I'm a late 30s woman who has always had trying relationships with my immediate family. I have one sibling (an older sister) and my mom and dad are still married. My father is an alcoholic who was absent from most family matters and has been physically abusive to my mom. My mom suffers with major codependency issues, anorexia, and her own substance abuse problems. My sister demonstrates a lot of borderline personality disorder characteristics but has never been diagnosed. She has also physically and psychologically abused me. I went no contact with my sister 10 years ago because I could no longer tolerate being bullied and threatened by her. Since I've been an adult, I've done my best to put physical distance between myself and my family. But in my late 20s, my mom tried to re-enter my life and as her daughter and someone who admittedly still desperately wanted her love, I let her back in. A mistake.
My mom would torment me as a child, often going months without speaking to me if I did something she didn't like or if I wasn't able to predict what she wanted without her telling me. I would literally ask her a question and watch her pick her things up and leave the room to avoid talking to me. I watched her suffer at the hands of my dad but take her rage out on my sister and me, with either this kind of silent treatment or verbal abuse. The worst was when she and my sister would gang up on me and invent things to ostracize me with, like that I was on drugs (when I was literally 11 and in their presence all the time, like, what drugs could I have been doing, lol) or that I was a "tramp" (again, 11). They called me helpless, weak, stupid, slow, etc. and destroyed my self esteem at an already difficult age. My sister would make screen names on AIM (the 90s lol) and talk to my classmates to repeat this weird shit to them, too. When I caught her and confronted my family with this information, they told me it was my fault and I was punished. I learned I couldn't trust them, which hurt so badly and made me feel hopeless. I've struggled with depression since, but as an adult I prioritized my mental health and did a lot of really difficult work to make myself into a person I'm proud of now.
My mom and dad made a major scene at my college graduation fighting with each other so I don't even really remember it. I just knew it was finally my time to get away once and for all. I got a great job in NYC in my field and was making plans to move there when my mom confronted me. She told me I was a loser, that I broke my father's heart when I went to college far away (news to me, he almost never talked to me), and that she would see me in six months when I failed. I ended up staying there for over 10 years building a career with a lot of effort. I even saved up enough money to put a down payment on an apartment with, which my dad came through and helped me with financially too. I still own the apartment even though I've since relocated and got married (more on that soon).
My mom worked her way back into my life in my late 20s by telling me that she was going to file for divorce and was getting her own place. Even though we hadn't resolved our issues, I was so happy that she was making positive choices that I let those things go and did my best to help her. She went about it in a very odd way, which was to move out, not tell my father or sister where she was going or why, and to make me the only person who knew what was going on. She also has a large immediate family and they didn't know what was happening either. So I felt a huge responsibility to help her as I was the only one she was trusting with this new plan for her life. And by the way, in the months when she was "missing" like this, my dad never asked once where she was to me or my sister. Or my mom! He just carried his life on as usual. Bizarre.
But soon her plans became less important than her being able to complain to me about my dad and all of their many problems. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard as a child, but it still had the power to make me feel pity for her and want to help her. I visited frequently from NYC, made us plans to do fun things together, and showed her some of the books that helped me work through depression and my own relationship issues. And then suddenly one day, she announced that she was moving back in with him. I was disappointed but I also know it takes a lot of tries to truly separate from an abusive relationship so I didn't give up on her. She moved out another time -- same story, another vanishing act that only I knew about -- only to return home after a few months with no explanation to me. I want to say this cycle repeated at least three times but I genuinely lost track.
I found a partner who treated me with love, kindness and respect and we dated for about four years before I made the decision to relocate with him to the west coast. We recently got married and it was the best choice I ever made. We're celebrating our one year anniversary soon and things are truly only getting better. I feel like I hit the jackpot. The only thing is, it's made things even worse in my family somehow. I asked my parents if they'd like to participate in our wedding and my dad seemed interested, but my mom withdrew again and started a new disappearing act. She was living with my dad again and suddenly I was public enemy number 1. I asked if she'd like to meet my partner and she declined. I asked her if she'd like to visit and she declined, angrily saying that where I was living was unsafe (literally the suburbs lol) and that she wouldn't set foot there. And she later told me she'd "catch up with me at a later time" if I did decide to get married. That was so, so painful. I knew we were at another crossroads, like we were when I initially moved to NYC, and that she hadn't learned or changed at all in all of those 20 years.
It's also worth noting that when my sister got engaged, she went and hid in the shower for about 4 hours rather than coming down and congratulating her. So there's that.
I decided to preserve my sanity and protect my new family by having a small ceremony on the west coast. I was so insanely blessed to have very good friends who I've been close to for years come and support me, and his family was amazing too. It was so painful to be asked where my family was, but it was also something I realized I had been explaining away my whole life. Something in my brain clicked that day.
It's always been more important to my mom to be a victim of life than to take any responsibility in her own choices. My dad is no angel and I don't exactly have sympathy for him, but he's been showing her who he is their entire relationship and she will not stop believing he's actually different. I don't know why he won't leave her, but he has also never made this my problem. She will not do anything to help herself. My mom has outsourced her happiness to me and my sister, pushing us to always be the best, get into the best schools, be the most successful, always moving the goal posts, etc. but when we actually achieved those things she would talk shit on us (in front of us) to anyone who would listen. And then she tried making it my responsibility to help her when she wanted out. She made her relationship with a man who doesn't like her our problem for our entire lives. It robbed us of space for so many things, including support for my sister whose BPD I can't help but see as rooted in our tumultuous environment. Because my sister only sees the world in black and white terms, she sees me as trying to destroy our family by being supportive to our mom in her choice to separate. And my relationships with extended family are almost nonexistent because no one else can find a way to deal with my mom -- when she even deigns to answer the phone for them -- and it makes them feel awkward around us.
And so I'm really looking at myself and the times I've chosen to abdicate responsibility in favor of being "the victim." It's hard work, and I've spent a lot (a LOT) of time and money in therapy trying to sort myself out. It wasn't fair to be put in a situation as a child where my physical, emotional, and psychological wellbeing were constantly jeopardized. It wasn't fair that she encouraged my sister to bully me. And it's definitely not fair to feel rejected by her again because I married a man who actually likes me. I wrestled with a lot through the years with the violence between my mom and dad, always feeling like I could fix it, I had to fix it, as a child, a young woman, an adult. And this spilled over into my adult life as becoming a people pleaser, a fixer, etc. But the truth is they were the adults. They had many, many people in their lives they could reach out to for help. But they made their health and happiness their childrens' responsibility. A lot of my friends have kids now, and I look at these little kids and realize exactly how ridiculous it was to bully a child, your own child, plus expect them to solve all your own problems. I never want to put my "happiness" on anyone else in such a suffocating way. I can see where their putdowns on me as a kid were total projection now -- that I was selfish, useless, worthless, etc. -- because that's how they truly felt about themselves. Pathetic.
Mother's Day brought a lot of these feelings up for me and I feel like I'm moving in the right direction, but I still needed to get this off my chest somewhere anonymously to just feel like I was releasing it.
The last time I talked to my mom she was asking if she could move into my NYC apartment. You know, in the place where she said I'd fail in six months?
I said no.

Two years ago, I had just moved to a new house from a different neighbourhood for work. I was settling in and getting used to the place, but I was still lonely and went through bouts of depression.
My ex-boyfriend of five years had ended the relationship a while before I moved, and I wasn't having much luck going on dates. I eventually decided to focus my energy into work and fitness instead, but the loneliness lingered. The house still felt empty at times, and the silence was painful. I went through the motions numbly as the days passed by.
About two months after I had moved in, I started noticed a stray dog pacing around my front yard from time to time. It had big, brown, sad eyes, and there was no collar around its neck. I couldn't tell you what breed it was - a reverse Google image search tells me it looks like an Indian Pariah dog. I could always recognize it, as its left eye was slightly larger and darker than the right, but that gave it some unique charm. After seeing it outside my front door for three days straight, I put up some posters along my street inviting anyone who might have lost a dog to call me. I quickly learned that I probably shouldn't have done that, after getting a few silent calls from an unknown number that I eventually chalked up to being a prankster or some scammer.
I called a local animal shelter and them pictures of the dog. A guy came over to scan the dog for a microchip, but found nothing. He said it was most likely abandoned as a puppy. He could take it back to the shelter, or I could look after it for the time being - they would contact me if anyone ever tried to claim it. My grandad had a german shepherd that I used to love playing with, so I always had a soft spot for dogs and agreed to look after it, even if it was for a while. The guy from the animal shelter advised that if I didn't hear back in a week, I should take it to the vet to get it checked out and microchipped, or to the shelter if I didn't want to keep it.
I took care of the dog and let it roam around the living room, with free access to the back yard. I decided to name him Charlie, and purchased more dog food, a labelled dog collar, some brushes to groom him with and dog toys. The nearest vet was a two hour drive away. Work was busy so I wasn't incredibly flexible for a visit, but I managed to get an appointment booked in two weeks' time.
The first night I spent with Charlie, I realized that he might just be what I needed in my life. Late in the evening, I sat on the couch looking at him, sitting quietly in the middle of the room on my wooden floor. I began talking out loud to Charlie. It seemed stupid at first, but the way he sat quietly and listened was comforting. After a while, I got more into it, and vented about my loneliness and frustrations to the point of tears.
How I stayed with my cheating, gaslighting ex-boyfriend because I was too insecure to be alone, until he dumped me. All my failed dates, and how I thought I would die alone and unloved. I poured my heart out to my new companion, spilling my deepest secrets until I cried myself to sleep. The next day, I again began talking to Charlie about the pain and depression I had been through, and he listened patiently once more. I discovered that spending time with my new friend was cathartic. Perhaps I needed to get it all out, and be listened to for once, even if not fully understood.
The third day after I had taken Charlie in, I woke up to realize that I'd overslept half an hour. I poured some food into Charlie's bowl and brushed my teeth at lightning speed, then grabbed my bag and flung the door open, ready to bolt into my car. A surprise greeted me at the front door, that made me stop.
There was a bouquet of red and pink roses on my front door step.
I picked it up and looked at it, confused. There was no note attached or anything. I couldn't think of who it would be from - I obviously hadn't been on any dates recently. Being late for work, I didn't have much time to ponder, so I dropped the roses back on my doorstep and drove off. During the drive, I panicked for a second at the thought that it could have been my ex, but then realized he didn't know my new address, or even that I had moved. The mystery bugged me all day at work. When I came back home, the roses were gone, so I assumed someone had accidentally left them at the wrong address.
That night, I woke to the sound of creaking. As I opened my eyes slightly, I saw something at the foot of my bed and bolted upright, adrenaline rushing through me. As the fogginess faded, my heart rate settled a little.
"It’s just you, Charlie," I sighed, "you scared me."
Charlie continued to stare at me from the foot of my bed. After a minute, he stood up and left the room. I didn't think much of it, and fell back asleep.
For the next week, I continued the usual ritual of talking to Charlie before I went to bed. I would talk about my day, my plans, hopes, dreams and other such things. I found our one way conversations getting more positive each day - they were very therapeutic. Charlie would always stare at me with those big brown eyes and sit quietly still as I talked.
On the morning of the vet appointment, for which I had taken the day off work, I noticed that my car was much cleaner than usual. Had it always been this shiny? I thought. I had driven it to work the Friday before, but I hadn't taken notice of how clean it was then. The last time I had, I could swear there were bird droppings on the back window, and some general grime that covered it all round, but it was now spotless. I pondered for a few seconds, and came to the conclusion that it must've just be a brain lapse on my part - it was probably always clean. Those droppings must have washed away over time with a few rainy nights.
I drove Charlie down to the vet and explained the story of how I'd found him.
"He's very well behaved," she beamed, as she began examining Charlie on the table. "We see a few of these cases from time to time. People's dogs have puppies, and they get sold or abandoned."
"It's a real shame," I sighed. "Charlie's been a star, I'm lucky to have him really. I live alone, so as odd as it sounds, I've been talking to him and it's helped me through some difficult moments."
"That's not strange at all," replied the vet, checking his teeth. "Owning a dog can do wonders for your mental health, especially if you live alo-"
She suddenly stopped.
I stared as she squinted and moved Charlie's head up and down, trying to get a look at something. She plucked a light out of her pocket and aimed it into Charlie's left eye.
"What's wrong?" I asked. She didn't answer, and kept looking at Charlie from different angles. He whimpered slightly.
"Did his eye look like this when you found him?" She asked. I leaned in closer.
"Yeah, I did notice his left eye was slightly darker and larger than his right."
She looked at me for a second and raised her eyebrows, then back at Charlie.
"I'd like to get a closer look at his eye and examine it in the next room, if that's okay?"
"Uh, sure," I said, confused.
Without further explanation, she hastily picked Charlie up and carried him off into a different room. I sat down and waited, reading the news on my phone, expecting her to be back in a few minutes. However, when the vet didn’t come back for a while, my concern began to grow. I paced around the room and tried to glance into the door she had left through a few times.
Then I sat back down and watched the minutes pass by, getting more anxious. Hopefully it's nothing, I thought to myself. An easily curable eye infection perhaps, or a defect he was born with - hopefully it was something like that or nothing. I'd only spent a few weeks with Charlie, but he was the best friend I'd ever had. I had told him so much about me, and he was the only one that had ever really listened to me. I had grown very attached to him quickly, so I almost felt like a worried parent, blaming myself for not bringing him to the vet sooner.
An hour and a half passed, but it felt like eternity. The vet finally came back through the door. I stood up.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Have you noticed any odd events recently?" she asked, "Like, anything you couldn't explain?"
"To do with Charlie?"
"No, just in general. Anything you've seen or heard around you that felt out of place in your life?" She insisted. I took a second to think.
"I'm pretty sure this isn't gonna be relevant," I said, "But I have a couple of times. For instance, this morning I thought my car was a lot cleaner than usual. I've been getting some unknown calls, and hearing some creaking noises at night lately, but I'm sure it's just Charlie walking around and waking me up. And… someone left roses on my front doorstep one day. Didn't say from who, but… Sorry, I'm not sure why I'm even telling you this."
I looked up at the vet, who now had a very concerned look on her face.
"I'm going to have to call the police," she said.
It took a few seconds to register. A million thoughts started racing through my mind. Did I say something wrong? Did she think I was abusing Charlie?
"I swear," I said, "Everything I've told you is true, I'm really sorry it took me so long to bring him in, it's my first time owning a dog and all…"
"No, no, it's not that," she said. She gestured for me to follow her into the room through the door.
Charlie was sitting on a table in the middle of the room. There were a few other tables surrounding it, with dog toys and surgical equipment on them. There was a large hole where his left eye had been, now a gaping black cavity.
The vet pointed at a sheet of blue paper on a table next to the one Charlie was on. There were two black domes resting on it, like two halves of a black ping pong ball had been split in half. A clear fluid was covering the outer sides, and staining the blue paper. There was also a tiny black cube. I looked closer, and saw some red and green wires coming out of the tube.
"I took this out of Charlie's left eye," the vet explained, "I thought my eyes were fooling me, but I took a closer look and was sure this thing definitely shouldn't have been in his head. When I took it out, I thought it was some kind of prosthetic eye, until I heard something moving inside it. I opened it up, and found this."
She pointed at the tiny cube and picked it up with some tweezers, revealing a transparent circular window on one side.
"Now I'm no expert, but I took that apart just now and to me it looked a lot like the inside of a camera lens you'd get on a smartphone."
She looked back at me.
"Do you think…" She paused.
"Do you think it's possible someone could have been watching you for the past few days?"
The police were eventually called and an investigation started. The tiny device inside Charlie's eye was indeed a camera lens with a built in audio recording device, and it had a wireless connection. It was an advanced piece of kit, but with some technical expertise they were able to examine its traffic logs and identify an IP address to which the miniature device was streaming.
That IP address belonged to my neighbor, who lived in the house opposite to mine.
I had never seen him leave the house before, although when I moved in I did see his silhouette in the top floor window a couple of times. He was a fifty five year old balding, slightly overweight man who worked as an engineer, but otherwise lived a reclusive lifestyle. I later found out that he had multiple restraining orders placed against him from ex partners. He had a collection of tiny bugging devices which he had been planting in various places including public women's bathrooms for years. These devices could livestream video and audio to his computer, and in his spare time he would watch and listen to this footage he collected.
A while before I moved into the house, he had purchased a puppy from someone he knew, and kept it as a pet without registering it. I assume he got bored of spying on women in bathroom stalls, and when he saw me move into the house opposite, he suddenly got a wild idea of how he could get a peek at something more intimate. The rest is some truly horrific history.
Charlie had been in my room while I slept and even a couple of times while I undressed. But worst of all, I had told him everything about me. The names of previous partners, things about my family, companies I had worked for and more. I wish I could say that I kept Charlie, but I just couldn't. Not after that. The vet arranged for him to be sent to the animal shelter where I'm glad to say he eventually did find a new home. I also relocated and changed my phone number.
For anyone out there wondering, I'm still single. The difference is that nowadays, I'm completely at peace with being alone. I've experienced a worse alternative, that's for sure.

