Hi, I’ll read the book (or any other writing piece) you’re working on and give you my critiques on overall plot and its structure and development. I’ll also give you my notes on characters and their development. If you only have a few chapters written, I’ll read them and give you my notes on the things mentioned above.
Any genre is fine. Some of my favorite genres are sci-fi, adult fiction, the classics, YA, fantasy, “chick-lit”, and what I usually refer to as “slice of life fiction”. I like creepy books as well. I’m not the biggest fan of hardcore horror books, but I’ll still read them for you.
I love the art of storytelling. I watch a lot of movies, and I write about them. I also took a few courses in literary analysis in college, so I do have experience with criticism and analysis. I, of course, love to read. I’d say I’m not a total speed reader, but I can read relatively quickly. I also enjoy writing poetry and was doing that for a bit for money before chat gpt shut that down.
This goes without saying, but I will not share your work with anyone. It’s yours, and I’m not out here trying to take ideas. I’m only trying to help you shape it into the best version it can be and something that you’re completely satisfied with. I can also help you if you’re stuck and give you suggestions.
$5 for short stories, poems, 60 page books
$10 for books longer than 60 pages
If you can only do PayPal friends and family then I can do that, but I prefer Venmo. Thank you.

When I was in junior high a transfer student arrived in the middle of the semester; a kid that was different from everyone else. Right away he had caught my eye, in fact he caught everyone's attention because he had a very unique disability; he couldn’t speak. I guess you could say he was deaf, though it was clear to me after getting to know him that he could in fact hear; every word spoken to him was understood with simple nods or gestures; facial expressions contorting into understood language; so I guess he was mute; yeah, that would describe him best. He was an oddity to most but to me he was a unicorn, something that sparkled in our dim monotonous lives and it wasn’t until he revealed who he was did I become terrified of him and his shine.
I was in 7th grade maneuvering my way through the jungle of middle school, avoiding trouble and premature violence. I was an undersized boy for my age, no more than 5ft tall; puberty had yet to visit me leaving me left out of the herd; the other students or the ‘sheep’ as I called them that infested my school. They were all the same, kids that were driven by hormones constantly talking about boys or girls, their deep voices riding on the coattails of the wind that breezed in and out of our hallways. I was a mere shadow, always walking a few paces behind the others not wanting to be seen or acknowledged; I saw what others that looked like me went through, they were tortured and abused for simply existing.
Once Bryce Ellis and his friends stuck Timmy Easton’s face in the shitter for over 10 flushes, I was in a stall over, hiding and waiting for the torment to be over. I slithered my feet up on to the stall caressing them to my chest as I sat in a fetal position horrified of how one human could treat another. Eventually the bullies had gotten bored, their short attention span driven minds directed them to another endeavor leaving Timmy to fester in his tears and possible filth.
He sobbed for minutes that felt like hours as I remained silent in the stall over, I placed my hand cautiously on the barrier wall trying to absorb a bit of his pain, my heart ached for him in that moment and I wanted to lend him a compassionate hand if only I had the courage to do so. So yeah, I did my best to stay hidden, unseen to all the dwellers that mindlessly walked in and out of our school on a daily basis, the boys that believed themselves to be men or the girls that pontificated to anyone that listened. I was lost into an enteral sea of vindictive young adults that searched for any reason to lash out at anyone that stood in their way.
So when ‘Tape boy’ — as they would eventually call him — came to my little middle school that stood still in the secluded hills of our small town I was enthralled almost immediately with his existence. He was introduced to my home room class, I sat in the back burying my head into my arms, occasionally lifting my head to listen on the days lecture. My day dreams entertaining me as the clock slowly ticked away at our lives and it wasn’t until my teacher promptly stopped talking did it trigger a primal emotion in me to sit up and pay attention. I postured myself up straight, pausing the internal movie that played in my mind to see what the interruption was about.
There he was, a new boy that no one had ever seen before, by middle school everyone knew each other; we had went to the same elementary school, the same holiday events and grocery stores. So getting a new student was like getting a new flavor at Baskin Robbins; a mystery taste simmering on the tip of your tongue as you digested every drop, his presence was intriguing. He wasn’t small like me, I would say average height for a 12 year old; about 5'4, slender body with unkempt dark black hair. He looked timid, his head tilted towards the ground not wanting to accidentally lock eyes with any of us as the teacher introduced him, my mind wandering with such intrigue because to all of our astonishment he was wearing a surgical face mask — mind you this was in the 90’s; eons before the Covid pandemic breached the windows of our thoughts.
Right away I could hear the murmurs, the questions erupting throughout the classroom as everyone pondered of why this boy sheltered his face. I stared on for what must of been minutes as the shy boy kept his gaze down, I could see him slightly squeezing the arm straps to his backpack nervously the longer he stood there on full display for all.
I had my fill and I relaxed my postured sinking back into my chair directing my stare out the window but then Billy Sherman asked the question we all had on our minds,
“Uhm, why is he wearing that mask?”.
Our teacher explained to us that it was because of some weaken immune system, something about how his ticker didn’t click like the rest of ours, she then also told us about him being mute. This drew my eyes right back to him, I think it did for all of us and for a moment the quiet kid raised his head and locked eyes with me. His dark black eyes glistened with despair, the deep purple bags that sagged under his eyes were more indicative of someone that hadn’t slept in days. I felt something for him in that moment, our third eye conversing in some cosmic dialogue and as quickly as he rose his head did it drop once again towards the ground. I could still hear all the the other kids snickering, questioning and some even giggling; it made me sick, if I was a braver boy I would of stood on top of my desk and verbally lashed out to all the sheep, instead I rose my hand asking something Mrs. Willis never said, what was the timid boys name?
“Oh I’m sorry, how rude of me, this is Gabriel”.
She sat Gabriel upfront next to her desk, wanting him close in case he needed to write or sign something to her and just like that everyone went back to their simple lives; including myself.
The next few weeks I saw little of Gabriel other than the back of his head during class, once the bell rang everyone that my eyes glimpsed at for the day disappeared or just maybe it was me who dissolved into the ambience of our school. Either way I saw little of the boy who wore a mask, the one that sheltered his true identity and my curiosity with the new flavor of the week gradually faded into the abyss of non-existence; well, that was until the day I saw the mask slip.
It was end of the day, I spent most of the time turning corners anytime Bryce Ellis approached; evading the wrath of him and his band of merry men who were the pinnacle of human torture; finding any opportunity to demean those who crossed their path. I remember leaving Chemistry class, my mind all to occupied with leaving the hell hole of every kids dread and that’s when I saw Gabriel walking down the hall towards the cafeteria; his head still tilted down; his gaze tracking every step he took; face mask still tightly fitted around his face.
This time I saw someone was following him, it was Tom Ingram one of Bryce’s guys, a kid that tried to be the “alpha male” of the group numerous times, doing his best to dethrone the reign of Bryce. He was a big boy for his age, probably about 5'9 and easily weighed 200 pounds, he was a wild card alright; he got caught pouring sugar down Mr. Whitakers old Pontiac gas tank for giving him a poor grade. So when I saw him berating poor Gabriel; taunting him as grotesque laughter followed every insult, I felt like I had to do something and my consistent stealth veneer of camouflage morphed into into a full on sprint towards the two. I saw Tom was closing in on him, other kids looking on with bewilderment on their faces — not knowing if they should laugh out of fear or grimace from disgust. For the first time in a long while did a burning sensation of courage ignite in my soul, I was tired of seeing monsters preying on the sheep and I was going to stop it somehow.
Finally Gabriel had stopped walking and stood still, his head hanging even lower than before, the strands of his long hair covered the remainder of his face. Tom began slapping the top side of the poor kids head, yelling out obscenities, angered that he didn’t stop sooner. I was close, I was gonna stop this since all anyone else could do is cower in fear while looking on and then it happened causing me to stop dead in my tracks, my eyes widening with befuddlement. Tom had torn away the mask from Gabriel's face, awes with groans came from everyone then silence blanketed the entire school and for those few seconds our existence had been swallowed up by the earth itself.
“What the hell” Tom yelped out breaking the still but heavy disquietude.
I wanted to say something, but no words could be manifested only gurgles as I choked on my own disbelief. The timid boy under the mask of intrigue had a strip of black duct tape covering his mouth, it stretching from the side of his face to the other almost resembling what would be some hideous smile. The timid boy then collapsed his hands over his face as faint muffles of sobbing protruded from him, he ran into the nearest restroom only for Tom to pursue. Finally my thoughts had been gathered while my body came back to life, I brushed off the bizarre occurrence of that grizzly smile and I reminded myself of what was about to happen. Tom was going to punish Gabriel for simply existing as he and his gang have been doing for years and like some old factory machine the cogs of my body set into motion as I ran towards the restroom.
Before I could open the door the most horrid scream exploded outwards into the hallway, the sound sending a cold shiver down my spine and Tom came running out of the restroom gripping at his face crying. He was hysterical running and bumping into the walls until finally crumbling onto the floor only to continue sobbing. My mind was clouded with a whirl wind of confusion, I no longer knew what to do, I mean I was going to run in there and stop the assault but now the assaulter was on the floor destroyed. Then Gabriel calmly came out of the restroom, his mask firmly back on and he turned to look at me, his dark eyes burning an image of anguish into my mind. I asked if he was okay of course he said nothing though, he didn’t need to I could just sense his response and it was one of gratitude. I almost could see him smiling at me from underneath the mask and I reminded myself of what was under it; that abysmal duct tape that looked like a sinister grin.
From that day on most of the kids were afraid of Gabriel, I could see the look of terror in their eyes anytime he passed by them even though his headed was still shifted downwards but that’s the day whenever someone mentioned him they referred to him as “Tape boy”. I had heard through the whispers of our school that Tom had suffered some mental breakdown, that the doctors couldn’t find anything psychically wrong with him, it was as if his mind had shattered. He remained in some mental hospital, memories of him gradually fading and the sheep went on with living their mundane lives. Bryce even slowed his bullying, I think he knew that their were now more eyes watching everyone after the altercation and he didn’t want to get caught in some bad situation, though I could see he was itching to get at Gabriel. I went back to being a shadow, avoiding all the others still not too confident that the days of torture were over.
Even though Gabriel was regarded as some magical or perhaps malevolent being by most; not sure which one; he still appeared to be sad; lonely, his head always dragging with despondency. I made an effort in getting to know him, I wasn’t afraid like the rest of them something about the day we locked eyes gave me the resolve to understand he wouldn’t hurt me. I approached him during lunch break, he was outside sitting underneath a tree, the shade showering him a gloom of haze. I think I surprised him or maybe it was just my stealth nature but I saw him jump when I sat next to him. I began talking about the origins of Darth Vader, of how he was originally a hero using his force power for good only to eventually turn to the dark side.
Gabriel just looked at me confounded of why I was even talking to him, his stare looking on with indifference. I told him that he was like a super hero, doing whatever he did to Tom was just like a super power, that I was thankful. His gazed then returned back to the floor almost out of shame, I guess whatever he did that day he didn’t see it as something special, or something to praise. I then told him that I still envied his ability to defend himself, that having such an ability was better than winning the school lottery — which was a week supply of free cafeteria food. I kept blabbering on for the remainder of the break while he still postured his stare towards the floor until the bell had finally rung. Before getting up I told him that if I could have a super power mine would be invisibility that’s when he turned to me pulling out a small spiral from his back pack writing something down, he then showed me.
“Why?” it read.
I told him that I didn’t like being seen, that if I could I would melt away into the noise, then life would be better he just stared at me with what I could assume was disbelief. He didn’t write anything back, he just remain seated while I stood to my feet. I asked if he was coming back to class but he ignored me and just stared out into space presumably lost in his own thoughts.
For the next several months I would catch Gabriel in the hallways, talk to him about the latest edition of whatever comic I was reading, Superman being my favorite and I would go on and on about how his true super power wasn’t strength but hope. I think he became more comfortable with me, pulling out his spiral notebook to write down his thoughts; his questions and answers — a new gateway of communication had formed between us. Most times I could tell what he was going to write by looking at his eyes, those dark haunting eyes, he was a mysterious book slowly being revealed to me and I was completely beguiled by his friendship. Bryce and his little posse slowly went back to bullying the sheep, though they kept their distance from Gabriel and me.
I guess I had a new protector one that wouldn’t be crossed and something about that protection left me feeling proud. I knew in my heart that the timid kid that now went by “Tape boy” wouldn’t hurt a fly that maybe the day of Tom going crazy was all by chance, perhaps his rage snapped his mind. I tried asking him about that day numerous times but he never explained what happened he would redirect the conversation back to super hero’s. I would walk home with him on certain days, well, more like he would walk me home I never got to see where he lived, he was too reserved to give up that kind of information but the days we would walk together was always fun. I finally felt like I belonged, the longing emotion of needing acceptance was found by his friendship.
One day when I was walking home by myself I decided to stop in at the gas station to pick up a drink and scour the latest edition of comic books in the small rack of magazines. Before entering the store I could hear arguing voices engaging in combative dialogue and it became vividly clear that it was more of a yelling match than conversation. It was coming from the side of the building, most times I would just ignore it but one of the voices sounded all too familiar and I crept slowly to the edge of the building poking my head out to get a glimpse of the disturbance. It was Bryce, his back was up against the wall while someone who I presumed was his father berated him with such a vicious snarl on his face. The angry man kept slapping Bryce across the face anytime he tried to say something and soon tears began drizzling off the face of the mighty bully only for the man to laugh.
I didn’t know why the older man was treating Bryce the way he was, information cut out of my understanding, for all I know it could of been because of something the bully did at school. I found it to be poetic justice that the boy that caused so much heart ache suffered the same amount only at home. It felt like a cliche, the angry kid was angry because of the angry father; a cruel loop of never ending proportions. Eventually the man or father walked away getting back into his car leaving the bully to brush away the tears from his face. I cautiously retreated my head away deciding to ditch the store completely when that same broken voice only minutes ago shouted out to me with a hefty dominance.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bryce howled out.
I didn’t bother turning around, I just ran home, dodging into alley ways trying my best to not been seen. It didn’t appear as if he was following, but seeing him in such a vulnerable state was bemusing. We were a small town how could I not know who the man was, we all knew each other since we were small and then it hit me; Bryce’s dad had left when he was little. This man must of been his step dad or perhaps mom’s boyfriend, it didn’t matter I was going to mind my own business, I was going to slither back into the shadows; but my attempts would only fall on defeated shoulders.
I didn’t want to tell anyone of what I saw, I hoped that keeping my mouth shut would of been enough for the bully to leave me be. Unfortunately there is no reasoning when it comes to human beings, we base our actions on emotions, our anger and Bryce confronted me the next morning in front of Gabriel.
“Hey fairy, did you enjoy the show?” the angry kid spouted out at me.
I tried explaining to him that I wasn’t trying to intrude, that the arguing concerned me, that I didn’t like seeing him being mistreated and then he punched me right in the gut. I fell to the floor gripping at my stomach, the pain slicing through every fiber of my body. I tried catching my breath but inhaling was too painful and I sheltered my face expecting another punch but the bully walked off leaving me to sweat. Gabriel kneel down to me taking out his spiral notebook writing the obvious question, I gestured to him to give me a moment and I honestly felt like crying. I had spent years doing my best to blend into the background, the invisibility power I was so desperate to have amongst the sheep was now gone; I was on Bryce’s radar.
For the remainder of the school year I tried avoiding the bullies, the monsters that preyed on the sheep but their leader would actively search for me, he was no longer intimidated by Gabriel; his once menacing allure had dwindled and now we both were sitting ducks. Luckily there was only a few weeks left until summer break and I only had hoped that the time off would be enough for the monster of monsters to cool off.
Entering summer was a relief much needed for my sanity, I took a few thrashings but it was over, me and Gabriel had big plans on spending time together. He wasn’t an out door kind of kid, he usually would just come over my place and we would read my comic books. He quickly grew enchanted with the idea of super hero's, their powers restoring balance to the nature of our world. I enjoyed every minute of it, my parents on the other hand looked less jovial to our friendship, they didn’t like the mask; it worried them. They thought that whatever illness he had could be passed on to me, but they didn’t do anything to stop us from seeing each other, they only silently protested.
So after awhile we decided to meet somewhere outdoors, away from my parents judgmental stares, there was a creek close to my house, the trees giving us enough shade to stay cool on those long summer days. The small stream that flowed through the trenches of the creek enriched our view as we would find the perfect rock to perch on while reading our comics. We didn’t see much of any of the other classmates that summer, the sheep kept their distance or maybe it was just us, but the days seem to pass quickly and before we knew it summer was coming to an end. I couldn’t remember how many volumes we must of read but Gabriel was now a fan of almost every super hero. He tend to raise out his arms while walking, mimicking the premise of flying like Superman; his ponderous eyes cutting through the brush as we escaped our secluded summer spot.
It was on the final day of our summer break did I pressure the shy timid boy to explain to me what had happen that day, the day Tom lost his marbles, I needed to know. Gabriel as always tried redirecting the conversation, holding up a comic of Batman, pointing at some dialogue. I got upset, I raised my voice telling him that if we were friends then he should tell me, that there wasn’t secrets between us. His heavy eyes collapsing to the ground, shifting his posture on the rock that we both sat on.
“Look, I just need to know, you’re my best friend” I told him with genuine longing.
The school year was about to start up again and I could already envision a future of slithering through the hallways how I have always done, but with Gabriel maybe that could change. I needed to know and I was done guessing, fantasizing that he was some super hero or at least my hero; my protector. I stood up off the rock walking over to the stream, the sound of water colliding unto the small stones that infested the trench triggered something awful in my gut. I took a deep breath and made my final stand with my best friend.
“If you don’t want to tell me then I’m going home, see ya” I said with impatience dripping off of my words.
Gabriel ignored my warning and continued pointing at the comic book, that’s when I noticed what he was pointing at, it wasn’t dialogue it was one of Batman's villains — he was pointing at Clayface. This made me stop, my minding halting after speeding at 100 miles per hour; it crashing my thoughts.
“Yeah, what about Clayface?” I curiously asked with a withered and tired voice.
That’s when his pointer finger was no longer on the page but rather it was pointed towards his mouth; the mouth that was hidden behind his mask. He could see my face drop with sadness, whatever disfigurement he had underneath that horrid black duct tape must of been something like the villain from the comic and my heart broke for him. Gabriel’s eyes gleaming with absolute sorrow, the boy that only wanted to be left alone, the person all the others feared just wanted solitude and here I was badgering him to no end about something so insignificant. We stared at each other for several seconds, our eyes meeting in some altered state and I reached my hand up to his face tenderly taking off his mask. There it was, the black duct tape that resembled a grin, a nightmarish one that could only been seen in some horror movie. I then placed my fingers on the edge of the tape, my cold grip causing him to shiver and I slowly began to remove it.
“What the hell are you fairy’s doing?” a voice called out from the brush, one that sank my heart into my stomach.
I turned trying to locate the voice and sure enough there he was, the bully that had tortured so many for so many years — it was Bryce. His body slowly revealing itself from the brush like some despicable ooze frothing from the depths of hell. Though, something about him was different, his cold stare no longer fictitious but more intimidating and as his body fully emerged did I see the blood trickling down his soaked stain shirt. He was covered in the crimson fluid, there was even some on his cheeks almost as he had some open wound and smeared the remnants of it on his face. The devilish grin that bestowed his bruised and beaten face quickly led me to a conclusion; one that I wish I didn’t conclude. A purplish black infested the out layer of his left eye, it practically closed shut and his nose had been bent to a unsightly angle. I started to whimper as my lips trembled from fright because this Bryce was not the same one that had given us wedgies or swirlies this one was a true monster, a beast that devoured souls. His gaze was enough to display a vacancy of any humanity and my eyes crawled down his arm into his hand to see the black pistol that he firmly gripped.
“Uh, Bryce what happened? Are you okay?” I groaned out while sniffling.
He didn’t answer, he just kept grinning at me, the ghastly smile that stretched ear from ear plagued my vision and I knew that he had done it, that he had hurt someone badly. I was terrified and in the moment I had completely forgotten about Gabriel, my tunnel vision only focused on that firearm.
“Where the hell did the other one go?” the monster asked, I turned and realized Gabriel in fact had run away leaving me behind.
I wanted to run, I wanted to flee while screaming but horror kept me in place and I felt like some dear trapped in headlights contemplating my entire life in mere seconds.
“Everyone always messes with me!” Bryce yelled out with such ferociousness.
There was no talking my way out of this one, no pleading, I knew in that moment he was going to kill me; his rage over flowing to the point of lunacy. He quickly pounced dropping me to the floor, screaming with madness and he repeatedly hit me over the head with the but of the gun causing me to see stars. His words became incoherent sounding like muffled tones that slushed it’s way into my hearing, I shook my head trying to collect myself, just maybe I could figure a way out of this but as soon as my vision corrected itself Bryce would strike me another time causing it to blur once again. I fell into a darkness, my world collapsing into an eternal void of loneliness as my body began to float effortlessly but as soon as I thought this was my final moments flashes of Gabriel flooded into my mind awakening me out of whatever slumber I found myself in. That’s when I realized Bryce was no longer hitting me, instead he was talking to someone and as I grabbed at my head trying to steady my balance I saw it was Gabriel standing still head as always tilted downwards.
Bryce confronted him pointing his 9mm directly at his head yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs but my best friend remained unmoved, just quiet and then he slowly removed his mask. This caused Bryce to pause, his tone weaken and I think for the first time he digested if he should proceed doing what he was doing.
“What are you doing freak?” the bully yelped out.
Gabriel remained quiet, eyes still directed towards the floor, his breathing escalating; I could see his chest pump more vigorously with each passing second. With the mask off me and Bryce could see the bewildering black duct tape strapped to his face, Gabriel’s face began to tremble violently as if he was trying to yell through the bondage. He then finally began to peel of the thick layer of black duct tape and it came off with a wicked screech as I could see my friends eyes squint with pain.
Bryce was no longer pointing the gun at Gabriel, no longer was he even saying a word his arm lowered to his side and both him and I stared on with amazement. What was under the tape was layers of skin, twisting and binding to each other like some thriving organism living it’s own life on Gabriel's face. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t say anything I was in shock and my head still throb from pain. Then Gabriel's mouth — if you want to call it that — began to stretch open, he tilted his head backwards while the mountain of dead flesh started to drip down his face allowing some endless void to open up inside of him. I could hear the cracking of bones breaking, his jaw shifting to accommodate the massive hole that was now his mouth and then horrid dwindling fingers began to protrude from the darkness.
My mouth gaped open with trepidation and if I had the ability to adjust my head I would think Bryce had the same facial expression. Then a grotesque head forced it’s way out of my friends mouth revealing a face that could only exist in the realms of the dead, this new creature having two large almond shape eyes; eyes that looked very similar to the ones that were attached to my friend. This ‘thing’ then stared at Bryce, that’s all it did, no words were spoken no violence was created it just stared at him and soon the bully grasped at his face and began to yell. He ran frantically in different directions, his gun firing out into the tree line, I jumped for cover; falling to the floor sheltering my head with my arms. Bryce’s terrified screams caused my stomach to turn and soon those dire cries stopped along with the gunshots.
I must of stayed on the floor for what felt like hours, too scared to rise to my feet and through my peripheral did I see the sun begin to set plunging the small creak into darkness. I eventually mustered up enough courage to get up and I looked around, Bryce was mere feet away from me, he lay still on the floor blood spewing out of his head; it appeared as if had shot himself. I walked over to his body befuddled of what to do I then remembered Gabriel, I turned to look for him but he was gone it was only me and Bryce's dead corpse. I ran home telling my parents about everything, of the encounter I experienced, at first it seemed as if they didn’t believe me but they still phoned for the police.
I led them to the creek to the bullies dead body, I initially thought perhaps they would blame me, connect me to his death but the police believed me; well the believed me about Bryce but not about Gabriel. They told me that Bryce had killed his step father, apparently they had gotten into some altercation and afterwards he went into his mothers bedroom and shot her to death. They told me that the once bully was a disturbed individual, suffering abuse for many years; that I was lucky to escape from his wrath. I told them that they needed to find my friend I wanted to know if he was okay, but all the officers could do was pat my back with sympathy trying to relax me.
It has almost been 30 years since the event, I still have nightmares of what had happened, I see the dead stare Bryce had while pointing his pistol at me, I see him repeatedly hitting me over the head again and again. Though, what still haunts me more is Gabriel's mouth contorting into that horrid shape revealing the creature that lived inside of him. He was never found, I’m pretty sure he moved on to another city, another place where bullies like Bryce tormented their schools and I could only imagine Gabriel was there to balance the wrongs of the world. I am scared of my best friend, but I know at the same time he is my protector; my super hero, he is out there doing good, I can feel it and I hope he can sense my love for him. Maybe we will never meet again, perhaps it’s not written in the stars for us to reunite but one thing is for sure, I get comic books mailed to me randomly every month; most are of Superman and I know exactly who they are from.

