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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.

Heyyy,
So my names Ash, I’m turning F21 in September. I’m currently in my second year of uni and live at a residential college.
A bit about my background, I grew up in a very dysfunctional family, my mum is a drug addict with psychosis, my dad passed away by suicide before I was born and my step-dad sexually abused me for most/all of my childhood. I was eleven when I went to the police and told them what was happening, after that I was placed in long term care with my carer (nan) and she was not physically abusive or unsafe but just very emotionally and psychologically abusive.
In year 7, after I had just been placed in care, I got very attached to my year 7 teacher, let’s call her Melissa, I was an eleven year old dealing with major ptsd and no support was given to me, anyways, I told her I loved her and wanted to be with her, obviously now when I look back I just wanted her to be my mum because I didn’t have one anymore, but as an eleven year old who spent the ages of 3 - 11 being molested, I thought it was normal to express love that way, anyways, she ended up filing a restraining order against me, expelling me and I got a formal caution from the police for harassment and stalking. My carer ended up hitting me and calling me weird, so ever since then our relationship has been very strained and I feel a lot of shame about my attachment problems but I know I need to be compassionate and kind to myself about it because it all stems from my mum and trauma.
Fast forward a few years, I kept forming attachments to different mother figures and over time I’ve learned how to manage the intensity of it better although internally I struggle with it just as much as I used to, it just doesn’t present the same way anymore.
Okay so that was all just for context, what I need advice on is my current attachment. As I said I live at a residential college, there we have a wellbeing and student support person, her names Anna, the moment I saw her I knew I’d get attached so I avoided her for weeks during my first year at the college last year, didn’t last long because I ended up having to see her for drinking too much and passing out at a club, I was given a drinking band for a week 😅 After that I emailed her many times and one of them was asking if she could be a parental figure type of person for me as I don’t have parents and she said yes but I don’t think she knew what she was getting herself into with me and my BPD and stuff lol rip
After that she gave me her number, a lot of the residents have her number, and then I started messaging her all the time and asking to come see her in her office all the time, I’d send her drunk text messages, I’d basically explode over text messages to her about my feelings and my thoughts and my trauma and everything really, she’d always respond in a caring manner. Last year I told her to go away and then come back so many times, it was very back and forth but she never took it personally because I think she understands why I behave the way I do sometimes, I had to make a statement to the police last year and she drove me there in her car.
Now it’s 2024 and it’s my second year living at the college and knowing Anna. I can open up to her more about things and talk more to her in person rather than messages all the time now, I do send goodnight and goodmorning texts though most days. I haven’t seen her or been in contact with her for almost a week now because she’s been so busy with running the college and everything and I guess I feel like I’ve been going crazy, my BPD favourite person symptoms really be going hard, the amount of messages I’ve sent about random ass shit argh. I just, she’s the first adult in my entire life who I have a stable relationship with, she doesn’t judge me or hate me or think I’m weird, all she wants is to support me and help me grow, I’ve never had someone like that in my life before and I just, I don’t know, I don’t want to lose her because she very much does feel like a mother figure to me, I feel like I’ve learnt so much from her over this past year already.
I just don’t know where this relationship is going, I don’t know if she actually cares about me or if she’s just doing her job and I don’t know, I don’t know what I want or my expectations, I know she can’t be my mum, she already has a family of her own but she did say when i leave she’s more than happy to catch up over coffee together
I just feel like when im with her I’m a child again and I act like one too it’s embarrassing but also she’s giving me a safe space to express myself and grow as an individual I guess
I don’t really know what I’m asking for I just want someone’s opinion on the situation and advice or something idk I’m sorry
Thank you for reading I’m kinda a bit stoned ngl ahaha

For example, the blue man group, where yes there are the original but afterwards have changed members (knowingly to the public) but retain the same name. What I am Not referring to however is when an artist dies or retires and they have to replace them (like RHCP when John left briefly or Sublime with Rome). Maybe like a franchise sort of thing but not deliberately so, just 1 musical act with rotating cast every so often, If that makes any sense. Edit: Oh one more thing I forgot to add. The analogy I like to think about is like the Dr. Who of musical bands/acts/artists. Same concept/name but new era

Seems it is possible to get quite an extensive info from FX3100 via API.
Sorry if I am publishing info that was posted before.

http://ip_of_fx3100/apps_home/usageinfo/ 

returns Json with following keys

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returns Json with following keys

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• Rob Weiss is her favorite ex-boyfriend.
• He’s the one person that was a good guy, talented, creative, and inspired her a lot. They were together for 7.5 years.
• He feels the same way about her.
• He liked her dad.
• Her mom and Weiss got along well. Her mom painted a house (her own? Weiss’?) and wanted to see Weiss’ reaction.
• Doherty avoids obstacles now, instead of trying to plow through them.
• He was on vacation in 1991, and met her at Bar One. He knew who she was. He had wanted to go into the film business.
• He made a movie, went to the Sundance Film Festival, moved to L.A.
• 2 years later, Doherty was married. Doherty started dating him around 1994.
• They moved in together quickly after Doherty left her first husband.
• They got together right before her 23rd birthday.
• He was not successful, but not a failure. He wrote “Milk Bar”. He did “American Psycho”.
• They watched Clerks together.
• Doherty says he introduced her to the indie film world.
• They were engaged. But after her first marriage, she believed a piece of paper doesn’t mean anything.
• Doherty’s mom still wears her wedding band, even though Doherty’s father died.
• They connect with each other on a soul level.
• He has a child with another woman.
• Doherty learned she needs to listen to her gut.
• They broke off the engagement a week before the wedding.
• Doherty was still following what was happening with her first husband.
• Marriage is an antiquated notion to Weiss.
• There’s no woman that’s more important to him than the mother of his child. They had dated for 3 years. But he doesn’t need to marry her.
• Doherty says Weiss is a Math Changer. (See the podcast with Doherty and Les Snead).
• Rick (another ex) was a Buyer Beware.
• Weiss says Rick has different demons. But he’s a cool cat.
• Weiss loves his dad, but he would categorize him as a toxic male. He smoked until he had lung cancer. He served in the military.
• Doherty loves Weiss’ dad.
• Doherty still adores both Rob and Rick.
• Doherty’s soul connection with Weiss will always be there.
• Rob gave Doherty the diamond heart necklace that Prue wore on Charmed.
• Weiss still has some necklaces and rings that Doherty gave him.
• Doherty had a tattoo with Weiss’ name on it. She eventually covered it up with flowers. Weiss did not want to get a tattoo with her name on it.
• He now has tattoos. Such as his son’s name. Since he likes tattoos now, he thinks maybe he would have gotten Doherty’s name on his neck, if he had to make the decision again.
• The best moment they had was in Venice, Italy. They went to get something to eat late at night. The streets were dead. Some guy started to talk to them. They told him they wanted food. They followed him. He directed them to two other people. Doherty thought they were going to get robbed. Eventually they were lead to a restaurant. It was a 24 hour restaurant. And the food was delicious.
• They went to Amsterdam. They ended up at a hostel with 5 beds in a room. She didn’t want to do that.