I take excellent care of my ink in the sun and always have. However, I have a family event coming up and I don't want to look like the girl version of the ghost in Mike Tyson Mysteries.
I previously only had black ink, but in the past 6 months I've gotten two pieces with white in them.
If I avoid the white pieces, is it a bad idea to use a bit of self-tanner? Is it bad that it will wash out in the shower later, theoretically rinsing across the white bits as well?
I was thinking that any accidental discoloring would only be on the surface and would wash off normally, but I sure as hell don't want to take any chances. Can anyone give me any insight?

If you’d told me that the visitation with my son, an event that happened only every other weekend, would be extended indefinitely, I would’ve jumped with joy. In the end, I wish the circumstances under which they unfolded had never happened.
The clouds were sightless in the clear sky the day Jasmine dropped off my boy, a perfect day to play a little catch in the yard or go fishing at the nearby stock pond. Cyrus bounced out of the car and ran joyously toward me, unaware that his old man was a perpetual fuck up that had broken up the family in the first place. Oh well.
It was a happy day, the birds sang their old nostalgic tunes of a lost Summer in my own childhood. It was warm, not too warm, and the neighborhood was buzzing with excitement as the Spring showers had come to a close. It was as close as it could get to perfect.
The evening light danced against the tree tops, turning a violet hue as dusk began to settle in. Burnt orange water reflected the dying sun as it continued sinking away to nothing. We grabbed our tackle box, the giant beige one my uncle gifted me before he was stolen by cancer, and filled it with the empty, crumpled up bits of plastic that once held bologna sandwiches. As I said, it was a perfect day, very reminiscent of my own childhood.
We’d thrown the fat bluegill back that we had caught, I hadn’t felt like messing with cleaning and cooking them. Instead, dinner would likely be mac n’ cheese with some cut up hot dogs, a staple in my household whether or not Cyrus was visiting. Hopefully I hadn’t run through Oscar Meyer supply.
Home never felt so lonely, the walls never seemed so barren of old family pictures when Cyrus wasn’t around. Sometimes, he only added to the pain. I would never tell him that, though.
Even with the faucet turned all the way up, the water dribbled out and made boiling pasta a very patient game. Cyrus was babbling about some game he was playing on my phone. ‘He’s just a kid’, I thought, and pretended to be interested in whatever the hell he was talking about.
The sun had vanished and the moon was especially bright that night, having slid nearly halfway to its crescendo before dinner was finally done. Cyrus had stolen my phone to the living room, staring at the bright characters absentmindedly as a nondescript Netflix show played in the background.
“Here, buddy, sorry about the wait”, I sat the bowl of neon yellow stuff in front of him, the pink scramble of hotdog jutting out made me feel… a little ashamed? I plopped down next to him and flipped through the various titles on Netflix, most of which I had already seen a couple of times. Cyrus tossed the phone aside and picked at the mess of ‘food’ in the bowl. I can’t remember if he took a bite or not.
“Dad!”, I jumped, reeling from the doze I had fallen in. If Jasmine was here, it would’ve been such a perfect day, such a perfect day. Instead, this is where it all fell apart.
He massaged furiously at his temples, his knees pulled tight against his heaving chest.
“What’s the matter, are you okay?”, I jumped from the couch and got on one knee, putting my hands around his shoulders. I watched helplessly as Cyrus twisted and contorted his body, trying to run away from whatever pain was in his head.
Suddenly he fell still.
I studied him for a while, nearly on the verge of tears as his body had become totally limp. Then, a noise. At first it was quiet, then it grew and grew until it filled the room with totality. It’s hard to describe that noise, almost like a wind turbine if you were up close to it.
From behind the couch, just above my sons head, it peeked at me. Its thick, black fingers ended at sharp, nailess points. Just as I met its eyes, it slithered behind the couch and that’s when Cyrus awoke in a screaming fit.
I jumped awake again, Cyrus sitting next to me as pale as a sheet. His eyes were bulging, glued to the blank TV ahead.
I couldn’t help but check behind the couch, to make sure it wasn’t still there. Then, to my son who was still staring at the nothing on the television. His mouth was hanging open, just enough to allow the continuous stream of drool to fall out.
I ran to the kitchen to grab a paper towel and cleaned the odd amount of drool from his chin. There wasn’t a thermometer in the house but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that he was burning up. A fever, I thought.
I carried the boy to his bedroom, feeling as though I was being watched the entire way, and tucked him into bed. A doctors visit would soon be on the horizon. I returned to the couch in the living room, careful to keep my gaze fixed on the TV and nothing else. Truthfully, I was too afraid to look in the shadowy corners.
That night was filled with nightmares.
The next day I rang Jasmine, letting her know that Cy was sick and needed to go to the doctor. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been an issue, but Jas was immunocompromised (she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before we divorced) and my son would be staying with me for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t complain, I didn’t get to see him nearly enough as it was.
That day was very much the opposite of the previous, the sky was gloomy and spits of rain fell consistently from dawn to nightfall.
The doctor had said that Cyrus had a particularly severe ear infection, but nothing that some antibiotics couldn’t fix. He sent us home with a tube of the stuff, my wallet noticeably lighter.
“Apply some of this twice a day, once in the morning and once before bedtime”, the older gentleman had said. He squeezed my shoulder and smiled, though there seemed to be something else behind his wary eyes.
He stopped me again as I turned to leave.
“Sir…”, he started, though he seemed to study his words carefully, “your son kept mentioning something he called the flumes”.
I shrugged, the only time I had heard the word was in reference to a ravine on the edge of town where we’d all smoke pot in high school. Nothing struck me as odd about it at the time.
“They come from the flumes, those noises, those noises, he kept saying”, the doctor pushed closer, his eyes growing wild. I stepped backward, tugging at Cy’s hand as we left the building wordlessly.
Aside from my busy mind, the car ride home was utterly silent. I could hear my boys heavy, labored breaths all the way from the backseat. ‘Inner ear infection, my ass’, I thought.
After laying Cyrus back down for bed, I fixed him a bowl of instant chicken and noodles and decided to give Jasmine a call. The phone rang endlessly before the robotic voice indicated that the caller wasn’t available. I tried once more but gave up after it rang a few more times. Probably sleeping.
I returned to the couch, deciding to rewatch Nightmare on Elm Street for the fourth or fifth time.
After a while, I decided to put on cable, growing tired of the listless titles on Netflix. I was never too interested in the local news, but today seemed as good as any to catch up on the towns happenings. The Grantfield Gators girls softball team had advanced to sectionals and one of the townsfolk were celebrating their 100th birthday.
A ‘Breaking News’ graphic slid below the frazzled newslady on the television. Wherever she was, it sure looked familiar.
‘Wild dog shits on mayors front yard’, I laughed at my own stupid joke and surely turned as white as Cyrus had the previous night as the lady on the TV continued.
“A local woman was found tied to a tree and disemboweled at the scene. Police are saying various symbols were branded all over the womans body, and the material used to bind her to the Elm tree was ‘of unusual property’”, she continued on for a while but I hadn’t noticed, the air had fallen heavy and that familiar warbling had filled the room again.
Heavy footsteps slammed up the staircase at an otherworldly pace. Up the staircase and towards my sons room.
I ran, I swear I ran as fast as I could but I knew… I knew.
When I got to his room, he was gone, the curtains blowing aimlessly in the wind as the window had been slammed open so hard that the glass had shattered in the panes. The bowl of chicken and noodles sat on the bedside table, untouched.
I tried calling Jasmine again and again and again. Still, no answer.
I wanted to write this, to whoever may be reading, so that you know where to look if I don’t return. I know where my son is, I know where Jasmine is.
The flumes took them, or whatever might be lurking in it.

As we are getting a trailer for a much changed version of the Second Age today, I decided I would share what a first season in a series might look like for the story of Tolkien’s Second Age, while staying very close to the timeline and characters. I’ve taken some ideas I’ve seen from other creators who have made similar attempts at this, namely Council of Rings and Tolkien Untangled, but most are my own. As of now I’m not aware of a complete outline that exists for the first season of this sort of adaptation. In any case, this outline is essentially a summary of a complete text with 10 chapters that exists but is still in progress.
I’ve split the season into 10 episodes, as I think that’s ideal, and into pairs of 3-episode arcs I call Sagas, which will cover certain time periods. But each of these sagas will more or less function like a contained story, following certain characters during periods of their lives. And each is about 3 episodes between 50-60 minutes, meaning each is the length of a long film.
I started with a compressed timeline where season 1 would take place between 1200-1600, starting with the year Annatar arrives in Ost-in-Edhil. In this timeline Tar-Aldarion would essentially switch places with Tar-Surion. I think that the actual canon timeline allows for a very interesting look at the differences in passage of time between elves, Númenoreans, and Middle Men. It's more challenging but also more rewarding. The drawbacks of the canon timeline are that Aldarion dies close to mid-season, whereas in the compressed timeline we could follow Aldarion as he ages throughout the season. Therefore the whole season takes place between SA 725 and SA 1600.
That being said, there are still a few alterations and non-canon additions. The big alteration is that Annatar steals the nine when he leaves Eregion around SA 1500, instead of when he destroys Ost-in-Edhil around SA 1695. The other non-canon additions are Middle Men characters, which there are few examples during this time period, that Annatar can begin to seduce with the Rings of Power.
This was just a bunch of fun for me, but I hope this effort will demonstrate that we can have a great story that stays faithful to Tolkien’s timeline and characters.

