O.J. Simpson is gone-dead from cancer earlier this year. Rewind back to the 90's. O.J, or not O.J. depending on who you ask, stabbed his ex-wife and her boyfriend to death in Los Angeles. The whole country was subsequently held hostage with round the clock O.J. coverage in the wake of the murders*. Its all anyone talked about and there was no way to escape it. There weren't thousands of channels to flick to, or dozens of streaming services available to seek refuge-in far away from the insanity.
However, after his acquittal he seemed to simply fade from public view-absorbed back into the stained fabric of American society. That was of course before he was locked up for nine years in 2008 for attempting to rob his own memorabilia at gunpoint. So what was he doing with his freedom in the years prior?
Nothing. Well, almost nothing. In 2006, executive producer Rick Mahr, famous for the highly-cerebral Backyard Wrestling series, decided it would be a good idea to tap into the reality show boom with an MTV Punk'd themed prank show featuring O.J. Simpson.
It was a one-hour special that featured O.J. himself engaging in a series of pranks ranging from dressing in rags while selling oranges on the side of a highway, to him serving and insulting fat customers in a fast-food drive thru. At the end of the gig, he'd come clean and tell the victim with a smile "you just got Juiced!" Most of the pranks fell flat on their face: people sometimes didn't recognize O.J. or didn't understand the prank, or the whole idea was just too damn stupid.
But the icing on the cake was the skit where O.J. attempted to sell a replica of his white Ford Bronco, which incidentally was discontinued for years after the murders (but that's another story, you can see below for a few more details). The Bronco even sported a real bullet hole, which The Juice himself signed right above it.
O.J. seems to reflect on the whole Bronco chase as simply comical. Is this some dark type of new-age therapy? "It has great escapability!" he keeps informing customers. Does he admit that there was a dead body in the car? Was it him who placed it there? I have never heard O.J speak so candidly about details from the aftermath of the murders.
Here are some exchanges between O.J. and potential 'customers' as reported in the NPR This American Life episode 564-Too Soon?:

Man: Is there $10,000 in here?
O.J: Nope, Nope. No $10,000,
Man: ...You were carrying it, you know?
O.J: Naw, naw. They say that, I was carrying about $3.
Man: $3?
O.J: Yeah, that's why they never brought it up in court.

In another exchange:

O.J: It was good for me.
Man: Yeah?
O.J: Got me out of harm's way.
Man: ...Ok, I'll sit in it...there was a dead body in there.
O.J: Yeah. Well, um, hopefully there's no bodies in this thing. And I can guarantee you, the car has escape-ability. I mean, if you're ever getting into some trouble, and you've got to get away, it has escape-ability.
Man: (Laughing)

He'd be locked up soon after this aired. Apparently only about 100 DVDs ever sold, and there are no other details about the profits made from the pay per view event, or O.J.'s fee for appearing in the special.
All in all, it was a completely ill-conceived idea with even worse execution that somehow was spewed into existence. It reeks of a desperation for money from all parties involved, none of whom seemed capable of creating any well-written gags for the camera. However, it is memorable in the shock-value of seeing an accused murderer making light of the truck he rode in after he supposedly stabbed his wife and her boyfriend to death.
Most humans will live a rich, full life never knowing this even exists. For the woeful few who do see it, you can't help but leave with an overwhelming feeling that O.J. was a twisted and broken man at this point, straining to grasp at even the the slightest hint of his former celebrity and adoration.
\To most people born post 1980s, OJ Simpson was a famous athlete accused, then acquitted of murder who'd later serve time for a completely unrelated crime.*
But to the rest of us, OJ is the single most infamous athlete name of our lifetimes--the shockwave that was sent through the country when it was announced that his ex-wife and her boyfriend had been murdered in Los Angeles, was unprecedented.
Its impossible to recreate the magnitude of this mono-cultural event that was the OJ Trial, and words don't begin to describe the fall from grace of one of the most beloved sports stars ever.
We'll never be able to forget the image of the low-speed white Ford Bronco chase with dozens of police cars in not so hot pursuit, or the inhumanly long trial that fractured the country along racial lines, or the glove that don't fit (so you must acquit!).
To the younger generation: try to imagine waking up to read that one of the Manning brothers had been accused of bumping off their significant other. Maybe that serves to illustrate the disbelief that we were all hit with that one night in June, 1994.
After the 8 month murder trial (yeah, how many of you had forgotten it lasted that long?), OJ was a free man. Images of him happily golfing sent waves of anger through white America, who felt like justice was cheated by a slick defense team that highlighted the racist tactics of the LA police department. On the heels of the Rodney King video and subsequent riots, this was not only a brilliant strategy, but one rooted in a great deal of truth.
A civil lawsuit followed in which OJ was found responsible for the death of Ron Goldman and ordered to pay his family $33 million. To my knowledge, they never received a cent.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOEcsIghRpg

I’ve been a sub on twitch for almost two years and always have watched his videos on YouTube as well but prefer twitch’s chat features and stickers and whatnot. But now with him streaming on YouTube and having members only content… what is the best option? I’m still relatively broke so I’d only like to pay for one subscription service- what do other people think? Also for the claw machine is that only going to be for twitch? Lots to consider!