​

• Doherty thinks it’s hard for Weiss, because he can spend 2 years writing a show. Then he pitches it, and the people he pitches it to don’t like it.
• Weiss tries to work on 10 things at the same time.
• If he had spent 2 straight years working on only one thing, it would hurt him more.
• Doherty had a birthday party at a bar, where there was a fight.
• They had only been dating for 10 days. They started on April Fools Day.
• Greg Vance gave Weiss a weird look. Weiss went up to him and his people and asked if there was a problem. He turned around to his right, and got headbutted on his nose.
• The fight spilled out onto the street.
• He doesn’t roll with a large posse anymore.
• He stopped drinking 5 years ago.
• He loved red wine.
• He can’t be hungover at 7am, with his kid, anymore. He had to set a better example.
• His son is his dad reincarnated.
• He’s been nominated 3x for Entourage.
• Doherty just found out Weiss was nominated at the Sundance Film Festival for Grand Jury Prize.
• Doherty was so excited when she, Jason Priestley, and Luke Perry presented an award at the Emmys.
• Weiss thought Entourage was going to be horrible. He didn’t think the audience would connect with the show.
• Doug Elin had wanted Weiss to play Billy Walsh.
• Weiss’ first impression of Doherty was that she was his dream girl. She was fun. She was spicy. She smoked cigarettes like a fighter pilot. Sexy, great style. Amazing cook.
• Doherty wants another relationship. She just doesn’t want to get married again.
• Weiss does better in life on some nights when he can take a bubble bath, get up at 5:30am, and does what he needs to do, without having a conversation.
• Doherty agrees, so why can’t there be a relationship where Weiss doesn’t move in with someone, and they keep their separate places? So they can have off nights as needed.
• He thinks the guy should be older, but has nothing against men who are with women 20 years older. Whatever fits one’s preference.
• He just wants a positive energy with someone.
• He’s not looking for someone to go on a cruise together with.
• Weiss and Doherty dated for 2 - 3 years before they got engaged.
• The proposal was basically Doherty going “give me the fucking ring”.
• When they were in Italy and France together, Weiss ran into an old friend. That friend was with his girlfriend, who had a 5 carat ring. Doherty then wanted a ring. So they got that friend to make a ring.
• Weiss asked for her parents’ blessing.
• Her parents heaped concerns on him.
• Weiss was surprised, because they had been dating for 3 years.
• Their relationship was from right after she left Beverly Hills 90210, to right after she left Charmed.
• She stopped living with him at some point, and got her own place.
• Dick Wolf offered Doherty a show after Charmed. But she had to move to New York. She didn’t want to do that. She was in love. Her parents were in LA. She says she was an idiot for turning it down.
• They were on again, off again a few times during those 7 years.
• Dating was more pure back then, compared to now. Now it’s transactional. Dating is now only with people that can help someone.
• Weiss calls it opportunistic. And leveraging.
• Now, people develop a fantasy relationship with someone. Then they meet them, and it’s different.
• It was easier back then, because you dated people you knew, from within Hollywood.
• Weiss has supported Doherty during her cancer.
• Weiss was devastated when Doherty’s cancer came back.

So, I need to know if I’m the bad guy in this situation because I feel very conflicted. My boyfriend and I have been dating & seeing each other now for about 5 months. We live in separate countries and I’m due to go down to visit him in a month. We’ve had a wonderful relationship for the most part, the only really rocky parts have been our discussions around distance and how we are going to navigate it being on two separate sides of the world. We met when he was on vacation in my city earlier in the year and fell for each other very quickly.
I have a TikTok account with a small following (around 7.5k) that I’ve been actively posting on for the last 2 years. I have a small community of girls that watch & love my videos and I’ve posted a lot about my dating journey over the last 2 years, making videos about dating, men and all of that kind of stuff alongside lifestyle & makeup content. My boyfriend doesn’t have TikTok, and when I showed him my account he thought it was pretty cool that I had a few followers and loved that I posted online. When we first went on a few dates while he was visiting my country, I made some TikTok stories hinting at the fact that I’d met someone. 2 months later he visited me and we had the most wonderful time and really solidified our relationship. After he left, I posted 2 videos on TikTok essentially giving the rundown of our whirlwind relationship because it was very “straight out of a movie” and the girls that follow me were all sooo eager to know what had transpired.
I posted these videos but never said my boyfriend’s name or gave any details about him, other than how we met, how we feel and the fact that we are dating. In the videos I say nothing but sweet and lovely things and praise him for being so wonderful and making me very happy. The videos got a few thousand views and all the comments came from long time watchers of mine just expressing their happiness for me as I wrap up my dating journey. I posted these videos 6 weeks ago, and he only became aware of them 2 days ago when one of his friends told him I had posted videos about our relationship. I know he doesn’t have TikTok, but figured he probably still watches my videos or keeps tabs on my page knowing it’s something I actively do. I also just thought that he’d see them, think they were sweet and not really care about them. Because posting as always just been apart of my weeks, I never thought to tell him that I was making videos about it because we are dating and the videos were overwhelmingly sweet & positive and again, I never gave any of his details away.
He was incredibly upset, said he felt uncomfortable and told me to remove the videos from my page. He said he’s a very private person and has no interest in having his relationship blasted on the internet for strangers to comment on and that it all felt performative. I never knew he was such a private individual, he rarely posts on social media but I figured it’s just because he doesn’t care much for it, not because he’s very private. He had no issue with me being someone that posted openly & frequently online about my life, but now that it involves him he said he doesn’t want to be apart of it and has no interest in being on my social media.
I guess I’m a bit sad, because it doesn’t seem like a huge deal to me and I’ve always wanted a partner that can appreciate this part of me and get on board with how I love to document happy parts of my life online. I took the videos down with no issue because I respect his privacy and his wishes, but still feel a bit confused by the whole situation. He doesn’t seem to understand that I have a small community of women that love my videos and that treat me like a big sister and that I was purely posting videos out of happiness & excitement to have met him and have found such a wonderful love. His reaction took me by surprise, but am I the one in the wrong here?

