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Conspiracy theories involving “elite” pedophile rings have recently been dominating social media in a disorienting frenzy. They have been around for some time but in this century rose back to popularity during the 2016 Election cycle. This crop, at least, took root with what became known as “Pizzagate.” Promoters of that conspiracy theory in 2016 used social media platforms to make unfounded but viral allegations that Hillary Clinton and other prominent Democrats were running a pedophile ring out of the basement of a pizzeria even though that restaurant had no basement, or any ties to known politicians other than the typical flesh pressing (Phrasing I know) moments fit for a picture hung on the wall. Since then, the dark theme of Pizzagate has found new life with permutations forming part of the #Qanon conspiracy theory, incorporated under the umbrella term “pedogate.” The gist of the #pedogate conspiracy theory is that global elites (politicians, celebrities, and wealthy businesspersons) are covertly involved in a far-reaching ring that uses young children for sexual purposes. “What most of these conspiracy theories involve in one way or another is laying accusations of pedophilia or involvement in pedophile rings at the feet of people that they despise or hate, and during the 16’ election cycle, Democrats were a wide target for an opposing political movement that had hijacked the rival Republican party. Pizzagate originated with the “alt right” and “alt lite,” far right extremists who range from outright white supremacists to those who publicly shun racists but otherwise fall in step with their belief systems. Pizzagate jumped from the fringes to the mainstream because as it denigrated Hillary Clinton, it sucked in supporters of then-candidate Donald Trump. After the election all mention of pedogate seemed to be put on a simmer while other National outrages boiled over (#Covid #RussiaGate #BLM) and just like clockwork (heading into our next election cycle has been turned back up. The pedogate conspiracy and all associated stories employ a centuries-old tactic: playing on deep-seated human anxieties by conjuring images of imperiled children, the purest and defenseless victim of any manner of injustice. An example in the modern era of weaponized conspiracy was the satanic panic of the 1980s, in which a wave of hysteria over alleged child molestation at daycare centers swept the nation. But while that phenomenon was a moral panic attributable, at least in part, to social anxiety over white middle class women entering the work force en masse for the first time and entrusting their children to others, the current conspiracy theories about pedophile rings equate to similar propaganda. They carry a danger for stirring up violence. If you want to elicit violent action the way to do it is through hate and fear. Once you target and label a population as pedophiles, you can do anything you like to that population with full excuse being given to the myth you’ve wrapped around it. That’s not to say fears of child abuse or sex trafficking are unfounded. There are many as pedophilia has ancient roots and in many cases was encourage by many world cultures and religions a lot later into Civilization than we’d like to admit. The International Labor Organization reports that 25 percent of the world’s 40.3 million victims of human trafficking are children. The most vulnerable, according to the National Human Trafficking Hotline, are migrants, runaways, the homeless, and youngsters who have been victims of violence. Despite their obsession over the topic, conspiracy followers aren’t worked up about those children who are in true harm’s way. In the world of propaganda, it’s never about real children. Instead, it’s about what children represent. The children imperiled by conspiracy theories, in other words, are only metaphors. Children carry a vast amount of weight in any society, but especially modern ones when they’re expected to survive past the age of five. It wasn’t as intense before the 18th century when child mortality rates were really high. They represent the future, and all that is beautiful and decent and honest in a society, because they are innocent. For most people also, the meaning of their existence is rooted in their children. Children are eschatological, they represent death for us, and what is coming behind us after we are gone. They also represent the threat of loss, if they disappear, if they die, that is the death of society. That’s why they became so crucial and central to Cold War propaganda. The real terror of the nuclear holocaust would be the death of the children, because that’s the death of everyone. A recent example of this is in a recent police investigation into conspiracy claims of PizzaGate style accusation of Portland’s Voodoo Doughnuts. Detectives attempted to contact the person accusing Voodoo Doughnuts on social media of running a pedophile ring. The accuser did not cooperate with investigators and it’s been documented in other coverage online that they had become agitated and accused the Police with complicity when tracked down in person, even though they were attempting to investigate. The pendulum of conspiracy theories about systematic child abuse has swung back and forth for centuries. Examples such as blood libel, when Jewish communities were attacked over false allegations of murdering and consuming Christian children in the Middle Ages. In Europe, During the Thirty Years War, entire villages were put to the sword because it was believed they were abusing children of the other religions. One characteristic that helps Pizzagate-style conspiracy theories gain popularity is that they function like a puzzle game and give its audience a large level of involvement through social media. A lot of conspiracy theories are oracular, where the information comes from one source an oracle. Then there are others where there are a few people who promote the notions, almost like gurus or a conspiracy priesthood. But Pizzagate, it’s more of what one would call a participatory conspiracy theory. Participatory conspiracy theories lay out a scenario or situation and then they ask their audience, ‘what more can you find out about this, what more can you add?’ It turns the audience into willing participants, some knowing they are creating a destructive madlib and other (potential real victims) caking on mystical distraction to issues that have been unreported or scars that have not bee properly treated. The thing about participatory conspiracy theories is it can really create a devoted following because it gives people something to do, it makes them feel they can solve the whole thing or uncover new aspects to it. Once you get that energy going it’s almost self-sustaining. Followers of the Qanon conspiracy theory, call themselves “bakers” because their protagonist “Q” pops up on Internet message boards and leaves “crumbs” (i.e., clues), and they are tasked with picking up the crumbs in order to solve the puzzle. (“Q” is supposed to reference the character’s government security clearance level).
#Q followers believe an even more incoherent version of Pizzagate. This is largely a right-wing fantasy that originated in a series of incoherent posts on #4chan in 2017 by someone calling themselves #QAnon. Following on the heels of similar idiocy such as Pizzagate, it advances a fantastic web of deceit that wraps up Trumpism, deep state fearmongering, evil, satanic pedophilia rings controlled by the Democratic Party, investigations into Russian meddling in the 2016 US election, the Las Vegas shooting, and New World Order paranoia into a package easily and wholeheartedly promoted by internet cesspools and far-right personalities such as Alex Jones. The premise is that President Trump is secretly working to take down a global ring of elite, cannibalistic, satanic pedophiles. And the investigation into Russian meddling into the 2016 election, led by former FBI director Robert Mueller, is actually an investigation into the so-called “deep state”, where a cabal of evil, globalists, including Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, are responsible for everything from a global pedophile ring to the mass shooting in Las Vegas in 2017. According to the enlightened, when Trump awkwardly took a drink from a bottle of Fiji water at a press conference in November 2017, it wasn’t because he was thirsty; it was actually a secret signal to those in the know that the annihilation of deep state pedophiles had begun (or was about to begin). Because as everyone knows, Fiji is a hot spot for child trafficking. ( I could go on and on with this poorly thought-out shit, I will spare you ) The role the Internet and social media play in helping to spread such insanity can’t be underestimated. Just a few decades earlier, conspiracy theorists would identify each other using letters to the editor printed in newspapers and magazines. It was a lot harder to identify your fellow conspiracy theorists. You would have to physically meet to swap your stories or send letters or call. They would set up these groups that would communicate by newsletter. They would meet in a physical space, like someone’s living room. I personally witnessed people from my childhood, dutifully photocopying newsletters they had received in the mail to give to others (Primarily at my #JW congregation, how ironic). Now obviously it can go much more quickly, because you can identity people immediately. You can quickly share ideas and the data you’ve collected. The Internet allows such people to exist in bubbles where they rarely have their beliefs challenged. The extraordinarily polarized society we’re in right now has made people less willing to seek out other view points. Because of the internet you have less chance of doing this. There’s very little incentive to look outside one’s own bubble once they have become invested in a conspiracy theory. Once you start to act out on those behaviors you are forced to double down by repeating the act to prove it was a just act. Eventually you get caught up in a movement that totally defines your conscious and you can’t get out of it. The second you step out of that world view your actions go back to being reprehensible. Now the question becomes, “What’s the harm? If it sheds light on child abuse, then isn’t it still productive?” The answer in this case is a resounding NO. In my opinion and PAINFUL experience, the root cause and sustaining factors of institutionalized child sex abuse are all things that would counter your typical Conspiracy Nut’s world view, thus causing a complete blackout to the problems. The entity taking part in the harming of children on a local and tangible level aren’t some suit and tie wearing global elitist. It’s a guidance counselor, youth pastor, unvetted young substitute teacher, aunt/uncle/cousin/neighbor. It’s anyone who has been given routine private access to a child’s mind and body because of the social conventions that have been protected for generations by our relatives whether they themselves are guilty of abuse or not. In all the Qanon madness I also kept very close tabs on the pending prosecution of the Boy scouts of America and never saw any widely shared memes about their involvement in the abuse syndicate. Why is this? How is this so? Aren’t these people watching the news, seeing the court records and hearing the individual cases being brought against Scout Leaders (SOME OF WHO RAN THEIR OWN NETWORKS!!)? When I would find mention of accusation it was met with the ever scarce “skepticism” because if the media is covering it, it must be a plot to destroy the organization. There are now non-for profit organizations setting up victim funds and protections for people to come out with their stories and somehow THIS is the fake ruse. Some that know me know that I was a Jehovah’s Witness as a youth/teen/young adult. That chapter of my life could fill many chapters and the research on the organization, the real true black and white history of the religion would honestly surprise you. I saw what I now know was abuse, I personally experienced abuse in many forms. The perpetrators involved are either still Witnesses or are dead or have moved “away from the organization”. But one thing that was left intact in each situation was the secret that they prey on children. The parents, these organizations and the collective promise to keep up appearances are directly to blame for the suffering untold thousands, millions of children and broken adults. All for what? Pride and Vanity and a commitment to all involved to protect them from the “mean old world” despite allowing predators to eat their children from within. Being a #JW was a very interesting experience. It provides a very efficient form of insulation from outside society and allows people involved to view the chaos from afar. There is this persistent (albeit false) sense of shared peace that members have. It’s as though for three days a week you go to this meeting where no matter what, everyone has a smile and feels about things EXACTLY how you do. There is no cursing, there are no politics, there surely isn’t any destructive influences that would tarnish your chances of salvation. For a parent this is a refuge when raising a child in a world that is dangerously unpredictable. A Child that you are unable (or unwilling) to teach coping skills to get along by societal standards, A child you want to protect by hiding. This is problem #1. As an adult the congregation presents an avenue for which you can act and behave in a way that allows you to reconcile your past, a way to have less of those nights awake because you think about past wrongs you’ve committed against people. It’s the proverbial band-aid for a guilty, bruised, destroyed conscious of any size. Coming into the organization takes nothing more than the desire to change, publicly declaring your willingness to hand over your life to God (The organization). Bam, You’re in! No credit check, no background check. This is problem #2. A JW is taught that “every facet is an asset” (Ministerial Servants know what I’m talking about). What this means is that every facet of your life is an asset to the organization to spread its word. If the world see’s their product’s application into your life and thereby how much better it is than a normal person’s, then they’ve made an “Effective Witness” to the world. This causes Witnesses of any age to allow almost every facet of their life to be a tool by the organization. For a parent this includes their children. This is problem #3 When you get a culture that insulates itself from the real world, that allows you to enter without any coherent vetting, give access to children whose parents feel obligated to present as a “witness” to the lifestyle. You get a twisted corridor in which victims can get lost for a lifetime and predators can hide in plain sight. For any proponents of the “Save-The-Children” movement to not take a step back and really analyze their local community and lifestyle through these lenses only illustrates that child abuse is being weaponized politically at the expense of others whom you aren’t willing to save because it would look bad for ‘your side’. If you truly care, you wouldn’t be sharing email forwards about what evil unverified unmentionable thing you read some celebrity or politician did. Instead, you’d be drawing back on your experiences as a child. Even if nothing happened directly to you, I’m sure you know some one that had an experience that forever harmed their life. Who did it? Was there a pattern or social condition that allowed for this as was laid out in the JW example? How could it have been avoided? Would you have stopped it if you saw the signs? Are you willing to stop it in the future, knowing what you know now? If you can answer any of those questions with a yes, then you have all you need to WRITE your own material to reach real victims and their families. Does your action cause problems for your ‘side’? It shouldn’t matter and you know that. If it does make a difference to you then you are no better than the shadowy pedophilic cabal that you are so obsessed with.