I'm in my rewatch of season 2 before discovering season 3 and I needed to vent my feelings about the Sharma family.
The three Sharma women have their responsabilities in S2 mess and their own flaws. But they also have some excuses for their actions.
Kate SHARMA:
She had to take care of her mother and sister at a young age, putting her own dreams aside. She also developed a feeling of inferiority and a fear of not being part of this family now her father was no longer there and she was left with her stepmother and half-sister, both from nobility while Kat is a commoner.
So she gave up marriage, her dreams and focused on raising her sister to allow her to have the luxury life and marriage she deserved. However, by doing this, she projected all her regrets and expectations onto her younger sister, turning/raising Edwina into the perfect debutante: always in control and perfection who never shows her true personality (and who didn't have one really), only seeking to please others and find the perfect rich husband.
Thus, Edwina has become self-centered while remaining naive, inexperienced and with the pressure of finding a good husband (being sheltered by her mother and her sister who project their own expectations and regrets onto her).
Kate shaped her sister this way, which is a disservice. Then, behind her back, she has reciprocal feelings and desire for Edwina suitor and never protects her sister from this. On the contrary, she even pushes Anthony to maintain his engagement under the pretext Edwina would have developed feelings for him. Her guilt, feeling of inferiority and of owing something to her sister push her to condemn Edwina to a miserable life. If her suitor proposes to her only to escape his attraction to her sister and continues to desire Kat behind her back, what future does Edwina have with Anthony if not a life of sorrow?
The same goes for the grandparents' money. Even though Kate had to take charge of her family, she had no right to hide from her mother and sister that the grandparents who disowned the mother would give their money under certain conditions. Mary had the right to know and decide whether she wanted to reconnect with her parents. Edwina had the right to know and decide whether she wanted to inherit from her grandparents on the terms they set. Hiding something so important from them was a mistake. Kate projected her own fears onto her family without even trying to find out what they wanted. She has an inferiority complex due to her status as a commoner and didn't want her mother and sister to be dragged down but it was not up to her to make the decision.
Mary SHARMA: She made the choice to run away with a widowed servant who already had a child rather than marry a man of her rank. She chose to become Kate's stepmother and live a more difficult life. However, when her husband died, she collapsed (which is understandable but not if the child who was not hers had to become responsible for her). She let her eldest daughter become responsible for their family at a young age, having to manage their financial life and her younger sister's education. Mary has completely renounced her parental authority to leave Kate the caretaker of the family. Kate yearned for love, for a family and overnight, she decided to raise her sister so that the latter had this life and no longer her.
As a mother, Mary should have seen her eldest was sacrificing her happiness and dreams for her younger sister. Kate was afraid of not deserving this family, of not really being part of it, of being responsible (now that her father is no longer there) for the precariousness that these two noble women suffered. And Mary, as a mother, should have realized what Kate was thinking, reassured her and helped her instead of having an attitude that, in many ways, was that of a stepmother and not a mother.
Mary knows Kate wants to return to India as soon as Edwina is married to become a governess. What mother would accept being separated from her child in another continent who would live a solitary life even if the child says she wants her freedom? And when we know Kate has simply resigned herself to this existence because she doesn't think she has a place in her noble step/half-family and not because she truly desires this life, it's revolting that Mary doesn't realize Kate's desperation.
Mary failed as a mother to Kate, she failed as a mother to Edwina, and she failed as a widow because her husband would never have tolerated seeing what his two daughters were driven to become.
Edwina Sharma:
She is young, very young and has no life experience. Her mother and sister never prepared her for the hardness of life, the cruelty of this world, the lies of men and, quite simply, the responsibilities of a life as a wife. She lives in the bubble her family created for her: transformed into an accomplished young girl who adapts to her audience, always saying the right thing, smiling and obedient. She learned not to make waves, to always try to please, not to enter into conflict, not to make a stand for those she love (like at dinner when she greets her grandparents with a big smile without worrying about the suffering her mother had because of them). In many ways, she is oblivious to the suffering of others and their problems because she was raised to be the center of attention, being the youngest and her family only hope to secure wealth.
She was raised to be the perfect wife and so she dreams of being one and only thinks about finding the ideal husband according to the image she has created for herself. When she meets Anthony, he is handsome, the most popular of the suitors and he pursues her with great ardor which, in her limited, inexperienced child's mind, means that he values ​​her a lot. He has a great title, great wealth, is handsome and wants her as his wife. It doesn't take much for Edwina who, at that moment, is not looking for love (contrary to what Kate, projecting her own aspirations, tells her).
She has learned so much that marriage is the ultimate goal that she doesn't even take the time to realize the situation she's getting herself into: she sees Anthony as he tries to make himself appear to her and not as he really is. Even when there were signs: the duplicity of Anthony who sent a friend to distract Kate, the unbridled passion of the Bridgerton siblings while playing (which isolated Edwina who didn't understand that nobles let go of maners like this, she who always learned to stay in line).
She is particularly cruel in her words towards Kate at the last part of the season and she never should have say that. But she is a teenager whose world has just fallen apart, betrayed by the person she trusted the most and the man she was going to entrust her life to. Her sister was more than a sister, she was her teacher, mentor, friend and guardian.
From Edwina point of vue, Kate raised her, put into her head everything Edwina thinks about marriage and life. She's the one who put this burden on her shoulders and turned her into this diamond but betrayed her like this because Kat was never honest. If the latter had told her family her fears, her aspirations, their financial problem etc... Edwina could have acted differently. But Kate never gave her the chance. She pushed her down this path then betrayed her by acting against everything Kate said: she said she wants freedom and not to get married but she developed feelings for her sister's fiancé, she said Anthony wasn't an acceptable suitor and tried to dissuade Edwina from marrying him but in fact Kate had developed feelings for him and find him acceptable. In Edwina's eyes, Kate is a hypocrite who put pressure on the child she was because she couldn't have that for herself but ended up compromising everything anyway because deep down, Kate hadn't given up on having what she wanted Edwina to have. And, in many ways, she is right. Kate failed as a big sister and made many mistakes even if the main fault lies with the parent: Mary.
Conclusion:
For me, of the three, Edwina is the least to blame. She is a child, unlike the other two, who developed flaws because of the way her mother and sister raised her. Many brothers or sisters say horrible things in a moment of anger. Even though it's horrible and she shouldn't have, one of the main causes of their problems is precisely that Kate sees herself as her half-sister and has decided to distance herself from her family, causing all those problems. Edwina is betrayed, humiliated, heartbroken, her reputation may be shattered, her future ruined. I think in this situation, even though it's horrible, it can be excused that she calls Kat her half-sister, pinpointing the root cause of the situation they find themselves in.
Kate is to blame for the choices she made, her indecision, the mistakes she continued to make, and her weaknesses. She raised her sister to marry a rich man while trying to belatedly remind her to marry for love (because that's what she would want for herself). Her indecision in the way she raised and married her sister, her lack of courage and her choices caused all this mess. However, she suffers from the trauma of her father's death, from having the feeling of having to owe it to her mother and her sister to meet their needs because they are noble, unlike her. And, in many ways, if she came to have such a complex it's because her mother did not give her enough trust and a place in her own family. So I understand her doubts and fears, I understand, admire and respect the sacrifices she made. But I also don't excuse her attitude towards her sister and some choices she made. Her indecision between wanting to secure wealth and seeing her sister marry for love as Kate wanted for herself, between wanting her sister's happiness but wishing her own happiness over hers had terrible consequences and could have ruined her sister's life.
Mary is the main culprit in all of this. Her lack of discernment, her weakness at the death of her husband, her longing for the luxury of her birthright, all this was noticed by her eldest who had to provide for the needs of Mary and Edwina, renounce her own life, keep quiet her feelings and thoughts, and spend 10 years preparing a secure life for them of which she would not be a part of.
This blended family suffered from a cruel lack of communication, a lack of listening and attention and a lack of trust. Each of these women locked themselves in their own bubble, in their own suffering, their own problems and expectations and they all missed out on what the others were going through.
My regret is that the season decided to drag out this drama for so long without giving the audience and characters enough time to resolve this mess in a more appropriate and interesting way, allowing for real character development and a real lesson to learn from this situation.
P.S : Of course, since my post is about the Sharma family, I am not discussing Anthony who has a huge share of responsibility in the story and who should also have had more time to redeem himself and deserve his happy ending