This story has been published in Bloody Twine #1. This first book of mine was my "starter book," so it's very short. My other books are, at the very least, twice as long. In fact, "What's Under There?" is the shortest story I've written in the series, weighing in at just 1604 words. The average read time for it is only 6 minutes and 45 seconds. Enjoy!
WHAT'S UNDER THERE?
What IS under there?
Oliver walked into the kitchen and pulled on the hem of his mother’s dress. The woman looked down at him and smiled, but he knew she was not happy he was in here.
“Yes, my little one?” she asked.
“Can I have a cookie?” asked Oliver.
“May I have a cookie,” corrected his mother.
“May I have a cookie?” asked Oliver.
“You may, my little Ollie, but only one,” said his mother as she held up her right index finger in front of his little face. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
She ushered him over to the little square kitchen table and sat him in his booster chair. He was not a baby anymore, but he needed a little extra boost to properly reach his food.
The woman handed him his oatmeal cookie, and he held the big, round, edible disk in both hands. He took a bite of that delicious cookie, but there was a lot on his young mind, and he knew she could tell.
The older woman cocked her head to one side and looked down at him in strange concern. She smiled as she did so, an affect that Oliver was still not used to. His mother had never smiled so much until just recently.
“What is it, my little one?” she asked.
“When is Daddy coming home?” asked Oliver.
“Now, now,” said his mother with a wagging finger. “Your father has gone away. He’s not coming home.”
“He isn’t?” asked Oliver.
“No, no,” smiled his mother. “We talked about this, my little Ollie. Your father’s gone away, and he’s not coming back.”
He wanted to cry over this again, but he knew she would scold him if he did. She had told him the same thing yesterday, and he had cried then, and she had scolded him to the point where he had been terrified. It was something in her eyes that scared him so, and now he was too afraid to earn her ire again. Even so, his eyes watered at the thought of it, the thought of his father never returning home.
“Now, don’t you cry,” said his mother with a shake of her head. “Big boys don’t cry…I know something that will help, though. I know exactly what you need. You need a glass of milk for your cookie.”
He nodded his head in acceptance. He did not know why his father was not coming home, but he did not want to get in trouble anymore. Nevertheless, he saw something that bothered him, and it bothered him a lot. He couldn’t help but ask about it.
“Mommy, why is your face peeling?” asked Oliver.
His mother’s face was indeed peeling, peeling upon her left cheek, just a little, but enough to bother him, the pale skin off a tiny sliver, a fleck of jet black, like coal, beneath it.
“Don’t you worry about that, my little Ollie,” smiled his mother. “That’s not important.”
“Are you sick?” asked Oliver.
He had been wondering if she were ill, as she was not her usual self, and this bothered him…It bothered him a lot.
“Just eat your cookie, dearie,” smiled his mother.
Oliver took a bite of his cookie, but it tasted funny. He had not noticed it with the first bite, but now he did. He hesitated to have any more, but his mother would not have it.
“Eat all of it,” smiled his mother.
He took to eating the cookie again regardless of the taste. He did not want to get in trouble again.
“That’s a good boy,” smiled his mother.
She went to the fridge and pulled out the milk carton from it. She took down a glass from the left cabinet above the sink and poured him a tall glass of milk.
“Here you are now,” she said as she handed him the glass.
He eagerly took the glass with both hands, as he was sorely in need of a drink, but the milk tasted funny as well, just like the cookie.
“This doesn’t taste right,” said Oliver. “The cookie doesn’t taste right, either.”
“You asked for a cookie, and you got one,” said his mother. “I even poured you a glass of milk, Ollie. Now, don’t be ungrateful.”
His mother reached up and scratched at the left side of her face, and more of her skin peeled away, just a bit, but more than enough to make Oliver nervous.
“Mommy, why is your face peeling?” he asked again. “I don’t like it…”
There were small scratches on her face where her nails had raked across her pale skin, and these scratches left strange lines of ebony, like black trails in peach-brushed snow.
“I told you not to ask that, Oliver,” warned his mother.
She reached up and scratched at the skin of her left cheek again, and even more of her skin peeled away to reveal a small patch of pitch black beneath it.
Now Oliver really needed to know. He needed to know what was wrong with his mother, because something was wrong, very wrong, and he did not know what else to do but ask.
“Mommy, something’s wrong with your face,” he said nervously. “There’s something under your skin. What’s under there?”
His mother’s eyes widened as she turned up her lips in a weird, disturbing smile.
“Do you want to know?” she asked. “Do you really want to know?”
In truth, Oliver did not want to know, because something was very, very wrong, and he was suddenly afraid to know. There was something wrong about everything right now, from his father not returning home yesterday to his mother acting all strange. Everything right now was wrong, so whether he liked it or not, he needed to know, so he nodded his little head in silent reply.
“Okay, my little Ollie,” replied his mother. “I’ll sing you a song about it…but you won’t like it. You won’t like it at all.”
Ollie swallowed a chunk of cookie out of fearful reflex.
His mother stared at him with wide eyes as she sang with a smile.
“What’s under there? What’s under there?” she sang. “Under Mommy’s face, so fine and fair? What’s under there? What’s under there? Under pale, pale skin and long black hair?”
She reached up and peeled off more of her cheek skin, revealing a large swatch of black beneath it, about the size of a thumb, and Oliver’s little hands shook as he squeezed the half-eaten cookie in his clutching fingers.
“Daddy, Daddy, found a book,” sang his mother. “He dug it out of a hidden nook. It told a lot of horrid things, written for the ancient kings. He said the words, he read them loud, and then sprang out a turbid cloud. Black and slick and old as ages, it billowed from the musty pages.”
His mother continued to smile as she peeled off a large flap of pale skin from her left cheek. Beneath it were her teeth, the ivory pegs flawless in the light, but as she peeled backwards toward the end of her jaw, more teeth were revealed, all the same, but many more than there should have been, all the way back to the end of her jaw, all set in a line of ebony flesh beneath an outer layer of peeling, pale skin.
“What’s under there? What’s under there?” sang Oliver’s mother. “Under Mommy’s face, so fine and fair? What’s under there? What’s under there? Under pale, pale skin and long black hair?”
The cookie crumbled under Oliver’s grip, the flecks falling like dust to the kitchen table. He shook in his chair, his mouth partially open, his eyes wide, his skin blanching as he continued to watch and listen to his mother.
“Ancient, ancient, billowed, and swirled, it sprang from the pages and into the world,” sang his mother. “Existing long before Noah’s Sea, antediluvian, finally free!”
It was something in her eyes that caused Oliver to shake, the madness and fury in his mother’s eyes that held him in place in his booster chair.
“Daddy ran with all his heart, but he was quickly torn apart,” sang his mother. “Mommy screamed and tried to shout, but she was eaten from the inside out!”
His mother tore off the pale skin from the entire left side of her face, the flap of it falling onto the floor in a wet plop of a white sheet, like rain-soaked paper.
The obsidian flesh beneath the peeling skin was slick and looked to be made of tiny overlapping scales. Her left eye was a golden color with a single, black, vertical slit where a normally-round pupil should have been, and a fire was burning within that black slit, but frosty-blue, like a flame made of ice.
Even her smile was uncanny, as the right side of her face held normal teeth and lips, while the left side of her face held a lipless mouth with teeth that spanned all the way back to her neckline.
“Now it’s time for a little snack, made with fear in a fleshy sack,” sang his mother. “Alive, alive, where you cannot move! That makes for a more delicious food!”
She finished her song with unusual gusto, the very sound of it echoing around the kitchen to assault Oliver’s little ears without mercy.
Oliver’s terror-induced paralysis finally broke as he willed his muscles to move. He hopped down from his booster seat and ran for the kitchen door, but the drug in his cookie and milk slowed him down far too much for him to actually make it there.

My fiance (25f) and I (26m) have been together going on 4 years now. On our first date, we discussed our taste in music. While we didn’t have the same taste immediately, we did find some common ground in our second and third choices. While discussing this, she brought up her favorite artist was Taylor Swift. Before I could even get a work out she started saying things like “people who don’t like her just don’t understand her” and things to that effect. In the interest of seeing how the relationship would develop, I agreed to listen to 1 full album before giving her any form of judgement. Over the next day or so, I listened to the album and as I expected, it was not my taste. It was overhyped, overplayed, ear garbage, like most of the songs coming out today. She didn’t like my choice of words to describe her favorite artists songs, but she appreciated me giving them a shot. A few months go by and the Eras tour is announced. I was nearly deafened when I was woken up to the scream of excitement of her even getting in line to buy tickets. I was happy for her as she would get to see her favorite artist and then move on, right? That’s how every concert I had ever been to had gone. A couple weeks of being hyped to go, enjoy the show, and then be done. I WAS WRONG… As the tour kicked off, every night for at least an hour, she would go onto IG or TT live streams and watch the concert and listen to the same songs that she had been listening to on loop for the past 6 months. The concert comes and of course she is still excited to go. I wish her a safe trip, and send her and her friend on to the concert. When they get back, it’s all they can talk about, and you guessed it, TT live was on in the background watching the same concert in the same location. This obsession was beginning to grind my gears. The next major event happened when the Eras Tour movie was announced. After it was told to be coming to a theatre near us, she said she was going to see it on the big screen… Fine… whatever… but then the day comes and she and I get into a fight bc I won’t buy her and her 3 friends tickets to a movie about a concert that she’s seen probably 50 times by this point. (Mind you, she and all her friends work their own jobs) This was my final straw, after this, I stopped listening to any of the music, started becoming annoyed anytime she would be playing it in the house, and especially anytime we were in a confined space. As an engaged couple in their mid 20’s, money is tight and planning a wedding is expensive. However, she feels like it’s necessary for her to buy all the CD’s and at least 1 sweatshirt from the merch store every couple of months. I am not claiming that I am perfect with my money, but I don’t let what I buy put me in a hole that I can’t dig out of. I do believe that this obsession with Taylor Swift as a whole is becoming unhealthy for most of the “Swifties” but in my household, it has already started effecting our relationship. I know this post is long, and I apologize, but I really needed to get this off my chest bc I know I’m not the only person that feels this way.