Picture this:
It's a Saturday morning in January. You were out drinking with friends last night on the cusp of a snowstorm. Around midnight when the bar started to close, you welcomed the group to pop by your home to wish your 23-year-old son a happy birthday.
Your son, a few of his friends, and your nephew were there when you got home. Friends from the bar arrived shortly: Brian Higgins in his jeep, The McCabes in their whatever-mobile.
The snowfall continued to accumulate. By around 1:45am, the last "guest" (your adult daughter) departed, picked up by her boyfriend to make the 20ish-minute drive home.
Despite the howling wind, the snow insulates the outdoors and blankets everything with that surreal quietness, as if you've forgotten that you have cotton balls in your ears. The only sound throughout the night is the slow, comforting rumble of the plows making their hourly passes.
Around 6am, a woman is screaming 30 feet from your bedroom window. Wildly. Urgently. Inconsolably. Emergency vehicles begin arriving to your yard. Six, seven, maybe eight motors running. Heavy doors open and slam closed. There are multiple police cruisers, firetrucks, and ambulances. Their red and blue lights reflect off the snow like a dozen flashing suns, casting criss-crossing light beams against your house like a scene from the Waco docuseries. Anywhere from 11 to 15 first responders are in front of your house, one of whom seems to be using a leaf blower.
Only one of your five kids is home. You don't know if your daughter and her boyfriend made it home safely. You don't know if your sister, her husband, and your son's friends made it home safely. You don't know if your nephew made it home safely. You don't know what happened after you closed the door behind them last night.
What are your first thoughts?
What are your first actions?

