Shortly before a final paper with pre-assigned topics was due for one of my last courses at Columbia University, our professor sent us an email telling us to forego the previous parameters of the essay, and to instead write about the events that had occurred not even forty-eight hours earlier, as well as our reflections on them, to be done in any manner we chose. Here is a very lightly revised version of what I submitted: read it, ignore it, upvote it, downvote it, hate it, love it.
I am prefacing this essay by stating that it is the culmination of several intense emotions that I have been dealing with over the last few weeks, more specifically, the last several days. It is a free-form expression of the many things occupying my mind, and, as such, it may seem overwhelming or disjointed. Nevertheless, I will do my best to convey my feelings into something representative of my beliefs, and my time at this institution.
My time at Columbia University has been bookended in an almost comically bad way; it started with Zoom classes during the COVID-19 pandemic, and now it ends with Zoom final exams due to the lockdown of Columbia’s campus after protests regarding the Israel – Palestine conflict reached a fever pitch not just within Morningside Campus, but the international stage. My classmates and I missed in-person orientation, and now, given recent developments, we will not have a University Commencement, a fact I found out not from Columbia, but a New York Times alert, somehow lowering my opinion of this administration’s handling of recent events even more. While the circumstances around my time at Columbia have now both begun and finished in the same manner, I am proud to say that I have not. I do not mean that Columbia has simply made me a better writer, a more critical thinker, or more well read, although it certainly has done those things, sometimes forcing me to when I was not particularly in the mood to do so, but those improvements pale in comparison to the maturity and empathy my time at this university has given me.
When the decision to transition to remote learning during the Spring 2020 semester was made, occurring only a short time after I had received my acceptance letter (email), my first thought was how the pandemic would affect my transfer from community college to Columbia in September. Admittedly, this was a selfish perspective, considering the tremendous challenges that many would endure during the ensuing lockdowns and other upheavals of life. My concerns were solely focused on myself because I was on a simple track to graduate, place my degree on my resumé, and continue my trajectory of military service to college to employment, leaving little else to consideration, to include other people who were not in my immediate circle. Sitting here now, two weeks from graduation, with a job at a Fortune 500 company lined up, I should be happy, with the plans I had made years ago coming to fruition. Yet I cannot help feeling a sense of sadness and concern for the school I have spent years of my life at, and for the world as a whole.
James Hatch, a former member of the United States’s elite Naval Special Warfare Development Group, or DEVGRU, for short, more commonly known by its nickname, Seal Team Six, famous for its involvement in the killing of Osama Bin Laden and the rescue of the Maersk Alabama Captain Richard Phillips from pirates, amongst other things, spent over twenty years in the military. After being wounded on a mission to rescue American serviceman sergeant Bowe Bergdahl from enemy forces, he was medically discharged, and would eventually attend Yale University. While there, he wrote a piece titled My Semester with the Snowflakes (please give this a read, it will help people who have never been in the military understand its culture, along with some of the challenges veterans face when transitioning to college), where he details his initial discomfort with being in a vastly different environment than the military, surrounded by individuals who possessed opinions and beliefs contrary to the ones he was accustomed to. He recalls witnessing a student protest the country he spent over two decades serving by coating her hand in red paint, and leaving a palm print on an American flag, and details his shock when a classmate of his explained to him what a “safe space” was, as well as his pride when he began to understand the nuances of life both inside and outside of the nation he dedicated twenty-six years to.
I can relate to Mr. Hatch, (despite my service paling in comparison to his, as well as the fact that Columbia is far superior to Yale), because, like his friends who make fun of him for attending college with a bunch of “snowflakes,” mine do the same. More significantly, however, his personal growth during his time at school is something that I have experienced myself. When I started at Columbia, I did not even know which major I would choose, and was largely lost in a world very different than the one I had come from. Despite this, I made the decision to avoid communities such as MilVets and the students who made it very clear that they came from a military background, with their style of dress and demeanor, not because those organizations and individuals are a detriment; I know for a fact that MilVets has helped countless students succeed at Columbia and beyond, and the veterans that I have relationships with are all phenomenal people, but because I wanted to pressure myself into being exposed to something different. I was uncomfortable at first, but this turned out to be the right decision. I learned as much from simply talking to people whom I would normally never converse with about topics and ideas that I had never encountered as I did during classes about great works of art, polar and Cartesian coordinates, literature, astronomy, the list goes on.
If the protests about the Israel – Palestine conflict had occurred when I first started at Columbia, I would have been frustrated by the students taking up space, forcing us to be funneled on to campus by restricted access points and identification checks. Likely irritated by the disturbance of the quiet during finals season, I would have agreed with the people who called for students to simply focus on their assignments and stop inconveniencing others by shouting about something occurring on the other side of the world. Instead, I decided to learn about the conflict, educating myself about both sides of a war that has roots extending back millennia. While Columbia University did not agree to the demands of the protestors, they achieved something else they surely desired, reaching a goal they did not state to President Shafik and her advisors: they brought attention to their cause by educating at least one additional person about it.
After reading, talking to people, listening to input from students within various classes, and understanding that things such as the intertwined nature of financial workings, as well as conflicts not just in the Middle East, but all over the world, are a level of complexity that baffles some of the most brilliant minds of ours and previous generations, I will leave my thoughts about Israel and Palestine separate from this paper. I recognize that it is important to choose a side, as remaining impartial helps no one. However, when every news agency, group and individual makes their voice heard, satirical sources such as The Onion make these kind of posts, or Adult Swim’s Rick, the nihilistic, narcissistic, psychopathic, misanthropic lead character from the series Rick and Morty, addresses the conflict in this manner, I feel that it is better to relegate myself to a much smaller part of this debate, namely the occurrences on Columbia University’s Morningside Campus.
During basic training for the United States Army, a sense of brotherhood and camaraderie is hammered into recruits’ identities. When you graduate and are assigned to a unit, one where you could be thousands of miles from home on the opposite side of the country, or even in a completely different country, serving on one of the international bases, approaching someone who you have never met before is easy. Talking to them about shared experiences and stories you have in common, and the bonding that occurs, is the product of an indoctrination process and lifestyle that has existed longer than any of us have been alive, and is proof of its effectiveness. This sense of familiarity tends to continue even when one leaves the military. The Veterans of Foreign Wars community is a place for prior servicemembers of all conflicts to share a drink, a laugh, and sometimes a tear. When I go to the Veterans Administration Hospital for periodic check-ups or the occasional injury, men and woman wearing hats commemorating their service during Vietnam waiting for their appointments greet me with a smile and a handshake, as if we have known each other for years. While working at a golf club’s greens department before I transferred to Columbia from community college, a coworker of mine who had served in the Gulf War had heard from our supervisor that I had been in the Army, and he introduced himself to me on my first day, before anyone else, telling me that if I needed anything, I only had to ask. This camaraderie has expanded to encompass not just veterans, but first responders such as firemen, EMT’s, and the police as well.
Underneath the picture on my driver’s license, the word “veteran” is emblazoned next to a star, written in bright red text and all capital letters. I know for a fact that this one-and-a-half-inch indicator has helped me during interactions with law enforcement on multiple occasions. Only earlier this semester, during Presidents’ Day weekend, I went upstate to spend time with my family. While driving back, in an effort to make the seven-hour trip at a reasonable time, I was stopped for going twenty miles-per-hour over the speed limit. The officer who pulled me over, initially reserved, became noticeably more friendly when I handed him my license and registration. Ultimately, he gave me what amounted to a parking ticket for my actions, rather than the point-incurring, heavily fined moving violation he could have charged me with.
The ‘Thin Blue Line,’ as it is known, is a reference to the idea that the police are the barrier between law abiding citizens and criminals, order and chaos. The most common representation of this concept is a black-and-white American flag, with a single blue line in the place where a red or white stripe would normally be. This style has been expanded to include numerous other colors representing other first-responders: green for the military, red and white no longer to be interpreted as the traditional stripes of the American flag, but instead meant to represent the fire department and paramedics, and even grey for corrections officers. Seeing the appropriation of one of the most iconic symbols in the world, one that flies above the White House, schools, homes, national and international events, and even the Moon, I can say, as someone who has been unwillingly entangled within that appropriation, is nothing short of terrifying.
The fact that these entities and their supporters have literally sewn themselves into the fabric of the symbol of our nation makes one think that there is little room for the countless other occupations, aspects and people that make up this country. The idea of the police being the sole protectors of our society is patently absurd, and all one must do is point out the many instances of police brutality occurring over the years to refute it. I find myself thinking of how much power the officer who stopped me just three months ago had over me. Initially, I was happy that I had received a slap on the wrist, but recently I have found myself wondering what if my license did not state that I was a veteran, would he have charged me with a ticket that would have had much more serious implications? What if he was simply having a bad day, and he decided he did not like the look of me, or the color of my car, and I was the one who he ultimately decided to vent his frustrations on? This traffic infraction, an incredibly small incident compared to all the turmoil in the world, one that involves two strangers, supposedly bonded by our professions, on the side of a quiet, New York highway, serves as a metaphor to me, reminding me of the power structures at play on a much larger scale.
On April 22^nd, 2024, I received this email, one of the many Clery Crime Alerts that students are automatically sent. An affiliate of Columbia University had their car stolen at gunpoint by two masked men on Claremont Avenue, not even a five-minute walk from campus. I skimmed the report, and almost immediately forgot about it, recognizing that crime is an inevitability in major cities, and that I needed to start my commute to school. Days later, on the night of April 30^th, 2024, I received another email from Columbia, containing one of the most ominous messages I had ever seen, one that put the kind of fear in my heart that not even the alert of an armed carjacking could. Columbia’s Emergency Management Operations Team, offering no explanations, specifications, or even a greeting or sign-off, wrote in bold letters these three sentences: “Shelter in place for your safety due to heightened activity on the Morningside campus. Non-compliance may result in disciplinary action. Avoid the area until further notice.” Due to the protests on campus during recent weeks, President Shafik testifying before Congress, Columbia’s role as one of the main catalysts for student protests around the country, and the occupation of Hamilton Hall occurring in the earlier hours of that day, it was not hard to figure out what the email was referencing. Over the next several hours, I followed news agencies, remained glued to the Columbia subreddit, and listened to WKCR, in awe of these eighteen- to twenty-two-year-old students putting themselves at risk to deliver on the ground, accurate, unbiased coverage of one of the most significant events in the school’s history.
While tracking the events from multiple perspectives, to include the social media accounts of those near and on campus live streaming them, I held out hope that the university would make good on their promise from several days earlier to not invite the NYPD back, but a frightening picture began to unfold, one that I was intimately familiar with. One WKCR reporter stated that 114^th street had so many officers on it that he could not see the asphalt of the road beneath them, and I knew that the staging area the NYPD had chosen was one of the best routes for moving towards what the military, and presumably law enforcement, would call an ‘objective.’ The officers cleared the smaller ‘objective,’ the largely unoccupied tents in front of Butler, and then moved towards Hamilton Hall, ordering even those not associated with its occupation to disperse, raising my stress levels and likely those of others, as it is rarely a good sign when police do not want their actions recorded and archived. After the initial entry to campus and clearing of areas and people in the immediate vicinity of Hamilton Hall, came the Long-Range Acoustic Device, or LRAD, a device that makes a megaphone sound like a whisper, and one known for its crowd-control potential, capable of producing sounds loud enough to cause damage to ear-drums, nausea, and headaches, ordering individuals to clear away. The NYPD began its execution of tactics in a way that my fellow soldiers and I used to rehearse, tactics I never dreamed that I would witness outside of the military, and certainly not by police officers who vastly outnumbered unarmed students on their own campus. The NYPD created a perimeter, or a ‘second layer of security’ to both provide reinforcements for the officers entering the building, and to prevent the fleeing of what are called ‘squirters,’ or individuals who attempt to escape the building after the raid begins. While the ‘breach’ team moved towards the front doors, using tools from a ‘hooligan kit,’ such as bolt cutters, hand-held battering rams and crowbars, a siege machine was brought in to allow access from a window; when taking over a building, the idea is to overwhelm it from as many different directions as possible to better disorient and overwhelm its occupants. Flash-bang grenades, described as non-lethal, but known to have harmful effects, were thrown inside, presumably before entering any room, hallway, or otherwise enclosed area to minimize the resistance of anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of what can only be described as an assault on the visual and auditory senses. According to the Manhattan District Attorney, one of the officers inside Hamilton Hall had what is called in the military a “negligent discharge,” meaning his firearm went off unintentionally. While no one was hurt, the question remains why at least one, and more likely, numerous other officers were carrying guns loaded with live ammunition in the first place, when they so drastically outmatched the protestors in numbers and equipment. Additionally, a negligent discharge is an act of incompetence that would result in an active-duty soldier facing serious consequences, and derision from his peers. So far, the officer remains defended by his coworkers, and unpunished by his superiors.
As all this unfolded, I communicated with my friends from the past and present. My friends from the military checked on me to ensure that I was okay, as did my friends from school. The difference in how they viewed these events highlights what I believe is the change in myself that I stated I am most proud of at the beginning of this paper. My friends from the military were commenting that the assertion of order and control by way of militarized tactics was necessary, not concerning themselves with the human toll and destruction of trust that came along with it. Conversely, my schoolmates lamented the brutality and overstepping of boundaries that the NYPD and Columbia’s administration committed, one that turned a place meant to be a beacon of free speech, expression, and ideas, into what is now a police-state with strict control over who enters it.
My education inside and outside the classroom at this institution has challenged, thrilled, and changed me. Sitting here now, at the end of this paper, the end of the semester, and the end of my time at Columbia University, I am left feeling confused and sad regarding recent events, but also hopeful for the future. I know from experience that the students, teachers, and culture of this school have the power to encourage critical thinking and initiate personal growth. If it did those things for me, surely it can do the same for others