I met Luna on a train two years ago. I’d just escaped from a toxic relationship, so romance was the last thing on my mind, but then she sat across from me in the carriage and asked about the book I was reading. She had a copy in her bag and wanted to know if it was any good.
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…

Teenagers' attachment to reality, their interests, and their dreams play a crucial role in shaping their identities and future aspirations. This period of development is marked by significant physical, emotional, and psychological changes, influencing how they perceive and interact with the world. Here’s a closer look at how teenagers balance reality with their interests and dreams:

Attachment to Reality

1. Social Dynamics:
   • Peer Relationships: Teenagers place a high value on peer relationships, which significantly impact their sense of reality. Acceptance and validation from friends can shape their self-esteem and worldviews.
   • Family Influence: Despite seeking independence, family values and expectations continue to anchor teenagers to reality. Parental guidance, support, and boundaries are critical during this stage.
2. Education and Responsibilities:
   • School Environment: The school environment provides a structured reality, where academic performance and extracurricular activities contribute to personal development.
   • Responsibilities: Teenagers begin to take on more responsibilities, such as part-time jobs, chores, and managing their schedules, which help them develop a practical understanding of the adult world.

Interests

1. Exploration and Experimentation:
   • Hobbies and Passions: Teenagers explore various hobbies and interests, from sports and arts to technology and gaming. These interests often reflect their personalities and potential career paths.
   • Identity Formation: Through exploration, teenagers form their identities, experimenting with different roles and styles to see what resonates with them.
2. Digital and Media Influence:
   • Online Communities: The internet offers a vast array of information and communities where teenagers can explore their interests. Social media, online forums, and YouTube channels provide platforms for learning and engagement.
   • Media Consumption: Television shows, movies, music, and books also play a significant role in shaping teenagers' interests and worldviews.

Dreams and Aspirations

1. Vision for the Future:
   • Career Aspirations: Teenagers often dream about their future careers, influenced by role models, media, and personal interests. These dreams can be ambitious and may evolve over time.
   • Personal Goals: Beyond professional aspirations, teenagers also dream about personal achievements, such as travel, adventure, and personal development.
2. Creativity and Imagination:
   • Creative Expression: Many teenagers express their dreams through creative outlets like writing, drawing, music, and other art forms. These expressions are a way to envision and share their future hopes.
   • Innovation and Entrepreneurship: Some teenagers are inspired to innovate or start their own ventures. The increasing accessibility of technology and resources supports entrepreneurial dreams.

Building Dreams Beyond Reality

1. Support Systems:
   • Mentorship and Guidance: Mentors, whether teachers, family members, or community leaders, play a crucial role in helping teenagers translate their dreams into achievable goals.
   • Educational Opportunities: Access to quality education and extracurricular programs can provide the skills and knowledge needed to pursue their dreams.
2. Resilience and Adaptability:
   • Coping with Setbacks: Teenagers learn to cope with setbacks and failures, developing resilience. Understanding that challenges are part of the journey helps them stay motivated.
   • Flexibility: Dreams may change as teenagers grow and gain new experiences. Flexibility in their aspirations allows them to adapt and find new paths to success.
3. Practical Steps:
   • Goal Setting: Learning to set realistic and achievable goals helps teenagers break down their dreams into actionable steps.
   • Skill Development: Acquiring relevant skills, whether through formal education or self-directed learning, equips teenagers to pursue their interests effectively.

Conclusion

Teenagers' attachment to reality, coupled with their diverse interests and dreams, creates a dynamic landscape of growth and potential. By exploring their passions, leveraging support systems, and developing resilience, teenagers can transform their dreams into reality. Balancing the practical aspects of life with the imaginative possibilities of the future is a key part of their journey towards adulthood and fulfillment.

I had a strange relationship with deconstruction as my dad was trained at a university level to do apologetics. He was an LDS chaplain in the Army, and every night for scripture study, we got discourses on the nuances of our faith and justifications for every question we ever had. I didn’t swear until I was 18 years old, or drink caffinated anything until about that time as well, because it was never a matter of justification. It was what my family, my tribe, my people did, to go to church on Sunday, and to be worthy. I was senior patrol leader and assistant to the bishop if that clarifies who I was. I didn’t have “God will reveal it in due time” parents. I had “Here’s the answer, here’s contemporary discussion about it. Here’s some reading material if you want to learn more” parents, except for they were wicked smart, and had biased conclusions.
I was called to serve in the Mexico City East mission. Shortly before opening my mission call, I broke up with my girlfriend at the time. i left BYU-I and went home to prepare. I received my endowments after lying to my stake president about my worthiness to enter the house of the lord. I came clean, and he threatened to not let me go out for a year because I was unclean. The prick made me talk to a therapist to be cleared for the mission field. The therapist had a brain and let me go out. When I was giving my mission farewell speech, I wrote it to include the teachings of many religions in it. I had drawn inspiration from the 13th article of faith “We believe all things, hope all things-“ and wrote a poem about how Adam and Eve related to the Resurection and Atonement of christ. My dad tells me the stake president was shifting in his seat like he wanted to pull me down from the pulpit. Prick.
The CCM was a pleasure to attend because of my district. The guys in my district there held a secret thanksgiving feast after hours when we were supposed to be in bed with food we had smuggled out of the cafeteria. We had look outs so we wouldn’t be caught by the patrolling teachers. My district was placed under surveillance because of politics against our spanish teacher who we could tell actually cared about us, and we were transferred into a classroom with one sided mirrors, and microphones hanging from the ceiling. An apostle came to speak to the entire CCM, and I thought we would get a chance to meet with him directly, or that he would be even remotely accessible in some way. He was kept away from us, separate and removed even though we had the same mission. I played a lot of volley ball, and got into shape enough that I touched the rim of a basketball hoop for the first time while I was there.
My first companion was a native speaker, and liked to spend the mornings in the cyber (Internet Cafe). He would make sure I was on LDS.org while he looked at softcore porn on instagram. We would spend hours there, and I was disappointed that this was the mission.
We went to a previous investigators house, and while there, we saw preparations for an animal sacrifice. These guys were putting alcohol, cocaine, and blowing smoke onto a white chicken, and placed in into a cardboard box with a bunch of black chickens. They showed us a room full of weapons, with blood and feathers strewn all over the floor. We noped the fuck out, and went home.
I requested an emergency transfer after spending most days in the cyber, watching my companion deface JW’s property, and being an all around dick to me by telling me how to shower and how to sleep.
For his replacement, the person that would help me with his bastion of knowledge, they gave me a white guy who spoke as much Spanish as I did because he was only a transfer further into his mission than me. They made this poor kid senior companion to me before his first transfer was over. Why? Because the kid was a workaholic.
The first thing this elder and I did when we got to our apartment was to pick up and leave to go to the house of a member who had just died. We sang at the wake. I sang in a language I didn’t know, for people I didn’t know, with a companion I didn’t know. We sounded pretty damn good. The elder began setting appointments with the non-believing family members during the service. I just sat and watched the mindless kids chase the family dog.
This elder skipped lunch every day, and made me do the same. We knocked every door in our area twice that transfer. One time, he got very sick, and was delirious out in the sun with me while we were walking. I made us go home for lunch that day, and he made me promise to wake him up after thirty minutes so we could get back to the Lord’s work. Three hours later he woke up, chewed me out for letting him sleep that long, and then begrudgingly thanked me for making him rest.
One time, while walking, this Elder expressed to me that he also had some questions, but he was afraid to share the details because he knew my own testimony was fragile. I pressed him for details of his plight, and he revealed to me the darkest part of church history that he had learned while we were in the CCM, that Joseph Smith had drank alcohol while in Carthage Jail before he died. Thoughts of Fanny Alger, of Mountain Meadows Massacre, and of my own mother’s rather recently implemented looser interpretation of the word of wisdom all flashed through my head. This guy was supposed to be my teacher? All I could do was express how sorry I was for his confusion, and told him to have faith. Heaven knew I couldn’t help him.
One night with this companion, it was storming hard, and the streets were flooded. This guy refused to let us go home. We climbed along fences to avoid getting our already wet shoes soaked, and waded through a foot of water to get to the doors that were slammed in our faces. There was a loose wire on a door bell, and when I rang it, I was shocked by the completed circuit the water made. Rejection after rejection piled up. Finally, my “senior” companion said that this was the last row of houses. On the last house of the last row, there was a family that was all deaf. The father opened the door, and was suprised to see us and didn’t know who we were. I remembered the sign for Jesus from my grandparents who started and ran the ASL endowment ceremony in the Saint George temple. The family was thrilled we knew the sign. When I asked if we could come in, the family politely waved goodbye and closed the door on our faces.
Another time when it rained, something fell into my eye. It was one of those freak nature accidents, and small enough that I couldn’t figure out how to get it out without a mirror. The thing stayed wedged in the corner of my eye for hours before we got home and I could finally get the foreign object out. Looking at it on my finger, I could see it was a small green spider. Days later, still in pain, I pulled what I can only assume was accumulated webbing from the spider that I’d crushed against my eyeball off of my lower eye lid. The pain stopped after that.
I bought a $500 camera. It was stolen within a month.
This Elder and I had the good luck before transfers to baptize two children. They would have been baptized anyways, so I didn’t do any actual converting, but I taught a few lessons, got in the water and did the dunk. Bucket list item, check.
I didn’t have enough time for laundry on P-Day, so I’d wash my outfit and dry in on the radiator through the night. Transfers happen, and my new companion lied to our land lords about the electricity bill, paying it in full but not giving a reason as to why it was so high. I didn’t care anymore, I just needed something clean to wear, but these land lord had treated me and my previous companion well, better than the previous landlord who had stolen our cleaning supplies. I felt these people deserved honesty. My senior companion capitulated eventually, and he and I butted heads regularly after that on the morality of things. I think in hindsight he was a smarter and better man than I was.
The new land lords, the “Lagunez Family”, were wonderful. They included us in their activities, and I felt like I had some people in my corner. When I eventually came home from my mission, a daughter of the family had written me a goodbye letter. She is currently serving a mission. They made some great music, and I have “Infiltradors” on CD, the official name of the band the father of the family was a part of (he was the drummer).
I knew the whole area by heart by that point, so I navigated us to our appointments. Half of the landmarks I watched for to know our location were interesting buildings with unique colors. The other half of my landmarks were dead dogs whose decaying corpses had become second nature to see. I began marking how much time had passed by how deeply a certain dog on a certain dirt path’s chest was caved in.
There was an apartment complex in my area that I had been told not to proselytize in because “It’s dangerous.” Turns out, those people didn’t have any money, so the church didn’t want them. That complex was past the dog and to the east about ten blocks.
My companion and I knocked on a door, and visited a man who was missing his legs. His daughter was there, putting dirty water on the aching wounds. He had a single room for a house, and wheezed when he spoke. He couldn’t afford medication. He still went out and worked all day for his daughter, and gave her whatever money he made, trusting her to keep him alive somehow. The church expected this man to pay tithing. The church expected me to tell this man to pay tithing.
I got the chance to hike up a mountain. At the top, I played chess with a chess set I’d procured from one of the best rapid chess players I’ve ever met. He had been the ward mission leader. He was a good man, a good father, and I wish him the best.
I found another man who was deaf and spoke sign language. I sat with him, and convinced him to come to church all by myself while my companion talked with some tienda tender. I was so excited because this was my own personal project and it was going well. The man came to church, and I sat with him through sacrament meeting. In Sunday school (I can’t believe I did this), I accidentally drooled on the guy. I was just talking so he could read my lips, and I guess I forgot to swallow at some point because a dolup of spit landed on his arm. I apologized profusely, and he played it off, but I never saw that investigator again.
My companion and I knocked a door one day, and a man answered. He wore tattered clothes, and maggots were burrowing into and out of his feet. He muttered something about the stars, missing his wife, and he began to tear up. My eyes stung from the stench. The door closed. Somehow, I knew the man would be dead in a matter of weeks.
I had lost hope that I was doing anything worth while. I looked down on the Doc Martins that had stayed with me five months at this point. I was angry with myself for being so useless in the field, angry with the church for giving me leaders that didn’t listen to my needs or perspective, angry with my mom for drinking while I had to teach people that it was a sin, angry with my dad for giving me the skills and knowledge to justify anything, even pedophilia in the early days of the church, to the point where I could look someone in the eye, and knowing the kind of man Smith was, tell them he was a good man and a true prophet of God. Suddenly a man approached us. He said he recognized us as missionaries, and asked about our message. This never happened. People didn’t just come up to us unless they were crazy or dangerous. But this was a public place, and this guy was genuine. My companion talked to him, and gathered his story, but I was plotting something else. I was done with not caring about these people in a way that mattered. I was tired of walking in another man’s shoes, a man who wasn’t me, who believed different things than me. The chopped leg, the rotting dogs, the infested feet, it all swirled into a single thought in that moment.
What would Jesus do?
I walked over to the man, and in broken Spanish asked him to stand next to me. He did so, and I compared my shoe size to his foot. It was a perfect match. He protested, but I didn’t let him get a word in edge wise. I took off my shoes, put them on his dirty feet, and laced them up nice and tight. Those shoes had cost a ton, and had been meant to last the whole mission. All I had left at this point were my fancy dress shoes that gave my blisters back at the apartment. I didn’t care. I walked home in my socks that day, happy as a lark.
Covid-19 hit a month later. I was one of the few they brought home instead of quarantining. After having served only 6 months. I told God if he wanted me to stay home, he’d have to make them release me.
They released me. I think I was one of maybe a hundred missionaries that were released due to Covid. The church realized their mistake pretty soon after I was released. Once Covid infrastructure began to develop, they didn’t release any more. I guess I didn’t serve a full two years, but I did serve a full mission.
My brother served, and he nearly killed himself due to intense depression brought on by Covid quarantine and poor leadership (I’ve got a few mission president stories, but those are for another time).
I learned lying to someone’s face from my mission, and spent the rest of my time at BYU-I as “nuanced” until the last two years, over which the most epic hoe phase imaginable became my new mission. I spent those years terrified of getting a call from the honor code office.
I’m married now, with my degree irrevocably in my possession. I have friends and loved ones that are in the church and are working on their mission papers. I’m beginning to feel powerless again. I’m seeing the decay again, not on legs, feet, or dogs anymore, but in the souls of the people who the church raises to do their dirty volunteer work. I see them like the animal sacrifices I saw being prepared. I’m not sure what shoes I have left to give to those people that I know are going to be in pain.
My parents are out completely now. It was a long time coming, but they are out and so much happier. I’m working on building a new relationship with my family, one based off of the fact that we won’t be together forever, so we have to make the most of our time together now.
Happy Sunday guys, best of luck to you all. And most importantly, chupa la piña.