My wife has asked for the Girls of the Playboy Mansion (what the show was called in Australia) series on DVD for her birthday. She wants to watch the episodes along with the podcast and it doesn’t seem to be available on streaming here.
I know the series is long out of print what was wondering if anyone knew where I can find the series on dvd? I
know a complete season 1-6 box set was released in Australia but cannot find it on eBay, Amazon or the usual places.
Cheers everyone!

What’s the best streaming service to get if I want to watch the most amount of WNBA games this season?

FT: Defensa y Justicia 1-1 Independiente Medellín

Venue: Norberto Tomaghello
Auto-refreshing reddit comments link
LINE-UPS
Defensa y Justicia
Cristopher Fiermarin, Francisco Marco (Elías Calderón), Emanuel Aguilera, Alexis Soto, Ezequiel Cannavo, Aaron Molinas (Yorman Zapata), Facundo Gutiérrez (Kevin López), Nicolas Tripichio, Nicolás Fernández, Gabriel Alanís (Nicolás Blandi), Nicolás Palavecino (Facundo Echevarría).
Subs: Enrique Bologna, Elián Sosa, Ulises Giménez, Santiago Godoy, Tiago Serrago, Matias Sosa, Benjamín Schamine.
^{____________________________}
Independiente Medellín
Eder Chaux, José Ortiz, Fainer Torijano, Jimer Fory, Luis Orejuela (Cristian Graciano), Diego Moreno (Leyser Chaverra), Jaime Alvarado Hoyos, Pablo Lima, Brayan Léon Muñiz (Mender García), Jhon Vásquez (Baldomero Perlaza), Miguel Monsalve (Yairo Moreno).
Subs: Andrés Dávila, Malcom Palacios, John Montaño, José Chunga, Iker Blanco, Jhon Palacios, Juan David Arizala.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
10' Brayan Léon (Independiente Medellín) is shown the yellow card.
22' Goal! Defensa y Justicia 0, Independiente Medellín 1. Brayan Léon (Independiente Medellín) right footed shot from outside the box to the bottom right corner. Assisted by Jaime Alvarado with a headed pass.
33' Cristopher Fiermarín (Defensa y Justicia) is shown the yellow card.
41' Nicolás Palavecino (Defensa y Justicia) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
45' Substitution, Defensa y Justicia. Facundo Echevarría replaces Nicolás Palavecino.
45' Substitution, Independiente Medellín. Ménder García replaces Brayan Léon because of an injury.
52' Alexis Soto (Defensa y Justicia) is shown the yellow card.
52' Luis Orejuela (Independiente Medellín) is shown the yellow card.
61' Substitution, Independiente Medellín. Yairo Moreno replaces Miguel Monsalve.
61' Substitution, Independiente Medellín. Baldomero Perlaza replaces Jhon Vásquez.
61' Substitution, Defensa y Justicia. Yorman Zapata replaces Aarón Molinas.
61' Substitution, Defensa y Justicia. Kevin López replaces Kevin Gutiérrez.
68' Own Goal by José Ortiz, Independiente Medellín. Defensa y Justicia 1, Independiente Medellín 1.
69' José Ortiz (Independiente Medellín) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
71' Substitution, Defensa y Justicia. Elías Calderón replaces Francisco Marco because of an injury.
73' Pablo Lima (Independiente Medellín) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
77' Substitution, Independiente Medellín. Leyser Chaverra replaces Diego Moreno.
79' Jimer Fory (Independiente Medellín) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
87' Substitution, Defensa y Justicia. Nicolás Blandi replaces Gabriel Alanís.
87' Substitution, Independiente Medellín. Cristian Graciano replaces Luis Orejuela.
89' Facundo Echevarría (Defensa y Justicia) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
^{Don't see a thread for a match you're watching? Click here to learn how to request a match thread from this bot.}

Hiya! I'm just looking for someone with an infectious personality who likes to play ffxiv or other games or watch anime just as much as I do. I feel like I'm fairly easy to get along with and have a decent sense of humor. My love languages are touch and quality time. I really enjoy Japanese culture and love consuming all sorts of mediums from there.
If I'm not gaming I'm probably at work, watching something or sleeping. Some of my other hobbies include watching long format analysis videos on youtube, streaming sometimes, making art stuff, and customizing stuff!
I took a break from playing xiv but am looking to get back in the swing of things. I've been playing XIV for 10 years now! I do play other games and though, like League (aram usually or tft), gacha games (mihoyo mostly + others), minecraft, ffxi, stardew valley and older (j)rpgs. I also like to beta test new games so I'm usually playing something new.
Hope to hear from you, by sending a message or a chat! I'd love to move to discord sooner than later, but want to talk here first.

Since I missed the stream to do stuff with family I cant watch it without being a member. Can someone give me a TLDR on what happened on the stream? I know keem was sick so the starting was terrible.

hey yall! quick question bc google does not list the exact time the reunion is dropping on peacock. does anyone know if it's supposed to be dropping at midnight or like maybe 3am on the streaming service? i'm gonna be at a concert and i'm having major fomo of not watching before i go to work tomorrow morning (although much might not happen). i live in california so idk if the pacific or eastern times will affect it. thank yall in advance🫶🏼

Urufu hasn't streamed recently and so I've been trying to make my own. I know it's weird but I don't care I'm so fucking lonely without her.
I decided to kidnap a wild bear from the forest to help. I had to buy a very expensive tranquilizer gun and pray the guns recoil wouldn't break my twig wrist. Since I've spent the last few years either watching Vtubers or wanking to them, I had to steal a lot of money from my parents.
I had to sneak it downstairs into my parents basement while they slept but I got it down fine, though it was really heavy and took me a while.
I had already bought the blue paint with the money I stole from my parents and I slathered the paint on it. I kissed the bear for a bit to satisfy my Urufu needs and I'm now very happy. Tomorrow I'll be letting the bear eat me (explained in one of my last posts) but first I'm gonna rewatch my favorite Urufu streams.
Goodbye y'all!

