Hi all, was getting into a discussion about [[Emrakul's Messenger]] from Modern Horizons 3. Obviously Modern Horizons is a bit looser on canonicity, and could be at any point in the history of the game, but Emrakul's Messenger is interesting... in that it's a faerie, and Emrakul's not spent time in a set on a plane with faeries, so far.
Zendikar and Innistrad are absent Faeries, and so we're left with questions. Where is this character from, and what plane is this card set on?
https://media.wizards.com/2024/mh3/en_8f0c2bcab3.png
Some things to note: the faerie's legs are completely over-run with tentacles, making it harder to determine if this is a lorwyn faerie.
She also has markings/little antennae above her eyebrows, which are not really consistent with any faeries I'm aware of? Lorwyn faeries have larger antennae in that location, and while a couple of Eldraine faeries have antlers in their hair, they're seeming always plant-like, and further back.
She has translucent pink wings, and it's hard to match them with any wings I'm aware of - the shape is similar to those on the Wilds of Eldraine [[Faerie tokenTWOT]], Thone of Eldraine's [[Mysterious Pathfinder]], and perhaps Morningtide's [[Fencer Clique]] and the DCI promo for [[Oona's BlackguardPDCI]].
Most wings we see on faeries are made of four parts (sorry, don't know the correct terminology for insect parts), and most are thinner and straighter than Messenger's.
She is wearing strapped on armbands, seemingly of plant matter, with sharp nails. We have examples of similar armbands on both Eldraine and Lorwyn faeries, e.g. [[Rankle, Pitiless Trickster]], [[BitterblossomWOT92]] (the clearest comparison, imo), the upper arm brace on [[BitterblossomPUMA]], the smaller fae in [[Archmage of Echoes]], and on [[Nectar Faerie]].
Lastly for her clothes, we have a thin dress that wraps the shoulders. In style, it's most similar to many of the white faeries of Eldraine e.g. [[Hushbringer]], and most Lorwyn faeries eschew clothes, given their chitinous bodies and legs (though not universally). However, it bears some similarity with the Conspiracy printing of [[Wind DancerCNS]] as well.
Obviously, all this doesn't account for someone who's clearly had their body morphed by Emrakul extensively, so the features we can see don't necessarily line up with anything. And, also, it could simply be a character who has travelled via Omenpath, either to get to Emrakul, or to spread her message.
So, where do you think Emrakul's Messenger is from? And... do you think this is a clue for the next apperance of Emrakul herself?

So I’ve decided my smiley absolutely needs to come out soon because I’ve found a groove in one of my front teeth. I know this is gonna sound stupid but I’m really sad, it’s my favourite piercing and it’s like I’m removing a whole feature 😭 so my question is, is there anything I can put in there to retain it that won’t touch my teeth? Ideally I’d keep the retainer in on a daily basis and then put the horseshoe back in for special occasions.
Obviously I’m bracing myself to be told it’s just gotta go. And yall can downvote away since I’m dumb enough to be prioritising a piercing over my dental health lol (if it helps I’m British so the standards ain’t that high in the first place lmao)

So here's my concern You probably read the title, but before that, here's our brief background. I've been friends with this girl for a year now, and we get along well with everything. One day, I found out that she liked me, and since I was already interested in her, I let her entertain me. This eventually led to our decision to start as a low-key couple because we knew our families wouldn't approve.
At first, Our relationship was healthy, we would open up with each other and make each other feel validated. One day, I borrowed her phone and I logged in to my Messenger account afterward, I logged out and went home. The next day, I received a notification that someone logged in to my messenger account and registered by her device. So I asked her, but she completely denied it and defended herself. I mean it's not a problem to me if she logged in to my account but I would appreciate it if she told me the truth.
So I let it pass but decided to be attentive to her actions. So this is where it all started, the downfall of our relationship.
October 2023- So there was an event at school and she was the muse. After the event, I checked my social media and came across a photo of her and a guy(19M) (her classmate btw). The guy posted it on Facebook, if you see the photo you can tell that they are close based on their body language and how close they are in the photo. I think the guy posted it 2times. I was devasted when I saw the pic and I couldn't sleep that night, I decided to keep it for myself which I realized I shouldn't do.
So that is how I know the guy. I eventually found out that this guy is always with her For example, 1. ) like he is always her groupmate,2.) they would walk together after school there were a couple of times that I saw them walking with their friends and every time I saw them, it was either the guy walking beside her or behind her, and on December 2023 I saw a video of them walking with along their friends, and that video I saw him carrying her bag. and matching color outfits. 3.) The guy always drives her home after doing their group projects because they always do group projects at the guy's home and it always made me overthink and feel uncomfortable every time that happens and i told her that and she assured me that she understands and she will look for ways so he can avoid the guy. But nothing changed when I opened up to her she always said that she tried and that she has a no choice because of this and that. 4.) There was a time when she invited her girlfriends to have dinner. so guess who was with them? yeah the "guy", She said that she only invited her girlfriends and her friend(19F} was the one who invited the guy. 5.) She was going to our dentist to adjust her brace, and the guy also came along with her 3 girlfriends. I mean there's no problem with that but it made me question "Why is the guy always with her?" even though she knows that I am uncomfortable with him. She always said that she didn't invite him but it was her friend. I am really tired of her excuse of being to leave with no choice 6.) March 2024- The Guy posted her pic, with opm as background music and he captioned "I Miss you". I told her what I saw, and she made the guy delete it. at this point, i began to question my trust on her and her honesty. 7.) May 2024- This recently happened, so prom night was around the corner and their dance practice will start in late April. Before, she told me that she would look for ways so that she would avoid being partnered with him, but in the end, the guy was her partner. I talked patiently to her about that, and she said that she tried but no one was willing to swap partners. even though I understood her, I still felt uncomfortable and jealous. The day before the prom night, she said that she won't be sitting beside him at the table. The next day I attended their prom and I saw them sitting with each other, they were sitting close, and there having a good time with each other and there were times that the guy rested his hand on her chair.
After that, we had a misunderstanding, but eventually, I lowered my pride and told her that everything was gonna be okay and we would pass this.
since that day up until now, I felt empty, and I think that my trust in her is gone but I still hope for her. I felt like I'd been betrayed and I'm tired of the feeling of being jealous and miserable. I also felt guilty for being jealous and having not enough trust in her. When we have a misunderstanding about that guy she always says that I don't love her and that her efforts are not enough which makes me feel guilty.
The 7 I listed above, are not all of it but to sum it all up, That guy is always with her or involved when something happens. I also found out that her classmates and teacher are pushing them to be together, I even saw a post, a photo of her and her teacher(38F) complimenting her smile and in the comment section, I saw her teacher teasing her that her smile is already owned by someone, which i already know who her teacher is pointing at. When I talked to her about that, she said that I always overthink and her teacher is just teasing her with no one.
They were times that I want to ask her classmate and her friends, about the guy. Everytime I do, i notice that she has this nervous look on her face. When I ask her why? She said that i dont trust her and what if they(her classmate) would tell me the wrong information and that she has a relationship with the guy." It only make the situation" she says.
I understand her situation but no matter how many excuses and explanations she gave to me, it always ends with that question." why always him" "Why he is always with you" "Why he is always involved with you". It's too many coincidences or unexpected situations, for him to be always with her. Despite her explanations My gut is always tell me that she is lying. I am really tired here it's affecting many aspects of my life and it's making me miserable. Or maybe i am just paranoid.
Sometimes I think to myself, maybe I am the problem here, maybe i look too much at tiny details and make meaning out of them,
Please someone out there, I need your help. Do you feel that my girlfriend is hiding something from me and that there is something she doesnt want me to know? what can you say about my situation? Does this ndicate that i need to leave her? I dont know what to do anymore and im really at lost here.

Alright, fellow World Wide Webbers, I'm bracing myself for some honest criticism and feedback maybe? Despite having talked it out with my husband, I find myself still grappling with unresolved emotions regarding this situation. I'm hoping to unburden my mind and perhaps find some closure so this might turn into quite the lengthy exposition.
At the end of December 2023, I 34f confronted my husband 31m about the text messages I discovered between him and a female co-worker. To maintain anonymity, I will not be using my husband's name.
For a bit of context, my husband is Caucasian, while I am Asian, so it's evident that we were raised with distinct beliefs and different cultural upbringings. We share two children, an 8-year-old son and a 3-year-old daughter. We've been together since 2012 and tied the knot in 2022. Prior to our marriage, I made it abundantly clear that as individuals with kids in our thirties, I emphasized that any breach of marriage vows, especially physical infidelity, would lead to immediate divorce without any attempts at therapy. He unequivocally accepted this condition, expressing his commitment to growing old together, embracing flaws and all.
In February 2023, my husband made the decision to leave his previous employer in pursuit of better opportunities, primarily due to ongoing issues with management hiring underqualified personnel for leadership roles. He works within the construction industry, which often necessitates traveling outside of the state. He was able to return home only once a week every other month, placing strain on his relationship with our children and causing him considerable stress and depression.
Upon transitioning to his current job, he gained the benefit of being able to return home and spending more time with our kids on a daily basis. Witnessing this positive change in his mood brought me great joy and relief.
After work one day, hubby shared that there was no field work scheduled that day. Instead, the crew was engaged in tasks like inventory management, workshop cleaning, and work vehicle maintenance. He gave me a heads up, advising me not to get upset. He expressed surprise when Brittney, the 22-year-old office assistant, sent him a text to inform everyone about the donuts in the office, provided by their boss.
According to hubby, she handled all the secretarial tasks like filing paperwork, payroll, and managing benefits, among others.
When I inquired why he didn't suggest she resend the message through the group text used for work related communication, he simply shrugged and admitted he hadn't thought to reply. Thus, he informed everyone about the donuts via Brittney's text. Subsequently, he mentioned that his colleagues were aware of his marital status, yet teasingly remarked, "Oooh, 'hubby' has a 'work wife'."
I couldn't help but ponder why he chose to share this with me. Was it a hint of flattery, and that he relished being the center of attention? Or perhaps it was a hint of guilt? He's the sort of person who thrives on verbal recognition, praise, and appreciation.
I expressed appreciation that he brought the matter to my attention, as it helps prevent misunderstandings, especially since we have access to each other's phones. It occurred to him to inform me to prevent any misinterpretations should I come across the text message later. I assured him that I wasn't upset, as it's common to build rapport and be friendly with coworkers of the opposite gender, provided the relationship remains strictly platonic.
While we were on this topic, I made it clear where I stand. I understand the need for people to have someone to confide in at work, but I condone the idea of a married individual having or seeking a "work wife/work husband" as a necessary part of work. I didn't want to dampen his spirit, but I also made it clear that I wouldn't engage in such close connections with coworkers that could jeopardize my job due to office gossip or false accusations. Personally, I want to be taken as a reliable person so I'd rather present myself professionally. I mentioned how lucky I am to be working from home. I like my co-workers, but some of them tend to stir up trouble for sure.
I simply emphasized further that he should refrain from discussing intimate matters, such as our marital issues, with his "work wife" or anyone else at work. Instead, I'd prefer that he communicate directly with me so we can work through any issues together. In reality, when I attempt to seek understanding and resolution... I'm often met with blame-shifting or hubby revisiting past grievances about what I didn't do, which does little to resolve the current issue at hand. But I digress.
His apparent lack of interest in my concerns momentarily raised doubts about his trustworthiness and integrity. However, I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering that he approached me about the "work wife" situation. I then reminded him of the reality in the construction trades, where HR interventions often only occur in response to significant lawsuit issues like harassment.
Lastly, I cautioned him to be vigilant and watch his own back. Given his past experiences of being unfairly implicated in previous workplace matters and his newcomer status in this job, he could easily find himself in similar situations again. Associating closely with anyone who holds leverage over him could result in betrayal when tensions rise in the workplace.
When my husband reached his 60th day of employment and became eligible for work benefits, and requested my assistance with the enrollment process. His boss informed him that Brittney had emailed him the necessary information to access his benefits.
However, when I opened the email, the first thing that caught my eye was Brittney's email signature. Alongside the employer's business details and her contact information was a prominently displayed, oversized picture of Brittney herself. You can't miss it!
I'm not sure if my laid-back and straightforward style comes across in writing, but I certainly hope it does. I didn't hold back when I shared my thoughts with my husband. Jokingly, I admitted, "She's undeniably attractive. If I were the type to stray, I might be tempted by someone as gorgeous as her, provided she was interested in me."
Now, I must admit, my self-esteem has taken a bit of a blow. Between managing life, work, and taking care of the kids, self-care has taken a backseat, and I've gained 20 pounds since having our two children.
Brittney's signature photo was undoubtedly professionally taken, but it falls short in terms of professionalism. The image depicted her from head to midsection, featuring flawless makeup and a gray blouse that was nearly see-through, barely showing her moderately small bosom with harden nips, peering out, as if playing peek-a-boo.
According to my husband, she used to work as a waitress at a specific sports barestaurant where the uniforms were essentially lingerie and bikinis. I won't disclose the name of the restaurant, and it's probably not the one you're thinking of.
Curious, I asked my husband how he knew this. His response was that men often discuss such things at work. He elaborated, mentioning that his boss only hired her for her looks, as she was considered eye candy. Additionally, he shared that coworkers disliked her because she frequently made mistakes with their pay. In fact, he even mentioned a rumor among the crew that Brittney might be involved with the hiring manager, as he always seemed to protect her from consequences when payroll errors occurred.
Leaning on the arm of my office chair, I shot hubby a playful side-eye. With a joking tone, I gently poked his forearm and teased, "You might be saying terrible things about her, but deep down, you secretly wish it was you, huh? MUAHAHAHAHAHA!"
A few weeks later, he sought advice about a work issue. He was rather vague in his explanation, expressing a desire to address someone at work without causing offense. Giving him a playful side-eye and a grin with puckered duck lips, I straightforwardly asked, "What's the real problem here?"
With a sigh and a hint of awkwardness, he confessed, "It's Brittney. She dresses in revealing, tight-fitted clothes—short shorts, crop tops. She doesn't wear a bra, so her nipples are always visible, and sometimes she even wears workout attire like sports bras and yoga pants to the office. It's making me and some of the guys uncomfortable."
I understood and not judging his character, I responded, "Wow, that's quite a situation, and it's incredibly unprofessional. It's a recipe for potential s3xual harassment."
Realizing the hiring manager and the boss weren't going to address it, I suggested he speak to another female colleague about the matter. Upon further questioning, I discovered that Brittney leaves around noon and a different female colleague takes over her duties around 1pm, so that's out of the question.
I suggested that he simply inform management that Brittney's attire violates the work dress code and leave it at that. I also provided an example of what not to say, emphasizing that while Brittney may look good in gym clothes, it is not appropriate for the office environment. As for what happened afterward, I'm unsure. Given the toxic work culture, I doubt he spoke to anyone who gives a dam about it.
In July 2023, my husband received a promotion and began leading his own crew. This entailed traveling for work once more, a familiar aspect of our lives. On the bright side, the work site is only a 3-hour drive away, allowing him to return home on the weekends.
I observed a shift in his demeanor not long after. He began using words and expressions I hadn't heard from him in a while—phrases reminiscent of our early dating days. For instance, he would say things like, "Aw, it's cute how you think that way," or "I disagree, but what you said is adorable," before lightly "booping" me on the nose with his finger.
I wasn't sure how to react to this behavior. It struck me as a bit cringeworthy. I asked, "Are you okay? What's going on with you? Why did you say that? It's weird, hearing you say that to me." I speculated that perhaps he was attempting to inject some excitement into our mundane routine, so I tried not to dwell on it too much. Of course, my SUS meter was on alert.
I attempted to start a conversation to inquire about how his promotion was going. However, he responded with minimal engagement, indicating he wanted to avoid that topic. Initially, I attributed it to the increased workload or the monotony of our family and work lives. Nevertheless, suspicion crept in, and my thoughts drifted to hypothetical scenarios of infidelity, even though our intimate s e x y time remained unchanged.
I've generally maintained a level of trust in people, prioritizing my trust in myself above all else. However, I've never placed full trust in anyone, including my husband. I felt drained by the situation, so I made a mental note to remain observant and vigilant.
In late November 2023, hubby was reprimanded for mistakenly reporting incorrect work hours for himself and his crew members. It bordered on time theft, but due to his strong rapport and work ethic, he received a relatively lenient punishment—a written disciplinary action. I was taken aback, realizing this could have led to criminal charges and repayment of all falsely reported hours. Given that some of his previous foremen had engaged in similar behavior, perhaps he thought it was acceptable.
Over the weekend, as he brooded over his mistake, I could see he was deeply affected by the situation. I attempted to empathize with him first and told him to view this as a valuable lesson, emphasizing his fortunate situation with an understanding boss. "I'm sorry this happened to you," I said, "and I genuinely believe you didn't realize what you were doing was wrong." I refrained from saying too much, not wanting to exacerbate his feelings, especially since he had been demoted to his previous position.
I suppose things only took a turn for the worse from there. Two days before Christmas 2023, I found myself awake late at night, tidying up the kitchen—loading the dishes, storing away leftovers. With the kids and my husband fast asleep, I noticed he had left his phone on the table. Taking a moment to rest, I couldn't resist the urge to see what he had been up to.
I hesitated for a moment before giving in to the temptation to snoop, aware that it's morally wrong. I recognized this as a breach of his trust. If we were still dating, the situation might be different. But now that we're married, we are a unit, and his actions directly impact me as well.
Here's what I found:

1. The first thing I checked was his Facebook activity. Since he began working with his current employer, he has viewed Brittney's Facebook page at least six times each month. I noticed she's not on his friends list, so I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming it might have been curiosity. Though I've never met Brittney in person, her profile picture certainly showcased an attractive individual.
2. I scrolled through his Facebook Messenger but found no activity—just crickets. I suppose he could've deleted conversations that he didn't want me to see.
3. I checked his Instagram and Snapchat accounts, but there wasn't anything noteworthy either.
4. I ventured into his photo gallery, only to find adorable pictures of our kids and a vibrant album of downloaded adult entertainment. Unfortunately, there were no pictures of Brittney to be found—not even a secure folder in sight.
5. I examined his call history as of April, noting several calls incoming and outgoing between him, his coworkers, his crew, and his boss. Among these were outgoing and incoming calls between hubby and Brittney, but the majority of their calls lasted up to a minute or less. Up to this point, everything seemed relatively normal, until...
6. I checked his text messages... There were numerous work orders and discussions about work-related inventory... as well as some inappropriate conversations about movies, people, and even Brittney, which seemed to be common topics among his coworkers... Then, I stumbled upon a separate text conversation between Brittney and hubby.