Sagas of the Second Age: Season 1
Saga 1 (Episodes 1-3): The Mariner (covering events from SA 725-750)
Elrond. In the first prologue scene around SA 440, Elros as an old man arrives in Mithlond to visit his brother Elrond. Elros is fulfilling a promise to Elrond to visit him when he senses death is near. The two brothers spend time together before Elros departs back for Númenor.
Aldarion. Three hundred years later around SA 725 in Númenor, Aldarion and Erendis witness the corination of his father Tar-Meneldur in Armenelos. The next day, Aldarion sets out from Númenor with his grandfather to spend a year at the court of High King Gil-galad, but he is told by Meneldur not to go beyond Mithlond. Eventually, Aldarion decides to travel outside Mithlond, against his father’s wishes. Elrond offers to join him, seeing an opportunity to spend time with his brother’s descendant. Together they discover the dwarf cities of Ered Luin, and then the future site of Vinyalondë at the mouth of the Gwathló. Aldarion discovers the that the Men of Middle-earth are not as evil as he was told by his family in Númenor, and that some even speak the same language of the Edain that he does. Elrond and Aldarion then travel to Amroth’s kingdom in Belfalas. While Amroth is showing Aldarion the black lands of Mordor in the distance, they are ambushed by orcs, and narrowly escape with their lives. Before departing back for Númenor, Aldarion says goodbye to his new friend Elrond and the High King Gil-galad. Back in Númenor, Aldarion meets Erendis again and proposes to her. She asks if he is done with his travels, he says he is, and she accepts.
High King Gil-galad. Gil-galad endeavors to heal the trauma of Middle-earth. While Aldarion is travelling the lands of Middle-earth, he goes to settle a conflict between kingdoms of Gwaithirum and Breeland. A battle ensues between these kingdoms of Men and Gil-galad is unable to stop it. Before Aldarion departs back for Númenor, Gil-galad tells him that he would very much welcome his help in mediating the conflicts of the tribes of Middle-earth, as Aldarion speaks their language. Gil-galad perceives the return of the shadow of Morgoth, and departs to discover the source.
Galadriel. By lake Evendim, Galadriel admits Celebrimbor into her company. Despite the history of their families and some initial distrust between them, they realize they have a shared vision for continuing the great works of Gondolin. Together they discover the dwarf kingdom of Kazad-dûm. Galadriel is able to convince the dwarves of the mutual benefit of their cooperation in crafting. Durin III is eventually convinced, he agrees to allow and to help with the establishment of the future capital of Eregion: Ost-in-Edhil. There the works of the Noldor and dwarves will benefit each other for many centuries.

Saga 2 (Episodes 4-6): The Stirring of Númenor (Covering events from SA 1075-1350)
Elrond. About three hundred years later in SA 1075, Elrond arrives in Númenor to see his friend, now king, Tar-Aldarion. He is also tasked to ask the Númenoreans to prepare for war, as Gil-galad is now certain of the return of the shadow of Morgoth. Tar-Aldarion, now an old man, has reached an age where he must yeild the sceptre, in the tradition of the Kings of Númenor. He decides to leave Númenor’s official response to Elrond as a decision to his sucessor. Aldarion has only had one daughter Ancalimë with Erendis, and it is clear that there has been much friction in the marriage. His sister’s son Soronto is the nearest male heir. This situation causes a conflict in Armenelos between supporters of Soronto and supporters of Ancalimë, also between those who want to heed Gil-galad's call and those who don't. Ancalimë is seen as the elf-friend, while Soronto is staunchly against the armament of Númenor. Aldarion decides to change the law succession in Númenor in favor of Ancalimë. When Ancalimë is crowned, she reverses her initial position to heed Gil-galad, and decides to preserve Númenor as a land of peace.
Galadriel. Ost-in-Edhil is a great city now, and both elves and dwarves are seen thriving. A visitor from Aman arrives who calls himself Annatar. He demonstrates himself to be akin to the Noldor in his love and expertise with crafts, and says he was a student of Aüle. He wins the favor of Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the crafter's guild, and soon becomes the favored partner of Celebrimbor. As the friction between Galadriel and Annatar increases, Annatar moves the Gwaith-i-Mírdain turn on Galadriel. She decides to depart to Lórinand by route of Kazad-dûm with her daughter Celebrían, while Celeborn stays behid in Eregion. Galadriel is graciously welcomed in Kazad-dûm, and her relationship with the dwarves grows greater. At last, she arrives in Lórinand and meets the King Amdír.

Saga 3 (Episodes 7-9): The Rings of Power (covering events from SA 1500-1590)
Celebrimbor. More than a hundred years later, sixteen Rings of Power are forged in Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mírdain agree that seven of the rings should be gifted to the dwarven kings, as a token of thanks for their help in building Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor, however, decides that the rings are too dangerous for Men. Annatar and Celebrimbor have a heated disagreement on this point, and Annatar accuses Celebrimbor of withholding the bliss of Aman from Middle-earth. Annatar absconds with the remaining nine rings. Sensing that he has been deceived, Celebrimbor crafts the Three in secret. He gives two to Gil-galad, and the remaining to Galadriel, and admits that he was wrong to doubt her.
Gil-galad. Minastir, the heir of Númenor, stays in the halls of Gil-galad as Aldarion once did. Minastir meets with the descendants of the Middle Men Adlarion befriended, though many more generations have passed for them than for Minastir. Aldarion’s travels are a tale that some believe to be myth. Gil-galad and Minastir travel the lands of Eriador and mediate the conflicts of Middle Men.
Elrond. Elrond travels to Númenor for the first time in several hundred years on order of High King Gil-galad to implore once more that the Númenóreans to prepare for war. Tar-Teleprian, the second Queen of Númenor, rules in Númenor now. When Elrond arrives and presents the request of Gil-galad, there is a conflict between supporters of Ancalimë’s policy of isolation and those who believe that they should heed Gil-galad, the latter being lead by the Lord of Andunië – Silmariën’s heir. When Elrond presents further evidence that the shadow of Morgoth has returned, Tar-Teleprian ultimately decides that Númenor must prepare for war.
Annatar. Annatar begins seducing the Kings of Men and gifting rings. Annatar arrives in the halls of a Gwaithirum king called Halmir, a descendant of one of the generals of the battle in the first saga. Annatar tells Halmir that the Noldor are withholding the power of prolonged life from mortals, and gifts him a ring. As Halmir is an elf-friend, his ancestors all being loyal to High King Gil-galad, he refuses Annatar’s suggestion. Eventually, Halmir succumbs to his curiosity and doubt and puts the ring on, entering the Realm of Shadows. He perceives immediately that his decay has been slowed, and indeed that the Noldor may have deceived him.

Saga 4 (Episode 10): Orodruin (1600)
Sauron crafts the One Ring in Orodruin, and Barad-dûr, the largest fortress ever built, has been completed. We Annatar standing on at the height of Barad-dûr wearing the One, below his vast legions of orcs.
As soon as the One Ring has been crafted, Galadriel, Celebrimbor, and the others realize they have been deceived and that Annatar was in fact Sauron, and they remove their rings.
The Men who received Rings of Power from Sauron realize too late they are deceived, as they are completely subservient now to the will of Sauron.

With the exception of the brothers' green Toyota Tacoma TRD Crew Cab and their old Subaru CrossTrek Limited(and Gentry's blue Mercedes-Benz Sprinter 3500 passenger van), every family vehicle has been white...
Where did Betsy get this harebrained idea that white means 🤑$🤑$🤑$???...
She's NOT Lisa Vanderpump(or Donald Trump, thank goodness) in any manner!!!...
And forcing the brothers to trade in their CrossTrek Limited for the 4Runner just because it's white(and upsetting their godfather[?]/Gentry's childhood friend/general sales manager at Nate Wade Subaru Brock Kassing)😒🤦☹...
Totally "delulu", Betsy...
Remember, just before they moved to Tennessee, Gentry tried to force the brothers to buy a white Chevy Colorado ZR1 4x4 to replace the CrossTrek Limited, but Brock put his foot down and said "NO!"...
After the move, he drove them to Toyota of Franklin to buy what HE thought they wanted:a new Tundra TRD Pro Crew Cab, but they fell in love with the Tacoma TRD Pro...
He HATED it BECAUSE it's "Army Green Metallic" instead of white...
"How will THAT look in public???...your mom's social media image will be ruined by this POC!!!"...but eventually, he learned that "saving face" doesn't matter in McMinnville...plus it ran great, had decent gas mileage, so a few months ago, he bought a Tundra TRD Pro Crew Cab...
Sounds like something out of AsianParentStories...
Really, it's not like Henry Ford and his Model T:"you can have any color, as long as it's black"...
🤦🙄...

Everyone that doesn’t live under a rock knows smoking cigarettes is not a good long term plan. My sister (32F I will call Samantha) is with her baby’s father (52M I will call G-Paid). I call him my brother in law even though they are not married. G-Paid has 3 other children with other women. He is an aspiring rapper and DJ. He works local clubs and car dealership give away. He recently got a job DJ’ing at the local skate rink every other Saturday.
He has a monthly gig at a furniture store but decided to freestyle gangster rap and offend d the church crowd and got fired. We all have struggles and G-Paid is no exception. He sometimes spends his money he gets from doing shows on booze and what he calls chronic. He tells the family that he is always looking for work but doesn’t leave the house during the day light hours.
His best friend is named Gator (49M). Gator has multiple children with numerous women. Flash back to 3 weeks ago and Gator disappeared and has not been seen since. He had local gang ties and was not a great guy. Samantha is friends with Gators new side piece. I don’t know her name. Gator’s baby mama that he lives or lived with is named Unique (26F). Unique doesn’t know about the side piece. He is in my with her because she is pregnant again. Gator left the house on April 30th to buy smokes and not has been seen since. I should mention he smokes methol. This will come into play since Gator’s Dad and also G-Paid’s Fathers also disappeared when they went out to buy cigarettes.
I started researching this and found that 54,000 middle aged men who smoke menthol disappear every year while buying smokes.
Obviously there is someone kidnapping middle aged black fathers when they go to buy menthol cigarettes.
I told G-Paid that I want him to consider quitting so he can be around for the next 18 months or so of my nieces life until he moves on to another Shorty. Samantha said that I am sticking my nose in his business and he will go “Wayne Brady on my ass”. If I keep it up.
I should note he has pulled a gun on me twice already. One time was for “steppin to him”, and the second time was for “frontin his spot”.
I was only telling him they were repoing his Escalade rims and the second time I don’t know what he was talking about. He said he was talking to Sherman Hensley and he was “buggin”
AITAH for wanting to save my BIL?