I still think Curtis Mead will be an everyday MLB player. I think there is a 3+ WAR player who can provide 120+ wRC+ at 2nd base and a shade below average defense one day there (or maybe who knows with more playing time he is a little stretched at 2nd he would jsut have to be very fluid which is doubtful but still being optimistic). Statcast recently rolled out a series of new hitter centric metrics with in conjuction with past performance and metrics still paints a promising picture for Mead's future. There are some clear issues but also issues that can be addressed and given how smart of a hitter and his willingness to take instruction can be improved upon. Especially considering we are talking about a player that had a 129 wRC+ with sub 20% SO rate, 12.9% BB rate and a .208 ISO as a 21 year old in AAA to go with a 123 wRC+ 17.3% SO rate, a 12.6% wapk rate and a .221 ISO in AAA as a 22 year old (on top of the great numbers he out up in AA and A ball which in each stop he was underaged for including the past 2 years in AAA). Disclaimer will take a while to read hope those who do enjoy!
First and foremost Mead's calling card has always been his quick bat speed and his ability to impact the ball. Sometimes contact quality won't shine through poor decisions and poor contact but with the new bat speed metric we can readily and easily see bat speed. Mead's is the best on the Rays of players with 50+ at bats. The best by quite a bit in fact. 90th percentile in at 75.1, the next closest Rays player is Randy at 72.8 which is 66 percentile in baseball. The rate he swings the bat at 75+ MPH is also rather high tied with Vladdy Jr. at 52.4% which is 93rd percentile of the 360 batters to log 50+ ABs this year. The power is there and the quality of swing is also there as his swing length of 7.4 isn't fantastic but is pretty standard with many of the best hitters in baseball having similar lengths of swing. He is able to generate great bat speed in a rather compact swing. For reference 2 players that have very similar to Meads bat speed and swing length is Ely De La Cruz (75 MPH and 7.3 feet) and Austin Riley (75 MPH and 7.5 feet). His swing is there, and his Max EV and Avg Evs have kind of shown that this year. His Max EV of 112.2 is 88th percentile only 2nd to Yandy on the Rays, and his 89.3 avg EV is 56 percentile, and his EV50 is roughly in that same ball park. His batted ball metrics show progression and his swing is there so what gone wrong. It's simple, pitch identification and being caught in between a bit.
To explain prospects struggling with pitch ID at the MLB level you first have to understand the state of pitching in AAA. There are little to no high quality pitchers in AAA. The last time hitting prospects see high quality stuff is truly AA. That's generally where the rubber hits the road for prospects, if underage prospects hit well and don't take a step back at AA they are future big leaguers. Not saying there isn't stuff in AAA as there is, just not to the quality of the MLB, just a FO doesn't want to waste the bullets a pitcher has in AAA when he can use them in the MLB. There is still a measure of postives to a guy staying in AAA and fine tuning pitch ID. However the true finesse components of pitching isn't developed until a pitcher is older. Such as commanding sliders in the zone or perfecting changeups and splitters or even locating fastballs up and in. This is why every rookie for the past couple of years has really struggled with SO rates when first called up. Gunnar Henderson struggled heavily with SO intially, by July he stabilized and in my opinion that dude is destined for 6+ WAR seasons going forward and if he ever shift back to 3rd will challenge to lead MLB in WAR every year. Anthony Volpe was similar and looks like a perennial 3-4+ WAR player. Those questioning why Junior Caminero isn't up in the MLB need to understand this, the Rays have so much pressure built up in Junior's development that they won't take chances with him floundering at the MLB level and would rather see him improve his pitch ID in AAA as its his biggest flaw before throwing him to the wolves in the MLB. Sure some physical freaks can defy a poor SO rate but it's never good to bet on the exception to the rule.
So what does this mean for Curtis Mead? Well a myriad of things based on his MILB and MLB performances. Curtis Mead's biggest issue so far has been by far his chase percentages, which has helped fuel a below average whiff%. He has 3 holes in his swing which are in extremely common locations. Middle high is the worse by far generating a 63% whiff percentage. This isn't uncommon at all, Mike Trout famously struggled with it, Josh Lowe is completely anemic at hitting high pitches but is ultra agressive with low pitches and takes high pitches understanding he can't consistently get on top of them, only swinging when necessary. Outside of that up and in and low and in are the only in the zone areas where you see a 30+ whiff% with Mead. MILB pitching could never take full advantage of these wholes but MLB fastballs can and will until he establishes and approach to handle these pitches.
The most clear area he can improve is by laying off pitches high middle/in and pitches that are running low and away. Those low and away pitches are generally sliders and curveball from righties, changeups from lefties, and fastballs from both. That would improve his chase percentage and whiff% lowering SOs, increasing walk rate, and reducing the amount of weak contact generated at these locations. These things were never viewed as a concern in the minors and are mental components of the game that will continue to grow with more at bats. His SO rates in the minors support this as he always ran above average SO rates and walk percentages in the minors as well as superb contact percentages (ran 80+% contact rates in the minors ), while also barreling balls at a 16.4% rate. An approach similar to Josh Lowe's would make since, be agressive with lower pitches and lay off pitches with in high whiff rate areas. I'm sure when he is recalled he will have a different approach then we previously saw.
In the end of the day watching his at bats Curtis Mead always seemed in between on what he wanted to do, unsure of what the right choice would be. His barrel rate being so low kinda shows it. He isn't getting to the contact he reguarly go to in the past and is hestitant to really go up there and swing which was the most natural and easy component of the game for him. Minor tweaks to his approach could be a boon for him while steadily improving with at bats and age. Mental development doesn't stagnat until the late 20s and physically development doesn't until 24-25 for most. The physical tools to hit are there he jsut has to get the mental components of it all to mesh with the physical.
Curtis Mead's mental approach to hitting has always been great and his willingness to take instruction has been evident as he is very open to change and tweaking his approach. There was visble proof of this last year with changes to approach and stance. In the end this is a guy that had superb contact rates, excellent zone control, and plus power in the minors running .200+ ISO's through the minors. Considering the amount of chances afforded to Johnathan Aranda and other prospects I know Curtis Mead is far from out of the Rays future plans, but with the release of bat speed and other new metrics by baseball-savant (bat speed isnt the end all but shows there is a fast bat that can generste plus contact) there is new reasons to be optimistic going forward. There has been evidence to statistically support the idea of reset in the minors improving the mental components of prospects who's struggle in the majors, hopefully when he is recalled both the physical and mental components line up and we see poative progression. It takes players time, Austin Riley didn't look like a future stud his first couple of years, Bobby Witt struggled to get to hard contact his first year, Christian Walker took forever to deliver on his bat speed, the list of players stagnating and fialing off of rip is long particularly when they come up in their early 20s. Might not be this year, but eventually it's going to click for him and I hope the Rays still have him when it does.