The thunder shook the house as the rain pelted the windows. Mike awoke to the wind howling wondering how much longer the storm would last. He had come out to the cabin, only a couple hours from the city expecting to spend a quiet weekend away from the city life. Unknowing to him that a storm was on the way. He rolled over and looked at the clock, the green display reads midnight. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep when suddenly he heard a pounding on the door. He sat up and heard it again. “Who could be at my door and in this storm”, he thought. He got up and slowly approach the door hearing the pounding again. Opening the door a crack he sees a small figure standing a few feet away. Nothing but darkness in the background as the lightning flashes illuminated the figure. “Hello? Can I help you?” He asks. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but my car broke down. I tried to call a tow truck but I have no service.” the woman says. He stepped back and opened the door. “Please, come in.” As she walks through the door, he notices her clothes are soaked from the rain. “How far did you walk?” He asks. “I’m not sure, a couple miles it felt like”, she replies sounding exhausted. He leaves for a few moments and returns handing you a towel. “Can I get you a drink?”, “Please” she says, as he walks into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He returns, handing her the glass. “Thank you, my name is Liz by the way.” “Nice to meet you Liz, my name is Mike. You are welcome to use my phone if you would like.” She smiles, as she walks over to the table and picks up the phone. Mike sits down on the couch turning on the tv. A few moments later Liz returns, “Ugh”. “Bad news?” He asks. “They said no one will come out in this storm till it passes. What am I going to do?”. Just then a deafening rumble of thunder shook the house as the rain started coming down harder. “I don’t think this storm is letting up any time soon, you are more than welcome to wait it out till morning and try calling them back.” Mike offered. “Really? I don’t want to be a bother.” “No, I insist, it’s no bother at all”. Liz smiled, “Thank you, really.”
Shivering, Liz sets her glass down on the table. “I hate to ask, but would you mind if I use the bathroom. Maybe get a hot shower, I am freezing and my clothes are soaked.” “Not at all.” Mike says, standing up. He points down the hallway, “The bathrooms on the left, if you would like I can toss your clothes in the dryer for you too.” Liz smiles. “Thank you so much! I’ll leave them outside the door.” Liz turns and walks down the hallway, finding the bathroom and walking inside. Standing at the sink she takes a deep breath. Seeing herself in the mirror thinking “I look a wreck”. At 5’ 3”, she was considered average. Shoulder length brown hair and eyes that changed colors based on her mood, or so it seemed. With her athletic build and toned legs, she still felt her body ache from the miles she just walked. Slowly she stripped off her wet clothes, leaving them in a pile just outside the bathroom door. Sliding open the glass door to the shower she stepped inside, turning the shower on as she felt the hot water rain down over her body. Sitting on the couch Mike hears the shower turn on. Getting up he walks down the hallway finding the wet pile of clothes at the bathroom door. As he approaches, he notices the door open a couple inches. The light from inside escaping through the crack. He leans down to pick up the clothes and pauses. The bathroom is filled with steam from the hot water. The faint outline of a woman’s body behind the fogged-up glass door. He freezes. Quietly Liz begins to hum, eyes closed as she washes her hair under the hot water. Her hands begin moving across her body as she washes the sweat and dirt off her. Mike kneels frozen just on the other side of the door, knowing he shouldn’t be looking but his legs unwilling to move. In the shower, Liz’s hands drift along her skin. Caressing her breasts for a moment as she smiles to herself, she’s always been happy with how full they were. Perky and just large enough to fill a grown man’s hand. Her hands explore lower, as she washes her stomach and then her legs. She sighs, starting to feel better now that she is warm and clean. As she turns the water off, Mike snaps out of his frozen state. Gathering up the clothes and rushing down the hall to put them in the dryer. Quickly returning to the kitchen as he retrieves a beer from the fridge and sits back down on the couch flipping through the stations. Stepping out of the shower Liz dries off finding a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she drapes it around her body.
“Thank you so much, I feel much better”, she says, as she walks into the living room. Mike jumps slightly, startled by her voice then smiles. “You’re welcome, your clothes are in the dryer,” as he notices the robe she had on. Liz walks over and sits down on the couch, slowly crossing one leg over the other. “This robe will do for now,” she says with a smile. Mike gets up and walks into the kitchen, “Would you like a drink?”. “Sure” Liz says, “Whatever you are drinking.” As Mike returns, he can’t help but notice Liz’s toned legs, the robe resting mid-thigh. He hands Liz a beer as she smiles and lets out a small laugh. “What is so funny?”, he asks. She looks down at him while raising an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?” He scrunches his eyebrows wondering what she meant, as he looked down. He gasps, realizing a small bulge had formed in his pants, a likely result of the unexpected show he witnessed not long ago. He turned away quickly, “I’m sorry” he says. She laughed, “its ok, I expected it.” Mike turns his head back towards her, “You expected it?” “Yes, I mean, after watching me shower I would be upset if you didn’t have one. Mikes eyes grow big, shocked and embarrassed that she knew he was watching her. “I, didn’t mean to, the door was just cracked open and I was getting your clothes…” he stumbles trying to explain himself. She smiles as she stands up, “Did you like what you saw?” He takes a big gulp as he nods. She slowly undoes the tie holding the robe together, letting the robe fall off her body and onto the floor. “Is this what you wanted to see?” His heart begins beating faster, her naked body on full display in front of him. She slowly reaches out as she takes his hand in hers, bringing it up to her chest as it cups her breast. His breathing increases as he feels her nipple harden against the palm of his hand as he instinctively begins to squeeze her breast. She lets out a quiet moan as she smiled at him. Reaching forward she rests her hand on the now large bulge in his pants. He jumps slightly as he feels the pressure of her hand against it. “Oh my, we seem to have a problem here.” She says, as she slowly begins to unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down ever so slowly. He sighs as he feels the cool air rush into his pants as she unzips them. Her hand reaching inside as she releases his manhood. A smile forms on her face as it enters her view. Fully erect as his blood pumps through it. She slowly wraps her fingers around it stroking its full length as she devilishly licks her lips. Mike slowly closes his eyes as he feels her fingers around him, letting out a slight moan. “Are you enjoying that?” she asks, as she continues to stroke his shaft. “Yes” he says, his breathing increasing. Biting her lip, she steps back, leading him to the couch and directing him to sit down. As he sits down, she kneels in front of him. His cock aiming towards the ceiling in front of her as she wraps her fingers around it again. She strokes it a few times before bringing her lips close. Slowly she runs the tip of her tongue from the base of the shaft up to the head feeling it pulse against her tongue. He moans at the feeling of her tongue, as she slowly wraps her lips around the head, sucking gently. “Ugh, yes” he moans, looking down at her. Removing her hand from his shaft she engulfs his entire cock as he feels it enter her throat for the first time. She bobs her head up and down faster as she hears the moans escape his lips. Pausing for a moment, his cock between her lips, she twirls her tongue around the head feeling his hips lifting up slightly under neither her. She moans to herself sending vibrations down his shaft. Slowly he moves a hand to the back of her head, resting it with his fingers intertwined in her hair. She raises her head sucking on the tip for a moment, before removing it from her mouth. Replacing her mouth with her hand again as she strokes his now wet cock. Smiling up at him as she watches some precum run down his shaft she sticks her tongue out to catch it. Moaning again, he ushers her head back down, as she opens her mouth taking his cock between her lips. Bobbing her head faster now, her tongue swirling around his swollen head each time her head comes up. He grips her hair in his fist, the pressure inside him building. She feels his cock pulsing against her tongue and lips as she takes his shaft deeper, wanting to taste his juice. He lets out a groan at the same time she feels him erupt. She lowers her head his cock deep in her throat as she feels the first stream of thick cum fill her stomach. She continues bobbing her head tightening her lips around his cock as she milks him dry, hungerly swallowing each stream he pumps into her awaiting throat. His head falls back against the couch with a loud sigh, his hand collapsing along the side of him. She releases his semi hard cock. Slowly licking around the head making sure not to miss a drop before looking up and smiling at him while licking her lips. Exhausted he drifts off to sleep.