Genocide looked to the sky. He thought of his mentor. The one who had saved him. He remembered his childhood. How powerless he was. He remembered the anger. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He thought of all the times he showed compassion. How much they hurt him for it. He saw the world before him, a graveyard. Humans. People that were supposed to be made in the image of some divine creator. They were but maggots feasting upon his remains. They ate away at his very being until nothing human remained. His thoughts were no longer his own. He had no joys in life that mattered. He hated humanity more than he could love anything about himself. He remember his first killing spree. Being gunned down by police. Left for dead. He remembered a hooded figure moving towards him. Getting closer the more he neared his death. He saw its pale face. Its impossibly black eyes. It was a man. This figure in question appeared to be of Japanese nationality with long, straight, loose hair. It emanated extreme malice. It offered him a choice. A purpose. Power. He thought the figure a reaper but it identified itself as Amakusa Masataka. Masataka guided him on how to kill and gave him specific locations to kill people in. In a sense, he became a hitman for quotas of people. He inquired what Masataka was. The presence of evil, his ability to appear and disappear at will, how he could control what people could see him and what people couldn't. While vague, years of killing for this being offered some insight. Amakusa Masataka belonged to a group of people not of this world. His people had been corrupted by a dark force long ago and had aligned themselves with the warlord who had subjugated their version of Japan. Their dark high priest assisted the warlord along with two others. These four rulers in turn served a larger order. The four were tasked with bringing about the end of the current world as an act of retribution for some fallen deity. Masataka's people acted as covert operatives for this empire. They were feared across the land and were collectively referred to as "Shinigami". An agent of the coming apocalypse, a servant of evil possessed by the will of those gods of death, Genocide would walk the earth.
Genocide stepped toward the station. A police cruiser rammed into him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed the hood of the car. The inhuman force of the knife created sparks which burst the engine into flames. The car crashed into a streetlight and exploded. A second cruiser neared the scene. No way a man could have done this. Yet still, out of the fires Genocide strode forth. It set upon the second vehicle, shooting out it's tires while jumping 9 feet into the air. The car tries to reverse but crashes into a wall. Genocide lands on the hood and kicks through the front window. Glass shatters under its boot, blinding the two officers inside. Genocide shoots one of the officers with a shotgun, killing him. The second officer in the passenger seat readies his pistol and takes aim. Only two shots fired, both directed at Genocide's head. It casually cocks its neck to avoid them. Then it grabs the officer's arm, breaking it. Genocide uses its free hand to grab the officer's head and bangs it into the dashboard no less than 5 times. The skull is shattered on the final impact. Genocide jumps off the car and continues on his mission.
Detective Evans speaks through a megaphone," This is your first and final warning. Stand down or we will use any and all means at our disposal to put you down." Genocide dropped its shotgun and raised its hands. A group of five SWAT team members rushed out the station, surrounding Genocide with riot shields. An officer accompanies them, edging behind the figure to apply handcuffs. Suddenly, Genocide springs to life , grabbing the officer behind him. He flips the officer over his head, slamming him into the pavement at his feet. Then Genocide stomps his head causing it to burst. Genocide drops a flash bomb from his coat sleeve, blinding the SWAT team as he draws his knife. He drives it into one SWAT member, the knife puncturing the shield and piercing his chest. Genocide kicks the corpse away withdrawing his knife. He goes to another, this time using the end of his boot toe in a rising kick to disarm their shield. He grabs them by the throat and drives the knife slowly into their eye socket. Another is tackled to the ground and beaten to death despite still being under the shield. Another is picked up and thrown into the fires still burning from the first auto incident. In no time, Genocide stood before an indistinguishable mass of gore, blood streaking across his black leather outfit. He laughed" So this is all you can give me. I'm not entertained." Officers took aim from the station windows, and snipers did so from other rooftops. Genocide laughed maniacally as he was rained down upon from all sides by a hailstorm of bullets. His body convulsed, but he did not fall. Moments more and he was on his knees. Still though, their efforts were futile. Gracia looked out and saw a black mist coalescing around the man in black. His blood. Blood erupted from his body only to transform into this dark mist that reentered his wounds. Genocide screamed. No. It was just an elevated pitch in his laughter. Optimism failed everyone yet again. Gracia saw Genocide holding something in his right hand. She could only make out a beeping red light. Genocide pushed the button triggering the carefully concealed explosives he laid in preparation for this event. C4 explosives went off in all the places he saw fit. The sniping posts he couldn't reach. The assault of lead lightened. Then Genocide drew an RPG from...somewhere. He collected himself and fired at the station's entrance. The explosion shook the station. From inside, the lights began to flicker. Communications were down on all fronts. Had he modified the rocket with some type of EMP? Not good. Amisdst the confusion Genocide entered using smoke bombs to mask his presence. Moving like a shadow, he killed everyone in the lobby silently with his knife. He made his way to the holding cells. Still they chanted. Still they praised. Still they raved for the arrival of genocide. Genocide shot the lock opening the cell. Jim Jimenez walked out and bowed before his master. Genocide smiled. He couldn't have imagined how proficient he had gotten with possession. Well, not quite possession. He had known of the Shinigami's ability to share their thoughts and emotions with humans. Shinigami like his mentor were ancient. They had so many years of memories, such strong a hatred for life that they overwhelmed the personality of the victim. The victim sees themselves as one of them. Shinigami can't force the will of the victim, so they find those who are already similar to them in some way. Genocide found the collective universal distrust of police to be a prime sentiment to capitalize on. He armed the inmates, infecting them with samples of his own dark essence.One particular inmate caught Genocide's eye. He knew the man's work. An arsonist. The one whom he recalls was responsible for blowing up his first car way back in high school. Rather than a standard firearm, Genocide gave the man a random assortment of grenades containing a special surprise. Genocide showed them visions of anarchy, of sending a message to a society that used and disregarded them. While this was also true of how he felt, years of living in darkness had changed him. He needed no purpose. No end goal. No justification. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Genocide's small army broke off to engage several different wings of the station. Genocide went to the security room. He found Wayne, his informant, playing some FPS on one of the monitors. Wayne took of his headphones and asked," You kill everyone yet?" Genocide responded," No. You should get going before that happens. Your life becomes fair game if I run out of pigs to cook." Wayne clapped his hands, "Aight, GC my man, say less." He packed his things and left. Genocide drew a twin pair of handguns and laid waste to the station. He followed a group that took cover in the men's restroom. Kicking open multiple stalls he was surprised to find...nothing. Where had they gone? He turned around and saw his mentor, Masataka, smiling at him. It looked like him. Long, dark hair, black clothing, and soulless, empty eyes. But it wasn't. It was Genocide's own reflection in the mirror. Genocide smiled. He didn't notice the changes at first. They must have happened gradually. Subconsciously. From the final stall, an officer sprung into action, rushing Genocide, hitting him point blank with a shockgun round. Genocide felt the tingling sensation electrifying his body and grew numb. In spite of the pain, he took a single step. Then, another. He came within striking range of the officer and snatched the shockgun. Two more officers erupted from another stall, battering him with baton strikes. Genocide felt nothing. He clutched the shockgun in his hand like a bat and went to work pulverizing his attackers. An officer kicked in the bathroom door, a woman holding a pistol. She fired multiple times to no effect. Genocide stood covered in blood. He even let her reload. Twice. He wanted to see her despair. Her hopelessness. He walked towards her, shrugging off bullets as they pierced his body. His wounds healed nigh instantly due to the dark essence he had been imbued with. He held her face with both hands, lifting her body off the ground. As she screamed, he used her head to shatter the restroom mirror, running down the full length of it while smashing her into it at several points. He dropped the remains of what he held, washed his hands with soap, dried them, then exited the restroom.
The inmates that rallied for the cause of genocide attacked the station. Fortunately, they were nowhere near Genocide in terms of power and only carried one type of firearm each. They shared his healing ability but could be killed quite easily. Gracia encountered a sniper on the end or a west wing hallway. Other officers waited behind corners unable to get close. Gracia noticed the faulty lighting. In this hallway, the lights flickered in intervals of 3 seconds. Finding a pattern and timing her movements, she rushed the sniper at the exact moment the lights went out. Running the length of the hall, Gracia zigzagged, dodging the sniper inmate's bullets. She jumped on a wall, ran 3 feet on it, then kicked off it, pouncing on the assailant. She fired five shots into him, making sure to hit the brain and the heart. Two severe injuries that were impossible for Shinigami essence to heal simultaneously. Elsewhere, Evans took on another escaped inmate. A vehicular arsonist named Carson. Carson had a bag filled with an assortment of different grenades and was happily giving them out like candy on Halloween. "A flash bang here, a bit of tear gas there. Oh. Wait! Was that an ice grenade? Did the explosion freeze your leg to the floor? Whoops. Maybe a fire grenade will melt that for you. Hold on let me get one fore you," Carson rambled gleefully. Evans looked at the carnage before him. Officers burning. Officers partially frozen in blocks of ice. He took a breath and aimed his wristgun. He steadied his right forearm. Carson readied to throw a random grenade. Evans shot it the moment it left Carson's hand. The grenade exploded directly in front of Carson. Both Evans and Carson looked at each other in shock. Confetti. A party grenade? Carson quickly fumbled for another but was tackled and restrained by several officers. Meanwhile in the South wing, Lary had some colleagues set a trap for another shotgun toting inmate. He had them bait the inmate and flee. Giving chase he turned a corner and ran straight into Lary's fist. The inmate recovered and motioned to shoot Lary. "Let's tango. " Lary gave the code word. Nearby officers activated a device. A signal jammer of sorts. The inmate shoved the barrel of his gun into Lary's gut and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The special signal jammer in question was designed for firearms. It was a last resort as it left officers just as defenseless. Lary was having fun. He boxed the inmate in hand to hand combat. Despite the inmate's enhanced strength, Lary's technique pulled through. Lary ducked under one of the inmate's wide punches and did some type of rising uppercut where he jumped off the ground while spinning. One of the other officers whispered" The rising dragon." Lary smiled giving a thumbs up" Yeah, it was a rising dragon uppercut. Saw it in one O my kid's vidya games. Thought I'd try it out while I'm jacked on adrenaline".
Jim Jimenez looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. He was in the women's restroom. Some brainless woman had broken the men's restroom mirror with her face. For the first time in a long while Jim could think clearly. He was becoming sane. At the least he was no longer a raving lunatic. The life essence of the dark gods had healed the wounds to both his body and his mind. He saw his face, his scraggly dirty beard. He found a razor and shaved. He trimmed his beard somewhat. He liked it. He washed his hair. It fell down his face like silk, no longer greasy. His bloodshot eyes once burning with crazed intensity had cooled. He blinked. Just for a second, he saw the man known as Genocide. The man that attacked him. The one that killed him and gave him new life. The drug dealers. The police. They were all the same in his eyes now. They were all to blame for the world being what it is. Jim wanted to hate them. He wanted to take revenge, but he felt nothing. It didn't matter. He knew he was wronged, could logically justify acting against them, but he just didn't care anymore. About anything. He was finally free. Sensing his presence was no longer needed here, Jim vanished into the night. He needed to find someone who had had the answers he needed. Himself. Who had he been? Who was he now? Who could he become? Where was he going? So many questions to ponder indefinitely. So much time left in the rest of his life.
Genocide ran down the station's halls raining hailstorms of bullets upon its occupants. He had a handgun in each hand as well as a wristgun on each wrist. This effectively gave him 4 separate firearms that he could use simultaneously. Lary regrouped with Gracia, Evans, and a handful of others. They radioed all surviving officers near Genocide to flee to the roof. This plan had been set in motion days before the assault and had been kept hidden from most of the force. The plan involved scheduling flights for several helicopters to arrive at some point after Genocide arrived. There would be no way for him to prepare for them and pre-scheduling their arrival ensured they arrived regardless of if they were called or not. Lary and the others set about preparing the second jamming device. Genocide stood among a hallway of bodies. He saw one man clinging to life trying to crawl away. He decided on trying that other thing he saw his master do. He grabbed the dying man and pinned him to the wall. Slowly he drove a knife into his chest. As the man's life slipped away, something else entered his body. Genocide channeled a small amount of his essence into the vessel. He had steadily done this with other casualties around the station whose bodies were somewhat salvageable. He dropped the body he was holding and looked upon the others. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyed were black, both sclera and iris. The scene before him changed. Genocide had a vision. He saw a dead gray wasteland littered with bodies. These people however weren't cops and wore traditional Japanese attire. In his hand wasn't a gun or knife but a short sickle akin to a farming tool. He heard a dark voice call out to him. Slowly, the corpses around him began to rise, now mere puppets bound eternally to their master's whim. The bodies sold to the reaper who had claimed their lives. Genocide's vision ended. His eyes had returned normal. Around him, dead cops began to rise. His dark essence had entered their bodies and reanimated them. He sent his dead army to attack the officers fleeing to the roof of the station. These zombies swarmed the stairwell giving chase to the few survivors. There were five of them. They had two flights of stairs to climb and a horde of their former colleagues close behind them. One officer tripped and was set upon by the horde. The zombies didn't bite them but held them firmly in place. The other four officers stared down wondering what to do. They could hear Genocide chuckling. They could hear humming. They could feel the temperature rising. Their colleague and the two zombies holding him were hit by an enormous green fireball. Genocide had fired a Magnum Opus and had charged the bullet to level 3. The Magnum Opus was simply a magnum that shot fireballs, with bullets that could be charged by holding down the trigger. It had three levels of charges. Level 1 was a small reddish ball of plasma. Level 2 was slightly larger and yellow. Level 3 was the maximum charge and resulted in a large slow moving green blast of energy. The officer was ignited and Genocide watched gleefully as the force of the blast sent him flying through a wall. The four officers continued up firing occasionally to slow down the zombies. Soon they made it to a door leading to the roof. Before one officer could reach it, he was sniped by Genocide, a bullet to the head killing him instantly. The remaining three made it out. They regrouped with the others already there, 12 in total, including Lary, Evans, and Gracia. This would be their final stand. They just had to hold out until Genocide made it up there. They just had to keep Genocide occupied until the helicopters arrived. Genocide slowly ascended the stairs behind his horde. On the roof, the remaining survivors faced off against waves of the undead. Evans recognized the attackers. These zombies were being controlled by nanomachines. He heard the stories of several weapons encountered by soldiers on the battlefield. These creatures were called Metaldeads as they were reanimated via machines. They had been officially banned by most of the worlds' governments for being unethical. However, this did not stop the technology from being spread still between shady organizations, terrorists, etc. Evans wondered how Genocide got this form of nanotechnology. Evans long speculated that the dark essence used by most of the killers they encountered was a a form of nanotech however it was different from anything else he had seen or heard about. The dark essence seemed to be an amalgamation of other types of nanotech. Evans had to save his inquiries for later. He reloaded his wristgun and took aim at the approaching group of Metaldeads. Gracia steadied her handgun and shot two Metaldeads in the head. From the single door countless arms seemed to spill forth from the darkness. The other officers took turns firing in intervals. this allowed them to create a steady stream of fire where no more that three guns needed to be reloaded at once. The horde seemed to thin out over time as if they were making progress. In actuality, the Metaldeads were just making room for Genocide to enter. Genocide exploded in a sprint from the door. Everyone fired upon the killer. Genocide had now chosen a wrist mounted mini flamethrower to use as his weapon. He stormed past the oncoming bullets taking some damage, but refused to slow down. He unleashed a stream of fire that caught five of the officers in one fell swoop. Gracia fired five rounds into Genocide's face. He stumbled back. Lary took the chance to fire several mine gun bullets at Genocide's feet. The mines quickly detected his movement and exploded. In seconds, Genocide was on his back.
Staring at the night sky Genocide saw the moon. He reached for it. He called for the darkness to give him more power. His wounds began healing. In the sky he could hear the whirl of propellers. There were six helicopters in total. The first two had evacuated the survivors while the others stayed to engage Genocide. Genocide got up and unstrapped the sniper rifle from his back. He stood before the searchlights as a black silhouette, cornered but unwilling to back down. Lary stared down at him smiling. "Okay!" He shouted, "Let's Tango!" Upon this declaration the second jamming device was activated. Now, isolated on the roof, Genocide's guns couldn't be fired and the helicopters were out of range of the device. Now Genocide stood like a sitting duck. A helicopter fired a rocket. Genocide side stepped and grabbed it. He turned his body redirecting the rocket to hit another helicopter. As it exploded Genocide drew his knife and threw it at another helicopter. Behind the knife was such force that it shattered the helicopter window's glass, embedding itself in the pilot. This helicopter too went down where it exploded. "Holy clucknuggets!Did you see that!?" Lary said dumbfounded. Evans looked out the helicopter door he was in jaw open in shock. "There's no way." He collected himself quickly and radioed the remaining two helicopters to keep moving and to use their machineguns as much as possible. The helicopters reigned down upon Genocide tearing apart his body. Shreds of leather and darkened blood sprayed across the pavement of the roof. Gracia watched as Genocide's body was destroyed repeatedly as it tried to heal. Surely he had to stop at some point. After 10 minutes the helicopters had exhausted their cache of ammunition and soldiers opted to fire their own rifles and occasionally throw grenades. After about six minutes, they too had run out of bullets. Genocide stood unfazed. He had long since healed himself and now appeared intangible with gunfire seeming to pass through his body. His coat once ripped , now appeared whole though on closer inspection seemed to writhe. Gracia looked in horror as she remembered the tales her adopted father had told her. Tales he had in turn heard from his predecessors. Every so often officers had reported encounters with ghost like beings cloaked in a cloud of living dark mist. The beings were rumored to be responsible for the deaths of multiple people ranging from scientists, veterans, mafia, politicians, etc. They were seen near such crime scenes and even more shockingly appeared around several sites where suicides were committed. These beings were reportedly impervious to bullets and filled anyone who got near with an impending sense of dread. If Genocide was connected to them or somehow turning into one , there was little chance they would be able to defeat him. Gracia's fears were confirmed when she saw that Genocide's leather coat had been destroyed and he had replaced it with the dark mist coalescing from his own spilled blood. The dark mist, swirling, grew larger and several tendrils sprouted out from it. Gracia could briefly make out a figure standing next to Genocide. A hooded figure cloaked in the same black substance. The figure stared up at her with soulless, blackened eyes which seemed to beckon her to jump from the aircraft she was standing in. Compelling her to give in to the death that plagued the earth. Genocide kneeled to his master. The Shinigami, Masataka stared down at his disciple. "You have done a great service to us. Even now the sealed god stirs in its slumber. Its...Awakening will soon be upon us. It calls out for war. It begs for famine. It longs to continue its conquest. We are the death it so desires. The death that is necessary for this civilization to grow. Use the power that I have bestowed upon you. Finish the mission as you see fit." The Shinigami vanished and Genocide stood.Genocide stared at his hands. He remembered the first killing spree. He was on a bus. It stopped. A woman got on the bus and walked to the back smiling as she passed him. Something about her eyes unnerved him. They were so bright but something dark reflected inside them. He ignored the thought and put in his headphones. In minutes he had dozed off. He jumped awake. He looked around and froze in panic. All around him, everyone had been hacked to pieces. He saw the driver, actively being stabbed by a masked assailant. The mask, painted white with black eyeholes, stared back at him. It raised a finger over where its lips would be. Even under the expressionless visage, he could feel that same smile. He ran home that morning. He went to his room to find it destroyed. His posters, his computer, his tv, everything, had been ruined. He turned around and saw a man at the end of the hallway holding a sledge hammer. "The hell you been, boy?", his stepdad sneered. The man dropped his hammer and walked closer, veins pulsing with rage. He tried to explain how his car had caught fire forcing him to walk 4 miles to the nearest bus stop, but the man's fist was faster than his words. "Boy!Answer me when I talk to you!!" the man says as he backhands the taste out of the would be Genocide's mouth. He took that beating for several minutes before being left to stare at his ransacked room. He hated how his stepdad went out of his way to destroy the things he loved. Soon, another set of footsteps could be heard. It was his mother standing behind his locked door. She didn't knock, or say anything. She just stood there, doing nothing as always. He never knew if she came to talk to him or apologize. All he knew was that she could never bring herself to speak to or even acknowledge him. Maybe out of guilt or perhaps shame. A year or two later after he had had enough he ran away from home. Living out on the streets alone, without friends, or family, he would embark on countless killing sprees. These killings weren't of his own volition however. He was coerced by some corrupt officers from The Unit. They made him kill on their behalf. Sometimes they were protesters, sometimes they were drug dealers, other times, petty criminals they couldn't be bothered to process. It was routine for him to be used to kill entire houses of drug riddled addicts. During one such venture he entered a drug den, killing the dealer as instructed. He took out several junkies before turning to leave. A woman who survived her injuries clung to his heel begging him to stop. Looking down he aimed the handgun he was carrying at her head of long disheveled brown hair and fired. Feeling nothing, he kicked her body aside like trash when it hit him. Her face. This woman had been his mother. What was she doing in a place like this? He felt a shock of emotion. He wondered if she had always been like this, or had she changed after he left. He never made amends, but decided to stop killing from then on. The unit did not like that. Once it became apparent that he was no longer of use to them they started a manhunt to apprehend him with lethal force. They found him. They killed him. But he survived.
He remembered the girl on the bus. He remembered her eyes. Those of a sadistic killer. Still there was something else inside them. Something faint but deeper. So. Much. Sadness. Just like him. He felt the hatred begin to spread. His purpose, he decided, was to make all humans rot in the hell they created for him.
These people, he thought to himself, these living diseases, all needed to die. Their struggles, their problems, they spread like cancer to others. The only cure for humanity's sin, its collective wrongdoings, was genocide.
Around him, dark tendrils continued to form and expand, spinning in a vortex. Genocide pulled out two pistols. He squeezed the triggers to no effect. "As I see fit, huh? Hehe." He squeezed both guns in his hands, breaking them into pieces. He concentrated. In his hands, two more guns materialized now completely black due to being forged from the dark essence. Forged by his will. Immune to the jamming device that shut down conventional firearms. He raised his arms at each remaining helicopter and opened fire. Countless tendrils whipped out and slashed at his targets joining the dark essence bullets. It was chaos. Dark tendrils and bullets tore through every direction as Genocide spun and swirled around in 360 degrees firing randomly with purpose. A tendril pierced Gracia's right arm, another, her abdomen. She was however, fortunate, as the other passengers of her helicopter were dismembered. She barely had time to jump from the vehicle before it crashed. She fell 2 yards onto solid concrete. She felt immense pain as her right shoulder shattered on impact. She looked up to see Genocide's blade like appendages ripping through the other escape helicopters. She rolled onto her back and tried to steady herself. Within seconds her body began to repair itself. The nanocells inside her had saved her life but were now depleted. She would need another supplement lest she receive another fatal injury. The standard nanocells she and the others had were much less potent than those of the killers they faced. In truth, they had only minimal strength boosts being able to lift 5-8 more pounds than before and healing being limited to one or two fatal injuries so long as death didn't occur instantly. Gracia blacked out. She awoke the next morning in a hospital. There the doctors refilled her nanocells. She learned that the station had been left in ruins. Genocide had detonated some type of minature nuke following his rampage. He always blew up the stations as if to send a message. Gracia looked out the window thinking about why she became a cop. Twice her family had been murdered by them. Her biological family had been killed in an on record drug raid committed by a group of corrupt officers called The Unit. She had been adopted by another officer that arrived at the scene who found her as a child hiding in a closed. Sadly, he too was killed for trying to expose the activities of The Unit. Gracia joined the force to avenge both losses and bring justice to the killers that disguised themselves as normal people. Law enforcement was neither good, nor bad. It depended upon the people that made it up. In the dying corrupt world Gracia lived in, she vowed to be a beacon of light. Evans laid in a bed adjacent to Lary. "That damn Genocide's somethin else in' he?Like the stories you told us were understatements. That man could legit not die at this point in the story. Like he has friggin plot armor or somthin.'' Evans cut him off" I get it. We all got our asses handed to us. But did you see that ..thing that appeared next to him. Right before he created that black vortex that wiped us out. That must have something to do with his power. Maybe there's a still a way to stop him."Lary chimed in," That fella looked like he was on the way to a black metal concert wit all the black facepaint he was wearin' Creeped me out to be honest." As the survivors mulled over their predicament, the cycle of evil continued to spread elsewhere.
Budley flips through the pages of a magazine. He checks his watch. He looks around the gas station and doesn't see any customers. Seizing the opportunity, he puts in his headphones and begins playing an imaginary guitar as he jams to a progressive deathcore album. Oblivious to the screams coming from outside, the store clerk moves on to thumping two candy bars on the counter to simulate drums. Budley sees that his shift has ended and begins locking up the store. He sweeps the aisles and jumps as a shadow appears behind him. He turns and sees a well groomed bearded man dressed in a black hoodie, black shirt, and black and gray camo pants. The man holds out his hand and smiles. Budley rings up the pack of nicotine substitute gum. "Tryin to kick the habit huh?" Budley asks. The man replies, "Somethin like that. Gotta get my priorities back in check. Focus on the things that really matter. That damn KonCreep's a hell of a band aren't they?" He nods to the playlist on Budley's phone. "Yeah, they're killer. just got into them a month back." Budley answers. "You know, I'm something of a musician myself. Maybe you'll hear of me on the news someday." Jim Jimenez says as he sees himself out. He walks to the back of the building and passes an ominous form of graffiti. A woman lays unmoving and above her, written on concrete in red is a message that simply says "Genocide Reigns".

