’t agree with him on this.

“Hugo, that-that was my invention. You had nothing to do with it. But Hunter hit you! Twice in the last week! And the things Curtis said were...were inexcusable! Don’t-don’t you think they deserve some form of punishment?”

Hugo notes Varian’s tone; he sounds actually...angry. And when Varian was angry, the only smart thing to do is to listen. Hugo carefully considers his brother’s words. Even though Quirin adopted him years ago, it still feels weird to have people standing up for him. Almost as if he didn’t deserve it.

“Maybe...” he trails off.

But what would happen after the boys were punished? The bullying wouldn’t stop, that’s for sure. Everyone in the town already hates them. If Curtis and Hunter were taken down, there would surely be others to take their place, most likely targeting Varian. Hugo couldn’t take that chance. He could deal with a couple dumb bullies for his brother’s sake.

Hugo takes a breath and shrugs, standing up straighter to show he’s okay.

“But it’s just a bruise! Plus Hunter’s punches are wimpy anyway. Same with his nicknames,” the blond jokes.

Varian’s intense glare softens and he chuckles slightly.

“Yeah those nicknames are pretty dumb, heh. I mean ‘Huge-o?’ Really?”

Hugo smiles, glad that he successfully changed the subject.

“And ‘Vari-jerk?’ That’s Vari-insulting to many other Vari-interesting words that flow seamlessly with your name.”

Varian rolls his eyes but ends up laughing. He can always count on Hugo to cheer him up. Even if it’s with dumb puns. But that doesn’t erase that matter at hand.

“Are you sure, though? About keeping it a secret again?” The alchemist asks, hoping for a different response.

Hugo’s face falls, Varian isn’t going to let this go so easily, but he can still try to avoid the subject as long as possible.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Hugo stays serious for a moment before his tone flips back to joking.

“Plus I’m sure you already scared them silly with that smoke bomb stunt.” He elbows Varian in camaraderie and the alchemist returns the gesture.

“Well they literally asked for it! And you can’t say they didn’t deserve it, heh.”

Hugo shrugs in agreement and the two walk a bit further to the door. Varian starts to walk in when Hugo stops him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hairstripe...Varian. I don’t say this enough but...thank you for sticking up for me. It means a lot,” he tells his brother sincerely with a slight smile between the pain of his bruise.

Varian is slightly surprised at this out of the blue gratitude from Hugo, but smiles back and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Of course, Hugo. That’s what brothers are for, you know? We stick together,” he tells him, bumping him on the arm.

Hugo rolls his eyes but still maintains his smile. This is getting a bit too sappy for him, even though he secretly enjoys the affection. He tries to change the subject again.

“Ha, yeah. So much so that I’m apparently your ‘assistant.’”

He smirks, elbowing Varian again.

“I thought that was Cassie’s job!”

Varian immediately turns red and elbows Hugo.

“GAH! H-hey-shut up!” He retorts.

Their little episode at the expo is not one to forget. And Hugo will never let him live down the “Cassandrium” incident. Luckily, they both know he’s joking. Hugo’s comments aren’t painful or cutting like Curtis’s, just mildly annoying. But Varian wouldn’t change it for the world.

The two stand in an awkward silence for a while in front of the door, when Varian decides to go for it. He suddenly wraps Hugo in a hug, causing the taller boy to tense.

After the initial shock, Hugo’s wary at first, but he hugs him back. Like it or not, he really needs this.

“I-I just wanted to say, even though you’re adopted, I still love you as my real brother, Hugo,” Varian tells him genuinely. “Nothing is ever going to change that.”

Hugo blushes nervously, but the corners of his mouth start to turn up in a smile.

“I...uh...”

He sighs, and finally gives in to the “sappy” moment.

“I love you too, Hairstripe.”

And he means it. Their glassware might be broken, and even their reputation is shattered into pieces, but they have each other and that’s all that really matters.

———————————————————————

I hope you all enjoyed this one! It hurt me to write those bullies...haha, but I actually loved writing the story!! Thank you so much Mom for asking for this!!! 💙

#it’s soft until i mention that this is in the same au as ‘I Promise...’#varian and the seven kingdoms #hugo seven kingdoms #alchemy bros #best friends au #varian #tts fics #platonic i love you’s amiright?

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purelyfiction · 3 years

Text

Title: The Return of A Royal

Summary: After finding a bounty hunter in the midst of Mon Calamari, Cara, Din and Grogu jet off with the new accomplice to complete a favor, in exchange for information about a Jedi.

Word Count: 2,263

TW: Sexual Tension but that’s about it. Canon violence and weaponry

Chapter 2: A Rough Start

Exiting the cantina with another body tagging along felt strangely familiar. Many times the Mandalorian would find fellow hunters to split payment on a job and easily bring the bounty in with no issues. So, with Cara and the new face, it would be a little crowded on the Crest but they would manage. Din not being one for small talk, lead the four of them back to the ship, leaving Cara and the other woman to speak. "You got a name? Or are we just not gonna go there?" Cara asks rather bluntly, Din's head dipping slightly to hear the woman's reply.

"I go by Eliaden. You can call me Elia if you want." She offers in response. Din finds her phrasing odd, but doesn't judge. It was possible that this wasn't her primary language and she did her best to translate as rapidly as she could.

"Cara Dune. And of course you're familiar with The Mandalorian." The larger woman speaks as the group enter the ship.

"Razor Crest. Nice. You get her second hand?" Elia pipes up as Din shuts the back hatch, only after settling Grogu in his small hammock for a nap.

"Yes. Sturdy piece of machinery." He doesn't give much to her and Elia makes a face. The New Republic employee sees her reaction and gives her arm a tap.

"Don't let him bother you, he's not a chatterbot. I think in my acquaintance with him he's not said more than one hundred words." The three of them each take their turn climbing to the cockpit and settling in. Elia seemingly takes in the controls of the ship, a small smile on her face. Cara watches her uneasily, tilting her head. "You're into this kind of thing aren't you?"

Elia shrugs, watching as Din made haste with the buttons and levers easily. "I had a lot of time on my hands growing up, I spent a lot of time reading. I studied a lot about ships, machinery, general repairs, the likes. I mainly do a large portion of my own repairs on my ship. It's just some rusty freighter I got from some guy who cleary was picking up parts from Jawas. I call 'er Gypsy." She speaks pretty rapidly before Din cuts in.

"I need a location." Elia looks to him, rather quiet, emotion falling from her face. She stands and reaches over the silver that reflected off of the Mandalorian, quickly putting in coordinates before sitting back down. "Off you go." Her response is curt and she stays quiet from there on out.

The journey to their next destination was rather stiff, no soundwaves moving between anyone. Cara had gone down to the cargo bay to clean and condition Din's collection of weapons, while Elia stayed put. She simply sat looking at nowhere important, before Din started the ship into its landing sequence. He's turning to leave to check on the Child, noticing her far off gaze. He sighs and she seems to look to him when he does so. "I didn't mean to be harsh. Earlier."

"Well it wasn't exactly a meadow of sunshine and flowers, Mando." She snarls before looking to a screen flashing behind him. The helmeted man's head rolls, almost as if he was trying to crack his neck.

"Cara was right I don't speak much. So -"

"Mando, you -"

A breath of annoyance leaves him before he speaks again. "No, don't start. You need to learn that I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to get the kid -"

"Waadar Ke'sush'! The screen!" The brunette shoots up, pushing past him to settle in the ship's captain chair, kicking into action as the ship's warnings begin to take hold, ringing through the cabin and the cargo bay. Cara's head pokes up from the lower level as the ship begins to shake.

"What the hell did you do?" As the ship rattles towards the atmosphere of the planet they were arriving to Elia is quick to level the ship as the landing sequence fails, the other passengers grabbing onto whatever they possibly could. In a flash, the Razor Crest finds its way from the midst of space to the docking port of the planet. It's no gentle ride, but Elia manages to keep the contraption from turning to rubble. Once they're stopped, she looks to the Mandalorian on the floor.

"Gar cuyir very olarom." With that, Elia was making her way to the cargo bay, leaving Din in a pile of surprise.

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

Elia paid for the port fee and started leading her companions to their destination. As they walk, Din slowly strolls behind her as they maneuver through a crowded marketplace. "Where did you learn Mando'a." It's firm, no inflection in any portion of his words.

"Self taught. Remember the studying I mentioned?" She's quick and Cara gives him a glance, waiting til she's out of earshot to grab Din by the arm, making him look to her.

"What did you do." Her head tilts to look at him, like a disgruntled mother almost. Din turns his head away and mutters.

"I just tried to talk to her. Then the landing protocol failed. I didn't do anything." He pulls his arm away, hearing Grogu from his side making plenty of noises. When he looks back to Elia, she's standing with a grin on her face looking the tallest of them.

"You're falling behind, you two."

The woman leads them to what looks to be a residential building and she's quick to wrap her knuckles on the door. When no response comes from it, Din reaches over her and knocks on the door firmer and much louder. When it finally opens, a scraggly man dressed very minimally comes to the door, goggles on his forehead, toothpick between sharp teeth. He has a smirk when he registers Elia's features.

"Em. What a surprise." Cara's chin rises when he speaks.

"Em?" Elia's voice burns in the air and Cara suddenly knows what this is about. "Try again, greaseball." She gives a slight nod, taking a step back where Din finds himself pushing past the man into the residence. "You owe me. Big time." She stands with her arms crossed in the foyer of the room, Cara on her left, Din on his right.

"The only thing owed here, is an apology from you." The other speaks and the shorter woman groans.

"Gander, I don't have all day. You know what you owe me. If you just give me the payment, we'll leave. Otherwise, this is gonna end differently." Din can see the male give her a scowl before moving to a box on a table across the room. He unlocks it before pulling the blocks from the container with ease before slowly approaching her and handing them over. The Mandalorian can see the emblem clear as day in her hands, a small smile on her face. "Good choice. Have a nice life." She gives a squint before heading out the door, Cara looking to Din in confusion before the two follow her out. The owner of the residence gets to the door, cursing something in a different language, a clear curse, before a very clear word is pronounced.

Mari.

"Elia." Cara calls out to her through the market as she slinks her way through the crowd. She's moving quickly - far too quickly. Din can see what's happening and pulls the satchel from his side, offering it to Cara before he's quick on his feet. Elia turns behind her and sees the body of metal moving towards her and rapidly tucks the metal chunks in her pockets before starting at a running pace. The two begin in a race through the market, displays occasionally being knocked over and yelling insinuating at the actions. Elia slips into an alleyway, starting to navigate the maze like neighborhoods. Din was one step ahead of her, using the scanner in the helmet on his head to follow her footsteps.

Elia had thought she was clear, sat behind a wall, catching her breath. Din rounds the corner, an attempt to grab at her arm, circumnavigated by a block from Elia. The two begin in a hand in hand combat, each throwing their best efforts in. A kick, a duck, a dodge under legs, ending in Din grabbing the woman by the waist and pinning her to the wall she'd been hiding against. Both of them panting, it was then they realized how close together they were. Din finally gets a word out, spoken between sharp breaths.

"Who's Mari." He snaps and Elia's back straightens. Her cheek is against the building and she can feel the material scratching at soft skin.

"I don't know, his ex?" She scoffs before Din moves one of her arms behind her back, pressing a little harder into her, metal forearm armor most definitely leaving bruises.

"I'm not playing games. You either tell me and we can figure this out or I can drag you in bindings back to the ship and introduce you to the carbonite sheet with your name on it. Your choice." He watches as the two of them sit in the empty alleyway, the light of day beginning to fall, leaving a slight glow of orange over everything.

"Fine. Let me go first." She grumbles, Mando letting out a slight chuckle.

"Try again, sweet girl." Elia can feel her skin tingle at the words, eyes widening a little. She stays quiet for a few moments causing Din to grow impatient. He lets his hips press to her, securing her to wall further as he takes a hold of both arms, holding them above her head. He leans in a little, breath heavy.

"If you want to test me, you're welcome to. But I guarantee you'll regret it." It's lower than normal, husky and dark almost. Elia has to take a labored breath, her lungs feeling tight since most of her was encased between a sheet of beskar and a hardened wall.

"She's my sister." The young woman's voice is almost a rasp now as Din pulls himself away from her, hand over his blaster - just in case she gets an idea of running again.

"Explain. Now." Its a command and now, Elia isn't risking pushing him any further.

"He sent that to every bounty hunter in the Guild." She begins, referring to the hologram message Din had received. "I know because I got one. He's been looking for her for years. He had my mom and I evacuated before they closed in. He claimed he couldn't lose us too. As for why Gander called me that? He's her ex. She left quite a bit of things at his house. I knew he had the material, and I knew that if I got it, I'd be able to get a hefty amount of credits for it. He's just a junkie, he's not a bounty hunter. " She confesses before reaching into the pocket of her clothing, pulling out the four bars of beskar and handing them to him.

"I'm not taking those." He scoffs, shaking his head as he takes a step back. "If you lied about the bounty hunter, do you know where that Jedi is?" Din is doubtful, as the woman in front of him as certainly lost most of his trust now.

"That, I didn't lie about. I know she's been planet hopping. She's been trying to find the kid." Elia looks to him with a softened face. "Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me on this, but I promise. I can help you get to her. I know her last coordinates." Din shakes his head turning away and starting down the alleyway again, Elia finding herself confused. She starts to follow him, needing to take larger steps as he practically gallops away. "Where are you going?"

"To my ship. You're a joke." He scoffs, still walking towards the market in the direction they had previously ran through. Elia slowly stops walking, watching as he continues walking further from her.