The shadow reared up and inhaled deeply, a loud rush of air into a giant bellows.
The light from Hadrian’s aura sparked off the creature’s jet-black scales and burned back the darkness so that a soft, nimbus glow revealed the dusty throne room of a long-dead mountain fortress.
He knew his Aura wasn’t enough to defeat the mighty dragon or even to harm it. But the sting of its touch would provide a distraction, sap a portion of the dragon's power to defend against the light.
He smiled behind his visor. Wherever there was darkness, he would bring the light. This was his oath.
The dragon’s head reached nearly to the ceiling atop a long sinuous neck, thick as a tree, and covered in armored scales the color of midnight and stronger than steel. The creature’s body curved behind it, vast and muscled, covered in the same black scales and leathery wings folded at its sides. Shiny black talons like curved longswords dug deep ruts into the stone floor. The dragon was a terrifying sight to behold, power-given flesh. Any other man would have trembled at the sight of it, lost his bowels to fear and his mind to madness. But Hadrian was no ordinary man. He was a Paladin of the White Rose, armored in his faith and blessed by his god. He traveled the land, hunting out the dark. That meant evil trembled before him.
The dragon probed the defenses shielding Hadrian’s mind from psionic attacks. He felt this as a slight pressure in his thoughts, the featherlight touch of falling gossamer. Then it was gone—repelled by the strength of his mental wards.
The dragon roared its fury.
Hadrian stood tall before Xegotargetol, the mightiest of the shadow dragons.
Slowly, he drew Dawnstar from its sheath and held it aloft, paying homage to his god. The sword gleamed like polished silver, double-edged and etched down both sides of the blade with intricate runes of power. In his other hand, he held Smite, a mighty tower shield the color of ivory and traced with shimmering runes. A gift from High Priest Adleson for the head of an ancient and terrible scourge.
“Fool!” Xegotargetol’s voice was a crash of thunder. Chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling. Dust drifted down. “You think to match your feeble power against mine?” Xegotargetol’s eyes glowed terribly in the dark, livid with crimson rage.
The air around Hadrian began to tingle, and the hairs on his arms under his armor stirred, like in the moments before a lightning strike.
Hadrian lifted his shield.
A bolt of crackling power thundered from the dragon’s maw, arcing and clawing toward him with murderous exaltation.
Hadrian muttered a word of power. Runes glowed to life on Smite.
He caught the lightning on his shield, and the metal heels of his burnished sabatons screeched sparks on the stone as he was pushed back. Ozone filled the air, and the roaring snap and crack of the lightning drowned out the dragon’s laughter. “You will not defeat me, foolish human!”
Hadrian clenched his teeth, muscles aflame, and with trembling effort, crossed his blade over the place where the lightning writhed on the face of his shield. There was a loud clap and a mighty roar, and Hadrian stumbled forward a step as the force pressing against him abruptly vanished.
Smoke rose from his shield. He peered over it, sword held at the ready.
Wisps rose from the dragon’s scales, dull and charred.
“Clever trick,” Xegotargetol growled out the words. “But it will not save you.”
Power gathered around the dragon until the air shimmered. “Behold, I am unleashed! Be gone, fool human!” The dragon reared back and snapped its maw forward like the tail on the end of a whip. A sphere of smoldering darkness streaked toward Hadrian.
He muttered a prayer to his god and braced his shield for the impact.
Darkness enveloped him.
Not the kind of utter blackness you’d find at the bottom of a grave, but a flickering, seething murk that carried him away on a flood of rapids. He clutched his shield close and his sword closer. On and on, he tumbled and spun, dashed among the inky waves until a bright speck appeared in the distance, growing in size with each heartbeat.
A moment later, Hadrian clattered out of the light onto hard ground, rolling and skidding to a stop. He lay there for a long moment, breathless and bruised, his mind reeling with all that had happened.
You were a fool ever to think you could defeat me. The words came as a fading whisper in his mind.
He rolled over and pushed himself up on hands and knees, and froze.
The ground was made of dark metal, and the air carried a blend of strange scents and dizzying sounds. Strangefolk in strange attire gathered around him, murmuring in words he could not understand. They held small devices that emitted a dot of light and wore art painted on their bare arms and shoulders. Evil spawn.
Hadrian rose to his feet, sword and shield at the ready. He turned slowly in place, studying the people as anxiety swelled in his heart. Massive buildings of exotic design surrounded him, soaring to disappear high into the sky. Lights in every color imaginable blinded him, blared strange music and jumping pictures. Strange beasts roared past in the air. But the strangest thing of all was the moon, or rather, that there were two of them, one half the size of the other; both glowing a pale, hazy blue.
What abyss is this? Realization struck. Xegotargetol could not breach his defenses, so the dragon had teleported him to this place.
Then, a familiar sight snagged his eye. He stopped, staring at a reflection.
It was him, standing in his armor, silver plate inlaid with ivory and bronze, fancy traceries running up and down his arms and over his chest. There could be no mistake. But it wasn’t a reflection, was it? This was something else, some kind of apparition. A magic projection contained within a wide rectangular simulacrum taller than his father’s inn.
He took in his surroundings, dread building to a boil.
This was not Aeterna or any place he’d ever heard of. This was some kind of hell, a decaying abyss full of madmen and fevered dreams. This was his nightmare made reality.
A metal dragon covered in flashing lights roared down out of the sky. It screamed words at him he did not understand.
I warned you, fool.
Hadrian firmed his jaw and hefted his sword. Time to cleanse this place.

Please note, my chat is not open, so please only send me messages, please and thank you
Hey there, seekers of connection and comfort,
So, picture this: it's a chilly evening, and I'm cosied up in bed with a good book, a steaming mug of chai latte, and my two feline companions, a tabby named Gracie and a tubby black cat called Milly. There's something magical about these moments, you know? It's like time slows down, and all that matters is the warmth and tranquillity of home. But here's the thing—I've realised that as much as I love these quiet moments, they're even better when shared with someone special.
As I journey through my thirties, I find myself craving more than just the comfort of solitude. I yearn for a genuine connection, the kind that goes beyond surface-level small talk and dives deep into the heart of who we are. I'm talking about conversations that leave you feeling seen and understood, where we can share our hopes, fears, dreams, and everything in between.
Now, I must confess—I have a keen interest in sci-fi and fantasy literature. Worlds created by authors like Neil Gaiman and Brandon Sanderson ignite my imagination, offering an escape into realms filled with wonder and adventure.
When I'm not lost in the pages of a good book, I enjoy delving into city builders and colony simulators like Cities: Skylines and RimWorld. There's a sense of creativity and strategy that's incredibly satisfying, and I'm always up for building my own virtual world and seeing it thrive.
But don't let my love for gaming fool you—I'm also a bit of a music enthusiast. I enjoy a diverse range of genres, from jazzpunk and electroswing beats to the smooth croons of blues legends. There's something about the fusion of old and new in songs like "Booty Swing" by Parov Stelar or "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone that gets me tapping my feet and feeling alive.
But here's the real deal: I'm on a never-ending search for someone who understands the beauty of vulnerability, who's not afraid to open up and share their deepest thoughts and feelings. Someone who's equal parts intellectual and empathetic, with a sprinkle of wit and a dash of charm. Someone who can appreciate the quiet moments as much as the grand adventures, who finds joy in the simple pleasures of life.
Physically, I'm drawn to eyes that sparkle with curiosity and a smile that radiates warmth and kindness. I'm a sucker for genuine laughter and someone who isn't afraid to be themselves, flaws and all.
So, if you're nodding along and thinking, "Hey, that sounds like me," then why not take a chance? Let's see where our shared love for cosy nights, meaningful conversations, and heartfelt moments takes us. To get us started, here are a couple of potential conversation starters: "If you could travel to any fictional world for a day, where would you go?" and "What's a hobby or interest you've always wanted to try but haven't yet?"
Drop me a message, and let's embark on this journey together.
With warmth and anticipation, Dave