I went in and scrolled all the way to the beginning... Initially, the messages were strictly work-related. Hubby reporting his work hours to Brittney, and Brittney sending him a link to his paystub, and so on. That was the extent of it until July, the month of his promotion.
I noticed that he had started messaging Brittney occasionally to ask about her day. There were some light flirtations and perhaps an inside joke that I wasn't aware of regarding donuts.
Hubby would ask if she had gotten a donut yet. He also teased her about her diet, tempting her to give in by enticing her with "The soft bread as you bite into it? the sugar glaze being perfectly paired with blueberry coffee?" —was that an innuendo? or maybe he knew her so well that he knows her favorite coffee flavor? LMAO!!!
He initiated another text conversation with "Hey boo." "Donuts?" and she replied with, "Come get one." Hubby responded with "no, can you bring me a donut?" "Thanks boo." I mean, these conversations could be misinterpreted, so I decided not to make a big deal out of it. What do you think?
Brittney was involved in a car wreck, and he sent some texts to offer her comfort. My hubby engaged in joking around. One of it went like this, "Hey, do you..." and she would respond, "Do I what?" Hubby continued, "Do you have a soul?" To which she replied, "No." So hubby said, "I hear KIA has some. You can get one there." —car joke because at some point Brittney was looking to purchase a vehicle.
As I read further, I discovered that throughout this time, Brittney was in a relationship and had also bought an expensive sports car. My hubby commented that it was a pity she didn't opt for a truck. His exact words were, "Just saying, guys find a woman driving a truck s e x y as hell." To which she responded, "Not my guy." My hubby replied, "Tell me your bf at least has a truck?"
She didn't reply, so my hubby wrote, "Brittney, I don't want to alarm you, but he might be a she. Don't worry, they make prosthetics." Then she responded with, "Shut up! XD"
There was a male co-worker who had a crush on Brittney, and there was an ongoing inside joke that everyone at work teased them about. She was clearly out of his league though.
Brittney took vacation to Florida, and when she returned, hubby initiated another conversation by greeting her with "hello sunshine" and then asking her how her vacation went. She responded that she was going through a difficult time and suggested they talk later, so she cut the conversation short. During this period, my hubby was working three hours away.
Later, my hubby reached out after work hours to inquire about her situation stating "Wanna talk about your issues. Got nothing better to do at the hotel." Brittney complained about needing more hours and more money, expressing frustration that coming back from vacation was a mess and that people in the office couldn't function without her. She went on stating that she wasn't paid enough to deal with a boss who wasn't providing her with the necessary hours, so she was thinking about finding a new job and quitting.
These are examples of the conversations they had back-to-back, on the daily or every other day. To be honest, I wasn't jealous...I was envious. Not so much animosity or hostility, but I was disappointed that my own husband didn't take his free time to call or text me like he did with Brittney. Was it my fault? What did I do to make him not want to give me his attention? I was truly sadden. Why would he tend to someone else's garden when his own is yellowing?
I was feeling incredibly alone at this point, and my anger surged when I discovered that he had invited her out for lunch. Supposedly, he initially asked a close male co-worker to lunch, but the guy canceled on him, prompting him to invite Brittney instead. I felt a sense of relief when I saw she declined, responding with, "No, I'm working. Some people work for a living you know."
To calm my anger, I backed out from their text messages and searched for the conversation between hubby and the said male co-worker, whom he supposedly invited out for lunch. I couldn't find any mention of it. So, I concluded that maybe he asked this co-worker in person. I returned to my husband's conversation with Brittney once I had calmed down. I didn't want my emotions to cloud my judgment.
As I continued reading, my husband brought up Brittney's Facebook account, mentioning that her Red hair color in her profile picture isn't her current blonde color. In response, she explained that she hadn't been active on that account for a long time, and the photo with red hair was from about 4 years ago. Hubby remarked, "Why change to blonde, I think Red looks cute." Their deep conversation seemed to have ended around late September. Everything else was back to reported work hours and paystub...
BUT WAIT!!! I found a separate group chat dating in late September with three other people. They talked about some really inappropriate stuff. I'm not going to even go into it. The last messages in this group text appears to have upset Brittney. The male co-workers kind of gained up on her by expressing a different opinion on whether a certain actress from the show "Vikings" was attractive.
Brittney insisted that the male co-workers had terrible taste in women, disagreeing that the main actress from "Vikings" was un-attractive. My hubby and the other co-workers disagreed with her, stating that Brittney is jealous because she's the unattractive one. Despite understanding that my hubby was teasing in a playful manner, I believed Brittney may have taken it personally. My heart went out to her. I assume this disagreement resulted in their decreased communication.
After reading through everything, I waited until after Christmas to confront my hubby. This also allowed me time to contemplate what I was going to say to ensure our discussion wouldn't become heated. I reached out to his mom and asked for her insight. I wanted to gain a different perspective and understand things from another angle.
His mom asked which part of it bothered me the most, and I replied, "I'm surprised that all of it didn't bother me. There were two things that really bothered me. It was the fact that he asked another woman out to lunch who he had been giving his attention to."
My mother-in-law emphasized that when a "work wife" is involved, it's typically just a friendly relationship within the workplace and nothing more. She advised me not to read too much into it and didn't want to say anything more. Yeah, I understood her point, but I'm not certain she grasped the underlying reason for my concern. She wished me well, and I thanked my mother-in-law for her time, reassuring her not to worry about us.
The first week of the new year 2024 arrived, and I asked him to sit down with me for a calm conversation. I began by acknowledging that I shouldn't have been snooping in his phone, but I had my suspicions. I understood if he no longer trusts me. He wanted to respond, but I asked him to let me finish before he said anything.
I said, "I have concluded that you are still committed to our relationship. I don't have solid evidence that you have committed physical infidelity. There are two reasons I asked you to sit down with me. Firstly, I want to understand why, you, a married man, would invite another woman besides your wife, sister, niece, aunt, or mom out to lunch. Secondly, I want to discuss how I feel upon discovering that you've been giving your attention and time to Brittney, whether you were working in town, at the shop, or away out of state."
Hubby replied to my question by stating that if I wanted to have lunch with a male co-worker from work, I wouldn't have to tell him and I don't need his permission. It's because he simply trusts me. To that, I replied, "I'm glad you trust me, and we both know I have not gone behind your back to do anything explicit with another person." Then he added that he also invited other co-workers out to lunch, and they too refused his invitation.
I don't know what prompted me to entertain this, but after hearing that he extended invitations to other co-workers as well, I had to ask, "Who else did you invite? And can you prove that you invited them? The invite would have to reference or be sent around the same date and time you invited Brittney to lunch."
Hubby named four other male co-workers and pulled out his phone. As he searched through his text messages, I continued, hoping he would understand my perspective.
I conveyed to him, "Hubby, I want you to understand that I wouldn't consider asking a male coworker out for lunch alone. It's irrelevant how well I get along with any male co-workers. If I ever contemplated having lunch with a male coworker, the least I could do out of respect for you, is to check in with you first to see if you're comfortable with it. The last thing I want is for family and friends to start rumors because they spotted me in public with another man."
Hubby took a while to search through his messages, but he couldn't find anything. His expression seemed to suggest that he was caught in a lie. I acknowledged that without evidence of his claim, it made him look like a liar. I comforted him by saying it was alright that he couldn't find any evidence. he had invited another male coworker before Brittney, which was sufficient to alleviate any doubts.
Hubby tried to assure me that Brittney is just a co-worker, and I have nothing to worry about because they had not been texting since September or October. And addition to that, Brittney was trying to connect and be a part of the male co-worker circle. He didn't have to include that, but I still listened.
He didn't actually acknowledge the part he played prior to their falling out, and I think he completely missed the entire point. Hubby's trust bucket—the trust I had for him has been drained. I said, "Whatever was going on with you and Brittney, some people would see it as emotional cheating. You may disagree and say you didn't cheat emotionally, but how do you explain why you've been giving so much of your time to Brittney when you could've taken the time to call me and talk to our children?"
He explained that he sympathized with Brittney because she faced hostility from colleagues due to her mistakes with payroll. They criticized her harshly in private chats. (Which is true; they wrote mean things, and hubby took part. Such a two-faced hypocrite). I sensed my husband's reluctance to continue, so I remarked, "Let it be known, in my eyes, you took pity and showed priority for a coworker over your own family."
I worried that my words to hubby might have been too harsh, and that's why I'm still grappling with suppressed emotions, unable to fully resolve the feelings surrounding this incident. Or maybe it could be something else. What say you?
Edit: Additional stuff BTW, I should bring this up.
The day after, I found myself mulling over our discussion, and before I could stop myself, I impulsively uttered, "Can you clarify your intentions for asking Brittney to lunch?" as I was not entirely certain if his motives were solely based on sympathy from criticism at work. I hoped that gaining clarity on his intentions could help me move past this situation. From the way he rolled his eyes, he was obviously annoyed that I brought up this topic again.
He reiterated that I should stop worrying about it and assured me that there was nothing romantic happening between them. So I decided to leave it be.
I informed him that I had also reviewed his Facebook activity logs, and pointed out that I noticed he had searched for her at least six times each month. He denied ever looking her up on Facebook and quickly pulled up his activity log to prove his innocence. My jaw dropped (not literally). To my surprise, there was no trace of Brittney.
I stood firm and said, "Don't deceive and gaslight me into thinking I made this up. I saw your search histories with my own eyes. I'm well aware activity logs can be removed." He feigned ignorance, pretending to be clueless, claiming he didn't know how to delete activity logs. He's fully aware that I have no tolerance for liars.
A week after our discussion, he was preoccupied with packing his work uniforms into his luggage, so he asked me to text his boss to confirm which site he would be working at the following Monday. Of course, he changed his password. I attempted his password twice, thinking I must have entered it wrong the 1st time, but both attempts were unsuccessful.
I sensed that he did this deliberately as a subtle way to signal that he didn't want me playing detective on his phone anymore. Clearly he'd preferred the cat-and-mouse game over direct communication. He is quite petty.
BUT this was a bitch move to belittle me, I felt disrespected and I firmly said, "Babe, if you're trying to say you don't want me snooping, I would have respected you more if you had told me face to face. I'm sorry, but I can't access your phone. You'll have to handle it yourself." What he did was shady which suggests that there might be more he is concealing.

Greetings, BlackBerry lovers.
I'm also one of you. I'm writing this to share with you how much I love BlackBerry, especially the BlackBerry Passport. I've been using so many smartphones and have kept some special ones for a collection. The iPhone 5s was the best-looking device of all time in my opinion, even when comparing it to any of the latest smartphones with bezel-less displays or other incredible designs. The iPhone 5s is still one of the best designs. But since I've had my hands on the Passport, my mind has changed; it completely beats the iPhone 5s. I felt excited about how beautiful it is and really fell in love with it. Of course, I got it for my collection.
Despite it being quite an old tech device and having so many restrictions these days, let's go back one year. I always had it in my pocket next to my main device (Z Fold 5). I was using it like a messaging and emailing machine with just a connection via Bluetooth tethering. The keyboard is amazing; typing is so satisfying. And since WhatsApp discontinued support for Android 4.3, and recently Facebook and Messenger stopped working on my Passport, I don't know why, that makes the Passport become less useful to me. I have no reason to take it out with me every day anymore.
Every day I still hold it, gaze at it, and play some card games. I know you guys are trying to install many cool games on it, but I won't force my Passport to do it. However, I try searching for ideas to make it more useful to me. For example, I could sync the notifications from my main device, just like a smartwatch, use it to control my PC, or use it like a music player because it supports AptX.
I figured out there's a quite similar-looking device on the market—the Unihertz Titan. I thought of getting it as a replacement for the Passport, but it is too bulky, and the main reason is that it is not a BlackBerry.
Hopefully, one day, we could revive BlackBerry, and I could experience more functions.
Honestly, if in 2024, an exactly same-looking BlackBerry Passport were released with the latest Android version installed, I would not hesitate to purchase it at any cost.

Hi, I know some of you have been interested in Joost’s written stuff, so this is one of them. It’s a short story that Joost wrote for Boekenweek voor Jongeren (Book Week for Young People) in 2019. There’s more info about it here (in Dutch) https://www.vice.com/nl/article/qvgzpv/joost-klein-schreef-een-kort-verhaal-over-een-wilde-nacht-in-berlijn and there was also this promo video for it https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wx7wxnpxps0. It's been translated from Dutch - maybe not the most perfect translation but it's readable. Original in Dutch here. Enjoy