"His name is Grogu." She speaks. The Mandalorian stops. He'd not once said his name in front of the bounty hunter, neither had Cara. And only four of them knew his name. Well it seemed as though, five did. He turns on his heels, jaw clenched. He's beyond frustrated. The whole day had been wasted because of this deviation and now Elia was milling it.

"How do you know that." Din pushes his tongue to the root of his mouth as he waits for a response, looking at the woman. He can see the scrape on her cheek from the plaster from earlier. He'd not thought he'd been pressing that hard - guess not.

"She told me. The Jedi. I may have spoken to her before she left Mon Cala. She told me that she was looking for him and that she was struggling to locate him." Elia takes a closer step to the Mandalorian and looks at him with a calm gaze. "He told her he was safe. That he was protected and that she would find him when she needed to." She laughs a little shaking her head. "But I don't blame you if you don't believe me." Din wants to punch something right about now. This woman had been so innocent at the cantina. A simple favor was all she asked. Now here she was, going on about conversations with the Jedi he'd been searching for. With hesitation he gives a wave.

"Get your ass back to the ship."

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His reality is splitting at the seams - you’re in his dreams, a comfort as he loses his grip on what makes him happy.

Prompt: Fishing

Notes: I’m all for historical accuracy so I’ve decided that from now on, in my Ahk fics that take place in Ancient Egypt, the reader is going to have dark skin. I myself have incredibly pale skin and I have no problem reading about it so @ any pale people reading these, you shouldn’t either. Also, your name is Meryt! It means beloved :) The songs in this are written by me, because I didn’t want a recognizable modern song and I’m not sure how to write ancient egyptian song lyrics. Gender neutral again. Warnings: Ahk is PRETTY depressed in here and develops some major symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 12.4k AO3 Link: Aren't We Monumental?

In the distance he sees the unapproachable, casting a net to the water. Every dream he’s had as of recent is plagued by you, far away and unreachable. With every step closer he grows further away, till tonight he sees the futility of his actions, and sits on cold ground, staring at your blurry form. For the first time you turn to him, watching over every breath he takes. With a wave, he finds himself beside you, staring up at you. You’re distinct, clear against a backwash of a dark, unseeable background. Aimlessly you stare forward, pulling the net from the water and back into your hands; it drips freezing water onto his hands.

“There’s a love in simplicity that cannot be achieved in any gluttony,” you say, still staring ahead at nothing. Casting the net back into the water you drop down, sitting cross legged next to him on the wooden dock.

“What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. Now that he’s met you, the first thing you say makes absolutely no sense. He tries to not let it irritate him.

“Work with your hands, good fellow,” you tell him, and for the rest of his dream you don’t say another word. Silence encompasses the both of you, only broken by your net dragging back up to shore. Again, no fish, but there is a rock inside that looks rather beautiful. There isn’t anything particularly special about it, no swirls of color, no skeletal shape inside, but it’s very smooth, and very dark - in his hands it shines in dim moonlight, the shadow of his reflection staring back at him.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, holding the rock up to the moon and admiring the odd shape of it. You don’t reply, you don’t even move, so he, perhaps incorrectly, assumes it’s alright and holds the stone tight in his grip.

His awakening late in the morning is slow, rays of sunlight prodding him gently to consciousness. As always his servants dress him, and as he stares dully ahead they push a crown atop his head. In the mirror he spots it, the gold catching his eye.

“I haven’t seen this before. What is it?” He asks his servants, taking the crown off his head to examine it. A braid of gold encircles its entirety, a cobra with fangs unsheathed sits at the front. It’s well made, he notes, though he’s not quite sure as to its purpose.

“It’s a gift from your father,” Naguib, his personal servant, tells him, head bowed politely as always. Ahkmen sniffs, setting the crown back on his head - it doesn’t look bad, he decides, and for another moment he admires himself in the mirror. Yellow isn’t his favorite color, but status is enshrouded in gold, and status is of the utmost importance to his father. Thus, the only cloth he wears has gold sewn into it, and gold is somehow assigned to him. Blue is Kahmuh’s color, which is unfortunate - he favors blue over gold, while Kahmuh envies the amount of gold Ahkmen is constantly surrounded with.

His day continues as it usually does; there’s the daily fight at breakfast as Kahmuh inevitably has another outbreak about how much he hates Ahkmen. This time, it’s about the gifted crown, and how he doesn’t get a crown. His father just rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a sigh, and ignores his eldest son, while their mother attempts feebly to calm him down. Kahmuh storms out of the room, and the rest of the morning is spent in silence. In Merenkahre’s meetings Ahkmen stands by his side, opposite of Shepseheret like a mirror image. They’re a perfect family without Kahmuh, who watches the court from the shadows of the archways leading into halls.

By afternoon Ahkmen is back in his room, his head hanging off the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling and trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. As important as it was to him, he always has trouble with his memory, an unfortunate genetic trait. Caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Naguib enter his room, tapping his shoulder.

“Um, my prince?”

He perks up, staring upside down at his servant, who is carrying a basket in his arms, his shoulders tight with nervousness.

“Yes?”

“You told me to tell you when I was going into the city again… you didn’t tell me why, though,” Naguib says quietly, unsure of every word. With a deep breath Ahkmen gathers himself, standing up and brushing out the folds in his clothes.

“Will I draw much attention like this?” He asks him, opening his arms for observation of his outfit.

“Quite a bit of attention,” Naguib tells him honestly. Nodding, he changes quickly into something more inconspicuous - a simple skirt and necklace.

Distantly he recalls asking Naguib to tell him, and though the exact reason escapes him he assumes it was for fun. He and everyone close to him knows he doesn’t get out much, and certainly not without being noticed and paraded as a prince. He loathes the attention, always self-effacing and hesitant to think of himself as above anybody else, even though it’s what he’s been told all his life. But Naguib knows the streets well, helps him not to be noticed, taking him through lesser known paths filled with fewer people than the main markets.

“What are we looking for anyway?” He asks as Naguib grips his wrist and pulls him into an alley as a large group of nobles pass by.

“The physician’s assistant is off on some adventure, so I’ve been filling in for them. Adom needs herbs of some sort… I don’t remember the name, only what they look like,” Naguib explains, glancing around the new street the two of them find themselves on. Ahkmen hums his acknowledgement, trailing after Naguib when he leaves suddenly into the rush of the crowd.

Amongst a mass of people he sees a variety of things he’d consider odd - though, when mentioning these things to Naguib later, he doesn’t react the same way. Apparently carrying live fish in a water basket isn’t strange, and neither is snakes in pockets. There is one thing he hesitates to mention, back in the safety of his room; something he is convinced didn’t really happen, but the memory is so clear that he’s at war with himself.

In the end he doesn’t tell Naguib what he saw. Instead he lets it haunt his memory, the image of a black jackal baring its’ teeth lucid like nothing else he’s seen. It jumped at him, or at least he thought it jumped at him, as by the time it should’ve landed on him the mirage dissipated. Luckily, in the crowded market no one noticed one man flinching away from nothing.

By evening time his parents are berating Kahmuh for reckless behavior again. According to them, he wandered out into the desert, but according to Kahmuh, he was hunting for a specific animal. Though, considering he can’t seem to name the animal, Ahkmen doesn’t particularly believe his story. As he does during most dinners, he eats in silence, blocking out the arguing and yelling. Quietly as he possibly can he slips away, tucking his chair back underneath the table and heading off to what he hopes is a good nights’ sleep.

When he opens his eyes to his dreams his hand is heavy. Looking down, he finds the rock, and in sudden clarity he remembered what had happened - now, he’s lying down in a hut, a fire burning beside him. The cot he’s laying in is soft, softer than it should be, and out the open door he sees you’re on the dock again. Slowly he moves to his feet, leaving the rock behind on the bed as his eyes never leave you. The echo of his feet against the wood is loud, making you turn and smile when you see him approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, fixing his messy, sleepy hair with your free hand. The other hand holds the line connecting the net back to land.

“How long?” He asks, unsure of why he’s asking it.

“I’m still waiting,” you tell him, softer and regretfully forlorn - with half lidded eyes you stare back out to the wide river. The other side, which last night he saw so easily is so far away all he sees in the distance is fog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his conscious self still confused, but something inside him speaks without his permission. You just nod, a gentle, homesick smile growing slow on your face.

As conversation quiets you pull your net back, finding nothing in it. Sniffing, you reel the rest of it in and with a mighty throw, it’s back in the water.

“I…” he starts, thinking back to the jackal he saw in the market, wondering if you’d have anything to say on the subject. “I saw something today. Something I’m not sure I should’ve seen.”

You respond with silence, no nod or any acknowledgement that you heard him, but nonetheless he continues - you’re dangerously easy to talk to, he notes.

“I was in the marketplace with my servant, and when we reached this crowded area… I turned, and there was a jackal, a black jackal staring at me. He was growling, ready to lunge at me, but when he did.. he disappeared.”

“What comes from nothing becomes nothing itself,” you finally respond, the words useless to him. Exasperated he sighs, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to tell you in the first place. “Don’t worry on what can’t hurt you. Anything that can cause worry can bring peace… if you can fix it, there’s no need to worry, and if you can’t fix it, find solace in your helplessness.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, the exclamation coming out involuntarily. He stares at you, his brow knitted together as he tries to figure you out - unlike anything he’s seen before, and so painfully familiar, like a cosmos he’s admired for too long. “What if it happens again?”

“If it frightens you, tell someone who may help you, good fellow,” you say, and with a short glance to the water and back to you, you’re gone.

“Where did -“ he starts, but realizes before he’s through that it’s fruitless to call for you. He doesn’t know your name, or anything you might respond to, and you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t reply anyway. Disappointed, he wanders back into the hut, slipping away into nonsensical dreams that he can’t care to remember.

Your words calm his thoughts, but only temporarily - by morning he’s forgotten exactly what you said to him, only recalling you told him not to worry. With a sigh he curses himself and his horrid memory, going about his day in a thought-heavy wander that brings his health to question.

It isn’t for another three days that something odd happens to him again, though this particular version of odd is different from the jackal. In the palace, there’s an absurdly long corridor that leads to the water gardens - it’s empty, barren of torch or painting, and it’s an unsettling sight one must go through to see the beauty of the outdoors. Ahkmen has asked his father three times to put something in the hall, but there’s always been something more important, and thus nothing has ever happened to the absurdly long corridor. When he turns down it, he sees the end as usual, a small rushlight set on the single shelf at the end. But, as he walks nearer, a fog rushes in from the corner - a sick scent fills his head, and the world turns dizzy. The smog draws closer and closer, growing thicker till he can’t see. He can’t feel his heartbeat, can barely feel anything, but the shaking of his fingers is a telltale sign of his anxiety returning to him. Swallowing thick and shutting his eyes he crouches, trying to find a wall to ground himself against but he can barely see the floor he stands upon.

No one finds him. No wise words are imparted upon him, and anxiously he waits for night to receive any answer. You’re the only person - can he call you that? a person? - that he’s trusted thus far; no one else knows of the visions he has. The smog, the jackal, it’s something he’s heard of before, though accounts vary on what exactly it is. He can’t remember what exactly they’re called, or what they may mean, and he doesn’t bother to search for answers before talking to you. He goes to bed early that evening, and finds himself sitting on the edge of a very familiar dock.

This time, you’ve already caught a fish - out of the side of his eye he spots you, tending a small fire, a fish impaled and roasting slowly over the heat. Stumbling to his feet he makes his way to you, his steps slowing as he nears.

“It’s happened again,” he says, desperate for any answer you could give. Anything nonsensical, even - he hasn’t heard you speak in a long while, it feels. Yet you give him nothing, carefully watching your catch cook. With a half-groan he kneels on the ground, watching the fish with you, and wondering if he copies you, you’ll finally talk to him. “Fog, this time,” he continues. “I felt like I was suffocating, and I hated it. I mean, obviously I hated it. I don’t know why I said that.”

Still nothing.

“I also had an orgy with seventeen people,” he says, a shocking lie to get you to respond, but still you say nothing.

For a good while he just watches, irritated at your silence and coming up with ways to get you to talk. When the fish is done and safely set on a plate too fancy for your home, you finally turn to him, staring him direct in the eye. Digging into your pocket you pull out the rock, and vaguely he remembers the beauty he’d admired so indefatigably only four evenings ago.

“You forgot this,” you say, almost stern, but still more caring than what fits the relationship you have with him. Extending your hand to him, you wait for him to close the gap, which he hesitantly does - his hand hangs open, palm upwards and below yours. Your grip loosens and the rock falls too heavy into his hand. He almost loses his grip, watching with a quick panic as his hand drops with the weight of the rock.

“That’s… heavy,” he says, the words instant and he regrets saying it the moment you look up. With one short glare that almost says as if I didn’t know, you turn back to the cooked fish.

“I used to dream of you. Since then I have never known peace,” you tell him, doing nothing but confusing him further. Heaving a tired sigh he sits on the ground, watching the flames of your fire reach lower and lower, till they dim to glowing embers.

When he closes his eyes he expects to wake to his bedroom, but he doesn’t - the cloth of the bed is a dark red, darker than blood, the bed floating lazily down a slow-running stream. He evens his breath, takes a look at his surroundings, glancing twice at the empty space beside him. By the third time he looks you’re lying there, not sleeping, not quite alive and not yet dead, horribly pale and still.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder. Your touch freezes his fingers, spreading up his arm till he grows as pale as you, like a white paint coating every inch of his skin. Somehow he manages to not panic, simply lying down next to your unmoving body, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for you to speak again. In the entirety of the dream you haven’t said a single thing that could help him, only words that add to a story he can’t understand. He turns his head to you, your eyes open and dripping a steady flow of tears. A shiver runs through him; the sight is unsettling in a way he wishes he couldn’t know.