a(b + c) = ab + ac 

Hello I am doing the prompt "What is the relationship between personal experience and knowledge?" and one of my objects is a story about hackers hacking into user data. So far I have talked about deontological ethics and how it shaped their experience. Specifically, they thought if they didn't do any harm with the data they wouldnt get punished, but regardless they went through the experience of being punished solely on the basis of breaching a set of rules. So their lack of knowledge of the ethical framework caused the experience. My teacher said to talk also about the theme of technology but Im not sure what concepts goes with this. I know that generally specific concepts are not needed, but I think my teacher is the type that likes seeing it because he graded me harsher when I just talked about the object. Any suggestions?

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
“Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
“Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
“6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.

No one yet knew how long we lived, but still did they prepare me for a life-long journey. Cheeses and fruits fresh-picked did Our Mother gather to sustain me, and Our Father stowed in woven sacks grain to keep my strength, heaving and strapping barley on our beast's broad back. I looked outwards at the sun setting in its westerly nape, weak in th'numbness of heavy sentence new-laid, when a force struck at my thighs and grasped around my waist. My stomach was in th'dirt, my mouth fined with dust. Above me I saw looming our first father, rock in ready hand, pinning me to th'ground as he raised up his arm to Heaven in twisted invocation, something sick and wicked crinkling in his eyes. Waiting for tight- held stone to shatter my brow, the seconds stretched as centuries, but death stood still. Looking up, the stone and arm that held it sat limp on Adam’s knee as he rose with heavy breath. He reached down his hand, as though to help me rise up to my feet. I held doubts.
"I won't kill you, boy,"
he softly said. after a moment, I took his hand and he then hoisted me upwards. As he spoke he started dusting blotches of earth from my robe.
"No, I won't kill you. It's not a father's place to inherit from the son. I'll let you wander. Let the world do its bloody office. Pity your brother, that he bleeds the fields. Pity your mother, that she mourns two sons,"
his gaze finally meeting mine,
"the better one and you. Don't pity me. As man you bear my shape and name, but you're no son of mine."
His piece then said, he went toward where worm-food Abel lay interred. Ever watchful was Eve. A look half-mad lingered about her eyes as she stood in grief-mute stupor. Maybe by Abel's blood was she made deaf. No matter. I grabbed the halter, starting on my lonesome, weary way. Cresting the hill that would forever stand as sentry between me and home, I couldn't help but look back. There were th'fields from youth I'd tilled. I saw the altar where we made offerings to th'Potter, th'olive tree I had watered with brother's blood. In the midst of it all I saw Our Mother, still where I left her, looking at me. I waved meekly, my arm meeting my side almost as soon as I raised it. She was unmoved. With wavering breath, I turned toward my portion. East had He bid me. East would I then go.

I had an idea a few weeks ago for a poem about Cain after he kills Abel, so that's what this is. I'm a four books into what I think is going to be a five book piece. Just wanted to gauge folk's interest, and would definitely appreciate any constructive criticism. Thanks in advance for reading this monstrosity.
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1cv3ihc/comment/l4n8uh8/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1cupdbh/comment/l4neah7/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

This might be a long post but bear with me. Okay so we know iPad kids are a thing right, and I’ve kinda assumed that all the kids in my preschool class get mega screen time at home, but after doing parent teacher conferences this week, I found out that there are more parents who don’t allow their kids constant screen time than I originally thought! So that was a pleasant surprise, but it was really only like 4 out of 22 kids. The iPad kid phenomenon is almost an epidemic at this point, imo, and it does take a lot of space in my head on the daily. I was born in 1998, so I remember a time before smart phones and social media, but at the same time, those same two things also majorly shaped a huge portion of my self identity and brain development as I started using them in my early teens. I was so attached to my phone, always texting or scrolling or whatever, until I was probably 22. After a decade of constant screen time, I feel like something in my brain clicked and I woke up from the matrix or something because now I can barely stand to be on my phone. I didn’t have any hobbies outside of binging Netflix/youtube or scrolling through twitter. Nowadays I find so much joy in the process of learning a new hobby or skill, and it makes me sad to see such little kids glued to iPads. What makes me even sadder is when my kids at work pretend they have iPads or phones using regular toys or books. We truly don’t know the long term affects of iPad kids but I think psychologically and physically, they’re going to grow up into a completely different kind of person than the people who were born before iPads. I want to just open a discussion about this, what can we do? I work myself up because this is a systemic issue everyone is facing but I’m only one person and my impact can only do so much in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes I’m afraid to admit my feelings about technology because I seem like an old man with a tin hat yelling at the sky! I don’t think we should eliminate all social media/smart gadgets but there needs to be some moderation of some sort at LEAST.

Tissue
Polysemous title- Tissue • Tissue- paper + skin (human life is fragile [criticises arrogance, encourages us to protect]) • Also paper (not alive) + skin (alive)- criticises monotony of life, not really living • Tissue paper- found in bibles and holy texts, but fragile (overinflated importance of identity causing wars and discrimination, really it’s very fragile and identity isn’t real, we’re all just people (tissue as in skin)) • Tissue- used to wipe away tears, togetherness can reduce suffering • Tissue- medical term for deep skin- poem shows deeper nature of humans and our potential for goodness, can be wounded and damaged by outside influences but can always heal
"Paper that lets the light shine through, this is what could alter things" - reference to religious texts paper, light as Jesus and Allah (power of religion) - or coexistence with nature (Dharker is a Muslim Calvinist)
Enjambment- freedom, lack of control of humans, rejecting constraints
Free verse- same thing
"Let the daylight break through capitals and monoliths" - power of nature, criticism of authority, weakness of humans- “break” violent personification, destroying authority, daylight + break = sunrise + hope
"The sun shines through their borderlines" - nature overcomes human segregation identity, criticism of war, power of nature) sibilance shows power, “their” still shows separation, criticise that
"fly our lives like paper kites" - childish metaphor, mocking control of money over life (criticism of authority)
"the back of the Koran" - “the” repetition shows importance, “back” shows it is hidden/shunned by society, still holding onto identity
"Transparent" - repetition, criticism of dishonesty of authority
Exposure
"Merciless iced east winds that knive us" - personification of wind shanking people (first line not about war but nature- more significant) (power of nature)- subtle sibilance (just as dangerous as bullets but most people don’t realise)- Germans were in the east, but the only thing from there is wind
ABBAC rhyme, structure is built only to be taken down (tension of soldiers expecting fight but let down)
Pararhyme- unsatisfying for reader, reflects how the soldiers are always nervous but never get to chill
“What are we doing here?” Rhetorical question to criticise authority, or actual question to show PTSD confusion, can be asking what they are DOING or why they are HERE
"For love of God seems dying" ok 1. The soldier's love of God is dying 2. God's love for the soldiers is dying 3. To show love of God, you should die
"forgotten dreams" - juxtaposition, loss of hope, forgotten dreams on purpose to be less sad? war made them forget? “forgotten” disassociated from PTSD, “dreams” as happiness from the past that seems unreal
“a dull rumour of some other war" reference to the Bible and Armageddon, metaphorical end of the world for the soldiers be suffering "sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence" - sibilance represents sound of bullets, jolting reader out of relative lack of noises, feel like soldiers
Epistrophe "but nothing happens" cyclical structure, stuck in suffering
“we” “us” “our” collective pronouns, shared experience, comradeship, loss of identity, relatable to all soldiers
Kamikaze
Title- single word, only military rank- only seen as a kamikaze pilot by others
Structure- 6 lines per stanza but free verse and lots of enjambment- conflict between control and freedom (military/social expectations/duty vs love for family/nature/memories/life)
Constant shifts between first person and third person- disconnect from family due to shame
“Her father embarked at sunrise” -sunrise as power of nature + Japan’s military flag- conflict
“a shaven head full of powerful incantations” -incantations are deliberately vague- orders from military? prayers? inner conscience against it? It’s “powerful” tho and influences him, and it’s “full” showing his distress, shaved head like most kamikaze pilots
“green-blue translucent sea” beautiful imagery, “translucent” shows how things are unclear but getting clearer- nature helps him decide what to do
Describes fishes “like a huge flag”- patriotic semantic field shows brainwashing, but reduces as the poem goes on, simile shows how he is starting to disconnect and change his mind,
also as “a figure of eight”- shows thoughts of pride and prosperity-
“The dark shoals of fishes/flashing silver as their bellies/swivelled towards the sun” - • sibilance shows ocean noises and beauty, “dark” -> “flashing silver” things get brighter and easier to see- knows what to do thanks to nature • “Silver”- medals he would have gotten for being a kamikaze pilot, but true reward is in nature • “Sun”- represents beauty of nature and also Japanese flag- conflict but now there’s also nature in the mix • Belly up- death on his mind
“bringing their father’s home safe/-yes, grandfather’s boat- safe” repetition of “safe” shows reason to come back- wants to return to family, memories
“a tuna, the dark prince, muscular, dangerous.” • first mention of danger = power in the whole poem, danger to the mission as it causes the pilot to have doubts, true power is in nature and memory • First full stop in the poem and lots of commas- makes us stop and think like the pilot about what he’s abt to do
“laughed” “loved” at the end of the poem- all in past tense- nothing left for the soldier
“we too learned to be silent”- “learned” should be positive but contrasts with what they learnt- criticises how they were taught shame by the older generations- but it’s said in first person, the daughter is criticising this and teaching her children not to think that way
Poppies
Title- honours and grieves dead soldiers, short single word title shows full intent of the poem and how the mother’s life is consumed by grief
Dramatic monologue- emphasis on the domestic impact and how the soldier isn’t present in the poem
Free verse, enjambment- chaotic, lack of control over the son, distressed
Domestic + military semantic fields- life has been ruined by war
“Spasms of paper red, disrupting a blockade of yellow bias”- mix between war + domestic • “spasms” and “red” is injury and pain- mother is worried or is hurt by letting go (spasms is involuntary muscle action- involuntary letting go), • “paper” is the fragility of the son • “blockade” is military language showing her worry abt the conflict, how she wants to “block” her son from going into the military • “disrupting” the fabric - the son becoming a soldier disrupts the peace or she is trying to disrupt him from going to war
“The dove pulled freely against the sky, / an ornamental stitch”- dove represents peace and grief- she and her son is at peace with death, “pulled freely” is an oxymoron- inner conflict with grief or letting her son go, the comma shows a pause to reflect on the grief, the “ornamental stitch” metaphor for the mother (pretends to hold it together)
“I was brave”- takes down ideas of just the soldier’s bravery but also the mother’s, but past tense shows current weakness from grief
“Sellotape bandaged around my hand” • Bandage shows wounds • Sticks them together one last time- cat hairs are removed, no more reason to stay • Claustrophobic feeling- stuck in the domestic role, can’t go and protect the son
“Blackthorns of your hair”- religious connotations of Jesus on the cross, sacrificed for the country- metaphor for the son
History Boys
"Enemy of education" war metaphor and alliteration, opposition between true understanding of literature and grades only used shallowly “Cheat’s Visa”
"a fact of life" indisputable and unchangable, in opposition with Irwin's views on history (truth does not matter to him until now?)
Drummer Hodge: Intertextuality, Tom Hardy (the poet) represents Hector, sympathising with the ordeal of the youth, Drummer Hodge represents the Boys, thrown into the chaos of life without proper guidance
"She's my western front" war metaphor objectifies Fiona, personal pronoun further expresses how women were seen as objects to be owned
“... all the other shrunken violets you people line up" [you people] segregates gay people, [shrunken violets] derogatory language
"Some of the literature says it will pass" looking to literature for solace and comfort during a sexuality crisis
"All literature is consolation" Dakin changes his mind on literature symbolising him changing to Irwin's side. No need to look for solace in literature when he can pursue Irwin
Parallels with "all knowledge is precious" from Hector - A.E. Housman, one of the first intertextualities and used in the intro to establish his character
“cunt-struck” “a cunt”- Mrs Lintott repeats the colloquialism “cunt” twice, to describe Dakin as “cunt-struck” and Headmaster as “a cunt”. This is the hardest swear in the play and is used show that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue, and to break down stereotypes of women being gentle and passive
“history is women following behind with the bucket” - her big scene about women in history at the end of the play (which is typical for Alan Benett’s plays such as “Kafka’s Dick”) so it would be recent and stay in the audience’s mind when the show ended
Irwin intro as politician in the future "etc., etc." while talking abt freedom- that man gives no fucks about freedom really, just waffling on (first impression for the audience too!!)
Parallel with Holocaust debate- Lockwood uses the SAME EXACT PHRASE while talking abt how the holocaust was bad, (dismissiveness of mass genocide? in this education system? it’s more likely than you think) then goes on to argue that they should be unique with their arguments- Irwin passed on thr mindset even on such an important subject
Hector is set up to be looking cool and all (motorcycle scene dramaticness, greek name connotations, fav teacher) but is absolutely uncool when we get to know him- purposeful? "studied eccentricity" and all. clinging onto youth?
Posner is actually rather helpful as the "dictionary person" bc i doubt the audiences know what "otiose" means
SCRIPPS IS THE MOST RELIGIOUS ONE AND CLOSEST TO POSNER it can dismantle the idea that religion is against queerness
Irwin didnt know how nietzche was pronounced bc from what we know of him he would call Dakin out on that