Cigarettes and rebellion have always gone hand-in-hand, and in an age of cigarette packet-sized health warnings, now more than ever, smoking a fag says: 'I do not give a fuck.' But if Brandon Flowers is hoping to strike a seditious pose by sparking up at the start of the interview, it's not going according to plan. The Killers' frontman is on all fours rooting through the junk that carpets the anteroom at the band's rehearsal space. "Has anyone seen my lighter?" he asks, rocking back on his heels. The question hangs in the air while Brandon cocks his head, waiting for an answer like a meerkat listening for a predator. Twenty-five years old and with a delicate bone structure, there's something almost dainty about him. Receiving no response, he returns to his search. "Oh, Jeez," he sighs. "I had it just a minute ago."
It's a scene that emphatically does not suggest a rebel without a cause. The mess isn't helping. The Killers' HQ - an industrial unit sandwiched between a construction supplier and the offices of a housing development just off Dean Martin Drive in West Las Vegas - is ankle-deep in designer clothing. A Dior Homme suit lies crumpled by the door; there's a pile of shoes topped like a sundae by a pair of Marc Jacobs trainers; and anyone wishing to enter the shoebox room the band use as an office must negotiate a mountain of discarded jeans. Many items are identifiable as coming from the wardrobe of Hot Fuss, The Killers' hugely successful 2004 debut album - triple platinum in the UK with two weeks at Number One and five million sold worldwide. Look! There are the shirts, ties and suit jackets they wore when they thrilled Glastonbury 2005 with indie rock anthems Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me. That was the crowning moment of a two-and-a-half year tour that finally concluded in October of last year. It seems that after playing that final date in Miami, they returned to Vegas and shrugged off their image onto the floor of this bland white box.
Now a fine layer of dust covers the dead clothes. The Killers have no further use for white tuxedos on their second album, Sam's Town. Today, Brandon wears a black polo shirt, black pin-stripe waistcoat, black jeans and black boots. Where there used to be a layer of foundation, there is now a beard - an untrimmed beard at that. Dave Keuning (30, guitar), Mark Stoermer (29, bass) and Ronnie Vannucci (29, drums) all echo Brandon's black ensemble. Ronnie has added Aviator shades and a handlebar moustache for a dash of motorcycle cop, Dave's frizzy bubble of hair gives him a Marc Bolan-ish air, and there's something very teenage about Mark's scuffed Vans.
Short of walking around wearing sandwich boards saying, "Our new record is a bit heavier than the last one," The Killers couldn't hope to communicate that message more effectively. And they have gained some musical girth on Sam's Town. The pop hooks that made Hot Fuss so irresistible survive intact - see the ringing guitar riffs on first single When You Were Young - but there's a newfound punchiness, coupled with an epic sweep. The minor-to-major uplifts on Bones are fabulously dramatic, the coda to Why Do I Keep Counting? thrillingly intense. Comparisons to Bruce Springsteen have been made. If they overstate the case a little, they are at leaset qualitatively accurate. The Killers are back and this time it's serious - they've got the bootlace ties to prove it.
"Hey, it says here that Springsteen's headlining Glastonbury next year," shouts Ronnie, who's flicking through the NME. He nods sagely at the page without looking up.
"Really?" asks Dave, nicknamed Crazy Dave on account of his alledgedly volatile nature.
"The Boss is headlining one night, we're playing second on the bill the next night and Kylie's headlining the Sunday," says Brandon, charging like a bull through Michael Eavis' as-yet-unannounced line-up with what subsequently proves to be a characteristic gaucheness.
But that lighter is proving elusive. This being America, none of the people hurrying to-and-fro prepping the world for the release of Sam's Town smokes. Manager Robert Reynolds - Bobby Rey to the band - barks into his mobile, booking his band onto eye-wateringly demanding tours. "We're going to make a lot of money," he cackles to himself before switching calls to make a series of stern pronouncements on legal matters. Dave, Mark and Ronnie disappear for a jam session. Artwork is approved, B-sides are decided on and schedules are hammered out.
"I can't find it," Brandon says, finally. But he's not going to be denied the opportunity to underline The Killers reinvention with a puff of smoke. "Let's go to the gas station. I'll have to buy one. It's too busy to talk here anyway."
+
Brandon's black (of course) Volkswagen Touraeg four-wheel drive is barrelling down West Flamingo Road into town. "I was a bell boy there," he says, pointing out of the driver's window at the stucco facade of the Gold Coast casino. "I was working there when we were signed."
Coming from Las Vegas, it is perhaps inevitable that casinos play a big part in The Killers' story; not only is Sam's Town named after one, it was recorded in one, too.
The band began writing songs while on the road with Hot Fuss, turning up early for soundchecks to run through new ideas. On a trip home to Vegas, George Maloof, a hotelier known for cultivating famous friends, invited them to record the album in the new studio he'd built at The Palms, his flagship hotel-cum-gambling den. When the tour finished in October 2005, they returned to Vegas and spent five month finessing the songs they'd sketched out on the road. Then, in February, they decampled to the third floor studio at The Palms and recorded Sam's Town over 11 weeks.
Producer Flood (U2, Depeche Mode) encouraged them to experiment. They overdubbed, fiddled with synthesizers and played with new equipment. It took them five weeks to get the backing vocals right. The band sang the harmonies, then double-tracked them four times. The end result recalls Queen wondering, "Is this is the real life? Is this just fantasy?" When Ronnie, a trained classical percussionist, brought some kettledrums down, eyebrows were raised; but the fabulously bombastic coda on Why Do I Keep Counting? vindicates his indulgence.
"That's kind of the Ben Hur of the album," he says. He's not wrong. Sam's Town is a record on an epic scale. "Yeah, it has drama," he continues. "But, at the same time, I think it's a little more exposed than Hot Fuss. It's a little more naked. Last time it was about a lot of fictional things." By "fictional", Ronnie means that Hot Fuss wore its predominantly British influences for all to see. Brandon's taste in music is rabidly Anglophile - he constantly references The Smiths, The Cure and Joy Division - and it showed. By contrast, Sam's Town is an unequivocally American record. The lyrical imagery is pure American dream - cars, girls, wide-open spaces and escaping to a better life. "We're burning down the highway skyline/On the back of a hurricane that started turning/When you were young," sings Brandon on When You Were Young. That's the basis of the Springsteen comparisons then, though the lack of pathos more closely recalls another blue-collar rocker from New Jersey - Jon Bon Jovi.
The phrase "this town" recurs throughout the album, and it's always receding into the distance as The Killers escape to a new life. "This town was made for passing through/I never did get along with everybody else," sings Brandon on This River Is Wild. On Read My Mind he "never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town", while on the title track he offers something of an explanation: "Nobody ever had a dream round here."
"With the first record, there was this feeling that there was this world out there that we didn't know," says Mark later in the day. Before The Killers, he studied philosophy: now he's their quiet one. "We wanted to get out and away from this and be somewhere else. We hadn't had a lot of experience - hadn't travelled much - then we were gone for three years. We didn't sit down and say that we wanted to make a record about how we're glad to be home, but that's what happened naturally."
It's not an angsty record. The Killers have already escaped with Hot Fuss, and, having done so, they view the experience fondly now they're back. There's a mistiness to Brandon's eyes as he explains how the album got it's name.
"Sam's Town is a casino on the edge of Vegas," he says. "I grew up in Henderson, which is out on the way to the Hoover Dam. My mom and dad lived in a trailer park, and my dad used to hitchhike up and down Boulder Highway, which is the only way you could get to Vegas. Sam's Town was the first thing you saw on your way in to town. So, when you're driving down Boulder Highway from Henderson, I always thought you finally knew you were getting somewhere when you saw Sam's Town. It was kind of like a beacon."
"It's not a completely American album," contines Brandon. "We still have our English influence, but we're also from the Wild West. Somehow we've managed to unify all that on this album. it's just such a perfect resemblence of what we are."
At the petrol station, Brandon rummages through the glove box looking for change to buy a lighter. "This is a great album," he says, pointing at Highway Companion, the latest from iconic American rocker Tom Petty. "I've always been a big fan of his. He's such a great American artist."
Yes, Brandon: we get the point.
+
When Brandon finally lights his cigarette, he smokes it awkwardly, like a child mimicking something he's seen the grown-ups doing. However, when he cheerfully admits that, "I feel the same mentally as I did when I was 12," it's not a knowing nod to the fact that he sometimes behaves like a loveably precocious child, but a reference to an unusually comprehensive grounding in pop music at an early age.
When Brandon sings about "this town", he doesn't mean Las Vegas. He means Nephi, Utah or Henderson, Nevada, where he spent his childhood. His parents are Mormon and he is the youngest of six children. "I was a surprise," he says. "I've got a 42-year-old sister." If he was issues about his "surprise" status, he chooses to gloss over them. "It turned out perfect because my brother was a teenager when I was a kid," he says. "He would bring home things like Rattle And Hum by U2 and I would watch it. I remember he bought Live In Dallas by Morrissey. It was always him watching these things, or his door was shut and you'd hear The Head On The Door by The Cure blasting through the house and rattling the walls."
The Killers were formed when Brandon answered an advert Dave had placed in a local paper in late 2002. Dave cited Oasis as a big influence; Brandon had seen them play recently and responded; and, as Dave has said in previous interviews: "He was the only person to reply to my ad who wasn't a complete freak." However, the band was born in Brandon's brothers bedroom.
"His room was like a shrine," enthuses Brandon. "It was a holy place. I wish I could show you a picture of it. It was covered in posters. There'd be a big picture of Elvis wearing a bow tie that just said 'The Smiths' [the artwork for The Smiths 1987 single Shoplifters Of The World Unite]. You had The Cure wearing face paint [the artwork to The Cure's 1985 single In Between Days] - all that kind of stuff. I remember Morrissey being on the cover of the NME, with the halo [from 1985] - stuff like that. You just wanted to know about these people 'cause they were so cool. My brother seemed like such a cool person. But he was a teenager, so he wasn't going to be that nice to me, a kid."
Brandon was fascinated by his brother's collection of music, magazines and posters, but he was denied access to them - officially, at least. "I would sneak in," he says. "I knew he'd be angry if he found out, but I would go in as soon as he left the house." For a long time Brandon was too scared to actually play anything. "That didn't come 'til later. I just used to go in there because I liked it. Then I got to the point where I'd actually take a tape out and put it in. It took more guts to do that."
It was a life-changing moment. "I was ten and the first song I played was Sing Your Life by Morrissey. I remember dancing about to it."
The lyrics to Sing Your Life include the lines, "Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone/And name all the things that you love/All the things that you loathe." It's intriguing to wonder what Morrissey makes of the neophyte he inspired with these lines.
Eventually, Brandon inherited his brother's tape collection. "It was around the same time CDs started coming out in a big way. He started buying CDs and gave me his tapes. And that was it: it took off from there. I got a hundred of the best albums - all the New Order, all the Morrissey, all The Smiths, The Beatles. I started buying posters. I went to see The Cure in concert. It was just kind of a continuation of my brother. And it was nice because, though my parents were strict, they were already used to it from him. There was no, 'My dad doesn't understand me,' or any of that kind of stuff. My mum likes The Smiths."
Brandon was 13 and his favourite band was late-'70s/early-'80s American new wavers The Cars, and particularly their jaw-droppingly catchy 1979 single Just What I Needed.
"I wouldn't exist without that song," he says. "That was the one. I remember driving around with my mum when I was 13, and we're living in Nephi - a really small town - and I felt so cool when I put that song on. Like: 'I have something that none of these kids I'm going to middle school with tomorrow have.' That excitement is what music's about, isn't it? That's why I understand the mentality of people that don't like us because we've sold so many records. I used to like it when no one else knew about a band. So I get that - I do."
+
Brandon's first band was called Blush Response. It was never going to work out. Not because he refused to move to Los Angeles with them, but because he is utterly - comically - shameless. He's given to making outrageously boastful statements like: "It's not like the '60s, '70s and '80s now. There are only a few bands around that are really good, that just do it. I mean, there's what, five or six of us?"
For the record, in Brandon's estimation, those bands are Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, The Strokes, The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and, of course, The Killers.
"I don't want people to think I'm lumping myself with other people just to make us sound cool," he says. Really? It sort of sounds like you are. But he just steamrolls through it. "Yeah, but you know what I mean," he says, grinning at his own cheekiness. He's so disgracefully forward you can't help but laugh along with him - Oh you are awful, Brandon! But joking aside, The Killers are the most commercially successful of all the bands he mentions.
Later, back at the rehearsal space, the band run through Sam's Town at deafening volume in preparation for the forthcoming tour - first the US, then the world. The infectious, almost contagious, chorus of When You Were Young sounds fabulous, as do the U2-like guitars and Twin Peaks synths of Read My Mind. Meanwhile, Smile Like You Mean It and Somebody Told Me benefit from the newfound harder edge.
They somewhat heavy-handedly underline the new direction by playing Paranoid by Black Sabbath and Get It On by T Rex. That's the thing: The Killers are not a subtle band. Their songs are like a wet kiss from a girl who's a bit too drunk. They are big and brash, and not everyone loves them for it. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me might go down as well at hip nightclubs as they do on the festival circuit, but the DJs play them with the same guilty look they wear when playing a pop record.
"I hate that," says Brandon. "Like writing a song you can hum somehow cheapens it? It makes me think of this quote by Morrissey. Everybody knows how he read Oscar Wilde, Keats and Yates when he was growing up and that he wanted to be a writer. He was talking to this journalist who asked why he hadn't become a writer, and Morrissey said: 'What I do is more powerful than what you do because I can write down these words and you get it to a melody. How can you beat that?' I'm of the same opinion. I don't understand why a good melody that's memorable is a bad thing."
Being dismissed as pop particular aggrieves Ronnie. "When we first came out we got compared to Duran Duran all the time. Jesus Christ! We got a keyboard player now all of a sudden he's Nick Rhodes! Come on!"
"The people who criticise us for being too poppy don't get it," agrees Mark. "I think that's the problem with a lot of rock music. People are afraid to write a song any more. Either that or they can't. And that attitude hurts music in general. The best bands ever have all written great songs. You can still do it and do it intelligently and it can be original. This isn't a studio creation with a producer writing these songs for us. We're not Avril Lavigne, or something like that. We're a real band writing real songs, just like a punk band would do, except that we write pop songs."
You get the impression that The Killers knack for showboating pop hooks that border on vulgar is inextricably tied up with the brazen side of Brandon's personality. But while his ebullient charisma, not to mention the songs themselves, mitigates his outrageousness, there is a less attractive side to his ego. He has a combative streak. He can't resist taking pot shots at emo bands, notably Fall Out Boy, whith whom The Killers share an A&R man.
Has he heard how many emo kids it takes to change a light bulb? "No." None. They just sit in the dark and cry. It's a full 30 seconds before he stops laughing. When he does he admits: "Yeah, we've had problems with other bands. You know, when you walk in the room it's like..." He whistles the theme to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. "We're like gangs."
And while the other members of the band are diplomatic on the subject of Brandon, you don't have to read too deeply between the lines to conclude that there have been internal issues, too.
"Some people will think Brandon's the big genius," says Dave, visibly bridling. "There are songs, such as Why Do I Keep Counting?, where he's written every note. But there are others, like When You Were Young, that were more of a collaboration - like Mr Brightside, where I had some of the music and Brandon came up with the lyrics. We always have arguments about who wrote what. The truth is that we all help in that process."
When asked how success affected them, Ronnie says: "There were certain things that needed adjusting. When you're on tour for two years, people can get a little needy. It doesn't help that you're surrounded by yes men and everybody's working for you. At times we've had to say, 'Who do you think you are?' to people. No one wears the trousers, but some people would like to. I think if it wasn't for the people in the band kicking each other in the ass... Let's just say there was some ass-kickin'."
It doesn't take a genius to work out whose ass needed kicking most often.
+
It's the following day and The Killers are back at their rehearsal space. The topic of discussion is what to wear in the video for Bones, the second single. It's a big deal: the director is Tim Burton. "I feel like Frank Sinatra when I sing it," announces Brandon. "With maybe a little bit of Morrissey and a little bit of Elvis, too."
Of course he does. But if securing the services of Tim Burton tells you one thing, it's that The Killers are about to get even bigger, perhaps even make the leap to the same level as Coldplay et al. Already stars, they are about to become superstars. Brandon can hardly wait.
"Do you know that Rolling Stone didn't want to put us on the cover last time," he says indignantly. "They didn't think we were stars. We sold five million albums! What more do they want from a band?"
Whatever was required, Brandon would be happy to do most things. "I'll do stuff that some people don't want to do, 'cause I want people to hear the music," he says. However, even he has limits. "The Rolling Stone thing made the record label think: 'What can we do to make them stars?' If I go on vacation with my wife, do they have to send somebody to be there to take pictures of me? Is that how you become a star? I don't want that. I walked down the red carpet one time and I realised I don't like it. But you don't have to walk down the red carpet for people to hear your music. We do still have some of that indie blood running through our veins."
He heads off at a tangent: "When you walk around Liverpool, you think of The Beatles, or you go to Manchester and you think of The Smiths or Oasis. I want you to come to Las Vegas and think of Sam's Town. And I think we've started to capture that, which is a truer version of The Killers, 'cause that's where we're from."
He pauses.
"I used to live across the street from Sam's Town. Maybe it'll be like our Abbey Road where people go to take pictures."
Is that what he'd like?
"I wouldn't mind it," he says, desperately hoping it will come true.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, looks down at his trouser pockets and pats them in search of the lighter he bought yesterday.
"Hey, I don't suppose you've got one?"

I’ll try not to make this a novella. I (mid40sM) am a widower. It’s been a couple years now and it still sucks but life goes on. I’ve had my fair share of hook ups since then, but anytime something gets close to serious I bail. I’m just not ready, not sure if I’ll ever be ready to do a relationship. My wife was my person. She was the one. And now she’s gone.
Enter Jenn (late 30sF) and her sister Emily (34). I’ve known them for 20 years now, I first met Emily when she was 14 and I was mid-20s. I never really interacted with her cause she was a teenage girl.
But as the years went on both sisters became really good friends with my wife, to the point where they both considered her their best friend. Her dying knocked both of them on their asses too and one night several months after she died, Emily and I slept together after some drinks. Just a one time thing, we were both adults and moved on.
It’s been more than a year and Jenn just found out. Jenn is… problematic. She’s clearly been in love with me for more than a decade to the point it was a wedge between my wife and her at one point. She loved our kids and she wanted some of her own - she even “jokingly” proposed me being a surrogate several times. That wasn’t happening, so she basically banged anyone from free dating sites til she got pregnant.
Having a kid did make her way more tolerable to be around but, and I feel sorry for saying this about a little kid, but her kids a dead eyed psychopath. And then she went and had another baby with another dude that’s not in the picture at all. This kid doesn’t make me afraid to leave him around sharp objects at least.
After my wife died Jenn basically called dibs to my wife’s very large friend group. That didn’t stop several from approaching me anyway cause it’s public knowledge that I’m just not interested.
Jenn has been persistent but not pushy these years. She pushes to hang out once a week, she follows me around like a puppy when we’re in public together and it’s just really obvious she thinks I’m as good as hers. But then she found out about emily and I, probably while Emily was buzzed and loses any filter.
Jenn flipped out and is calling me a groomer to friends, because I knew her sister when she was 14 and waited to take advantage of her. Everyone who’s been around long enough knows Jenn is full of shit but I have noticed some dirty looks recently at get togethers and at least two women I was on friendly terms with before won’t even look at me.
I don’t think I’m in the wrong but it does bug me that some people appear to think worse of me for sleeping with a woman in her 30s. AITAH?