By the next morn he’s up earlier than usual. Dreams bring him no solace, so he turns to books and whatever knowledge they may store. He knows he’s heard of his condition before, these images that feel so real, so real he can’t know they aren’t until they’ve disappeared. Ta’i, the bookkeeper, leads him down rows of scrolls and clay tablets till they reach the medical section, where Ta’i leaves him. He can’t trust anyone with what’s been happening to him, not when he’s got the status he has - if it slips out to the general populace that their prince is unwell, it welcomes invaders and those who would dare to usurp power from the rightful family.

Most scripts don’t mention his condition, thus leading to a search that spans much longer than he originally intended. Without the help of Ta’i telling him exactly where specific books are, he’s left to what little knowledge he has of the organization of the library. It isn’t until afternoon that he finds anything that even mentions it, and it isn’t till evening comes that he finds any actual information on it.

Some scholars say visions are prophetic, and a gift - others say it’s a curse, that Gods vowed their hate upon the victim. Others say it’s magic. All he can feel is hunger, and he remembers, dusting off older parchments that he hasn’t eaten all day. Leaving the papers open upon the desk he leaves, wandering down crowded halls to the kitchen, barren of people.

When he emerges, date bowl in hand, the halls are empty save for Naguib, carrying a massive basket of lotus flowers. Curious, he stops him, asking what the flowers are for - when Naguib answers, nothing comes out but silence, and he continues on down the hall towards the physician’s room. A little shaken from the encounter, though not deterred, Ahkmen resumes his research, and comes up with little comfort besides the fact that he’s not the only one.

During dinner his parents coddle him, asking where he was all day - apparently he missed the unveiling of some sort of garden temple, and his mother tells him he’ll have to go see how beautiful it is at some point. He registers the words, knows what they mean, but it doesn’t process in his head; he’s far too lost in the information he’s read.

He resumes his search after dinner, and as night grows long he falls asleep at the desk - Ta’i doesn’t have the heart to wake him and kick him out, so they leave him there, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Back on the dock, he opens his eyes to see you wading in the deep waters of the nile. He almost stops you, anxious that you’ll drift away in the current, but you seem perfectly fine - calm, even. More welcoming than ever before you smile at him, waving in a friendly-stranger sort of way.

“Still looking for answers?” You ask, your voice raised to be heard across the distance. He laughs, though he doesn’t know why, and sits on the edge of the wooden dock, his feet dipping into the warm water.

“I’m still at a loss for answers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, watching you drag fish traps out of the nile.

“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions,” you say, huffing with the effort you give. Hair falls in front of your face despite the fact that it’s brushed back, and you tuck the stray strands behind your ear. At the simple motion he feels his heart quicken, careful to observe the way you smile, and the way you express your exhaustion. In all the time he’s known of you, you’ve only ever caught one fish, and it wasn’t exactly a very big one. Watching you set the traps up, he wonders how you get by, the fact that you’re a dream escaping his mind - all that’s left is the fact that you’re standing before him, moonlight reflecting off the sheen of sweat on your dark skin. And in that moment, he finds you’re very beautiful, and he wonders how he never noticed before.

There isn’t anything grand about your stature, the way you carry yourself, or the way you dress and look - your words are are the only unearthly thing about you, but still he finds himself staring at you.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks you when you begin wading to shore. You don’t answer till you reach the sand.

“Look at the causes. Not the symptoms,” you tell him with a soft smile, patting his shoulder with a wet hand. “Know you are loved. Wake up.”

“What?” He says, furrowing his brow. Wake up?

“Wake up,” you say again, and he wakes with startling clarity - his father has a hand on his shoulder and is shaking him awake.

“My son, what are you doing here? It’s so late,” his father says, quiet and worried.

“Oh, uh… fell asleep. Sorry,” Ahkmen mumbles, his eyelids still heavy with exhaustion.

“No need for apologies. Get yourself to bed,” he instructs him, patting his shoulder once more. Without another word he drags himself to his room, forgetting about the open scrolls on the desk, and falls asleep on top of the blankets of his bed.

He doesn’t dream, not of anything, and not of you.

Come morning time he hears voices outside his door, whispering their woes in hushed voices, ones he barely recognizes. Blearily he comes to his feet, padding over to the door to open it - on the other side stand his parents, who halt their speech at his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Ahkmen, we’ve been… discussing something. Father found you last night amongst a lot of our medical scrolls, and we’re worried you’ve been hiding a condition or illness from us,” his mother says, pinching her lip with her fingers as she speaks. A wave of anxiousness shocks his body, his shoulders and hands tensing. His fingers shake as he tries to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, a half truth. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“You could at least tell us what’s wrong, your symptoms. Adom might be able to help you,” his father says, his arms crossed as his weight switches from foot to foot.

“I’ve - can we talk about this later?” He only asks to gather a semblance of a good excuse for not telling them, and the fact that he just woke up. “Breakfast maybe?”

“Alright. We’ll see you there,” his mother murmurs, kissing his forehead, and leaving with his father when he closes the door. Heaving a sigh he groans, clutching his head and rubbing his temples as he tries to reckon with the fact that his little issue isn’t a secret anymore. Muttering excuses to himself, he doesn’t notice Naguib enter, carrying his usual day clothing.

He doesn’t say anything, only directing Ahkmen to the right positions to set the clothes round his body. Ahkmen hardly pays attention, doesn’t look at himself in the mirror - the last time he looked, he didn’t have much skin on his body, and a fear seizes his heart whenever he catches his reflection in any object. When he’s done, Naguib bows and leaves the room, and Ahkmen makes his slow way to breakfast. There’s still no excuse, at least no valid one in his arsenal of excuses that would explain his reluctance to talk about his condition. As he sits at the table, he decides the truth is the only thing left to say.

His parents, sitting next to each other, stare expectantly at him, while Kahmuh at the far end of the table is glaring at him as per usual. He hates to show weakness in front of his brother, and can feel that hatred physical halting his speech, but he tries to get words out.

“I’ve been seeing things,” he finally gets out, a weak explanation that doesn’t clarify anything.

“Like… with your eyes?” His father asks, promptly hit by his mother. No one says anything more, so he tries his best to continue.

“Little things, sometimes. Like I’ll see a light in the corner of my eye, but when I turn it’s not there. But sometimes it’s…” he eyes Kahmuh, who is watching him intensely, “bigger things. The other day I saw a spider crawl up my arm, but when i went to get it off it wasn’t there anymore.”

“When did these visions start?” His mother asks, always the first to comfort and pretend as though nothing’s wrong with him.

“A good while ago. I was in… the garden,” he lies, “and I saw a jackal.”

His mother and father share a look of concern, and don’t reply - breakfast continues as normal, just much quieter. By the end they direct him to Adom’s study, following him to make sure he really goes, which is fair enough - the thick atmosphere of the room is sickening to him, let alone the stench.

It isn’t for another several weeks that Adom really comes to a conclusion as to what’s really wrong with Ahkmen. During that time, he doesn’t see you quite as much in his dreams; you’ve wandered past that, into another apparition that wanders the palace in silence. The urge to chase after you grows stronger with each day, and with each incorrect prognosis his vision of you becomes clearer. You don’t talk to him in this real-life form, you hardly even interact with the world, but you’re there, leaning over his shoulder and listening to Adom. The night before Adom’s final diagnoses he finally has his first coherent dream in weeks.

“I’ve seen the roots, and seen the skies,” you sing when he opens his eyes to the roof of your hut, the sight a familiar comfort. Sitting up, he sees you tending the fire - you toss in a couple of twigs, continuing to sing. “But I’ll see you again, my love…”

“What.. what are you singing?” He mumbles, deep and warm in a way he doesn’t expect. The melody isn’t anything he’s familiar with, nor is it similar to anything he’s heard before. You keep humming till you turn to him, a knowing smile on your face as you stand. Sauntering over to him, he lets his legs hang off the cot, and you kneel before him, one hand on each knee.

“I haven’t forgotten you, you know,” you say, your smile growing into a giddy grin. As usual when it comes to you, he’s left with many questions, but you stay knelt before him, unlike your usual ‘speak-and-leave’ method. “I kept your rock.”

“My what? Oh, oh. Right,” he mumbles, remembering the smooth pebble from long ago. “You didn’t need to. It’s not that important.”

“You thought it was important once. Eventually, anything that was once important will become so again.”

“I thought I was important, once. I’m still not important,” he says, and the words don’t weigh heavy in his heart. He’s already fully convinced himself that it’s the truth, but you tut, reaching for his hand and tracing veins it with your fingers.

“Perhaps now you think you’re unimportant…” your eyes dart across every feature his face has, every imperfection and mark, every impeccability. “But the feeling will come and go, just like every other feeling. One day you will know you’re special.”

“… special?”

“Incredibly. Have you met anyone that looks like you? A person who walks with your stride, or smiles in the way you do? I’ve never known a soul who thinks the way you do. Not one.”

“You aren’t real, though,” he says, for once remembering he’s only dreaming.

“How do you know?”

“You’re just in my head, like those damned visions I have,” he says with a biting hatred, his throat tightening along with his hand, fingers curling to dig his nails into his palm.

“Have you met every person on earth? There’s no proving I don’t exist somewhere. But… for now, breathe,” you murmur, reaching up to rest your hand against his cheek. He sniffs, and you wipe away the single tear the escapes him, smiling softly in a way he wishes you wouldn’t. The care evident in your eyes isn’t something he’s equipped to handle, a love he hardly ever gets is unbearably strong in your hold. His parents’ coddling can hardly count as love, and outside the palace he hasn’t got any friends - and to be fair, he hasn’t really got any friends in the palace, either. The closest he has is Naguib, but he can’t exactly count him.

Only then does it hit him how incredibly distressing his life is. He doesn’t have a single outlet for stress except for dreams he can barely remember, and the constant arguing between his parents and his brother has to have some sort of toll on him, even minor, though at this point it’s safe to say the effect is major. The only real happiness he finds is in sleep, either in the nonexistence of his consciousness or your presence, which is comforting even though it really shouldn’t be. When he finally sees out his own eyes again, you’re still kneeling before him, gazing into his soul and knowing what he’s thinking. With a sigh, he melts into your touch for the first time, letting you hold him.

“Oh, my dear. How long you have yearned for a warmth you’ve never known,” you say, smiling sadly at him.

His parents stand beside him, one at each shoulder as they collectively listen to Adom’s deductions and explanations. The study isn’t quite as smoke-filled in the afternoon sun, and the smell is down to a tolerable level, not that he wants to tolerate it. Adom prattles on for a good while, discussing the different symptoms Ahkmen is experiencing, and is astoundingly correct on most accounts, before moving onto the many conclusions he came to, before the final one, which is more conceivable than previous ones. At least, conceivable for Ahkmen - prophecies of the future didn’t seem quite right, but stress-induced hallucinations sounds much more plausible.

“What could be stressing him out?” His mother asks, worried if not scared.

“A number of things. He’s a prince, for one. But Ahkmen could tell you more about it himself than I can,” Adom tells them, and all eyes fall to Ahkmen, who is starting to wish he hadn’t attended this meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, barely hearable but the message gets across. Neither of his parents are satisfied with that answer.

“Well we can’t just let it be, you said these visions are disturbing, so you want them to end, right?”

“Of course I do,” he retorts at his mother, “I don’t want to talk about what’s stressing me out, is all.”

“Ahkmen, if it’s a girl, we’re fine with that. We aren’t going to punish you for anything,” his father says, but it only works to irk him further.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps, his fists clenching tightly as he storms out of the room. They watch him leave, hesitant to follow after, for which he’s grateful, though the emotion is blurred by his anger. First he thinks to go to his room, before quickly remembering that that’d be the first place they’d look to find him, so instead he heads towards the kitchens. The people there are kind, quiet, and tend to avoid talking to him, which is exactly what he needs.

As expected, he finds the kitchens mostly empty save for a few servants, dutifully preparing for his family’s next meal. Pulling aside the head chef, he instructs her to tell no one of his whereabouts, and doesn’t wait to see if she agrees or not - instead, he goes direct for the wine cellar, where it’s dark enough he doesn’t have to think about anything too hard. Without thought for anything except that he doesn’t want to fully exist anymore, he grabs a pitcher, filling it with wine before chugging it. He’s never drunk this much at once, and a sick feeling swells in his heart that makes him nearly choke on the drink. His world is crashing in on itself and he feels no need to keep experiencing whatever life has to offer - but perhaps it’s all his fault.

Tucked away in the dark corners of the wine cell, tears burning their way down his cheeks, he wonders if maybe it’s all his fault. Maybe he should open up to his parents, and get a grasp on his life, make some real connections, but when the thought occurs to him an anxious shiver runs down his spine.

I’m not ready, he repeats to himself in his head, over and over until he drinks himself into a blackout.

“My dear, good fellow,” you murmur, running your fingers down his cheek. Blearily he opens his eyes, seeing a sky holding so many stars it might as well be daytime, though the earth he lies on is dark.

“What…” he rasps out, slowly coming into his senses as his consciousness slips fully into his dream.

“Panic attacks take a heavy toll on the soul, especially one as gentle as yours,” you say with a doleful smile.

“Panic attack?” He repeats, trying to sit up, but you hush him and tell him to lie back down.

“Don’t think on it, don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere you’ll be happy,” you tell him, your voice strange and not fully yours.

“What? Where - don’t take me anywhere,” he begs, gripping tight at your shirt, his voice cracking with the force of his speech.

“Shh, don’t worry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

With a sigh he realizes reality is seeping into his dreams again, and there’s little to do about it. The last time he tried to force himself to wake up, he had a dream about waking up, which led to an even worse dream. So he lets you stroke his hair, comfort him with your touch while knowing all the while that it’s most likely his mother.