Please note, my chat is not open, so please only send me messages, please and thank you
Hey there, seekers of connection and comfort,
So, picture this: it's a chilly evening, and I'm cosied up in bed with a good book, a steaming mug of chai latte, and my two feline companions, a tabby named Gracie and a tubby black cat called Milly. There's something magical about these moments, you know? It's like time slows down, and all that matters is the warmth and tranquillity of home. But here's the thing—I've realised that as much as I love these quiet moments, they're even better when shared with someone special.
As I journey through my thirties, I find myself craving more than just the comfort of solitude. I yearn for a genuine connection, the kind that goes beyond surface-level small talk and dives deep into the heart of who we are. I'm talking about conversations that leave you feeling seen and understood, where we can share our hopes, fears, dreams, and everything in between.
Now, I must confess—I have a keen interest in sci-fi and fantasy literature. Worlds created by authors like Neil Gaiman and Brandon Sanderson ignite my imagination, offering an escape into realms filled with wonder and adventure.
When I'm not lost in the pages of a good book, I enjoy delving into city builders and colony simulators like Cities: Skylines and RimWorld. There's a sense of creativity and strategy that's incredibly satisfying, and I'm always up for building my own virtual world and seeing it thrive.
But don't let my love for gaming fool you—I'm also a bit of a music enthusiast. I enjoy a diverse range of genres, from jazzpunk and electroswing beats to the smooth croons of blues legends. There's something about the fusion of old and new in songs like "Booty Swing" by Parov Stelar or "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone that gets me tapping my feet and feeling alive.
But here's the real deal: I'm on a never-ending search for someone who understands the beauty of vulnerability, who's not afraid to open up and share their deepest thoughts and feelings. Someone who's equal parts intellectual and empathetic, with a sprinkle of wit and a dash of charm. Someone who can appreciate the quiet moments as much as the grand adventures, who finds joy in the simple pleasures of life.
Physically, I'm drawn to eyes that sparkle with curiosity and a smile that radiates warmth and kindness. I'm a sucker for genuine laughter and someone who isn't afraid to be themselves, flaws and all.
So, if you're nodding along and thinking, "Hey, that sounds like me," then why not take a chance? Let's see where our shared love for cosy nights, meaningful conversations, and heartfelt moments takes us. To get us started, here are a couple of potential conversation starters: "If you could travel to any fictional world for a day, where would you go?" and "What's a hobby or interest you've always wanted to try but haven't yet?"
Drop me a message, and let's embark on this journey together.
With warmth and anticipation, Dave

I am setting up awesomewm and using Lua and Bash script for the first time. I was able to get this working, so on the one hand it might appeal to other beginners as an accessible project, and on the other this is a good juncture to seek out feedback from those who know better ways. u/digost explained to me about mkfifo yesterday and already that let me do something new in this.
wallpaper can be set up in rc.lua by adding the line awful.spawn.with_shell("feh --bg-scale ~/FILENAME.png"), so if this file is replaced with another png a different wallpaper will load
conky the system monitor is installed from pacman and it can be given its own background by following the installation guide to generate a config file at ~/.config/conky/conky.conf and adding or editing a line to the top of the conky.text section
conky.text = [[ ${image /home/dave/conkies/conkycar.png -p -50,0 -s 450x450}
Where 450x450 is the image size and -50 is an offset to get it to appear in the right place. These small images are about the same size as the cheapest generative-AI option, which I found for fractions of a penny and that's what gave me the idea. I will try not to promote or even mention the particular provider since it is non-Free.
conky configuration is something that some people spend time on as part of ricing. Although a basic process of pulling an image from the internet should stay the same across awesomewm themes, there could be limitless complexity in getting images to reliably visually-cohere. If the conky and the wallpaper come from related prompts into the same Model, then hopefully they can cohere at least sometimes, but for now I've just gone with colour red.
My first step is to create a salt list of theme words. I went to a free/non-passworded chatbot and asked it for a list of words to do with cars and trucks and fire and chrome. These go into a text file with a space at the start of each entry
conkies.top4salt.txt

 Automobile Vehicle Sedan Coupe {etc...} 

These salt words are used to make each generated image slightly different.
First a .json request needs to be generated to a chatbot-type API. This uses a template from their site
conkies.TEXTtemplate

#\bin\bash curl --request POST \ --url PUT THE URL OF THE TEXT-PROVIDER'S API HERE \ --header 'Authorization: Bearer PUT THEIR API KEY HERE \ --header 'Content-Type: application/json' \ --data '{ "max_tokens": 2048, "mode": "python", "model": "icortex-1", "n": 1, "temperature": 0, "text": 

The last field "text" is the prompt, which can be brought in from a separate textfile
conkies.prompt.txt

"A prompt for an artist to design a promotional photograph, of a luxurious red sports car, which must place strong emphasis on:- (1) an Arch, (2) flames, (3) a red background (4)[ 

The " at the start is needed for .json request's format - as can be seen from the other lines. The [ on the end is there as a delimiter but ended up not being used: the API just ignores it.
For this site this is enough to start with. The prompt is set up with a script, which is also used to launch the process once everything is in place:-
conkies.TEXTpromptsetup.sh

#!/bin/bash find . -maxdepth 1 -type p -delete mkfifo conkies.fifo -m 0700 echo $( cat conkies.TEXTtemplate > perl -pi -e 'chomp if eof' echo -n $(cat conkies.prompt.txt) >> echo -n $(shuf -n 1 conkies.topksalt.txt) "," $(shuf -n 1 conkies.topksalt.txt) "," $(shuf -n 1 conkies.topksalt.txt) "\"" "}" "'" >> sh conkies.TEXT-prompter.sh) > conkies.fifo & alacritty -e sh /home/dave/conkies/conkies.IMAGE-promptsetup.sh 

The first line clears any leftover fifo files from previous times the script has run. The main body of this joins the parts of the .json prompt together into a compliant format, in the file conkies.TEXT-prompter.sh The shuf commands pull three salt-words into the prompt. The perl command takes a newline off the end of the conkies.TEXTtemplate which otherwise breaks the format. There are some syntax marks at the end of the file, the " one needs an escape character.
conkies.TEXT-prompter.sh is then run; the data that comes back from the API of the service provider is written into the fifo; and a new shell is opened for the IMAGE prompter.
Hopefully the data that comes back from the API is a prompt. If it's an error-message or the money has run out the resulting images might be very strange!
The IMAGE prompter also has to be set up beforehand. The IMAGE provider I used had a slightly more complex format than the TEXT provider I used, so it had to be made from a start section, the TEXT-prompt, and an end section. The format was on their website and involved some intricacies to do with different Models being compatible with different versions of Lora.
conkies.IMAGEtemplate

#\bin\bash curl -X 'POST' \ 'THE IMAGE-PROVIDER'S URL GOES HERE' > conkies-$(date +"%m_%d_%y_%T").png \ -H THEIR API-KEY GOES HERE \ -H 'accept: */*' \ -H 'Content-Type: multipart/form-data' \ -F 'lora2_strength=.7' \ -F 'lora2=' \ -F 'lora1_strength=.7' \ -F 'prompt= 

example prompt from the TEXT-provider

"The artist should design a promotional photograph of a luxurious sports car, with an arch in the background, surrounded by flames. The car should be in a state of acceleration, with its fenders gleaming and its hubcaps spinning. The flames should be in shades of red, orange, and yellow, and should be emitting sparks. The background should be a deep red." 