Timestamps
Additional pictures (only the items in timestamps are available): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1y9R5j7zmo2oRJdmFLo8K0HJynoCeqrZz?usp=drive_link
PLEASE READ: I will give discounts for buying multiple items, around $5-10 per additional item. However, I will not be taking offers on any of the items. Instead, every Wednesday, I will repost this listing with lowered prices, until all the items are sold. Items that are pending at the time of relisting will remain the same price. Prices will be reduced based on their price the previous week as follows:

• items greater than $200 will be lowered by $20
• items greater than $60 will be lowered by $10
• items greater than $20 will be lowered by $5
• items lower than $20 will be lowered by $2

All prices are shipped to CONUS. I will not be shipping internationally.
Keyboards (all new, unbuilt)
If you want to buy any extras separately from their bundles, lemme know and we can work something out.

• wilba.tech Salvation (blue) - $220
• Think6.5 V2 LE 1u (black with polished chamfered edges, only 88 produced) - includes extra PCB - $430
• Think6.5 V2 brass badge (1u lightbulb)/weight combo - $90
• Think6.5 V2 e-white badge (1u anchor)/weight combo - $55
• Think6.5 V2 1u badges - 7 total, $18 each

Keycaps (all sealed)

• GMK 80082 (BL00 base/BL00 aesthetic) - 2 sets total, $120 each
• GMK Demon Sword (base) - $150
• GMK Mizu (novelties) - $140
• GMK Nuclear Data R1 (novelties) - $45
• GMK Pixel (base, novelties, spacebars) - $120

Other

• Keycult 1/60 wrist rest (brass) - $170
• MAK WongBox+ artisan case - $110

RAMA Artisans

X	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16	17	18	19	20
A			$180 Monochrome Starry Night X	$180 Monochrome Starry Night O			$55 Minimal 2 X Black		$45 Bleached X	$45 Bleached O		$35 Classic Red O				$35 80082 Pink	$35 80082 Blue	$35 80082 Blue	$60 Vaporwave X
B	$45 Deep Navy X	$90 Dolch Black on Red	$90 Dolch Cyan on Gray	$35 MODO2 Red	$35 MODO2 Gray	$35 MODOL Red	$35 MODOL Cyan	$35 MODOL Gray	$90 Dots White Dot	$90 Dots Gold				$45 Metaverse R2 Red on Silver	$140 Jamon Bacon	$140 Jamon Eggs			$90 Peaches n Cream Peach	$90 Peaches n Cream Leaf
C			$35 Red Devils Horangi		$35 Sumi Kanji		$70 Kuro Shiro R1 Black				$55 Masterpiece Knife Gold		$70 Bento O Salmon	$70 Bento O Gold	$55 Bento R2 O Gold		$45 Bento R2 Kanji Gold	$45 Honor Kabuto Gold	$45 Honor Katana Silver	$45 Demon Sword Gold
D	$140 Mizu Navy GID	$140 Mizu White				$35 Red Dragon Gold Fire 1u		$70 Botanical White	$70 Hiragana White	$70 Hiragana Grey							$60 RAMA Wave Seq2 Gold Matte	$60 RAMA Wave Seq2 Moon Matte	$60 RAMA Wave Seq2 Gold	$60 RAMA Wave Seq2 Moon
E	$180 Keycult Black on Brass				$35 Pono Gray Kitty	$45 Pono Geo Kitty Rose Gold		$45 Amethyst Pick Gold			$35 Norse Aluminum	$45 Norse Brass	$35 Ion Kuro	$35 Ion Milk			$35 Redline Tread	$35 Minimal 2 Red Square	$35 Minimal 2 Green Triangle	$35 Minimal 2 Blue Circle
F	$35 Tuzi Bunny	$35 Tuzi Bunny			$35 ThinkCaps Row 1	$35 Apollo	$35 Dolch R5				$35 Pink on Navy			$45 Camping R2			$35 Beta	$35 Serika 2
G			$70 Sydney Meetup 2019	$35 RAMA Shrimp on the Barbie	$35 Zambumon		$45 NovelKeys Wave		$35 Fuyu		$35 Peach Blossom	$35 Oni 1u	$35 Amalfi					$45 Bread Gold		$45 B Silver
H					$25 9009 R3 Green Swirl			$25 Redacted Swirl	$25 Redacted Swirl	$25 MODO2 Swirl	$25 MODO2 Swirl	$55 Nautilus Nightmares Enter								$60 Ivory Rose Gold
I	$35 KAT Cyberspace X GID	$35 KAT Cyberspace O GID	$45 KAT Milkshake Silver	$35 KAT Mizu Navy GID	$35 KAT Mizu White	$35 KAT Mizu Red	$35 KAT Explosion Red	$35 KAT Explosion Gold	$35 KAT Atlantis	$35 KAT Lucky Jade	$35 KAT Oasis
J	$35 SA Mizu Navy	$35 SA Mizu White	$35 SA Dualshot	$35 SA Dualshot																$70 RAMA Knob Kuro

Thanks for looking!

Memory Transcript Subject: Carlos Jose Rodriguez, Mechanical Engineer, Florida Man
Date [Standardized Human Time]: December 29th, 2136
When Yalga passed out on the couch I sent a message to the family group chat making sure everyone knew of the situation.
I needed to get Yalga into the hospital, but I didn’t want to do it myself. Pyon also needed a sitter, so I was waiting for mom to come back so Salisek and I could focus on Yalga.
Me: Yalga burned herself on the heat pad. We’re taking her to the ER. Mom, could you come home to take care of Pyon.
Mom: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BURNED HERSELF?! We’re coming home!
Tarvik: On our way. We’ll help you take her.
I didn’t want to bother them, but I couldn’t complain. I needed help. While I waited for them to arrive I poured a cool glass of water for Yalga so she could hydrate herself when she gets up. I gently nudged her awake, which made her groan in discomfort as her eyes opened.
“Dad? What’s going on?” She asked weakly. Her voice was a little rough.
“I’m gonna take you to the doctor,” I answered bluntly. “I am aware, you don’t love doctors but these people can help you much better than me. I’ll be with you as much as I can, holding your hand. Can you be brave for me?”
My daughter nodded yes, so I got up and went upstairs to grab something we’re definitely gonna need. I also made sure Salisek got the news. She probably saw through the chat, but I needed to be sure.
I peeked into our room, or at least the room the girls were staying in together. “Honey?” I called the mother of my children. Salisek was cradling Pyon, trying to calm him down. Pyon was holding his teddy tight enough to cause some visible rips and tears. I need to ask mom to fix that later. “How is he?”
Pyon buried his face in Saliseks chest fur, and made some small whining sounds. “He’s scared. We heard Yalga scream and didn’t know what was going on. He soiled himself when he heard Yalga and has been crying for a while now. He only just stopped. He can sense I’m worried too.”
“You changed him right?”
“Yeah, although I didn’t think now was a good time for potty training. What are you getting?”
Salisek followed me to my mom’s room and watched me search around the closet. “Almost a decade ago, my dad was hit by a car. Something about the sensors being screwed up. He’s obviously fine now, but the car didn’t stop just in time so he broke a leg. Thank God that’s all he got. Anyway, he bought a wheelchair and kept it- Aha!”
I freed the simple contraption buried under a mountain of clothes dad considered put away and carried it downstairs.
“We’re gonna need this. It’s gonna be way easier to move Yalga.”
Salisek continued to cradle Pyon, rocking him back and forth, as she talked to me, “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay with Pyon.”
“No.”
“We’re not arguing about this. I need you to stay-”
“Pardon me, could you repeat that!? Have you forgotten that despite that fact we aren’t married yet we both signed as the legal guardians of both Pyon AND Yalga. Or did you want to call your barber for help?”
Hearing Salisek use her angry voice when talking about anything other than Exterminator and Federation bigotry felt like a punch in the gut.I tried to defuse the situation. That worked about as well as it did when dad tried it.
“Hun, that’s not what I mea-”
“MY-” Salisek paused when she remembered she was still carrying Pyon who was looking at her as if she yelled at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry pup just…” She shifted Pyon's position so he could bury his face into her fur to distract her. She softened her voice, but made it stern as steel. “My daughter is in an incredible amount of pain. She is scared, she is tired. I will be there. Pyon will come with, so he can see his sister being taken care of. I. Will. Be. There. For. My. Daughter. Am I clear?”
I help up my hands in defeat. “Okay. We’ll leave as soon as the family gets here.”
Saliseks voice and posture softened. “Okay. Again this time. What can I do?”
Seeing how serious she was, I realized doing this on my own was a stupid idea from the start. “Pack some snacks. I’m not getting overcharged for crappy hospital junk. And while you’re in the kitchen please grab more water for Yalga. I gotta make sure the bandaging is on well and she’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Salisek walked to the kitchen, still carrying Pyon. At times like these, I know I made the right decision marrying her.
“I love you sweetheart!” I called out.
“I love you too hun!” She called back.
I pulled the wheelchair out so Yalga could get in it. I could try and carry her, but unfortunately with her size and weight it would be better to transport her like this. Even if it’s a short distance.
“Daddy,” Yalga called.
“Yeah.”
“Are you and Mommy mad at each other?” She asked innocently. “Did I do something wrong? I heard Mom say my name.”
I knelt down to give my daughter an assuring kiss on her head. “No kiddo. We had a disagreement like all adults. It’s solved now. We still love each other.”
Despite her monotone voice, it couldn’t hide the tears building in her eyes. “Okay.”
I ignored it for the moment because she was probably gonna cry more in a moment. I opened the chair as much as it could go and gave the seat a nice solid pat.
“We’re gonna put you here, then we’re going to the Emergency Room.”
“Do I have to get up?”
“Yeah. You do. Grab my hand. We’ll go slow.”
Yalga held my hand and grasped it tight. I need to remember that she has a very strong grip. To keep her even I used my other hand to push her up from the other side so she didn’t have to do the work.
I’m so glad I go to the gym.
We slowly worked together to lift her up so she could sit straight.
“Ow, ow!”
“I know it hurts. Take your time.”
Once we got her up we had to get her into the chair. I thought about the best way to put her tail. Through the hole in the back? Would it just drag to the ground? Wait!
I went to the side of the couch where there was a thin blanket for me and Salisek when we slept here. If I can tie the blanket on the handles it can keep her tail up without squishing it. I just need to get her on first.
“Okay Princess. Let’s get up. Can you stand?”
“Y-Yeah. Um, Dad?”
Yalga awkwardly clutched her tail. “I need to use the bathroom.”
My eyes darted from the bathroom to the couch and back. “No better time to test the wheelchair.”
[Memory Transcript Time Skip: 40 Minutes]
Even though it was getting late the traffic was still a lot. Once Salisek was ready we both called our parents and they both said that traffic was heavy. With it being the last Saturday of the year, Florida residents and tourists alike were enjoying their day.
We decided to just meet at the ER. The blanket trick for Yalga’s tail worked well and it didn’t hurt too much for her to walk once she got up. However, sitting down hurt her a lot unless it was in the wheelchair. Her tail probably played a factor since it didn’t have a place to sit except on the side when dealing with regular chairs.
Once we got to the hospital I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t that packed. Because of increased tourism and parties things can get crowded this time of year. Thankfully that wasn’t the case today. I didn’t want my daughter waiting more than she had too.
When I opened the side door, Yalga was already half up just so she could get into a chair with room for her tail. I helped carry her down and rolled her through the hospital's parking lot.
Salisek was having a difficult time carrying Pyon. He was pretty nervous. “Mawmy, I don wan to gow en.”
I didn’t understand why Pyon was scared but Mawmy was able to calm him down. “It’s okay pup. This place is filled with very nice and smart people who can help your big sister.”
My daughter didn’t say much, instead she looked around the large hospital and took in all the architecture and bright lights at the front. The front and lobby areas were clean and comfortable which helped a little to ease the tensions of anyone going in with something they believe is serious.
I rolled Yalga straight to the front desk and we were greeted by the medical receptionist. “Hello, how may I help you?”
I smiled politely and spoke calmly, “Hello, I’m Carlos Rodriguez and this is my daughter Yalga. She was using a heating pad and unfortunately suffered some burns. I was able to patch her up a little, but the gels and methods we have are for humans so I want to make sure she can heal properly. I would also like a professional to look at other areas of concern dealing with her limbs and back.”
“Any pain, shortness of breath, chest pain, profuse bleeding?”
“Her back usually causes her pain and the burning made it worse.”
She gestured to my fiance and son, “Are those two with you?”
“The tall Venlil woman is Salisek, my fiance, and she’s holding our son Pyon. They came for emotional support and to assist with anything Yalga may need.”
“We’ll get you someone right away. Please wait in the lobby.”
“Thank you.”
I knew they probably wouldn’t rush us in since even though Yalga is in pain, there’s no direct threat to her life. The most they’d do is probably a tetanus shot. I suppose I’ll have to worry if Yalga reacts to needles. I’ll try to calm her down because I could tell Yalga was still tense. I rolled her to a seating area with a TV playing Tom and Jerry.
Peak Fiction
With all the stress Yalga was going through, there’s nothing like cartoon violence to ease the mood. What would also ease the mood is having the family visit which according to a message they just sent, they were already here just finding parking.
Soon everyone entered the hospital and after a quick chat with the receptionist, along with me flagging them down, they joined us in the lobby. Helen and Chalta ran to Yalga the quickest.
“Yalga, are you okay?!” Chalta asked. “We heard your back got hurt!”
Helen was about to tackle Yalga into a hug before I stopped her. “Helen, Yalga isn’t feeling well. Please be careful she’s in a lot of pain.” Helen was visibly worried but still gently gave Yalga a supportive hug.
“Get better soon please.”
Talice and Tarvik were surrounding Salisek, asking questions on how they could help.
“Mom, it’s fine, really.”
“No, it’s not fine. Your father and I are here to help so please be honest with us. We’ll help with anything you need. We’ll take Helen home soon but the moment you need anything we’ll be right there.”
“Why isn’t she seeing a doctor yet? What kind of place is this?!”
Mom went over to Salisek who was still holding Pyon. “I can take him sweetie, get some rest.”
Salisek cradled a stressed Pyon in her arms, “Do you wanna go with Grandma, little pup?”
“Gwandma.”
Salisek gently handed Pyon over to my mother who instantly knew how to calm him down. Salisek fell into the chair next to me. She was pretty exhausted and it was getting late. The stress of everything is what really made her worry. Seeing your child in pain isn’t fun. My father put a hand on each of our shoulders.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
I looked over to my daughter who was trying to watch the cartoon with her sisters but still had a hard time focusing because of the pain, as evident by her trying to adjust herself. I gave her a tap on her shoulder and mouthed “how are you feeling?”. I could only hear a little whisper, but it was enough to understand she was saying “It still hurts.”
Dad could overhear what we were trying to say and knelt down next to Yalga. “What would you like to do when we leave?”
“I’m a little hungry. Can we go eat later?”
“Of course, anything you want.”
I was grateful for my dad, that we remembered to comfort Yalga in all this. I was so new to everything, not to mention the speed at which everything was happening.
…
Where’s the doctor!
“Carlos Rodriguez,” She called just as my patience was wearing thin. “We’re ready to see you now.”
“Thank you. One moment.”
I quickly talked with my parents and in-laws about who is going home and who is staying. My mom offered to take Pyon home and to tuck him in, Salisek agreed. Talice decided to go with and made sure to bring Chalta and Helen back since they knew they might get bored or cause trouble. Tarvik and Dad were conversing for a bit about who should stay before settling on Dad since he’s more familiar with the hospital.
Salisek gave Pyon a strong nose nuzzle, “I’ll see you later, okay Pyon? Mommy will be home soon. Be good to grandma, okay?”
“Owkay Mawmy.”
“I love you.”
“I wuv yu tu.”
Helen and Chalta gave Yalga a big, but gentle, hug.
“Get better soon.”
“We’ll play lots of games together when you get back.”
Everyone quickly said their goodbyes so it was just me, Yalga, Salisek, and Dad. We followed the nurse to a room and were asked to wait until the doctor arrived. Yalga was really on edge.
“Dad, are you gonna tell Odin about me?”
“It hasn’t crossed our minds. Do you want us to call him so you can talk for a bit?”
“No thank you, I don’t want him to worry.” My daughter fidgeted with her claws in shame. She didn’t want Odin to see her hurt. The moment she’s okay, I’m planning a date for her and Odin. With chaperones of course. “Are the doctors here nice?” Yalga asked nervously.
“Of course they are, Princess. Just answer honestly and they’ll help you get better.”
They’ll help you get better… I hope.
[Memory Transcript Time Skip: 60 Minutes]
“So the spray will help heal and clean the burn so it doesn’t get sick?” Yalga asked curiously.
“That’s right,” Dr. Brown stated. “Soon we’ll give you a small shot to help protect against tetanus. It’s a very dangerous condition that can happen when you get a cut or burn. But you’re being very brave, I’ll see if we can get you a treat later. That is, if your parents are okay with it.”
“gasp Can I daddy?! Pleeeeeeease, I’ve been soooo good.”
I smiled brightly, “Of course you can.”
Dr. Brown was a huge blessing. The guy had been working with kids for a while and was great with Yalga. He was really good at relaxing her and explaining to her what was going on. He was honest and genuine. Salisek really liked him too, and even asked some questions herself. I also remembered him during my reckless years. He recognized me too.
“You’re daddy was quite the troublemaker back in his day.”
“Really?”
“Yup, when he was small he proudly came to me with a broken wrist.”
“Why would he be proud of that?”
“He got it trying to impress his crush.”
Seven-year-old me told you that in confidence.
I awkwardly looked at Salisek, but all she could do was stare and slowly smile while turning to my dad for more information.
“Do you happen to know the full story, dad?” Salisek teased.
“Well daughter, Carlos had a small crush on this girl named Jessica in the second grade and he tried to impress her by jumping off the swing set. He succeeded and flung himself so far into the air that when he landed on his wrist he needed a cast for months.”
“H-Hey! You laugh but it worked. She sat next to me at lunch and gave me her lunchables, that’s like… the pinnacle of love in second grade.”
I earned a laugh from everyone in the room, which almost made me forget that it was at my expense.
“Um, what is a lunchable?” Dr. Triva asked. She was a Zurulian working with Dr. Brown, trying to work with and understand the Arxur biology. While she was important in treating Yalga’s burn with her experience with Harchen Exterminators she would be even more important in trying to understand her condition as a whole. Zurulians have the best medical understanding compared to… pretty much everyone.
“It’s a children’s meal kit for both vegan and non-vegan foods, it’s popular for kids in school lunches.” Dr. Brown took his eyes off his colleague and gave me a sly look. “But let’s be honest, there was never any real meat in those things.”
Yalga’s interests also peaked. “Were they tasty?”
“Back in my day they were the best part of school. They were also a status symbol. Having the best lunchables meant you were the coolest kid.”
“What was the best one, Daddy?”
“Pizza.”
Of course it was pizza. It’s always pizza.
Pizza is God’s gift to the world.
Dr. Triva grabbed the syringe for the shot while Dr. Brown prepped the area. The sight of the needle made Yalga nervous.
“D-Daddy, do we have to…”
“Hey Princess, look at this.”
Yalga took her gaze off the needle and onto my phone where I showed her my favorite distraction.
[Behold Distraction]
“What is that?” Yalga asked. “I like the sounds.”
The legend Zach Choi, his legacy continued by his descendants, loved making short videos of him just cooking. This one was one of the rare ones that didn’t feature meat. Yalga was fully entranced into the process that she didn’t even react to the needle or the bandaid.
“Good job my beautiful pup!” Salisek cheered.
“Yeah… in a minute, mom.”
Dr. Brown chuckled, “I think I should start using those for nervous patients, right Dr. Triva?”
“Yeah… in a minute, Dr. Brown.”
I took my phone away before everyone forgot why they were here and we were ready to proceed. The doctors wanted to really get a look at Yalga and her condition. On the promise of peanut butter cookies and meat lovers pizza Yalga bravely went through all the X-Ray’s, bloodwork, medical history, and any other examinations they needed.
It took a while and she was starting to get frustrated with all the tests, but she persisted, and soon it was over. They allowed us to stay the night to monitor the burn area in case complications arose. So we all stayed in the hospital room, enjoying our time together as if it was a little adventure.
“Mommy look, the bed moves!”
“Pup, please don’t break it.”
Yalga went crazy when she saw how many buttons the hospital bed had, and needless to say, she was enjoying it. She kept Dad occupied with all her questions both about the hospital and about anything else her mind could think of. She was happy to be done with the tests.
“Grandpa, do you think they’ll let me see my bone pictures later?”
“Sure, but they need someone who is trained to look at them first and show them to the doctors.”
“There’s someone who knows how to look at pictures of bones?”
“Yup, they can see things we can because they’re bone smart. Do you wanna be a doctor when you grow up?”
“I dunno. Maybe I can be a doctor for bones, a bone doctor!”
It was nice seeing her happy, but Salisek and I were still worried about what they would find. What would it take to heal Yalga? Could they do it? I think so, but how long will it take? I don’t care about the financial cost, I care about the physical and mental toll it would take on Yalga. But would we have a choice?
I looked to my fiance who was rapidly tapping her foot onto the ground, impatiently waiting for the doctor to come back in and give us the news on Yalga’s condition.
“It can’t be that bad right?” she whispered. “With aid from the Zurualians they must have a way to easily fix Yalga’s condition. So what’s taking them so long?”
“They’re probably just double checking some things. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I could tell she was still stressed, so I held her hand and kissed her cheek. “Our daughter will be fine.”
Salisek tried to keep herself from crying for Yalga’s sake, but had the doctors not finally arrived she might’ve broken.
“Carlos, Salisek? You’re the parents correct?” Dr. Trivia asked. “I’ll just need to see you both very quickly to discuss some things.”
Finally ready for some answers we quickly got up, kissed our baby goodbye for now, and followed the Zurulian to a small room with Dr. Brown.
“Mr. Rodriguez and Mrs., do you prefer to be called Salisek or are you fine with adopting Mrs. Rodriguez?” The doctor politely asked.
“I’m fine with either, but I would like to get used to Mrs. Rodriguez.” I could feel her hand strengthen her grip in mine.
“Wonderful,” Dr. Brown took out a small folder that showed some of Yalga’s X-Rays, notes, and documents. “First things first, your daughter's burns should heal very soon.”
“Courtesy of Zurulian medicine and Harchen Exterminator Accidents.”
“Yes, thank you Dr. Triva. But of course this is not the only information you wanted to know about. The condition of your daughter is concerning. Not only because of the condition of her injuries, but also her condition that allows her body to grow at an exaggerated rate.”
Dr. Triva put the X-Ray slides on a projector for us to see. Seeing Yalga’s bones and how badly they were broken made my stomach turn, and my heart sink. I could hear Salisek’s gasp from how shocked she was.
It looked like a child had rearranged the right side of her body like a poorly constructed jigsaw puzzle. What made things worse was that the other side of her body looked nearly untouched meaning we could see all the damage her sperm donor did. I know how it felt to have broken a few bones as a kid. Her life would’ve been torture for me. I have know idea how she could live like that.
Why didn’t I take her here the moment we got home? How long has she been suffering like this?
“As you can see the limbs that didn’t grow as much were the ones that were injured the most. Trauma can be a factor in how limbs develop,” Dr. Triva explained. “You can see here how the bones didn’t heal correctly. Upon questioning your daughter it’s no question her back holds the most problems, but looking at her arms and legs it’s possible they’re also providing an incredible amount of discomfort and pain.”
Salisek wrapped her tail around my leg nervously. “So, what does this mean?”
“It means,” Dr. Brown continued. “That before we even think about her back we should address what’s going on in the rest of her body. If you look at her pelvic bone you can see it isn’t straight due to her walking on uneven legs for lord knows how long. So we think it would be best to first start realigning the bones as well as doing the appropriate extensions. My only concern is that her accelerated growth may cause complications, so she’ll need to visit here frequently.”
My fiance’s grip tightened as she looked deeper into the X-Rays, “I see. How long will it take for her to recover?”
“Several months, due to the severity of it. We can do the arms and legs separately, but that would be up to you. There’s a possibility it could take longer. We just can’t be certain with her growth, but we’ll have experts working round the clock on her case.”
“I-I see. But you can help her right?”
“We will do all within our power to make sure your daughter is healthy and lives a pain free life.
“Thank you… could you give us a moment. We would like to let our daughter know about it before we make arrangements.”
“Of course. Please let us know when you’re ready.”
We politely walked out of the room and turned around the corner away from where Yalga was.
“Honey?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”
I almost fell over when she pulled me in for a hug. I could barely hear her through her bleats and cry’s. “Look at what that monster did to her.”
First Previous