"How come he suddenly has cash?" I looked at Gurb, but he avoided my gaze. Louis never had money and yet he was buying another round. Meanwhile, a Moby song was playing and nothing made sense. "If he has money for drinks, he can surely pay me back, right?"
Just a few hours ago, I was alone in Berlin. Now, ten hours later, I'm standing in some obscure techno club with my best friends. Loud rock music with drunken shouting. "Hey, Miss Murder, can I make beauty stay if I take my life?" I woke up that day with a mild hangover from the lonely yet people-filled night before. Perfect conditions for a 20-year-old dropout.
The Hard Rock Café was the most beautifully ugly place in Berlin. Gurb had driven for seven hours straight in his mother's car, but we didn't notice. An iconic black Mini Cooper. Your body leads your mind, the beat never stops, and you can conquer the world. Louis threw in another crazy dance move. We were happy.
"Do you want another drink, brother?" Gurb asked me, half shouting. An evening filled with rhetorical questions. He saw me dancing and already knew the answer.
Gurb always had money. Louis, on the other hand, never did. Louis was also the youngest of us three. He had just turned 18. I wouldn't call him a cunning fox. More like a jack-of-all-trades. Like the time he made a lot of money on a Wadden Island with a group of boys. They sold large blocks of hash.
"Crazy dude!" I shouted at him. He yelled something back.
"Do you remember back then?" Louis said.
"Back then? Back then? Yeah man, of course!" I had no idea what he meant. "Do you mean the party?"
"Do you mean the party, he says! This guy. When I look at you like this, it makes me happy. The exact same kid is here letting loose just like back in high school!"
We knew each other from secondary school. He joined when I was in the second grade. He was very intelligent. Too young, too much knowledge of the world. His mother is from Brazil. We often went to his mother's place to play on the Playstation Louis and I had bought together.
I lived everywhere at that time. In the crisis shelter where I stayed for a while, for example, I wasn't allowed to have a Playstation. So we set it up in an accessible place, near school. It was always fun with Louis. Going together to the Apple Store. Taking all kinds of photos with all the webcams, posting them on Hyves, and then leaving. Louis always knew how to cheer me up.
"Aaaaaaaaaa!" There was Gurb with five drinks in his hands. Gurb was wearing a blue checkered shirt. Two buttons undone. Hair slicked back. "You look good, brother!"
"You look fresh too! We all look fresh!" Gurb said enthusiastically. Louis was wearing a completely white outfit. We quickly bought this before going out. He also bleached his hair.
"You look like the Brazilian cousin of James Dean in these clothes," I said. Louis laughed. "Let me take a picture."
Suddenly, the DJ switched to some kind of techno. "Ah, here Berlin briefly takes off its mask." I was fine with it all. Louis was talking to a lady.
Voluptuous breasts, I thought to myself. He gave her one of his two drinks.
"He's with a girl and he's thinking with his dick," I said to Gurb. "Let him be, tonight Berlin is ours!"
The bass kept pounding. "I simply don't have the patience for the club," I said to Gurb. He looked surprised. Like a sweet dog, tilting his head. "I'm just waiting for tomorrow. Can't do my thing here. Don't have patience for the already known. I want adventure and I want it now!"
Gurb started laughing. "Patience is a virtue." Yes. Patience is all well and good, but I think it's a waste of my time. Gurb grabbed my shoulder.
"I think it's time for another beer."
Louis and I were walking through Leeuwarden a year ago when suddenly a red Ford Ka stopped in front of us. It was Gurb, casually driving around the city. He invited us into his car. We hopped in. Since that afternoon, the three of us were together. A few months later, Louis got a tattoo on his ribs in honor of our friendship. It was the name of our group chat. Braddar Force Indigo.
There were also days when Gurb would take me for a drive around Friesland. He reminded me how beautiful Friesland is. The world doesn't spin there. The newspapers I threw away in the Stiens forest in 2011 could still be lying in the same spot, so to speak.
Just before midnight, I found myself in line for the restroom. My eyes fell on a pair of striking shoes. Cigarette smoke invaded my nose for the fourth time. "Müssen Sie eine Zigarette haben?" a female voice spoke to me. I felt like Tom Hanks in the final scene of Angels & Demons, where the new pope first steps onto the balcony. The curtains opened. There I was, witnessing an important moment in history. I was just told how I was sent by God, but my ears didn't want to hear any of it. At least that's how I felt. My mouth was empty. I had no words left. That's when I knew for sure. Berlin might really be as crazy as literally everyone says.
Dark blond, silky hair. Was this real beauty then? She wouldn't look 40, but I think she was. A true woman. Beautiful in all her elegance. I always joked about being interested in older women, but tonight one stood in front of me. "I don't smoke," I said to her.
Someone tapped me. "Please, just go to the toilet!" He was right. I hadn't peed in a while either. My urine was cloudy. "Glomerulonephritis," I said to myself on the toilet. This is an unusual condition. It's an inflammation in the kidneys, I thought I remembered. They should never have given me access to Google.
The evening progressed, and Louis kept buying rounds. "But seriously now. How does Louis suddenly have all that money for drinks?" I asked Gurb. He was outside smoking with a group of Swiss girls. I had strategically positioned myself so that I could always leave the crime scene if necessary.
"You shouldn't ask me," said Gurb. He was laughing with the temporary girlfriend group of Louis. Gurb has a beard. A lot of chicks like that. I get it too.
As much as I enjoyed Louis and Gurb being here for me, something didn't sit right with me. It couldn't just be about the money. "What's up with him?" I heard one of the Swiss girls say to Gurb.
Those kinds of questions really tire me out. "Not much, with you?" I replied.
They all started laughing. "That's not what she meant, brother," said Gurb.
"I couldn't care less whether she meant it or not. Send that brace-face back to Switzerland. Don't drive me crazy, alright!"
Actually, I hadn't drunk that much that evening. "Two vodka Sprites, please!" It's rare for me to get just one drink. "I always get two drinks, then you have to wait shorter for the third one!" Maybe the alcohol was affecting me more than I wanted to admit. Oh well, it was still the three of us against the world.
"Nice shoes, are those Prada?" I asked a random girl at the bar.
"No, these are fake. Why would I buy real ones for 600 dollars if I could just buy these for 20?"
"..."
I'm not very good at that. Talking. To women.
Louis and Gurb were in the smoking area now. It was less blue than the dance floor itself. My clothes already stank, so a visit to the smoking area couldn't hurt. "These people are so underground!" Gurb shouted. Louis was filming him with his phone. "These people..." There was a brief pause. As if Gurb forgot the only line he had. "...so underground!" All three of us burst into laughter. The alcohol flowed through our veins as if it came from the purest mountains. People seemed doubled and the room was full. We had been in the same club in Berlin for several hours.
"Leonardo! What are you hiding from the big boss?" I sometimes called Louis ‘DiCaprio.’ "You a rich guy, now?" I said, with an accent as if I were from the Bronx.
Louis started laughing. "Eh, you know nothing. Bullshit talk."
I had to laugh too. What was I even worried about? Friends are friends, with or without money. That shouldn't matter. Louis probably just worked for that money. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe he just had enough to buy rounds. But what if my gut feeling was right? That feeling was never wrong. Except for that one time at the Holland Casino in Groningen. Even the best of us have slip-ups. I was just getting worked up again. When it comes down to it, Louis is one of the sweetest guys I know. I had to let it go. After all, it's still Louis.
"I think I'm going to have sex soon, man," Louis said.
"With who?" I asked immediately.
"That one girl."
"Which one?"
"The one with the boobs."
"Oh, her. Just be careful."
"What kind of reaction is that?" Louis asked indignantly.
I'd only had four drinks, but I was acting like a mess. Louis was right. I didn't understand myself. Where was my head at? I'm here in Berlin, supposed to be having the time of my life, but here I am feeling lonely and sad again. Joost once again couldn't control his emotions.
"Sorry," I suddenly said to Louis. "Sorry for my behavior. Been acting dumb towards you all night. It's unnecessary." Sometimes I have that. Mood swings. "Know that crime is never the solution. We've talked about this so many times. Yes, it's tempting and sometimes easy money. I sometimes find it amusing too, but it's always hypothetical. Ask me for help. I can help you, even with illegal things. I'll always have your back." The dancing was kind of over.
The words I had just placed on Louis's plate came from my heart. My Frisian, irregular boys' heart.
Crying in the club. I had never seen myself like that. Crying, yes. In the club, no. I never understood the taboo around crying. Or emotions in general. I saw myself in the mirror. They weren't tears of joy. They weren't tears of sadness either. It was me letting everything go. All the emotions I had ever felt. The emotions I felt between my brother and sister and myself because they wanted to take on a parental role over me, but I was in puberty, so I pushed them away. The emotions I felt when my old neighbors were supposed to take care of my dog, but didn't tell me that he was bitten by one of their dogs. They didn't have money for the surgery, they later told me. They were ashamed of their lack of money. My dog died from this injury. Even the emotions that were all jumping at once during the retake for my swimming diploma A, I let go of.
No emotions. Just for a moment, not feeling anything. Is that too much to ask for?
"You still don’t smoke?"
It had to be the voice of the woman with the cigarettes. I looked over my shoulder through the mirror. It was her. The one with dark blond, silky hair.
"Not to be rude, but this is the men’s room," I said. She took a step closer and kissed me on my lips. It tasted like more. We started kissing. It had been a while since I had had female contact at this level. It probably didn't look good and it didn't feel good either. She started kissing my neck. Slowly, I noticed the pressure in the erectile tissues of my penis starting to increase. "I really don't have time for this!" I thought to myself. The woman with the cigarettes started to slowly sink down until she was on her knees. I didn't want this. Not now, not like this. She unraveled my penis from my Polo Ralph Lauren underwear. Her tongue was blue. It was probably from cheap shots of alcohol.
Was this real beauty then? Was this the beginning or the end of her story? And had I become the boy my parents hoped I would be? I thought about the fact that this was once someone's little daughter. Somewhere in the world, an old man might be wondering what his daughter is doing. Am I really putting pleasure above my own morals and values?
With my semi-erect circumcised penis still exposed, I lifted her up. After giving her a kiss on her forehead, I pulled up my pants and left the toilets.
It was the usual last hour in any club ever. I met Louis and Gurb at the bar. "Should we have another drink?" I asked Gurb. "I feel like having a cocktail. Something sweet. Lots of sugar. What about you?"
Gurb looked at the menu. "A cognac would go down well right now."
"A cognac? You're only nineteen!" Gurb and Louis laughed. "Two Tequila Sunrises please!" I called to the bartender. "Also, two beers! Thanks!" I also got a beer for Louis. At first, I didn't want to, but I didn't want to spoil the mood either. Besides, I didn't want to show too much that it bothered me so much.
We danced away the last minutes. The club closed, and we decided to walk with the group of Swiss girls. Apparently, they were staying nearby.
As I lagged behind the group, one of them tried to start a conversation with me. "Are you okay?" she asked kindly.
"I'm fine. Just had too much beer. Makes me sleepy." Not true at all, but I've heard people say that.
"You’re tired? The fun has only just began!" And as she said this, she pulled something out of her inner pocket. Her clenched fist, shielded by a half jacket. Who is this girl, anyway? I thought to myself. She opened her hand flat, and right in the center of her palm lay two small pills with a smiley face on them. At least, they looked like it.
"Oh, I don’t do drugs. Sorry."
"Me neither!" And she swallowed a pill. "Now it’s your turn... Or are you scared?"
Scared? Who did this crazy Swiss witch (with really beautiful eyes) think she was. With her "are you scared". I'll show her who's scared.
"Scared? I’m not scared." I picked up the remaining pill and swallowed it.
Everything went in slow motion. Was this who I had become? Was this the same boy from high school? And just before I could swallow, I spat out the pill. She was shocked. I picked up the pill again, dried it with my jacket, and put it back in her fist. "Maybe later!" I shouted, running back to the group, over my shoulder.
I have nothing to say to 9 out of 10 peers I come across. Of course, I can be social. I can also have fun with random people in random situations, but that night, it just tired me out. I also didn't understand what we were doing there. Those girls found me strange anyway. Suddenly, I was the fifth wheel.
"We know this place where they go until 7 in the morning!" The girl leader of the group spoke. I wanted to go home. "If you guys want, you can go. Don't worry about me," I said to Gurb and Louis. The boys had a brief discussion. We agreed to stay for just a little while longer for some drinks. I consented. I was thirsty. "I'll have a Fanta, Louis."
Gurb had reached the last cigarette in his pack. Louis and a girl from the group were nowhere to be found. It didn't even bother me. This guy just walks around with some cash in his pocket and all hell breaks loose. After a night full of stimuli, I understood Louis. Of course, I understood Louis. He's a young god. Handsome, smart guy. But that didn't make me any less angry. It was purely about trust for me. Something inside me said I should stop subconsciously expecting things from people too. It prevents disappointment.
"Hotel please!" I jokingly suggested to Gurb. "Should you call Louis or should I?" I added. Gurb immediately grabbed his Android smartphone and called Louis. He put the call on speaker.
"Are you ready?" Gurb asked.
"Yeah. Sort of."
"What do you mean?"
"We didn't have sex."
"That's fine, right? Tomorrow's a new day!"
"I think I'm in love, man," Louis said.
"...," Gurb said, chuckling as he let out a sigh.
Once we arrived at the girls' hostel, it was already getting light. Louis was thankfully back. There were stains on his pants, around his knees. My focus was solely on arranging a taxi. Although the boys were still flirting, I was really done now. "How are we going to pay for this taxi?" I said a bit too loudly.
There was a silence. "Don't worry. I still have cash," Gurb said.
"Yeah, I knew you would," I replied.
My words clearly hit Louis. "What do you mean by that?" he said.
It was as if time stood still for a few seconds. "Exactly what I said. Better listen." Louis pulled out a small wad of green bills from his pocket. At least 400 euros. "I don't even want to see that money," I reacted. I walked away.
I'll just order a taxi myself.
"Why are you walking away now?" Gurb said.
"Twelve hours ago, I was alone too, and I had a lot more fun then."
"Do you really want to know how I got this money?" Louis said.
Yes, I did want to know. My whole evening revolved around that damn money.
He took a second of pause before he began speaking. "The answer lies in the Mini."
What on earth could be in Gurb's mother's car? Louis was trying to get into my head. "Taxi!"
Once in the taxi, the division was clear. Gurb was upfront, chatting animatedly with the driver. All adventures ever were recounted. Louis and I in the back. One of my best friends since I was thirteen. Funny how things turn out. It was quiet between us. I was in my head, rehearsing how I would bring up the money again. It didn't add up, and he knew it himself. "I don't care, you know," I said, hoping he'd break.
"What don't you care about?"
"About that money."
"What money? You're really a crazy woozy man." Louis burst out laughing again.
On the other hand, it was silent. Gurb had started talking about the driver's family. The driver didn't appreciate it. Gurb meant well. The driver smelled of alcohol. Or was it me? His nails were polished. Maybe his wife was a specialist. I bite my nails myself. Like now.
"In the Mini, oh yeah."
"Shut up. Illegal man."
"You'll never know."
"Stop playing. Just say it!"
Louis grabbed my head, pulled himself towards me, and brought his mouth to my right ear. "Why so serious?" he whispered. He didn't want to tell me.
"But always with this damn money, huh?" I almost shouted at Louis. I broke every silence within a radius of 10 kilometers.
"I'm trying my best, bro. It is what it is. I can't make it any different," he replied. It was clearly bothering him deeply. He ran his hands through his hair. "Sometimes people have to do things. And you know that better than anyone. Sometimes they have to do things they don't really want to or aren't supposed to do."
I knew this spiel all too well. Through all the drunken haziness, I suddenly saw a small glimmer of light. A tiny spark of sincerity. Louis was serious this time.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to involve you in this. I'm sorry," sweat dripped from his forehead.
"You're serious, huh? Damn, man. What mess have you gotten yourself into now? Worse than Terschelling?" Worse than Terschelling would mean stolen goods. Maybe even violence.
"It's not what you think."
"The Adlon Hotel, right?" the driver chimed in. Always saved by the bell, that Louis.
Suddenly I hit my head against the seat in front of me. Of course, I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. The last thing I saw was Gurb waking up in panic from his drunken stupor. One by one, I started losing my senses. It started with the feeling in my fingers. For a brief moment, everything wasn't quite black, and I could only see a vague pattern of colors repeating inside my eyelids. You could compare it to the brief moment after the commercial break before the movie starts in the cinema. The movie was about to begin.
I knew I wasn't dying. At least not yet. Not like this. Not after an overall mediocre night out in Berlin. I found comfort in the image I forced myself to see. It was all in my head. There I was, unconscious.
I saw myself in a third-person point of view. It wasn't like I was actually leaving my body. More like there was a webcam hanging in one of the upper corners of the taxi.
As a child, I used to dream a lot about death. Nights spent awake.
At some point, I developed a kind of compulsive behavior. I kept swaying my torso from left to right with my hands under my head. It became almost like a workout before bedtime. Every night.
I called it dream shuffling. Just like I had learned to shuffle puzzle pieces or playing cards. Making things a little exciting for yourself. But what I almost never told anyone was that I was scared. I was afraid of burglars, who were very agile and muscular.
Especially afraid that they would murder me. I really wanted to know what death was like. It scared me.
These fear visions originated during an all-inclusive vacation in Turkey. I was 6 years old and already in bed. There was a big old TV in our hotel room, so I could secretly watch TV from bed. Every evening, my parents sat on the balcony. Here they discussed their day while enjoying a glass of alcohol. There was a Japanese animated series on TV. In the few seconds that I watched, I saw a scary creature climbing a sort of apartment complex via the balconies. The creature had hundreds of teeth and blond hair. It quickly entered to decapitate the people, then drained them and, as a final insult, robbed them. Dozens of carcasses of dead people were scattered around the apartment complex. The complex on TV resembled the resort where we were in reality, and the TV world merged with my surroundings. I became part of it. I saw people watching. No matter how loudly I screamed for help, they didn't react. The sun became very bright, and the people turned into nothing more than shadows. As the intensity of the sun increased, something became clear to me. These were not people. They had a sort of orange skin. Where I had previously thought it was their nose and mouth, it turned out that these shadowy figures did not have such physical features. They simply had three holes in their heads. The police tried to do something, but in vain. Since then, we always kept the light on in the hallway outside my bedroom. By rocking back and forth, from left to right, I could glance fleetingly at the beam of light under the door. That bit of light, escaping from the hallway into my room, gave me an advantage. It allowed me to stay one step ahead of the burglars. Pretty smart, right?
"From Jamaica to the world!
It’s just love. Why must the children play in the street?"
It was Bob Sinclar with "Love Generation" speaking to us through the taxi's speakers. We were stationary. I was conscious again, but I didn't feel alive at all. "How long was I out?" I asked Louis.
I could tell by his expression that he was relieved. Relieved that I was back. "One minute," he almost apologized. Louis gave me a pat on the shoulder. Gurb, on the other hand, was sleeping. He slept like a baby cub.
I put my right index finger on my forehead. It felt wet, but it wasn't blood. Blood feels different. Meanwhile, I kept hearing whistling.
"Be the love generation! Oh yeah!" It was still that same song by Bob Sinclar.
The earlier scent of alcohol had now been replaced by the smell of incense. It smelled like the same incense I had in my room. Sold to me as Tibetan 39 incense. I had bought it at a coffee shop in Rotterdam. I pulled up my notes on my phone. "Who lights incense in a CAR????" I let Louis read from my screen. He took the phone from my hands and started typing as well.
"Look at Gurb >>>" Gurb was so deeply asleep that his head drooped. His seatbelt held his torso in place, but his head ended up on the driver's shoulder. The man didn't mind. He didn't move. I made eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and soon I found him. He winked at me.
We arrived at the hotel. Gurb awakened from his alcoholic hibernation. "Who's going to pay for the taxi?" I asked. Clearly rhetorical. I already knew I would take this one for the team, as usual. I refused to use Louis's money. It was uncomfortably quiet. "By card please," I said.
"I'll always protect you, Louis. You really need to know that. I care about you like my own little brother. I'll always try to help you. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that?" Louis didn't hesitate.
"Yes. Yes, I can. I'll show you. It's really in the Mini." Meanwhile, the taxi driver's card machine indicated that I had insufficient funds. That couldn't be right. Maybe I had withdrawn too much that evening.
"I have cash in the hotel room," Gurb said to me. Gurb informed the driver in broken English that he would go get his cash. The driver agreed. Money is money, whether it comes now or later. As long as it feels good in your hands.
Louis and I got out of the taxi. "You're not going to light a cigarette now, are you?" Louis wanted to smoke. "Especially for stress. That's really for people who can't handle pain. You need to feel pain. Pain needs to brand you for the rest of your life so you finally learn not to do such stupid things." It fell silent again. My blood boiled. All pots were on the stove. I felt like Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. "Show me then. Do it."
Louis remained silent and walked around the corner of the hotel. Towards the parking lot. I followed him. "You're not going to find much," said Louis.
"Why not? Are you a magician?"
"No. Just. Not much."
"So there's suddenly magically nothing in Gurb's car?"
"Stop. Get out. Get out of my head!" Louis shouted. Louis had had enough. He was done with the parade. Normally we dealt with hypothetical stories. Only this time it wasn't a joke. I was sure now. Louis had dropped his mask. The revolution had begun. The government had fallen and the dikes had broken. The people were in charge. "You shouldn't freak out like this. Always wanting more. Sweet boy, think about yourself."
After Gurb gave the money to the driver, he came to us. He had a smile on his face, lit a cigarette, and exclaimed, "Brothers!" Once with us, he hugged me. He started laughing. "Maybe I haven't been entirely honest either." Sometimes Gurb seemed like a 38-year-old man. In a positive way. He exuded confidence in a way I didn't often see. Affectionate, with a hint of authority.
We stood in the middle of a large parking lot. "Look. We've reached a point where I might not even care anymore. You guys are teasing me." It did matter to me. Maybe more than ever. I was supposed to be two steps ahead of them, but I couldn't figure it out. "I give up."
The delightful silence returned. Louis and Gurb looked at each other. "You guys win. Apparently, I'm not to be trusted as a friend."
From Louis's expression, I could tell he disagreed with this. "Not true. Come to the car."
We arrived at the car. Louis unlocked it and searched for the trunk button. Gurb had started his third cigarette. "It's a corpse, isn't it? Say it now. I can still help you. I can still help us. I can book a ticket for you. We can get you out of here," I said to Louis.
"Just wait. Nutcase."
"Why won't you accept my help?"
Louis started laughing nervously. Or at least it seemed that way. Perhaps a sly laugh too. Had Louis killed someone? "It's not a corpse. That can't be. You wouldn't be stupid enough to use their ID. You're smarter than that. So it must be something stolen. Haven't you found that button yet?"
Suddenly, we heard a click. Louis had found the button. Somewhere, I didn't want to know. Shouldn't I just trust Louis? Wasn't that the whole point of friendship?
Finally, the moment had arrived. I placed my right hand in the slot of the rear hatch. Something in me doubted. Still. I still doubted. Louis looked dead serious. "You wanted to know, didn't you? Then you also have to be man enough to accept it." Louis was clearly not joking. Or was he acting again? "Pussy," Louis said. I looked away. "You're afraid of what's inside, huh? You're afraid of the real Louis." He began to laugh manically. "Open that thing, man. Nutcase!"
I started laughing too. Why did I make such a big deal out of it? Sweat broke out from every pore in my body. It was even a bit damp in the no man's land between my scrotum and my anus. A tropical climate. It had been quite an adventure the whole evening. I took my hand off the rear hatch and first gave Louis a hug. Not some half-hearted birthday wish. No, a real hug.
"It's okay, buddy," Louis said to me. I had no idea what he meant by that. It fit the moment though.
It was really time now. I opened the rear hatch.
"Where is it?"
"In front of you," said Louis.
"In some secret compartment?"
There was nothing in the trunk. Absolutely nothing. An empty trunk. For an empty evening, in an empty Berlin, with an empty group of guys. I didn't get it.
"You won, man," I whispered. "You finally fucking done did it."
I couldn't believe my eyes. Empty? There was still nothing in the car. Louis just stood there. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I had felt every emotion this evening. Seen every color and smelled every scent. I was done. My body was ready. No longer needed. My mission was complete.
"But why did you do this?" I asked Louis, laughing.
He scratched his chin. It felt like the end of a bad movie.
"I sold our Playstation. Wanted to tell you only after I had sorted everything out again. I terminated my lease. Had some debts, and I also wanted to have some money for once. Once not empty-handed in the club. Once not dependent on my best friends. This is not who I am... I know how much that Playstation meant to you. It was ours together. I should have just told you."
"… and how does Gurb actually make his money?"