Blachowicz here.
Kept yah’ waiting, huh? Heh, sorry about that one, but I can explain. As we all know… we lost a few good men the last few months.
That’s the brutal part of a hybrid war like ours: We’re fighting a foe unconventional, with half our arsenal tied down because those who grant us authorization are either in disbelief of the true facts, or scared… or already assimilated. That being said our momentum recently was a change not seen in years, and because of that… despite the losses we have garnered, we were close through a breakthrough. One last night Krol pulls myself and other two must trusted squad leads into the back of our COP. There is one of our equipment cages, surrounded by m-bitter radios, tripods, and several hundred thousand dollars of equipment he brought us around a simple worn table. Before us he laid a map of eastern poland… red markings indicating cells that seemed to dot the countryside like a pestilence, or used to… as deep gashes of advance from raids had trisected their lines, even if ones did pop up in the interior.
It was a back and forth; an outside virus infecting Polska at it’s heart, and we were the antibodies sent to drive them out. To which… Major Krol points to one of the largest symbol on the map: a dark red diamond, the NATO symbol for an enemy unit, deep inside of an untouched wooded area, adjacent to a mountain ridge. Several jagged lines indicated entrenchment, with red horizontal lines indicating possible enemy control… or our contested control, for over 20kms surrounding it. Letting us all look, the Major lit himself a cigarette.
“Sir, you sure it’s wise to smoke in here with the dive tanks just behind us” 1st Squad’s lead quipped. “Fuck off” Krol dryly said.
“Alright… this is it… this is the one we’ve been searching for for years, this is the nucleus my predecessor commander died trying to find” he says, pointing to it. Not far from Zamosc, it was almost touching the border with Belarus, the contested area indicating the Strigoi did operate over it… indicating one of the largest spill through points. “-It’s an old soviet bunker, made during their 1960s initiative it was designed to hold the munitions and manpower of several units in the event of a NATO first strike” Krol explained. “It’s gotta be massive then…” I said gazing at the map; “Didn’t the army demolish all of the old soviet hulks near Belarus to prevent any infiltrations?” 3rd Squad’s lead asked. “National Police took the effort over… and by extension, the Strigoi. It was halfway demo’ed before they burrowed into it and have been using it as a bridgehead ever since. This is it…” Krol said. He looked around at all of us, a sense of certainty I had never seen before as he blew smoke from his nostrils; “We’ve been fucking around in the dark for so long, it’s hard to believe we’ve made any progress, but this is it. With this gone, this will set them back over a decade and the momentum will finally shift into our favor… into Poland’s… -Europe’s”.
I swear there was almost a flash of joy, of pride in his eyes and a phantom of a smirk before reality set back in “That being said… we can’t leave this to chance, especially not something as important as this. We’re going to have to go there ourselves… clear through every inch of that place, and tear it all down, piece by piece. I will be straight with you all… when we go, there will be some of us that aren’t coming back. -but we are going… a whole generation is counting on us, and unborn billions rely on us to succeed”. We all nodded, a silent agreement washing over us as we took this upon ourselves. Echo-1 spoke up: “So… They’re authorizing a raid? How big?”. “We’re rolling in as a hard target, armor, explosives, and air support” Krol answered, taking a drag off his cigarette. “Aviation? How the hell did we get that approved, we’ve gotten attempts shot down four times due to those leeches” I said in disbelief. “There’s too much evidence here pointing to the human trafficking tied to their actions… We’ve finally got too much weight pinning them down, to keep the hammer from slamming into their necks” Krol chuckled. He looked around “Any questions?”. “When?” Echo-3 asked. “Three hours. We’re hitting them in the dead of night, only time we could get the birds authorized. Get your boys ready. We’re rolling out” Krol said, dying the cigarette bud out on the table. I can’t begin to tell you the euphoria we felt leaving that cage, as our men started arriving, they did so a lot quicker, and with their heads a lot higher than they had in weeks. As Second Squad’s lead we were going to be one of the main arms of attack into the bunker, thus I made sure we had a breacher loaded with enough thermite, charges, and tools to cut through anything. Our shield bearer we ready to go, as was our assaulters, grenadiers, and machine gunner. I double checked each and everyone of their weapons; ensuring the feeder paws of our squad’s belt fed were intact, making sure every breach charge we had was properly set and packed. There was going to be no mistakes, no slip ups. The margin of error needed to be the smallest it had ever been for us tonight if we were going to make the gore spilt worth it.
Finally… there on the outside of the building, the bright LED lights kept the darkness of the ensuing night at bay as the roar of our MRAPs could be heard. It was said once that war is 99% peace, and 1% chaos, they were right. The slow periods where the blood slowed and the doubt creeped in was the worst… yet we all kept it at bay. We needed to, there was going to be no backing down tonight. All three squads were up, all of us ready to go… we circled up… short stares and shaky nods telling us one things: We were in this together, till the end… the finish line so many before us had been searching for, we were being granted tonight.
A single set of footsteps could be heard as we turned, Major Krol stepping into the center. He took the last drag of a cigarette, throwing it down to the ground and stamping it out onto the damp concrete. He looked around… his chin strap blowing in the weak air as he met everyone of our gazes… then mine… then looked around. “I want you to remember every detail of tonight, as you have every other night… when you are situationally aware, scanning for the enemy, liberating the subjugated, I want you to remember the sting of anxiety, the shake of adrenaline, the chill of the bunker, the heat of your weapon as it cuts them down… because tonight we are going to write every fine detail of our victory, their defeat, in history…” Krol’s words echoed deep into our souls. He paused for a moment, staring around he looked down… a small pause before he said “When you are ruthless in combat, remember to be patient, and reserved in victory. This conflict is for our existence… a lot of innocents have bled due to the mistakes of those who failed to listen, a lot of our brothers are now laid under because we had to bridge the gap of uncertainty with their lives. We remember them now… but in an hour? We forget them… when we raise our barrels, when we cut into those foes, and we liberate Polska!! This does not end tonight, but history puts everything in it’s place, and patience is the companion of the victor… All of our hard work will be cemented, no matter the obstacles we face in that darkness… no matter the demons, the blood, no matter what incomprehensible horrors, we will make them comprehend that to invade our land, to bleed our people, the justice will be paid in full… Load up. It’s time*”*.
The purpose in our steps was heavy as we climbed the back ramps of the MRAPS; Four of the heavily armored vehicles, one for each squad with an additional for attached personnel including our JTAC, the term means Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. With air support requisitioned to us for this operations, there needs to be a definite liaison on the ground who can directly communicate to the birds, and coordinate their fire and progress. I’d worked with many of them in the past, resourceful guys, quick thinking though I guess that comes with the position they hold of needing to quickly figure out what bombs to drop, on which target, at what precise points, whilst taking contact. He loaded in the lead vehicle with Major Krol… and soon, our convoy kicked off.
The drive was several hours as myself and my squad sat in the back of that forty ton goliath, the rumbling of the engine keeping us awake as the crap heater fought to keep the cold from the outside frost from setting in. I looked around to each of them, some were catching some sleep because even with the circumstances… better to get all the energy you can, than to stay awake for nothing. Others were checking their weapons… My gunner locked eyes with me, the same one from the village extraction… many of these men I had trained with for a while now, fought with for months.
We may have met on unconventional circumstances but those in JW Grom thrive on austere chance and create opportunity from scratch. I was pulled from my thought by the sound of a transmission, my peltors were set up for dual comms so I could both receive information from the Major and other leads, whilst communicating with my team.
Krol himself sent out: [“Approximately 10 minutes from enemy AO…”]. As the rest of the squads acknowledged, I quickly sent out [“Echo-2 Copies”], before kicking the boots of any of them sleeping: “Look alive, we’re here”. Through the exterior net armor of the MRAPS, and the bars protecting the small reinforced windows, we could barely see jack shit. I reached up, turning off the overhead light as we all looked through our nods to scan the outside. A dark wall of dense trees was shown before us, making it difficult to see… in addition to night vision capabilities we had also requisitioned ourselves some thermals… when mounted onto rifles they were bulky, made it a pain to aim down quickly, but considering the supernatural capabilities of spotting our foes we needed every advantage necessary.
I flipped out one of my tubes… scanning the outside with my scope. I looked over to one of my assaulters who had been assigned to man the turret of the MRAP, seated near the view screen as he controlled the 50. Cal. Each of the vehicle turrets had been assigned a direction to cover… we took the 9 o’clock, the left flank. “See anything?” I asked. He shook his head; “Negative… wait… I’ve got two cold signatures, front left heading to our rear”.
I quickly scanned the far tree line, at approximately 60 meters off our left were two cold signatures… followed by a third heading to our front… then another. They were surrounding us, moving at speeds so fast I could barely keep my reticle on them. Is this what the National Police saw? What they faced at that lodge without the benefit of a foot of heavy armor protecting them on all sides. Then… suddenly. Something slammed into the side of our MRAP so hard, it caused it to shake. From over the leader comms, Echo-3 quickly shouted [“Contact right!! 4 hostiles!!”].