1. The Tarot's Predecessor? Forget playing cards, tarot may have humble roots in a 13th-century Chinese game called "Leaf Game." This game used numbered cards and allegorical figures, eerily similar to the Minor Arcana. Could it be tarot's long-lost ancestor?
2. Tarot and the Plague: In the grim days of the Black Death, tarot cards weren't just for fun. They were used as moral lessons, depicting scenes of suffering and reminding people of their mortality. The Emperor card, for instance, might show a decaying monarch, a stark reminder of even the highest falling prey to the plague.
3. Tarot's Aristocratic Origins: Early tarot decks were luxury items, commissioned by wealthy families like the Viscontis of Milan. These hand-painted masterpieces weren't just for games; they were status symbols, showcasing the owner's wealth and cultural refinement.
4. The Banned Deck: In 1757, the French government banned a tarot deck called "Jeu des Fées" (Game of Fairies). Why? It featured satirical portraits of the royal court, disguised as fairies, and didn't sit well with the authorities. Talk about a deck with a bite!
5. Tarot and the French Revolution: The Marseilles Tarot, with its revolutionary symbolism, became a popular tool for revolutionaries in France. The Tower card, symbolizing upheaval and change, became a rallying cry for those seeking to overthrow the monarchy.
6. Tarot's Hidden Ciphers: Some scholars believe the Marseille Tarot holds hidden messages in its numbering and imagery. These "ciphers" might point to historical events, religious figures, or even secret societies. Could these cards be more than just pretty pictures?
7. Tarot and the American Frontier: Believe it or not, tarot decks were found among the belongings of prospectors during the California Gold Rush! It seems even fortune hunters sought guidance from the cards in their quest for wealth.
8. Tarot's Censored Past: In Victorian England, tarot was associated with the occult and deemed immoral. Many decks were destroyed or hidden away, contributing to the mystique surrounding the cards.
9. Tarot and World War I: During the First World War, soldiers used tarot cards for entertainment and comfort. Some decks were even specially designed for troops, with patriotic themes and morale-boosting imagery.
10. The Lost Tarot of Napoleon: Legend has it that Napoleon commissioned a special tarot deck to predict his future. This deck, if it ever existed, has vanished, leaving historians and tarot enthusiasts to wonder what secrets it might hold.
These are just a few historical tidbits to whet your appetite. Remember, the past whispers through the symbols on these cards, waiting to be unearthed by curious minds. Keep exploring, and who knows what forgotten stories you might uncover!

In a flash of inspiration I suggested a small AU idea on discord... And people encouraged me to cook and cook hard. So I did and here's the result. I will likely have this as a 'backburner' fic to Broken Birds, writing one when I have no energy for other, so this will be lower in priority, but I hope it's enjoyable for you anyway.
Thanks to SpacePaladin15 for great universe, characters and letting fanfiction flow, as well as JulianSkies for inspiring the name of the fic and several other discord members (you KNOW who you are) for encouraging my horribleness. Without further ado... Let's open the doors of this AU.
CW: Arxur Dietary Habits, Child Suffering, Dismemberment
Memory Transcription Subject: Stynek, Venlil Cattle
Date [standardized human time]: July 12, 2136
Fur surrounding my eyes hurt from layers upon layers of dried tears. I’ve cried so much over past months, with nobody to tell me it’s going to be okay. I missed mommy. I missed my teacher. I missed my friends. I was surrounded by strangers, some of different species, but mostly venlil. None of them cared when I cried. Most cried by themselves, and to themselves instead. Nobody wanted to really talk to me, except this one other venlil child I met. I don’t even remember the name he told me. But he did know something. That me and him wouldn’t be eaten for a while because we’re too young. Unless someone important wanted to eat us. That’s why adults are bitter at the children. We weren’t in the ‘breeding pen’, whatever that meant, but in the food pen. And until I was old enough to be ‘sufficiently edible’, I’d stay here. Adults knew that. They knew that when arxur came around and chose meals out of the crowd, they’d ignore the scrawny child, so they were bitter at my luck.
I wanted to cry again, but at this point, no tears were coming out. I wished I could talk to the boy, but we got separated when they moved me and a bunch of adults onto the ship. I overheard some adults mumbling about us being rations. That made me cry more when I realized what it meant. Did it mean I was lied to? That I really was old enough to be eaten after all? I regretted wanting to grow up sooner. I was always upset when mom told me I couldn’t do something. I had to listen both because she was my mom and because she was our Governor. Now I missed hearing her voice, even if it was just telling me that I must go to bed on time and stop snacking too much before second meal.
It’s been days since I was brought to the ship. Unlike the pens I’ve been in before, this one was slowly emptying. Before, new people always were thrown in to replace ones taken to be eaten. Every day a few people would be grabbed by the arxur and dragged out. Some screaming and pleading for mercy. Those just get ignored, as everyone, myself included, huddles together in far corner. Others would accept their fate and let themselves be taken. Those are even sadder. More people start crying after seeing someone who looks dead even while still breathing taken to be finished off.
I rubbed my temple where there was still a small wound. Every cattle taken to this ship had their implants removed. I couldn’t understand anything non-venlil were saying. Or arxur for that matter. Not that much was being said...
Suddenly every head was up and all ears were flicking. I slightly turned my head to see towards the entrance. An arxur, standing in doorway, slowly scanning the crowd with predatory glint. My sense of time was barely intact, but schedule was rigid, it was too early for feeding time today. So why are they here and why are they selecting a prey already?
Suddenly I realized that it was looking directly at me, its binocular gaze locking onto my eye. I couldn’t help my reaction, yelping and flinching away, trying to scuttle towards the corner. But it seems the arxur made its choice. As it stepped and started walking towards me, the crowd parted. It was almost like that experiment with anti-magnets my teacher showed once in class, except I was the one repelling everyone around me. I tried reaching out and crawling towards them, but they just furthered the distance. Nobody was willing to contest arxur’s chosen meal.
“Please... I don’t want to...”, I cried, but it fell on deaf ears. Then I felt it. A scaly hand of a monster wrapped around my ankle. I tried thrashing, but before I could, I was lifted upside down, hitting my head on cold hard floor in process. Ow... It hurt. My vision blurred, from both the hit dizzying me and the tears that were now filling my eyes. I was being taken out... To be devoured by predators... Daddy... Mommy... “Mommy... Mommy!”
I didn’t hear anything but my own cries and clacks of arxur claws against metal floor as I was taken out of the pen. Outside of pen always seemed like nicer place to be. It was better lit and cleaner from what little I could glimpse whenever door opened. Now I’d give anything just to go back to the dirty pen, huddled together with people who don’t care about me... I didn’t want to die! I wanted to go home! To my mom and dad... Why... Wasn’t I too young? Why did that boy lie to me?! I hated him!
I couldn’t even tell where I was being taken. I knew nothing about layout of the ship. It was cleaner, it was brighter. But also there were more arxur than singular one that kept coming into the pen to take people. Being carried upside down by the leg hurt and made it disorienting but even with that I couldn’t miss how every time I entered an arxur’s field of vision, their head sharply turning to stare directly at me right until we turned another corner. I realized that I was crying out loud by now, but of course predators knew no emotion, they ignored my anguish.
Then finally, it seems, we reached a destination. I was brought to a room with a big table. Table? It was ridiculous to think predators even use tables... But there were three sitting at it. One was an arxur, particularly large and imposing. But two others were... creatures I’ve never seen before. One glimpse was enough to tell me they were predators. And they were covered in clothing, more than I’ve seen anyone ever wear. Worst thing is though, they were clearly talking to the big arxur, with external translator on the table constantly translating arxur’s hisses into the other predator’s growling noises.
This is it. Arxur found another sapient predator. The worst monsters in the galaxy now found allies. Least I could comfort myself with was that mommy would be safe... But now I felt like it’s not just me that’s about to end, but whole universe.
The arxur that was carrying me smacked me down onto the table, a fair distance away from others. I kept crying and sobbing. I think some pleads for help and for my mom came out, but I couldn’t even make out my own words. I was so scared. I was ready for fangs to pierce into my neck. And yet I wasn’t, I wasn’t ready, please, anything by that. Both the big arxur and the new predators were staring me down in hunger as I felt the worst pain of my life. My leg, held firmly to the table, burned in agony... and then pain was all I knew there. I couldn’t feel anything below my knee other than pain. Pain... Pain! I cried out at the top of my lungs, but pain wasn’t getting better. My cry did not stop until my throat burnt, but that pain was like an itch compared to what my leg felt like.
With sight blurred, I saw it. The arxur that held me down dropped my own ankle down near the big one that seemed to be in charge, staining table with orange blood. Big arxur tore a chunk off, extending it towards other predators, but they seemed to just talk. Then big arxur stopped for a few moments, tossed the chunk into its horrid mouth, and motioned to one still holding me down.
Then, for a second time in last few minutes I experienced the most agonizing pain in my life, surpassing even the pain before at least tenfold. It burned! It hurt! My throat, already sore and barely able to make sounds got revived for just long enough to let out another cry before giving out again. I wanted to pass out as I was butchered alive, but it was just so painful that I couldn’t... I was forced to be aware of how the rest of the leg, from knee to hip, was brought towards the mystery predators, sliced in half and then... That explained why it hurt so much more. Why it still hurts even more. The blade that second chop was done with was red hot, and now used to burn away at the chunks presented to the predators. They recoiled from heat, as pieces of me were presented, but after a few moments of consideration, reached out and tore a few small pieces of orange legs off my dismembered calf, starting to chew. The one with long fur on their head, seemed to almost choke on the heat, while the one with dark coloration just stared at me intently, making eye contact that I could perceive even through pain and tears directly with me, hungrily chewing, no doubt wanting more than scrap it was given...
I couldn’t watch anymore I closed my eyes, beginning to whine and sniffle. I tried calling out for mom, but my mouth was suddenly clamped shut with a band, so I couldn’t even make any more noises. Pain made it hard to move at all, and with my leg chop being replaced with a burn, I wasn’t bleeding... so I couldn’t even get the release of death. Worse yet, predators were far from eager to finish me off. I was always told their bloodthirst was the only thing that defined them, but they just left me to suffer on the table as they kept talking in their horrible noises. Their sadism was much stronger than bloodlust, that’s the only explanation...
As I lay there, I eventually let my eyelids slide open. The new predators and arxur were engaged in some conversation, piece of leg in front of arxur in charge gone completely, and pieces in front of mystery predators visibly smaller. Arxur regularly typed some things, demonstrating some things on the screen. A bunch of warrior arxur banded together, a big star chart divided in weird ways, some weird colorless picture of countless dead prey animals, unfamiliar and likely non-sapient... And then a video. A venlil exterminator, fighting off a group of arxur. She managed to get two monsters burnt before getting overwhelmed, their mask torn off before their head is bitten off by one of the greys. The moment it happens, new predators both turn their eyes towards me instantly, opened wide with hunger. I flinched away again, tears managing to flow again. The arxur were horrible... They were about to sic those new predators on Venlil Prime, I knew it in my heart. They gave them taste of our flesh, and showed them how we might be dangerous... despite the fact that we were weakest and helpless. The new predators will make us into their cattle with ease and be empowered, before proceeding to move onto the rest of Federation...
There was movement. The predators and big arxur all stood up, then locked their hands in some contest of strength momentarily. The predator with long head fur pointed towards me, and then they all stared at me for a moment. Then the conversation moved on. The arxur holding me down grabbed me again, by my remaining leg and carried me off. I felt some blood drip down my fur with me being turned like that...
There was more walking, but it was even harder to pay attention in the haze that was covering my mind. I understood what the people that were taken without struggle felt now. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I just wanted it to be over... It hurts... It hurts so much...
I felt my arms moved, hands tied behind my back, and then I was handed over to the dark-colored mystery predator. It wasn’t as large as an arxur, but it could still lift me with ease, tossing me over the shoulder like I’m a sack of ipsom flour. A momentary look around showed that I was inside a smaller shuttle now, built very different from what the insides of larger ship was. I was... being taken elsewhere again. Why...?
Some more talking in the scary predator languages, and the door separating mystery predators and the arxur closed. Once that happened, there was instant rush. I found myself tossed into some white and cold room, still bound. I could hear the predators argue, that much loud yelling at one another could only be an argument. I felt the hum of ship starting up and vibration of launch. Then after a bit, I saw the long furred predator rush past me and towards something in the back of room, at which points it made noises so horrid, that I found myself crying again. I don’t know what it was doing back there, and I didn’t want to know. The dark colored one just kept looking over the burnt stump where my leg once was. And all throughout they kept growling and shouting at one another... I was going to be torn in half between the two, wasn’t I?
Instead I felt the binds on my arms and around my face cut. First thing, I opened my mouth and took a deep breath... Only to choke on air, as it was even cooler than I expected... White room, cool air, hungry predators looking over my bloodied bits and making horrid noises... I was about to be refrigerated to be kept for future. I was rations that arxur graciously gifted to these monsters. Why...? Why me?!
I tried crying, but my throat refused to make noise after earlier screaming tore it apart. Only low coughs escaped as tears completely filled my vision. There was more. More pain, a burst of it where my leg was supposed to be, then a small prick at my other leg... More memories, of my happy family and friends at school, replaced with grimy cattle pens and constant fear... More regrets at things I wanted to do and try, but never got to... But none of it mattered. I was already dead. Even if I was still breathing and moving, I was dead the moment a grey grabbed me and dragged me onto that cursed cattle ship of theirs... It just took me until now to truly comprehend it.
The last thing I thought of as pain dulled out, finally giving way to bliss of unconsciousness, was my mom’s soft wool and warm embrace, and how I never got to feel it properly for last time before dying... Mommy... I’m sorry...