Introduction

The British Shorthair is a popular breed of domestic cat known for its round face, dense coat, and sturdy build. With their charming personalities and striking appearance, it's no wonder that many cat lovers are interested in adding a British Shorthair to their family. For those looking to purchase a British Shorthair, there are several factors to consider, including where to find one for sale, what to look for in a reputable breeder, and how to ensure the health and well-being of the new feline companion.

Understanding the British Shorthair Breed

The British Shorthair is a breed with a long and storied history, dating back to the early days of cat breeding in Britain. Known for their plush coat and distinctive round face, these cats are often described as having a teddy bear-like appearance. They are typically medium to large in size, with a muscular build and a calm, laid-back demeanor. British Shorthairs come in a variety of colors and patterns, including blue, black, cream, and tabby.
When looking for a British Shorthair for sale, it's important to be aware of the breed's characteristics and temperament. These cats are known for being affectionate and loyal companions, but they can also be independent and reserved at times. They are generally good with children and other pets, making them an excellent choice for families. However, they do require regular grooming to keep their coat in top condition.

Where to Find British Shorthairs for Sale

There are several options available for those looking to purchase a British Shorthair. One common avenue is through reputable breeders who specialize in the breed. It's essential to do thorough research when choosing a breeder to ensure that they adhere to ethical breeding practices and prioritize the health and well-being of their cats. Reputable breeders will provide documentation of the cat's pedigree, health records, and any necessary vaccinations.
Another option for finding a British Shorthair for sale is through rescue organizations or shelters. While purebred British Shorthairs may be less common in these settings, there are often mixed-breed cats with similar characteristics available for adoption. Adopting from a shelter not only gives a cat in need a loving home but also helps reduce the number of homeless pets in shelters.