They’re probably taking me somewhere where I can be someone elses’ problem, he thinks to himself bitterly, finding it harder and harder to just lie there. Still, he manages it, trying to enjoy ‘your’ affections to pass the time.

I wish I wasn’t alive.

“Ahkmen, we’re here,” his mother says in her usual, soothing voice, though it does little for his anxiety as of late. He opens his eyes to white sails tied to a mast, the smell of salt thick in the humid air, and he safely assumes he’s near the ocean. His mother hangs over him, his head in her lap as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Where are we?” He asks, his voice hoarse. When she halts for a reply he slowly sits himself up, looking around at the land brightly lit by a blazing sun overhead. Squinting, he realizes he’s still in the Aur, surrounded by palm and date trees - a relieved sigh leaves him at the idea that he hasn’t really left home. The nile still flows, and he can still live beside it. He glances at the other side of the nile, the sight making his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating too fast against his chest.

He knows this place. The riverside hut is too familiar, the bonfire circle to the left of it something he’s known for a long while, and with wide eyes he watches his father speaking to someone he can’t see. They’re standing half inside the hut and half outside, but his father is much bigger than they are, so the little he does catch of them isn’t helpful. Fingers shaking, he tries to get a different angle, anything to try and confirm his creeping suspicion. Turning back to his mother, he gestures his confusion, attempting to get an answer out of her, any answer.

“Your father thought it’d be a good idea for you to get away from whatever is stressing you out. I suppose it is a little presumptuous, to assume being a prince is the thing stressing you so terribly -“ he’s astounded their guess was correct - “but I think time away will be good for you either way.”

With a nod from his father, his mother helps him to his feet and leads him off the boat, and down the wooden deck he’s known but only now felt - an impending dread fills up his head and heart as he grows closer to the entrance of the little hut, thickening his blood and slowing his thoughts. At long last his father steps to the side to make room for him and his mother, and he sees you - smiling politely at him, your hand outstretched to shake his.

Gingerly he clasps his hand in yours, the short touch electrifying his nerves, but he manages to keep himself under control as his father introduces you to him.

“This is Meryt,” he says with a smile, “and you’ll be staying with them until you think you’re well enough to come back home.”

I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back home, he thinks to himself distantly, feeling out of place in his own body. How, exactly, a real person becomes a character in his dreams, complete with the right house and job escapes him - all he can see is the gold pattern of the sun shining through the thin canopy and onto your skin. Your eyes glitter a brilliant color, staring into his soul without a care in the world. As his father continues talking, muted into the background, he wonders if you already know how important you are to him.

It’s a few hours before his parents leave, sailing up the nile in the royal barge, leaving him with you. Behind the little house, the sun is beginning to set, and you pull a net out from a box on the dock, pulling it to the edge and throwing it out into the water. Looking up at him, you pat the wood beside you, and he sits carefully down beside you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ahkmen,” you say with a pleasant smile, your head drifting from side to side gently to music you hear in your head. “As your father said, my name is Meryt. My friends call me Merry.”

“Merry?” He asks, surprising himself with how quiet he speaks.

“Yeah, you can call me that if you’d like,” you say, and when a silence spans between you, you start humming. He sits beside you for a good long while, wondering how to bring any subject up - his dreams, the reason he’s here, the fact that he’s probably a damper on your daily routine. Before he can think of anything to say, you tie the net line to the dock, and head inside. He almost follows you, but you remerge a second later with two cups. Handing one to him, you sip from the other, sitting back down next to him, your legs dangling off the edge.

“So, um,” he stares down at the gold liquid in his cup, “what is it you do here?”

“Various things,” you answer vaguely, giggling when you see his confusion. “I fancy myself a fisher, though I’m not very good at it. It was really more my fathers’ thing. I’m a brewer, sort of.”

Glancing at you, and back down at his cup, he takes a sip - it’s beer, which he usually doesn’t have, but it’s certainly sweeter and kinder to taste than the brews he’s had in the past. When he looks back up you’re watching him, gauging his reaction, so he smiles, thanking you for the drink.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s what I sell in town, but the beer itself I buy from Umut, who’s the actual brewer. I just add some special ingredients, but other than this, I don’t get around much. Most everything I need can be supplied by what I already have.”

“Probably why I’m here,” he mutters to himself, the simplistic lifestyle a clear reason as to why his parents would bring him here of all places.

“I heard you’ve been having visions,” you say, quiet and sincere. He looks away, a blush crawling to his cheeks as he scowls. “I have a friend that used to have those. Though, I don’t think they were as bad as yours are… is it alright to talk to you about this?”

He nods, slow and shy, but a definite yes.

“She used to see these lights, like stars but close by… this mage from the East said they were fairies. Your parents didn’t tell me much, but I don’t think yours are like hers, are they?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them close.

“Mm. You can talk about it, if you’d like, or we can do something to get to know each other a little better,” you suggest easily, and it almost annoys him how kind and down-to-earth you are. You’re nothing like his dream, at least not thus far, but he doesn’t know what he expected anyway - you aren’t a dream, you aren’t solely his, at least not anymore. He retracts the thought a second later, but for a single moment he wishes you were entirely his own, a secret safe from a world he’s started to fear.

“Do you have any advice?” He asks weakly, flinching when he hears his voice crack.

“Advice…?” You think for a moment, staring out into the nile before looking back at him. “There’s… there’s no way to tell if you’re doing the right thing, or if the path you’re on is the one for you - but there’s comfort in the inevitable, and in the unchangeable, just as there is love in the ever-changing.”

“Oh,” he gets out in a whisper, staring at you as you watch the water ripple with the breeze. The way you smile strikes an uncommon warmth in his heart, welcoming and anxious all at once - in this moment, watching your lips turn up at the sight of turtles at the shore, more than anything he wants to be close to you in a way he knows he can’t. People have boundaries, he warns himself, though the ache to know the softness of your hair and the blush of your cheek against his fingertips is more enduring than anything, and for a fleeting moment he thinks maybe it’d help him. Maybe you could help him. But when he breaks from the trance, he’s far too terrified of poisoning your innocence with his brokenness to do anything of the sort. Instead he watches you, the dying light of the sun casting shadows across your skin, dipping around the creases your smile makes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m not very good at giving advice.”

“No, no… it’s good. I think it’s good,” he mumbles, his nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

For dinner you make an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and though it’s not exactly the cuisine he’s used to it isn’t bad. Sitting at the fireside, the hut sheltering you from the wind growing stronger as night grows, the two of you eat in silence. Afterwards, you share another cup of beer, and you tell him a little bit more about your life and what you do.

“You know quite a bit about me now,” you say after sharing the basic information about yourself. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he blurts out, almost choking on his drink when you ask.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

“Your favorite color,” you repeat. His mouth hangs open, confused as his eyes dart from side to side.

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

“There you go, that’s something interesting,” you say with a brilliant smile. For the first time in months he laughs, shaking his head.

“That counts as interesting?”

“Of course it does. Everyone has interesting things about them. There’s a story in everyone… why’s blue your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um… I just like it, I guess,” he mumbles, thinking just how I like you as the words come out.

“It’s a nice color,” you say with a kindly smile.

“So does my favorite color tell you anything about me?” He asks, taking another swallow from his cup.

“Just what type of things to get you. Now if I see something blue that I think you might like, you’ll like it even more.”

“That’s…” he wants to say dumb, because it’s really such a childish gesture, but what instead comes out is, “… really nice of you, actually.”

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

He begs to differ, but instead of pursuing that, he changes the subject.

“How do you know my father? I’m sure he didn’t just drop me off here without knowing you,” he asks, and in a few aspects he’d be right.

“My father knew yours when they were young. Unfortunately, my father was a very solitary man, never told much about himself… I think the only person he ever opened up to was maybe my mother.”

“That explains why your home is sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do you believe in soul bonds?” You ask out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. Furrowing his brow, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Um… I - I don’t know what that is,” he tells you honestly, setting his cup down and fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the low flames of the fire.

“People who are meant to meet, connected beyond status and distance,” you try to explain, and he understands for the most part.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thinking of how he dreamt of you, wondering for a moment as his eyes flicker to you if he’ll dream of you again tonight.

“Fair enough answer,” you say. “I just thought you might, because when you looked at me, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

“A little - are you alright?” A concerned look grows quick on your face as you shift to be on your knees, scooting closer to him, looking over his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, but his voice is still cracking and far too high. I’ve forgotten how terrible a liar I am, he thinks as your hand brushes against his. Swallowing thick, he tries to ignore your attention, staring into the fire.

“Ahkmen, if you’re seeing something you can tell me. I won’t think any differently of you, I’m here to help you after all,” you say with a weak chuckle, clearly too worried to fully comfort him.

“It’s - can I tell you later?” He gets out in a rush, unable to catch his breath long enough to speak a full sentence. You back away, sitting back down on the floor as you watch him, curious and concerned.

“Of course. Take your time,” you tell him, gently patting his hand curled into a tight fist. You take his cup and plate and your own, cleaning and putting them away. By the time you get back, he still can’t breathe right, his chest strained and heavy with anxious weight.

When you sit next to him, you place your fingers on the side of his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes flit across each of your features, clear as day without the muddling of his dream-state, and he nearly cries at the care in your half smile.

“Breathe with me,” you murmur, taking his hand in your own and pressing it upon your chest. Slowly he feels you, your heat, and the even movement of your breath. He tries desperately to match, watching with a frightened intensity as his fingers shake against you. Every second moves embarrassingly slow as he notices every detail of you, watching every move you make, but he’s in your bed before he knows it.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” He asks, already drowsy from his panic as he holds your wrist.

“I have a blanket,” you tell him, and for hm, the answer is hardly satisfactory.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he mumbles, barely able to keep awake.

“Go to sleep,” you say, kneeling before him and petting his hair. With an undignified hum, wishing you’d just take your own bed, he falls into sleep.

The following couple of days he tries to distance himself from you, and though it’s clear you don’t understand why, he thinks his reasoning is obvious. When you cast your line out to fish, you ask for him to sit next to you, but he often refuses - he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to your life. When you prepare food, he eats as little as he can - he knows you’re not exactly rich, and food can be hard to come by, even if it is a plentiful summer. Still you push him to eat more, saying the portion you give is what you can afford, often noting his noisy stomach.

“I don’t -“ he tries to get out how he feels, attempts feebly to tell you what he means, but the words clog his throat till he can’t speak anymore.

“You’re not a bother. Your basic needs physically cannot be a burden, not on me. Not on anyone. Certainly not on yourself,” you tell him, pulling his hands away from hiding his face. “Hey,” you murmur. “I know you’re hungry. Eat.”

Staring into your worried eyes he relents, sighing as you smile, pushing a plate into his lap.

By the fifth day you’re fully comfortable with him - the same can’t be said for him. He’s still a nervous wreck in your presence, complete with sweaty palms and weak knees, and a variety of reasons for this go through his head. It could be that he simply doesn’t know you very well, or it could be that you’re still in his dreams, kissing and touching him where he’s rarely ever touched, or it could be that you’re more strikingly handsome than any foreign princess. Eccentric and classic, you’re a succor he’s desperately needed for so long a time.

The more comfortable you grow with him, the more you begin to act like you do in his dreams. Quiet, thoughtful, and never one for direct answers; it gets to the point where the only way he can tell the difference is that in his dreams you touch him incessantly. In real life you always ask, uncertain of his wishes and hesitant to comfort.

“Looks like there might be a storm,” you say, gathering up the net from the water to put away.

“What?” He asks, pulled out of the memories of his dreams, looking up at you. As usual, you’re to the left of him, though this time you’re standing as he sits, his feet just barely touching the warm water below the dock. Your clothes are beginning to soak with the net gathered in your arms, sticking tight to your skin.

“The wind comes from the north, which,” you point to the gathering clouds, “is where the clouds are coming from. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.”

“Really? You didn’t say anything,” he says, hurrying to his feet to help you.

“Wasn’t sure until now. Either way, I’ve been stocking up food, so if it’s bad, we’ll be okay,” you say with a charmingly positive smile. He doesn’t understand your unending optimism, and doubts he ever will, but he most definitely appreciates it.

After helping you pull the rest of the traps out of the water, the wind growing steadily harsher, he follows you inside and shuts the door. By the time he turns around you’re already working on starting a fire, sparking your flint against the wood. All around the outer walls the wind begins to howl, growing louder as rain begins to fall down. Once the fire is fully started, the rain pelts down on the roof, a far too loud white noise, but luckily quiet enough that he can still hear you talk.

“Did I tell you my mother built this home?” You say, sighing when you finally relax into your makeshift seat on the floor, a bundle of pillows and blankets set out in front of the stone hearth. “Except for the fireplace. That was my father.”

“It’s well made,” he says, unsure of what response is appropriate. Often, you’ll talk without any meaning, not expecting a word from him though appreciative when he does add his input.

“Yes…” you breathe out, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at the fire. “Well made. Like you.”

“… Like me?”

“You were made with love in mind. We’re all creatures of hopeless regard and admiration, dedication and loyalty,” you say, poking him right where his heart sits.

“Not everyone,” he points out, remembering court stories of rape and abuse.

“The Gods have a story in mind for every one of us. In the heavens each of us are crafted from nothing… isn’t that beautiful?”

“One time you said what comes from nothing becomes nothing,” he says, growing quieter as he remembers that’s something you said in his dreams. But you just go with it, your mouth parted slightly as you try to think of answer, shifting in your seat.