conkies.IMAGEtemplate-footer

' \ -F 'width=512' \ -F 'height=512' \ -F 'steps=30' \ -F 'sampler=dpmpp_2m_karras' \ -F 'model=epic_diffusion_1' \ -F 'negative_prompt=ugly, tiling, poorly drawn hands, poorly drawn feet, poorly drawn face, out of frame, extra limbs, disfigured, deformed, body out of frame, blurry, bad anatomy, blurred, watermark, grainy, signature, cut off, draft' \ -F 'upscale=1' \ -F 'seed=4116668295' \ -F 'format=png' \ -F 'guidance=7' \ -F 'lora1=' \ 

These are combined together as follows by the second script:-
IMAGE-promptsetup.sh

#!/bin/bash cat conkies.IMAGEtemplate > perl -pi -e 'chomp if eof' cat conkies.fifo cut -f6 -d":" cut -c 3- rev cut -c 8- rev >> perl -pi -e 'chomp if eof' cat conkies.IMAGEtemplate-footer >> sh conkies.IMAGE-prompter.sh && sh conky-relaunch.sh 

They are launched at the end as conkies.IMAGE-prompter.sh, which downloads a timestamped .png file from the image provider.
and the last script sorts the images and relaunches conky with the most recent.
conky-relaunch.sh

pkill conky mv *.png ~/conkies/conkycars/ && cp -p $(ls -dtr1 "conkycars"/*.png tail -1) ~/conkies/conkycar.png exec conky 

To make wallpaper instead would need to change the image size in the conkies.IMAGEtemplate file and point rc.lua to the folder it's been downloaded into.
To generate a wallpaper and conky background at the same time I think it would be easiest to duplicate everything to another folder, so that the text prompts are not the same.
At the end on an unmodified conky with a free wallpaper from https://www.pixelstalk.net/download-free-arch-linux-background/ it looks like
https://preview.redd.it/iiscm9bifg0d1.png?width=1565&format=png&auto=webp&s=b836c7a6ba3c5df01768e5014d2c3a20ac5601fc
https://preview.redd.it/cbq17sfigg0d1.png?width=1596&format=png&auto=webp&s=72b889bce8fe995ce57a6e4bdd433de4f0c0b505
There are various problems. Any changes to the API will break it but that is in the nature of these things. Both API providers required accounts. With the text-provider I am on some trial limit they have which is more than enough free requests per month to make these conky prompts, but it might be monetized in the future. The image-provider I had to pay for but it's the minimum amount. It might be that the credits expire and my conky becomes a financial commitment. But for this $10 I could generate a lifetime supply of pictures of what AI thinks cars look like... with wing-mirrors only for the passengers :D
From zero-knowledge I've been able to use a named pipe to connect two APIs together, and used bash script to manipulate text into compliant formats for .json requests. I'm becoming conscious that simple tasks have to be broken down into more stages and more files than it initially appears and this becomes messy. I generally have nothing in place to check each script is outputting in the right form, or to give error messages. If I accidentally included one special character in the text prompt, that would break the image output, but if I include any comment lines to warn myself then the script will have to check for those and remove them... so I just have to remember.