What to Look for in a Reputable Breeder

When choosing a breeder to purchase a British Shorthair from, there are several key factors to consider. A reputable breeder will be transparent about their breeding practices and provide a clean and safe environment for their cats. They will also be knowledgeable about the breed and able to answer any questions you may have about caring for your new pet.
It's essential to visit the breeder in person before making a purchase to see the conditions in which the cats are raised. Look for signs of good health, such as bright eyes, clean ears, and a shiny coat. Ask to see the cat's parents if possible to get an idea of what the kitten may look like as it grows older. Additionally, make sure to ask about any health guarantees or warranties that the breeder offers.

Caring for Your British Shorthair

Once you've found the perfect British Shorthair for sale and brought them home, it's essential to provide them with proper care and attention. These cats thrive on routine and consistency, so be sure to establish a regular feeding schedule and provide plenty of opportunities for play and exercise. Regular grooming is also important to keep their coat healthy and free of mats.
In terms of healthcare, British Shorthairs are generally healthy cats but may be prone to certain genetic conditions, such as hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (a heart condition) or polycystic kidney disease. Regular veterinary check-ups are essential to catch any potential health issues early on. Additionally, make sure to provide your cat with a balanced diet and plenty of fresh water to keep them healthy and happy.

Conclusion

In conclusion, purchasing a British Shorthair can be a rewarding experience for cat lovers looking for a loyal and affectionate companion. By understanding the breed's characteristics, finding a reputable breeder or adoption organization, and providing proper care and attention, you can ensure that your new British Shorthair has a happy and healthy life with you. Whether you choose to adopt from a shelter or purchase from a breeder, welcoming a British Shorthair into your home is sure to bring joy and companionship for years to come.

British Shorthairs for Sale

British Shorthairs for Sale

British Shorthairs for Sale

British Shorthairs for Sale

British Shorthairs for Sale

Genocide Reigns
(note: I'm an indie game developer making an action/horror title called Phantasphere. This story is a spin off set in the same universe)
Year 2480X Ryze County Police Department
He's coming. The ensuing panic spread like a virus infecting all present with symptoms of looming dread. Officers worked steadfast to prepare also taking what time remained to train the few combat hardened civilians whom had fled to the station earlier. If only they knew. This demon that presented itself as a man had led a string of senseless massacres across the country. Only recently had it begun to prioritize police stations and army bases as a means of breaking the will of civilians who knew they would be next. Officers from several counties across the states were transferred here for this last stand. This Genocide must not continue. Gracia checked her pistol. Some 20 bullets remained. "I can do this", she thought, "I have to". She had dealt with similar cases before. Some poor soul is overtaken by some inextricably evil force and makes it their life's work to propagate death. Gracia had killed quite a few already. Live arrests weren't always possible. Beyond saving, careful interrogations of the scarce live catches yielded a startling connection. These killers all alluded to a well of overwhelming hatred and despair that consumed them after making eye contact with...Pale, black eyed entities. Some type of demon? Ghost maybe? The idea seemed nonsensical, but there was evidence nonetheless that some outside force was using them to fulfill some unknown purpose. At the present time, all they could do was stop the killers after they had killed. It was always too late by then and more would appear randomly elsewhere. What good could be done here in an isolated station hoping to stop one guy out of possibly hundreds? "The guy we're waiting for is different from the others," detective Evans spoke from the center of a crowd nearby. Gracia moved in closer. "The others typically strike from the shadows, hide their faces behind masks, and prefer to get up close and personal with their victims. What we're dealing with is on a completely different scale. The trail of bloodshed this guy leaves is too difficult for the media to cover up. He loves the spectacle. Headlining the news. We can't keep using the burst pipeline excuse for 6 stations being destroyed in a row. We have to stop him before the world at large finds out. You wonder why we need so many people here? Its simple. We're gonna out-man this one man. He always attacks stations through the front door. Like other killers he's fast, strong- you know the usual, but he also uses guns." "What!", a voice rang out from the crowd. "They aren't supposed to do that!" another gasped. Officer Lary spoke with a cheesy grin" Ya tellin' me we just gotta deal with a regular ass gunman eh? That's a welcome change of pace init? Heck I'm too old to be running around being chased like I'm in some scary movie". The detective rebutted" You don't get it. He uses guns. Not a handgun, not rifles, not boom sticks, not rpgs, not knives not grenades but ALL of them. He uses guns. Plural. It'll take essentially an army to match his arsenal. He used to be a man named -redacted-, but in his pursuit of chaos he has become Genocide." A dark form manifests from the night outside the station. Genocide is coming.
Bang! something slams into the front door. Everyone freezes. Officer Tatum edges slowly to it, shockgun in hand. By no means lethal, the shockgun was lighter, easy to control, and could stun targets temporarily. If Genocide was here, Tatum could stun him and duck for cover leaving the station free to light him up like a Christmas tree. That was the plan they came up with. He got closer to the glass door and peered outside. He was met with hate filled bloodshot eyes framed by an unkempt beard and wild straggly hair. Tatum felt some relief. He knew the man outside. It was Jim Jimenez. Jim was a former drug dealer turned informant. He was found out and had to flee from his old life. He became homeless, hiding in plane sight. This allowed him safety at the cost of his mental health. Tatum knew the man, but those eyes were not his. Tatum blinked and saw that the look of malice had vanished. What he instead saw was a helpless, wounded man, bleeding from the right arm pleading for help. Tatum looked behind Jim, eyeing the empty lot. The coast seemingly clear Tatum unlocked the door and let Jim in. Jim had been roaming the town looking for shelter and tried squatting in an abandoned looking apartment complex. There he found that the building contained several murdered families some succumbing to gunshots but the majority having met their end to fire and suffocation. Jim had decided to make his way to the station to tell police what happened and met trouble on the way. He described getting stabbed by a man wearing a trench coat with long dark hair. Despite the injuries, Jim could move surprisingly well and seemed to ignore the pain. Jim insisted that the man had spared him on the condition he deliver a message. "What message?" Tatum asked. Jim beckoned him to come closer. Tatum leaned in and Jim whispered, "Tell them. Tell them that Genocide is coming closer." The following events were a blur. Jim had concealed the knife he was stabbed with. He stabbed Tatum 4 times in the chest and wrestled his shockgun away. Using Tatum as a shield, Jim engaged everyone in the lobby. Jim wasn't himself. He was stronger. He was faster. He was tactical. He would stun an officer in place only to stab them and use their as a body shield. No one could get a clear shot without hitting a colleague. Gracia watched the scene unfold. In minutes Jim had acquired a magnum from the holster of one of his victims. In seconds 3 officers had their heads exploded. The magnum rounds coated the walls red with those they hit and stained the clothes of those they missed. Gracia felt fear rising in her chest. She calmed herself and tried to think. She saw the bodies on the ground. The blood. She saw how dismissively Jim stepped over them. Like they were nothing. Like trash. She saw the man firing erratically into groups of people, not so much to kill but as to cause panic. That's it! As Gracia contemplated her next move it hit her. She was knocked backwards and landed on the ground. She weakly clutched her chest. Her breathing grew shallow. Jim mad his way deeper into the station. The officers were retreating from their standoff. Jim stepped over her body and saw red staining her uniform. Just another casualty. He moved on. At this point the civilians began panicking. Everyone gave up trying to save their allies and fired blindly at the madman. "Don't shoot the messenger," Jim laughed as he stripped his latest meat shield of an automatic rifle. Detective Evans took cover behind an overturned desk. To his left Larry struggled to light a cigar. "You still think this is a cakewalk?" Evans shouted firing 2 quick shots from his gun before ducking back down. Lary lost hold of his lighter and it clattered on the ground." Crap." He reached for it and looked in the corner of the room. A mirror. He looked at it for what seemed like ages and his smirk returned " Y'know that mex'n gal with the short hair. Where is she? I didn't see her get shot." Evans glanced a peak at Jim spraying lead in all directions. Behind him was a corpse. Evans blinked. It seemed to be getting closer. Its her. Gracia painstakingly inched her way into Jim's blind spot. She was roughly 6 feet away from him. Flanking him seemed like a brilliant idea but waiting idly by for the right moment as the people around her died filled her with anger. Worse still, she had to steal a blood soaked shirt from one of the deceased officers to keep up the facade. Inching ever so steadily she mad it within 3 feet of Jim. She reached behind her belt and unclipped a pair of handcuffs. Screams could be heard as more people were hit. Gracia couldn't wait any longer. Fluidly she got to her feet and rushed Jim. She kicked the back of his knee causing him to stumble as she put the handcuffs on him. Figuratively. The handcuffs were around Jim's neck. She yanked him back causing his gun to drop. "You don't know what you're doing." Jim spat. "We all need to accept it. The end of days is upon us. Death rides his horse through these forsaken lands. We must serve or be sacrificed in turn. Accept it!"He elbowed Gracia in the ribs causing her to let go. He spun around and lunged at her. She landed on her back, Jim steadily choking her. Gracia thought fast. She couldn't struggle. Jim was too strong. She delivered a precise chop to the center of Jim's neck which was exposed. Jim lurched back to catch his breath. A clean shot. A bullet pierced through Jim's back. Weakened, Gracia rolled him over and began punching him repeatedly using the handcuffs as brass knuckles. The sound of Jim's skull cracking echoed through the station. This would go on for nearly 20 seconds before Gracia stopped, checked his pulse, confirmed Jim was still alive, then finally put the cuffs on Jim's wrists.
Click. Bodies are wrapped and moved to a makeshift storage room. Click. The available weapons are gathered and redistributed. Click. Officers are assigned to sniping positions on neighboring buildings. Click. Police cruisers circle the lot outside. Click. In the holding cell, Jim opens his eyes. Click. Lary flicks his lighter. Click. Gracia sips coffee from a paper cup. Click. Shells hit the ground at the feet of Genocide. Click. Genocide walks outside a cafe and looks at the station in the distance. Click. Lary clicks his lighter.
"All ya'll gon' fall," Jim ranted." You can't drain the ocean. You can't put out the sun. Evil will always exist. That there Genocide is proof . I saw him. Saw myself within his eyes. Saw the evil in me that I could no longer try to hide. He taught me to embrace the darkness within. Its in all of us begging to be let out. Can you hear it!" Lary clicked his lighter and got up from his chair. He grabbed a cup of liquor from another officer mid sip and walked over to Jim. He doused it on Jim, the liquid stinging his open wounds. Jim yelped. Across the station, radios blurred to life. Several of their lookouts on the outside had been killed. "He's gon' get ya," Jim smiled imitating Lary's signature grin. "Genocide! Genocide! Genocide!" The other inmates saw the chance to irritate Lary and joined in all shouting in unison,"Ge-No-Cide! Ge-No-Cide! Ge-No-Cide!" The chanting grew louder. Unbearable. They invoked upon the name of the beast, and so it came.
Genocide is upon us. A wave of dread spread across the officers. They could feel its presence. Gracia knew the sensation. The awful aura that the other killers gave off. This was different. Far more oppressive. She struggled to breathe as the air got colder. Her instincts screamed for her to run. She could only imagine what the others were going through. Its time. Across the lot Genocide stood. A siren blared over the intercom. "Everyone get into positions!" Evans yelled. Wayne finished setting the last of the c4 near the station entrance. "That's the last of them. Have remote triggers set around all the major hallways. I'll be in the security room ready to pull the switch." Wayne acted as an explosives expert. His job was to detonate bombs placed throughout the station to slow down Genocide should it enter the building. He would stay in the security room, monitoring the cameras and giving real time updates on the officers' positions. From the holding cell, inmates chanted for Genocide. Lary got off his phone" That bastard mixed us up. How did we not notice?" Evans asked what he meant. Lary, dumbfounded, said that most of the town was already dead. Genocide had broken his usual pattern. He went on a killing spree across a defenseless town BEFORE attacking the police station. They had let everyone down. The people they swore to protect. This Genocide was a monster, but he was still a man. Capable of learning from his past actions. Planning. Adapting. It wasn't in his style to stealthily kill his victims or even use a silencer on any of his guns, but an exception had been made for tonight. An exception that would cost them. Gracia was stationed on the second floor. She peered out the window. Her heart skipped a beat. Two cruisers made slow donuts patrolling the lot and standing unmoving between them was a man all in black. Gracia called in to Wayne asking if he saw anything outside. Wayne said the monitors were all clear then checked again. He cursed. He noticed small details were off. The cameras showing the outside of the station were wrong. Sure they showed the same scenery and weather but cars passed by on screen too frequently for a dead town. Too many to make sense for the quarantine they had set in place. Wayne concluded that the cameras had been hacked. Different prerecorded footage was being shown on the live feed to misdirect them. Gracia saw the man look up at her. A light rain started to fall. The officers patrolling outside were contacted. From the holding cells, inmates called for genocide.