“That’s true. But until then, we exist as love incarnate,” you murmur, smiling soft and hesitant at him in a way that far too often makes his heart stop. “Don’t forget our world came from nothing. Ptah came from nothing.”

Technically, you weren’t wrong, but it didn’t settle well in his stomach anyway - you’re pure, wonderfully positive and endlessly loving. He feels like he’s nothing, he knows he’s nothing, his life can’t mean anything, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. He must’ve had a look about him, because you scoot closer, tracing the soft skin of your fingers down from his temple to his jawline, and at the motion he lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

“Every king and kingdom, every emperor that claimed to live forever came from nothing. We are all equal. Your father has as much power as a peasant - if they switched positions, no one would know the difference.”

“That’s treasonous talk, you know. I could have you stoned,” he jokes weakly.

“You could,” you say as though it doesn’t matter. It does, it matters a great deal to him - you should feel fear at the thought of your death, but you’re at peace with death just as much as he’s at discord with living.

“Merry, you can’t… you can’t just agree with me,” he gets out in a whisper, squinting as though it’ll help him understand you.

“But you’re not wrong,” you point out, and he grumbles, irritated.

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

“A little. Fear is natural. I don’t wish myself to be in pain, but… death is just the next step and it’s necessary. It’s something we all go through in the end. Fortunately we have a little leeway on how we die,” you say with a curt smile, patting his knee.

“To be honest,” he says, interrupting you from almost standing, “I’m not sure if I believe in Gods anyway. Even if they did exist, I don’t think my father would be one.”

“I think of Gods more as magic. The beauty in the world,” you say, nodding your head distantly before meeting his eye again.

“Well, yes, there are little bits of magic in our world, but… nothing absolute. I’ve never seen any god, nor any trick to warrant belief… but.. I want to believe. Have you ever seen magic? Actual, true magic?”

“I saw you.”

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes as he looks away from you. It’s such a corny answer he can’t decide if you’re joking or not, but by the way you scoot closer, it’s safe to assume you’re being completely serious.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting your hand against his cheek to push him to look at you. “Look at me. If you think about it, you’re phenomenal. Gods can number many, and the stars are innumerable but there’s only one of you. Ahkmen, galaxies are more commonplace than you! A unique being, capable of complex thought - isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you monumental?”

Stunned into silence he can’t respond, his mouth barely parted as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Smiling soft and sweet, so commonplace he’s almost used to the sincerity, you stand.

He watches you pull ingredients from your various cabinets, throwing them together in a mix and placing it inside the fireplace. As you pull down a loaf of bread to slice, he intervenes without word, cutting for you. In your appreciation you peck his cheek quickly - you’re not tall enough to reach his temple, but the affection still leaves him blushing bright red nonetheless.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you tell him, still smiling brightly - he can’t find it in himself to respond, but he tries to smile without meeting your eye. Instead he concentrates on the bread, trying to pick out the smell or think of the ingredients as you handle your own task behind him.

As he finishes, pulling the honey down from the cabinet, he hears music, and he halts - he hasn’t heard music since being in the palace. You usually don’t sing, at least not in front of him, and he doesn’t play any instruments. Turning around, honey pot still in hand, he sees you standing with your eyes closed, swaying back and forth to the music you play on the lute. You don’t notice him staring as you start to sing, melodic and breathtaking; he nearly drops the pot.

“… and in the dust, you are saccharine sweet to the endless you seek… You spoke to me, whispered in my ear, ‘lets live forever!’ But we chase the lust of living for creations’ dissever…”

He swallows thick as you continue.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he rasps out, throat dry by the time you finish.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. But I’m good enough for children, and for birds,” you tell him, setting the lute down behind a chest.

“… birds?”

“That’s usually who I sing to,” you tell him, taking the pot from his hands and drizzling it over the bread, taking a pinch of your spice mixture to sprinkle over it.

“Did you write that song?” He asks quietly, frozen in place.

“Yes, actually… it’s a hobby of mine.”

“I.. I never learned any instruments,” he says, kneeling in front of the fire.

“I’m self taught, but I could help you start if you’d like,” you say, sitting beside him and handing his plate to him, a row of small slices on one side as you pour the vegetables from the fire on the other side.

“No, I, um… I like hearing you,” he mumbles, pinching his skin as his anxiety spikes up at his own sincerity.

“Thank you,” you giggle, ruffling his hair.

The rain creates a nice ambience, he decides, the muted pattering on the roof working in tandem with the crackling the fire. Like a melody he can’t decipher, completed by your presence beside him, comforting and nerve-racking all at once - sparing a glance at you, you’re still off in your own world. He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you sing again but has no idea how to bring it up again, so he decides he’ll settle for just hearing you talk.

“How does the chimney stop the rain from coming in?”

“Hm? Oh, the chimney has a hat,” you tell him, quickly returning to your meal.

Damn, he thinks at the short conversation that could barely qualify as a conversation. The rest of dinner he tries to think of another topic, of anything to get you to talk, but before he can think of anything you’re cleaning up the dishes and he’s tending the fire to continue burning as the two of you sleep. When you finish with your task, you sit beside him again, a little closer than usual, and you breathe a little harsher than normal - absently he wonders the cause.

“Ready to sleep yet?” You ask, watching him for any reaction. He doesn’t turn to you.

“Can you play another song?” He asks weakly, still not facing you.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, patting his shoulder as you stand to fetch the lute.

I’ve known you from a distance, longed for the sweetest shame,

But it’s been far too long since I’ve felt the embrace of someone dear to me,

so cling to me, the sweet ambition, cradled in innocence’s swath -

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper.

Forever his.

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #rami malek #rami malek x reader #night at the museum #male reader #female reader

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On-Line Music Marketing

Introduction

This guide aims to identify and evaluate the main types of on-line music marketing, together with the resources and distribution tools associated with them, so that those artists who are trying to break into the music industry have the appropriate knowledge and skills as to what works best for them, from a strategic perspective and which also provides them with the greatest opportunity for artistic and / or commercial success.

On-line Music Marketing

To understand on-line music marketing, it is best to first understand what music marketing generally refers to. When defining Music Marketing, Lathrop (2003: 1) refers to it as “[m]aximizing the sales and exposure of music”, utilising “systematic approaches to following the money trail of commercial music – and doing it with as much skill and precision”. The notion of exposure is recognised moreover by Kusek, Leonhard & Lindsay (2005: 57), saying that “[m]usic marketing has always been, and will always be, about exposure and discovery. Without exposure, an artist's new music will not get heard, and without being discovered by new fans, an artist's career is at a standstill.”

In the modern music world, it is now pertinent to add to this concept of music marketing a dimension of on-line activity (use of internet connected external / internal technologies), and as Kusek, Leonhard & Lindsay(2005: 106) predicted “the opportunity to influence, and thus market to [audiences] lie squarely with the ability to reach them quickly, inexpensively, and of course virally, via peer groups and via the smart leveraging of social networks … traditional forms of marketing are going to fit right next to new forms of peer-to-peer digital marketing. Creating a buzz has always been essential in the promotion of music. Exposure begets discovery, which begets income … Smart Web sites, cell phones, and network savvy applications are where it is at in the future of music marketing to the digital kids.” Music Marketing resources cited here include websites and applications, both of which are methods in producing, as well as distributing content, with applications specifically being utilised in their most holistic experiential form with numerous social media platforms (some of which can only be accessed through applications and not an associated website).

Now that we have covered on-line music marketing resources, let’s discuss the various distribution tools used specifically in conjunction with them. Distribution tools simply refer to the means of using particular methods to get your product, whether that be yourself as an artist or whatever you intend on promoting (song, album, promo video, event, etc.), into your audience’s hands / ears. Previously analogue media (landline telephone, radio and music television) provided the best means to which music marketing was employed. These however have since been translated digitally, along with the introduction of newer means such as streaming and digital downloads. The commonality here being that these platforms act both as distribution and consumption tools. Though both analogue and digital medias are still used in conjunction with each other today, digital music marketing now provides greater marketing opportunities for both data analysis and identifying subsequent promotional opportunities and actions when planning for future strategies. “[N]ew technology and new marketing techniques … create new and exciting promotion tools. The majority of these new promotion tools use direct marketing techniques to create and maintain relationships with fans, fostering the loyalty that often comes with such relationships.” (Kusek, Leonhard & Lindsay, 2005: 67).

Above / Below the Line Music Marketing

This then feeds directly into another concept to consider, which is the “Above and Below the line” marketing theory. Above and below the line music marketing as concepts refer to how marketing strategies adapt to reach either large groups of people (Above), or to target only specific individuals (Below). Above the line marketing has been successfully employed in analogue medias as well as more recently in their digital equivalents also (as mentioned above). For your online use of above the line marketing, websites and social media are the building blocks to be used when promoting yourself as an identifiable brand, whether that be personal or in association with a working entity / collective, which in turn can open up opportunities and placements, to more greatly establish yourself as an artist and which brings you to the attention of a more targeted audience / demographic. This can therefore be viewed as broadcast marketing.

Conversely, “Below the line marketing” targets specific individuals through means of direct communications and therefore a means of narrowcasting. One key form of traditional below the line marketing, which has been transferred digitally, is the fan club / mailing list. As Kusek, Leonhard & Lindsay (2005: 67) note “[m]ailing lists keep fans updated on shows and events, while at the same time allowing for the band to get a better idea of the demographic of its fan base. Eminem and Prince have been able to fill almost half of the seats at large arenas with their fan clubs.” Additionally, donation led platforms such as Patreon, Kickstarter and GoFundMe, have allowed for audiences to support artists in exchange for personalised rewards. These are often designated in a cost led tiered system, where the more audiences pay / are charged, the greater the incentives will be. Such incentives could include items like autographs, personal recordings and exclusive merchandise (e.g., limited addition clothing, memorabilia, etc.). These can be seen as a hybrid of above and below marketing, combining the collective input with a uniquely issued trade-off on the part of the artist.

Micro, Meso and Macro

It is important to understand how the ideas discussed here make an impact on a micro (local / regional), meso (national) and macro (international / global) level. Macro and meso levels are thought about as appealing to more general audiences and are usually targeted after some time from initial beginnings (above the line). The Micro level is where artists will usually begin and therefore would initially expect greater benefits from below the line strategies to firstly establish brand identity, loyalty, quality, as well as building business relations and contacts. On a micro scale, artists would hopefully find themselves gaining exposure on local radio stations / podcasts and regional based publications found on their respective websites, etc. Moreover, these area scales should not just be seen as sequential steppingstones to get from one level to the next, but rather, if you acquire such reach, all three (Micro, Meso and Macro) should be constantly employed where possible. For instance, a homecoming “gig” / event by an artist who has since achieved “success” can provide local publications that first gave support and assistance to said artist returned gratitude by giving these organisations renewed publicity and exposure from the artist’s newly found high profile. This helps to further prolong a loyal local following / renowned for scene which thrives on for years, and which is highly beneficial to all.

4 / 7 Ps

I will now discuss the 4 / 7 Ps of music marketing, the first four being main factors when it comes to marketing, with an additional three that further flesh these out and make specificities about any given campaign. The first couple of these terms, which are Product and Promotion have previously been explored above.

Product refers to the three music industry sectors of recording, rights and live, where an artist’s work can be heard / employed. For the recorded sector, this refers to listening formats, whether it be analogue / digital or possibly a mixture of both. For live, these are remote performances that are congregated around and where potential audiences pay an admission fee to attend. More subtlety, rights ensure that authorized public performances of an artist’s music from events or establishments / authorized merchandise purchases through legitimate retailers / distributers are compensated for in the use of their credited track, performance, and any Intellectual Property that provides a source of revenue stream. Ultimately, this all refers to what you are selling

Promotion, as strategic marketing leader Simon Kingsnorth (2016: 11) states, “is what most people think of when they hear the word marketing … This is often the first time that people will have any relationship with your brand and sometimes, certainly in below-the-line marketing, this can be a personal relationship. As we all know, first impressions are very important so getting your promotion right is vital.”

Price refers to how you deliver the product and justify costs in such a way that people are prepared to willingly pay for it. If you have 100 fans who pay an average product cost for your merchandise (this could be anything including recordings, clothing and accessories), and if your production cost for each item is £10 and you have a sell on price of £15 (£5 more than it costs you to produce), then each individual item will make you a profit of £5 (total profit of £500). This profit margin is acceptable to the artist, but the sale price of £15 is also acceptable to the consumer because this is a reasonable and affordable price to pay for such pieces of favoured memorabilia. Conversely, you could tailor costs to how pricing structures fit in with whatever stage you are at as an artist (Micro, Meso, Macro), such mixed marketplace philosophy as demonstrated by artists like Llyod Cole, who makes use of multiple above (promotional announcements, teaser excerpts) and below (personalised recordings, signatured items) the line marketing strategies.

With regards to Place. Kingsnorth (2016: 11) notes that your online presence “must be easy to find — this relates back to SEO [Search Engine Optimization, see page 7], paid search and most other digital acquisition channels. Once someone arrives is it easy to navigate and find the information and products that they want?”

When considering People, an alternative one-word summary that best explains this aspect is “who”. For audiences, do they know “who” the act is stylistically / genre wise or “who” are the band members (associated archetypes including the quiet one, the funny one, the sporty one, etc.)? For artists, do they have the right types of people involved at every stage? Being able to distinctly identity yourself as a person and all the other appropriate personnel involved is a necessity to maintain a long-term sustainable career in the music industry.

The notion of Process makes use of the practices demonstrated in the production and distribution modes, adopted by artists and which involves audiences that can be viewed as the necessary steps as to how someone acquires a product or service. In reference to on-line music marketing, this “is related to consumers’ desire to be able to download and play music on any devices they have including their computers, home entertainment systems, and portable MP3 players (Burrows et al., 2003)” (Vaccaro and Cohn, 2004: 52).