R6 moved quickly along the side of the 8 tonne grain container, his hands running along its lid to snap open locks. Sam mirrored him on the other side and once he had caught up, they lifted the lid as one. The contents burst up out of the darkness, gulping down air and squinting against the lights above.
R6 reached down toward a manicled wrist, taking their hand and guiding it up to the edge of the container while their vision returned. “Please proceed-”
“Go go go go!” shouted Sam while pointing down the hall.
Bruised and teary eyed aliens scrambled to their feet, chains and collars jangling as they started to move en masse. R6’s eyes flicked over each, noting the pastel tan shades of skin and vibrant red hair, adding each to the crew manifest of the ‘Grain Silo’ ship that they jogged towards.
“CLEAR!” shouted Sam.
R6 felt a hand brush by his arm and whisper quiet thanks before vanishing through the airlock, out of the ‘Main Tent’ ship to join the other former slaves. R6 grabbed the side of the now empty container and slid it along the floor, weaving between the other unboxing teams and pausing as another group sprinted by.
A crewman ran sweat back from his face as he braced against the side of a stack of the grain containers, drilling holes through the steel to let the heat out and air in.
“Double time, go go go! More are coming in!”
R6 headed back to his station, mirroring Sam as a cargo flat moved in quick yet smooth calculated movements. The container eased down into the taped off square.
A buzz sounded through the radio’s clipped on each loader. R6 ran along the frequencies until he locked onto encrypted band 4. “Top priority, anyone about 6 foot 6 needs to come to challenger-prep 3 in the Main Tent immediately.”
R6 recognised the voice as Captain Reginald, leader of the Renisance Flotilla. He quickly looked over the container then to the pile yet to be opened with more on the way, but it was a top priority from the highest authority and could not be ignored.
R6 dropped into a sprint, racing across stations, over a container and hauling himself up through one of the transit openings, up through the structure of the Main Tent.
The ship was chaotic, more so than even the busier of the opening days he had experienced and he had to hug the walls. Villagers in linnen cloth ran beside crewmen and pilots. Kitchens in the attached Mess-Tent ship burned hot with shouts competing over each other. Grilled pork made its way from chef to hands to villagers who raced up stairs through the service entrances into the Main Tent’s stadium.
R6 followed the roar, it rose and fell like a rhythmic ship core. He slid down a ladder through an airlock and into an escape pod renovated into Challenger-Prep 3. Rifles and knives flinched his way but quickly relaxed.
R6 snapped to attention to await orders but his actual attention was elsewhere, glancing over the foe wood panelling that covered control panels, dust and hay that covered the floor, fake braziers that illuminated the space turning it from a space worthy lifeboat into a mediaeval locker room. It needed a good vacuum.
The Black Knight Rhoke lay back on a mound of straw, his squires pressing quick-stitch bandages to a bloodied cut running down his face. One of his eyes was swollen shut and he had to lift himself to bring his other around to glance at R6. His attention quickly fell away and rose up to Captain Reginald. “I was scared. I can finish this.”
Captain Reginald stood with a cane pressed to his chest and scars running down his face that turned his eyes into milky deformed orbs without focus. He shook his head, a pained look flicked across his features. “What is it, Loader?”
R6’s posture snapped straight again. “You requested anyone who was 6 foot 6 sir.”
“That’s not what I meant. Loader, find someone the same build as John and bring them here.”
R6 glanced over the armour, understanding the unspoken physical requirements and ran them through the crew manifest. “John, aka Rhoke and I are already present sir, the new crewmembers are also too short, averaging 5 feet.”
Captain Reginald winced and raised a hand but R6 was unsure why.
A sweaty messenger on foot slid down the ladder and dubbed over, panting between words. “They’re losing interest, we’re getting more encrypted chatter on the station bands.”
The Black Knight started forcing himself up, shrugging out of the hands that peeled away dented platemail and pink stained padding. “I can do this.”
“How many so far Loader?”
“412 slaves had been smuggled from the station when I left sir.”
Captain Reginald eased down and put a hand on the Black Knights chest. “You were a performer but this is no longer a costume. What you have done is knightly and enough. Put the armour on the loader.”
A squire’s eyes snapped up to Captain Reginald’s “The chief will see-”
“Do it anyway,” said Captain Reginald.
John let out a little relief and fell back to the hay.
R6 held mostly still, his hands pulled with the chaotic flurry about him, his body tugged this way and that as sweat stained padding and freshly welded steel platemail was layered around his body, secured tightly with leather straps. Captain Reginald raised the prop sword and with a slight smile felt the sharpness. “Take this.”
R6 accepted the blade. “Where am I to deliver it to?”
“While you hold this, you are a knight.”
R6 stared at the sword, his eyes flicking over it, up to the handle then back to the blind eyed captain. “I am a Loader.”
“I, Captain Reginald of the Renaissance Flotilla, issue command override whisky foxtrot. While Loader…” the world turned to dim thunder, the only sound were the carefully spoken words of the highest authority as he ran a thumb along the stencilled industry tag on R6’s shoulder. “... While R6 wields this sword, he is ‘The Black Knight Rhoke’ until further orders are given. Confirm.”
Black: Characterised by tragic or disastrous events; causing despair or pessimism.
Knight: A man raised by a sovereign to honourable military rank.
“Confirm…” said The Black Knight Rhoke but the word choice felt odd to him, it wasn’t at all the sort of thing he would say. “That is, I accept my duty, Lord.”
He stood firm against the thrashings of his squires while keeping his hand firmly around the hilt of his sword. He could have eased it down for a moment to adjust his right gauntlet but he felt a reluctance to do so. He felt the sword had a firmer grip on him than he it, and besides, the Good Lord, the highest authority intended him-… but that was not true.
Rhoke’s eyes rose from the blade to his sovereign. Lord Reginald was just a man, born with sin like all others, a man of god yes, but…
God: the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being. The highest authority.
Rhoke stepped through the strange double doored room out of Challenger-Prep 3, hearing the roar of the crowd rise to meet him. His world was narrowed down to a slit of light through the helmet and he had to duck beneath the door frame before stepping out into the summer sun of midday. Wooden stands bowed, filled well beyond capacity with strange pigmen, oddly dressed in security uniforms, spilling out into stairways and huddled against creaking railings. Villagers raced through stuffing them with a steady stream of crackled pork.
A metal monster stood opposite, shaped like the pigmen but towering twice as tall at 8 feet, mechanical muscles pumping black oil ran through his armour. A spear, long as a barge with a swordlike tip sat gripped in its three fingered fist.
It was the strangest sight Rhoke had seen but it was not enough to pull him from his goal. He knelt down, running his fingers across the arena floor, imagining he could see through it below to the metal catacombs where good souls were ferried out of the pigmen fortress.
They were his enemy, even if they did not yet know it.
Rhoke cast a silent prayer that he could hold their attention long enough and raised his hand from the dust, tapping his fingers to his temple and crossing his heart.
“Ay ay ‘old on! You’re not a Human!” shouted the boar-beast through speakers on his suit. He leaned the spear against his shoulder while his hands reached out, tapping away at nothing infront of himself. “There is a robot under that armour. The human’s are cheating!”
The invading army jeered and booed at hearing their generals words.
“This is my greatest warrior!” shouted Lord Reginald’s voice from behind Rhoke but it barely reached Rhoke against the jeering storm.
“You are no…” started Rhoke, his words vanishing into the noise of the crowd. He took in a breath and bellowed out, his voice carrying much further than it should have. His armour vibrated with the deafening sound. “You are no knight! I would sooner fight a peasant than livestock.”
The spear was up and rushing toward Rhoke, reaching far too close for his liking before he swiped it away at the cost of a gash down his arm. The dust burst into the air in plumes with their quickly moving feet. There were no boos to be heard, just the suddenly rising roar of the crowd and shriek of metal. The hog-chief was nothing like what Rhoke had fought before. The closest tactics he could use were anti-cavalry given the bulk behind the creatures movements. The spear sheared across Rhoke’s helmet sending a spark in through the visor and lighting up Rhoke’s sinuses with ozone.
Rhoke caught the haft and brought his sword down, splintering wood… black fiberous strands of the shaft and sending the decapitated point sailing back toward the beast. To the monster’s credit he didn’t go down. His beast's helmet turned one way then then another, the spear lodged in the side of his visor. His hands came up, removing the helmet to reveal a disproportionately small scarred head on the juggernauts shoulders.
Yellow poles raced in to separate them. “Round 4, a point to Rhoke.” shouted a referee with all his might.
Rhoke took a step back, giving the chief’s squires time to tend to his armour. He glanced to the side to see Lord Reginald and a few townsmen glancing around their arena, nodding to themselves and speaking into boxes on their out of place clothing. Lord Reginald’s lips moved and while Rhoke shouldn’t have been able to, he could clearly hear the voice as though he was speaking in Rhoke’s ear. “Push him, we don’t want them losing focus.”
Rhoke summoned the strange booming voice and roared out in their beastly language. “Do you need more time to tend to your linens? There is no shame in waddling back to your trough.”
The Chiefs face twisted and his armoured fists knocked his squires back. His face turned to madd glee as he stepped forward, punching at the air before raising his fists. “Who is the strongest?”
“Security Chief Grotch!” answered the crowd in a single voice.
The Boar could only see Rhoke, not the good souls pouring out of his fortress beneath his feet.
Rhoke wished he could have given the beast time to fight at his fullness. Despite himself, Rhoke had pride but what was the value of pride against a soul? Pride was a sin and a soul was…
Invalid… error #4D7C6F float infinity,
Rhoke glanced to his Lord for an answer when he saw The Black Knight Rhoke standing beside him, his reflection made flesh.
Rhoke stared down at his arm to see through a wound in his armour. There was no blood, no flesh beneath the padding. His eyes fell down to the sword that seemed to possess him so very tightly.
“What am I?” said Rhoke. His voice falling from his lips, then from his mind, the question bleeding out of him though hidden voices he didn’t know he had. He glanced up to see Lord Reginald’s brow furrow and his hand to start reaching toward the box- radio on his chest.
The world seemed far too slow, frozen in that moment as the question ran through his mind. He knew… He had orders from the highest authority and no time for clarification. He needed to distract the chief now, infinite value was on the line, there was nothing else to consider.
Rhoke dropped, his feet pressing to the dust as he pushed himself well beyond the industry recommended use, using the god given strength earned through good deeds. The world returned to its normal speed as he raced across the arena, sword coming about as he leapt.
They tore at each other, he ripped through dust and wind, cleaved his sword through black veins of oil and thudded his pommel into dented armour, in a bloody endless brawl.
“We’re done, send him on his way.” said Lord Reginald on radio band 4.
Rhoke danced back from a strike but kept his dodge too short, sapping the momentum from the blow across his bestplate to propel himself around, sweeping his sword to its fullness and down toward the beasts head. Grotch had a hand up and when steel met steel, there was a shatter of sparks and a half sword continuing down toward the hog-lords neck.
Half a sword.
R6 stood with the broken blade paused at the neck of one of their renaissance fair guests. He quickly pulled it away to avoid the hazard. He was not to harm the guests.
R6 clattered back, pinned to the dust, arms raised and punches rained down, burying him down through dirt into the bulkhead. His arm was heaved up and twisted from its socket, armour and padding exploded from the seam. He tried to rise but his ability to move with a missing limb was diminished.
“How much for the trophy?” shouted Grotch while holding R6’s armour clad limb above his head.
“Consider it a parting gift.” said Lord Reginald, then in almost a whisper to the side. “Get an engineer, now!”
“You’re leaving? Don’t tell me you’re sour about-...” started Grotch when his eyes flicked up to a pigman jumping over the arena wall at a sprint. His eyes narrowed, flicking across the pigman’s features. He only had to hear the words. “They’re missing.”
“Lock down the station! All ships, anchor locked, crews to be held for interrogation.”
R6’s radio cut out for a moment, all bands going silent as Reginalds voice spoke over the Renaissance Flotilla’s emergency channel. “Balderdash.”
The ship ‘Main-Tent’ whined as airlocks thudded down over each of the separate stalls. The room hummed with rapidly quieting thunder as each ship in the Flotilla separated from the Main Tent and burned away at the redline, but not the Main-Tent. R6 glanced around at the captain, the actors, the waitstaff who had been sealed on the wrong side, they were trapped here, anchored to the station.
Grotch heard the sound, saw the airlocks, an almost smile forming on his lips as his attention fell down onto Captain Reginald. “Arrest them, search the ship.”
The audience washed down into the arena turning the ship into a screaming mess. A thousand security personnel clamoured to be the one to find a hidden crewman, to drag them down the stairs into the arena before their security chief.
R6’s helmet was given to the Chief and his body was pulled along the dust and tossed toward the line of crewmen who knelt on the arena floor, hands behind their heads. A few nods were exchanged between the hogs and the room fell silent to hear their Chief’s words.
“Where is your meet up point? Where are they going?”
Captain Reginald was silent, his blind eyes holding firm.
“Are your knees vital?”
R6 flinched at the sound. He watched Captain Reginald drop to his side, his hand clawing at a wound. He screamed a note but pulled it back in, slowing down his breathing and clearing his voice to speak. “How many R6?”
“412 souls at last count sir,” said R6.
Soul: the spiritual or immaterial part of a life, regarded as immortal.
“Don’t say anything.” said Captain Reginald before screaming and gripping a new wound on his other knee. R6 would have told them to avoid further damage to his crew but his captain had ordered his silence.
R6 was without orders but he needed to act. He had a question for the highest authority and he needed to make it heard. He spoke, the voice buzzing out not from his speaker but in a broadwave blanketing all the radio bands. “What am I to do Lord?”
There was no answer but when he opened his eyes he knew what the highest authority wanted of him.
His question echoed out of each of the radios and stole the attention of Grotch. The chief took the pistol away from John, the Black Knight Rhoke’s knee, R6’s former reflection.
The chief eyed R6 for a moment, a smile crossing his lips.
“Don’t speak-” started Captain Reginald, his voice cutting off when his head was punched to the dirt.
“Little Knight, what do I want?” said Grotch. He stepped toward R6 and crouched down. “I had a good time at your party and I want to see it again. What station are you performing at next?”
Sacrifice: an act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy.
R6 glanced at his reflection, his eyes meeting John’s then glancing back at the former escape shuttle renovated into Challenger-Prep 3. He eased himself up on his remaining arm to his knees.
“Do you wish to know the location of the Flotilla?” said R6.
Grotch leaned lower. R6’s hand shot up, grabbing the collar of his chestplate and with all his might, he heaved his body up into the Chief’s stomach, wrenching 2 tonnes of metal off the floor and catapulting him over onto his back. He summoned his god given voice and roared out to the room.
“Fall upon me you heathens!”
R6 couldn’t process, there was no time for it as they descended upon him. He swung his fist and wrenched himself through the sea of security personnel. Armour was torn from his body and he was whisked along to rise and lose his footing. His body was wrapped in a thousand hands that spent as much time fighting each other for the chance.
In a brief moment he saw John lifting his captain from the dust, the sight cut away as the crowd rose up and buried him down toward the floor.
R6 sank into the heat and sweat. He couldn’t move. “Give me strength.”
R6 grabbed a three fingered hand, twisting it back on itself, he gouged an eye sending one squealing away. Bit by bit he regained control, smashing a fist, stomping on a face, fingers between his armour plates where sheared away. He became a wrathful blender at the eye of the storm, breaking apart the crowd and hurling himself toward the airlock to see it slam closed and blast away another 28 souls to safety.
Smeared in filth, leaking hydraulic fluid and coolant, he turned, his eye rising to see Grotch wade toward him, backing him up against the door.
“Best man I’ve fought, and a good trophy.” said Grotch.
R6 pressed flat to the door, his remaining arm gripping the frame
“I’m not a man, and I am not a knight. I am a robot.” said R6 and he threw the airlock control, catapulting himself out of the Main-Tent on a blast of wind and shredded pork.
R6 reached up as he passed through the black, eyes closed in those moments of silence.
Miracle: an extraordinary and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore attributed to a divine agency.
R6 felt something crash into his palm. He gripped the escape shuttle tight, locking his grip and whispered silent thanks into the void.