CHARACTER AGENCY

It's ridiculous how passive and honestly "NPC" the other characters in the world are. For an installment in the series that wanted to dip deeper into the "Roleplay" side of things, it's absolutely crucial that CK3 find a way to make the other characters in the world feel like real, living, breathing, and independent people, and it currently falls flat on that.
Here are just some ways that you could improve character agency in the game:

• Characters should be able to push for appointments, regularly. How am I a god that just comes in and names every single knight and court position in the land with not a breath of reaction from my entire court. Do you know how many people would've had the king's ear in this time and been pushing for themselves or their friends or family for these appointments? Think of the court intrigue you've seen in shows like Game of Thrones or Shogun or Succession, now think how well the game captures that feeling. The -40 opinion penalty for major vassals not being on your council is a boring static modifier that doesn't take into account personality and context and only applies to your council, not to court positions or knighthoods. The random events in your Royal Court where people push for appointments are infrequent, pretty random, have little consequence, and are actually entirely optional if you never Hold Court. People should be pushing to fill your different roles regularly and react positively or negatively if you pick people they like or don't like. Here are some examples:
  • People should be able to push for themselves to be appointed, for their friends, for their family, for people they respect, for people of their culture and/or religion, for people with similar personalities to them.
  • People should oppose the appointment of their rivals, people from families their family is feuding with, people they dislike, cultures or religions they oppose, etc.
  • Personality traits should affect who people push for. Deceitful characters may want you to purposely appoint incompetent knights, bodyguards, food tasters, etc. if they dislike you. Zealous characters prioritize religion far above other qualities. Diligent characters prioritize the most competent candidate. Vengeful characters highly oppose their enemies being chosen. Greedy characters prioritize appointments for themselves or their family. Impatient characters will get upset if you leave the position vacant for too long. Trusting characters will only push for candidates they really know well.
• Characters should be able to refuse appointments, or resign from positions. Maybe the talented firstborn son of the king does not wish for the duty to rule and refuses the election to King and instead wishes to spend his days frequenting brothels and fighting in tournaments. Maybe a martially gifted vassal that has huge estates and is living comfortably in his manor off of his rents doesn't want to be appointed as my Marshall and chase and stamp down peasant revolts for a living, so he comes up with an excuse to refuse the appointment. Perhaps I need to change his mind by paying him a visit to persuade him in person, or by hosting a great feast in my hall with him as the honorary guest, or by arranging a marriage between our families. Perhaps my masterful Steward is offended at the lowborns and heathens I have hired into my council, and resigns out of protest. Perhaps my Marshall is ashamed at how badly the last war went under his purview, and resigns out of shame. Perhaps my Chancellor just heard news that his son was killed in a hunting accident back home, and resigns to go spend time on his estate with his family.
• Characters should react to actions the player takes.
  • Won a great battle? Maybe a knight approaches you after the battle wishing to enter your service after hearing of the tale. Maybe your marshall approaches you and congratulates on your generalship. If it was against heathens, maybe the Pope writes you a letter congratulating you on the victory of Christendom. Maybe a vassal approaches you and offers to build a statue in his domain to honour your victory.
  • Declared a new war? Maybe a vassal refuses the call to war citing some excuse, withholding his levies and giving you a reason to punish him in the future. Maybe another vassal joins with his personal troops as well because he is personally interested in success in this war.
  • Built a building in your vassal's land? Your vassal should thank you and like you more.
• Characters should regularly ask for favours from the player, and the player should be able to ask them in return. Maybe a an existing councillor asks that you hire him to another position for which he thinks he is better suited. Perhaps a vassal approaches you with a marriage offer, and in return offers to build a church in your honour. Perhaps a vassal approaches you and asks that you declare war on the country that is raiding their lands, and in return offers to increase his obligations to you. Perhaps a vassal asks that you raise his children with the greater learning available in your court, and in return he will send you his brother to serve as your knight. Perhaps the pope asks you to build a church and in return offers to send you some learned monks and an artifact.
• Characters should regularly travel to visit each other or do things. It seems like the only thing characters beside me do is lead armies, and go on hunts. Why don't my councillors go back to visit their estates? To see their families? Why don't distant family members travel to see each other? To host family reunions?
• The player should be able to consult decisions with other characters. What is the point of my councillors if they never give me counsel? If I am planning on giving out land to new vassals, each of them should be there with suggestions on who I should give it to, or whether I should even give it away at all. And it should not just be my councillors, sometimes these decisions are leaked and my entire court will find out, in which case many courtiers would have their own opinions on what should be done! Maybe one of my guests approaches me and begs I give the land to them due to some ancestral claim. Maybe my food taster during dinner tells me he thinks it should go to my existing vassal X because he manages his current estates so well. And what if I want to host an activity? I should be able to ask my councillors or courtiers which activity they wish for or think would be best to host next. Maybe they have suggestions for where to host it, how to plan it, who to invite, etc. Maybe my marshall wants a tournament but my chaplain wants a pilgrimage. Maybe in my feast, my Steward wants me to invite vassal X but my wife despises him and wishes me not to.

The fact that almost none of these features exist in a meaningful way in the game is kind of ridiculous, for a game that tries so hard to be role-play centered and story-driven. Think about how much we are missing out on because of the lack of agency of characters in the world. Imagine if other characters in the world acted like us as the player character. Think of the story opportunities if features like the above were implemented to make for more independent AI characters.

TW: Domestic violence, ideation, SA
These past couple months of my life have been transformation, but exhausting. I recently lost my grandfather to a terminal illness, the man who supported me in countless ways and really brought our family together when he first got sick. His death was crippling for the first couple weeks, but I have since been able to see that his suffering coming to an end is worth more than the rest of us having him still with us on earth. His passing put a lot of things in perspective, including my deep rooted unhappiness in my long term relationship and my unhealthy relationship with substances. Throughout this time, I lost a number of friends to the breakup, many of which led with the whole "bros before hoes" mentality, so much so that not a single one of them reach out when my grandfather did eventually die, and I had never felt so alone. In the mean time, I was able to grow very close with a group of coworkers my age, all in their twenties. On nights where all I wanted to do was get drunk and ignore my problems, they would drive me out to the dam and sit and listen to me sob about how I felt like I wasted the last couple months of my grandfather's life getting drunk with people who threw me away when I didn't want to party any more, all in the name of distracting myself from his inevitable death. They stepped up to the plate when I broke up with my ex and he lost his mind thinking I was a horrible person for not wanting him to come to my grandfather's funeral and just wanting to be alone instead of in a relationship where I was doing so much heavy lifting for little payout. I also had to come to terms with the fact that my ex and I only ever had sex when we were drunk because I really didn't enjoy it, but there was one time where he blacked out and didn't even remember us sleeping together. During that encounter, I had begged him to stop, but he couldn't hear me I guess, and he kept going until he finished and I just laid there and cried while he passed out next to me. I now know that was rape, but in the moment I felt like I did something wrong. That period of my life was so fucking hard, but I made it with the help of some awesome people and newfound sobriety.
Among the group of coworkers was Jack (25m). I will admit, I got butterflies the moment he walked into work that first time, but I never planned on acting on it; it was just a surprising thing that had never happened to me before. He and I started a friendship when he opened up about being new to the area, his desire to move up the ladder in the industry we both work in, and told me all about his dog who he loved so much. His girlfriend at the time, Alyssa (26f) had gotten a job here and they moved three hours north for her job, and he figured he might as well start working at a serious job in his dream industry. Our friendship grew when he commented to my good friend Tony (23m) and I about the growing resentment he had for the area and his girlfriend. Apparently, for years she had always been very dependent on him while still controlling most aspects of his life, but since they moved up here, she had stopped doing any house work, taking care of their dog, and demanding that he stay home to spend time with her instead of going out to meet new people in town (we work in a very social industry, and when he first started, we all got together and offered to take him out to see new things in town, meet other big people in the industry, etc, but didn't take it personally when he said no. However, this convo made it very clear that he wanted to go those four times we tried, but he was informed by Alyssa that he was a selfish bastard for wanting to go out without her and she felt like he hated her so much that he was trying to use work as an excuse to leave her alone. I can't make this up). He started crying about how he felt like a maid, like a doormat that she walked all over and how he wished he had never moved up here, how every time he tried to break up with her she threatened to kill herself and he couldn't live with the thought of being responsible for her death. Tony let Jack know that none of that behavior was okay, and we as a group talked about what Jack really wanted to do with his life and what was holding him back. Shortly after, Jack broke up with Alyssa, who once again threatened to kill herself, got violent with him, and blamed him for throwing in the towel when she did nothing wrong. Tony gave Jack a room in apartment to stay in when it became clear that Alyssa would attack Jack anytime he was home, and he officially moved out within the week. Our coworkers all banded together to make sure he had furniture for his new room, bought him a dresser and a bed frame and we each took our cars over to his old place to move him out. It took a village, but he now has a safe apartment of his own with Tony and he has repeatedly thanked us all for letting him fall apart without judgement. A few months later, my grandfather passed and I was shown the same love by our little group. I have some amazing coworkers.
I was sitting next to Jack in the back of Tony's truck when I got the call my grandfather died. In that moment, it became clear that he really did care about me, and I am so grateful that he was there for me even when I swore I didn't need anyone. This all happened shortly after my breakup and newfound sobriety, so I was an absolute mess, but Jack didn't care. I opened up to him about my assault, my problem with drinking, and all the ugly parts of myself and he never once treated me like damaged goods. He and I fell apart and helped each other try to stitch together new lives at the expense of our old ones. I constantly am reminded by friends and family how much happier I am now, and I can give a lot of that credit to Jack and his patience and care. The same can be said for Jack, too. He and I hooked up one night months after I was single and felt slightly more in control of my emotions, and after doing that a couple more times, we started dating five months ago.
Now here comes the kicker. Jack has made some shitty choices in the past that I did not know about until we got together. Apparently, he had cheated on one of his exes at college, and when he and Alyssa first got together, he had been sleeping with two other girls who he cut things off with pretty suddenly when he got the chance to sleep with Alyssa, then they started dating a few weeks later. There are a number of girls that he kinda fucked over before the age of twenty, but he doesn't talk to any of them anymore and knows that he was in the wrong for all of them. Growth, I hope. I found out that he was still somewhat connected to one of them, and when I told him how worrisome that made me, he immediately apologized for not realizing earlier how that would make me uncomfortable and quickly (per his own volition) let her know that he did not want to continue talking because he felt it was clear she only really wanted to sleep with him and she had very little respect for his monogamous relationships. She flipped shit and he was glad that he was able to cut ties because apparently that wasn't the first time she tried to guilt trip him into staying in touch with her. But mostly, Alyssa has become a fairly constant fixture in our relationship. Because they had a dog together, Jack has to ask Alyssa when he can go over there to see the dog. She only does it on her terms, which is understandable, but she will constantly blame him for not taking care of the dog (Tony has two cats, and while Tony wants Jack to take the dog to their apartment, he doesn't think the cats would feel safe and they are already very skittish). She texts him biweekly saying that she found something of his, like a box of ties, a thing of utensils, etc, and demands he come get them and walk the dog asap. More than once, she has called him early in the morning asking him to come over because something is wrong with the dog, but most recently she called at 7 am saying "You need to get over here now, something is wrong with the dog. This shouldn't all be my problem and you should be the one taking care of this." He tries to get more info but she refused and said it shouldn't matter, he should just drop everything and take her to the vet and stop asking questions. He asked her to wait a few hours and if she still needed help he would come. Turns out, she clipped the dog's nail too short and the dog was bleeding a little, and that's what the phone call was for. But most alarming, Alyssa texted Jack repeatedly when we were on a lunch date saying that he needed to come take the dog because she was going to the mental hospital for suicidal ideation. Understandably so, we get the bill and Jack loses his mind in the car. He was terrified. She never did go, and when Jack reached out to her mom, she said Alyssa was fine and had no idea what he was talking about. She texts him randomly telling him he better come spend time with the dog because she's thinking of moving south again, three hours away, and will basically text him threatening stuff all the time all with the guise of him seeing the dog. I know this is all something I signed up for, but between the crazy shit with Alyssa and his cheating in the past, I don't know how I got myself involved in something so messy. Yes, he was being abused and now he is so grateful for the love I give him, but I still feel somewhat insecure based off how much say Alyssa has on his mood. He doesn't fold for anyone like he does for her, and while she or us will move out of state within the next year, I guess I mostly need to know what people recommend in terms of me feeling more secure in myself. This is a bug weight on my shoulders and while I do love him and am happy he his around, I need to prioritize myself above all else. Please help.
TL;DR: My boyfriend (25m) and I (21f) have been through a lot. His ex girlfriend is very manipulative and I want to make sure I am taking care of myself to be the best version of myself after having a very transformative year (newfound sobriety, death of my grandfather, loss of many friends, and grief over a past relationship). I don't doubt that he loves me, I just want to look out for myself and make sure I am making healthy choices while we navigate a very heavy period of our lives together. Thanks in advance.