Finally, Physical Evidence makes use of tactile objects and imagery features that are hallmarks to your brand / core values and which further symbolises quality offerings. As Vaccaro and Cohn (2004: 53) further point out in the online sphere, “consumers who purchase a song also receive a picture of the CD cover (Mossberg, 2003). It is recommended that legitimate on-line digital music distribution services do market research to find out what types of physical evidence, information, or services could be offered with the core product of music to provide added value to different consumer market segments and generate higher profits.”

SWOT / PESTEL

Making use of a SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats) analysis, as well as a more detailed PESTL (Political, Economic, Social, Technological, Environmental, Legal) analysis when considering marketing strategies will ensure that Production, Distribution and Consumption (PDC) concerns are fully considered and improves the likelihood of successful outcomes being achieved. As a result, processes can be readily applied for each platform used in a marketing campaign through different digital medias. Because of this, what you set out to achieve with a campaign and ultimately its success(es) will be dependent on the marketing metrics which you aim to target. Is it the most amount of engagement (listens, views, likes, replies, retweets, subscriptions, followers) with streaming / social media platforms as possible, or rather how much profit made and return on investment on those very same platforms? “While exposure and revenue generation are key considerations, it's important not to forget one of the prime benefits social media and streaming offers the music industry: data. Bands … can now head out into the world with proof of their popularity. Some bookers won't even say "yes" to a performance unless a certain number of likes have been reached”(Edmondson, 2013: 3).

Conclusion

To sum up, there are a number of conceptual terms and theories which need not only to be understood but which act as instinctive knowledge before committing oneself in a newfound venture as a musical artist. This ultimately revolves around the aforementioned Production, Distribution and Consumption (PDC) stages of the music industry, as well as more generally the technological, behavioural and economic factors that arise from you the artist and your audience. Ensuring that every aspect of this ever-expanding industry is covered in a reasonable, logical and corroborated manner, will most likely result in a successful marketing strategy, determined by your own definition of “success”, being achieved.

Bibliography

· EDMONDSON, J., 2013. How Social Media and Streaming Have Influenced the Music Industry [online]. Available from: https://musicalmillennials.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/edmondson-2013.pdf

· KINGSNORTH, S., 2016. Digital Marketing Strategy: An integrated approach to online marketing. Kogan Page Publishers. Available from: http://elibrary.gci.edu.np/bitstream/123456789/3389/1/Bt.bm.522Digital%20Marketing%20Strategy%20An%20Integrated%20Approach%20to%20Online%20Marketing%20by%20Simon%20Kingsnorth.pdf

· KUSEK, D., LEONHARD, G., & LINDSAY, S. G., 2005. The future of music: manifesto for the digital music revolution. [eBook]. Boston: Berklee Press. Available from: https://archive.org/details/futureofmusicman00kuse

· LATHROP, T., 2003. This Business of Music Marketing & Promotion. New York: Billboard Books.

· VACCARO, V.L. and COHN, D.Y., 2004. The evolution of business models and marketing strategies in the music industry. International journal on media management [online]. 6 (1-2), pp.46-58. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1080/14241277.2004.9669381

Image References

· HOUGHTON, B., 2013. The Evolution of Music Tech [online]. Available from: http://www.hypebot.com/hypebot/2013/06/the-evolution-of-music-tech-infographic.html

· JACKSON, P., 2019. Imagined and Real: Audiences of the Music Industry, MUS2004 Music and Media. [online via VLE] Edge Hill University. Available from: https://learningedge.edgehill.ac.uk/webapps/blackboard/content/listContent.jsp?course_id=_250853_1&content_id=_2901639_1

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wolfiefics · 4 years

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To all the fans of Steve Rogers who persist that Steve was in the right during Civil War, consider this:

Your argument that after the events of Winter Soldier he lost faith in the US government, why did he stay? Why did he not renounce his US citizenship and try elsewhere? He likely had enough ties with another country, either of familial origin or one he helped liberate during WWII, to do so. Why did he stay? Why did he continue being an Avenger? Living by US society rules put in place and maintained by the government he no longer believed in? If you can answer that in a logical way that isn't knee-jerk high-mindedness, I'll concede it.

If he was right to go against the Accords because "they stifled his freedom" then you are advocating the same mindset of the people taking guns into government buildings in an attempt to terrorize officials into not wearing protective gear designed to save the lives of themselves, their family and their fellow citizens AS IS IN THE US CONSTITUTION CHARTER. Or you are the one calling the police on someone for doing something you don't like, lying about it to make it wrong when that person was doing nothing wrong to begin with? You just didn't like them for some reason, they have to go away. FREEDOM is not a gift. It's not a thing that everyone has. EVER. Not even in the US at the time of the American Revolution. Freedom is a CONCEPT, an ideal to reach for. A utopian dream. The very nature of human civilization NEGATES freedom by its very existence. You want "freedom"? I can rob, rape, murder, enslave, and destroy everything I want to because I'm FREE to do so! No one can tell me what to do! You're the victim? Not my problem! Maybe you should be bigger, meaner, carry a bigger weapon or have more people in your side. FREEDOM is ANARCHY, lawlessness, and disrespecting others wants and needs for whatever you want to have withoutrestrictionsof moral conscience instilled by society (i.e. laws and government).

Society, civilization, has rules for a reason. So that shit DOESN'T happen. You don't follow the rules? You're a criminal. Since the Law Codes of Hammurabi its been this way (before that, those are just the first known written laws). Rules can be amended, recodified, or completely rewritten as your society and culture expands intellectually, technologically or in accordance of getting along with another culture different from yours. They aren't concrete (I was going to say "written in stone but some actually were...aforementioned Hammurabi law codes for example).

But to argue that Steve Rogers was right to IGNORE the rules and laws and do whatever he wanted because he was "betrayed" by the government is ignorant, elitist bullshit. He had NO RIGHT to do that. Attempt to dissuade, argue down or compromise, yes, definitely. But give it the middle finger and stomp off in a snit and do whatever HE thinks is right? He's no longer a law-abiding citizen who has EARNED the rights of his society. He has turned his back on them. I'm not saying the Accords were right (though they had a strong argument for it) but everyone tried to tell him "do this now, we'll wiggle it around til it's more acceptable. If not, they are going to ram it down our throats or throw us in a dark dank corner and forget we're there". But noooo! Steve was too good for that! The petty concerns of almost the entire world is not his problem! HE knows better than ANYONE what's right and what's wrong! Fuck them! He was not interested in compromise, trying to work a deal, nothing. He saw it as oppression and done! And that's how all of you who say he's in the right feel too. 112 out of 128 countries have no RIGHT to feel threatened! What's their problem anyway? It’s not like the Avengers destroyed an entire country! Oh wait.. well it's just some backwater Eastern bloc country, no big loss. And part of South Africa. And an entire floor of visiting humanitarian and diplomat workers. No big deal. The UN should just suck it up. Steve knows what he's doing.

All governments have laws a person doesn't like. Nature of the beast. You might get away with bending it on occasion, depending what it is. But if your actions breaking it means ending the lives of others or compromising/destroying their property or culture because "I'm right, you're wrong"? Bigotry. Elitism. Holier than thou. Entire civilizations have vanished for that and we know little to nothing about them because that attitude meant no one cared to note it. Those civilizations could have cures for, I don't know, CANCER!!? (Medicine Man with Sean Connery is awesome. You should watch it).

The first rule EVERY writer learns when writing about sentient beings is there are good things and there are FLAWS. There is no such thing as perfect. If you have a perfect person who can do no wrong, makes no mistakes, just rolls through life getting everything they want without effort...why would you want that? It's boring. It's unrealistic. Why is this persistent idea that everything Steve does is right and just and morally incorruptible? Sounds like some asshole that needs a bullet in the brain before he decides to kill ME for getting in his way. Most of you don't write him in your own fics that way. Why on EARTH do you think he's perfect in the movie verse? Is he not fictional? Is he not a character in a story? Is he somehow exempt in the movies of all writing conventions?

Civil War is easily the worst of the MCU movies. The potholes are so large you can hyper drive the Deathstar through them. Too many to go into here. That's a whole nother rant. But this movie is the basis of this fan idea that Steve can do no wrong and anyone who opposed or argued with him are immoral, arrogant and oppressive...or government doormats. REALLY?! It's obvious Steve trusts NO ONE. Not Sam, whose life he continually puts in danger with very little remorse. Nat, who has been at his side since two weeks after he woke in the 21st century, fought aliens, was on an elite task force with (two in fact), etc ad nauseum but since she DARED to disagree with him, she's obviously not to be trusted. And he was hyper focused on two things:Bucky and Peggy. Peggy, he moped and brooded over, punishing himself for a trick of Fate. FOR YEARS. And Bucky, who was such an obvious distraction that Hydra knew it was a HUGE weak spot and CONTINUALLY used it against him at the expense of other people's lives that Steve apparently didn't give two shits about or even attempted to modify that weakness. How many legitimate, under cover S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were exposed world-wide when Nat laid bare every record of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Not even a flicker of remorse from Steve. Made this big patriotic speech to the Triskellian but not one single mention at all in the planning of those people. None. Cannon fodder. So sad, too bad, ah well! Gotta save Bucky!! Same in Civil War. Steve headed that op in Africa. He ordered and helped gather the Intel on Crossbones and his gang. He made the plan, placed an unstable high-powered individual ALONE in the field with Nat telling her what to do over an ear piece (and Wanda blew her off), as soon as Crossbones blew Steve's strategy, he went gung-ho through a major, heavily populated marketplace, confronted the enemy, IMMEDIATELY got compromised by the word "Bucky" and allowed Crossbones to set off a suicide vest. If Wanda hadn't been there, Steve and that entire block would have been decimated. Wanda did her best, but she was not up to snuff and lives were lost anyway. Did Steve show remorse? No. He brooded that Rumlow said "Bucky and I was 16 again". He told Wanda essentially that it's regrettable but not to worry about it. Those dead people due to his hard-on to get Rumlow? All those lives of diplomats and humanitarian workers gone? No big whoop. Sad but you know, Steve's perfect so they just had to die. He willingly and uncaringly put people in harm's way that got them killed that with a cool head and better planning (or compromise with others ideas) could have been avoided. That's the making of a sociopath. A monster. NOT someone who should be in charge of an elite team that defeated an ALIEN INVASION HEADED BY A GOD.

Think about this. I loved the Winter Soldier. I think it's in my top 5 MCU movies. Other than the exposure of who knows how many legitimate S.HI.E.L.D agents who may have been in the middle of stopping child slavery rings or something, it's an excellent film. Civil War? Garbage. Utter garbage. Trash. They had a good plot, the Hydra super soldiers, that could have been action packed, exposed Bucky's whereabouts, had a big fight scene, had Tony learning Steve had been omitting how his parents died and still had Zemo taken down and the Avengers break up. Set it up even. Those soldiers were shot off screen as this confusing red herring. Why even mention them if you're just going to shoot them off-screen like an afterthought? Hmm. I should write that. I may have too, if someone hasn't done it already. If so, DM me the link?

But get away from this "Steve Rogers can't be wrong cuz he's Captain America" schtick. Bad enough Civil War turned him into a callous, selfish tool. Don't make the situation worse for him.

I love my Stucky, don't get me wrong. I'll die on this ship. But Civil War is NOT the Steve Rogers characterization you need to be advocating as the ideal. In that movie, he's an asshole and if Peggy or 1930s Bucky knew what he'd done, they'd have BOTH punched him. Maybe more than once. And withheld his dessert at dinner.

I'm just saying.

#steve rogers is not perfect #civil war was hideous #unpopular rant I'm sure #hate at me I'll probably not notice #i rarely look at my messages

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thesilverdragoon · 4 years

Text

The Musica Universalis

Previous: Tomorrow

Next: The Crystalline Mean

“If anyone is to ask you where you are from, and other...potentially difficult questions to answer, might I suggest feigning amnesia?

It wouldn’t be out of the realm of the pixies to potentially torment an unlucky (yet for whatever reason, perhaps deserving I admit, they are terribly fickle beings...) soul to the point where he hardly remembered where he came from.”

Ves moved his prosthetic arm in circles, wincing at every jolt that came through it and down his spine.

How it had potentially become damaged, or misaligned or something, was beyond him (not that it would have been surprising…)

“So, is there any reason why you decided not to come out and show yourself as you normally do??” He asked, seemingly to himself to any passerbys he stumbled across.

Every turn in this gigantic and winding city only introduced him to even more of its residents, who did not recognize him and made that much very obvious.

And now the stranger was talking to himself?

Oh what misfortune had to have befallen upon this poor soul? They quite possibly wondered.

Puffy groaned inside his coat. “Don’t remember.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember??”

“Nothin’. Not a thing. ZIP.”

“But I- ...Hmph, well… whatever the case. He has no idea what you are, I have no idea what you are, or whatever we were- and now, we’re stuck here, in this place,” Ves continued to mutter, more so to himself than to the worm.

He paused at a crossroads, unsure of where to wander off to next. In the center of the round room made of glass lied an enormous aetheryte crystal, not unlike the ones in the major cities back home.

Many things seemed rather similar to home...

Staying in the Crystal Tower too had been quite the experience, but he’d grown bored of the enormous amounts of blue and gilded metal and stone within a relatively short period of time. And as generous as the Exarch was, something about him that the Ishgardian couldn’t quite place… Something that unnerved him? No, not unnerved. Made uncomfortable? Possibly, but that didn’t feel like the right word either.

To the south he spotted gardens and dark green lawns and continued on in that direction, stepping out into another rather large series of decorated glass domes, with walkways high above the main path on the ground floor.

