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Reader Advisory: The next couple of parts contain talk about a number of sensitive topics centered around PTSD. I'll have some space here so you don't accidentally see something you didn't want to, but if you read on, just know, it is to a purpose, and yes, it does concern some of my own experiences with PTSD.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hate this. This feeling of them all around my mind, but I need to see it. How did Keith become this? I can feel my tribemate, Hoda... I had expected her to choose to be my wife, but I feel it, she has become wife to Keith.... whatever, it is unimportant. I am Trayg, and I have four wives already, and at least six when I am done with this 'game'. He is a strong warrior, and I need to learn his strength. I feel all the other weaklings, though. Bah, weak, but they provide in their own ways to make up for it.
Keith's song begins again, and I feel things shift around me, and I see my first view of this Earth. For such a warrior, I expected a stronghold, but it is anything but. The sun is bright on this house, and I see farms back behind it, lines of trees to protect from the wind between fields, and a warm breeze flows outward. And then, I see him, a child, pedaling furiously on some contraption, a bag clutched in his hand, his knuckles paling from how hard he holds it. A tithe for his father, something to instill pride, though the memory does not remember what is inside. I follow the boy as he comes off of the contraption, letting it fall away as he sprints into the house, and suddenly, a sharp, loud bang fires off... something is wrong.
The sound is incredibly loud, the force of it I can feel even from here, but no birds stir, no rodents scurry, and I follow the boy, and something... feels wrong about what I am seeing, what I am hearing, like something screams already, but is muffled, and I can smell the blood already. The boy proceeds up the stairs, still sprinting with his tithe in hand, and the door to his father's chambers open... and the scent does not change, the whole scene is frozen in that moment, no birds chirping. Something is wrong, this still image. Something.... this scene is not real, and I feel the press of minds, Val calling out for me to halt, but I will not have things hidden from me, and I step forward, and I feel it tear, the whole world ripping apart around me. The scene is changed. The sound... it was not made outside the house, the boy did not enter after. He entered as his father took his own life, and I felt the minds shift, and the words of Keith's song pierce the vision:
You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows
I felt a hand, but not in the shelter, the yurt that we occupied. Azoccu. I watched as he stepped into the room with a screaming child crying out for his father to wake up, and Azoccu knelt beside him, "Oh, child, no one should have seen this. This is not your fault."
He laid his hand on him, and the scene faded. Amongst the others, I could feel the Trils. They were gaining power from this somehow, but there was no time to think. Scenes whipped by, the boy at the funeral, comforting his grandparents, and something was wrong, but not the scene. The adults. They gave empty platitudes, and they spoke about him when they thought he could not hear:
"How do you even get over seeing something like that? He's so young..."
"What happens to him now?"
"First his mom, then his dad? Kid's gonna end up in a rubber room."
The boy's grandparents were broken down, inconsolable in seeing the body of their child, and then I felt Dukaetha enter, hopping along to sit next to the boy. Why is she the only one? Where are his friends? His family? Why is no one showing him how to grieve? Why is he the one comforting?
The scene shifted, and the rabbitfolk faded, and I watched as he stood off by himself, watching his father being lowered into the ground in a brown box, until another grandfather stepped up to him, this one hardier, with thick hair over his lip, calloused hand laying on the boy's shoulder, and knelt down, "Hey there, bit. Tell you what, me and Gramma had us a talk about it, and we'd like you to come live with us. How's that suit you?"
The boy trembled, bitter tears coming out, "Pop-Pop... I... I want dad back."
I watched the boy break, but... this is wrong. I felt a similar feeling from Hoda. Where were the other family? Why was his tribe not coming together for him? Two ceremonies for a corpse, and none of them to take him as ward except for an old man and woman? Where were the tribe's children? Even their shaman seemed more concerned over the dead one. Hoda stepped forward, praying over the boy as was her place as shaman.
The scene fell away, and more scenes came past. The boy grew, his 'Pop-Pop' teaching him to hunt, to farm, to ride, but I felt my anger building. His tribe pulled away from him, pulled back. They said the right words, expressed sorrow at the loss, but they all held back from him, like they might somehow catch his grief like a disease. It kept going, increasing as his grandparents died, one after the other, and steadily I watched as members of our new tribe stepped forward to be with him in those moments.
The rage welled up within me, growing by the moment. Again, and again.... I bellowed out, breaking the connection, and shoved aside those in my way as I stalked from the building, hearing the words of Keith from his stage:
As these judging eyes surround me And silence tearing me apart Only seeing to the surface They refuse to see my heart
I stalked across to one of the empty shelters, taking shelter from the storm raging around, and I screamed. I paced, and I felt the insane rage within my chest. I needed to fight, I needed to let this out, before it could stain my spirit. I ripped the hatchet from my belt, and put everything into hacking into one of the logs that were used for seating. I swung again and again, putting every bit of my anger into the act when I heard the door bang open. Val. She stepped inside, "Are you okay, Trayg?"
I threw the hatchet into what was left of the log, "Fuck your entire species!"
She stepped back as I stepped forward, shocked, "Look, I get it-"
"THEY ABANDONED HIM!"
She shook her head in that negative way the humans used, "No, they-"
I slammed a fist into a pillar, "Don't lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes! His whole tribe left him to rot save for one old man and woman who were too old to be caring for a young boy. Where were his friends?! Where was his shaman to heal his spirit? Where was anyone for him?!"
Val teared up, and stayed mute, "My world may be savages, but we never would have left a child like that."
I pushed past, exiting the shelter to go back, "And I won't abandon him now."
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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.