Below I summarize and paraphrase Fanon's essay into a schematic fashion. Hopefully this will be useful to some.
Original: https://proletarian-library.neocities.org/en/on-national-culture

The three phases of the colonized intellectual

Phase 1: Racial and regional culture.

Colonialism asserts that the colonized are barbarians without nations or culture, who need colonialism in order to be saved from themselves. It does not bother with making a special case against the existence of any individual nationalism, but for the sake of efficiency, instead chooses to deny the existence of culture on regional or racial grounds. This also has a reciprocal effect on the colonizing Europeans nations, forming them into an international mass of whiteness.
In an attempt to negate the Europeans' claims, the colonized intellectuals assert an international or interregional culture, such as Pan-Africanism, or Pan-Arabism. The colonized intellectual first finds the qualities that define white culture: dull reason, stifling logic, rigidity, ceremony, protocol, skepticism - qualities of the capitalist colonialist venture and the cold calculation of surplus value. Within these limits, the intellectual then defines the regional culture by finding the opposite of those qualities: poetry, exuberant nature, naivete, petulance, freedom, luxuriance - portraying the colonized as irresponsible. Although it emphasizes international solidarity against colonialism, the simple negation of racial capitalist culture does not culminate in an overall antagonistic contradiction to colonialism. The intellectual who forwards it desires most of all to be seen as equals to the Europeans. They attempt to combat the colonizer on their own terms, resorting to racialized claims to match the concept of whiteness and the vision of a universal Europe. Equal footing in this case then could only mean that the colonized intellectuals meet the European intellectuals as the exploited to their exploiter.
However, soon objective problems undo this attempt at regional culture. The intellectual finds that the fight against colonialism differs in progression amongst the nations of the region. They abandon their asserted regional/racial culture once these objective problems make it clear that the decisive unit of struggle against colonialism is the nation, not the region or race. As culture is a reflection of struggle, it too differs amongst the nations, revealing that culture is first and foremost national. To be connected to reality, productive, and substantive, culture must be a national culture, not a pseudo-continental culture. The problem with the racialized cultures, is that they are a negation without transcendence of the colonialist's whiteness, whereas national culture is the progressive negation of the colonialist claims of barbarity. In order to really find a regional culture and cultural unity of a region, first there must be national liberation for all nations in that region. Specifically national problems expose racial universalization as immaterial, returning the intellectual back to the nation.

Phase 2: Stuck between the colonizer and the masses.

Phase 2A: Persuading the colonizer with defensive shallow national culture.

As the intellectual returns to the nation, their approach to the national culture has been altered. In the period preceding colonialism, the intellectual has a dynamic attitude towards the people’s culture, but after colonialism, this is replaced by a static attitude full of concrete particularism. The intellectual claims that national culture is the folklore of 'the people', turning it into simple self-discovery and at attempt at defining an abstract people through historical appeals. National culture becomes defined by narrow terms and limits, a rigid structure. Particulars of the nation are elevated to mystical proportions to signify the nation's historical roots. The intellectual brings forth cultural items in a mechanical way, finding the most surface level cultural items to display the existence of a national culture. It is loud, it is bold, and it is cliche.
This aesthetic of particularism is a defense mechanism to preserve what remains of the old culture and life before colonialism. It is also an attempt to assert the nation to the colonizer. The intellectual hopes they can stop the colonial occupation by putting the shallow culture under the occupier's nose. But to do this, they must necessarily make the culture comprehensible to the occupier, translating the culture into a language they will understand. This locks the intellectual into the style and aesthetic of the colonialist, dooming the culture to shallowness, and especially making it alien to the national masses.
The national masses have their own relationship to the national customs. Following conquest, they continue to practice the customs of pre-conquest culture. They do this as a means of asserting their nationhood, in the only way they know how. In doing so, they prove by themselves that their nation does exist, despite the colonizers' claims to the contrary. This demonstration of nationhood upsets the racial (nation denial) justification of colonialism and is subsequently prohibited by the colonizers. When, in spite of prohibition, the masses go on practicing the customs, the colonizer responds with repression, calling forth a correspondingly violent reaction by the colonized. Such violence unites and emboldens the national masses, furthering their claim to nationhood.
But this practice and defense of customs is not in itself a struggle for national liberation. Rather, the violence is too only a defensive reaction to prevent losing what little remains of material life before domination. Customs are built by, and reflect the needs of, struggles that existed before the fight for national liberation. In their practice, the masses parade out something that is dead and try to pretend it is alive. Culture, on the other hand, reflects the living, always adapting needs of the present. Culture becomes solidified into custom through changes in the economic structure. Thus, asserting that customs are the primary symbol of the nation deteriorates the culture, making it lifeless, highlighting the past while ignoring the issues of the present. However, there is a positive side to the masses continual practice of customs under colonialism. By experiencing the masses’ demonstration of nationhood, the intellectual sees that the nation is being created through the masses' struggle against colonialism.

Phase 2B: Moving towards the masses, recreating their struggle.

The intellectual starts to identify with the masses through their movements and their development of national consciousness, moving the primacy of the contradiction within themselves towards the masses. The longer any open battle and combat for national liberation persists, more intellectuals will be moved from phase 2A, through 2B. The national masses' staying power, their ability to persist in their struggle despite repression, setbacks, and any other attempts to stop their struggle, impresses the intellectual and impels them to stop whatever else they were doing.
The intellectual begins to openly criticize colonialism, rather than attempting to persuade it. When the intellectual first attempts to prove the existence of the nation, they, in a kind of clumsy way, raise above all else the particulars of custom. But now, the masses have displayed their fresh vibrant quality of creation in the struggle. By counterposing this quality of the masses to the qualities of the colonial administrator, the opposition between the colonialist and the intellectual are brought to an antagonistic contradiction, progressing past the racial and regional culture of phase 1.
The intellectual’s work now changes forms, from poetry to novels, short stories or essays. The work becomes more direct. The abstract indirectness of poetry fades away as the intellectual becomes involved in the masses' struggle. The content of the work changes as well. Gone are the intellectual’s emotional cathartic outbursts towards the colonizer, which were always acceptable to the colonizer anyway. As long as violence is left to the domain of art, and doesn’t make its way to the masses, these outbursts will always be applauded.
But now the audience is shifted. In phase 2A, the audience is still the colonizer, while in phase 2B the masses become the audience. The intellectual now insists on describing the sacrifices of the national masses. They attempt to capture the masses in their moment of national creation. The intellectual analyzes and describes the moment of revolt with unnerving precision, creating a careful rendition of truth. But Fanon asks if this version of truth is real, or if it is outmoded, irrelevant, called into question by the actual reality being created by the masses.
Despite their rationality and commitment, the intellectual still fails to live up to the rationality and irreversible commitment displayed by the masses actually in motion. The intellectual is not capable of showing the reality of the nation this way, because culture is the continual never-ending struggle of the nation. As soon as the artist sets down to catalog the moment, it has passed. The intellectual that attempts to create culture and a work of national significance by simple replication of motion is chasing a dead end.
The intellectual who is intent on describing the national culture must make a full break with their colonial side. The intellectual is still caught in a contradiction that makes the creation of culture impossible. They must decisively define the masses as their subject. This objective choice must first begin within the intellectual, through recognizing their division between their colonialist education, and the colonized nation. Fanon calls this the intellectual’s alienation. This alienation is a result of what the intellectual has taken from colonialism. The transaction has been one-sided; the colonizer did not actually give what the intellectual took. Everything ‘given’ has been in the interest of colonialism, making the intellectual the one who was really taken. In an attempt to reverse what they gave, the intellectual proclaims against the colonizer, proclaims for the nation, proclaims against being divided, attempts to reunite with the nation through old dead customs. But to really reverse what was taken, the intellectual must give instead to the masses. The intellectual must reunite with the masses and the living culture of the present struggle. This will suddenly call the alienation into question.
The intellectual of 2B begins with simply highlighting the contradictions between the nation and the colonizer. But culture is authentic when it reflects the reality of the nation, and the reality and culture of the colonized nation is not just its life under domination, but actually its liberation. The culture describes where the nation is going, not just where it is at or where it has been, calling upon the whole people to join in the struggle for the existence of the nation. They must move to rousing the masses to liberation.

Phase 3: Revolutionary national culture

The intellectual transitions into their role of delivering marching orders for the liberation struggle, becomes more direct and calculated. It is only by calling the national masses to combat that the intellectual can assist in proving the existence of the nation. All other attempts at proving the nation's existence are for the colonizer only. The present colonial situation is no longer a matter simply for the intellectual, for their personal anguish, which they only communicate to the oppressor, but instead is channeled out to the national masses in every direction. The intellectual is called to the masses in their struggle for national liberation, but just the same, the intellectual calls the masses to rise for national liberation. Fanon’s word choices: rouse, galvanize, combat, signal that this is not a portrayal for artistic sake but for the purpose of revolution.
Only the intellectuals who are rousing the masses for the current national struggle at hand, speaking directly to the masses, are creating works of national culture. In all other roles, they fall short. Until they reach this point, the culture of the nation does not exist for the intellectual. They cannot create national culture, nor proclaim the nation by extension, until they rouse the people to combat. Then the intellectual can finally create, and finally becomes creative. To fight for national culture means fighting for the liberation of the nation. The intellectual who wants to fight for culture, must take part in the action by spurring the people into further action, fostering hope and using the past to open up the future.
Phase 3 creation does not 'trifle with the reality' of the nation, a characteristic of phase 2 creation, but rather reinterprets the images of the country for revolutionary purposes. It also finds the exact moment of the struggle, place of action, and ideas around which culture will form. The word 'will' is the main difference between phase 2 and 3. Phase 2B describes where the moment of struggle took place, rather than where it will take place. Phase 2B tells us about the struggle after it has passed, while phase 3 leads and amplifies the wave of the struggle.
Phase 3 literature is pedagogical. It presents things in a clear manner, and its account is meticulous and develops progressively. The most esteemed praise Fanon places upon the intellectual is to say that, through understanding their creation of national culture, the masses have performed an intellectual and political act:

To understand this poem is to understand the role we have to play, to identify our approach and prepare to fight.

This is the outline to any combat. The colonized national masses understand their position within the chain of command, the battle plan, and are ready to deploy at any moment. Fanon says that all colonized subjects will perform these acts when they receive the message of the national culture.
The intellectual and the masses' real movement against the colonial world is the determining factor for the culture. National liberation defines the national culture in explicit terms, determining the shape the intellectual’s work takes. Customs in all art forms will be upset during the revolutionary upsurge, updated to be relevant to the current struggle. The rough skeletons of customs are kept while the content and form are changed, transforming customs into living dynamic culture. New amateurs join in the creation of national culture, pushing old intellectuals to adapt to the new forms. Comedy and farce as artistic forms become less important, and drama is no longer simply for the intellectual only, but becomes part of the national masses regular experience, part of the struggle. Characters are portrayed in action or in combat, or instead of depicting single subjects, multiple people.
The degree to which the new culture reflects the old customs, is only determined by the capacity for the old customs to be appropriated to the new ends of advancing the national struggle. In practice, appeals to custom are not excluded by a set of rules, but rather the awakening to the real national culture, which is always in the moment changing, naturally excludes custom by definition. Custom is stagnant and in contradiction to the radical reality grasping required by revolution. National culture deteriorates and erodes all customs obsolete to the present. Involving or carrying through the customs is not the critical part of the formation of the new national culture, but rather the nation adapting and struggling against their colonialist, neocolonialist, or imperialist reality, creating national culture along the way. The intellectual’s appropriation of the nation's history is progressive only in the context that it is used for national liberation.

Summary

We began with the intellectuals' attempt to negate the European colonialists' claim that the colonized have no culture. And this attempt has gone through three phases, where only the final phase has not been a dead end. In the first phase, the intellectual is insignificant to the national masses. This is a historically transient phase, upset by national realities. In the second phase, the artist is producing for the nation and for the colonizer. It is probably the most prevalent and common phase, and the one most commodified. In the third phase, the intellectual is a revolutionary, intertwined with the masses and the creation of culture.