He’d never seen a city like this before. Nothing on Eorzea even came close. It was quite beautiful, to say the least.

He couldn’t marvel at the wonder for entirely long. Not without all the worry seeping back in.

How would he get home? If he could even go home at all?

Would he have to live here in this city for the rest of his life? However long that was??

The thought of not being able to see anyone ever again made him sick to his stomach, and gave him a rather dreary expression as he walked along the pathway and into what looked to be a marketplace.

Stalls upon stalls and little shops lined the outer rings of the dome, cram packed with merchants selling all sorts of things. Again, not unlike home… Just things from places he’d never been.

Puffy too peered out at their surroundings every now and again, keeping quiet and very still, almost as if the worm too were nervous. Maybe he was. Ves could only feel some of it, as the rest seemed to be blocked off from his mind somehow.

As they neared the center of the marketplace, Ves slowed to a stop, looking down at his boots.

He could ask himself what he was going to do all day long, and never be satisfied with the answer. And it gnawed at him.

This was real.

This place, these people- those monsters outside of the city limits?

All of it was real.

The realization made him dizzy, but not enough to make a fool of himself in public. Not yet.

He continued on. Maybe he could sit on the grass somewhere, and think.

Every so often he would catch glimpses of more of the soldiers. Unlike their counterparts that seemed to patrol the woods outside, the ones stationed at nearly every corner within the Crystarium donned scarves of crimson instead.

They were quite fetching, as a matter of fact. But he quickly pushed that aside, moving out further onto one of the lawns.

Off in the distance he could see children running around playing and screaming. It was probably ok to sit there.

Once he found a spot out of the way, he did.

Puffy came out of his collar, cautiously of course. “What a weird place.”

“I don’t know if weird is quite the word for it… Different maybe. Uncanny in some parts? Definitely… It’s like… being in a mirror. You know, where you see you but- but it’s not you, but it LOOKS like you- I don’t know how to explain it. That’s just the feeling I get.”

“...YOU’RE weird.”

“Ugh…

What would you understand.” He should have known.

Puffy hissed, “I’m STUCK here with YOU. I don’t know WHERE I AM- I DON’T KNOW ANY OF THESE FREAKS- AND I DUNNO WHAT WE’RE GONNA DO!!!” Ves didn’t answer, eyes half lidded as he carefully laid back onto the grass, sprawled out and with his eyes closed.

“THIS ISN’T THE TIME FOR A NAP!!”

He ignored him and instead focused on listening… on breathing…

The people noises remained. The clatter of daily life continued on without a care.

This was real.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

The leather ball hitting him square in the face was real too, he quickly found out.

Ves sat up and held his hands over his nose and mouth as both of them throbbed, tears welling in his eyes he squeezed shut. What in the world-

Beside himself he could hear several pairs of feet running right for him, and then slowing down.

“Sorry sir- Arval didn’t mean to kick so hard-”

“I didn’t see him!!”

The Ishgardian opened an eye carefully, spotting the children. One an elezen with dark hair, another a au ra child, and a miqo’te behind them both.

All positively adorable.

“Can we have our ball back?” The elezen boy seemed to be the leader of this small gang. “We’re sorry, honest!” He looked distressed over the whole thing.

Ves blinked a few times and looked to his side, picking up the ball with a hand and rolling it back. “Here- it’s all right- it was an accident-”

“Are you a Eulmoran??” The miqo’te girl asked, or squeaked rather.

“Huh?”

“That’s a very fancy coat,” She continued, coming forward with her tail swishing with interest behind her.

The au ra boy squinted critically before realizing that she was correct in that it was quite fancy. “It looks expensive.”

The elezen tilted his head, “It kind of does…? Are you?? Sir??”

“Wh-”

What in the world was a Eulmoran? A surge of panic welled up in Ves’ chest immediately, only to sink back down again once he realized that Puffy was no longer within sight.

That hardly helped him answer the question.

“I er…” The Exarch’s words circled in his head. “I don’t remember I’m afraid.”

“Don’t remember?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Someone told me that uh… pixies got to me.”

“Pixies!” The miqo’te almost chirped. “I’ve heard stories- they’re downright scary! Even if they are shiny and small and pretty-”

“Mostly scary.” The elezen rolled his eyes. “But they live in Il Mheg and they stay there. They wouldn’t leave for anything.”

“Come on, let’s go!” The au ra complained.

“Alright- fine!

Sorry again sir, we’ll try to be more careful.”

Without any further words, all three of them darted off to the same patch of grass they were playing on earlier, kicking the ball around just as recklessly.

The Ishgardian watched them for a few moments before getting to his feet again, groaning as another jolt ran down his arm and his back. It felt sharper that time.

“I need to do something about this...” The pains, albeit extremely short, were very troubling.

Maybe there was someone around who could at least take a look at it… Or perhaps he could find that secret compartment within it somewhere that held an extra manual in it. Or some other sort of convenient gadget that would solve the problem instantly. Was that wishful thinking? Absolutely.

As he moved his legs, another pain shot down his spine again and towards his toes on one side.

That one, in all likelihood, was just from being old.

#dovah writing #couldnt think of a title for this one

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notmyatari · 4 years

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On “Intellivision Amico,” from a friend

This was just posted on the AtariAge forum, where Tommy Tallarico has been holding court for the past year. I thought it would be smart to preserve it here.

Yes, yes, official "hater," here.

I have certainly not made any secret of my dislike of what Tallerico has brought to our forum (cronyism, white knighting, a lack of critical thinking). That's probably not entirely fair... some of the Amico enthusiasm I'm sure is pure and genuine, but it really seems anything but the most mild criticism is met with insults, dogma and blinded thinking. I have stopped subscribing because of it (perhaps I'll go back to subscribing when some of this silliness dies down; I obviously still use and mostly enjoy the site). I have stopped trusting certain AA staff because of it. My block list is much larger than it used to be. I know perfectly well that a certain CEO has gone after me at least a couple of times (I'm really not sure why as I haven't done anything in his "official" thread and have limited most of my negative comments to YouTube... and even then, it's generally been light snark, never anything as personal as some around here have become). I've never been banned or reprimanded on this (or any) forum.

I truly hope some of you can put that, all of that aside for a second. I want to appeal to your critical thinking caps for a bit.

I always said that I did like the idea of family friendly, casual gaming. I have too many video games to even list (I'm one of those dorks with literally thousands of games), and hardly any time to play them... so fun, small pick up and play experiences and multiplayer experiences that my significant other and I can enjoy are important to me.

I have also been consistent in my view that an Amico was unnecessary to have those experiences.

I don't know that I'm a huge fan of any company or brand. I certainly have my expectations of certain companies, certain brands. When Nintendo releases a compilation of budget mini games, I have an expectation that they will be (for the most part) well thought out, buttoned up tightly and be mostly good value for money.

I don't need to become a walking infomercial for the Switch. You probably already know if one is good for you and your family or whatever. I will say this... at this point, if you can't see that Switch (really any console, but let's put aside the really heavy hitters that cost a ton for a second) provides literally everything Tallerico has promised you so far... RIGHT NOW, then you are either not looking carefully enough or you've been blinded by the "science" of talking to Tommy. I get it; I thought it was super cool when he first joined the forum, too! I legitimately love some of his contributions to gaming. My thoughts of happiness curdled slowly at first and then more quickly as I saw how he conducted himself here and elsewhere. All too often criticism became a reason to personally attack others. All along, there seemed to be a burning desire to have the last word, which, in and of itself is obnoxious, but doubly so when he preaches "let's agree to disagree" one time and then goes after physical appearances, relationships, mental states and other assorted nasty things on the other.

Putting aside my criticism of his behavior here for a moment, let's talk about the product he is trying to bring to market.

Most of the skepticism in regards to the Amico has been, all along, that it wasn't bringing enough DIFFERENCE to the table, particularly when Switch exists. Certainly, as the price of the console crept (continues to creep?) upward, the idea of a budget conscious console has all but flown out the window. "But what about the cost of games?" I hear some of you say. Well, sure, first party Nintendo games tend to be fifty or sixty(!) bucks... but how many wonderful indie titles come in under the 10 dollar mark? Hell, even the five dollar mark? "But the shop is too difficult to navigate; my mom can't do it!" I dunno... if you are that concerned about your mom's gaming habits, you help her with it? Just a thought. "But porn!" Sigh. You want to go after Nintendo (or any of the big guys) for charging an arm and a leg for controllers and peripherals... well sure, that's absolutely true... they gouge us! But when Amico costs right under what Switch costs already... I don't know how long you can hang onto that lifeline.

I think that the release of that trailer for 51 Worldwide Games today absolutely puts paid to the Amico and even the concept of it. You have 51 games, coming in at roughly forty bucks (what's that... 80 cents a game? even if a third of them suck, you'd still be looking at over thirty games)... and almost everything on that comp is something that Amico has touted for themselves (and no, I don't believe Nintendo is releasing this to undercut Amico somehow. This kind of dominance of casual gaming is WHAT NINTENDO DOES) as being an experience you can only have thru their machine. It just simply isn't the case. You can prosthelytize about the revolutionary controller and couch co-op and everything else you want... but my biggest problem all along has been that rhetoric.

Couch co-op already exists. On every game platform.

Fun, pick up and play family games exist. On every platform.

Easy to use controls? I guess that one is debatable, but I feel like that's more down to developers. I'm certainly not convinced that the Amico controller is some kind of paradigm-shifting wonder peripheral, anymore than I was about the Wiimote. The argument of "you have to hold one to see" simply doesn't work unless you're mailing one to those three billion people for a week so they can all give it the ol' college try.

Another red flag has been the insistence that Amico "isn't for us" (us meaning people who care enough about games to hang out on a board, I guess)... and yet, Tallerico spends a great deal of time here, preaching to the converted, and then making sure that every YouTube channel, big and small gets a personal checkup from him (or the faithful) if the word "Amico" is uttered. It's not for "us," but why is the drum being hit so hard on places that have "us." Do you see the disconnect, there? This weird, grassroots marketing appeal loses a lot of it's attractiveness when Tallerico has flat out stated that getting YouTube "influencers" onside was part of his strategy... and then suddenly skeptics have phone calls and interviews and free stuff. What are we supposed to think? What is anybody supposed to think? I can't help but think of the part in the Wayne's World movie where suddenly it's Wayne and Garth shilling Nike and Motrin for five minutes. I get wanting to go after 3 billion casual gamers who just play freeimum games on their phone... but I honestly and truly believe that if Tallerico and his team wanted to do that, they should have developed a suite of unmissable, killer software for phones, Steam, Switch, PSN, Live Marketplace (or whatever it's called these days), etc. under the Intellivision banner. Instead, they have gone this all but baffling route, designing an underpowered console from the ground up, couching it as some kind of budget solution and then watching as the price slowly grew. What is the end goal here? The stated goals of bringing back family gaming and so forth sound great... but they simply do not hold up to the light of scrutiny. Families never stopped gaming. Cheap, small games are within reach. I don't like the proliferation of huge budget AAA FPS titles with lootboxes and all of the other perils of modern gaming either... but nor do I pretend that that's all there is to gaming in this time.

Despite all of this, I don't wish Tallerico or Amico ill. He saw his shot, and I guess he took it. I don't think the Amico has much of a chance commercially, even being sold at non traditional retail channels. Very few will ever know about it; it will most likely be a blip on the radar. I do wish the never ending infomercial here at Atari Age would end. I do wish that some of you would realize that when you white knight for Amico, when you "stan" for it (as the kids allegedly say), you make the whole operation look bad. When you bash others for not liking an unproven, untried product... who are you actually doing harm to? The targets of your ire? I realize that this will kick up some stink, and I'm not particularly looking forward to it or looking for a fight. In fact, I won't. I've stated my issues, reservations and concerns. I particularly expect anything to change. I already know who this message will resonate with and who will take it as a personal attack. I just wanted to get some of this off of my chest, particularly in light of that Worldwide games trailer. Let me get it out of the way; my name is Justin, I'm married and have no kids and the Amico isn't for me and I have too many games and I'm a manchild with toys on a shelf and etc. I'm a "hater," remember. But the last thing I am is a bandwagon jumper.

I really hope that some of you don't take this as some hate-filled screed... rather it's an appeal. An appeal to not let yourselves get so caught up in something that criticism of that thing hurts you like you were attacked. An appeal to look below the surface, even slightly when a new product is announced. If there are things you want, your family wants... don't be fooled by hype. Don't fall in love with the IDEA of something to the exclusion of all else. Instead, look around to see if your needs can be met by other means. Do you need the better mousetrap? Will that better mousetrap actually BE any better? Please think critically.

#intellivision #amico #tommytallarico

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platonicone · 5 years

Text

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 5 - A lost friend (ephelis)

Do you care for someone because of who they are? Or because of who you are? I wonder...

He turned around and noticed that both Umbra and Pryna were gone too.

“Guess it’s just you and me now,” he said, to sleeping Lunafreya.

He moved closer to her bedside and leaned on to get a closer look at the sleeping girl. “So, you are the legendary Oracle, huh? Did you hear what Gentiana said? Apparently, both Umbra and Pryna were in my world too.”

After pondering, he continued, “Gentiana didn’t say anything about you. I wonder if you were in my world as well. Did we know each other? You know, I am usually not good with people, but I am surprisingly comfortable with you. It’s as if we have known each other for a very long time. It’s either that or the medicine Dr. K gave me is making me high,” he said, allowing himself a small chuckle.

Talking to a girl in coma felt like a déjà vu. After a few quiet moments by her bedside, he sat down on the visitor’s chair. “I guess I’ll be sleeping in the chair tonight.”