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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Hello, whoever you are on your side of this screen.
Predictability and ordinarity bore me. The idea of casual sex makes me more asleep than a Snorlax. I also don't want to be asked "How are you?" for the millionth time. And photos - well, one is always more than enough.
I'm sure I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I don't seek anything ordinary, either. I'm just an author and researcher currently living in Portugal, and looking for someone new and truly unique to inspire me. We can talk about pretty much anything, plus you can learn a ton of super unusual but cool stuff if you're also into culture, literature, legends, stories, etc. What else can I tell you about me? Well, I'm often told I'm the most interesting person people have ever met, but let's go here for ten groups of facts about me and my life:
1- I've travelled to over 100 countries in search of knowledge, my favourite place being the streams of water and forests in the north of the Pyrenées, where I once placed my feet in the water and meditated for days.
2- I do not have a favourite book, but I do feel many marked my life. For example, Ovid's "Ars Amatoria" (as a teen), Cicero's "De Senectute" (as an adult), the "Ramayana" (as someone eager to explore other cultures), the "Nag Hammadi Library" (as a person interested in almost-lost religious texts), etc.
3- I once met a really amazing woman, we were together for 10+ years, we never married but we both knew neither of us was going anywhere else, I lost her in 2014 (and I don't want to talk about it), and I'm perfectly comfortable being single.
4- I've published over 80 books, between my real name and various pseudonyms, with the most sold having been top 100 on Amazon, and the least sold still stuck at under 10 copies (and it's intentionally supposed to sell very little).
5- In college I studied Computer Science, Psychology, French "LLCs" and Classical + Medieval Studies, but among my many passions you can also count Theology, Philosophy, Art, Mythology, Classical Music, Western Mysticism, Languages, etc.
6- I dislike social media and photos of people. I hardly ever take photos of myself or others, but I do have an enormous collection of photos I've taken around the globe, where I mostly tried to eternalize places and moments.
7- Apart from writing, I spend most of my free time as a volunteer for projects related to Culture, Children, and Mental Welfare. I also tend to donate to charity on a monthly basis, because I feel we should try to spread to others the good things we have in our lives.
8- Although I'm 39, I'm perfectly okay talking to much younger, or much older, people, because I feel they can also teach me a lot of things that I'm not necessarily familiarized with. And, in fact, one of my biggest pleasures in "real" life is talking to random people and learning new stuff from them.
9- I survived cancer and meningitis. I'm 99% okay, with the exception of a small physical problem most people never even notice.
10- I was recently "rejected" from a buddhist monastery for health reasons, since it seems my constant need for medication for an auto-immune disease would contrast with the simple life their monks need to have. So, yeah, that's mostly why I'm back online and posting this message.
So... if you are indeed tired of the usual messages and conversations, write me. Maybe you are indeed what I seek.

So REBIRTHs Soundtrack is officially out and I‘m very happy. But do you know what will make me even happier? The Official Soundtrack Plus (or OST Plus for short)!
For those who don’t know. When REMAKE released, it had an official soundtrack released a couple of months after the game did. And then, come Christmas, a second official OST was released named OST plus and it contained everything they didn’t manage to put on the first OST.
Now some people might say "You need to buy 2 OSTs which together (if you want the CDs) cost over $100 dollars just to have the complete soundtrack? Wow! Square-Enix is at it once again overpricing everything they can.“
But REBIRTHs (and REMAKEs) first Soundtrack is already amazing and a good value! It has around 180 (or 210 if you bought the special edition) high quality pieces of music. It is a testament to REBIRTHs soundtrack that there is so much good music that isn’t on the first OST.
And I’m not talking about the Bow Wow Song. The tranquil, recorder version of the main theme that you hear on the cruise ship on your way to Costa Del Sol? Not on the first OST. The stealthy cool song you here as you escape Kalm through the tunnel? Not on the first OST. Cait Siths theme you here at the gold saucer? Not on the first OST.
The Music of the REMAKE trilogy so far has been absolutely incredible. And I can‘t wait until REBIRTHs OST plus releases so that I can listen to every piece of it!

Read the full interview at https://edgeworth.blog/2024/04/27/me-a-doll-interview/
PUG: Jompiy are quite a lot like Damien Hirst’s spin paintings.
EJ: I liked his figurative paintings that Tate didn’t include any of, in that solo show that had virtually everything else he’d ever done. I think Tate will be showing Heckel’s Horse before long.
PUG: What makes you think that?
EJ: It would be poetic. Darth Vadar comes to his senses and everyone’s rescue. There’ll probably be some new maverick Director that comes along and wants to make an easy name for herself.
PUG: How about a Heckel’s Horse Jr. show there instead? I liked the Heckel’s Horse Jr. book.
EJ: Thanks. They’re currently available to all our Fan Club members on Tiers 2 and 3. If someone was interested in finding out more, all they’d have to do is simply visit https://blackivory.org/fan-club/
PUG: Is there anything planned for Heckel’s Horse?
EJ: As far as I can tell, it’s on the back burner till whoever’s in charge decides the time’s right for a show. Billy’s been trying to push things along for years, pretty much since we started doing them.
PUG: You need this new Tate Director.
EJ: We need someone to forcibly step in with the interest, clout and balls to act irrespective of any commercial consequence or fretting what the art world and its clientele think. Like some benevolent Stuckist ex-hedge fund manager who says “Let’s do a show because of all that stuff in the Stuckism manifesto.”
PUG: Like a hostile takeover. Might Heckel’s Horse Jr. being published speed things along for Heckel’s Horse?
EJ: Apparantly the opposite. It might put them off, but whatever. It shouldn’t be all beholden to any audience thing. There needs to be a punk movement in Contemporary Art. Like Black Ivory but slightly more influential. None of this prissy “We’re not allowed to do this, we’re not allowed to do that. The clients might not like this, the clients might not like that.” I don’t know anything about how the art world functions but there’s an obvious staleness and near-universal obedience to it. Then you get things like Stuckism or our semi-Stuckist-splinter-group Black Ivory that, like opt out of the audience as target idea. That are happy to be a disgrace. I think they asked the bass player from the Manics what it was like walking around dressed up in their band gear, round their local working-class mining village in skirts and makeup, and he says “We just wanted to be hated.” I like that about Stuckism and the seemingly repellent and toe-curling bridge-burning stuff we do. The term “target audience” is business talk for a reason. Target audiences are for things like Persil Automatic, not artists. Artists worrying about this stuff is just depressing and I guess is all counter-productive to what they’re after anyway.
PUG: How would it be counter-productive?
EJ: Because it’s like some saggy-headed donkey that’s given up. Part of the shuffling crowd, which is shame if your art isn’t. Not believing in yourself. That’s how it all looks to me anyway. When I see photos of Stuckists prancing around in clown costumes outside Tate it’s so appealing. They’re building walls between themselves and the people everyone else is so desperate to be approved by.
PUG: So can Black Ivory save Contemporary Art?
EJ: We’ll stack a load of six footer Heckel’s Horse Jr. paintings against the walls. A few in the front room with the sofas, tables and chairs and whatnot. I’ll be walking round with a full teapot. Invite some friends round and do it as Stuckism would do it. Leave the evidence on our YouTube channel as Van Goghian proof for future generations that today’s Contemporary Art wasn’t just the text book stuff.
PUG: Stuckism was quite punk influenced but the art world’s still largely what it was beforehand.
EJ: Stuckism bothered. Like leading a horse to water. It’s like even the anti-establishment are only considered successful when the establishment accept them. The Other Muswell Hill Stuckists should do a manifesto about it. Stuckism‘s not for our benefit, it’s for yours. Our “failures” are your problem. We’re waking up and painting either way. We don’t need the art world. We don’t need the Turner Prize to show us what a decent painting looks like. I’m only talking about it not shaking up the artworld obviously, not the work or anything important, but like we’ve both done loads of Stuckist Turner Prize demos, published a Stuckist Turner Prize manifesto, as far as I know, the Turner Prize is still going strong. So what? Did the demos fail? Are our paintings worse now? If nothing else, it’s nice to get out the house. I like the Turner Prize demos because it’s like getting bashed on both sides. By the establishment and the hipsters. Usually it’s like, choose a team: brand A or brand B and kid yourself there’s a difference. The establishment think they’re winning and the hipsters think they’re cool and anti-establishment. Stuckism chooses neither, which I see as the only real anti-establishment. Stuckism‘s failures, if anything, proove its success becuase punk succeeded in it’s non-musical objectives, it became chart music. No chance of Stuckism falling for that one. How’s that for a theory? Failure isn’t failure. Failure’s success because failure’s longevity and success is failure. Stuckism‘s a roaring failure.
PUG: A new punk Tate for Heckel’s Horse.
EJ: I did some assistant work for Jimmy Cauty years ago, on these glittery riot shields. I think around 2016. The tracksuit bottoms still have the gold glitter and PVA stuck to them. I can’t remember if I was talking about Heckel’s Horse or something else, but Billy and I couldn’t have done too many by then. It might have been something else, but I tell Jimmy we’ve done all this work and nothing’s getting published, and he says ‘So, when’s the bonfire?’ The man who burned a million pounds. Ten years later, he we are, same situation. Thankfully, as far as I’m aware, still no bonfire. So overall, things are going great for Heckel’s Horse. All the paintings are still probably in existence.
PUG: Just a lot more of them now.
EJ: I’ve got this image of Heckel’s Horse paintings being taken at night to some secret billionaires island off the South Kent coast and chucked on a blazing fire with a load of men in white suits standing round drinking champagne, each with a cigar between their teeth going ‘Ha! Ha! Fuck you Edgeworth!’
PUG: Then there’d just be the Heckel’s Horse Jr.’s left and you could sell them for millions.
EJ: You’re a genius.
PUG: All those paintings will end up in a show at some point.
EJ: It’s been eleven years. Could be another twenty, thirty. I had this paranoia, they’d pretend they were by Billy and cut my name out. If Billy and I aren’t around. Even if I’m still around, who’s going to listen to me?
PUG: Do you reckon?
EJ: I don’t even know who it was, but some lying fart-face decided it would be alright to pretend these monoprints Billy and I collaborated on would be better sold off as ‘by Billy Childish’ and not by both of us. So that’s what happened. Like a click of the fingers, “Bye bye Edgeworth.” Pretty unimpressive, I thought.
PUG: Didn’t you say anything?
EJ: No, what’s going to happen? Better to say nothing then moan about it ten years later. The way I see it, I’m not the one lying so it’s not my problem. Do you know what I mean? It shouldn’t be on me to object if they’re doing it on purpose.
PUG: So it’s not like Damien Hirst and his assistant’s painting butterflies.
EJ: No. It’s sort of, not wanting to flatter the people that erased my attribution with the idea they’re worth bothering with. Because it’s not like I was upset or felt hard done by. It was just disillusionment in one thing, addressed by the creation of another, Black Ivory Printmaking & Audio Club. If anything it’s a net positve. “So that’s the kind of people you really are. What a fantastic opportunity!”
Damien Hirst’s different. It’s all declared and everyone knows the deal. There’s nothing dodgy about it. It’s not like some slippery gallerist-type shifts the goalposts after the works done, like they’ve got some licence to change the truth. The buyers know what they’re buying, the artists know what they’re doing. These monoprints were a thick painterly transfer technique I came up with and haven’t seen anywhere else. Until I see any that look similar, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a type of monoprint of my invention. And they think they can just sign that away from me. If people see mine now, the ones I did independently using the same technique, they’ll probably think I copied it from Billy, which I think’s quite a liberty. “Taking Berty’s.” as we said at school.
PUG: Didn’t they ask you about it first?
EJ: No, I just get emailed after with some apparent excuse. If you’re some no-name pushover like me, I guess they think it’s alright. It might all have been a lot more innocent than it looked from my end, but if they’re like this with some few hundred quid monoprints, what’s it going to be like with all these crates of 6ft paintings that are worth a fortune? Not exactly reassuring to think of Heckel’s Horse in these people’s hands.
PUG: Welcome to the art world.
EJ: It might end up for the best. A lot of why I started doing Heckel’s Horse Jr. was to get the Heckel’s Horse story out the door. A lots been done already. Billy and I want to get Heckel’s Horse paintings in front of people. Billy‘s spoken about it in interviews that I’ve super-glue-referenced into the Billy Childish wikipedia page. L-13 have done a load of prints. Things are going pretty well. The less behind-the-scenes Heckel’s Horse is, the harder I guess it is for the truth to get fudged later. Especially if Billy and I aren’t around by the time anything happens.
PUG: You’ve always got Jompiy.
EJ: Yeah, my solid backup plan. I don’t need to worry about Jompiy getting nicked.
Read the full interview at https://edgeworth.blog/2024/04/27/me-a-doll-interview/
https://youtu.be/aWN2dAleE14