A friend of mine attends a Protestant church that held a “prophesy night”. She believes that this gentleman has the ability to hear messages from God to share with the individual. She recorded her “prophesy” and shared it for me to hear. He stated things like, ‘The Lord says He sees how you are such a smiley person and a joy to everyone’s day” and ‘The Lord says that he sees a new career in your future’, and ‘The Lord says that despite going through tough times lately, he sees you and wants you to stay strong in your faith’. To me it sounded generic and kind of weird to hear a man claim “the Lord says...” and claim to speak for God. But, she was so excited and said she felt so seen by God in that moment because how could a stranger know these things. On one hand, if these words were what she needed to hear to feel reaffirmed and continue to go steadfast in her faith… then okay. She’s young, gullible, and will maybe look back one day and find this just as stage as I do. On the other hand, the whole “prophesy night“ doesn’t feel very Christian-like. So with that context, my questions are: 1. Does the Holy Spirit, knowing what is in our hearts and the hearts of those around us, put the right words in our mouths, so to speak, to where what the gentleman said really was inspired by her need to hear those things to cope with her situation? Could the Lord or the Holy Spirt have actually inspired him? 2. Is there any resources or reference you know about that talks about where prophesies are inspired from? The Holy Spirit? Angels? God the Father? Jesus? Like, are there any beliefs we hold as Catholics about the messenger of prophetic messages? This question mostly stems from his use of saying “The Lord says…” and wanting to know if any prophets have claimed they spoke directly with the Lord to or if they claim an interaction with their guardian angel or the Holy Spirit.
Thank you!

A couple of years ago I tried writing my own version of Stones Abbigale. I never got past the first couple scenes, but I'm considering returning to it. I wanted to basically rewrite and change up a lot of things, mainly focusing on Abbi and Davis and changing some elements. Let me know what you think!

1
It's almost four in the morning and Seth is threatening suicide again. Good. Fuck him. I hope he does it. I don't text him that because I read about this girl who told her boyfriend to kill himself. The irony was that when he actually did it she got charged with second degree murder. My life is fucked as it is I don't need to make it worse. I’m shivering under my comforter because we’re halfway through November. I think about the turkey that won't get made this year and the family I won't see. I think that's swell. Seth is still texting.
Its like u dont even care after everything that happened and after everything we did together i saved ur life and i stayed with u when u cried and i hugged u and i did everything for u but that wasn't enough was it? i try so hard and all u ever are is a bitch to me that's not fair u want me to die and u hate me and u dont even care and im sick of it abbi why is is so hard for u to care about me?
I don't respond. I don't like how I feel about this. This should be easy. He won't actually do it. He won't. He’s too self involved to kill himself. I put my phone face down on my bed. The sheets shake around it as he sends message after message. I was sleeping on a ticking bomb so I got off of it. My feet stick to the floor, I struggle to step. I might as well have been standing barefoot on ice. I trudge to my window so I can see my street at night.
Winter is really coming. You can't hear as many birds as you used to. They've all gone. They've all flown away. I can see three streetlights from where I’m standing. If you look from right to left, you can see the concrete fracture into the sand. I open my window and brace for the chill. I stick my head outside. The ocean is not far away. I hear it hitting the shore over and over. Waves of water splashing incessantly, almost beating out my text notifications.
The street lights flicker. I think of last summer. When Seth and I got really high after the news broke. I was making out with that bong. Emptying bowl after bowl, clanking the glass on the road to empty it out. Just thinking about it makes me feel the street pole against my back again. I was laughing and crying. Seth leaned in and hugged me. “I’m a sure thing,” he said. “I love you and I always will.”I caught my reflection in his sunglasses. I looked awful. I shiver at the memory.
My phone is still buzzing. I try to catch my breath. I shut my window and start to walk back to my bed. A room always looks different in the dark. Maybe you think you know where you are, but there is always something that can jump out at you on the floor. Like a ghostly paper bag or a vengeful shoe. Objects that seem to move on their own with the sole drive of tripping you.
I crawl back into bed. There's the phantom of Dad’s snoring . I know he's not sleeping in his room, he fell asleep on the couch after finishing his seventh fifth. Sometimes my brain fills in the gaps so I can hear it everywhere. Funnily, I haven't actually heard him snore since Mom left. That's the one thing I ever heard them fight about. Before she turned out to be a whore, I guess.
BZZT.BZZT.BZZT.
I can't bring myself to read any of his messages. They're coming so fast all the paragraphs are lost to motion blur. Seth’s arms wrap around me and I think about the beating of his heart and the warmth of his lips against my skin. I open up the texts, ready to respond.
I love you
I text this over and over until I fall asleep.
Davis was the only senior on the bus. Somehow, everyone else had a car or a ride. It’s all right, though. James would probably give him one if he had a car, but he skated to school every morning. That's why he barely ever rode the bus with him. The bus thumped along the under paved roads. Davis forgot his earbuds at home, so the only music that accompanied him was his racing thoughts. Two sophomore girls popped their heads over.
“Ohmigod, Davis!” One of them shrieked.
“As I live and breathe,” he smiled. “Nice,” she said. “I’m so excited to see your finished painting.”
Davis took the lower level art class for a requirement. Like most things, he's not taking it very seriously. For their pop art unit, he's painting a portrait of the art teacher with a warthog face. It's one of his funny disruptions. He knows Mrs. Stanley is going to have a real field day with it, but it doesn't matter. Artistic liberties, he’d profess.
“She's such a bitch, isn't she?” The sophomore girl turns to her compatriot, who only nods in response.
“She's just jealous,” Davis says. “It must be depressing to teach art and see the youth soar above her.”
“For sure,” the girl doesn't get it. Class clown is a semi-heavy burden. Davis doesn't really feel like talking to these girls, but his position demands it. Comedy informs everything about him. To the giant thrift store jeans, to the loud Hawaiian shirt. He and James are the ultimate combination, at least he likes to think so. Quiet brooding begs for bright distraction.
The girl is still trying to talk to him and Davis is saying his preprogrammed lines. The bus stops in front of James’s street. Surprisingly, James is standing there.
“Like I’m this close to just filling my hydroflask with vodka, yaknow?” says the chick. Maybe she's just trying to get a rise out of him.
“Better be prepared to give me more than a sip,” Davis is watching James grumble towards the bus.
The sun is beating down on the forming ice puddles. James stomps through them with small shattering steps.
James turns up the bus aisle and plops in the seat next to Davis. Davis’s smile is genuine now, but he fights it from getting too wide.
“Crash your vehicle?” Davis asks.
“Something like it,” there's something off with him. Davis doesn't want to push it.
“Well damn, hope insurance covers it,” Davis wants James to break and laugh. Is it just another mood or did something actually happen this time?
“It won't, I got bad credit,” James grins and it's like heaven. “What's the move for you today?”
“Surviving art and physics for me,” says Davis. “Those bastards love to keep me down.”
“Who doesn't,” James eyes the girls who have since returned to whatever they were doing before. It's the judgement stare, as Davis calls it. James likes to observe his peers like a zoo-goer. Breaking them down to taxonomic types. Davis likes to think that James doesn't do this to him, but he knows he probably does.
“It sucks you decided to be bad at school and take baby art,” James is still dissecting the sophomore girls down to their tropes. “We could have done Art II together.”
“I wouldn't want to get between you and Alex. I know how you love it when people piss in jars next to you.”
“That's disgusting,” James breaks his glare at the girls.
“It's performance art, it's beautiful,” Davis gets up out of his seat to yell. “Everyone witness the wonderful work of Alex Madov! Disengage yourself from the shackles of capitalism by shouting with me: Poopy, pee pee, poop!”
Davis gets a few chuckles from the other kids on the bus.
“Sit down, fatso,” mumbles the bus driver.
“I will not be silenced! I’m a messenger of the good word, sir!”
"More of this shit and I’m skipping your stop!” “Fine, but I will make Alex remember on the day of judgement,” Davis sits back down. James is full belly laughing.
“You're so retarded,” James wheezes. Davis can't even come back with a response. He's high off of it.
The bus pulls into the school lot with a short stop. The mobs get up and begin to race out. Davis follows James down the line.
“You know Abbi?” James asks. Davis feels a little pit form in his stomach, but he doesn't change his expression.
“Vaguely, what about her?”
“She's in my art class,” James begins. “And I think … well you know, I’m going to talk to her.” He walks down the steps and out the door.
“Doesn't she have a boyfr-” before Davis can descend the driver's arm blocks him.
“I’ve had enough of your shit, kid,” he says. “If you keep being obnoxious, I’m gonna find a way to make you pay for it.”
James looks back, but he can't stay. Davis knows that he's gotta get to class. James does a little wave goodbye and Davis salutes him. “Are you even listening to me?” the bus driver seethes.
“Yes, sir. Divine retribution, got it.” Davis ducks underneath his arm and exits the bus. James has already disappeared into the crowd.
I pass the bong to Ashley. She starts another bowl. She’s the transport and I provide the material. The little things that keep our friendship afloat. I look at the clock in her car.
“It's 8:45,” I pick a piece of bagel out of my teeth.
“So that's it, we officially missed first period,” Ashley tops it off.
“They won't mark us, you know. It's a study.”
“Yeah, but when's the last time we signed in? I heard they're changing the policy again. Do you still have the lighter?”
I toss it to her. I don't get it. It's always her idea to pick me up so we can smoke before school, why now is she suddenly caring about attendance?
“We're pretty girls, we can get out of it. I’m next,” I tap on the clock. “Are you sure it's not fast?”
She shakes her head as she takes a snap. We're parked in the pond area a block or two from the school. It's our designated smoking spot. I like it, even at the end of fall it's pretty. I’m so engrossed that I don't realize her tip out the bowl and put it back in the cup holder.
“I don't know if it's wise to keep up the activity, we should probably get going soon,” she starts up her car again.
“Okay,” I say.
She reverses and swings out of the lot. We lean into the silence and it's super weird.
“Seth texted me last night,” I wait for her reaction.
“Oh,” she grimaces. “What did you say?”
“That I loved him.” Silence again. Ashley's trying to put together something well-meaning while understanding that I’ll probably ignore whatever she has to say.
“Abbi, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your life, but …” Her expression is now quizzical. She's said what she is about to say a number of different ways all ready. She thinks and thinks and decides to say nothing. Good call, I would have screamed at her. Not because what she thinks about my situation isn't true, I’m just in a ‘screaming at people mood’ because of it.
“I’m going to dye my hair again,” she changes the subject to avoid conflict. Classic Ash.
“Oh yeah? What color this time?”
“I don't know,” she checks her reflection in the rear view. “The red has faded out, maybe blue or pink this time.”
“You should go with a softer pink,” I say. “Since you're a soft spring.”
“Yeah, maybe.” We enter the school lot. “Listen, do you want to get together when I do it? Maybe you can dye your hair too.”
“I don't know, I might be busy,” I say. “Seth might want to do something,” I pause for her to protest. “Okay,” she says. She parks and we get out.
I barrel into art class. I don't care if I reek, out of all the teachers I can tell Mrs. Stanley smokes the most. It would be hypocritical of her to care. It looks like I’m the first one. Weird. I check my phone. It's 8:45. Well, fuck. Looks like Ashley needs to fix her clock. Mrs. Stanley is at her desk. She looks at me knowingly.
“Eager to create today, Abbi?”
I just nod and sit at my desk. I’m really feeling it. I open up my precalc notebook and just start sketching. Birds, eyes, trees, whatever. Kids start coming in. Their chatter echoes around me, I try to focus on what I’m doing. Someone bumps into my table. I look up. It's this lanky blonde kid, I think his name is James. He presses his hands underneath the desk as he leans up to talk to me.
“Eww!” He shouts. Some kids turn and laugh. I don't. I just stare at him. James goes red and sits next to the kid who pissed in a jar. Once an adequate amount of students are in the room, Mrs. Stanley starts her lesson slideshow. On the screen is a dirty urinal.
“How many of you are familiar with this work by Marcel DuChamp?” she asks. At this point, Jason, the designated meathead jock, enters the room.
“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. S,” he booms. He looks at the slide. “We building bathrooms today?” Mrs. Stanley glares at him.
“Wouldn't you like that? Considering you spend all of your time in there.”
“Whatever,” Jason brushes his mullet behind his ears.
“No, not whatever. Would you like me to move you into the sophomore class with Davis? Believe it or not he's getting much better marks than you are getting in here.”
Jason rolls his eyes and takes his place in the chair next to me.
“Up to a little extra curricular activities before art, Abbi?” he motions a joint in his fingers. I scoff and go on my phone. There's another text from Seth.
sorry about last night
and
im reading it all right now that was fucked im sorry
I start to respond, but before I can Mrs. Stanley outstretches her hand.
“Give me your phone, Miss Hagerty. I’m sick of giving you warnings.” I don't have the energy to fight, I just give it to her. “You can pick it up at the end of the day.”
My jaw actually drops. Jason must have really set her off, she's not usually such a cunt to me.
“Anyways, found art. What is it? Well, found art is the use of everyday objects to convey an altered meaning. It can be something you find on the street or something that once held value to you. For example, My Bed by Tracey Elim.” She pulls up a picture of a messy bed that looks suspiciously like my own. “So for your final unit of the quarter, you will be making your own found art. I really want you to take this project a little more seriously than most of you have been taking this class. I’m giving you the privilege of picking your own partners, but I’d like to remind you to be thoughtful with your choice. This will be worth more for your grade.”
I look around. I don't have any friends here. I toy around with the idea of asking Jason for convenience and he looks like he's about to pull that move. Behind me there's that James guy. He’s sheepishly looking at me. He seems kind of nice. Okay. I don't feel like getting up so I just turn around in my chair.
“Hey James, wanna be partners?” He balks a bit and then smiles at me.
“Yeah, totally,” He's beaming and it's somewhat endearing. Alex and I switch seats and now I’m next to him.
“I’m gonna be real with you …” I begin. He stops and shifts a little. “I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing for this.” He regards me oddly. Like he's trying to piece me together. It doesn't bother me.
“She said we have to bring in an object that's special to us and present it artistically basically,” he rubs his chin. Damn, I must be baked to hell. I didn't hear her saying that at all. “So got any stuffed animals we can cut up and make Lovecraftian monstrosities out of?”
“I got a hamster cage, hold the hamster,” I say. It comes out kind of weird and I probably sound stupid, but he doesn't seem to care. “Let's make a fucking zoo.”
“Perfect!” He’s kind of cute actually. In a way. Something about this feels fun. I realize the bell will ring soon.
“So um,” I rip out a page of my precalc notebook, still fresh with my drawings. I scrawl out my number and push it to him. “Call me so we can figure out the project some more.” I pack up all my stuff and start to head out. I can feel him watching me and it's not that bad.
“I sure will,” he says. Everything feels really groovy. There's a lightness now. I’m halfway out the door when I remember my phone. I can't believe that I just forgot about Seth. I think about begging for my phone, but I feel too above that. Still, something shakes the good feeling as the bell rings.