For some personal context: My boyfriend (30) and I (25) have been on again off again for close to 8 years. I was diagnosed with BPD year 5 of our relationship, after which we broke up for about a year and I did some serious therapy. It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve fit the criteria, under which circumstance we have gotten back together.
That being said, I have not felt compelled to go through his phone or feel jealous or think anything suspicious about what we have going on for some time. I am 6 weeks pregnant and feeling particularly sensitive and unusual.
This morning I was taking goofy pictures on his phone, next to him. When I swiped up to clear the app, I saw he had downloaded instagram. I didn’t think much of it, but checked it out. Again, he was right there. I didn’t think I’d find anything. Second from the top was a girl who I was not familiar with (but he obviously was). The messages were from March, where she propositioned him with anal + dirty talk on cam for $2k to start.
She said she was just back in town, gave him an address, and called him twice before he replied.
He said “I really really want to, but I can’t.”
She replied “when works for you?”
After which he said he couldn’t because he has a partner.
I am upset by the fact he told her he REALLY wanted to. He does not think he did anything wrong, as he DID tell her no.
This has opened up a can of worms of feelings. So many questions are going through my head about what I might not know. Our relationship has never been this good so consistently (about a year). I have never felt so secure. I feel like this has changed things, but his insistence that he really didn’t do anything has me wondering if I am being hormonal and over dramatic?
I understand the first wrong thing was that I looked at his private account. So far we haven’t been able to have a conversation about how I feel because he thinks I am the only person in the wrong for this. It’s been nonstop fighting, so bad that I am not staying with him tonight. AITAH?
*TLDR; looked at my boyfriends phone, a woman he’s had sexual history with asked him to do porn on cam for 2k, he responded with “I really really want to but can’t” and only told her about me when she insisted. As far as I know he’s never done pornography or anything of the sort before. He insists he did not do anything wrong, and that I should be the sorry one for looking.

/* MyoWare Example_01_analogRead_SINGLE SparkFun Electronics Pete Lewis 3/24/2022 License: This code is public domain but you buy me a beverage if you use this and we meet someday. This code was adapted from the MyoWare analogReadValue.ino example found here: https://github.com/AdvancerTechnologies/MyoWare_MuscleSensor This example streams the data from a single MyoWare sensor attached to ADC A0. Graphical representation is available using Serial Plotter (Tools > Serial Plotter menu). *Only run on a laptop using its battery. Do not plug in laptop chargedock/monitor. *Do not touch your laptop trackpad or keyboard while the MyoWare sensor is powered. Hardware: SparkFun RedBoard Artemis (or Arduino of choice) USB from Artemis to Computer. Output from sensor connected to your Arduino pin A0 This example code is in the public domain. */ void setup() { Serial.begin(115200); while (!Serial); // optionally wait for serial terminal to open Serial.println("MyoWare Example_01_analogRead_SINGLE"); } void loop() { int sensorValue = analogRead(A0); // read the input on analog pin A0 Serial.println(sensorValue); // print out the value you read delay(50); // to avoid overloading the serial terminal } /* Read MyoWare Voltage Example Code Advancer Technologies, LLC Brian Kaminski 1/12/2024 This example reads a MyoWare 2.0 Muscle Sensor output on A0-A3 where A0 is ENV, A1 is RAW, A2 is RECT, and A3 is REF. It then converts the reading to the amplitude of the muscle activity as it appears at the electrodes in millivolts. MyoWare Muscle Sensor Analog Output: 1. Raw EMG Output (RAW) - This is the raw amplified and filtered output: * We will first remove the DC voltage offset using the REF value, converts its value to volts based on the ADC parameters, and remove the gain applied by the sensor using the RAW gain equation which is fixed at 200. 2. Rectified EMG Output (RECT) - This is the full-ware rectified RAW output: * We will first convert its value to volts based on the ADC parameters and remove the gain applied by the sensor using the RAW gain equation which is fixed at 200. 3. EMG Envelope (ENV) - This is the amplified envelope of the RECT output: * We will first convert its value to volts based on the ADC parameters and remove the gain applied the sensor using the ENV gain equation, see below. ENV has an second amplification stage which is adjustable using the gain potentiometer. We will need the gain potentiometer's resistance in kOhms to calcuate the gain. Read more about the MyoWare 2.0 Muscle Sensor & electromyography (EMG) output here: https://myoware.com/learn/tutorials-guides/ In order for this example to work, you will need a MyoWare 2.0 Muscle Sensor with the Vin and GND pins connected to 5V and GND pins on an Arduino compatible board. The ENV, RAW, and REF pins will need to connect to the A0, A1, and A2 pins on the Arduino compatible board, respectively. Hardware: MyoWare 2.0 Muscle Sensor Arduino compatible board (e.g Uno, Mega, etc.) USB Cable Graphical representation is available using Serial Plotter (Tools > Serial Plotter menu). This example code is in the public domain. */ #include  // MyoWare class object MyoWare myoware; // the setup routine runs once when you press reset: void setup() { // initialize serial communication at 9600 bits per second: Serial.begin(9600); // output conversion parameters - modify these values to match your setup myoware.setConvertOutput(true); // Set to true to convert ADC output to the amplitude of // of the muscle activity as it appears at the electrodes // in millivolts myoware.setADCResolution(12.); // ADC bits (shield default = 12-bit) myoware.setADCVoltage(5); // ADC reference voltage (shield default = 3.3V) myoware.setGainPotentiometer(50.); // Gain potentiometer resistance in kOhms. // adjust the potentiometer setting such that the // max muscle reading is below 3.3V then update this // parameter to the measured value of the potentiometer myoware.setENVPin(A0); // Arduino pin connected to ENV myoware.setRAWPin(A1); // Arduino pin connected to RAW myoware.setREFPin(A2); // Arduino pin connected to REF myoware.setRECTPin(A3); // Arduino pin connected to RECT } // the loop routine runs over and over again forever: void loop() { // read the sensor's analog output pins const double envMillivolts = myoware.readSensorOutput(MyoWare::ENVELOPE); const double rawMillivolts = myoware.readSensorOutput(MyoWare::RAW); const double rectMillivolts = myoware.readSensorOutput(MyoWare::RECTIFIED); // print output in millivolts: Serial.print(envMillivolts); Serial.print(","); Serial.print(rawMillivolts); Serial.print(","); Serial.println(rectMillivolts); } 