So, I was watching the amazing digital circus since I wanted to see what all the fuss was about after all this time. I'm watching it and faintly remembering all the gay art of this guy jax, where every piece is of him being gay and I'm wondering: "this jax guy must be a real rizzler, a manler, if you will, if he can make so many gay men fantasize about him like that". And I'm under the impression that he's at least likeable, but when this man comes onto my pixels all I feel is disdain, I didn't like that pink character cuz she was a downer, but jax is just a straight asshole. Like, seriously what's his problem why doesn't caine kill him like he did that green crocodile (still don't know his name btw) since all jax does is make everyone's lives miserable. I get it, you're stuck in this digital realm for maybe eternity, but at least make your peers stuck with you have a decent time! Like do you have to be so pissy about everything? "Oh I didn't get to hurt someone, woe is me!" Ok buddy. And why are the characters not giving him the same energy? I want to see pomni brutally beat up jax as part of an adventure. Infact this is the story:
Caine says some dumb adventure like going into some cave that's infected with radioactive aids or something, and bubble is like "oh, I must've left those there" or something dumb that he would say and then the characters go there and jac Is just being an asshole as usual like he's being all stupid and then when jax throws someone under the buss pomni loses it, I'm talking full on ytp caillou type stuff and she grits her teeth and exclamation marks pop off of jax's head and then pomni pounces on him and starts furiously ripping him apart like Travis the chimp when u takea photo, I'm talking full on MAULED! know what, have more moments where that pink triangle head character grips his throat, since these characters can still feel pain y'know, so that'd be cool. Anyway yeah that's about it

Hello I just want to start this off I never had a kitten before. I just recently picked up this kitten off the street across from my job. I took her because she looked abandoned and was crying. Maybe I messed up in taking her in.... I'm at a loss for words I haven't been able to sleep in for about two weeks give or take. I named her..... Zoltron kind of stupid name but I thought it was a cool name.... Everything was fine for about three weeks of having this kitten.... The only thing that threw me off was it was abandoned and left alone. Although that's beside the point. I bought the milk formula because she seemed to need it. I fed her chicken the first night I had her and sometimes pate broken up with water. I'm not an expert here.
Everything was going fine up until one night. I was feeding her several times a day and making sure she was alright and good. Then one night she starts to seem sleepy. I thought nothing much of it. I wake up and I don't here hear usual cry's for some breakfast that she usually wants. I pick her up and she still was breathing but I could tell she was dying. By the time I get in my car and start driving to the vet.... Zoltron died on me. I'm at a loss for words... I never owned a kitten I tried searching up things to do for her. She seemed fine... Im tearing up writing this sorry if some of this is gibberish I don't mean to bother y'all.
I just have this heavy pain in my chest that doesn't go away.... I feel lifeless right now I know I'm not special and I probably fucked something up for the kitten. It's probably my fault.... I... I... I just wanted to help maybe I thought this would have been something special. But all I gave this kitten was a short life I feel empty right now. Maybe I could have done something different. Maybe if I wasn't a dumbass I could have tooken her to the vet faster. Im so sorry I couldn't save you Zoltron😢. Its my fault now I wish I was different I could have tooken a different approach maybe. This really sucks I can't find words to describe this feeling I have. I fucking hate myself right now.
I'm sorry Zoltron 😢... I wish I could have seen you grow up you were so pretty
I'm sorry for the long paragraphs y'all. I just wanted to share my story I'm sorry if this doesn't belong in this subreddit I just picked one that was cat related