Hey fellow gamers (again)(again)(again)(again)(again)(again)(again)(again)!
I am a 16-year-old (human) gamer. I love Futuristic and Sci-Fi games. Cyberpunk seems like a dream come true in this regard. Futuristic and cybernetic game? Sign me up.
The description of the game is awesome: "an open-world, action-adventure RPG set in the megalopolis of Night City, where you play as a cyberpunk mercenary wrapped-up in a do-or-die fight for survival. Explore the dark future, now upgraded with next-gen in mind" Now that sounds absolutely insane. I first heard about it when I heard a song about it. My favorite song artist (Miracle of sound) made several songs including the City of Light) about this game. I have also played a bit at my friends house and found it amazing.
Story: Following an economic collapse sometime during the early 21st century, the United States is forced to rely on large corporations to survive. These corporations deal in a wide range of areas, such as weapons, robotics, cybernetics, pharmaceuticals, communications, and biotechnology; many of these companies operate above the law. The game follows the story of V — a hired gun on the rise in Night City, the most violent and dangerous metropolis of the corporate-ruled future. A robust character creator will allow players to choose V's gender, visual appearance, as well as historical background — all of which may influence the shape of the game.
The story sounds super cool with the choose your own adventure feel to it. However this is not all the game offers. Stunning visuals are a major plus. seeing all the colors of Night City down to the metallic gleam of cyber-ware is mind-boggling
I have always dreamed about having powers and super abilities, and this is the closest I can get to it.
I wrote a short poem about the game:
Blinding lights and endless colors,
Glass towers reaching to the sky,
The possibilities are endless,
And you can damn near fly
There is infinite things to do
Be who you want to be
So many choices to make
Further than than a Kiroshi (eye replacement) can see
Shining metal covering the people,
Cyber-ware replacing natural skin,
His story has just begun,
And V is the most free he's ever been
Cyberpunk came out with a new update and DLC and I'm thinking this is my chance.
Can someone please help me achieve my dream of being the ultimate net-runner?
https://steamcommunity.com/profiles/76561199100245964/
I thank you all in advance, for reading this.

I'm doing Edexcel power and conflict ABT the prelude is one of the poems but I don't think I was taught it correctly. My teacher was telling us it's a metaphor for a person's first relationship 'experience' talked about through nature but idk if the poem is actually about that or is about man Vs nature

I grew up not understanding social cues or I didn't know how to socialize. I don't know if I ever had friends who really got me, understood me. I always felt so misunderstood.
I used to have friends in school, some sweet people. I was almost mute on certain years of my schooling and on some, my teachers complained that I won't stop talking. (That was when I was a child, I don't talk much in conversations, i usually mostly do the hearing because I feel like people would get bored of me) I used to talk about chemistry and nat Geo shows. I used to put on a show sometimes to show some tricks and riddles for people.
Looking back I don't actually know what they thought about me, but I knew they were amused.
As an adult, nobody around especially my family, wants to listen to me or have intentional conversations with me because I don't believe in the same things they do. When I talk about something, I like questioning everything and giving it elaborate reasoning which people seem to dislike. My sister makes me feel like a loser because I was always quite and by myself all my childhood.
I don't know how to amuse people because, really useful things are not amusing if people I'm talking to don't want to understand Miller indices.
I don't care much about the pop culture, I don't idealise artists, (I like analysing popular movies, I can understand why people can like them but I also feel the need think about it objectively although i understand the subjective value of art to an individual) which is how most people seem to bond around me. In my country you don't easily let your guard down and meet a lot of people.
I tried it all but at the end of the day I feel like a fraud. I didn't really meet a lot of people I enjoy holding and making conversations with.
Why do I always feel like there is something wrong with me that I can't feel that deeply seen or a connection that real? Does anyone else suffer with this too?
People think I'm a decent person but I don't think they genuinely like me.
Edit: Okay so guys.. i think it is my negative sense of self talking right now.
There have been people that liked me, actually saw my value and worth. There were kind and good people. I think all the things I internalised as bad things about me are surfacing and I'm starting to believe that those things are true.
As much as people assume that it is being intellectual that comforts me so I can act misunderstood. But it is frustrating urggh, it definitely is an integral part of who I am but definitely not something I'm very pompous about, it's just how i work. Some people kind of use it to dismiss and manipulate me, use it against me when I make real arguments, because I like to sometimes analyse things for fun which are too simple.
I also have been stuck in a very toxic small environment. I lost 3 of my close family members. I've been going through something. All my friends moved away. I'd had no support in any shape or form during the worst of scenarios which created a general contempt for people.

Context: I thought that AEW did a great job with the Continental Classic 6 months ago and I want to try to book the next one (as I imagine they will be doing this again). For this booking, I will be doing the men's continental classic in 2024. Now for this, we are changing one major thing for this tournament compared to what they did last year. The winner of this tournament will get a shot at the AEW World Championship at the Revolution PPV. The finals of the Continental Classic will take place at World's End. The world champion in this fantasy booking for around this time is Will Ospreay. All of these matches take place on episodes of Dynamite and Collision respectively (I won't book what match takes place on which network) , I'll just be booking the tournament week-to-week. Below are the competitors listed for each block.
EDIT: My first draft exceeded the character limit for a post so I will be trimming down match details
Gold Block:

• MJF
  • Just made his return recently, defeating Adam Cole at the latest PPV to settle their rivalry. Now has his sights set on winning the tournament and challenging for the World Championship.
• Konosuke Takeshita
  • The Don Callis family has representation in this tournament as Takeshita has been taking the AEW world by storm the last few months, being the stand out in the Callis family. Konosuke Takeshita is Don Callis's chosen one and declares that Takeshita will be bringing the World Championship to the family.
• Jack Perry
  • Has been put in thanks to the Elite, looking to bring the World Championship to the Elite.
• Dax Harwood
  • Playing the Mark Briscoe role of this tournament. Storyline-wise, he's been placed in this tournament by the Elite to keep the FTR from being able to compete for the Tag Team Championships. Cash encourages him to make this the biggest mistake of the Elite's life.
• Darby Allin
  • Since returning from injury in May, has been on fire with key wins over The Elite in Anarchy in the Arena, Jay White, and Big Bill. Looking to get back in the title hunt.
• Eddie Kingston
  • Last year's winner looking to go back-to-back, this time for a new prize. (I know he is injured in real life, i'm hoping he is recovered by then).

Blue Block:

• Kenny Omega
  • Has returned from injury and looking to get right back on track after being put in this tournament. (The Bucks tried to keep him from the tourney but was overruled by TK)
• Kazuchika Okada
  • The Elite have two members in to try to ensure that the World Championship goes to the Elite. Commentary puts over his familiarity with this kind of tournament).
• Chris Jericho
  • Seen as the veteran in this whole tournament, looking to make a statement and show his followers of the Chris Jericho "Learning Tree" how to succeed at the highest level and compete for a World title at this stage of his career.
• Ricky Starks
  • Has also returned from injury recently and considers himself a master of tournaments (puts over his win in the Owen Hart tournament) and looks to win this one, and win the gold.
• Malakai Black
  • The House of Black has been kicking all sorts of ass for the last several months and has a lot of momentum on their side. Malakai Black (the leader of the House of Black), will be part of this tournament to win the tournament, beat Will Ospreay, and continue to strengthen the momentum of the House of Black. The House always wins.
• Penta El Zero Miedo
  • Was originally going to be PAC, but a week before the tournament, PAC was mysteriously attacked and deemed unable to compete (storyline). While AEW investigates to find out of PAC's attacker, Penta El Zero Miedo steps in on PAC's behalf to compete.

Scoring: Win=3 points, Draw=1 point, Loss=0 points
20-minute time limits for each match
Outside interference is prohibited! No one is allowed at ringside (breaking these rules result in a point deduction)
Gold Block: Week 1

• Eddie Kingston def. Dax Harwood
  • We kick off the tournament with our first matchup in the Gold League between last year's winner of the Continental Classic, Eddie Kingston, going up against Dax Harwood. These two have a competitive match, with Dax pushing Eddie to his limit, but Kingston wins with the Spinning Back Fist. The two shake hands after the match and Eddie continues to celebrate his win.
• Konosuke Takeshita def. Darby Allin
  • For this match, Darby takes control early in the match, going at a very fast-pace, hitting dangerous and high flying moves to keep Takeshita at bay. However, Darby goes for one too many high risk moves and it costs him, as Takeshita hits his Power Drive Knee to pick up the victory. Post-match, Takeshita brawls with Darby and throws him off the stage, sending him crashing into some tables, as medical personnel tend to Darby.
• MJF def. Jack Perry
  • Before the match, there is a backstage segment between the two, as Jack Perry talks about how he remembers what MJF told him a long time ago and how he did in fact cut the goody-two-shoes act, but, instead of ruling AEW together, Jack has surpassed MJF and will prove that tonight. MJF tells Jack that Jack hasn't done anything yet to think that he has surpassed him and that being a top guy is more than just a cute arm band saying "scapegoat" and being friends with the EVPs. Max says that if he thinks that he is on MJF's level, that he can prove it in the ring against him. Jack is not amused. These two will main event whichever show they're on as they go back and forth. Both of them are using dirty tricks against each other and it appears that Jack has learned from their last encounter. Jack works over the shouldearm of MJF that comes into affect when MJF goes for Salt of the Earth but can't keep it locked in. The match ends after Jack attempts Salt of the Earth on Max but is able to turn it into a roll up and hold onto Perry's tights to secure the pinfall victory (because he's still a scumbag, but our scumbag). MJF gains 3 points and smiles and winks at a very frustrated Perry as he walks up the ramp, telling Perry that he still has much to learn.
• Gold Standings after Week 1:
  1. Konosuke Takeshita: (3 pts)
  2. Eddie Kingston: (3 pts)
  3. MJF: (3 pts)
  4. Darby Allin: (0 pts)
  5. Dax Harwood: (0 pts)
  6. Jack Perry: (0 pts)

Blue Block: Week 1

• Ricky Starks def. Chris Jericho
  • Starks and Jericho go about 13 minutes. Jericho uses veteran trickery to get an advantage at times but Ricky is able to take control at times, showing how good he truly is. In the end, Jericho goes for Judas Effect but Starks ducks it and running against the ropes and hitting Jericho with a second spear. Starks immediately picks Jericho back up and hits his finish, Rochambeau and gets the pinfall victory. Starks gets his first 3 points of the tournament.
• Malakai Black def. Penta El Zero Miedo
  • Malakai and Penta square off against each other and go a little over 10 minutes. The whole match is a sprint, as Penta tries to be more aggressive after being familiar with Malakai from their past encounters. The match ends after Penta goes for his package piledriver but is countered as Malakai then hits Black Mass to Penta, getting the pinfall victory. Malakai Black gets his first 3 points of the tournament.
• Kenny Omega vs Kazuchika Okada (TIME LIMIT DRAW)
  • This is the main event of a very special episode of Dynamite. These two go back and forth with plenty of callbacks to their previous matches, but Okada specifically targets the midsection of Omega (who has had his surgery). Both men go for their finishing moves multiple times in the match but is countered by the other man. In the end, Omega goes for the One Winged Angel after hitting several V-Triggers. Okada is able to counter once again, hitting a knee strike to Omega's midsection (that sends Omega to his knees, that one really hurt him). Okada hits his finish, Rainmaker but is down as he is completely exhausted. He crawls over to the pin but before he can get to him, the bell rings as the time expires, ending the match in a draw (a callback to their first match). Commentary puts over how this may affect both men for the rest of the tournament. Both men are awarded 1 point.
• Blue Standings after week 1:
  1. Ricky Starks: (3 pts)
  2. Malakai Black: (3 pts)
  3. Kazuchika Okada: (1 pts)
  4. Kenny Omega: (1 pts)
  5. Chris Jericho: (0 pts)
  6. Penta El Zero Miedo: (0 pts)

Gold Block: Week 2

• MJF def. Dax Harwood
  • These two have an old-school, classic wrestling match as Dax, again, pushes his opponent to their limit and give them their best as MJF has to dig deep to pull out a victory. Both men have their opponent in submissions, testing the will of their opponent as both fight to stay alive. In the end, after missing with a Diving headbutt from the top rope, MJF rolls Dax towards the apron and hits Heat Seeker to get the pinfall victory. After a tense stare post match, Dax finally offers his hand to MJF, MJF with a little hesitation, accepts it and the two shake hands after the match. MJF now has 6 points total and Dax is still scoreless.
• Eddie Kingston def. Darby Allin
  • Darby is BARELY cleared to compete for this match, and it's even encouraged by doctors backstage that Darby pull out of this match to which Darby will of course refuse. During the match, it is clear that Darby is less than 100% and Eddie takes most of the match. Eddie, knowing that Darby is in bad shape, is concerned and tells Darby to stay down (not in a heelish way, but more in a concerned way. He doesn't want to beat Darby this way and hurt him even further). Darby just keeps on fighting, taking advantage of Eddie not putting him down and hitting come back offense, resulting in close near falls. In the end, Kingston finally puts Darby down after slapping Eddie to stop patronizing him and gets another 3 points. Eddie shows his respect to Darby after the match.
• Jack Perry def. Konosuke Takeshita
  • Its a heel vs heel matchup but Jack will be wrestling heel while Takeshita wrestles a babyface style. Perry again is using dirty tricks but it doesn't faze Takeshita, who has been prepared by this in his training with Don Callis. It seems that when it is a fair fight, Takeshita is the one that is getting the upper hand, hitting the more significant moves during the exchanges. In the end, Takeshita goes for his Power Drive Knee but misses Jack, colliding with the turnbuckle instead (he sells the knee) and then, Jack Perry rolls Takeshita up, grabbing the tights of Takeshita, and picking up the pinfall victory. Takeshita and Callis (who now has entered the ring once the match was over) are fuming and argue with the referee who did not see what had happened. Jack Perry celebrates as he goes up the ramp and the Young Bucks congratulate him. Perry is on the board.
• Gold Standings after Week 2:
  1. MJF: (6 pts)
  2. Eddie Kingston: (6 pts)
  3. Konosuke Takeshita: (3 pts)
  4. Jack Perry: (3 pts)
  5. Darby Allin: (0 pts)
  6. Dax Harwood: (0 pts)