This is the first time I have written something of this length, and is more of an exercise in self-therapy than anything else. Disclaimer: This story contains conversations about child abuse. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
Nathan’s number appeared on my phone screen. I debated whether or not to answer it. We hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while, and while we did keep in touch sporadically, it was usually because of important family issues. I didn’t know of anything happening with mom or dad, nor with Talia or Rio, so I let it go to voicemail. I could always call him back later. I placed the phone back in my pocket, and returned to cleaning my camera. The phone buzzed again. A text message came through. I read the preview line from the home screen. “The city declared eminent domain on the house” I unlocked my phone, read the full text message, and dialed my brother.
I wasn't able to get any closer to the house than a few blocks. Most of the area was blocked off with chain link fencing and construction equipment in preparation for the demolition that was supposed to take place within the coming days. The barriers didn’t prevent people from walking in to the neighborhood, but it hindered scrappers from coming in and stripping the houses of copper wiring and plumbing.
I grabbed my camera bag out of the trunk of my car along with my tripod. I shouldered it and hooked the tripod to my bag. I pulled my water bottle out of the center console and shut the door. I stood next to my car surveying the neighborhood. 12 city blocks of old single family homes comprised the neighborhood where I grew up. Some of the houses had been empty for months, others for years. There was an eerie silence that permeated the still air. I could not hear the familiar sounds of people, pets, or cars. I locked the car and put my keys in my pocket. I patted my jacket down to ensure I had what I needed. After a quick check, I started my walk.
The sidewalk of the old neighborhood streets still bore the familiar cracks and grind marks from years of buckling and remedy. Leaves dropped by the trees still lay scattered all along the pathways and sidewalk. Korina’s house was the first house I encountered as I made my way through a gap in the fence. The yard was overgrown with tall grass and thistle. I could see the faded blue paint of the old house contrasting the green and browns of the lawn. The chain link fence that marked off the corner property was nearly invisible through the thick brush. As I continued walking west towards 110th, I started to feel something was off. The streets seemed wider than I remembered. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but eventually I realized what was different. There were no cars.
The streets here typically had cars lined bumper to bumper in any spot available, and were visible from block to block. The absence of all these vehicles made me realize just how deserted the neighborhood really was. House after house, yard after yard, the telltale signs of desertion reinforced what I could see from the moment I passed the construction fence: This was no longer my neighborhood. There were no signs of life, and no one I could expect to find still here. Abandonment was the new normal here. I continued on, glancing at houses and recalling memories of summer bike rides, and daily walks with dogs I used to have. I remembered walks home from school, and chasing after ice cream trucks when they passed our houses. I smiled a bit as I remembered more and more of my years spent here. I don’t quite know just why I was smiling. There were plenty of bad memories here too. Fights, yelling, being beat up, being robbed. I could remember failed friendships, lost loves, and bitter feelings of failures too.
Still, I felt a certain amount of nostalgia despite the weight of these negative feelings. I almost wanted to experience everything again, although I wasn't sure why I was feeling this way. Concrete, asphalt, billboards and liquor stores were the normal vistas of everyday life. Occasionally, after a good rainstorm, the grey haze of smog would lift, and the mountains would be visible to the north. At least, they would be visible until mid-morning when the exhaust from a million cars covered them behind a veil of pollution.
It wasn’t until the first time I travelled out of the city that I realized there was more to see. Traveling up the coast north along the Pacific Coast Highway introduced me to scenes of deep blue ocean water spanning the width of my vision. Driving up Highway 3 introduced me to the permeating scent of Pine and Fir trees. The two-lane stretch of highway from Portland to Tillamook introduced me to lush green forests that I had only ever read about. When I came home to the same old dirty, dusty concrete and boiling summer asphalt, I had made up my mind. I would do everything it took to leave this place. I would not spend another day longer than was necessary living in cramped quarters and fighting for parking space.
I arrived to the house, and paused at the gate. The house sat in contrast of what the rest of the neighborhood looked like. Instead of overgrown grass and tall weeds all over the place, the landscaping showed signs of relatively recent work. The guava tree in the front lawn still had some fruit ready to be picked, and the avocado tree on the other side of the pathway was still weighed down by its own fruit. Flowers still bloomed in the raised bed in front of the house. My brother had clearly tried to keep up on things until the last possible moment. The house, too, looked better than what I expected after walking up 4 blocks and seeing nothing but dilapidated houses and unkempt yards. I opened the gate and walked up to the small porch. The metal gate that enclosed it was gone having been removed by my brother when he took over the property. It looked nice to see it open instead of the cage it once felt like.
I turned the knob on the door, but it didn't give. Ever a creature of habit, my brother had locked the door when he left. Of course, he did. I sighed and prepared to find another way in when I remembered my parents hiding a spare key. I wasn’t sure if it would still be there, but after running my hands along the back side of the gutter downspout, I was rewarded for my efforts. I unlocked the front door and stepped into the front living room, the sounds of my footsteps and the closing door echoing in the empty space. The room felt both larger and smaller than I remembered it. I suppose it was lack of furniture that made it feel larger, but it still felt smaller than I remember. The result of growing taller throughout the years I suppose. I slowly walked along the slate tile floor towards the central hallway that connected the front of the house to the back bedrooms. I wasn't entirely sure that just because the front door was locked, that there wasn't some squatter looking for a little temporary shelter within the back rooms. I carefully and silently crept step by step towards what used to be the bedroom shared by my sister and me. I stuck my head in and gave the room a cursory glance. It was empty, thankfully. I moved back into the hallway and peered into the bedroom across the hall. This is where both of my brothers had shared a room. It too, was empty save for a few boxes holding hardware and doorknobs from the closet doors of the bedroom. I walked back towards the back of the house where my parent's bedroom was. The walls in the hallway bore the dusty signs where picture once hung. The bedroom door was open. I stepped inside, and looked around. The old avocado paint that my mom had picked out years ago still adorned the walls. Walking further towards the addition that was the small room my grandma and grandpa lived in showed that there was no one here. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set my bag down and set up my tripod. I reached into my bag a pulled out an envelope of old photos. These were old snapshots that we had all taken at some point in time in the house. There were pictures of all of us sitting at the dining room table playing a game of Monopoly. There was a picture of my brother and sister sitting on a couch in the front living room. There was a picture of me hanging on the bars of the front porch. I looked through them all and held them in place in front of me as if I were holding a window to the past.
Each picture made the lump in my throat grow as I started to struggle to control my emotions. There was history here, and soon it would all be gone. This is the place where my parents had raised four kids. They had taken care of my grandparents in their twilight years here. My Aunt and my grandmother had both died in this house. Birthdays, graduation parties, and anniversaries had been celebrated here. The echoes of life had reverberated within the walls of this place. Now, the house sat silent. It would never again know happy screams of kids having a water-balloon war out in the front yard, nor would it hear the cries of anguish as the matriarch of the family passed away surrounded by her family. What once was a home full of life was now just an empty house made of drywall and paint. I sat there for a moment contemplating just how much family history was actually made here. As I thought hard about my siblings and my parents, I felt pained at the thought of our strained relationships. We had all scattered once we had the opportunity to be free of each other. My oldest brother had married and moved away as soon as possible. My sister now lived in northern California. My parents too had moved away. I was now living in Utah. Only my older brother had remained behind. The lump grew larger in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes. I held back sobs of anger and pain. Why was I hurting? Hadn’t I dealt with these issues already? I walked back to my old bedroom and sat down under the window. I pulled my head down into my knees and cried. I could hear yelling and screaming in my head. Shouting matches between siblings and parents, brothers and sister, rattled inside my brain, making the pain grow. I sat there and cried. I hadn’t cried like this in a long time. Eventually I ran out of tears and tired gasps of sorrow and regret washed over me as a blanket of drowsiness enveloped me. I leaned my head back and fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing and hurriedly stood up. Had someone followed me? I knew the police were patrolling the area sporadically. Had they seen me enter the house? I knew there would be a possibility of getting a trespassing citation, but I figured I could either talk my way out of it seeing as to how I was a former resident, or I could probably fight the citation in court if the judge knew why I was there in the first place. Ultimately, passing through the gate had been a calculated risk that I was willing to take for the sake of my art. I got up from my corner of the room and moved towards the door. If there was someone in the house, I needed to know. I didn’t want my gear to stolen, and if there was a cop in the house, I wanted to ensure I didn’t get shot.
I was greeted by the sight of a startled chubby boy standing on the other side of the door. His round cherubic face was crowned by a head of short curly hair. His hazel green eyes stared widely back at me. He clearly didn’t expect someone to be here in the house. His body recoiled in fear as he cowered back towards the hallway. “Wait, what are you doing here?” I asked as non-threateningly as I could. The boy muttered something that I couldn’t quite make out. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you” I replied. “Are you here to rob us?” he timidly responded. “Rob you? What are you talking about?” I asked as confusion set in. “What are you doing here?” It was his turn to be confused. “Uh…I….live here?” he replied. “What do you mean you live here? No one lives-“I stopped midsentence. I hadn’t noticed in my initial shock but the room wasn’t the same. A familiar blue couch caught the corner of my eye. In front of that was an old console TV with a partially broken antenna hanging on the wall behind it. I walked further in to the living room to notice wood paneling on the walls. A large mirror hung on the wall to my left. Familiar yellow lamps sat on round drop-leaf tables on either side of the couch. A large hutch sat in one corner, a collection of letters and bills, mail advertisements, and a phone book covered scattered over it. “What just happened?” I asked out loud to no one in particular. I was thoroughly mystified by what my eyes were seeing. I had walked into the house from the front door and had stepped into an empty white room with slate floor tiles, but somehow now found myself in a furnished room with brown carpet that was all so familiar to me, yet was nothing but a distant faded memory. I turned to look at the boy still startled by the intrusion of a strange man looking wildly around the room in total shock.
“You can take what you want, just please let me go. I don’t want problems.” He stated his voice still shrill with anxiety. I blinked a few times as I tried to process just what the heck was going on. I gathered my thoughts as best I could and tried to reassure him. “Kid, I’m not here to rob anyone. I was just-“I shook my head “Where the hell am I? Am I having a dream?” I asked myself. “I must be dreaming. I’m just tired and still sleeping. This is all a dream. Yeah, that’s it.” I needed to sit down. Being back in the old house must have overtaxed my senses, I told myself. I’d having a dream about an old memory. I walked over to the chair next to the couch and sat down. I sunk into it and rested my head back towards the wall.
The boy kept his distance, but sensed I wasn’t there to hurt him. He looked me over with anxious curiosity. He stood at the far end of the couch, examining me while he played out scenarios in his head in preparation for a quick exit. “Why are you in my house?” he asked me. “Dude, this is all just a dream I’m having. I’m not really here.” He reached over to the couch and picked up a pillow. He reared his arm and threw it at me. It landed in my lap. “I don’t know, man. You sure seem to be here.” He said to me. I opened my eyes, startled. I looked down at the pillow he tossed and examined it. I ran my hand over the fabric and felt its texture. I remember this pillow. This was the pillow I would roll under my head as I lay on the couch and watched TV as a kid. A sudden realization hit me as I looked around the room with fresh eyes. No longer was I blinded by the fog of confusion. I knew exactly where I was.
I was home.
I looked at the boy still standing at the edge of the couch. I looked him over and realized who he actually was. I stared in disbelief as I smiled and tried to put him at ease. “It’s ok Johnny. I’m not here to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Please, sit down” I told him. I motioned to his end of the couch. “Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked me.
“This will be hard to believe, but I’m you” I said with an incredulous tone, “I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’m here.” He looked at me as I had grown a second head. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? Did we invent time travel? Oh! Are we secret government agents with the CIA?”
I chuckled. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s start at the beginning. I’m you at 38 years old. You’re…what, 11… 12 years old? It makes sense. I fell asleep under the window in my- our old bedroom. I didn’t come here on purpose or in a machine. And no, I’m not a government agent.” His face contorted to display understanding, disappointment and finally suspicion. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in towards me. “How do I know you’re really me?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. How could I prove to him that I was who I said I was? A few seconds of silence settled between us. I stroked my chin, thinking of a solution.
“I have a better idea. Ask me questions that only you know the answers to.” “Okay” he responded. He glanced around the room trying to come up with something. His eyes fixated on the Nintendo sitting under the TV cabinet. “What game do me and Nathan have a map of?” I looked over at the NES. I hadn’t thought about this for years, but I knew instantly what he was asking. “YOU don’t have anything. Nathan is the one that made the map for Section Z” His jaw dropped. He tried to trick me, but his plan failed. He knew well and good that Nathan never let him play. It was always ‘I’ll let you play when I die’ or, ‘you can play when I’m done’. The problem was that he never followed through. Usually by the time Nathan was done, the NES was overheated, and the game would no longer load until it cooled down. By that point, it was time for bed.
“How do you know that?” he asked in astonishment. “I know these things because I’m you. Just like I know that you wear t-shirts to the pool because you’re embarrassed by what others will think of your body. I know that you used to think that people that die off in movies were prisoners that were set to be executed from death row, so they used them for making movies. I know all about you because I’m you”
Johnny sat on the end of the couch in bewilderment, his mouth slightly agape. He had never told anyone any of this. He didn’t have any close friends to talk to about such things, and those friends he did have were more acquaintances than friends. There was only one way he could possibly know these things. He was talking to his future self.
I could see Johnny’s mind completely explode. There lay endless possibility and the answers to a million questions he could ask about his own future. He started to ask a question, only to stop, close his mouth, and try asking another. I knew if he kept this up he would have a stroke or something. “Dude, calm yourself. Let’s talk this out rationally, otherwise you’ll end up stroking out or something.” I told him. He took a deep breath and I could hear him muttering quietly. I knew he was trying to form a coherent sentence before he actually spoke it. I did it all the time. “Ok, first of all, are we rich?” he asked with tempered expectation. I chuckled and grinned back at him. “No, not at all. If I was rich, would I be dressed like this?” I replied as I motioned to my beat up brown Vans and worn out jeans and T-shirt. “We-, I – make enough to get by. I’m not poor, but I earn enough to pay the bills.” His face grew a smirk as he commented “Yeah, I figured. What do I do for work? I mean, what do you do for work?” I thought about it for a second. I wondered how much information I should divulge to a younger me. I still didn’t think this whole situation was really happening, but if it was, I probably should proceed with caution. “Well, it’s complicated. I do a little bit of everything. You know how you’re constantly taking things apart? Let’s just say that it’s good to put them back together in order to keep them working. Take good notes on paper if you need to, and make sure you have a clean work area so you can keep track of all the parts.” He gave me a sheepish look. He knew exactly what I was talking about. I had spent countless hours sneaking dad’s tools to my room so I could figure out how something was built and try to figure out how it worked. I had gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble with dad over a drill, his timing light, and other stuff I had taken from his room. His belt had become quite familiar with my butt cheeks.
I gave him a knowing smile. “What else do you want to know?” He thought about it for a second. “Do we have a girlfriend?” I laughed, probably a little more than I should have because his face contorted into a sour frown. “You don’t need to be a jerk about it” he scowled. I continued to chuckle. “Yeah we have a girlfriend. We have more than a girlfriend” I could tell he was irritated with my vague indirect answers. I knew what he was asking. I remember the crush I had on my neighbor across the street. We had been friends since kindergarten, and had been classmates for 1st, 2nd, and 4th grades. We got along really well, and I knew from around 12 or 13 that I wanted to be her boyfriend. Unfortunately, things never progressed beyond the ‘just friends’ stage of things. It wasn’t from lack of effort on my part. We had just grown up together most of our lives that she didn’t see me as anything more than a brother and friend. “Dude, look. You just started to go through changes and you are starting to notice girls, but that doesn’t mean that you need to love every girl that shows you a little kindness or subtle interest. You need to slow down and let things happen naturally. You can’t force a relationship with someone.” Johnny pondered these words for a moment. I sat back and put my feet up on the coffee table. I looked around the room some more while I waited for another question. There was so much I had forgotten, but being back here had unlocked more and more memories that continued to wash over me. I was trying to hold on to my cool as not all those churned up recollections were pleasant. I stood up and walked over to the front door to peer outside the small central window embedded into the center of it. I could see the old neighborhood as I remembered it all those years ago. The lot across the street that served as a parking area for those that worked at the wheel works at the end of the block was empty of cars. I furrowed my brow as I thought for a moment. An empty lot meant it was afterhours or the weekend.
The gears in my own head started turning. “Wait, where is everyone?” I asked Johnny. Johnny turned to look at me still processing my last response. “Uh..oh, Mom and dad are out of town. They took a trip east this time. I think Rio said they are in Arizona right now. Rio and Nathan went out to get some food and to rent some movies from Video Showcase. Knowing them they’ll eat out first. Talia is staying over at Tia Rosie’s place today with her friends.” I grunted at his response. My mind was wandering as he mentioned Talia and Tia Rosie.
A sudden sharp pain pieced my heart. The pain of a thousand memories now unsealed spilled out from the box I had locked them away in. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I turned back to look at Johnny. He felt it too. He stared at the floor with an intensity that made me think it would burst into flames at any moment. I walked back over to him and sat next to him. He didn’t move. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he threw himself into me. I could feel the tears dripping onto me as he sobbed intensely. “Hey man, its ok. It’s going to be ok.” I said as my own tears started to flow uncontrollably. I pulled him close and draped my other arm around him.
I knew the pain he was feeling. It was such a heavy burden, and I knew there was no one he felt he could talk to. I remembered it all so vividly. We sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. When we finally stopped sobbing, and our noses ran dry, we tried to breathe our way through to calmness. I got up and knelt in front of him. “Johnny, listen to me and remember what it is that I’m about to say to you. You are stronger than you think. You are stronger than you believe. NO ONE should ever have to go through this. Just because it happened to Talia, doesn’t mean you have to put up with it any longer. I know you didn’t think it was wrong, but I’m telling you that what she is doing to you is wrong. Talking to mom and dad isn’t going to make them hate you. You are not doing this to her, she is doing it to you. I’m not making excuses for her, but she is also more damaged than anyone realizes, and she is also dealing with the same level of pain you are. Remember that we do unto others what has been done to us. That doesn’t mean we need to continue the cycle of abuse” The lump in my throat grew immense at my own statement. I swallowed it as best I could and continued “You are going to deal with this pain a little bit at a time, and you’ll slowly get over this. It’s like a broken bone. When it happens, you don’t realize how bad the pain is until the adrenaline wears off, but then the immense pain is there. Just remember that this will pass. Just like a broken bone, you will heal over time, and one day, you will realize that the pain is gone and the bone is no longer broken. You’ll remember the pain, but it won’t hurt anymore.”
Johnny sat there in stunned silence. I knew he didn’t have anyone to help him through this. He couldn’t talk to Rio or Nathan about what was going on. Mom and Dad were constantly working to keep the family fed and sheltered and while they provided materially for their kids, emotional help was less available. Perhaps it was due to their energies being divided into 4 kids, a mortgage and multiple jobs, or perhaps it was also the culture of not talking about problems. Either way, they needed to know what was happening. They wouldn’t be able to fix it otherwise. “They’re going to be mad at me” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “No they won’t be. They love us all. I know you’re not used to hearing it, but they do love you. Everything they do is because of their love for us. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Telling them isn’t going to cause them to be angry.” I thought for a moment to find a good analogy. “You love Odie and Lady, right?” He nodded in agreement. “Ok, how would you feel if you knew someone you trusted was coming to the house and beating up our dogs when we weren’t around?” He thought about it for a second before his face changed to anger. “I’d want to kill them!” “Yes, but would you also feel sad that you weren’t there to try to protect them?” I reasoned. His face changed again. He understood what I was saying. Mom and Dad would be angry, but not necessarily at him. They would also feel a great sadness knowing that someone was hurting their child.
I smiled at him. He understood. I nodded. “Dude…You’re going to come to understand that life is not what you think it will be. Life is messy and can change in an instant. The plans you make today may not make it to next week. A lifelong goal can be derailed because of something out of your control. Mom and dad have spent their life protecting us with the goal of keeping us safe, but circumstances out of their control have affected their kids, and now we- you all have to deal with the fallout. Just remember that you are not the culprit. Yes, mom and dad will be hurt and angry, but not at you. Trust them. They don’t do things to hurt us” Johnny hugged me. I- He didn’t have many people he could trust and open up to. He liked to talk a lot about everything going on in his life, no matter how trivial. Everything, except this. This was a shameful topic, and he didn’t feel like anyone would understand why he didn’t go to an adult sooner. The problem was simple. He simply didn’t understand that it was wrong. Now that he had an adult that he could talk to, himself no less, he wanted to lift this burden off his shoulders. He was happy to have found someone and he hugged me tightly. I hugged him back just at tightly. It wasn’t every day that I could meet my younger self and help to comfort them. “Thank you” he said to me.
The world darkened, and everything faded to black.
I lifted my head out of my knees and looked around. I was sitting under the window in my old bedroom again. Had I fallen asleep? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. I was emotionally drained and incredibly tired. I hadn’t had sleep like that in years. I got to my feet and looked around the room briefly before walking out to mom and dad’s old room. I grabbed my camera and slowly walked the house, snapping picture after picture. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the camera shutter and my soft footsteps. I thought about my dream as I took pictures.
Upon entering my room, a random memory hit me.
The stash.
I was pretty sure I had taken the hidden box when I moved out all those years ago, but since I was here, I should double check. Heading into the closet, I pushed the panel that led to the attic space out of the way and peered in. I couldn’t see anything, so I reached up there to feel around. The box was indeed gone. I felt around for a few more seconds and was surprised to feel what felt like a thick envelope. I didn’t remember leaving anything up there, but after pulling it down and giving it a cursory glance, I figured it was an old envelope of lost love letters. It wasn’t until I blew off the thick layer of dust that I realized what I was holding. It was a letter. Not just any letter. It was addressed to me.
Under the now semi-cleared layer of dust were the words “To be opened by future me”. I looked at it for a few moments before opening it. I couldn’t remember making this at all, much less storing it up in my secret hiding spot. If ever I hid something, it was in the stash box. My hands shook a bit as I started to open the envelope and pulled out the yellowed pages inside. I started reading.
"Dear Future John. I have spent the last few years remembering a dream I had when I was younger. Life was…difficult at that time, and I spent a lot of time escaping my reality by reading a lot of books and watching a lot of TV. On the off-chance that what I think is a dream really happened. I wanted to write some things down in an effort to give you my thanks. I merely consider myself a conveyer of thanks, although I will pile on my own thanks to you for your words of encouragement. I remember finding a stranger in the house one day while I was home alone. I was afraid he was there to hurt me at first, but after a few moments, I came to realize I was meeting myself. Well, I was meeting me, but from the future. I think he said he was in his 40’s, but I couldn’t tell you with any certainty. Either way, we talked. We talked about life, and what the future held in store for us…
Mostly though, we talked about the abuse. Well, Talked is being generous. We cried, and then we talked. I don’t remember exactly what he told me, but I remember how he made me feel. He made me feel safe. I felt like I could trust him. Trust myself. In the end, he gave me the courage to stand up for myself both at home and at school. He also gave me the courage to talk to mom and dad about what was going on between me and Talia. I do remember being afraid that I would be punished, but he reassured me that they wouldn’t, and that they loved me.
It was a difficult and awkward conversation, but in the end, arrangements were made for me to share a room with Rio and Nathan. I didn’t have much of a relationship with Talia for a long while, but after some years, we managed to patch things up. She apologized to me, and I came to understand the abuse she herself was subjected to by so-called family friends. She didn’t tell me this in an effort to excuse it, but to merely help give me closure to a difficult time from my own childhood. Mom and dad promised to be more attentive to us and we sort of established what I guess you would call an open door policy. We talk more about stuff that’s happening in our lives. Mom is much easier to talk to now. Dad is a little more patient with us too. I apologized to them for not coming to them sooner, and dad gave me a “nugget of wisdom” that I think I’ll live by: We can’t fix what we don’t know is broken. I’ve tried to make sure I talk to them when something is wrong, and I’ve tried to implement that in my life so I don’t have problems with other people.
I’m trying to grow up to be a good guy. I want to have good relationships with people. Nathan says I’m turning into a people pleaser, but I don’t necessarily see that as a terrible thing. I know when to say no to someone. Well, either way, I wanted to make sure I thank you for the help you gave us. I probably won’t remember writing this, but I hope I do find it again someday. Here’s hoping I turn into the man I feel you are. -John Age 16."
I stared at the letter, the words blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly brushed them away as I quietly spoke to no one in particular. “Thanks guys. I hope I live up to your expectations” I folded the letter, placed it in my pocket, and walked out of the room. After picking up my backpack and tripod, I silently walked towards the front door, my footsteps echoing in the empty house. I turned to look back at the empty living room one last time, and after a moment, I walked out.