One of the Strigoi… so bold, had charged and slammed into the side of our MRAP. I quickly looked to see the figure, a dark blue mass of cold energy through my thermal, back away without so much as a stagger… as they tried to flee into the woods, the white hot justice of Echo-3’s gun fired at them, cutting them down. “Blachowicz I’ve got a few breaking for our vic” my man on the turret called out, I spun around, spotting out the window.
Just then, Major Krol announced [“weapons free, watch and shoot for targets of opportunity…”]. I turned to him… “take those fuckers out-”. Without hesitation my vic’s turret began to quickly target them, and through the darkness I saw a stream of outgoing fire bisect one of them, the ISR of the black blood freaking out the optic so badly it didn’t know what temperature to register it as… but it did register it. As another was cut down, one broke through the tree line and latched onto the side of our MRAP. The thing tore at one of the outer net armor panels, usually made to stop RPGs. It grabbed at the bars near the windows, tearing one off… I lowered my rifle as we locked eyes through the reinforced window.
The thing… the Strigoi looked at me, skin cracked as putrefied muscle fibers seemed to leak through dead flesh. It’s teeth were corroded and worn down to sharp fragments, alongside newly mutated fangs that messily protrude from the jaws. Even through the thick walls of the MRAP I could hear it’s roar, as it then tried to punch it’s way through… it cracked the outer coating of the vehicle… but it wasn’t getting anywhere near. My machine gunner, seated next to me, seemed to chuckle at the sight, quippily saying “Yeah… fuck you too”. It’s then our vehicle lurched upwards, as we began to climb the small incline of the bunker. I knew the layout, mapped it in our head, the main entrance was built into the rocky side of an old cliff meaning we could easily set up a defensive perimeter around it, a horseshoe. Krol’s vehicle was first, taking to the right as Echo-3’s MRAP followed. My vehicle, third, left the incline and took a left and… that’s where things got complicated.
We’re still trying to work out what happened but… from what Joakim says his drone captured. Right when the MRAP turned, several of the monsters quickly slammed into the side of the vehicle, as another more bulkier one, pushed at it’s undercarriage. The result.. Was the 40 ton armored vehicle tipped over. It wasn’t uncommon, hell in some cases a well placed IED, a good shot with a recoilless rifle, have been known to tip over Oshkoshs and Maxpros all the time. But this beast? Needless to say we barely had a second to comprehend it as it leaned to the left; “Grab on to something-” is all I had time to shout. A mess of gear and men spilled onto one side of the vehicle as it slammed into the old gravel and dirt.
Several of my assaulters, my grenadier planted right ontop of myself and the others as we came to a stop. Someone’s knee slammed directly into the side of my skull, causing me to dazily bob in and out of consciousness as my face was smushed against the glass of one of the windows.
Through my peltors, the other squads were erratic;
[“Echo-2’s vehicle is down!!”].
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2… Echo-3 to Echo-2…”].
Krol’s voice came through the comms;
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-2… Fuc-... Echo-1 secure Echo 2’s flank, Echo-3”].
[“Echo-3 to other units, they’re spilling through, I’ve got several enemy combatants converging on Echo-2’s vehicle”].
I pushed the legs of my grenadier off my head as I fought to my hands and knees, unfucking my nods as I looked around… “Fuck it… we’re going lights on, shield your eyes” I muttered as I reached for the overhead lights and flipped them on. The bright LEDs bathed the inside of the vehicle as we all gained our bearings, a mess of multicam, gear, and weapons as we quickly pushed each other off. My gunner caught as he fought to realign his promask, from what I gathered one of the assaulters had landed directly into his gun, pushing it directly into his jugular, as pulled back at the rubber and coughed, freeing up his esophagus. We didn’t have time to think however… the sound of bending metal caught our attention… as the back ramp door of the MRAP was ripped clean off. I could barely believe it but as the white light of the MRAP’s interior poured to the outside, a hulking mass leaned in, the dead flesh on it’s face nearly fallen off as the hideous Strigoi leaned inside.
Without hesitation I aimed took aim, yelling “Keep to the deck!!” to any of those inbetween myself and the invader as I opened fire. A burst of full auto fire tore through it’s collar and neck, my men quickly clung to either sides of the fallen MRAP as a few more fired out. As the thing backed up, a blast of .50 cal fire quickly tore it to shreds, along with several others as I realized they were fuckin swarming over the outside of our vehicle. Echo-3’s vehicle continued to carefully fire on the Strigoi on the outside, the sounds of .50 cal ricocheting off the outside of our armor was enough to make the pucker factor set in.
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2”].
[“This is Echo-2, we’re green on ammo, equipment, men”].
[“Roger, we’re shifting fire, exit the vehicle”].
“Hurry up let’s go!!” I barked to my men, leading the way as I staggered out. I turned on my peq, taking aim at silhouettes in the brush as I began to fire. The sounds of machine guns lighting up the brush, as a sea of growls, howls, and incomprehensible roars fired back at us was the ambient noise of the night. My men quickly exited, my gunner being the last as he and I pulled back to the rest of the defensive perimeter. I set in my men to take up the frontal security, as 3rd squad took the right flank, 1st squad to the left. Major Krol and the JTAC were bickering with each other; “How far out are the birds”. “They’re entering airspace now…” Joakim said, already scanning his smart book.
I asked “What’ve we got?”. He then flipped through… to the NATO combined arms segment, quippily saying; “Apaches…”. This caused me to pause as Echo-3 turned their head whilst directing their squad’s fire “The hell… where did we get apaches from?”. “The Americans… they volunteered” Krol said dismissively as he took aim at the darkness, firing off a controlled trio. “Volunteered? They’re aware of what’s going on?” I asked.
Krol seemed to stop, glancing back at me before returning his focus “There’s a lot more going on than you realize, Blachowicz… Prep the breach, you and 1st are going on”.
I quickly pulled my breacher off the line, securing some thermite as the reinforced bunker door wasn’t going to go as easily as a conventional door breach would. 1st Squad pulled back, stacking up and preparing themselves to be the first in. All the while… Joakim gave his firing solution; “Alpha Hotel Two Five Nine, This is Bravo-4…… Type 2….”.
I snapped to my right, watching as a Strigoi managed to dark across the clear gravel field, only to be cut down by my gunner, the peq’s laser marking the burst as it tore through the beasts’ hips, as it hit the ground and still continued to claw, another GROM operator took aim and fired into it’s skull. Joakim popped up to his feet…. “Marking laser, high power…”. He then pulled out a target marking laser… if you’ve watched night operations, you’ve probably seen them.
The green laser than as it says on the label, marks targets. The pattern of which can vary… if it’s a point target, it’ll usually lasso an area, or remain on target until the target is removed with extreme prejudice. If its close air support, then it’ll be a line of the general area… and Joakim damn near marked the entire perimeter around us. He quickly pocketed the tool, turning back to Krol; “Don’t go past 20 meters unless you want to be liquidated”.
With that… 2nd and 1st stacked up at the door as 3rd squad took up the perimeter security. As Major Krol went over to Echo-1… I saw them. A single blinking IR strobe from the beasts as they moved on the far off horizon, converging from several angles… and fired. The sound of the Apache’s main gun, the M230, truly sounds like the hammer of god… the 30mm cannon shot through the dark sky, lighting it up as we saw three incoming streams tear up the woods. Only then as the sound broke did we start to hear their rotors as they broke and began to circle, firing again… then… Joakim dipped his head and looked to Krol; [“Foxtrot Mike, hang onto your teeth…”]. One of the Apaches fired off a AGM-114… a Hellfire. I barely saw it out of the corner of my eye as the Apache from our right flank fired off at a target approximately 200 meters off. A fireball lit up the forest as the horrendous roar echoed throughout… then went silent.
Echo-3 scanned the horizon carefully;
[“Echo-3 to Echo-Lead, enemy contact is starting to die down”].
[“Maintain perimeter, Close Air is to maintain fire mission until we are boots up, Break…”].
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-1, condition white has been met. Proceeds”]. I saw Echo-1 and his men quickly stack up close to the wall and gesture to me; Breaching. I quickly pulled my stack back against the wall as his and mine breacher quickly hit their actuators. Now under normal circumstances, it doesn’t take much for thermite to melt the locks off of a metal surface, in fact it’s a more precise took as alternative means get real medieval like saws, pry bars… we weren’t in the mood for precision, we need to breach their little lair, and drag them out. The sound of several pounds of hellfire burning through the metal could be heard around the corner as a sea of white and red sparks flew out… after several seconds, two of our men tossed a fragmentation grenade and a nine-bang through the opening… a series of concussive blasts and a large explosion rang out.
Echo-1 and his men maneuvered. 1st Squad quickly converged as we followed them in.
Stepping through the black wall of smoke, the dark abyss of the interior was illuminated in a white light as entered barrels raised. Shots rang out as several of the beasts near the entrance were cut down, though not immediately, rounds disconnected the shoulder of one of them, leading to their arm hanging limply by a single tendon as they roared… another series of rounds putting them down. What greeted us was a messy concrete hell of rust and debris, fecal matter, trash, and all kinds of obstacles laid in our way, our boots sticking to the floor. I thank every god we had promasks that night. I called my shield bearer up, 2nd squad leapfrogging ahead to take the next corridor as 1st squad checked their weapons.