first
Luna VI query: Set the source to the leaked files of the first reconnaissance operation of Irisa.
Certainly!
Luna VI query: What did Ryo do during the first hour of the war?
***
Ryo had already reached a state of full awareness after waking up, and yet he hadn't moved an inch, immersed in his inner world as he thought about what he and Elysira had done at night.
And what a wild night it was.
The way that she had skipped the journey to go straight for the finishing line had caught him unprepared. Still, with the mystery of their physical compatibility out of the way from the get-go, Ryo had been left with a lot of time to explore the other hiccups and perks of this interspecies endeavor.
From the occasional accident with her claws to the new possibilities her tail brought to the table, Ryo had enjoyed everything.
There was not an ounce of regret in him, but the memory of their last act lingered incessantly in his thoughts—a vivid Recollection of Elysira’s tail wrapping around his leg and letting silence prevail as his arm shyly enveloped her, allowing them to fall asleep side by side.
The one memory that held him in place, fearing their next interaction when the slightest of his movements would inevitably wake her up, mirroring what had happened all in the previous mornings.
What would she say?
Would she think that they are in a relationship now?
What would he do if the concept of casual hook ups didn't exist for the Irisians?
Ryo touched his face and shook his head, instantly deciding it was time to start his morning routine to distract him from those absurd thoughts.
The brain IO interface captured his intention, turning on the lights on the ceiling with maximum brightness, something that he was sure would wake her up at once given how sensitive to change all Irisians were.
And yet he was wrong.
Elysira’s head tilted away from the light as eyelids fluttered, but the only other thing she did before stopping moving was strengthening her grip on his leg quite a bit, making him realize that her tail had not let go of him the whole night.
Upon noticing how numb his leg felt, Ryo propelled his body upwards, intending to uncoil her tail from his leg and start his day. Hopefully, Elysira wouldn't mention what they did, and he too would be able to pretend it never happened.
However, the moment his upper body lifted from the ground and he got a full view of her body, he was unable to remove her tail from his leg, captivated by a simple but powerful sight.
With her hands inside the pockets, Elysira had used his jeans to restrain her claws, putting herself in a very uncomfortable position, likely afraid of hurting him during her sleep.
His eyes widened, dispersing his previous train of thought from existence. The hand that was supposed to be dealing with her tail moved toward Elysira's exposed neck instead, aiming to wake her up with a gentle touch.
And as if he had just perturbed the stillness of a calm lake with a stone, a barely perceptible ripple of yellow spread on her skin from the contact with his fingertips. It traveled through her neck, reaching the soft lines of her face, and even traveled down her long hair strands.
At the same time that it felt wrong to be able to take a peek at her emotions so easily, Ryo couldn't help but wonder—which other colors had the darkness stolen from him? While immersed in this question, Ryo kept caressing her neck until her eyes opened slowly, resetting all the back spots of her body at once as consciousness took control over instinct.
Elysira’s grip on his leg loosened when she realized she was overdoing it. Her gaze started scanning every inch of him, starting from the accidental scratches of her own making and unashamedly stopping at places she had not seen before.
Unbothered by her curiosity, he even removed some of the loose strands in front of her eyes and threw them behind her long ears to make her job easier, feeling some apprehension only when she lost interest and sought eye contact.
Traces of purple appeared around her black spots as she spoke. "What do you humans do after... what we did?"
Ryo winced, but his tone was gentle. "Silly girl!" He felt deep regret for how he had skipped the part of Irisian relationships in favor of politics when she was teaching him about her species. "It could be everything or nothing."
He expected some intense reaction from Elysira, but there wasn't a lot of emotion showing. As he searched her skin, he also realized he was unable to look at her the same way as before.
From seeing her small breasts, which he now knew for a fact fit on his hands, to the very memory of all evenness that he now was able to associate with the sheen her skin exhibited from certain angles, Ryo realized he had lost the ability to gauge her emotions without feeling a hint desire.
She noticed how long he was staring at her and a hint of yellow appeared. "I don't need everything, but nothing is not enough!"
How did Ryo fail to see that this conversation would inevitably happen when they were having fun at night?
"Oh!" He was unable to keep his mouth shut, which resulted in red and purple manifesting on her skin as he felt the pressure for a quick reply.
He had heard the Irisians speaking terms such as chosen, mate, and family, but Ryo didn't know much about this, and now was not looking like a good time for asking for clarification.
The translator would do its job in conveying his intention. But what would he say? Friends with benefits maybe? He gave up that one on the spot; he didn't consider their previous relationship a friendship, and somehow, he felt a dangerous desire to want more than that from her.
Under the pressure of his previous mistake, he told her the highest relationship he was willing to have without a care in the world for consulting his superiors. "Is girlfriend good for you?"
Elysira’s eyes widened as her skin maintained the same tones. But it lasted only a second before a golden hue took over, leaving little room for her black spots. "Wait, are you serious? I never thought you would consider anything more than being my exclusive pair."
"I am serious, but what's the difference?" Ryo instantly felt he could have gotten away with being just friends with benefits.
"Two differences." She took her clawed hands from the pockets of his jeans and pressed them against his neck in a fast but controlled movement. "One is implied trust." Her head approached him slower as if she would kiss him, but instead, her lips diverted toward his ears where she whispered, "And the other is a promise for the future."
"That seems alright."
As he said that, Elysira had already started taking little bites on his earlobe, her other hand joining around his neck while her tail was sneakily pushing the rest of her body on top of him.
"This will have to be quick, we-"
Ryo was about to give up the time they had for breakfast, when a powerful explosion shook the ground, causing the whole tent to vibrate.
Elysira’s pointy ears began to twitch and her body receded, trying to get of clue of what happened as she displayed purple. "I hear nothing."
"This was not far from here; I don't think it was a landslide." Ryo summoned a window with all the cameras outside and found nothing unusual, even with the infrared inspection.
Elysira could see what he was doing since they had never left the shared augmented space.
"Can we see what Amara is doing? She might know more than us."
He still was incapable of referring to her as his girlfriend even in his thoughts, but he still felt a hint of pride for her quick thinking. "Let's see."
He quickly summoned a live feed and promptly instructed the AI to go through the recordings of the whole night. "Nathan and that princess are still inside the tent. Time to go there."
Ryo wasted no time explaining, quickly standing up to begin the search for his underwear. The floor was still littered with paper sheets, and there were even some opened water bottles around, but he still found what he was looking for before pulling his jeans from under Elysira’s butt and getting dressed with haste.
He wore his shoes but didn't bother with his shirt and jacket, just taking his already loaded gun from the holster and getting some spare ammunition before heading outside cautiously.
"I'm going with you." She got out of the tent almost at the same time as him, proving that not needing clothes had its advantages.
"Stay close." He activated the infrared view mode and scanned the surroundings just to be sure, then hasted his steps towards Nathan's tent which was about forty meters ahead.
There was little he expected would go wrong on such a short journey, but Elysira’s ears began to twitch halfway through, prompting him to stop advancing. "Hear someone?"
"Something." She then used her tail to point uphill, in the direction where the rest of the group had set camp on the previous day. "I think it's a drone."
"Fuck, I hope you are wrong." He raised his 3D-printed revolver and felt like cursing more at the fact he didn't even have a proper pistol, pulling back the harmer and getting himself in front of Elysira.
Thanks to her acute hearing, when he heard the buzzing of the drone, his gun was already pointing in the right direction. Upon getting the first glimpse of the flying object and noticing how fast it was moving, he didn't hesitate to do a partial activation of combat mode.
The world slowed down for a moment, allowing him to see the device flying among the very few beams of blue light that made their way through the canopies. He didn't wait a single second and corrected his aim slightly to the left before pulling the trigger.
Bang!
The drone was torn to pieces and many parts fell about twenty-five meters away from them, at a distance that any explosives wouldn't hurt himself or Elysira.
When his eyes found her behind him, there was yellow and purple on her skin as she asked, "What if it was friendly?"
"The owner can send the bill up the chain for all I care." Ryo lowered the gun and did a full scan all around once more, only to find nothing again.
Her tail wrapped around his arm as all purple on her body disappeared, leaving only a hint of yellow. "Amara won't be happy if it was hers."
Just as Elysira spoke, a circular door opened on Nathan's tent, and Amara took a step outside with red filling her body.
Ryo pictured a scene of a princess complaining about her lost drone, but things only got more complicated instead.
Nathan emerged after her, and the pair began to argue loudly about what to do now that a war had broken out; Amara wanted to march uphill to join her guards, but Nathan held her by the tail when she was about to leave and prevented her for moving, saying it would be too dangerous.
Their argument turned into a messy mixture of the present situation with Amara sulking about a wasted night, which led Ryo to exchange a look of surprise with Elysira.
But their surprise only lasted a moment and Ryo decided he couldn't let those fools keep wasting valuable time.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
He had their attention now. "Please don't tell me you're mad because the plant lover couldn't get it up."
Under normal circumstances, Ryo had no doubt his assholish behavior would only instill shame and improve their cooperation.
However, he forgot to account that he was not wearing a shirt, leaving all his scratches exposed while Elysira was disheveled by his side, which caused Nathan's jaws to drop followed by Amara throwing an indignant gaze at Elysira and then at Nathan, who gave Ryo the feeling he might snap at any time.
"Why are you here?" Nathan's calm voice didn't match his clenched fist and rigid posture.
"Information. I want her to tell me what she knows about this war." Ryo had learned about the war by overhearing their previous argument.
Surprisingly, Amara was cooperative. "My brother's army found our position. They were not aware I was here with Nathan and ambushed the rest of my people and Zara; you destroyed their drone but if they saw us they might have a good reason to come here."
"Fuck!" He turned to Elysira and ordered. "Go back and gather my things. Take the essentials first, we are leaving."
Elysira used her tail to squeeze his arm in acknowledgment and rushed back. But when she had barely taken a few steps, she stopped as her ears moved. "More drones are coming!"
After alerting him, she ran to accomplish her task, leaving Ryo in the company of just Nathan and Amara.
"Isn't that great?" He grumbled to himself, but his voice carried loudly, obtaining the pair's attention as he raised his revolver again.
Knowing that the enemy was probably aware of their position, Ryo used infrared view mode to ensure they weren't using the drones as a distraction to pull off an ambush.
And that didn't seem to be the case when the first machine appeared, flying downwards in zigzag from the concentration of trees uphill.
Again Ryo used a partial activation of combat mode and aimed at the drone, yet this time more of them appeared, leaving the cover of the woods in groups of three until there were nine of them in total. But they didn't even try to get close this time, choosing to hover next to the canopies more than two hundred meters away from him, and assuming something akin to a structured formation.
This was extremely weird and enough of a reason for him to retreat a little, getting closer to his tent and taking cover behind a tree.
Nathan and Amara moved too, the botanist getting inside and returning with his gun while Amara's colors blended with his tent becoming hard to spot.
Assessing the new situation in an instant, Ryo concluded it would be better not to engage and retreat considering that those drones would be hard to take down at such distance. But things changed again quickly when the AI triggered a pop-up window, showing that several of the cameras he had set up in strategic places were capturing movement.
And what he was seeing now were several armed groups of Irisians heading towards their position, confirming Amara's supposition that the rebels were coming for them.
With the situation getting grimmer with every passing moment, Ryo thought of a possibility for what the drones might be doing, but his mind was still refusing to believe that the rebels could be as organized as his worst-case scenarios were giving them credit for.
To test this, he immediately tried to contact the space station through radio transmission, and since being found by the enemy was no longer an issue, he set the transmitter to maximum potency to validate his test.
Unable to establish a two-way connection.
He frowned even though that was not totally unexpected.
With only a few minutes at best before this place was filled with enemies, they would have to leave fast or they would be at the mercy of the enemy.
But first, there was something he wanted to say to Nathan, who now was using his tent for cover together with Amara. "Listen up, those fuckers are jamming our comms and they will be here at any time. Take the MLBCS and find a clearing to use it, I doubt they can interfere with the laser. Just don't forget that your immediate safety comes first or else you might not be among the living when the pod arrives."
Ryo and Nathan were technically enemies, but the last casualty in the war between Earth and Mars had happened several years in the past, ensuring that he had no reason to wish any harm for the botanist even though he didn't like him.
As for Amara, it was a little different. He hurried back to his tent without saying anything to her. And he did that not because he wished her harm, but simply because he didn't understand what she had at her disposal to offer any useful advice.
"Wait, what are you gonna do?" Nathan shouted from a distance.
With the adrenalin of seeing how many Irisians were coming helping his sincerity, he shouted back. "I'm not leaving the planet unless mission control finds a way to save Ely too."
After that, Nathan and Amara disappeared from his mind as he took cover behind his tent, slamming his hand against the foldable fabric many times to get Elysira's attention. "Hurry up, we can't stay here any longer."
She left immediately after, struggling to maintain balance as she used a hand plus her tail to carry his backpack, while her gun threatened to tumble from her gasp in her other hand.
And besides, one thing that Ryo’s eyes were immediately drawn towards was the clothes she was wearing—his clothes. While her legs were still exposed, his jacket still covered a bit more than her hips, loosely engulfing her slender frame like a billowing sail.
"I put the food and water in your backpack." She let go of the heavy item right over his feet as she put the gun on the ground and lifted her arms for him to recover his jacket and t-shirt. "You can get dressed while the tent folds."
He might have allowed her to keep the jacket if not for it being an inconvenience to her, so he just took it, making the first time he saw her wearing clothes a very short experience.
"No time for that, it won't fold with all the paper you left on the ground." He said as he swiftly slipped his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and zipped it up in one smooth movement.
Ryo was already considering which path they would take to flee when he noticed something terrible—Elysira’s skin had just been filled with gray as tiny black spots began to appear and disappear as if rain on the sand of a desert.
"What's it now?" He asked, trying to hide how unprepared he was to deal with this.
"Nothing has changed." Elysira averted her eyes. "I'm a burden to you just as I was to Amara. If I had-"
"Oh, shut up and quit the self-pity!" Ryo realized he was being too harsh, but still went on to finish it. "The paper is our mistake and I'm staying because I like you. This simple. Now get your gun and use your goddam camouflage, just like that princess is doing."
Ryo felt awful after saying this, and Elysira seemed quite taken about as she stared at him with wide eyes.
A moment later, however, she bent over and took the gun from the ground, her exterior blending quite well with the surroundings.
Ryo felt bad for her, but now there was no time to talk. "We run now, let's go."
The sound of his own steps was all he heard as they were putting some distance from the tent, making it so that he had to check on Elysira every couple of steps he took to ensure she was following him.
It was only when he heard some gunshots from far behind that he felt her claws tugging at his jacket from behind. "I hope Nathan is like you."
***
This was an account based on what Ryo did during the first hour of the war. The previous narrative is based on the events of the morning of the twentieth day of the exploratory mission of Irisa. According to your current settings, no queries will be suggested.
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Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."