hey guys, i'm here looking for advice as to what i should do with myself. the story is a little long so please bear with me. (i'm 20M)
i was 18 when i first met my ex-girlfriend back in 2022, let's name her sofa (20F). we were arranged to be in the same class for the first time after going through 4 semesters in poly, right after i went through a break up. i got to know of her beforehand because my best friend back then was pretty close to her, so naturally the both of us hit it off immediately when we found out that we were in the same class. too natural in fact. to me, it felt like she was an extension of me. by the time week 1 ended, we were able to finish each others' sentences, and we knew most of each others' secrets.
slowly but surely, i fell in love. but back then she let me in onto one of her secrets: she had a boyfriend. i didn't want to be a homewrecker, so i kept my feelings to myself. however, said boyfriend was apparently sexually abusive towards her. and throughout it all, i was there for her emotionally and physically (this includes forcing her to give him a bj and to swallow his jizz, and going down on her when she clearly voiced her discomfort.) we'd skip classes sometimes to just be with each other, because she told me that she needed to get away from everything, and as her best friend i couldn't say no. but now that i think about it, it was probably because i too, wanted to spend time with her.
then one night we were out watching black panther 2, and she held my hand in the cinema. that's when i knew that i probably wrecked a home without meaning to. she confessed that she already had feelings for me long before the movie, probably at the same time i started falling for her. she explained how she got together with her then boyfriend: he was there when she needed someone, especially since they were both in the school band (she was the vocalist), he would pull her confidence up when she felt unconfident of herself. gratitude, she called it, with "it" referring to her feelings for him.
she then told me that she believed in the connection between me and her, and i agreed because i too, had never felt anything like this. after that day, i accompanied her to AFA, where she cosplayed as makima and i helped take photos of her. and the next day, our lips met for the first time. she promised that she would break things off with her ex when she flew to new zealand, i trusted her. long story short, she didnt end things with him. but i didnt know that she actually tried her best, but the man wouldn't take it as an answer. (she was the type to never say no) i cut her off there and then, because i didn't want to get hurt any longer.
months passed, and during that period, i went back to my ex. who popped my cherry, and showed me that sex was actually pretty bad. context: i didn't feel good at all, and took 1h30mins to finish. she enjoyed it though, and i later found out that she was lying about being a virgin, and that she actually loves cock. march came and i went to bangkok, thailand on internship with sofa and my best friend. my ex cheated on me 2 weeks into the internship with some streamer on a chinese streaming platform. i have records of her sending gifts to him all the time. strangly, i didnt feel much when i found out, i was actually okay with it. this is where sofa comes in. she held my hand again one night when me, my best friend and her were watching "the whales" in my room. i never thought that she would still have feelings for me, because the whole time people were saying that she gave up on me long ago. and i too, realised that i was not over her. call me a playboy, whatever. but it was my feelings, and i wasn't mature enough to control them. me and sofa fell in love and fixed our misunderstandings.
we spent 5 months together living in the same room. it was like a honeymoon period minus the actual marriage. we had a hard time adjusting to life without each other after we returned to singapore. and we broke up last year december 30th.
thing is, things didn't stop there. she found another guy 3 days after the break up, but still continued to see me in secret and hooked up with me too. all while dating the guy and having sex with him too. (i didn't know they were together, she claimed that they were just friends). soon enough, her own friends found out about our trysts and sold her out to her new guy. i guess he was as delusional as me, because he wanted to hold on. but things weren't the same, and eventually he ended things with her. this prompted her to come back to me, but with a pre-requisite: she wouldn't date me because she needed time to heal. at that point i felt like it was understandable, because she had been through a lot, and on the other hand completely neglected the 4 months of pain that i went through. i finally snapped at her one day, and told that if she wasn't going to try fighting for me, then i wasn't going to. she sent a whole paragraph to defend herself and then blocked me. i thought that i would be able to move on quickly after that, but its still the exact same as the time when i first broke up with her (i didn't sleep for 4 days in a row and collapsed in class, and often locked myself in my cupboard to just cry). i just enlisted in the army a few days ago and i really want to know how do i cope with this, because truth is i still love her.

So I had this delivery to a place and the drop off instructions were that I will meet you infront of the gate. When I got there, the gate was closed and I couldn't find any ring bell or anything, so I tried to text the costumer, however the app was not working, could have been internet issue, i waited for few minutes. Then a guy came from other side and said doordash and I said yes, I asked the name and he gave me the name, so I handed him the food and left. Then I got a call from the costumer, that where is my food and I was like I handed off to you. She said no and said lots of bad stuff. I tried to explain that look ur instruction were that u will come and get it, I tried to text u, the app was not working and someone came and pick it up which is kinda normal when they told me the correct name. Anyhow long story short, I told her contact doordash and they will hopefully refund you, if not I will refund you myself. However she kept saying no you have to go and buy me another dinner. It was my last dash and I had a really important work to attend too. I told her I won't be able to do that because I will be very late. I know not getting ur food is not cool. However, sometime you should try to understand other people problem and be little bit decent

New Year's Eve, 2008. My wife and I attended the shows at the Bill Graham in SF. Ratdog and Phil & Friends each took a turn on stage (which was first eludes me,) and then Bobby & Phil came out and did an acoustic set. And then, most of the players from the two bands came out to form a giant band that played through Midnight and into the night.
I am unable to locate the recordings of the acoustic and the "New Year's Super Band" sets. On archive.org, there's literally only Phil's set. There's no Ratdog, no acoustic, no Super Band. I wouldn't even know what name to use to search.
Any of you out there know where or how to find or listen to the recordings?