One of my men mule kicked the metal door ahead, twice, finally the latch gave away as we tossed in a grenade. A horrifying roar was cut off as an M67 shook the walls of the ancient soviet mausoleum, frag and spall kicked off the walls as I moved in right behind my shield man. The cramped russian design meant there was barely enough space for three people, and that’s three normal people, not in 50kgs of kit, moving slowly and maneuvering against creatures of the dark. Still… we moved forward, my shield bearer and I pushing the pace as two stacked of either squad formed on either wall.
As we passed doorways they flowed in… “Door Left!!”, “Door Right!!”. “Move!!”.
Two men entered each side, no gunshots, we moved up, a roar came.
“Door left!!-”. A series of gunshots came out as we continued to push forward.
“Two down!!”. “Confirm them” Krol commanded, as a series of gunshots run out in response. From one of the doorways, a Strigoi emerged… a female… clumps of hair had been ripped from her decaying skull, as her blooded eyes locked on myself and my shieldman. The skin on her hands had been tore down to the point where barely her bones and tendons remain… looking like huge talons as she roared and lunged at us. He fired off his pistol, though the rounds did little to stop her as she pushed against our stack.
“Fuck!!” he muttered, somehow her strength caused him to stagnate, holding up the advance… fuck that. I shoved the muzzle of my MK18 into her ribcage, flipping the weapon to auto as I fired of round after round. The 5.56 salvo disconnecting her spinal column, causing her to fall as I continued to fire, along with a man to our right and left as the stacks reformed as we pushed to the end of the hall. I fell back, dropping the magazine and loading a fresh one, like clockwork a GROM Operator from 1st squad took my place. Krol was beside me as we approached the end of the hall.
[“-Prep an entry”] I radioed to my breacher, a comrade handed him one of the charges from his back panel as he took to the door, quickly securing it. We all moved as far back as we could, look away, exhale. The blast knocked metal and wood in all directions, scrapping against our uniforms and kit as we made our way in and what laid before us was… it used to be the center atrium of one of these bunkers. Soviet’s loved their grandiose designs, the complex was supposed to be a circular room around a central planning table… instead. It had been turned into some sort of church. Runes and old eastern Romuva pagan symbols written in black ink and blood across the walls, old rotten filing cabinets, long receipt terminals. In the center… several of the Strigoi were kneeling before the table where someone had been tied down, flayed, and… shared amongst the group. They rose to their feet, we aimed our barrels…
The ladder amongst turned to us… his skin wasn’t cracked, or flayed, it was smooth… it still looked dead as the body on the table but it seemed more… accustomed to it. I don’t know… evolved? Under the surface however I could see it’s darkened veins pumping whatever cursed blood ran through them as it locked two blood red eyes onto each of us. It’s nose had long since been turn off, exposing boney nostrils to the open air as it seemed to smirk. All across it’s body were the same symbols on the walls, in every cell… markings of death, of rebirth, of assimilation… From behind this seemingly Alpha emerges another figure I had never seemed before… dressed in a white cloak with a deer head.
"So they've followed the trail... they're too late" the Deer headed individual spoke, definitely not from here, a dialect similar to an Americans but... aristocratic? Each word was drawn out, assurance as if they had everything mapped down to our actions. They didn’t sound like they were from Poland or the east.
“Doesn’t matter…” the Alpha growled… and then, it lunged at us. Quickly breaking from their ground it slammed into my shield man knocking both him and myself at the ground as it displayed an intense feat of strength. Around us I could see several of the Strigoi leap at our comrades… though to no fruitful endeavor as I could see one GROM operator cut two down, as another got into a hand to hand confrontation… my breacher, crafty as they were, reached back and slammed one of the prybars of his kit into the skull of the beast.
The Alpha however was not content as it threw away the 90lb shield, sending it flying across the room as it grabbed my comrade by the skull. I quickly kicked up at it, firing my MK18 into it’s body as the rounds pierced it’s gray and rune covered flesh. The thing simply seemed to chuckle… that was until Major Krol blasted away at the side of it’s head, the alpha turned… and it’s smirk turned to a scowl when face to face with the major. A knowing pause almost like they had done this dance before…
The creature lunged, locking up with Major Krol as it swung and slammed railing. Krol didn’t back down however as he pushed against the creature, hiptossing it to the ground even as it tore at his armor and gear. But the beast pulled, both of them rolled and the Major was on his back as the thing reached for his neck. I fought to a kneel, firing into the creature messily with my MK18, trying not to hit my commander… then…
Click. A sound sends a chill up the spine of every warfighter during a firefight.
My gun ran dry. I dropped the magazine, looking to load another, but the thing came up and with one of it’s claws, sliced deep into my cheek, through the pro mask. I could feel my own blood go flying through the air as I landed hard on my back plate, spitting out red iron as I quickly tried to adjust my mask. Through my fogged up, blood covered lense… I saw my shield man raise his pistol, firing into the skull of the thing staggering it with a roar. Krol came from behind, drawing his knife he sunk it deep into the neck of it…. I reached for my rifle, forcing a new magazine in and damn near punching the bold release. ““Sir, down!!” I shouted, Krol rolled away, back to his own rifle as I fired. So did my comrade as he continued to fire his pistol… so did the Major as he fired his rifle. All of us chewing through that apex predator of darkness, that beast… the leader that had been preying on our people for so long. Layer by layer, muscle group by bone… eventually… the alpha landed on whatever was left of his back.
The silence of the fight died down as all of us checked our surroundings, GROM Operators putting controlled pairs in the heads and nerve stems of any Strigoi laying around… I flicked my weapon onto safe, letting it hang as I pulled off my mask. I dared not touch the wound on my face… the pain nearly crippling me if it wasn’t sheer will pushing me through, and adrenaline doing all it could to subdue it. The sound of the apaches continuing to lay hate drew us from our moment of contemplation as the Major went back to work; [“Confiscate any info, burn the rest…”]. He turned back to me as I shoved my damaged M50 mask back into it’s bag, chuckling as he looked at the sight; “You need a medevac, Blachowicz?” he quipped.
I shook my head, barely able to speak as I muttered; “Negative sir…”. The two of us scanned the room as my shield bearer went to collect his defense implement turned 90lb projectile, we scanned the center of the room, checking and confirming bodies, until we got to the last one alive. His white gown was soaked in red crimson and black ooze, as his dear head was mangled from bullet fire and impact from falling on it. I swear… the way his blood poured out of it though made me wonder if it was a mask. I gave it no second thoughts as he looked to Krol; “You… you can’t stop this, they’ve already-”.
The Major was in no mood for communication as his rifle snapped up and fired off three rounds to the body, four the head. The violent yet quick salvo ending the cultists life, I looked down at it, then to him as he remarked; “Have your squad drag him out to the front, burn the rest”. I stood alongside him, looking down as the sight of it’s deer head was both captivating and horrifying… the curiosity in me wanting to look closer at it fighting the primal instinct I had to burn the thing to ash. “-Haven’t seen one of those before…” I muttered, thinking the Major had an answer.
He didn’t. Krol saying “Neither have I…” shortly before he walked away, was what truly shook my soul about that entire night. Victory stood firm in our hearts that night as we stood outside of the bunker. The night sky burning with fire and white phosphorus as we watched the ruin burn from the inside from the other side of the lot. In the distance, the Apaches continued to scan and circle the forests, no longer firing…. Which meant they had driven any or turned to glass any enemy combatants within a four miles, probably both, more than likely the latter. Echo-1 patted me on the shoulder as we stood there, soaking it all in, though Krol looked none to pleased. “In the time it took us to take this one down, they’ll be trying to set up three more cells… that being established…” he said, looking to either of us, then to Echo-3. “-Hell of a thing we did tonight, been waiting for this one for a decade, cleanly, maybe more… but no time to rest on our laurels… we’ll have another task for us as soon as we’re boots down back home” he said, to which his eyes followed mine, the body of whatever cultist that was zipped up in a black body bag beside the wheel of one of the MRAPs. The fire from the bunker casting an orange hue over it’s shiny jet black outside, something didn’t sit right with me… “That wasn’t a Strigoi…” I said to Krol.
“That’s very clear…” the Major said, shoving his mask under his arm and lighting a cigarette. “So… someone’s helping them?” I asked. The meer notion of it shook me to my core, sickened me. This parasite was already badly infecting Europa, Polska… if it was spread like this throughout the world. Krol settled my nerves: “We’ll be ready… It’s not just us anymore”. As he said that, I realized what he meant… my eyes looking to the Apaches as they started to form up, leaving the areas as their thunderous propellers melted into the night’s calm, unnerving ambience.
It’s been a couple of weeks since then, Echo Detachment has been busy. We’ve gained good ground against the enemy and honestly I think in a few years, we might see a much larger change. For now… we must keep going, that being said the Strigoi aren’t the only ones we’ve been combating. Recently we’ve made contact with of some sort of extermination coalition, they’ve known about the Strigoi, and others plaguing the world, the level of corruption and corrosion on society goes deep. Regardless a lot of the units we’ve been working with are apart of NATO, such as this “4th Special Forces Group” of the American Military. I don’t know where the road from here leads, but we’ve gotten momentum on our side, finally. Just remember… these things are out there, in every town, every city, every nation… preying and waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, so they can take you and replace you.
Watch your back, and stay safe.
For now, Blachowicz signing out. Until next time