I always thought I had a semi- OK relationship with my mother in law. We had some issues years back in the first years of my husband and I's relationship. She didn't like me correcting her parenting advice or old wives tale medicinal beliefs- like going out in the cold causing a cold, or asking antibiotics for viral infections, ext. Also we had to take a step back due to her not following the potty training protocols put in place for our daughter and my MIL complaining of accidents due to her not following the potty training routines. I had believed us to be past this. She often makes jokes at my expense or jabs at my parenting choices disguised as bad jokes. She also gives me lots of dirty looks and makes a big stink if I spend any time with the kids and my side of the family. She also ignores me and lets me talk to her with no eye contact or acknowledgment from her whatsoever. She just lets me talk and pretends she doesn't hear me when I am right next to her speaking clearly just feet away. She even began talking to someone else right in the middle of my sentence. Yet another petty thing- she won't ever compliment my cooking, or my parenting. I am a former chef and love to cook and bake. I make my own sourdough bread, all my kids meals from scratch, and love to nourish and show people love with food. She won't ever tell me she enjoys my cooking- though I have heard through the grapevine some of my dishes are the best she's had…. She also has never once said I am a good mom- and I take my parenting very seriously. I homeschool my kids and raise them in a very “old school” way- playing outside, no tablets and low TV time, very Montessori style… my kids are some of the best behaved I have seen and yet she seems to try to take care of it… when my kids are complemented at a restaurant for example- my MIL will say, “that's because Grammy’s here”…. I think I have painted a decent picture of how things have been.

 Through all of this, I have bitten my tongue and taken things in stride. Taking her insults disguised as jokes as just that- bad jokes. I walk on eggshells so as to not make her look bad or show her up on anything, and try to make he feel good by complimenting her outfits, food, ext…. After this last Mother’s Day, I will no longer be doing that and we will be taking a step back. The day began with her arriving to the Grandparents cabin 2 hours late, giving hugs all around… when her daughter wishes her a Happy Mother's Day she says “some day Ill be saying that to you…” then when I got up to hug her (holding my 2-month-old) and wish her a Happy Mothers Day she curtly says “thanks” and looks me up and down with a death glare. Then later when we were all dishing up for lunch she made a comment about how he should be making her a plate and not mine… to which I said “Hey I’m a mom, too… I’m in the trenches”- for context, I have 4 kids 5 years old and under one very fresh- only 2 months postpartum for me. She then says “Well, I made it to the other side…” “ I said “Absolutely you have done well, someday I’ll get the other side” to which she said “I don't know we’re taking bets over here. Don't think you'll make it”. She said this half-jokingly, half not- in a cruel and mean way… as if to punish me for taking her son away. The rest of the day she was very rude. Did all of the usual things plus more side eyes and death glares. My husband plans to speak with her but I can't help but think I am being THAT daughter in law… how can I draw a boundary in a way that she can't use against mer? My husband is going to draw a boundary but I really want to tell her personally how much she has hurt my feelings, and stand up for myself. Is this a bad idea? Any feedback is greatly appreciated. 