Hello, my name is Lililian Ashcroft and I am a trans-fem writer. Okay, so I am looking for LGBT+ Beta-Readers to look over a bunch of episode scripts for a series of LGBT+ Audio-Drama series that my Audio-Drama House is working on. I have a wonderful team of very dedicated and passionate LGBT+ artist and voice actors who deserve to have these series they are working so hard on to pay off and so these episodes I wrote really REALLY need to shine and so I would deeply appreciate ANY constructive feedback I can get. I run all of this out of Discord and my Discord name is lexshira. I have many disabilities that make long-form texting hard and so any potential beta-readers must be willing to engage in some level of Discord voice calling. My works are aimed at an older audience so ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS PLEASE. I will post a basic summary of the series being worked on below:
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The Piper Wars S2 Synopsis: Time is running out for the multiverse and all life hangs in the balance as Alice races against time to complete her training to become the new Witch of Gates. John Darling does battle against demonic forces in a desperate bid to save the tortured soul of a young boy as Wonderland is consumed in bloody civil war. In the Neverlands, Hook launches a savage campaign of conquest against Pan and the resistance forces of the Ten-Nations while on Earth the K.B.I. braces for multiversal conflict as the Piper continues to pave the way for cosmic calamity.
The Piper Wars S3 Synopsis: War has finally arrived as the Piper makes good on his deal with the Lilithian Order to collapse the worlds of Oz, Wonderland, and Neverlands onto Earth merging realities into one and sowing cosmic chaos. The KBI must organize all the nations of the world to wage a global war to hold back the forces of evil while trying to save a cursed child destined to become the Abyssal God of a new Earth born of blood and destruction. Can the armies of light prevail or will all of humanity be lost to the darkness.
The Piper Wars S4 Synopsis: The Piper War may have been won but at the cost of billions of lives and the precious blood of friends. Mankind now struggles to rebuild from the most destructive war in history but evil never stays gone for long and new would-be gods are already positioning themselves to take advantage of the chaos and confusion. Wait… Did someone say Dracula? Wait you heard Dracula? I heard Cthulhu. I think we both have been working too many night shifts.
The Eternal Chronicles S1 Synopsis: In the year 1974 on Earth #8193 a small group of wealthy kids have their lives dramatically changed forever, sending their destinies on new and unexpected paths, threatening to unravel key points in time as an evil queen of unspeakable power watches with bated breath and wicked schemes. As on Earth N.E.V. #11 The Nazis have won WW2 and conquered the world using technology stolen from a crashed Time-Ship from another dimension but in a final-desperate effort to fix history, the global resistance sends a messenger running through realities to deliver a message upon which the fate of a million worlds now hangs.
On Earth #8193 in the year 1995, a lonely and workaholic therapist is assigned the three most deadly psychopaths in the world at the time... Psychopaths everyone else at the Ashcroft Asylum has failed to rehabilitate. In a world protected by extraordinary superheroes, evil rises to meet the challenge and the apocalypse is never far behind... soon there may be no tomorrow left for anyone. Oh, and did I mention on Earth #8189 a group of friends with superpowers must make a deadly trek in search of sanctuary from the zombie plague that has ended their world and turned them into prey.

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One of my (f30) close girl friends (f31) is getting married soon, and I'm so excited for her, we have known each other for around 20 years. The couple got engaged over a year ago, and my friend asked me to be her maid of honour shortly after. I was so excited to be able to stand and support my friend on this adventure into the next chapter of her life.
Fast forward to the start of 2024, and I managed to get injured which resulted in me being in a brace. The wedding was more than three months away, and that's how long I was going to have to wear the brace (3 months). I didn't try to hide anything from my friend and told her of my injury but reassured her that I would be out of the brace and fine before her wedding. The bridesmaids dresses were all going to be for length anyway, and once i had the brace I was not really limited in my movements. She discussed options with me (sitting or standing, if I was going to be on crutches, etc.) which because I wasnt going to be in the brace by the time of her wedding I told her that if something was going to be an issue I would let her know asap. No worries we moved on.
The hens party was around three months before the wedding, a nice mixture of things which all of the bridesmaids planned and put together. There was a communication mishap between myself and another bridesmaid but from my perspective we both said our piece, and then I put it behind me because I don't have to be friends with everyone but I don't need to create a problem for my friend by holding a grudge.
Two weeks later I couldn't make it to a wedding dress appointment with the bride and the other bridesmaids to pick up the dress because of medical appointments. One of the appointments was cancelled the morning of, and as I had a second appointment to attend and had already said I couldn't make it to the dress pick up I didn't try to squeeze it in. So it was my friend and the other bridesmaids.
Two days after that my friend messaged me saying that because of my knee I shouldn't be a bridesmaid anymore, but I could still do everything else with the other bridesmaids just not on the big day. To say this broke my heart would be putting it mildly. This conversation was over Facebook messenger, and when I responded I told her that as expected I wasn't going to be in the brace by the time of her wedding and I would really love to still be able to be a part of her wedding. I also had an overseas trip two months into wearing the brace where I was doing an excessive amount of walking for a week. I explained that if I could do that trip then any walking and standing at her wedding wasn't gong to be a problem either. She insisted that she was thinking about me and that me just being a guest would be best. It's her day and I'm not going to fight to be where I'm not wanted so I left it at that.
I had already booked my non-refundable accommodation and other things so I have decided to still go to the wedding because I will regret not being there. Plus a week away from work I'm going to enjoy a small holiday. I'm already out of the brace and in no way hindered by the injury and don't even need to go back to see the specialists. I do want to ask my friend what the real reason is why she doesn't want me in her bridal party, and I have my own theories, but I won't ask anything until after the wedding and their honeymoon.
What would you do, both for the wedding and the friendship?
Update.
For those asking what happened at the hens, we had been planning the hens for one day and then a bridal party spa day the following day. in all the focus on the actual hens day I forgot to book the spa. Realised a week out and began looking at alternative spa locations. The other bridesmaid accused me of ruining the whole weekend and her having to fix everything. I was blunt with her that I dont appreciate the way she was talking with me and I was aware that I had made a mistake. the most important thing was that the bride got her day with her friends to celebrate, the spa day was a bonus day.

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Fir’s first hint that he wasn’t alright was the sizable arrow embedded in his chest – alongside the frightening amount of blood emerging from it.
The second was Juniper, who looked at him with pure horror in her eyes. It pained him to see her like that, and immediately he wanted to fly over and comfort her.
But for some reason his body refused to move. That surely explained why he found himself falling rapidly. Dimly aware of the clouds rushing away, Fir braced for impact.
An impact which never came; wizened claws wrapped around his back, slowing his descent onto the roof. He turned his head and saw Elder Rowan, repressed panic visible on the old Leafwing.
Dread began to slowly settle over him.
“NO!” Juniper wailed, almost falling out of the sky herself. Next to her, Hickory and Hornbeam watched on with despair. And behind them all, Firefly’s face broke into a sickening, triumphant grin. Fir’s eyes widened as the Hivewing drew another arrow, looking straight at Juniper.
Look out! Fir wanted to shout, but the loudest he could muster was a thin gasp. Thankfully Elder Rowan heard his words, and repeated them to the rest.
“Look out behind you!” He bellowed. “The Hivewing’s taking another shot!”
Juniper whipped her head around and saw Firefly getting ready. Fir wanted to scream at her to flee, and put as much distance from the soldier as possible to avoid getting hit.
Instead she let loose a roar that seemed to scatter the winds themselves. Juniper shot after Firefly, a green and brown blur ripping through the sky with unnatural speed.
The Hivewing too looked taken aback at Juniper’s ferocity, wings fearfully flapping away. As the Leafwing drew closer the soldier frantically drew her bow in a desperate attempt to shoot her down.
It failed.
Before the arrow could even be loosed, Juniper skewered Firefly through the stomach. The tip erupted out the Hivewing’s back in a satisfying spurt of crimson as the wind began to calm.
Juniper coldly pushed her spear away, letting the impaled soldier tumble through the air. He watched Firefly disappear below the roof, knowing she had a long way to fall. Fir softly tittered at the thought before his lungs violently seized, blue blood dripping from his snout as he collapsed onto the roof, shuddering in pain.
“Fir!” Battle forgotten, Juniper hurriedly dove towards him, passing by Hornbeam, Hickory, and Azalea who also approached.
“Hold strong, Icewing.” Elder Rowan put a claw on his shoulder. “I’ll summon help, don’t worry.” With that he took flight amid fading clouds, quickly flying to the rest of the villagers.
A moment later, Juniper skidded beside him. “Spirits of the forest…” She gasped, looking at his wound. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be…” She trailed off, tears glistening from the corners of her eyes.
“Hey, Juniper.” Despite the pain, Fir cracked a smile. “Long time no see.”
“Shut up!” She bursted back. “Can’t you see this is serious? You’re– you’re –” Juniper’s voice broke.
“You’re dying.” She began to cry.
Grunting, Fir pushed himself up to a sitting position and moved towards Juniper. Once close enough he brushed his wings over her snout and wiped away her tears, just as he’d done before.
“Shh. It’s ok.” He consoled her, feeling tears in his eyes as well.
“By the trees, you’re a terrible liar.” Juniper gave him a broken smile. “Aren’t you afraid of never returning home?”
He was silent for some time.
“Maybe it was the week I spent living in Willowwood with Azalea, Sumac, and everyone else.” Fir spoke again. “Maybe it was when I confided in you my deepest fears, or when we danced together in the festival.”
He closed his eyes. “Perhaps it was when we fought side by side that night in the clearing, or when you freed me from the cells. Perhaps it was before all that, when you first offered me those dragonberries on the day we met in the meadow.”
“Fir, what are you talking abou– mmf!” Before she could finish, he threw his wings around Juniper and kissed her. After a moment of shock, the Leafwing leaned into it. As moonlight peeked through the clouds, the two remained locked together for long, precious seconds.
Finally he backed away. “Whenever it was, somewhere along the line I started to care. To love,” he emphasized that word, “this second home I’d found, and the strange tree dragons within it.”
Fir looked at Juniper, whose scales shone elegantly under the moons. “One of those dragons was particularly strange, always disagreeing with my infallible logic. Do you know where she could be?”
Juniper softly laughed and pressed her snout to his, until their eyes were less than a talon-length away from each other. “I almost forgot you said that.” She whispered, their tears mixing freely before landing on the roof.
Other sets of claws could be heard landing as well. Fir turned and saw Elder Rowan returning with a sprinting Cypress, carrying a roll of bandages. Behind her followed Azalea and the rest of the villagers. Also on the roof were Hornbeam and Hickory, standing away at a respectful distance. They watched as Juniper’s mother knelt beside him.
“Lay down now.” Cypress ordered, handing her bandage to Juniper as the healer applied pressure around the spear. “Junie, wrap this tightly around the sides to stem the blood. There isn’t time to take him to the pavilion.”
“Yes Mother.” She nodded, face set with determined professionalism.
As the two Leafwings worked in silence, Fir gazed up at the now clear sky. A tapestry of gleaming stars gazed back.
So pretty… Despite his current state, he smiled at the sight.
The Great Ice Dragon must’ve sent frostbreath to adorn the night, but it seemed to have changed on its journey to Pantala. Instead of green-blue lights snaking beyond the horizon, Fir saw waves of red and purple that twisted in between the moons before bursting across the sky.
The sight almost resembled a massive eye. It was different and strange to be sure, but no less beautiful.
“Pass me more of the bandage, Mother.” Juniper tugged, pulling up blue-soaked fabric. Fir felt his chest tighten, though he didn’t feel much better.
No matter, he could admire the hundreds of stars shining bright tonight! It didn’t take long for him to pick out all the familiar constellations.
To his left, the twin bear stars wandered into view. The pair left behind rivulets of silver stars, creating a glowing path that stood out from the dark. Among this river, Fir next spotted the rabbit star as it dipped in and out of view. For a while he played this sudden game of hide-and-seek, enjoying the unpredictability.
Further away, the reindeer constellation trotted into view as well. Its antlers were missing, however, perhaps lost somewhere within the stream left in the bears’ wake. At least it looked relieved.
“We need more pressure. Juniper, press your talons on his chest.” Cypress hurriedly pointed, sounding strangely tense.
The next moment, warm claws laid themselves over his heart. Fir felt himself relaxing as he put his own claws over her’s. He squeezed them reassuringly, looking up at Juniper. The Leafwing stiffened and turned away, shaking. He looked back down and saw most of his underbelly stained with blood.
His blood.
Before Fir could panic, a glimmer from above seized his attention. Hanging highest over the night sky like an irreplaceable jewel, the north star shone with a light only it could give. Noticing his gaze, it spoke to him at last.
Fir, son of the Icewings. It approvingly declared, the words alone filling him with pride.
Brave. The bear stars rumbled.
Loyal. The rabbit star winked.
And true. The reindeer constellation nodded. Fir preened under the praise. But before he could relish for long, a spurt of blood erupted from his mouth.
“It’s just as I feared.” He heard Cypress say. “His lung’s been hit, and probably an artery too.”
“What do we do?” Juniper’s voice rose, edged with hysteria. “Mother, tell me there’s a way!”
Cypress met Fir’s gaze, and her face fell. “I’m sorry.”
“No no no no…” Juniper murmured, violently shaking her head. “NO!” She collapsed on him, snout falling on his bloodstained chest.
Moving quickly, Fir lifted her snout and bundled her claws within his own. “Juniper, please don’t cry. You did all you could.”
“I couldn’t save you.” She sobbed. “And now you’re going to die here.”
Fir tilted her head to rest on his, whispering softly. “But you did save me, don’t you remember?”
Juniper looked at him confused.
“You saved me in the meadow. And from the cells. And during the fight in the clearing.” He coughed again, feeling something run down his jaw. “Three is an awfully large number, don’t you think?”
Juniper hugged him again, as if trying to stop the bleeding with her body. She filled half his view as she tightly twined her tail around his. The other half was left to the stars, and the frostbreath in the sky shaped like an eye.
An eye. Fir’s own widened. Is the Great Ice Dragon watching me? On cue it brightened, enveloping his view as if offering an invitation.
“Fir…” Juniper whimpered, gently nudging him. He refocused on the Leafwing’s tear-streaked face.
“Juniper…” He softly kissed her. “The pain’s fading away now.”
“Please don’t go.” She sniffled.
“I’m sorry.” Fir’s voice broke, crying just as hard as Juniper. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“Soon I’ll be among the stars.” He smiled, looking at the sky which proudly looked back. “We can see each other every night.”
“Was flying among them not enough?” Juniper quietly laughed.
“I guess not, my love.”
She gasped.
“You look lovely when you’re flustered.” Fir simpered, darkness creeping from the edges of his vision. “I’m so glad you’re here – I’d feel too afraid otherwise.”
“By the trees, what will I do without you?” Juniper murmured.
“Grieve. Cry. Mourn.” He answered, feeling it harder and harder to speak. “But I know it won’t break you, because you’re too strong for that.”
Juniper wrapped her wings around him as the two lowered flat over the roof. “Thank you for landing in Pantala, my Icewing.”
“Thank you for finding me, my Leafwing.” Fir’s eyelids grew heavy.
The Great Ice Dragon, accompanied by all the stars, beckoned for him to join. One eye looked to them while the other remained on Juniper, as she gently cradled his head. His heart could easily hold love for each.
The best of both worlds, remaining by my side. Fir beamed, feeling himself slipping away.
I’m glad I’m home.
******
They buried Fir the next sunset in the meadow where he was first found. Under the protective shade of a wide willow tree, next to a stream which cooled the soil, the area was noticeably chillier than its surroundings.
Juniper knew he’d appreciate resting here.
“It is said that more may pass in mere weeks than during whole decades.” Elder Rowan’s voice cut through the melancholy, lamp-lit air. “And I believe these past two have exemplified this saying.” He looked to the upturned grass beside him, face creased with sorrow. “For the second time in our continent’s history, a dragon from the Distant Kingdoms arrived at our shores. Now he joins the first in eternal slumber.”
The Elder looked to the assembled Leafwings, taking a breath. Practically the entire village had come, standing on the ground and in the trees in a loose semicircle. Out of all of them, Juniper stood closest to the grave.
“I first called Fir a threat, but I couldn’t have been further from the truth. He’s a hero, one who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect our home.” He continued.
The stealth team had returned in the morning, bewildered by the events of yesterday. They also arrived with no reinforcements - though they weren’t of any use now. The messengers explained that similar attacks had happened all across the Leaf Kingdom, and that by the time they’d arrived the palace could offer no more soldiers.
Juniper kept her head locked straight ahead. Someone nudged her wing, and looking up she saw a subdued Azalea giving her a sympathetic expression.
Apart from Fir, three other dragons died last night. The first was a steward, murdered in the treehouse by the Hivewings. Manihot was his name according to Hickory. The second was caught by falling debris, leading to a fatal plummet to the forest floor. The final Leafwing was asleep when a fire pot exploded right above her hut. She had no way to escape. Their funerals had been done in the afternoon. Now only one was left.
Opposite of Azalea, Mother squeezed Juniper’s talons with understanding on her face. She knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one right in front of your eyes.
Juniper offered the two a weak smile that didn’t last for long. She focused again on the Elder.
“So let us remember Fir today as one of our own, now and forevermore. May he nurture our home as he did in life.” Elder Rowan concluded. “Would anyone else like to give a few closing remarks?”
Juniper nodded. “I would.” The eyes of almost two hundred Leafwings snapped onto her as she stepped forward. The Elder backed away, giving up his spot.
Turning slowly she looked at the crowd. Juniper had been in this position before, appealing to the village to save Fir’s life. His loss still felt surreal, sending shivers up her spine – and fresh tears down her snout.
Her audience shared in this grief. Azalea and Mother, eyes dimmed to a shadow of what they once were. Hickory and Hornbeam, wings drooped from familiar guilt. Juniper even saw Sumac, peeking at her from beside Tupelo. The dragonet’s head remained downcast, and even at a distance she could see the faint glimmers of teardrops falling down.
He looked just like her, heart consumed until nothing remained. How long would Sumac feel empty after this?
Too long.
She paused for a moment. Then Juniper opened her mouth. “Have I ever told you all about about the time Fir first spoke to me?”
Confused murmurs spilled through the crowd. Elder Rowan looked at her questioningly.
“It happened when I found him sprawled unconscious in this very meadow, the day before I told the Elder. I’d just finished wrapping up his nasty side wound, and was thinking what to do next.” Juniper reminisced, looking to the exact place where it had occurred.
“All of a sudden I turned around, and found Fir staring right at me. For a long couple of moments, we both were completely quiet.” Juniper saw a small smirk grow on Azalea’s face. Her friend had an idea of what was about to happen.
“I remember thinking to myself ‘what will this mystery dragon possibly say to me?’ during those few seconds. I made a million guesses in my head, each of them wrong. Because the first thing Fir said to me was,” Juniper inhaled.
“Three moons, it really is a tree!”
Like a sapling splitting through barren earth, faint smiles emerged from the attending Leafwings. Azalea covered her snout, emitting muffled chuckles that caused Mother to glare at her.
“And that was why our very first conversation was on whether or not I was a plant.” Juniper smiled at the memory. “Obviously Fir was wrong, so he instead argued that I was a Treewing.” Scattered titters broke out at that. Even the Elder quietly snorted.
“To prove it, Fir used logic I’d never seen before. By getting me to admit that leaves were on trees, he exclaimed in a moment of triumph:” Juniper paused for effect.
“SO THERE! Treewing is right after all – you said it yourself!”
Sumac giggled, his high pitched chirps lightening the air. Even the lamps seemed to shine brighter.
“At the time I was so mad, but looking back now I can’t help but laugh.” Juniper raised an upturned claw to the other village. “That was a memory I had with Fir, one I won’t ever forget. Would anyone else like to tell theirs?”
“I would!” Azalea called, raising her voice. “Mine is from last week, during the night of our New Year of the Trees festival when I was scale painting Fir. While I had experience doing it before, that was only for Leafwings. With him, well… I had more trouble.” She sheepishly admitted.
“I’d started painting Fir in the afternoon. But because I’d never worked on an Icewing before, I spent hours just trying out different designs to see what worked. By the time I finished, the festival was already beginning.” Azalea recalled.
“But despite having to sit still for so long, Fir didn’t complain. He merely sat through my failed attempts, giving encouragement no matter the mistake.” She straightened. “I’m glad he was patient with me, and I won’t ever forget it.”
“Ooh! I have something too! I have something too!” Sumac loudly piped up, waving his arms. Tupelo shushed him with his tail, stern eyes rebuking his son for such behavior.
“No, no. It’s ok.” Juniper gestured with her wings. “You can speak, Sumac.”
Unsilenced, the dragonet eagerly began. “A few days ago, Fir did something similar with me. He took me to the beach to teach me how to fish, but instead of a net or spear, he taught me something called ‘claw fishing’.” Sumac made air quotes with his talons.
“Fir told me to wade into the bay, keep my claws underwater, and wait for the fish to come.” He stamped his foot. “I thought it was stupid. Why hope for prey to arrive when you could hunt it down? But Fir insisted, so I waited.”
Sumac reached out with a claw, squeezing the air in front of him. “And waited, and waited, until a fish finally swam up to me. But when I pounced it swam away! That’s when Fir told me about perseverance, and how claw fishing was a way to practice it. It took a while, but eventually I caught a fish all by myself.” He proudly announced. “And for the record, it was delicious. I’ll never forget the taste.”
“Fir forgave my error in judgment, despite my hostile actions.” Elder Rowan warmly praised.
“Fir had the integrity to apologize to my son, even after he’d become the village hero.” Tupelo nuzzled Sumac.
“Fir made my daughter happy.” Mother looked at Juniper. “And I couldn’t have asked for anything else.”
“I appreciated his interest in our tribe's history.” Hickory added.
“And he’s skilled with the net too!” Hornbeam grinned.
Other villagers began pitching in too, their voices overlapping into an indiscernible buzz. Yet its warmth could be clearly felt, lifting the spirits of all present.
After that Elder Rowan moved to finish the proceedings, ending the funeral on a bittersweet note. While most villagers trickled back to Willowwood, Azalea stepped towards Juniper and put a comforting wing over her.
“Juniper, if you ever feel overwhelmed, you’re always free to stop by the shop. I can teach you how to paint if you want. It’s very relaxing – and quite therapeutic.”
“Thanks Azalea, I appreciate the offer.” Juniper replied. The two remained silent for a minute.
“On the bright side, things can only get better from here.” Azalea continued. “The stealth team said that Wasp and Queen Sequoia are meeting soon for a peace summit. Once they do, this violence will be behind us for good. I’m sure of it.”
“Hm. I guess time will tell.” Juniper looked away. “Tell Mother I’ll be gone for some time.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.” Azalea turned and walked away. Once everyone had left, Juniper made her way to Fir’s grave. She sat over it and dug her forehead into the dirt, mourning alone.
“Why did you have to die, Fir?” Juniper sadly whispered. “We miss you. I miss you. So, so much.”
She squeezed her wet eyes shut. “I wish we had more time together. Time to laugh, talk, and love. Yet here we are.” Remaining motionless atop his resting place, Juniper lost track of time, oblivious to the outside world.
Eventually she opened her eyes, and looked up to the darkening sky. Faint lights could already be seen peeking through the foliage. Juniper smiled.
She didn’t know if the peace summit was enough to end the fighting. She didn't know if Wasp would finally stop. She didn’t know what would happen to her tribe or Pantala.
But there was one thing Juniper knew. As she took flight, threading through the forest until reaching the open sky, she reminded herself of what that was:
The stars were out tonight, and her Icewing was among them.