As a child, my world revolved around the sunny streets of Simi Valley, California, and the constant absence of my father, Victor Drake. He was a legendary snowboarder, a thrill-seeker whose exploits were broadcast on television screens across the country. But to me, he was just Daddy, a distant figure whose presence was more often felt through the flickering glow of the TV than in our own home.
As the years passed by, I found myself growing more and more aware of his absence. I would watch other children playing with their fathers at the park, their laughter echoing in my ears like a cruel reminder of what I was missing. I would press my small hands against the warm glass, imagining each passing car as a messenger carrying my father's love. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, he never seemed to come home.
Instead, I found comfort in the warm embrace of my grandparents, who took me in and raised me as their own. They became my surrogate parents, filling the void left by my father's absence with love and affection. But there was always a shadow lingering over our home, a sense of longing for the one who should have been there with us.
"Why doesn't Daddy stay with us?" I would ask, my voice trembling with emotion. And every time, my grandparents would offer the same explanation: "He loves you very much, sweetheart. But he has to travel for his work."
I accepted their words at face value, too young to question the truth behind them. "He's always too busy for us," I would mutter bitterly to myself, my young heart heavy with disappointment and betrayal.
There was one day...I wandered through the hallway of our house, I overheard my grandmother speaking on the phone. Her voice was tinged with frustration, her words clipped and sharp.
"You can't just not see her, Victor!" she exclaimed, her tone pleading. "She's your daughter, for crying out loud. You have a responsibility to her."
I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks—my dad was choosing not to be a part of my life, and it was tearing my family apart.
I felt a surge of raw emotion welling up inside me. Anger, sadness, confusion—all swirling together in a whirlwind of chaos that threatened to consume me whole. Without a word, I turned on my heel and fled, my footsteps echoing through the empty house as I raced back to my room. Slamming the door shut behind me, I collapsed onto my bed, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked.
I didn't want to face the world outside, didn't want to confront the painful truth of my father's abandonment. So I stayed locked away in my room, the days blurring together into a haze of loneliness and despair. Outside my window, the sun continued to rise and set, casting long shadows across my walls as time marched on without me. But inside my sanctuary, time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading into insignificance as I retreated deeper and deeper into myself.
I spent those days lost in my own thoughts, wrestling with the thoughts that haunted me, searching for some semblance of understanding in the chaos of my emotions. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the crushing weight of my father's absence, the gaping hole in my heart that refused to heal.
And so I remained trapped in that dark cocoon of despair, my only solace the faint glimmer of hope that someday, somehow, I would find the answers I so desperately sought. But until then, I was content to stay locked away in my room, sheltered from the harsh realities of the outside world, nursing my wounds in silence. Hoping that one day, he would come home and we could be a family again. That he would want to be my dad.
But whatever god was out there, must've heard my cries, answered my prayers.
I was ten now. I heard the front door creak open, the sound echoing through the silent house. My heart leaped into my throat, my pulse quickening with a mixture of anticipation and dread as I waited, holding my breath, for what would come next.
And then he was there, standing in the doorway, his familiar silhouette framed against the harsh glare of the midday sun. For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't believe that he was actually here.
But there he was, my father, Victor Drake, holding out his arms to me with a tentative smile, as if unsure of whether he was welcome or not. And in that moment, all the anger and resentment that had consumed me for so long melted away, replaced by a flood of overwhelming relief and joy.
He had gifts in hand, peace offerings to soften the blow of his absence. A new pair of ice skates, gleaming in the sunlight, a token of his love and a promise of better days to come.
I wanted to hate him, to lash out at him for leaving me all those years ago, for breaking my heart and abandoning me when I needed him most. But as I looked into his eyes, saw the vulnerability lurking behind the bravado, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Instead, I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him as if my life depended on it, my tears mingling with his as we stood there, locked in an embrace that felt like coming home. And in that moment, all was forgiven, all was forgotten, as we basked in the warmth of each other's love, united once more by the bonds of family.
But even as I reveled in the joy of his return, a nagging doubt lingered at the back of my mind. Did forgiving him so easily make me stupid? Was I setting myself up for heartbreak all over again? Only time would tell, but for now, I pushed those thoughts aside, content to lose myself in the embrace of my father's love, if only for a little while longer.