He was not sleepy yet and there was nothing to do. To avoid boredom, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He started flipping through some channels absentmindedly. He finally settled on a news channel. There was a one-hour special on the fall of Insomnia. The show covered a variety of topics such as the history of the Kingdom of Lucis, the Empire of Niflheim, Tenebrae, Accordo, the royal family and refugees.

Insomnia hosts Lucis's seat of power, the Citadel, that contains a large Crystal within its walls. The Crown City is a bustling metropolis stacked with skyscrapers. It is separated from the mainland by a bridge and is surrounded by water and tall ramparts. Insomnia is protected by a magical Wall projected from the Citadel by the monarch, and this is where the royal family lives. Citizens go about their daily lives under the protection of this impenetrable magical shield.

‘A magical barrier protecting its city from the rest of the world. Hmm, I am sure there was a city like that in my world.’ he wondered, as he continued watching the show.

Niflheim is technologically superior and more advanced than most nations of the world due to their knowledge of magitek. It has developed an army that doesn't need human soldiers, the magitek infantry, and is developing weapons to neutralize the magic of Lucian royalty. Niflheim deploys two types of soldiers (commonly from magitek engines): ones with glowing eyes, and others with their faces entirely covered. The glowing eyes type is the magitek infantry, humanoid machines powered by magitek cores. The imperial infantry appears to be human cyborgs. The terms "magitek infantry" and "imperial soldiers" are often used interchangeably, but the magitek types greatly outnumber the soldier types, having largely replaced them. Another type of magitek weapon the empire deploys is the magitek armor, usually large bipedal robots, but recently the empire has developed new forms, such as the monstrous Diamond Weapon to the wormlike Immortalis. The Empire has gained many territories under the watchful eyes of the Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt. Emperor Aldercapt is an ambitious leader who has practically conquered the entire Eos with his military might. Insomnia is the last frontier for the Emperor.

“An ambitious ruler obsessed with power. A militaristic nation which conquers everything in its path. This too, sounds familiar. Perhaps another memory from my old world?” he wondered aloud. His eyes were glued to the TV as he learned more details about this fascinating world.

War is such a terrible thing. So many lives lost, so many families separated, so much destruction, for what? To gain a new piece of land? For the right to be called most powerful? As the Oracle once said, ‘The only war worth fighting is the war within against your own greed, lust for power and ego. If only, we did that, this world would be a better place.’ Thank you for tuning in for this special program, this is your reporter Avery Ware.

“There are no victors in war, only survivors. Everyone loses something in the war,” he said before turning off the TV.

“As a soldier when you are deployed on a mission, you don’t know if you or your fellow soldiers will ever come back. That’s why I try not to get attached to people. It hurts so much when you lose them,” he said to his sleeping friend at a distance.

He stood up and walked up to her bed to check she was comfortable. He slightly lifted her head and adjusted her pillow. He pulled over her blanket and tucked it around her gently.

He took his medicine before retreating to his chair. He reclined his seat back and drifted to sleep.

Next morning

He noticed light footsteps in the room and immediately bolted upright in his seat.

“It’s only me, calm down,” said Dr. K., “I came to check on Stella.”

Still half asleep, he blurted out without thinking, “Who is Stella?”

“What?” said Dr. K in complete shock.

‘You stupid.’ If his mind had a face, it would have facepalmed itself.

“I said how is Stella?” He tried to cover up his slip.

‘Smooth recovery.’ His mind said.

“Oh, for a second I thought you said, who is Stella and I kind of freaked out,” she said laughing.

“How is she doing?” He asked, getting up from the chair.

“Her vitals are stable. Her blood work returned this morning, nothing out of the ordinary there as well. We still know why she is not waking up, though.”

“Dr. K, we have an emergency,” said a nurse from the door, interrupting their conversation.

“Coming,” she said before rushing off.

“So, nothing is wrong, but you still refuse to wake up. Did I ever tell you that you can be very stubborn sometimes?” he chided sleeping Lunafreya playfully.

After finishing his morning rituals, he got ready to take on another day.

‘Day one, we almost got killed. Day two was spent in the hospital. Day three, let’s see how this pans out.’

After arguing with the front desk staff for a good half an hour, he finally stepped out of the clinic, still furious.

‘Just because I am injured does not mean I cannot get the job done. Yesterday Dr. K said that I could help with their chores to repay my hospital bills, but today she was like, ‘oh no, you can’t take on quests, what if you get hurt more?’ Just shut up old lady and give me the damn quest and let me worry about myself. I know you are trying to protect me, but let me just help. Why is everyone in this world so damn stubborn? I can’t believe I wasted half an hour on that. Next time—' He was walking around fuming when someone ran into him with full speed halting the progression of his thoughts.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry. Are you okay?” asked a feminine voice of the person who literally ran into him.

“Watch where you are going,” he said, trying to get back up on his feet. She had run into his injured arm, sending a jolt of pain through his shoulder.

He got back up and looked at the culprit.

She was about 5’3” with short dark brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a black and red short-sleeved hoodie, and a black and red tartan-pattern miniskirt. She wore black heeled boots with red soles. She had a leather choker and a necklace with a round black pendant. She had two belts with a chain hanging from one attached to her skirt. She had a red cord wrapped around her left wrist and a leather bracer on her other wrist.

She said in a sweet voice full of concern, “Umm, are you okay?”

“Ya, I am fine,” he replied curtly.

“I am sorry for running into you,” she apologized sweetly.

“It’s okay,” he said with a nod.

“By the way, my name is Iris,” she said, offering a handshake.

He usually does not like to shake hands, but thought he should play along this time.

“Squall,” he said, as he shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Squall,” she said, in a cheery tone.

‘If sugar manifested into a human form, it would be her.’ he thought.

“I have not seen you around before. Are you new here?” She asked.

‘Just shut up and let me be on my way.’

“Ya,” he replied, short and sweet.

“Oh, I know,” she said, getting all excited and clapping her hands. “How about I give you a tour of Lestalleum? Since I ran into you that’s the least I could do to make up for it.”

“No, it's okay,” he said, trying to step aside and be on his way.

She sidestepped blocking his way. “No, it’s not okay. I have to make it up to you. Come on, it would be fun.”

“No, I have to--” before he could finish his sentence, she interjected. “Pretty please?” She said joining her hands and giving him puppy eyes.

He sighed and agreed, “Fine.”

“Whoo-hoo,” she exclaimed in joy.

A sudden jolt of headache came as he clutched his head in pain. A distant memory resurfaced. He vaguely remembered a girl who ran into him on her first day of school. She had eyes like a puppy. She had a very cheerful attitude, which can make even the cemetery come alive. He recalled giving her a tour of their academy on her first day and being her friend since then.

He suddenly jolted out of his trance when she placed her hand on his right should, “Are you really okay? Should we go to the clinic?”

“I am fine. I just have some headache,” he said, trying to brush it off.

“If you say so,” she said in a concerned voice.

Within the next few moments, she was back to her cheery self, “Shall we begin our tour, Squall?”

‘Even if I say no, it's not going to make a difference.’ He thought with his hand instinctively reaching his forehead. ‘Besides, it might not be a bad idea to do some reconnaissance.’ He concluded.

“Come on, this way. For our first stop, we’ll check out the marketplace,” she said, walking ahead of him.

Along the way she asked, “Squall, where are you from?”

“Tenebrae,” he said, recalling the name from watching that TV show last night.

“Wow, that’s a long way from here. I’ve heard from Noct that it is a very beautiful place with lots of waterfalls surrounding the palace.”

“It is,” he played along.

“I am from the crown city, Insomnia,” she said proudly.

“So, you are a refugee here?” He took an educated guess. He was glad he watched TV last night.

“Yes.” She paused in her steps, losing all color from her face.

“I am sorry.” He knew enough about the recent event to understand her circumstances.

“It’s okay. We’ll bounce back and kick Empire’s ass. We’ll make them pay for everything they have taken from us,” she said with determination.

Squall nodded in approval.

They reached their set destination. “This is the Partellum Market. You can get almost anything here. Isn’t it great?” She said cheerfully as ever.

“Ya, it is,” he said unenthusiastically as ever.

“I’d buy out the whole place if I could,” she said dreamily.

‘Speaking of buying, I need to get new clothes.’ He said looking at his tattered clothes.

He followed Iris through the crowded street. She stopped at practically every shop window shopping.

While following Iris around the marketplace she came to a sudden stop when she saw something, “Wow! Look at all this neat stuff! I’m gonna take a look, gimme just a sec.”

Even before Squall could say anything she ran off.

Squall explored on his own for a while. He stopped by at the Tostwell Grill to check out hunt quests. He learned more about being a hunter from the shop owner. Eventually, Iris caught up with him.

“Having fun yet? Come on, next we’re gonna see the power plant,” she announced, marching ahead.

Once they climbed the stairs and came out of the alleyway, he saw a huge power plant.

“That’s the power plant, the driving force behind Lestallum’s prosperity. But get this: only women are allowed to work there. As a matter of fact, women do most of the work in this town.”

“Interesting.” He was surprised that he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

"Alright! Next, we’re going to the outlook! Follow me, right this way,” she said with a little extra joy in her voice.

“I’m a city girl, but I love the charm of this town,” she said even without asking.

As they pass a restaurant near the main thoroughfare she said, “You should try the food here. It is really good.”

Squall made a mental note of her recommendations along the way.

As they crossed the road, they could see palm trees lining the main street. Tropical weather of this town made it an ideal tourist destination. All they were missing was a beach, else it would be a complete package.

“You know, I love giving this tour,” she said with a grin looking back at him.

Upon seeing one of the antique-style cars parked in the area, she chirped, “Imagine riding that.”

“Would be nice I bet,” he agreed.

Soon they arrived at the outlook. The scene in front of his eyes was breathtaking, to say the least.

"This is Pegglar Outlook. Amazing view, right? Look! There’s the Meteor!” She said, pointing it out.

“It looks beautiful,” he confessed.

“It’s even more beautiful out here at night. The perfect place to bring your date,” Iris said with a mischief in her voice. “I plan to bring my dream date here someday too,” she said with a smile.

The two stands silently for a moment, looking at the Meteor.

“It sucks to be a refugee, doesn't it? You live in a place where you don’t even belong,” she said, after a long silence, with a sudden shift in her tone.

“Ya, it does,” he agreed, still looking at the glow of fallen meteor.

“I lost everything in that attack at Insomnia. My home, my friends, and my father. My old life, all gone,” she said with sadness evident in her voice.

Comforting a girl who had lost her home felt like a déjà vu. He ignored those thoughts and paid attention to the girl in front of him.

“The damn empire took it all away from me,” she continued in a somber tone still looking towards the meteor.

“Then get strong enough to protect what you love,” he said.

“Huh?” she said, taken a bit by surprise, not really expecting Squall to chime in.

“Reality isn’t so kind. Everything doesn't work out the way you want it to. But at every juncture, you get a choice, either to be a victim and surrender to the circumstances or be a warrior and fight for what’s rightfully yours. If you were one of those lucky ones to survive the destruction at Insomnia, the least you can do now is to fight. Fight for your right to dream and live.”

“You are right. I am not going to give up and surrender. Even if there is nothing but darkness all around me, I will still keep fighting till I find the light,” she said with a firm determination in her eyes. He nodded in affirmation. “You are very brave.”

“No, I am not,” she said with a laugh. “Thanks for motivating me and cheering me up.”

“I did nothing,” he said being modest.

“Have we met before, Squall? You kinda seem familiar,” she said with a confused look on her face.

“I don’t think so,” he denied.

“Ya, you are probably right,” she agreed.

As if an imaginary light bulb had lit over her head, suddenly her expression changed. “Oh, do you remember how I ran off in the marketplace?”

“Yes.”

“I went to get this. Here, take it. It’s a gift,” she said, pulling something out from her pocket.

“No, I can’t take it,” he said politely pushing her hand away.

“Pretty please? I ran into you like a maniac, so I have to make up for it. This gift is a form of my apology,” she said, joining her hands and giving him puppy eyes. His will melts in front of her puppy eyes.

“Fine. What is it?” he said, succumbing to her ultra-powerful puppy eyes.

“It’s a good luck charm; it’s called phoenix pinion. It might come in handy in battle when the odds are against you,” she said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the item as he slightly bowed his head in appreciation.

“You are most welcome,” she said with a wink and her usual mischievous grin.

Suddenly a Chocobo theme song started playing. He wondered where the sound was coming from.

She pulled out her phone as she said, “Sorry, gotta take this.”

She looked at the caller ID and picked up the phone. “Hey Dustin, what’s up? Uh ha. Okay, I’ll be there ASAP.” She hung up the phone and looked at Squall. “I would love to hang out more with you, but Dustin needs some help. One room just opened up at hotel Leville so we will be moving there now,” she said sounding happy.

She reached in the depths of her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and quickly wrote something on it. “Here is my number. Feel free to reach out to me if you need anything. Or if you need another tour,” she said with a smile.

“Let’s hang out again. It was fun. Gotta go for now, bye,” she waved enthusiastically before dashing off.

‘What a strange girl.’

He stood there silently admiring the scenic view in front of him. As he was about to leave, someone approached from behind.

“At first, I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but here you are in the flesh, Squall Leonhart,” said a stranger addressing him.

Squall noticed a middle-aged man with red-violet hair, amber eyes, and strong facial features, walking towards him. He was dressed in a black trench coat and pinstripe trousers. He wore a red scarf and a hooded, gray and white flower-print mantle. He had a black fedora and a black winglike accessory on his left arm.

“I am delighted to see you again, my dear friend.” He said removing his hat and bowing down slightly.

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