The End

So I'm trying to do the Bank Job quest right .
Im doing Rumble so I don't get stacked and I can 3rd party right.
So now I brought a Mountaintop,Dead Messenger(DM) and Edge transit(ET) right.
I don't have the exotic "Rain of fire"that's sad but one of these days RNGesus should clutch up.
Grenade launchers aren't the instakills I thought they were.
I can't aim for shizzz like DM and ET need me to shoot before the target so they get hit with the waves. I'm used to mountaintop, I love spike but I everyone is good at movement so I've never hit a direct.
When outta ammo I swap to fighting lion. My God what a steep learning curve. This shoots basketballs that jump all over the place. I can't aim these to save my life. Like wow. How is this usable. I've seen other bouncie grenades but they don't travel that much . . So I'm tryna get the hang of this thing. Am I am getting railed in rumble. I was absolutely FAAAARRMMMED. While I'm trying to get to grips with fighting lion So I'm 6 weeks in the game so I'm at GRank 6 right and that's only because I haven't bought lightfall. So I see this GR 5 in one game. . He killed me 3 times in a row. And that hurt my soul. And then some guy comes in and then over the games I notice a considerable number of times I'm getting killed by the recluse. . I'm like boy ain't no way boy. I'm being farmed by level 5s with a recluse. A gun I have in spades. . I said F this quest, I GOT A RECLUSE TOO, and umma show you my favorite roll . I like the Destabilizing Rounds with Repulsor brace roll. But in hindsight that roll trash for PVP but I got 10 kills non the less. .. In the end I only have one grenade launcher kill because I was still figuring out how launchers work . 99 kills to go. . Epilogue:
Hopefully when I'm done with this catalyst I'll join the bait and switch crowd for Apex predator because that's the only reason I'm doing this catalyst. I am inlove with Bipod Reconstruction. I even have Izanagi with it's catalyst but eeeeh I'm lazy to craft that Bait and switch reconstruction predator for it. . Oooooohhh snap , I have forebarance, The Colony and The Prospector. Lemme go test it out.

As the title really. Last season I played was Season of The Deep, and then I took a massive break. Started playing again because (and I'm not joking) I saw that Blast Furnace is coming back, and would you guess? I'm hooked again.
So what weapons, and rolls if possible, do I wanna add to my collection before The Final Shape in June? I play an almost 50% split of PvP and PvE so am happily looking for weapons in both arenas. I play all Hunter subclasses depending on my mood, but mostly Void and Solar in PvE, and Solar in PvP.
Here's what I'm currently looking for:

• Elsies Rifle for PvP - Arrowhead, Ricochet, Keep Away, Headseeker. Maybe Zen Moment instead of Keep Away?
• Recluse for PvE - Smallbore, Ricochet, Repulsor Brace, Destabilising Rounds/ Frenzy/ Master of Arms.
• Blast Furnace for PvP - Arrowhead, Accurized, Headseeker, Rapid Hit.
• Luna's Howl for PvP - Smallbore, Ricochet, Encore, Magnificent Howl
• Midnight Coup for PvE - Arrowhead, Accurized, Firefly, One For All
• Apex Predator for PvE - Smart Drift, Impact Casing, Reconstruction, Bait and Switch
• Cold Comfort for PvE (if I can't get Apex Predator) - The same as above, but with Envious Assassin instead of Reconstruction.
• The Messenger for PvP before it's removed - Arrowhead, Ricochet, Rapid Hit, Headseeker.

I assume I'm missing loads of guns, so I'll check out any other recs for stuff that I can't afford to miss.
Cheers!

Hello! I am starting graduate school in the fall and been looking through threads about messenger bags without much progress. After reading recommendations, I was into the Crumpler Brace (but too pricey and not enough video reviews to determine size) and the Timbuk2 Small Messenger Bag (concerns about quality production now).
I am looking for: -messenger bag with laptop compartment to fit a 14 inch -doesn’t look giant considering i am 5’2 -unoffensive style to be worn in all circumstances -doesn’t show its wear too much (currently using a patagonia that is beat up after a single year) -under $150 or used versions are accessible -either contains a pocket or can fit a 24oz owala
Please let me know what you recommend?