I'm in the US. I have shared my Netflix account with an elderly relative in another state for many years.
When it was dvds I'd send her movies and shows I though she'd like since it's streaming I add stuff to her list. She likes this as I curate her experience.
I visited recently and we had issues watching at her house, I had to do text verification that I was there traveling.I hate that Netflix is doing this.
I don't want her to do deal with this issue as she wouldn't contact me to do the text verification as she doesn't want to "bother" me.
My question If I upgrade to premium does that resolve this issue or will we still have to text verify that I'm traveling to her house every 30 days? I tried to make her residence the main location but it wouldn't let me.
Netflix seems rather vague about how this works but upgrading to premium seems cheaper than adding her to my account for $7.99 a month and requiring a new login for her, which I can't set up since I'm not there.
Any tips on this would be appreciated and fuck Netflix for doing this. Thanks

My first time to purchase a sports streaming app.
They all seem to be about the same price - looks like about 80 bucks.
FUBO and ESPN are the two I have seen so far. Appreciate any suggestions you have.
Would like to hear your experiences as well.

A few weeks ago, I posted about my frustrations with the animation industry. It was poorly written and missing many details. I have also taken more time to think over your advice and now need more. I am using a separate account btw. I
I've wanted to be in the animation industry ever since watching Spider-Verse and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Not necessarily as an animator, but possibly as a concept artist or storyboard artist. I aspire to create shows that can impact young people like me.
However, everything changed when I worked on my portfolio for animation schools. I experienced burnout and lost a lot of my joy and enthusiasm. It was emotionally taxing, and I began to doubt whether I could handle the demands of the industry on a daily basis. Consequently, I opted to attend a regular university and pursue a standard degree. I'm currently studying international relations, a fascinating but not particularly lucrative field unless I choose to pursue law, which I've considered. Although my university does offer an animation program, it requires numerous prerequisites before students can learn animation. Despite possessing other skills—I could potentially excel as a lawyer or construction manager—I can't shake the feeling that I would be wasting the talents given to me by God. My passion for visual storytelling is something I can't let go of, and I fear that if I don't produce animations or write and draw comics for the world to see, I will have wasted my life. Perhaps if I create a successful comic, it could be adapted into animation like Invincible, but even that presents its own set of challenges.
The animation industry appears to be ailing, or at least losing its allure. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of spending all day on a computer or working on uninspired movies or TV shows. Corporations often overwork employees, resulting in the production of mediocre content. While I've heard stories of animators being overworked on projects like Spider-Verse, some still find it worthwhile because the end product is of high quality. However, much of the industry now seems focused on sequels or streaming shows. Although many streaming shows are of good quality, I'm skeptical about their long-term profitability. People pay for the service, not necessarily the individual shows, which can lead to lesser-quality content like Velma receiving second seasons despite low viewership or reception. Additionally, good shows are frequently canceled.
I'm also developing a phobia of technology. Spending excessive time on a computer has led me to believe that hand-drawn paper animation is becoming obsolete. I recall taking a summer animation course at an art school and disliking animating with a computer; it felt devoid of tactile sensation and made me feel like a cog in a machine. Much of the industry's creativity has been flattened, leaving me feeling despondent.
I want to live a life where I can maintain my upper-middle-class family lifestyle, but I'm also a man driven by passion. However, with the cost of living increasing, I fear that sacrifices may be necessary. If I were to become an economic refugee, I worry that I wouldn't possess any useful skills to transfer to other countries. Unlike others, I can't solely rely on financial motivations; otherwise, I would have pursued a career as an accountant or engineer. Additionally, I've found that I'm not interested in exclusively associating with artistic individuals; I value friendships with people from various backgrounds, including those studying to become accountants, journalists, or scientists.
I've already sold my iPad Pro and gaming computer, leaving me without equipment. However, I'm considering giving it another try. Perhaps I should explore options like CGMA or Animation Mentor. My parents encouraged me to attend college because they believed it would provide better industry connections, and while they were right, I also find it to be expensive and overrated.
How can I keep my passion for visual storytelling alive and productive as the world economies change?

Hello! Im just getting back into dnd and would really like to get into a long term campaign and I would also like to join a group of cool people. I've been watching dnd streams on YouTube and I missed the time I had on this game message me OR comment on this post if your willing to invite me in a game
About me: I love to voice act characters for fun and to role play as them, I love making backstory’s for characters and just overall i want to be invested and be hype of the world that the DM made, I also like a bit of combat in my games, Always love some fantasy settings, would always cooperate with the DM, I really don’t know how to make a character sheet so i might need help on that and other than that thats all.
timezone -UTC+8 Age - 17 Discord - Niqiuse#8652 Free on weekends and any time on the weekends(mostly on Saturdays)