Chapter CC
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Trout's Landing.
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Ruby stretched with a contented sigh. She turned her head over to where Jeb slept beside her. Or where he was when she fell asleep. She sat up and looked around the dark underground room but he wasn't here either.
"Wonder where he went."
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Oh well, she thought as she stretched a few stiff muscles before hopping up and collecting their eggs. As nice as it was to sleep with them, they needed more consistent warmth. So she sat them to the side, bundled up in the still warm blanket, and departed to secure a source of fire for their eggs.
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Which wasn't all that hard, she realized as her dark vision faded as the blue glow from the torches up ahead illuminated the main gathering area for the burrows. She smiled as she saw the tribe return to something familiar that she missed seeing for a while.
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Several tunnels branched off towards the other cabins and already kobolds came and went from them as they began to migrate away from the chill air above for the, still cool but more comfortable, air below. As they did she could see the collections they brought back and forth. Animals, alive and dressed, were being moved down here and out of the elements for better care. As well as an easier time keeping the ever gluttonous salamanders from sneaking another meal. Scraps and salvage collected from around the lodge or while out exploring being brought down and being traded or even used to furnish the space.
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Bits of wood with simple carvings were lodged into the dirt along side scraps of metal or rock with soot, mud, or crushed flower pigment to paint symbols or words on them for decoration or directions. While it wasn't the bustling forum that they once had, it gladdened her to see her tribe returning to normalcy once again.
​
She shook away the distracting thoughts and set her sights on some scrap of wood nearby. She darted over to the vendor, deftly avoiding a section of the ground being dug up as the kobolds dug ever deeper as they sought to expand their burrows ever more. It was in their nature to dig and burrow. While they no longer had a draconic master to excavate massive caverns and tunnels for, she wouldn't be surprised if kobold tunnels ended up expanding far past the border of the lodge itself and going far into the wild where they knew nothing about save for what little Jeb has told them.
​
Eventually, even this gathering area will be abandoned as the tribe moved deeper down, putting as much dirt and rock between them and whatever threats laid above. The only thing that would remain would be an assortment of traps to keep any invaders wary of going deeper than the kobolds wanted. Even then, many of the tunnels that would lead deeper would be dead-ends meant to slow or hinder any invader. Some would even be traps in and of themselves, collapsing the "tunnel" on top of even the most cautious of invader or even just blocking their escape and leaving them to die before the kobolds eventually dug out their remains and collected their gear with no trouble.
​
She stood before the assortment of wood and looked over the scrap. Some of it was processed lumber that looked to be from the buildings above, most was collected bits of wood from the forest though. Which was fine, she didn't need anything too big. No bartering took place. She was a leader of the tribe and it was assumed whatever she wanted was for the good of the tribe.
​
Even starting a warming fire for her eggs was good enough for the tribe to skip bartering and simply give her what she needed. So she collected enough wood for a nice fire and returned to her home. She sorted it into the indent in the ground that Jeb had placed their eggs in before. It would be a good place to start a heating fire for them, she thought as she finished arranging them.
​
She left and collected some tinder made of dried moss and grass before looking around for some stone or flint to start the fire with. But no such luck. All the stone was deeply imbedded in the dirt or was too large. She once more returned to the gathering area in search of fire. Which she quickly found in the form of the glowing blue fire that Jeb had created for the kobolds.
​
She shuffled a little as she stared at the dancing flame. She knew Jeb didn't like the idea of the kobolds using the blue fire. He probably wouldn't like the idea of heating their eggs with it either. She should be worried as well, she thought. But she wasn't. Staring at the flame reminded her of the vision that The Crone showed her. Of her and Jeb within a ring of flaming blue orbs. They were happy. The tribe was happy.
​
"He'll understand." She said as she darted and collected a piece of wood to transfer a spark from a nearby torch.
​
Ember in hand, she rushed back to her home. She gently eased the flame towards the bundle of wood. She yipped in shock when the flame leapt from her temporary torch and engulfed the pile! Their room burst into dancing shadows as the flames danced from their new home. So pretty, she thought as she stared at the fire. She had seen it when she would come out of their room in the old building for a break. But it seemed so mesmerizing now that it was right in front of her.
​
She widened the indent in the ground a little so that the eggs could receive the warmth from the fire without being too close. They might be mildly resistant to fire, but not enough to throw their eggs in a fire! Then again, she thought with worry as she held her claw out at the fire. The warmth from it isn't as strong as a normal fire it seemed. Like it was contained.
​
She clicked her claws in worry. She didn't want to push them too close, but they wouldn't get enough heat if they remained where they were. It would only get worse as it got colder and the cold seeped into the ground. Maybe just a little closer, she thought as she nudged the eggs closer to the fire.
​
The flames sputtered at the movement of air, but nothing more. She held out her claw to gauge the temperature once again. But it still wasn't enough, she thought as she clicked her claws against a nearby stone in thought. She cast a glance towards the tunnel. She could maybe see if one of the others have something to make a proper fire, she thought.
​
She put a claw on the eggs.
"No. That'll take too long."
​
She looked worryingly at the tunnel as if Jeb would appear and lambast her for even thinking what she was. She held her breath and pushed the eggs forwards. Then more. Then even more. The flames sputtered and danced as the eggs were pushed closer and closer. She could only just feel the heat as she did so. Why did the fire seem so weak, she thought as she pushed the eggs right up beside the bundle of burning wood.
​
Yet the fire seemed to move around the eggs, like they were doing their best to avoid touching them. Even the heat from the fire seemed to be avoiding them! Ruby growled in frustration and pushed the eggs right into the fire!
"Can you just keep them warm?!"
​
The fire stilled and froze as the eggs were pushed into it. As if it didn't know what to do. Then the flame roared to life once again. The balefire caressed the onyx shells as it seemed to dance across the smooth black surface of the shells. As if a barrier broke, the heat from the flame radiated outwards now. Ruby could now feel the warmth from the fire where seconds ago she felt nothing.
​
Ruby blinked at the eldritch flame and moved her claw to touch her eggs. She instinctively pulled back as a tongue of balefire arced in her direction. She whined in worry at possibly making a terrible mistake. She held her breath and once more reached out to caress her eggs. She bit her tongue and shut her eyes when the fire arced towards her once more.
​
But she didn't feel pain. No burning sensation one would get when normally sticking an appendage into a roaring fire. Instead she felt a comforting warmth. Like she felt when close to Jeb as they slept together. She cracked open an eye and found the baleful flame caressing her claw. She experimented a little by pulling her claw back, feeling as the flame seemed to latch on like it didn't want her to leave, before snapping back to its "body". She pushed her claw into the fire, further this time, all the way up to her elbow. The fire latched onto her once again and flooded her with a comforting warmth that shot straight to her core!
​
She turned her claw upwards and pulled back once more. She watched as the flame held on as she did so, once more refusing to leave her scales. She watched as the flame snapped once again, but this time, it broke! Instead of snapping back towards its body, she now held a burning ball of balefire in her claw!
​
She couldn't do magic. There were few of the tribe that could before they fled to this world. The Chief was the last among them that had any ability to harness it. Yet here she was, holding a magical fire within her claw! She watched as the flame danced and twisted in her grasp. She sucked in a breath when she watched it start to diffuse INTO her scales! The flame lessened and lessened as if it were dying, but instead the fire seeped between the cracks of her scales. She could feel it racing through her body, flooding it once more with a wave of comforting warmth.
​
"Den Mother?" A voice asked from the tunnel nearby.
​
Ruby yelped in surprise and turned towards the voice. She saw the Chief standing there watching her with a curious and amazed expression on his snout.
"Having fun?"
​
"Chief!? I was-"
​
"Playing with fire?" The Chief asked playfully as he stared at the blue fire.
​
She shuffled nervously as he did so. Eventually he chuckled and she began to relax.
"It's alright Den Mother. You're not the only one that Master Jeb's flame as entranced among the tribe."
​
"Why do you think it acts so different from normal fire?" She asked.
​
The Chief shrugged.
"Who knows. Perhaps it is how magic works in this world. Perhaps it is something on Master Jeb's part. Perhaps it is because our former- Kortaza, was the Keeper of Flame."
​
"But we never had much protection from fire before. And not any way to manipulate it." Ruby said.
​
The Chief sighed.
"True. I truly do not know why it is so different than normal fire. Fire is alive, yes. But this one seems almost..."
​
"Living?" Ruby suggested.
​
"Yes. Like it has a mind of its own. Though I doubt that much, perhaps it merely follows the will of Master Jeb, knowingly or not on his part." The Chief continued as he walked closer and sat down beside Ruby and watched the eggs glimmer and shine within the fire where they remained quiet for some peaceful moments.
​
The Chief then perked up.
"Oh! Master Jeb returned!"
​
"He did?! Where is he?" Ruby asked and looked around expecting to see him coming down the tunnel.
​
"Well, he did return. Rushed around and collected an assortment of food, and then he vanished away again. Something about a trade?" The Chief explained a little unsure.
​
She frowned, wonder what he was trading, she thought. Though, with the eggs now taken care of, and Jeb away for a moment. Perhaps now was the time she could see about doing something special for him. She turned to the Chief, he was more knowledgeable when it came to humans and their customs.
​
"Chief?" She asked.
​
"Yes? What is it?" He asked at the tone of her voice.
​
"What do you know of this world's humans?"
​
"Oh? What would you like to know?" He asked a little excited in being able to use his collected knowledge.
​
"What do humans do with those they care about?" She asked a little uncertainly.
​
The Chief hummed in thought and tapped his claws.
"It depends. Humans are as diverse in this world as ours. Many customs I've read about belong to different groups."
​
"What about the tribe that Jeb belongs to?"
​
The Chief hummed once more in thought and got up before darting away while calling back.
"I will check! I'm sure I have something!"
​
While she waited, she continued to play with fire and tend to her eggs. Since they were in the flame, they didn't need quite so studious attention as they did before. She could probably just leave them and go tend to her normal duties and not have to worry about them anymore.
​
Who was she fooling, she thought. Even if there was a way to hatch and tend to the eggs completely without her, she'd still want to look after them. She thought she heard Jeb mentioning something about an "electrical egg incubator" once upon a time. Whatever that was.
​
The Chief returned, huffing from being out of breath and holding a thickly bound tome with pages of different sizes and colors poking out of the patched bindings. He placed the heavy tome on the ground with a huff.
"This is my collection of this world's customs and knowledge. If there is something that will assist you it will be in here somewhere!"
​
Ruby oohed and awed as the Chief flipped open the tome and leafed through page after page of information. Some were pages from magazines, others were snippets and clippings from books, there was a few pages that contained pressed cuttings of local flora as well as a collection of small animal bones among the bindings.
​
They stopped on a page that read MODERN COURTING FOR THE MODERN WOMAN in bold letters on a page that felt smooth to the touch. On the cover was a gorgeous human woman wearing a sleek beautiful dress and jewelry. Ruby pointed towards the page.
"Oh this one!"
​
They thumbed through the pages looking for information. Most neither one of them got as it talked about stuff like make-up, libido, popular fashion, and other things that they didn't either understand or see the appeal of. Then they found a page that described how a modern woman should act. Though this seemed to confuse the both of them even more.
​
"Be 'dem-or' and assertive? What does 'dem-or' mean?" Ruby asked the Chief.
​
"I'm not sure. There are many words within that don't seem to fit." He explained.
​
A pattern they soon found to be common among the pages of information, much of the words would make sense but spread out among them were these spots of words that seemed just out of place. What they COULD understand still didn't make any sense either.
​
"Be soft yet firm? How does that work?" The Chief asked.
​
"If you like a potential mate why make him keep trying to win your heart?" Ruby asked equally confused.
​
"Modern" humans were just as confusing to them it seemed. However, among the pages of contradictory information, they were able to get SOMETHING of value! Humans like gifts. Though they both knew that and didn't really feel like these pages of "modern courting" did anything more than confuse them.
​
"What kind of gifts?" The Chief asked as he and Ruby tried to decipher the mess of flowery wording and nonsense.
​
"Jewelry, clothes, food." Ruby read off as they got the general gist of the overly convoluted wording. The pictures helped more though.
​
"Well! At least we found something... I think?" The Chief declared at least with a little uncertainty.
​
"Why did you collect all this?" Ruby asked.
​
"It was in a book, so I thought it was important. But it would seem that not everything in this world's books are worth keeping." The Chief stated before retrieving the tome and departing.
​
"Where are you going?"
​
"To go through my collection. It would seem that some of it is not as important as I first thought." He called out as he left.
​
She could hear him mumbling to himself and heard the occasional tearing as he did. Well, at least they found something, she thought as she turned towards the eggs once more. She placed a claw on the onyx shells and felt the comforting warmth of the fire as well as the warmth of the eggs. They'll be fine for now, she thought as she got up and left.
​
"Jewelry, clothes, and food." Ruby murmured as she went down the tunnel once again.
​
He was getting low on clothes, she thought. But there wasn't much around here to make some with. Though perhaps some animal hides would work? But much of what they've collected was too small for clothes of Jeb's size. Getting him food seemed redundant too. He could make his own food whenever he wished. Which left jewelry.
​
It was the better of the options, but they didn't have much in the way of jewelry either. No raids means no loot and the piles of treasure back in their former home wasn't exactly a priority at the time of their exodus. But then she spied the copper wire the kobolds had collected while scavenging. A copper band would be nice, she thought as she was given the piece of wiring from the scavenger.
​
But what else, she thought as she looked around some more. The pictures in the magazine showed jewelry that glittered with gold and diamonds and so much more that they no longer had. Nothing around here could compare, she thought dejectedly. But then she saw a group of kobolds coming down a tunnel with a collection of shells and waterlogged timber.
​
"What is this?" She asked them.
​
"Salvage from the camps up river." The kobold replied as he and the others began to sift and sort the mess.
​
She watched as they distributed everything they collected to the tribe that came over. Some took the waterlogged wood, others took polished stones, and others took the collection of shells. She eyed the shells. Back home, alot of the fishfolk in the rivers and around the sea collected pearls from the water. Perhaps the ones upriver also had some?
​
She followed after the group of kobolds that had collected the shells and assisted them in opening a few. Mussels were what was mainly here, no surprise though since it seemed they were far from this world's ocean. What was a surprise was how many pearls they actually managed to find among the mussels!
​
It was rare for the kobolds to find one during their fishing trips by the sea. Even among the rivers pearls were not much more common. So it surprised them that several mussels had multiple pearls within them! She was going to actually barter for potentially the single one they found, but with there being so many the shuckers didn't mind at all and gave Ruby a small handful for her project.
​
They weren't all that big, but that was fine by her. They'd do for what she had in mind. She borrowed a small thin metal needle from a scavenger and retreated back to her room. Copper wire and freshwater pearls in claw.
​
-----
​
Well, that's taken care of, Jeb thought as he appeared in the open air of the lodge. He flicked the gold and garnet band into the air and got it with a spring in his step and a tune on his lips as he made his way over to the Trap Master who stood near the river where he received reports from the salvagers.
​
"How's things?" He asked when he got close.
​
"Good. Strange. But good." The Trap Master stated as he dismissed the salvagers.
​
"How so?"
​
"The 'murlocs' you called them? Haven't returned to their former homes." He explained.
​
"And? Wasn't that kinda the point?"
​
"It was. But there isn't any sign of anything else other than birds flocking to the area."
​
"Again, wasn't that the point?"
​
"Only if something worse didn't move in." The Trap Master explained further.
​
Jeb groaned.
"What moved in?"
​
"Nothing."
​
"Nothin'?"
​
"That we can see. No new tracks, no scents, nothing."
​
"So what's the problem?"
​
"The problem is that much carrion should've drawn every scavenger and hungry animal for miles."
​
"But it hasn't." Jeb finished.
​
"No. The birds infest the area but largely leave us alone. Though some get a little territorial over their spots of carrion. But nothing else has moved into the area."
​
Jeb groaned again.
"So what do you wanna do?"
​
"Nothing."
​
"Really?" Jeb asked in surprise.
​
"Yes. If the other animals and creatures nearby are giving the place a wide berth then we'll exploit it as long as we can. We'll send some scouts to keep an eye on the place though."
​
"Perhaps the smell of death is what's doin' it?" Jeb suggested.
​
"Maybe. Would explain the large number of birds. But nothing else?"
​
"Yeah, you're right. Well let me know if you need help with it." Jeb said.
​
"Will do."
​
"Oh! Before I forget, I made a trade agreement with the dwarves."
​
The Trap Master cocked a scaled brow.
"Oh?"
​
"Yeah. Food for tools. We'll need to set aside five crates twice a week, but we'll get some decent tools to help speed up excavation." Jeb explained.
​
The Trap Master tapped his claws against his scales in thought.
"That's doable."
​
"You sure? Cuz I'm more than happy to do it all myself." Jeb said and conjured an apple to make his point.
​
"No. The tools are for us, we should assist. Besides, we gathered more for our former master. Five crates twice a week will be easy enough to do." The Trap Master stated in a relaxed tone.
​
"Alright, if you're certain." Jeb said.
​
"I am. We'll let you know if anything changes." The Trap Master replied.
​
"Alright, have it your way." Jeb returned and departed while tossing the conjured apple towards the lazing salamanders nearby.
​
Jeb ported down to the main gathering area. The place was just as busy as when he left as the kobolds went about their duties and tasks with vigor and joy that he's only really seen when they were staying in his basement. Guess he was the one living in their basement now, he thought with a chuckle.
​
He played with the gold and garnet band as he shuffled nervously. Wasn't sure why he was so nervous, he thought. She already had his kids, kinda, sorta. They were already living together. This would just be the natural progression of things. Kinda, sorta. He heaved in a big gulp of air to steady his nerves.
​
"Alright. Quite procrastinatin' Jeb." He muttered to himself and started down the tunnel towards his home.
​
He stopped when his boot stepped on something different. He looked down and picked up a magazine page.
"Modern courtin' for the modern woman? Where the hell did this come from?"
​
Probably Sammy's, Jeb thought as he tossed aside the girly garbage. Not sure what it was doing out here though. Maybe she brought it for Thanksgiving and forgot it? Or maybe the kobolds swiped it when they raided her hairspray? Or maybe she just left it among his other articles one of the times she and his pa would go over to his place.
​
"Oh well." He said as he continued on.
​
He could hear humming as he got closer, and saw a familiar pale blue light. He walked into his room and saw Ruby humming as she tinkered with something. Nearby was their eggs, sitting in the balefire. He should've panicked. He should've dropped everything and ran over trying to save his kids. That's what a father would do right?
​
But he didn't have that gut wrenching feeling of seeing your kids in danger he thought he would. Still, he walked over beside Ruby. She yelped in surprise and fumbled with what she was working on as Jeb reached out a hand and touched their onyx colored eggs.
​
"Jeb?! I was- They were-" Ruby tried to explain while also trying to gather her things.
​
"It's alright." Jeb said.
​
"It is?" She asked with concern.
​
"Yeah. They're not hot." He said as he stroked the shells through the fire that did nothing to him.
​
"Are you sure?" She asked with worry and concern.
​
"Yeah. Doubt it'll do anythin' more to 'em." Jeb said with a bit more bitterness in his voice than he wanted there to be.
​
He saw Ruby's face fall at his words. Nice job dickhead, Jeb thought to himself. He sighed and turned towards Ruby.
"I'm sorry. I'm just nervous 'bout everythin' happenin'."
​
"I'm nervous too." She stated and leaned into him for a hug, which he eagerly returned.
​
They held each other for a long moment before Ruby perked up and scrambled away.
"Hold on! Don't look!"
​
"Look at what?" Jeb asked with a cocked brow as he did his best to hide his own gift.
​
"I said don't look!" She chided.
​
"Alright!" He said with a laugh.
​
He turned away as he heard her grumbling and fumbling with whatever she was working on when he walked in on her. While he waited, he stretched out his hand and caressed their eggs. Please don't get any weirder, he pleaded mentally while he waited.
​
"Ok! You can look now!" Ruby called at last.
​
Jeb turned back around and saw Ruby holding a ring towards him. It was some braided copper wire with a couple of small pearls threaded on. She held it up to him.
"What do you think?"
​
Wait, was this a gift or was she asking him to marry her, Jeb thought. He had to say something though, the look of confusion on his face was making Ruby sad.
"I love it! What's it for exactly?"
​
"Well, I'm courting you!" She said as Jeb accepted the copper and pearl braided band.
​
"Courtin' me? What does that-" Jeb started when he noticed a rustle from his left boot.
​
He looked down and pulled off a piece of paper that had stuck to it. MODERN COURTING FOR THE MODERN WOMAN, it said in bold on the paper. He turned it around towards Ruby.
"Did you read this?"
​
She shuffled.
"Yes? I wasn't sure how you court a human in this world! But the words were confusing and didn't make any sense and- why are you laughing?"
​
"I'm laughin' because this is trash! None of the stuff in here is how you should court someone!" Jeb said with a laugh.
​
"But it says-" Ruby started when Jeb tossed the magazine paper into the nearby fire, which ate it instantly.
​
"It's just somethin' that girls read to pass the time. Nothin' in there is worth the paper it's printed on." Jeb declared.
​
"Oh. So?" Ruby asked dejectedly as she gestured to the ring she made for Jeb.
​
"This is just fine. Though do you know what it means to get a ring for someone?" Jeb asked.
​
"That they love one another?" Ruby said a little unsure now.
​
"Yeah. I guess it does. But the act of givin' someone you love a ring is a symbol that you want to be together." Jeb explained and produced his own gift for Ruby.
​
Her eyes went wide as she grasped the gold and garnet band.
"But we're already together."
​
"Yeah. We are."
​
"So what does the rings mean?" Ruby asked as she examined the band.
​
"Well, it's more religious really."
​
"Oh?"
​
"Yeah. It's supposed to mean... somethin'." Jeb started as he realized he didn't entirely recall what the meaning of the ring was supposed to mean.
​
"Mean what?" Ruby pressed as she tried to fit the band on her arm and then her tail.
​
"Well. It generally means being together forever."
​
"But why the ring?"
​
"It means a sort of exclusivity for folk." Jeb explained.
​
"Why? What about the rest of the tribe? Does that mean you won't help them?" She asked.
​
"No! I can, or will, or... this is harder than I thought it'd be." Jeb said with a sigh.
​
Ruby cocked a brow as well.
"So what happens?"
​
"Well, we exchange rings and promise to love one another forever. In sickness and health and yada yada. Then we're husband and wife." Jeb explained.
​
"Why? We're already mates and we love one another. What does our health have to do with it? And what is a 'husband and wife'?"
​
"Well... You know what? Forget it. Do you promise to love me?"
​
"Yes! Do you?"
​
"Yup!"
​
"Yay!" Ruby cried and hugged Jeb.
​
"And I now pronounce you man and wife." Jeb muttered as he kissed Ruby.
​
Ruby giggled and pulled away.
"So what happens now?"
​
"Now... I don't know. Usually there would also be paper work, but given... us, it prob'bly wouldn't matter."
​
"So what changes?" Ruby asked as she affixed the gold and garnet band to one of her horns with a smile.
​
"Uhm... nothin'? We're already together, we already live together, we already have kids... kinda." Jeb listed off.
​
"So what's the rings supposed to mean?"
​
"It means... I love you." Jeb replied at last, giving up on trying to explain something he himself wasn't entirely informed of.
​
"I love you too!" Ruby cried and kissed him.
​
He returned the kiss. Not like this would've been an official wedding anyway, Jeb thought. They don't exactly have a licensed priest to officiate it. Or witnesses. He doubt their still shelled eggs would count. He could ask the Chief to oversee it. But he already got a headache trying to explain marriage to Ruby, he didn't really want to explain it to the Chief, or any other kobolds that might be interested.
​
Not like it made anything different, Jeb thought. Ruby was right. They loved one another. They lived together. They had kids together. For all intense and purpose, they were mates. Sure if he was particularly religious he could insist on going to a church and doing things official. But given how things have turned out for them lately, he wouldn't be surprised if he burst into flames stepping inside a church.
​
Well, there was ONE tradition that they could still do, Jeb thought with a smirk as he picked up Ruby bridal style.
"Wanna consummate our marriage?"
​
"What does that mean?" She asked.
​
"Don't worry. You'll like it." Jeb said as he led her over to their moss bed.
​
[First] [Prev] [Next]

Hhhh here we gooo!11
I am: -Conventionally attractive according to various sources (not me lmfao my ass is NOT that confident) -Pretty physically average, maybe skinny, 5'10", blue eyes, dirty blonde hair -I guess dressed like a stoneskater(?) according to some of my friends, even though I'm completely sober (I know I'm sooooo boring)
Hobbies: -Games!11! (RE, Terraria, MC, MGS, etc.) -Singingggg (making funny voices has given me a good vocal range deadass) -Collecting records (huuuuuuge sucker for physical music, my main genres are punk/grunge/alt) -Comically kicking my legs in the air like a hyperfixated 5 y.o. upon looking at pictures of silly animals (froggers, fatass cats, anything that visibly has no brain activity besides basic instinct)
What I'm *GENERALLY* looking for (I really hate having preferences because it feels exclusionary but I also would hate to get in an awkward situation with someone who's lovely but just isn't my type-): -Soft but vivacious personality -Call me a weirdo but someone with a lil' bit of tummy heft ;p (it's comforting and soft and cool) -Doesn't mind the clingy- 🥺
If I sound ok enough feel free to DM me ^^

Hhhh here we gooo!11
I am: -Conventionally attractive according to various sources (not me lmfao my ass is NOT that confident) -Pretty physically average, maybe skinny, 5'10", blue eyes, dirty blonde hair -I guess dressed like a stoneskater(?) according to some of my friends, even though I'm completely sober (I know I'm sooooo boring)
Hobbies: -Games!11! (RE, Terraria, MC, MGS, etc.) -Singingggg (making funny voices has given me a good vocal range deadass) -Collecting records (huuuuuuge sucker for physical music, my main genres are punk/grunge/alt) -Comically kicking my legs in the air like a hyperfixated 5 y.o. upon looking at pictures of silly animals (froggers, fatass cats, anything that visibly has no brain activity besides basic instinct)
What I'm *GENERALLY* looking for (I really hate having preferences because it feels exclusionary but I also would hate to get in an awkward situation with someone who's lovely but just isn't my type-): -Soft but vivacious personality -Call me a weirdo but someone with a bit of tummy heft/chubb/fluff ;p (it's comforting and soft and cool) -Doesn't mind the clingy- 🥺
If I sound ok enough feel free to DM me ^^

CANCER ZODIAC TAROT READING - UNEXPECTED INCOME MAY 2024

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So I got the silver iPad Pro 13 M4 and I’m thinking of getting the new Magic Keyboard. But I’m concerned whether the outside of the white Magic Keyboard would get dirty quickly. Also I love the combination of the silver iPad and a black case. The only thing is that the inside of the new Magic Keyboard is now made of aluminum and I’m not sure if it would look weird with the silver aluminum of the iPad. Has anyone seen such a combo in person or has a picture they can share? Thank you.

Hello everyone i bought 2 month ago a nice K5 pro, and i'm satisfied with it, as my first mechanical keyboard, it's delightful and very pleasant ! i managed few problem from my usage of it, but i'm stuck with the backlight !
you see, unfortunately, i'm french, and i use ISO layout ( don't blame me, nobody is perfect :p ) the backlight is good, i see the letter very well etc ... but ... we use the "bottom row" of the keys to have all the é and è and à letters ... and those one aren't very bright ... AT ALL !!!
https://i.imgur.com/zgEPcYT.jpeg
on this picture, i've modified the contrast and lighting to simulate what i see ( and it's better than what i see because it's a close shot) and you can see that all the bottom row of characters are very dim ! i think it's the same in ANSI layout for F1/2/3/etc button, the shortcuts icons are bright, the the Fs are dim too