So me and my best friend (both F19) have known each other for over 10 years by now and we're close, and frequently play video games together.
She was single and quite desperate for love for a long time, and last year she finally got a boyfriend who seemed like a great guy at first. But it turns out he ignores her a lot because he's overwhelmed with his own problems (why get in a relationship then...) and she'll take any bit of attention she gets from him.
Onto the actual point of this post. I noticed today she has reposted super disturbing "memes" on TikTok. She's the sweetest, kindest and most non-violent person I know, but one of her reposts was literally a video with the caption "the homeless guy after he had some of the nice warm pasta I gave him (it was carolina reaper sauce mixed with bleach)" and "me resisting the urge to say 'you can't park there' to the crumpled up remains of a family of four that just crashed into a lamppost"
This shocks me a lot. In several videos the joke is the person in the video being black, fat or any other kind of minority. I'm pretty sure this humor is coming from her boyfriend, who's a bit of an edgier type. I don't associate myself with these types. Dark humor about almost any topic is okay, but I don't think it should be directly about the suffering of people in realistic scenarios.
Like I said, I don't associate with these types of people. I appreciate empathy and respect towards other human beings. But I love her and I've known her for so long. She's my only very close friend. Do I talk to her? And if so, how can I go about it without making her feel like she needs to hide who she is? I genuinely believe she might be doing this to get attention from this man who refuses to give it. Any help is appreciated.
TLDR: Friend has developed a grotesque and cruel sense of humor, possibly trying to get attention from a guy. I don't associate with these kinds of people and don't know what to do.

TW: mild ED
I've (22F) had a pretty good relationship with my girlfriend (23F), Jen, for four years. She's outgoing and straightforward, and she's really friendly and attentive sometimes. We hit a rough patch because I'm not quite her type and she's outspoken about it; I had a ED for roughly a year, but we've moved past that. But we were at her family reunion last night, and I think I've destroyed our relationship.
The reunion was a potluck with the classic rich Midwest fare. (I brought strudel.) I grabbed some food and sat down to start eating. I don't think I took that much - I don't like eating a lot in front of people I just met - but Jen seemed annoyed.
She made a few comments about me being a glutton to the people around her, and they laughed a bit. I laughed along with it, gave her a look, and changed the subject. Her relatives were friendly and so far I'd been having a great time.
Then the problem really started. I reached for a piece of bread. She prodded my stomach under the table, hard, to remind me I'm soft and should stop eating. I hated it, went scarlet, but obviously couldn't jerk away because we were in public. I grabbed the bread to spite her and she rolled her eyes.
At the end of the night, I went to put my coat on. I fussed with my buttons, because the hole are a little too small - for the record, that coat itself is blatantly loose on me. Jen comes over and stared at me, snorted, and said I should have listened to her about not eating so much.
I loudly told her that the last time I listened to her, she gave me an ED, so I'd rather not.
Other people heard. The coatroom was full, mainly with Jen's cousins and aunts. That's why I said that: I wanted to publically shame her. But I only meant for her to be temporarily embarrassed or given a weird look. Unfortunately, her family took it more seriously.
Jen's been blowing up my phone since last night. She's telling me her family is mad at her, that I ruined her reputation, that they think she's a horrible person. Apparently, one of her aunts really struggled with an ED as a kid, so her family takes it incredibly seriously. I have no idea how she can recover from what I said. Plus, I barely had an eating disorder - it messed over my mental health but it only affected my physical health towards the end.
I think I might be the asshole because I ruined her reputation just for having standards for what she wants me to look like. She wasn't even extreme or anything, though she did encourage the disordered thinking and mock me about my weight once she knew. She wanted a pretty achievable physique that I lowkey should probably be aiming for right now - I haven't been paying much attention to my weight, and I'm back to the generic strong but heavy farm kid build.
I don't know. Is she irrational? Am I retaliatory and throwing blame on her? I love her, but I just want her to be kinder about how I look... she could just talk to me.

For context, I technically still live at home with my parents but I am only here Mon-Fri until 5pm typically, and then I go to my boyfriends house (He has too many roommates for me to move in officially and we live in one of the most expensive states). I grew up with dogs my whole life, but at 20 I adopted my other pet and had a giant revelation about how much I truly dislike dogs.
My parents have two dogs, a blonde one and a black one, both are rescue mutts. The blondie is older, and she has a sweet and smart personality BUT she never stops barking. Anything walking past the windows will make her bark nonstop, like every single thing is a threat. If you leave to walk to the mailbox, she will bark at you when you come back. The black one is so anxious of everything, we aren't allowed to have phone ringers because it scares him. Not allowed to watch TV at certain volumes or play music because it scares him. There is dog hair everywhere. I left my coffee sitting ON THE COFFEE TABLE for a few minutes and came back to three black hairs floating on top (He stuck his face in and drank my coffee). You can't walk into my house without both dogs jumping up at you and clawing your legs because "aWwWwww tHeY aRe So ExCiTeD tO SeE yOu!". They lick my toes and the backs of my knees when I walk around the house it is so nasty feeling and it always makes me snap at them. If you attempt to be firm with them though, my parents will guilt trip you for it. Not to mention the black one is constantly sticking his face into peoples privates and humping my friends legs, soooooooo cute! NOT.
I am not exaggerating, my entire childhood the dogs were placed above me because "You are a human with longer to live". My parents never had more kids because "The dogs are your siblings". Every trip we tried to take was hell because we would bring the dogs and they would piss everywhere, bark nonstop, cause other problems OR if we didn't bring them my parents would complain the whole time that they missed the dogs. It is so embarrassing pulling up to family events and seeing everyones face drop when we open the car door and the mutts come barreling out, barking and jumping at everyone.
One time my mom found out the car dealership I had to take MY car too allowed dogs so she brought them in with us. The black one puked in front of their reception desk immediately, because the sounds of their phones ringing scared him. And then the cherry on top, he pooped on the floor in front of the technician I was trying to talk to about my car with. It was disgusting and so embarrassing and unnecessary. She could have just stayed in her car with them or walked them around the parking lot but, they are part of the family so they come with.
The black dog bites my feet when I prevent him from eating my other pets food, even though he is fed great dog food frequently and gets human food all of the time. They are so bossy and demanding because they are spoiled, they are hardly trained at all. They are trained to go outside for the bathroom and that is about it because my parents want their "dogs to be dogs" so they aren't trained in any other way.
Rant/vent over, I just cannot wait to one day have a dogfree home to live in so my parents can live happily in their dog house and I won't feel like a raincloud that rains on their dog parade.

Months ago, I posted some disc golf trip ideas for some insight and recommendations. Last week I went on a five-day road trip and played 8 different courses throughout Missouri, Illinois, and Iowa. I thought I would share my thoughts on each course...
​
Bad Rock Creek - (Short Reds) This is a course I could see myself playing nearly every day. Nice variety. Lots of ace runs on the shorts. Excited to come back and play the longs.
7/10 beauty, 8/10 fun, 8/10 overall
​
Harmony Bends - (short reds) Phenomenal course. This could potentially be my favorite course if not for the swamp. I knew it would be rough since it rained the day before, but I'm stubborn and played it anyway. Still a top course to me despite holes 9-13 being submerged.
9/10 beauty, 8/10 fun, 9/10 overall
​
Eagle's Crossing - (shorts - championship course) What a unique experience. I've heard others describe it similarly, but I've been telling people that this is the Disney World of disc golf courses. Everyone should play this at least once for the experience. This course may toe the line between gimmicky and extravagant, but I happen to find that appealing. One thing I appreciated about this course is it really required some decision making on many of the holes. Highly recommend renting the golf carts for the ultimate experience. Also, shout out to the staff, they were very kind and helpful.
9/10 beauty, 8/10 fun, 8/10 overall
​
The Canyons at Dellwood - (OG White) Holy shit, I fully understand how this is Illinois' #1 rated course. The locals are spoiled having this course and Northwood a few hours away. This is probably the most enjoyable course I have ever played. So many unique holes and I was amazed at how a public neighborhood course was so well taken care of. I don't know why, but I kept getting sesame street vibes with all the different types of people occupying the park for different occasions, birthday parties, wedding photo ops, etc... I suppose that's expected at most parks, but to have a full 27-hole course weaving throughout the park just felt so seamless and natural. And yet, somehow, it never felt crowded or distracting. This course should be the gold standard for public park courses. *also, I snagged my first eagle
10/10 beauty, 10/10 fun, 10/10 overall
​
Northwood Black - (longs) Dellwood may be my new number one, but this course is a close second. I mean, I shot 22 over par and I still had an absolute blast on this course. I'm sure most of you have seen coverage of this course, so I won't go into detail, but I'll just say this... I wanted to play the longs on the most difficult course on tour to get an idea of what the pros are truly up against, and holy fuck did I get the needed perspective. I know as you're reading this you're thinking "yea I'm sure the footage doesn't do it justice", but jesus christ some of these holes are absolutely absurd. I would say that on at least six of these holes I walked up to the tee pad and just started laughing, thinking "no fucking way anyone could birdie this hole", despite seeing it be done before. Everything is so much longer and taller! I got four pars on this course, and they felt better than any birdie I've gotten. It wasn't just the challenge that made me appreciate this course, but the landscape was gorgeous and I'm not sure why I wasn't expecting that.
10/10 beauty, 9/10 fun, 9/10 overall
​
Shaver Park - (shorts) This course was pretty fun. A fair number of unique holes that I really enjoyed. Only major drawback was the design felt a little clustered and confusing up top near the end. A family of deer tried to hang out with me though so that was cool. Also, to be fair, I received some bad news back home during the start of the round so that brought my mood down and affected my experience.
7/10 beauty, 8/10 fun, 7/10 overall
​
Wildcat Bluff - (longs) Phenomenal. In some ways this course is like Northwood Lite. Heavily wooded with some incredible holes that really test your nerves. After playing Northwood and Wildcat, I began to understand how playing such difficult courses can improve your game. They helped me learn that if you don’t have total confidence and don't put in 100% effort and commitment into every single shot, you will get punished. I'm already starting to feel that translate to my game back home.
10/10 beauty, 9/10 fun, 9/10 overall
​
Pickard Park - (longs to longs) I played the layout for the A-tier going down next month, which I assume is similar to what we will see for the DMC in July. Once again, I enjoyed playing a course where I've seen the pros play so many rounds. I really think this is one of the more well-rounded courses on tour. (though I will admit it may have one of the most boring finishing holes imo)
Side note: surprisingly, I managed to not lose a disc this entire trip until here on hole 12. If you find a crave stuck in the trees on the right you can have it, you're welcome.
8/10 beauty, 8/10 fun, 8/10 overall
​
Overall, my experience was amazing. Despite playing eight courses across the Midwest over five days, I managed to avoid the rain and wind entirely and the temps were always between 60-80°
This trip was perfect for the road in that I never had to drive more than 2.5 hours at a time. So, if you decide to plan a road trip soon, I highly recommend spacing out your destinations no minimize drive times if possible.
I've only played about 35 courses in my life so far, but if anyone is curious my top 10 so far is:

1. Dellwood
   
2. Northwood
   
3. Wildcat Bluff
   
4. Harmony Bends
   
5. Beale Slough
   
6. Bad Rock Creek
   
7. Seven Oaks
   
8. Eagle's Crossing
   
9. Pickard Park
   
10. Waterworks
    

The decision to keep both Robertus and Murasaki alive in Bryan’s image of the Hannibal universe is a curious one, but not one that I’m against. In fact, his ideas are actually pretty interesting when you consider these two were not only surrogate parents to Hannibal but also mentors.
When I think about “mentor” when it comes to someone like Hannibal, what’s come to mind recently is the relationship Dexter Morgan (Dexter) had with his adoptive father Harry. For those of you who know the Dexter lore, you know the “Code of Harry” that Dexter operates by. He must only kill those who are guilty without a shadow of a doubt. But Robertus and Hannibal is probably a bit different.
Given that Robertus is a Lecter as is Hannibal, I could imagine he took over where his father had left off. Teach him about class, proper etiquette, and all the arts to feed his prodigious talent. But also teach him skills on survival and remaining hidden in plain sight alongside his wife who likely also taught a young Hannibal martial arts and swordsmanship. This isn’t an ideal form of parenting, but it’s their unique form of love for a young boy who they probably saw as a monster. But blood is blood and a Lecter is a Lecter. And family helps each other out when they can as Hannibal says.
But it’s not all black and white. I can imagine Robertus and Murasaki are probably strange in it of themselves. Bryan’s original vision was for Robertus to also be a cannibal, but even if he isn’t, to mentor a young cannibal with class takes a certain kind of personality. Hannibal had to have learned his values of “eat the rude” from somewhere and he speaks fondly of his surrogate parents. He values family and the concept of family greatly even if his vision is twisted. The love he got from his aunt and uncle is likely hardly conventional. Just as many relationships are in the show.
Where Will falls into all this is probably earning the ire of Robertus for changing Hannibal and ruining his years of hard work. Not that he sees Hannibal as a masterpiece of sorts, but that Will’s “seduction” and impulsive nature had not only put his nephew’s life in danger, but also ruined his overall life that could have kept on going without issue. But how much can Robertus say anything of Will when he can’t even see his own blood for who he is?
It’s a smothering and isolating kind of love with good intension, but ultimately keeps Hannibal caged mentally and emotionally in some areas.

Benny went off