Blue Block: Week 2

• Malakai Black def. Chris Jericho
  • Jericho cuts a promo before his match saying that last week didn't go the way that he wanted but to not worry, because he is at his best when he is the underdog and he will still find a way to come back and win this entire tournament (he says this in a babyface way but is still clearly a heel, continuing that story they are doing in real life). Malakai Black beats Jericho in about 13-15 minutes with the Black Mass after countering the Judas Effect with Black Mass. Malakai Black gets another 3 points.
• Kazuchika Okada def. Penta El Zero Miedo
  • These two go a little over 15 minutes and Penta has his moments, but ultimately falls to the Rainmaker as Okada gets the pinfall victory. Okada get 3 points. Penta looks frustrated, as he has now lost twice already in the tournament.
• Kenny Omega def. Ricky Starks
  • These two go back and forth as Ricky is very close to victory at multiple points (this match is designed to showcase Ricky and elevate him), especially at one point, hitting a spear which Kenny sells like death as that spear looks to very much damage his midsection. Starks goes for the pin but Kenny kicks out at 2.9. The ref starts to check on Kenny, who looks to be in serious pain but Starks knows that he is almost out of time and sets up for the Rochambeau to which Kenny counters into a roll up but is kicked out at 2. After being unable to connect with the One-Winged Angel because of his midsection, Ricky goes for his finish again but Omega pins Starks after hitting a small package rollup, countering Ricky's finish. Ricky Starks is shocked and frustrated that he lost but then tends to Kenny who is still on the ground, and helps him to his feet. Starks helps him to the back.
• Blue Standings after week 2:
  1. Malakai Black: (6 pts)
  2. Kazuchika Okada: (4 pts)
  3. Kenny Omega: (4 pts)
  4. Ricky Starks: (3 pts)
  5. Chris Jericho: (0 pts)
  6. Penta El Zero Miedo: (0 pts)

Gold Block: Week 3

• Konosuke Takeshita def. Dax Harwood
  • There's a moment backstage between Takeshita and Don Callis as Don tells Takeshita its time to get serious, and that he needs to go out there and prove why he is the Alpha. Callis tells Takeshita to not disappoint him again. Dax and Cash interrupt the two men as Dax tells Takeshita that while he has no love or respect for Jack Perry, he says that him losing via cheating was karma coming to bite him. Dax says that after doing what he did to Darby, compromising him for possibly the rest of the tournament and aligning himself with Don Callis, any misfortune that happens to him will be of his own doing. Callis says that while Dax is a very accomplished tag team wrestler and respects his accomplishments, he tells Dax that he doesn't have the singles resume to address them in any manor. Callis says that Takeshita is looking for a bounce back, and says that Dax will be the perfect man to make an example of tonight. Dax tells him to tell Takeshita to bring his best, because if he doesn't, Dax will expose him. The two have their match, and despite Dax's best efforts, Takeshita picks up the win.
• Jack Perry def. Darby Allin
  • Jack Perry attacks Darby before the bell rings, the official asks Darby if he can continue and Darby says yes. Jack Perry takes advantage of Darby being less than 100% but is also being cocky, talking trash and taking his time, rather than going for the win right away. Darby takes advantage of this by being able to hit comeback offense and take control of the match at a certain point. After an accidental ref bump where either Perry or Darby hit the ref with an accidental elbow. Darby gets the Last Supper in (and would have gotten the 3-count) but the ref take a little bit to get back up from the strike, and when counting the pin, Perry kicks out at 2. Perry picks up the win after hitting a sneaky low blow to Darby and hitting his finish, Blindside Elbow to get the pinfall victory.
• MJF def. Eddie Kingston
  • Before this match there is a vignette promo from Eddie Kingston where he talks about the importance of winning this tournament and how happy he is that he is off to a hot start but doesn't have his eyes off the prize. He continues by acknowledging his opponent MJF and how different the two are. Kingston says that MJF has always had everything he has ever wanted and grew up different than how he did, he calls MJF privileged, saying that he hasn't had to work to the degree that he has to get what they have achieved in their careers. Kingston finishes by saying that against him there is no easy way out, and that if he is going to win, he's going to have to earn it and tells MJF that he doesn't respect him. He has to earn that too. MJF responds in a backstage interview telling Eddie that even though its true that he grew up different than Eddie to not disrespect and try to minimize his accomplishments and the work that he has put in to achieve his success. He tells Eddie that he doesn't care whether or not Eddie respects him, but that Eddie will have no choice but to respect the fact that he is better than Kingston. MJF nearly loses after teasing using the diamond ring but choosing not to which results in Eddie hitting a spinning back first for a 2-count. MJF ends up hitting the Heat seeker and pinning Eddie. MJF offers his hand to Eddie to shake his hand. Eddie refuses and just walks to the back. (Backstage, Renee tries to get a word with Eddie, but before Eddie can say anything, he is attacked by the Young Bucks and Jack Perry, trying to get an advantage in next week's match).
• Gold Standings after Week 3
  1. MJF: (9 pts)
  2. Eddie Kingston: (6 pts)
  3. Konosuke Takeshita: (6 pts)
  4. Jack Perry: (6 pts)
  5. Darby Allin: (0 pts)
  6. Dax Harwood: (0 pts)

Blue Block: Week 3

• Penta El Zero Miedo def. Chris Jericho
  • These two men are desperate to get their first points in the tournament and stay in contention as they beat the hell out of each other. Jericho starts to use dirty tricks to try to gain an advantage and Penta is wrestling a lot more aggressively and brutally than we're used to (for those who are Lucha Underground fans, he's wrestling like the first few seasons in this match). In the end, Penta picks up the win after Jericho fails with his dirty tricks, getting caught with his feet on the ropes at one point. Penta low blows him after a ref bump, hitting his finish right after. Penta celebrates as commentary says Jericho now is eliminated from winning. Post-match, Jericho attacks Penta, frustrated of this result. However, Penta is able to get the upper hand of the brawl and Penta looks to tease going for the arm snap spot he does where he wrenches back on his opponent's arm, but then decides to spare Jericho, letting go of the arm and walking to the back.
• Kazuchika Okada def. Ricky Starks
  • This is another 15+ minute match designed to showcase Ricky Starks as he comes as close as anyone has so far of beating Okada up to this point. Ricky has many counters to the Rainmaker, even countering one Rainmaker and hitting a spear after for a close 2 count. Ricky seems to have an answer to all of Okada's best moves. However, Okada is able to counter Rochambeau and finally hit the Rainmaker and get the pinfall victory. Okada gets 3 points and Starks has dropped his last two matches, still at 3 points total.
• Malakai Black def. Kenny Omega
  • Kenny looks to be in rough shape for this match. Malakai relentlessly goes after Kenny's midsection, throwing kicks and knees targeting Kenny's injury. Kenny is able to hit big moves and have moments where he looks to be taking control, but before he can fully take control of the match, Malakai hits a heavy strike to the midsection of Omega, flooring him and sending him down to the mat. Kenny is able to fight back and hit significant offense but at another point, Black hits Black Mass to the midsection, sending Omega to the floor and nearly getting counted out. In the end, after Kenny attempts a One-Winged Angel, Kenny hesitates as his midsection is compromised thanks to Black's strategy, Black spits the mist into his hands and rakes Omega's eyes (The ref doesn't see as they are dealing with an exposed turnbuckle that Malakai exposed earlier). As Kenny is blinded, Malakai hits Black Mass, and gets the pinfall victory. Commentary puts over that this may be Black's biggest win in his career and the biggest win in the tournament so far. The final shot is Malakai sitting cross legged in the ring with the biggest smile on his face as referees and doctors check on Kenny.
• Blue Standings after Week 3:
  1. Malakai Black: (9 pts)
  2. Kazuchika Okada: (7 pts)
  3. Kenny Omega: (4 pts)
  4. Ricky Starks (3 pts)
  5. Penta El Zero Miedo (3 pts)
  6. Chris Jericho (0 pts)

Gold Block: Week 4

• Jack Perry def. Eddie Kingston
  • Eddie comes out with a fury, immediately brawling with Perry to start the match after the attack from last week. Perry is able to use Kingston's anger to capitalize on his mistakes and take control of the match at times. Perry targets Kingston's previously injured leg from back in May, slowing Kingston down from being able to hit any major offense. At one point, Eddie is able to hit his Spinning Back Fist out of nowhere to Jack but isn't able to cover him right away because of his leg, but still crawls over to go for the pin. Perry kicks out at 2.9. Perry goes to the top to attempt a cross body but Eddie moves and Perry connects with the ref instead. Eddie gets back up and hits a second Spinning Back Fist and covers Jack (visual 3-count) but there is no ref to count the pin. Eddie is frustrated, knowing that was his best chance up to this point to get a crucial win. Eddie picks Jack up and goes for the Northern Lights Bomb, but his leg gives out, Jack Perry hits a low blow and then follows it up with his Blindside Elbow finish and gets the pinfall victory as a new referee enters the ring to count the pin. Jack Perry has earned another 3 points in a crucial match as now he is in a good spot in the tournament and Eddie looks crushed (though not eliminated yet, he needs a lot of things to happen to have a chance).
• Darby Allin def. Dax Harwood
  • These two go back and forth in a hard hitting match and Dax comes as close as he has gotten to winning any of these matches. Dax nearly wins multiple times but Darby is able to get his Last Supper pin and beat Dax. Darby gets 3 points. Backstage, Cash is trying to motivate and support his tag partner until Jack comes into frame, laughing and talking trash to Dax, telling him that he is showcasing that he was the weak link in FTR and that he will be sure to credit Dax in his victory speech when he beats him next week. As Jack leaves, Dax is fired up, finding the motivation that he needed as Cash tells Dax that this is the opportunity to make the Elite pay for putting him in the Continental Classic.
• Konosuke Takeshita def. MJF
  • MJF in a backstage interview before the match calls Takeshita, "Take-a-shit-a", and tells him that though he has been very impressive since they last had their encounter, he will show that when they step in the ring together, no matter what day, he (MJF) is the alpha. MJF says that there is nothing Takeshita can do to stop him from winning this tournament and in the ring, MJF will show Takeshita that he is better than him, and deep down, he and Don Callis knows it. These two have a main-event level match as they go back and forth, with both men looking to come close to winning at different times. Takeshita looks very intense and motivated for this match, wanting to not only secure a very important win, but get revenge on MJF who has insulted him and beaten him in the past. In the final stretch, MJF puts on the Diamond Ring and waits for Takeshita to get to his feet, but, before he can connect with a punch, the ref catches MJF in the act and takes his ring. The ref makes his way over to the corner to hand the ring off to the ring announcer at ringside, but Takeshita picks up MJF and drives him towards the turnbuckle, they collide into the ref, who drops the ring in the process. As the ref tries to get back to their feet, Takeshita puts on the Dynamite Diamond Ring and waits for MJF to get to his feet. Takeshita nails MJF with the ring, knocking him out right before the ref could see. Takeshita covers MJF and gets the pinfall victory in a shocking upset. Takeshita celebrates wildly as Don Callis comes running in the ring, hugging Takeshita and celebrating as if they have won the tournament already. Commentary puts over that this is the biggest win of Takeshita's career and has put him in a great position in the Gold League. Takeshita nails MJF one more time with the Power Drive Knee and leaves with MJF's diamond ring.
• Gold Standings after Week 4
  1. Konosuke Takeshita: (9 pts)
  2. MJF: (9 pts)
  3. Jack Perry: (9 pts)
  4. Eddie Kingston: (6 pts)
  5. Darby Allin: (3 pts) (eliminated from winning)
  6. Dax Harwood: (0 pts) (eliminated from winning)

Blue Block: Week 4

• Kenny Omega def. Penta El Zero Miedo
  • Kenny is looking to bounce back and secure a victory in order to stay alive in this tournament while Penta is trying to build off his win from last week and secure a victory over Omega to stay alive in this tournament and keep his momentum going. Penta shows a more hard hitting style, using precise strikes to target certain parts of Omega. In the final stretch of the match, after hearing that there is a minute left in the match, Penta abandons the arm break spot that he was teasing and picks Kenny up to attempt a Package Piledriver. However, Kenny counters out of the Package Piledriver, hits a V-trigger and follows it up with the One Winged Angel and gets the pinfall victory. Kenny celebrates his win as he is still alive and Penta is sitting in the ring, furious that he is now eliminated from winning the tournament. The ref tries to tend to Penta but Penta shoves the referee, shouting at him in spanish and looks like he may attack but Fenix comes out to calm him down. There's a tense stare between the two and then Penta superkicks the ref as he gets back to his feet. Penta storms to the back.
• Kazuchika Okada def. Chris Jericho
  • Chris Jericho cuts a pre-match promo, doing the whole style that he has been doing lately where he pretends to be a Babyface but is a Heel where he talks about how the tournament hasn't gone the way that he had hoped but he will be looking to have the biggest wins in the tournament when he beats Okada and Omega back to back. Jericho says that he will show his followers, fans, and the wrestlers in the back what it's like to be the greatest of all time and the Learning Tree. Jericho tries to use some dirty tricks to slow down Okada but in the end, after a little over 10-12 minutes, Okada wins with the Rainmaker, getting the pin. Okada is in a good spot while Jericho is still winless in this tournament as now, even he is looking frustrated.
• Ricky Starks def. Malakai Black
  • A big match with big stakes for both of these men as Black can secure his place in the finals with a win over Starks and Starks needing to win to still have a chance to win this tournament. Malakai takes most of the match but Ricky gives him a fight, nearly pinning him with a spear. In the end, Malakai Black signals to hit Black Mass but Starks counters it into a jackknife pin, 1...2...3! Starks has pulled the upset win over Black! Starks gets 3 points and keeps himself alive in this tournament and Black (who would have guaranteed himself being in the Blue League finals with a win) now has to win next week against Okada. Black is furious, spitting the black mist into the eyes of Ricky Starks, blinding him as Starks screams in pain. Malakai then hits Black Mass to Ricky, and walks to the back as referees and doctors tend to Starks.
• Blue Standings after Week 4:
  1. Kazuchika Okada: (10 pts)
  2. Malakai Black: (9 pts)
  3. Kenny Omega (7 pts)
  4. Ricky Starks (6 pts)
  5. Penta El Zero Miedo (3 pts) (eliminated from winning)
  6. Chris Jericho (0 pts) (eliminated from winning)