I wanted to post this because I see many going through a similar, tough buying time. I hope my story gives you a boost and helps you keep going. There is my sad backstory that you can skip to "Dec, 2020" that starts the home journey. This post is extremely long but emotional for me. Please be kind.
The only house i ever lived in was my uncles, for 2 years (age 3-5) before he removed us.
My mother suffers from many tribulations, and it was reflected in life. We apartment hopped for all of my childhood. I'll never forget how hurt I was, leaving behind my valuables everytime we downsized, (dressers, my desk, doll houses etc) being cramped, no pets allowed (i love animals), neighbors banging on their ceilings when I played, hearing families fight as if they next to me, smoke coming in the windows, constant new neighbors, roaches and other infestations due to neighbors, etc.
My mom would drive around and say, “this is going to be our new house!” And get my hopes up, but it never happened. My sister (she's 5 years older) said she would buy a house for us all, and that lasted a few months before we were evicted again, moving to another apartment.
I asked constantly when we could get a house like my uncle or sister. My father had one (my parents divorced when I was an infant), and when I visited, I wished I had my own backyard, pets. I was jealous of my friends who lived in houses. I would pretend vacant homes were mine, walk to the new homes being built, and watch their progress. Imagine my future in it where my kids would know stability.
After Bullying in school (from 4th - 12th grade), SA from my father, (i was 15) neglect, abuse, depression, self harm, apartment hopping, I was desperate to move out and away once I turned 16 (emancipation). I moved from NJ when i was 18 to FL and started my own downhill spiral of DV, homelessness, repossessions, and other mentally and physically draining circumstances that pushed my limits, money, and everything
In 2017, I picked up my pieces and gathered them, alone, to AZ into the best apartment and neighborhood i ever had. I told myself that after a year, I was going to buy a home there. In 2018, I reached out to realtors and was told all I needed to do was pay off 2k of credit card debt to qualify for 250-300k. The dumbest decision I ever made was saying spending 2k was stupid. I wish I had the recourses, support, anything, or anyone to tell me to do it. had I done it, I could have bought my dream home then for 200-275k
In Dec 2020, I had been with my now husband for 3 years, went through hell in the apartments he wanted us to move to for more space, away from that neighborhood I loved. Someone stole our bikes, smoked weed next to our window, and then our new car was stolen and required 3k in repairs. I was miserable. I wanted to end the cycle of apartments and putting away my wants and needs, so we decided to begin paying things off to get pre qualified. Then came the new battlefield.
As you all know, 2021 until today, it hasn't been a buyers market. I had no idea what any of that meant until I was told I was approved to start putting in offers in January 2022. We were pre approved for a max of FHA 350k from a lender that I was sure had our backs after getting tons of denials and pisspoor brokers who couldn't care less about my childhood dream. I pulled up the MLS and saved about 30 homes a week, if not more, that were 375k and below, all the way down to 150k trailer homes, condos, townhomes, and houses.
Half of those listings were sold (pending) within 5 days. the other half we were bidding upwards against. I couldn't believe it. I was told the market is hot, lots of people selling their homes in bordering states and putting higher end offers on the homes in our price range because they were selling their homes for 500k and using the differences to buy the cheap homes. The others were investors.
After doing all of the work for my husband and roommate and then some to qualify, I was now battling 15+ people on one home multiple times. I was told to try going further out. The market I was in was too desirable. I was like, REALLY? PEOPLE GET SHOT HERE ONCE A WEEK, HOW IS THIS NEIGHBORHOOD, "HOT"??? I was told to shop beneath my budget, shop outside the location I wanted, everything you are all being told today to, "land a home, stay in it for five years, then sell it and get what I want." But I heard none of it, I wanted my DREAM home on my first buy, which wasn't a lot.
All I wanted was a 1300-2000sqft home with a front and backyard for my dog and kids, a house that didn't need a crap ton of repairs, and a neighborhood I felt comfortable in so that I wouldnt have to deal with all the things I did since I was little. I didn't care if it was upgraded, carpeted, or tile, old or new, I just wanted space, safety, a yard.
It didn't matter. Even if I sacrificed a yard, square footage, whatever, I was getting outbid. Every home I could afford was being bought in cash, waiving inspections, having a 14 day close, and/or being bought 25k to upwards of almost 200k over asking even if it was a fixer upper!! I could not compete.
In April, I FINALLY had an offer accepted in a town that was 30 minutes from work, building up, and beautiful. I was willing to sacrifice commute time and everything for this beautiful house that checked all the boxes. It was 2,060 sqft, upstairs and downstairs, a 5k lot, in a beautiful neighborhood. We were able to get a third cosigner (lomg time friend) to up our income and get to 375k. But then I found out my preapproval wasn't so pre approved.
Having a 3rd co signer meant nothing. We needed to reserve money that we weren't informed about, DPA wanted us to pay off more debt, and we needed more income than the THREE of us had. I was livid, why didnt they tell us any of this? Why did they say our income was enough, and the DPA would cover everything?! I knew nothing, I tell you, nothing, and I should have researched more. But I was desperate.
My grandma stepped in. First, she needed a credit score. She opened up an unsecured credit card for 300. Bought gum, paid it off. We did a rapid rescore, and it shot her up to 7 freggin 735, SEVEN THIRTY FIVE LMFAO, and then we needed her social security letters. Which took two weeks too long, pushing back a close the seller REALLY WANTED TO CLOSE ON, which my realtor convinced them to hold off. Well, guess what? My grandma doesn't have a government id. She hadn't updated her id since 2005. No biggie, we'll get her to the DMV, which we had to reschedule online to 3 different locations. Well, guess what? Her mail, old id, her social security card, AND BIRTH CERTIFICATE all had DIFFERENT VARIATIONS of her name, and DMV couldn't verify her identity.
It would take two months to correct those issues. I threw my phone, scratched my arms to oblivion, fell on my knees, and cried. The lender said there was no way the loan was to be approved without Grandma. My sweet Grandma of 4 different names. I feel the tears, even now. I lost it. I fought for a home all my life and lost it because of being uninformed, way too broke ( I know I know), and then some. I felt like the universe was against me.
So May comes around, and my realtor says, "Listen, let's try this. Let's do rent to own. They pay for everything, and then you save, fix your credit, and buy the house back at the value of the contract paying the difference in appraisal if need be."
I was so broken that I did it. Back to the MLS, we still couldn't get a home in our price range in the neighborhoods I wanted. Rental price was going to be 3,100, so... we stuck to the 30-minute away neighborhood, and oh god, was that a new mistake. The first house we put an offer in on was accepted immediately. It was the smoothest process I'd ever seen in comparison to the hell I'd just gone through. I checked the MLS every day, watched homes I saved while I rented go pending or under contract in a week, or sell for over asking.
My heart sunk when all the homes I wanted and lost out to were back on the market as a rental property, or were slightly updated prices 50k-100k higher than before. Homes were being sold by opendoor, or rental from the very people I used to buy to rent from. I couldn't believe to this day how many homes I lost out to, sitting vacant for MONTHS prices dropping and dropping as the feds raised the interest rates. I went to open houses, asked what people wanted for offers (so I could be informed when I was ready), and knew my chances were getting slimmer and slimmer.
All the while, my commute was the devil. Traffic galore, accidents making my drive time go from 30-2 hours to and from. It was far from family, the mileage on my car grew so fast, my tires were wearing faster. The home was way too big for us (2765 sqft) and difficult to maintain. Beautiful home and town, but not for me.
The rent was also too high. It said it would be 2500, but wound up being 3100 after all of the damn fees they didn't disclose until AFTER WE WERE UNDER CONTRACT sflkghskg The electric bill was 6x the amount (bad company. People in that town are begnning to organize), water bill company demands 100 dollars no matter the usage (we only use about 60$), and the gas prices increased so high I was putting 60 dollars every 3 days in my car.
Then, my precious cat that followed me from NJ to AZ that had been with me through all of the DV, mental breaks, homelessness, had suffered from strokes. She was a stick, walking in circles, giving nothing but love. I tried everything I could, paid thousands to save her, but in the end, all I did was prolong her and my suffering. She passed in my arms. I love you and miss you, Emma.
Other life things happened, and by December, I had 200 dollars in the bank. When my income tax came, I applied for loans and said Im going to try the DPA and stuff again, It was either that, or rent a smaller house or apartment but seeing the market repeat my 2021 experience, I had to try with what I had. My goal was to get back to the neighborhood I wanted. NO EXCEPTIONS.
So I switched realtors based on a recommendation from FB. Random person said this lady would fight for me like no one else would. This realtor recommended me a lender, she said it could make miracles happen. I almost didn't do it because I had been let down by 2 other lenders before this one in 2023, but screw it. I followed his advice to the T of what to pay down, what to keep, and what to negotiate with. We gave him our 401ks info, our paystubs, had 3 of us on the loan, and explained we had no downpayment, just money for closing costs.
The market, at this point, slowed down due to the interest rates but was beginning to pick up. A lot of the homes we put offers on didn't like our asks. Which was disappointing, but I understood. What seller would want to pay closing costs for us so our payment assistance would go strictly to the home when they could accept the few cash, investor, or better conventional loan offers? The homes were going below listing, which was cool, but not quite in my 365k max range.
Until I gave way a little bit. There were 2 townhomes. One that was detached and had the most gorgeous yard Id ever seen for where it was at, and the inside was completely upgraded and bigger than it looked with a gorgeous mountain view from the master. But it was in a neighborhood that gave me goosebumps. No wonder they would accept 365k and pay everything should we put in our offer lol I couldn't do it, though. I didn't want to sacrifice being comfortable in my home safely to have a house. It was the first and only time I was picky.
At first, that seemed like a mistake, as the only other home I thought would accept our offer in my dream neighborhood said the seller had a specific number they wanted to sell at, which wasnt 365k, it was 375k. I wasn't going to get a home after all. I knew my ask was tough, and I wasn't going to get a house despite trying for another 3 months. I gave up. But then... I thought about something. That townhome in the neighborhood of my dreams, they wanted 375k? I restructured our ask to get to that 375k. A few hours later, my realtor texted me if she could call. It was urgent.
I was at work and went into the office and called. THE SELLER ACCEPTED OUR OFFER, THEY ACCEPTED OUR EFFING OFFER! THEY ACCEPTED IT!!!! I cried so hard, hyperventilated, cried some more, and told myself I wasn't going to get excited. I had this happen before, after all.
Well, guess what? Long story short, after hurdles during this closing as well, needing to push it back for this or that, WE CLOSED!! WE CLOSED ON THE HOUSE, IT WAS MINE!!! IT IS MINE!
The seller paid for all of the closing costs. DPA paid the downpayment at 3%. The rate was 6.85%, DPA loan at 8%. I paid for the appraisal and inspection, that's it. Only 1100 out of pocket. Monthly payment was 2865, my max, but it is MINE and EVERYTHING I wanted besides having a huge yard (it's still a decent sized yard) and open kitchen Home is 8 min from work (bye bye crappy commute!),community has incredible amenities, sub division has a pool, HOA covered roof (it was new anyway), new AC, new dishwasher, freshly painted, 3 beds 2 and a half baths, 1400sqft, 2 car garage with driveway, upstairs and downstairs like I always imagined, and so much more.
Every hurdle, every tear, every breakdown, taught me what I needed to know and led me to home. After saving for a year with the cheaper electric, water, gas prices, and mortgage, we just refinanced. Got a 5.75% rate (I thought it was 5.32, but after we closed today, it was 5.75%), the home appraised for 395k with no changes besides adding a fridge and new oven. The equity paid every penny of the refinance and the DPA loan. My mortgage is now 2550. For us, this is affordable now that we are debt free and still have savings!
I got my home with the most undesirable circumstances. I may be an exception, not the rule, but if my pathetic self can do it, i promise. You can, too. Don't be defeated. Don't let the investors win.
You need to win.