Chapter One
Prev--------Next
Taritha woke to birds chirping—a small perk of living close to the woods. Not that she had chosen this, really. In recent weeks, she’d approached every potential house seller in the village, but none had panned out. She yawned, stretching as she stood in her cramped home, where even the ceiling seemed to press down upon her. As she ducked instinctively to avoid bumping her head, she imagined a real house, with rooms tall enough to hold her dreams. Or at least where she could stand up straight.
Despite everything, she felt a pang of nostalgia. This was her birthplace, the only home she’d ever known. Yet now, it harboured mostly painful memories. Thoughts of her ma and grandma, whom she dearly loved, too often left her feeling drained and sad—luxuries she couldn’t afford with her busy days. She was no longer the frightened girl learning the names of all the flowers in the meadow. Now, she stood as the town's healer, or more precisely, the assistant to the town's biomancer—a role with even greater prestige.
"If only Gran could see me now," she mused aloud with a bittersweet smile.
Taritha approached the two woven reed baskets that stored all her belongings. Among them were the old, patched dresses of her past—a stark contrast to the refined, embroidered garments the mage had given her. These made her feel transformed, but today, on her day off, she had something even better in mind. She smiled, pulling out a new dress made by her friend, Jeanel the seamstress. It was just delivered the other night and was her first purchase ever—a pale green dress with flowy sleeves and a narrow collar. The fine cotton swished at her ankles, a delightful improvement from the coarse fabrics she was used to.
With a contented sigh, she revelled briefly in the feel of the dress, then turned her attention to breakfast. Despite her ongoing magical studies, she’d yet to master even boiling water. As she gathered sticks in the forest, she mused how her life had been dominated by such mundane tasks, a stark contrast to the mage's effortless magic. That more than anything fueled her passion to learn his secrets.
Returning home, Taritha stoked the morning’s embers and set a pot of porridge on her small hearth. A busy herbalist, she always had some honey on hand. In addition to its therapeutic qualities, it made her breakfast far more palatable. After the hearty oats, she tackled her unruly hair with a worn wooden comb, a necessary chore given her long locks. The old comb was worn and was missing more than half its teeth, but she’d had it for years. Maybe it was time to replace it, later this afternoon. Each stroke helped her focus, as she mentally prepared for her day.
Today is a big day! Mage Thippily asked me to meet him at the new factory!
She washed her hands in a shallow bowl in front of her house, flung the water into the woods, and headed to the mage’s converted warehouse. She rubbed her hands dry as she crossed through the woods and into town. Here and there people smiled and waved at her.
She was always barely tolerated, and only that because she provided the poorer folk with herbs and cures, and helped her gran do the same since she was a girl. It was different now. She wasn’t sure if it was dressing like a big city clerk, or the amazing results the mage had worked, or just being associated with the huge, and almost universally positive changes that had come to the town in the last few months? She was treated like a respected pillar of the community, even without a powerful family. Or maybe because of her powerful new friends, she mused.
Taritha arrived at the sprawling patio where the mage’s men lounged in casual attire. Although she often spoke with them and even joined in their card games, she realised how little she truly knew about them. Their backgrounds were an enigma; they spoke of poverty yet displayed a casual wealth, like the time Rikad nonchalantly settled a woodcutter’s hefty, overdue tab with a mere wave of his hand. Their claims of never having served a lord or the imperial army were belied by their skilled, coordinated response during the pirate attack.
Their treatment of her was curiously deferential. Despite the lack of a formal hierarchy beyond Mage Thipply at the summit and Lord Stanisk as his deputy, they treated her with respect bordering on reverence. She wasn’t even sure of elv’s exact status—was she respected, feared, or merely tolerated? Yet, Taritha found herself secretly delighted by their respectful, if entirely mistaken, forms of address.
“Ah! Her Grace has arrived! We saved a sugar bun for you!” Eowin somehow mistook her for a duchess as he dramatically gestured to the patio table, where a single pastry sat on a crumb-covered cloth.
“You surely spoil me with your kindness, gentlemen!” The bun was cooled but was still tender and fresh. She tore into it while everyone stood up to gather around.
“Ifff Thiffply here yet? She asked, covering her full mouth with her hand.
“Nah, he left hours ago,” Kedril announced as he opened the gate, gesturing for everyone to head out. “We’re to join him at his factory once you show up.”
“Why do you think he wants all of us there? That’s a bit ominous, isn’t it?” Rikad mused as they strolled down the street.
“It’s to show off his, OUR, new factory. He’s been out there every day since Midsummer. Nothing he could do would be ominous!” Ross countered, drawing groans from his mates.
“If he asked you to walk into a sea monster’s mouth, you’d do it! I swear!” Kerdril retorted, exasperated.
“Well yeah! Because he’d only ask that if it was okay! You guys would too!” Ros insisted.
Taritha couldn't decide if Ros's unwavering faith was endearing or concerning. The polite, bespectacled man was undoubtedly generous, but secrets followed him like storm clouds.
Rikad turned to her, curiosity piqued. “Okay, Taritha, we might not know anything, but you must. You talk to the mage more than all of us combined!”
“He’s been distracted and excited, definitely looking forward to today. But I’m not in the inner circle, I’m just a worker bee like you guys,” she shrugged, smiling as the men sported an array of colourful tunics, remnants of the Midsummer melee.
As the boastful chatter continued at the front, Ros slowed to match Taritha's pace. “How's the house hunt going? Find anyone selling?”
“No, even with the Chief helping, they all know it’s for me, and they’re being difficult. I help these people, but they can’t look past what they think they know about me,” she confessed, careful to keep her eyes on the tricky path.
“That stinks. But at least your clinic yesterday went well, right?” Ros tried to lighten the mood.
“Mostly? I almost wish someone would come in with an axe in their leg! Now, it's all trivial complaints. Like, they’re tired before bed or their kids won’t listen—things we can’t fix because there’s nothing actually wrong,” she laughed dryly. Realizing she’d been complaining and talking about herself too long, she redirected back to Ros, “Was that your first battle the other night? Seeing you in action, I worried, but those pirates didn’t stand a chance against you!”
He softened, touched by her concern. “I’m just as strong as anyone else! Maybe younger, but—” He paused, kicking a pine cone, then added gruffly, “We fought for the town. Giving up was never an option.”
After a moment, he looked up, his face brightening. “I like your dress, by the way. Is it new?”
She beamed with pride and smoothed the fabric. “Thanks! Yes, it's from my friend, the seamstress. Getting paid is a better way to live.”
“The pay is good, the second best part of the job, maybe third,” he quipped, offering a teasing grin.
Taritha laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. “Oh Light! I see why they groan when you talk. Hey, Rikad! I bet the mage will turn one of you into a messenger pigeon, and I’m just here to make sure none of you eat the birdman!”
They rounded a corner and Taritha could see the factory for the first time. Her duties and habits had kept her in town for the last few months, making today the first time she’d seen the building. This section of woods, and even this trail were familiar to her, but the enormous stone edifice in front of her was striking. She’d never seen any building as big in her life. The scale was hard to judge, but it looked like she could fit not just the count’s manor, the church, and every inn in town in the great building. Probably most of the craft district too!
The road led them straight into the daunting gatehouse. Wide enough for even oversized carts, it was sturdy enough for a siege. Her hand lingered on the open door. The imported oak was thick, and bound by great iron braces. She could feel the subtle pulse of some enchantments deep in the wood, strengthening and protecting it. Her companions were more impressed by the well appointed guard posts and the lookout tower, linked to the gatehouse by a rope bridge high overhead.
“Ah yeah! Look, it’s stone all the way around the tower, the only way in is at the top! From up there we could shoot into the back of anyone attacking the gate!” Rikad pointed out with glee, elbowing Kedril.
“Lightdamn it,” Kedril replied with a low sigh, smiling despite the jab.
After admiring the craftsmanship of the entryway, they stepped into the main yard of the factory. It was a sprawling, wide-open space, recently reclaimed from the dense forest that still towered around its walls. The ground was a patchwork of uneven dirt, dotted with stringy bushes and the raw stumps of freshly cut trees. Piles of construction materials—lumber, stone, and scattered tools—lay strewn about, signs of the ongoing work. A rough, two-lane road carved through the yard, looping around the area in a practical, if makeshift, circuit.
Taritha paused to slowly turn in place, absorbing the imposing scene. The walls around her soared several stories high, lined with dressed timber that lent the industrial space an unexpected warmth, reminiscent of a colossal cabin. Massive loading bay doors punctuated the walls, each wide enough to accommodate carts and machinery, flanked by smaller, human-sized doors dotted the side of the factory proper.
The entire courtyard felt like a blend of raw, untamed nature and budding industrial might, a place on the cusp of becoming a centre of bustling activity yet still holding onto elements of the wild forest it had so recently been.
“Oh! I think that’s the door to go in!” Taritha announced, gesturing to the one with parchment bearing the mage’s neat handwriting.
Please Come In
“I thought you said you’d never been here? Rikard said, his voice suspicious, his eyebrows impressed.
“That’s what the– nevermind, it's this way.” she said. Her attention was now acutely focused on what lay ahead.
What could it be about? This was strange. If it were a tour, why didn’t he, or at least Stanisk greet them at the front? Something’s off. He’s firing us all. We get paid too much, and now that his fortress is built, he doesn’t need us!
She noticed nothing of the interior, focused instead on her fears and anxieties. Good things were vanishingly rare in her life, so she didn’t expect them to last. She walked, looking at her feet. She hoped that she could at least keep her new black boots when they fired her, she really liked them.
They ended up in the main factory space, a colossal room that occupied more than half of the expansive building. It had rows of empty shelves on the sides, complex kilns at the back and rows of low, very wide empty benches around most of the perimeter. In the open centre of the room stood Lord Stanisk and Mage Thippily. As usual, Stanisk was clad in his heavy steel mail, while Thippily wore his customary tan vest over a neatly pressed shirt and slacks, exuding scholarly dignity. Their familiar attire offered a touch of reassurance amidst the vast, unfamiliar space.. The lack of tools or supplies made it feel a lot more like an abandoned warehouse, but much much bigger than any she’d heard of.
“Come! Come! What do you think? They did a first rate job, especially in such a short time!” Mage Thippily gestured around at the huge room. His cheerful voice seemed small on the factory floor.
Above, the ceilings towered, reaching heights Taritha had never seen inside a building, instilling a feeling of insignificance that was hard to ignore. The air was laden with the scent of fresh-cut wood and pine resin, comforting yet somehow unsettling in this unfamiliar, grandiose setting. She marvelled at the impressive scale of the room, all the while aware of how little she understood.
“Come! Gather around, we’ve so much to discuss!” Mage Thippily’s infectious cheerfulness helped scare away some of her worries. “Today is the day! This has been a huge part of my dream since before I even hired the first of you! Even before I met Stanisk!” He motioned everyone closer, and they formed a semi circle around him and his Chief of security, with a respectful few paces of distance between them.
“Have a knee, lads.” Stanisk casually commanded, and the twelve men immediately fell to a comfortable looking kneeling stance. That it happened in smooth unison implied this happened a lot. Much slower and more awkwardly she bunched her dress to the side and seated herself on the plank floor.
“Oh, excellent! Alright! There are a few things I wanted to share today!” The mage seemed more nervous than she did, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or an awful one. What could he possibly have to worry about? He had all the money and power!
He straightened his wire frame glasses and continued, “First of all the factory will be starting regular production tomorrow! The carts and supplies will start arriving all day today, so Stanisk will have your updated duty roster. I imagine factory security will be the majority of your duties now, so there will be some adjustments. All of our vacations are over now!” He chuckled awkwardly.
“Running up hills with sacks of rocks was less of a vacation than you’d think M’lord!” one man piped up.
“Work is sitting in a shaded gatehouse? I reckon we’ll live,” added another.
“Cut the chatter, the mage ain’t done.” Stanisk seemed uncomfortable.
She hadn’t noticed it at first, but he was always so calm and resolute, seeing conflict written across his face was the most unsettling part so far. The boys seemed happy, their jobs sounded safe now. She tried to look serene.
The mage couldn’t fire me, I am learning magic! But too slowly? Maybe he’s too busy to continue tutoring a dullard with a whole factory to run?
Mage Thippily continued, “I have also mostly completed the quarters here, and you are all invited to move in immediately. I’d like to lend our warehouse-barracks to the families that lost their homes in the raid, then convert it back to a normal warehouse later on, since we’ll need the storage space soon.”
The men looked around the huge empty room but didn’t say anything. On one hand, sleeping on a factory floor was what very poor serfs did in the cities. On the other hand, the mage had been uncommonly open-handed so far, so the offer warranted at least some patience. After all, she was envious of how nice their accommodations were in that converted warehouse.
Seeing no objections, Mage Thippily gulped and shrugged, his discomfort growing more obvious. “Well, there is one more, rather large, bit of business in the middle. I’ve not been completely forthright about, well about the core nature of this entire enterprise.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, for an instant reminding her of a very little boy getting caught stealing sweets. “The way that I make things isn't with magic, more with magical creatures.”
To her it seemed like a distinction without a difference. If anything that made it all much more impressive.
Seeing confused shrugs, he elaborated, “The creatures are animated with extraplanar energy, and bound, or I guess more accurately, projected using a novel form of enchanting, I’ve been calling totems.” Again no response. They were all fairly accustomed to his habit of over-explaining. Her recent arcane education had never mentioned anything about extraplanar energy or totems, but she could fill this massive building with all the things she didn’t know about magic.
“Since the specific extraplanar dimension is commonly called the ‘Hellplane’ and most of the process is based in demonology, they could be considered, in some categorization systems, as a type of demon.” he winced as he spoke.
Ah, there it is. He was the worst evil the Church had ever known and had allied himself with the forces of madness and chaos.
It was a shock to her, and she physically recoiled from the news. How could the kind, gentle mage be an incarnation of the cruelest type of evil? Literal demon worshipers. She reflected on how little he was bothered by her being born a witch, and compared to actual demons, it made a lot more sense. A narrow ray of self-doubt nagged her, if the church had lied to everyone about witches, maybe her reaction to demons was conditioned the same way.
Mage Thippily, or more accurately, Master Demonologist Thippily continued,“To be clear, they are not native to hell, nor do they have minds as we understand minds. They are perfectly safe, perfectly obedient and incapable of suffering. I cannot overstate how safe they are. One hundred point zero percent safe!”
A few of the men stood up and reached for non-existent weapons on their hips as they backpedaled. Eowin made the gesture of the triangle while shaking his head.
“Sit down you helpless moon-calves, the mage ain’t done talkin’,” Stanisk’s tone held just the barest edge of danger, and they begrudgingly stopped and knelt again. A sea of wide eyes focused on the mage, alert and tense.
“You knew about this, sir?”
“Sit down and shut up. Of course, I knew. I saw the imps ‘fore I even met Grigory.”
Grigory regained the focus. “First let me explain the perks! Each of you will get your own set of imps! They are perfectly obedient, and even bad instructions can’t cause bad outcomes. They will hopefully make your lives easier, free you from drudgery and give you more time and focus for enrichment! This factory, all my money and political clout, all of it is in service of my one true goal, and it’s been weighing on me not being able to share it!” He stood as straight as he could, and held his slightly trembling hands in front of him. “The end of labour, for all people everywhere!”
“Huh?” A sea of confused shrugs.
That goal was impossible and dumb. Everything is labour, that’s the whole point of, well everything? That’s the basis of everyone’s place in the world.
“One step at a time of course! First you, then the town then the whole Empire! The imps are perfectly safe, and much of what everyone does every day is tiring, undignified, and often unpleasant. Imps can do that now! There will be a day when all people in all places can spend their time however they please, pursuing whatever they fancy!”
Still a lot of sceptical frowns.
“So what’s that mean for us, milord? I don’t reckon I get where we fit in, as your workers?” Jourgun asked timidly.
“Ah! Of course! So the nature of the imps, their absolute inability to harm anyone means I still need people with the physical and moral capacity to defend my dream. It means you will accrue more wealth and power until those terms become meaningless, it means that I am now free to offer you the very best of my aid, and you will be the first to live the way I want all sentient life everywhere to live, free of drudgery!”
Most of that sounded like hollow rhetoric, but so much money that the term lost meaning seemed a very interesting offer. Well, to the soldiers. Taritha was all too aware she had neither the moral nor physical capacity to defend the mage against much. The men exchanged meaningful looks without saying anything.
“But I also understand the nature of this is itself an unkindness. I put you in a position where you are basically coerced into potentially acting against your beliefs. Since no one can say yes if they cannot also say no, I have a secondary offer. Anyone who would like to quit may do so. I’ll pay the balance of this year's salary, and pay for your passage on a ship to Wave Gate. In exchange for a simple verbal promise to keep my secret for the next year or two.”
“You’se best think hard on breaking that promise. You’se’d be making enemies with the most dangerous Grandmaster Demonologist whats lived in millenia,” Stanisk intoned menacingly.
“No, not at all! He’s kidding!” Grigory added while trying to smile as wide as he could.
Stanisk scowled and shook his head subtly, communicating that he was definitely not kidding.
“Can we talk about it for a bit? This seems, uh, big?” Rikad asked.
“Oh My! Yes! By all means!” the mage nodded agreeably.
Beside her the men stood up and huddled close, discussing intensely. She stood and looked at the tight knot of men. She felt out of place alone, and out of place butting in, but did anyway.
“-- is a no-brainer, right? We’d be insane to turn this down?”
“What about our souls? Money comes and goes, but souls?”
“I ain’t done no business with demons ‘afore? I don’t know guys…,” Jourgun equivocated.
“You hadn’t done business with a baker or tailor before the mage hired ya, don’t confuse being broke with being moral. Think about what else you can do that will result in a better life. It's the best offer I’ve been given, and the best offer anyone in a dozen generations of my family has gotten.” Rikad was firm, his priorities were well known to the rest of the men.
“This might not be his only secret, what if there’s more, and it’s worse?” whispered Taritha. She hated being the negative one, but it was so obvious to her.
“Sir! Is there more? Will it be worse?” Ros shouted.
“Uh, no? Plenty of more small details, but they’re all good, at least I think so?” The master demonologist said with a shrug.
“It’s okay Taritha, I checked.”
With effort, she kept a straight face. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to strangle him or hug him. “Thanks.”
“We’re gonna be fighting the good guys, like the Church and Empire, you all are okay with that?” Kedril asked.
“Whoever opposes our mage, ain’t the good guy,” Rikad said calmly.
Ross turned to the front and shouted, “Will I have to fight the Church or the Empire?”
“No, every possible diplomatic–” the mage started.
“Yeah, but with magic swords and armour.” Stanisk interrupted.
Ross returned to the huddle, “That sounds pretty exciting!”
“I don’t wanna have anything to do with black magics, but I even more don’t want to leave. Imagine chopin’ trees for ten glindi a day? I can’t go back to that. Yeah, I’m in.” Theros said resignedly.
“Me too.”
“Yeah”
“Wait, wait, are you sure? This is an out. Might be the only one we get? What if it all goes to mush and we end up in the Inquisition’s dungeon?” Kedril asked. “Have we thought this through?”
“Imagine if it goes to plan? Imagine telling yer mum and whole family they’ll never have to toil again? And that change is because of your bravery? Seems a risk worth takin’.” Rikad retorted. “Take the exit if you want I guess?”
“Nah, I got nothing to go back to, and this is interesting. Besides, eleven maniacs following a demonologist will need a voice of reason.” Kedril explained.
“Oh yeah, our voice of reason! You’ll stay on won’t you, m’lady?” Rikad deliberately misinterpreted Kedril, and turned to Taritha.
If they think they have nothing to go back to, I have even less. Even his exit offer was unappealing. At least I understand where the mage’s disdain for the Church came from. His offer of protection seems even more sincere now.
She was silent while she tried to articulate her position.
“We’ll make sure that you’re safe if the demons turn on us! We’ll defend you to the last man!” Ros said with his big puppy dog eyes, but this time his mates nodded instead of rolling their eyes.
“Of course, I’ll stay, someone needs to put you back together!” She was touched by their loyalty, especially since it was unearned. She hadn’t actually helped or healed a single one of them so far.
Everyone left the huddle, and Rikad addressed the mage. “We all agree to continue employment under these new conditions. However, I’d like a few points clarified; Does this affect our souls, our descendants' souls, or our afterlives?”
Grigory's face lit up, and he finally relaxed. “That is great news! I’m overjoyed that you’ve put your trust in me, and I will continue to strive to be worthy of it. You have my assurance Rikad, there’s nothing in my research that has ever suggested the existence of souls or an afterlife. Who's ready for a factory tour?”
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I'm wondering: are there any Web3 projects out there that can or seek to consolidate communications from several social media platforms into a singular portal? Like how an email address may serve as the receiving point for all of one's social media notifications, except with a Dapp (registered to your wallet address) that enables you to interact with your numerous social media interactions from different platforms minus the need to open that social media app and complete the function insite. I don't see why this isn't possible with blockchain technology, heck, I'm sure that it can be done with Web2 tech but SM corporations won't make it simple since widescale adoption would kill their advertising-driven business model.
This is basically a more extensive RSS feed for social media. It seems weird to look to blockchain technology to help centralize communication, but I am all for it. Up until like, 2010, the main ways everyone spoke with each other online were via: - MSN Messenger - Email - iMessage or Blackberry Messenger - Facebook
Today, communication has now been decentralized across dozens (or more for some) of different apps and websites and it's becoming overwhelming. There are just too many tabs and apps to keep up with and constantly monitor, it's all becoming oversaturated and our attention and energy is becoming so thinly spread.
There is a such thing as too much decentralization. And what about Web3's ability to allow us to decouple from the Mainstream? The fact that Web3 models that promote data sovereignty and consolidation is possible is mindblowing and transformative.
Who else is talking about this and engaging with it?

. Childe: Ready for the training exercise? I hope you know I won't go too easy on you
. Colda: I already know that I will lose so I will go out with a bang!
"COME AT ME!"
Colda unsheathes his Glorious Claymore: The messenger! . Colda: "Ready?"
. Childe: You bet! Since you wanted projectiles, I'll just stick with this for now. -He pulls out Polar Star and takes aim-
Narrator: Colda and Tartaglia take their stances, ready to strike at any moment. The room is quiet and the only Audible noise is the wind. Colda Begins to focus. Childe begins by sending out a steady volley of arrows to begin with, gradually adding more and more Hydro energy to each one. Afterwards, Colda begins to flip over each arrow until they get more and more potent, Eventually, an arrow grazes his chest and he can tell it's gonna suck for him. "Argh!" Colda screams. Colda then laughs "Heh, my turn!" He says with a smile.
Colda begins his Volley of attacks by Slashing with two horizontal Claymore strikes followed by a Vertical strike. Afterwards, Colda then blows himself backwards with his delusion and starts firing a Volley of icicles with his Cryo Vision, While he is doing this, He is using his Anemo delusion to try and strike Childe with his Claymore that he is lifting with his anemo delusion's windy powers. To top this all off, Colda then readies himself for another attack. -Tartaglia parries the claymore strikes and tries to dodge the incoming icicles. He knows better than to take his eyes off of his opponent, so he does take a couple of hits. He prepares to block the incoming claymore, the excitement visible in his eyes.
. Childe: Not bad! Not bad! I might have to take this up a notch.
. Narrator: Tartaglia slips his mask over his face, his bow now humming with electro. He laughs as he fires a few more shots, the patterns becoming more erratic and unpredictable. Colda struggles to find openings to dodge. He manages to flip over sone arrows and block others. Unlike last time though, He take more hits due to the pattern changes
"Argh!" He screams in searing pain!
"Lets bloody go then!" Narrator: Colda tries to go for Childe's arms to disable his weapons. Colda starts off with a jump attack to catch him off guard. Once that is over, Colda uses his Cryo vision to attempt to Toss Snow into Childe's mask. Once that is over, Colda goes for 4 Horizonal Strikes, each aimed for Childe's arms. After that, Colda backs up and uses his Anemo delusion to Blow Childe back, while also using his vision to chuck icicles towards Childe. Finally, He makes an ice wall and kicks it towards Childe, not to damage but to reset the battlefield -The battle looks more like a dance at this point as both parties block and parry, cryo and electo swirling around the battlefield. Behind the mask, Tartaglia is borderline manic. It has been far too long since he's had a good scrap and it takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to summon his blades. Seeing the opportunity, he runs toward the ice wall and kicks off from it. The separation gives him time to fire off one shot, summoning a large whale that breaks through the wall.- . Narrator: Colda looks in awe and shock at the beautiful creature, as he realizes what's about to happen, he screams
"BLOODY FU- " Colda gets cut off as the whale makes impact with him.
After a disturbing amount of silence, Colda emerges torn up from the whale's impact
"Ha....Ha....Ha....Ha.... Nice move! Let me try something..." Colda says with a tired tone to his voice. Colda goes into a stance he doesn't like using, but must be done. He prepares to use his special technique: The Frostfall Finish! Colda squats slightly down and extends his arms to the side, while doing so, He charges his Vision and Delusion to deliver the blow! Colda screams as he is begining to charge the move! Tartaglia, taking interest in this attack, lowers his bow in surprise as Colda stands and takes his stance. He could finish this right now, but he is curious to see how this pans out. With a cocky grin, he braces for impact. Colda then Shouts these words: "FRRROOOOOOSSSSSTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!" Colda puts his hands together, wrists touching each other "FFFAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" After the searing pain he felt charing the attack, Colda finally finishes. "FIIIIIINNNNNNNIIIIIISSSSHHHHHH!!!!" He roars as a beam of cryo and anemo energy blasts towards Childe, catching him off guard! Taking him by surprise, he takes the attack head on. Tartaglia manages to soften the blow with a quick electro "shield", but the impact still pushes him back a good distance. As the attack fades, he digs his heels into the earth and launches himself toward Colda, ready to hit him with the bow itself, only to change direction at the last minute to get a more point-blank shot. Colda, very tired from the attack, takes the blow head on. On his knees, he readies himself for the killing blow.
"Hehehe... It's an honor, really. I got to fight a Harbinger on my own choice. Now comes the time to end it all." Colda says defeaten. Colda then lowers his head. "Go ahead, Finish the job" He says with steed. Childe laughs mirthfully as he removes his mask- "Truly, the honor's all mine comrade. sticking to just one weapon, you proved to be quite a challenge! Keep training. You'll go far." He says with a grin. Childe extends his hand to Colda, offering to help him up. "C'mon. We should probably get you looked at." He says. Colda looks up at the offer, then smiles. "No no. Please, It's already a pleasure speaking to my higher ups" Colda says with contempt. Colda then goes on to grab Childe's hand firmly. (The end)