Gold Bock: Week 5

• Konosuke Takeshita def. Eddie Kingston
  • This is a must-win for both Takeshita and Eddie, but even more so for Eddie, who must win to have a chance (though it's a slim one anyway). Eddie comes out with a fury, trying to catch Takeshita off-guard. Takeshita goes for a lariat but misses as Kingston connects with a Spinning Back Fist (after only a minute has gone in the match) and goes for the quick, shocking pin but Takeshita kicks out at 2. The rest of the match is a hard hitting affair with Kingston refusing to stay down, even enduring some of Takeshitas best moves (Blue Thunder Bomb for a close 2-count, Spinning Falcon Arrow where Kingston gets his foot on the ropes, etc.). Kingston at another point hits a second Spinning Back fist but Takeshita rolls to the outside, avoiding the pin attempt. In the end, after attempting the Northern Lights Bomb, Takeshita counters and chop blocks Kingston's leg. Takeshita hits Eddie Kingston with the Dynamite Diamond Ring (the ref doesn't see it) and puts Kingston away, getting the pinfall victory. Takeshita and Callis celebrate the win and await their opponent for the finals and Eddie just looks crushed.
• MJF vs Darby Allin (TIME LIMIT DRAW)
  • MJF can guarantee his spot in the finals with a win over Darby but after Darby won last week, he will be looking to win again especially against a familiar foe from his past. The two go back and forth, MJF working over the arm of Darby to set up for his Salt of the Earth submission but Darby is going for high-risk moves, even hitting a few of them to get himself back in the match. MJF looks to hit a tombstone piledriver on the apron but Darby counters it into a Scorpion Death Drop (Sting's old finish) and then hits the Coffin Drop to MJF on the apron, taking both men out for a little bit. With a minute left in the match, after Darby kicked out of the Heat Seeker, Darby attempts a springboard Coffin Drop but MJF moves out of the way going and goes for a rollup pin, which Darby kicks out at 2. Darby attempts Last Supper, but MJF kicks out at 2. MJF finally is able to get Darby into the Salt of the Earth after attempting it all night, and Darby is in serious pain and trouble. Darby can't get to the ropes but refuses to tap. MJF starts to bend and twist the fingers of Darby but Darby again, refuses the tap. Commentary puts over that MJF might break the arm of Darby if Darby doesn't tap and then the bell rings. The ring announcer makes an announcement, declaring this match, a draw. MJF looks devastated, knowing that a win tonight would have guaranteed him a spot in the Gold League finals. Now, his fate is in Jack Perry's hands when he takes on Dax Harwood later in the night. MJF is pissed off backstage, trashing an area of the backstage area in frustration. Jack Perry shows up (with the Young Bucks by his side) as he laughs, telling Max that he blew it, he choked when it was all on the line. Perry said that he's going to go out there and win, and when he wins and goes to the finals, he's going to win the whole tournament and eventually become the AEW World Champion (and says that he'll be an even greater champion than MJF). Perry leaves to prepare for his match.
• Dax Harwood def. Jack Perry
  • Jack Perry is a cocky prick during this match as he thinks this is a shoe-in to win. Jack seems like he is more focused on showing off and trying to embarrass Dax rather than trying to win the match. Dax starts to fight back and give Jack some serious problems. With a minute left and feeling the pressure, Perry attempts a brainbuster but Dax turns it into a small package rollup and gets the 3-count, pinning Jack Perry! Jack Perry is shocked, now officially being eliminated from the tournament as he argues with the referee (and so do the Young Bucks as they come down to the ring). Dax leaves up the ramp and celebrates with Cash. They have succeeded in making the Elite pay.

Blue Block: Week 5

• Ricky Starks def. Penta El Zero Miedo
  • Ricky Starks needs to win to stay alive and hope for the best with the matchups later tonight as Penta is now playing the role of spoiler. Penta seems to be wrestling different than we are used to, wrestling more like a Heel focusing more on his brutality than his high flying move-set. Ricky refuses to stay down. Eventually, after being frustrated he can't put Ricky away, starts to set up his arm break spot, having the worst intentions in mind as commentary says that this could seriously injure Ricky. Before Penta can snap the arm back, Ricky counters and hits a spear. Ricky then picks Penta up without hesitation and hits Rochambeau to get the pinfall victory. Ricky celebrates his win in the ring as he has done all he can and now awaits the results (he needs Jericho to beat Omega and Okada to beat Black). Penta is as FUMING and attacks Ricky Starks after the match, hitting him with a superkick and then the Package Piledriver to Ricky. Penta has lost it, as he starts to set up the arm break spot but as a ref tries to intervene, Penta hits the ref with a Package Piledriver as well! Rey Fenix comes down to the ring and tries to once again, calm Penta down but it doesn't work as Penta has now turned on Fenix, hitting him with a Package Piledriver too (he has truly turned Heel). Ricky starts to move a little bit and Penta notices Starks. Finally, he hits his Arm Breaker (snapping the arm back, whatever the move is called), injurying Starks as he screams in pain. Commentary puts over that Penta may have just broken Ricky's arm and Penta leaves. (so, with this, if Ricky is leaving for WWE, you have an angle that writes him off for good. If Ricky decides to return to AEW, you have a story waiting for him).
• Kenny Omega def. Chris Jericho
  • This is a must-win for Kenny Omega, as he could potentially be in the finals as long as he wins tonight. Jericho says that this match is personal for him. Jericho says that not only does winning this match mean he doesn't go the whole tournament without scoring any points, but also gets revenge on the man that betrayed him and left him stranded in the tag division when he abandoned the Golden Jets (Kenny needed surgery but Jericho, being self-centered, sees it as Kenny abandoning him and being selfish while Jericho has done nothing "but be completely selfless, wanting to be a teacher and mentor, not a deserter). Jericho uses all of his dirty tricks in the book to try to beat Kenny. Jericho even successfully hits the Judas Effect on Kenny but Omega kicks out at 2.9! Jericho has the Walls of Jericho on Omega but Kenny gets out of it eventually being able to hit multiple V-triggers on Jericho. In the end, Kenny Omega is able to counter the Codebreaker, putting him in a powerbomb position but then is able to shift Jericho around on his shoulders and has him in position to hit the One Winged Angel and gets the pinfall victory. Kenny is officially in the Blue League Finals, awaiting to see who his opponent (or opponents) will be. Jericho just sits there in disbelief, he has not won any matches and has scored 0 points for the whole tournament. He looks over by ringside to see Big Bill, who is looking over at Jericho. Big Bill looks disappointed, shaking his head, and walking straight to the back, without his mentor by his side.
• Kazuchika Okada def. Malakai Black
  • This match has very high stakes as Kenny Omega is now guaranteed to be in the Blue Block finals after beating Chris Jericho. If Okada wins, then it is he and Omega facing off one-on-one in the finals of the Blue block. If Malakai Black wins this, then the Blue Block finals turns into a triple threat match of Omega, Okada, and Black. These two have a very competitive back-and-forth match as Okada looks to avoid Black Mass and the Black Mist at all times and Malakai goes after Okada's arm, targeting and weakening it to affect his finish, Rainmaker. At one point, after missing Black Mass, Okada is able to hit Rainmaker on Malakai but grabs his arm in pain after using it to hit Rainmaker (but it's also the same arm that Malakai has been targeting the whole match). Okada goes for the pin but Black has his foot on the bottom rope to break the pin right before the ref counts 3. At another point, Malakai is able to hit Black Mass out of nowhere on Okada but can't get the pin as Okada rolls out of the ring after being hit with Black Mass just before Black can go for the pin. Malakai rolls him back in the ring and goes for Black Mass again but it's countered into a Rainmaker, but that's countered into a knee strike. Black goes for a lariat but Okada counters and finally hits a second Rainmaker (again, Okada sells the pain of doing his finish) and gets the pinfall victory over Malakai Black as both men are spent. The match is official between Omega and Okada.

Final Standings (Gold and Blue):

• Gold Block:
  1. Konosuke Takeshita: (12 pts)
  2. MJF: (10 pts)
  3. Jack Perry: (9 pts)
  4. Eddie Kingston: (6 pts)
  5. Darby Allin: (4 pts)
  6. Dax Harwood: (3 pts)
• Blue Block:
  1. Kazuchika Okada: (13 pts)
  2. Kenny Omega: (10 pts)
  3. Ricky Starks: (9 pts) (breaks tiebreaker with Black)
  4. Malakai Black: (9 pts)
  5. Penta El Zero Miedo (3 pts)
  6. Chris Jericho: (0 pts)

Gold Block Finals:

• MJF def. Konosuke Takeshita
  • In an interview before the show, MJF addresses Takeshita by his real name (no longer calls him "Take-a-shit-a") and says that he has gotten so much better since their last encounter, but with everything on the line, he won't be able to put down the Devil. These two open the very special episode of Dynamite, "Winter is Coming". They have another great match, throwing everything they have at each other to try to put their opponent away. Takeshita comes very close, but in the end, after failing to hit MJF with the Diamond Ring, MJF makes Takeshita tap to the Salt of the Earth. Post-match, MJF takes his ring back.

Blue Block Finals:

• Kenny Omega def. Kazuchika Okada
  • These two have a face-to-face backstage with the theme of the encounter being, who is the true "best bout machine". These two have a classic that they are absolutely capable multiple times over of having as they also main event a special episode of Dynamite, "Winter is Coming". Omega and Okada again go a long-time and nearly go to another time limit draw. This match comes down who will make the first mistake. After a long battle, Kenny wins with the One-Winged Angel, putting away his biggest rival and going to the finals.

Continental Classic Finals: AEW World's End

• Kenny Omega def. MJF
  • The match is very similar to their first match on Collision. These two hit each other with everything they have, even showing some new moves that we haven't seen them hit. In the end, after going for the One Winged Angel for the entire match, Kenny finally hits it on MJF and gets the pinfall victory. Kenny has won the Continental Classic. They shake hands and then MJF nails Kenny with a low blow and leaves.

(MJF goes on to be a heel from this and Kenny Omega will face Will Ospreay in the main event of Revolution for the AEW World Championship)
What did you think? Did you like it? Did you not like it? What did you specifically like or dislike about it? Let me know!

Week 3: Villanelles and Ekphrastic Poetry - Lecture and Discussion
Objective: - Explore the structured repetition of villanelles and the visual inspiration of ekphrastic poetry. - Understand the fixed form of villanelles and their emotional impact. - Discuss the interplay between visual art and written expression in ekphrastic poetry.
Day 1: Introduction to Villanelles - Lecture: - Definition and characteristics of villanelles. - Explanation of the ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA rhyme scheme.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. What intrigues you about the structured repetition of villanelles?
  2. Why is the ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA rhyme scheme significant in villanelles?
  3. Can you think of any famous villanelles or poets known for this style?

Day 2: Analyzing Villanelles - Part 1 - Lecture: - In-depth analysis of classic villanelles. - Exploration of the emotional impact through repetition.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. How does the repetition in the villanelles contribute to their emotional resonance?
  2. What themes or emotions are effectively conveyed through this structured form?
  3. Share your thoughts on the impact of repetition on the reader.

Day 3: Analyzing Villanelles - Part 2 - Lecture: - Discussing modern variations and themes in villanelles. - Exploring the versatility of the form.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. How have modern villanelles evolved in terms of themes and structure?
  2. In what ways does the fixed form of a villanelle challenge or enhance creativity?
  3. Share examples of emotions or themes that might work well in a villanelle.

Day 4: Crafting Villanelles - Part 1 - Lecture: - Step-by-step guide on crafting the first four lines of a villanelle. - Emphasis on creating a strong thematic foundation.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. What challenges do you anticipate in crafting the first four lines of a villanelle?
  2. How can you establish a strong thematic foundation within this repetition?
  3. Share examples of themes or emotions suitable for a villanelle.

Day 5: Crafting Villanelles - Part 2 - Lecture: - Step-by-step guide on crafting the final three lines of a villanelle. - Emphasis on creating resolution and impact.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. Why is the final three-line structure crucial in providing resolution in a villanelle?
  2. How can a villanelle evoke a sense of completeness within the repeated lines?
  3. Share and discuss individual villanelles, highlighting successful elements.

Homework Assignment: - Craft a villanelle focusing on a theme or emotion that lends itself well to repetition.
Study Guide Questions: 1. Reflect on the challenges of crafting the first four lines of your villanelle. How did you establish a strong thematic foundation? 2. How did you approach creating resolution and impact in the final three lines of your villanelle? 3. What insights did you gain from the process of crafting a villanelle?
Quiz: Assessment on the understanding of villanelles, the ABA rhyme scheme, and the emotional impact of repetition.
Day 6: Introduction to Ekphrastic Poetry - Lecture: - Definition and characteristics of ekphrastic poetry. - Explanation of the relationship between visual art and written expression.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. What interests you about the interplay between visual art and poetry in ekphrastic works?
  2. How might visual stimuli enhance or influence the creative writing process?
  3. Can you think of any famous ekphrastic poems or poets known for this style?

Day 7: Analyzing Ekphrastic Poetry - Part 1 - Lecture: - In-depth analysis of classic ekphrastic poems. - Exploration of how poets respond to visual stimuli.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. How does the visual inspiration impact the themes and imagery in ekphrastic poetry?
  2. What unique perspectives or insights can arise from responding to visual art?
  3. Share your thoughts on the relationship between the visual and the written in ekphrastic works.

Day 8: Analyzing Ekphrastic Poetry - Part 2 - Lecture: - Discussing modern variations and themes in ekphrastic poetry. - Exploring the diverse ways poets engage with visual art.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. How have modern poets expanded the themes and approaches in ekphrastic poetry?
  2. In what ways does the incorporation of visual art broaden the possibilities in written expression?
  3. Share examples of visual art that you believe would inspire compelling ekphrastic poems.

Day 9: Crafting Ekphrastic Poetry - Part 1 - Lecture: - Step-by-step guide on responding to visual art in writing. - Emphasis on capturing the essence and emotion of the artwork.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. What challenges do you anticipate in responding to visual art with written expression?
  2. How can you capture the essence and emotion of an artwork in your ekphrastic poem?
  3. Share examples of artworks that you find particularly inspiring.

Day 10: Crafting Ekphrastic Poetry - Part 2 - Lecture: - Discussing the role of personal interpretation and creativity in ekphrastic poetry. - Exploring the potential for multiple ekphrastic responses to a single artwork.

• Discussion Questions:
  1. How does personal interpretation influence the creative process in ekphrastic poetry?
  2. In what ways can multiple poets respond differently to the same piece of visual art?
  3. Share and discuss individual ekphrastic poems, highlighting successful elements.

Homework Assignment: - Craft an ekphrastic poem in response to a chosen piece of visual art.
Study Guide Questions: 1. Reflect on the challenges of responding to visual art with written expression in your ekphrastic poem. How did you capture the essence and emotion? 2. How did personal interpretation shape your creative process in crafting an ekphrastic poem? 3. What insights did you gain from the process of crafting an ekphrastic poem?
Quiz: Assessment on the understanding of ekphrastic poetry, the relationship between visual art and written expression, and the creative possibilities in responding to visual stimuli.