I’ll start: protagonist’s with dwarfism.
Like I’ve seen a lot of short protagonists, but it’s always purely cosmetic, mostly to have that tall handsome guy/short introvert girl dynamic, and never shorter than 4’10. Which is still short, but vertically challenged folk average at about 4’0 feet tall. Never have I seen a fic that actually has a protagonists height truly be relevant.
I don’t count fandoms where fantasy dwarves are prominent and have their own societies. Yes they are dwarves but they are all regular size for their environment. Like I said in my first sentence, it’s almost purely cosmetic and rarely plot relevant, making all dwarves in the setting human sized wouldn’t change a thing aside from how you picture them. Because they are all short, they can’t be considered truly short because they are average relative to the setting, if that makes sense.

Title says all, I'm a 23m reservist trying to use dating apps and the only decent full body pictures I have of myself as well as group photos are universally me in uniform doing stuff. For those who are also in the military no they are not all "moto" pics, most of them are just me standing around with the boys or in front of cool scenery. Or me looking like I've not slept in 3 days. (I don't actually use this picture in my profiles.)
I'm pretty introverted so I don't really make a habit out of taking pictures of myself, on top of that all my home hobbies are "nerdy" and digital so I can't really take pictures of myself doing them. Most of my current friends are actually in my unit, but they all live hours away from me so we usually just wait till we are at drill to talk. Because of this only interesting photos I do take are usually involving me doing military things or riding my dirt bikes. Since they are better than me taking a picture of myself at my desk with a blank face and a headset on, I kind of have to use them.
I just feel like the military is stigmatized a lot nowadays, I don't really blame people for it but at the same time I feel like I'm a bad guy when I just needed a job to get me on my feet out of HS. Anyways, I'm curious to see what girls around my age think of it. Thank you for reading.

Thanks for anyone who reads this and helps out! I am looking to get a projector with THE BEST picture quality and black levels possible under 3000$ (Screen Seperate), I will also be spending a lot of my time gaming on it (mostly medium paced story games). The screen size will be between 90-100" and I would prefer a UST but if it means better quality, a traditional lamp projector also works.
I was looking and ended up with either the formovie theatre or the epson 5050ub, not sure which one to get as they both seem really good and are appx. in the budget, another thing to consider is that I don't live in the usa so prices can be horrible, anywhere from 500-2000$ more expensive than somewhere like amazon or projector central. I am planning to use one of those services that have the products ship to their warehouse and then ship it internationally to your house. But would still say to keep atleast a 200-500$ overhead (not strict),
some other things I had questions about is that I will be sitting about 7-8 feet MAX away from the projected wall and was wondering if the projection might feel pixely or not that good because of sitting so close. (main reason to get a ust as I'll be able to easily adjust the image size accordinly if I have to go as low as 80" and also my celing is unmountable because of a false ceiling design and a fan in the middle covering the entire space where a projector would likely go. and I might take it with me if I go for vacation to relatives.)
so TLDR; need the best visuals projector for under about 3000$, ust preferred.
also any suggestions for a screen would be great! currently planning to get a grey ALR screen.

Any feet picture/video buyers ? 😉

Any feet picture/video buyers ? 😉