The Dasa’iratc god wishes to congratulate his Human counterpart with a job well done. His species has discovered their first in what will be many FTL at an unprecedented pace.
“Extending congratulations to you my friend” Dasa’iratc says warmly.
“Thank you,” The human god offers a handshake.
“Do you still have no plans to introduce your humans with everyone else?” Dasa’iratc says curiously while accepting the handshake.
“We still have time forever for you to have them to be canonical in the wider universe, afterall our infrastructure is more suited for long term plays than your entropy prone creation” Dasa’iratc attempting to convince him again.
“I have said this before, but I believe it’s best for them to stay here” Human god stated.
“You know, there is a saying that repeating a solution hoping for another result is the definition of insanity” He chuckles.
“Sadly a God can’t become insane by mortal definition.” Dasa’iratc jokingly rebuts.
“Now that I thought about it, haven’t you felt a slight shame in their actions?” Dasa’iratc ponders.
“Why would I? That they bled each other for my name or their certain inability to not end another one of their kind?” Human god rhetorically jest jokingly.
“Yes, that. Your creation can speak of roses and beauty yet contribute to poison in the lake. Why would you model what is the representation of ourselves in quite the dangerous and unorthodox way?” Dasa’iratc questions.
“We Gods inherently have their will and unshakable faith that they possess through brutality and unseen miracles, but why? We personally oversee the lives of a quadrillion in a simulation unfathomable." Human god explains.
"For every atom in this homely crucible, I have molded a sort of ‘imperfections’ that yours don’t possess.” The human god, not giving any more detail.
“Ah,” Dasa’iratc realizes the implications.
“We are gods because everything to us seems simple, so you exposed humanity with everything? From the orthodox approach of prosperity and culture to the concepts my own Dasa’iratc would have trouble comprehending such as language and betrayal.” Dasa’iratc having answered his own question.
“Yes, humans are beings destined for the stars after all. Once they finally understand everything I have shown to them, maybe they can not only crack FTL from impossibility but also from these eggshells over their heads. Then walk among us with an indomitable spirit equal to our ability to create energy or bend physics” The Human god added in glee.
“Remarkable” Dasa'iratc not finding another word to use.
“Now help me, we have a 1917 USA Mailman in creation to help humanity experience a bit of what I want to show them. Let’s hope this cold war will cool down a bit. I feel sorry for the fella working minimum wage during the heights of the cold war.” The human god jokes for there not just only one humanity but several in dedicated multiverses.
(OOC: This is the first time I created a HFY story so I hope I provided a joyful short read!)

Don’t get me wrong, both of these girls are AWFUL friends and Ginger and Penny absolutely deserves better (Penny especially, cause her whole friend group is toxic…at least Ginger has Macie), however, I think both these characters have valid reasons for being the way they are and deserve more slack than they are given.
First and most important point, both of these girls are young teenagers. They are still very much trying to figure themselves and the world out and they have ample time and space to grow and mature and become better as time goes on if they put forth the effort. Really, these characters more closely resemble average teen girls more than the protagonist of their respective series.
Second off, they both come from HORRIBLE home situations. Dodie’s mother is a grown up mean girl who makes her family and their friends walk on eggshells around her. She also stabbed her own daughter in the back in the name of her own popularity…we don’t have to wonder where Dodie gets her “anything to be cool” attitude. Dodie also has plenty of moments when she’s a supportive and caring friend to Ginger and Macie. She’s far from perfect, but I do think she has the potential to at least be better than what she came from.
Dijonay meanwhile has to serve as a near constant caregiver to TEN SIBLINGS. We almost never see her parents and when we do they are having her watch all the kids. Yeah, Penny had to watch her little siblings a lot too, but she only had 2 while Dijonay has ten. It’s also made clear that the economic status between Penny and Dijonay is wildly different. It does NOT give Dijonay the right to mistreat Penny by any stretch of the imagination, but it does give some credence to it. Also, LaCieniga was easily Penny’s most toxic friend, and her home life was substantially better.
I’ll say one more time that neither of these girls are saints, or even good, but I do think you have to account for their situations and backgrounds. I know lots of cartoon fans love Helga from Hey Arnold, and she has plenty of toxic traits/moments too, but she gets a frequent pass due to her home life and I think these girls also deserve that occasional consideration.