Just a quick note to let you know that yesterday the GR2 in 1000D Cordura with a quick access pocket appeared on Goruck's EU storefront (https://www.goruck.eu/collections/travel-rucksacks/products/gr2).
This bag is listed separately from the slightly more expensive US-made classical version without QAP, which on the goruck.eu website is listed as "GR2 – USA".
Interestingly enough, the GR2 with QAP is not yet available on goruck.com.

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
First/Previous
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When selecting a gift for a female friend, consider her interests and preferences. Here are some thoughtful ideas:

1. Jewelry: A delicate necklace, bracelet, or earrings.
2. Personalized items: Custom mugs, photo frames, or keychains.
3. Books: A novel by her favorite author or a bestseller.
4. Skincare products: Luxurious lotions, face masks, or bath bombs.
5. Plants: Indoor plants or succulents.
6. Fashion accessories: Scarves, handbags, or sunglasses.
7. Hobby-related gifts: Art supplies, cooking gadgets, or fitness gear.
8. Gift cards: To her favorite store or for a streaming service.
9. Experiences: Spa day, concert tickets, or a cooking class.
10. Subscription services: For magazines, beauty boxes, or streaming services.

Choose something that resonates with her personality and shows you care.

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Hi everyone!
First of all, let me just say I love this sub! Whenever I've hit a reading slump I can always count on this community to have the best recommendations. So I thought I'd share some of my favorite reads since the beginning of 2024. This is not all of them, trust me, my kindle unlimited library loves to point out that I exceed my reading goals every week :'). I wanted to do each of these recs some justice and spent waaaay too long trying to convince you to read them through my ramblings. Enjoy, and PLEASE let me know if you read any of them!!!
We'll go by Genre:
M/M BDSM

• Different Hearts by Izaia Winters - Goodreads - (bdsm, age gap, age play, contemporary)
  • Some people aren't comfortable with age-play and I totally get it. I was too until I read this series. There's something endearing about the care and love that's written in this series about boys and their daddies. Not every book in this story is about daddy kink, there's also some service-oriented kink, sado/masochism, poly, and even puppy-play, this series has something for every itch. Don't yuck someone's yum but enjoy the stories of these characters! If I could read these for the first time again, I'd still devour them like I was starved.
• Love Language by Reese Morrison- Goodreads - (bdsm, transgender, queer, puppy-play, age-play, poly, age-gap, disability)
  • I am on my knees for you Reese Morrison. On. My. Knees. You brilliant person you. Writing a series surrounding the deaf and the bdsm community? GENIUS! GAH! Can you tell I love this series? No? Oh let me enlighten you whippersnappers.
  • This series has 4 books, the first being able to read as a standalone features a deaf trans dom and an older sub whose lost his master. Marco and Greg navigate this new relationship through some very real struggles of being trans while trying to find love and also being deaf. Morrison's writing is so true to the ASL language that you feel like you're in this world with them.
  • The next two books come together in the last one. Book 2 we are introduced to Dustin, a new dom, and Landon, a genderfluid sub who gets to explore a new aspect of kink while offering to help Dustin become the dom he's meant to be. Both characters are also deaf, there's plenty of kinky scenes, and some angst.
  • Book 3 we fall in love with my two favorite characters of all time. Ash, an genderqueer sub who loves sex and kink, grows close with Dustin's friend Zhong. A cuddly asexual dom in denial. Zhong truly believes he can't give Ash what they need, but their love story is one that lives rent-free in my heart.
  • Book 4, we see these two couples navigate the beginnings of a poly relationship and each characters grows and learns more about themselves throughout. This conclusion to the series celebrates the deaf community and how love is unlimited in all its aspects.
  • Maybe I'm just biased bc I'm an asexual poly person but this story and Morrison's ability to represent these aspects feels so personal to me. Now. Add this to your TBR or I will...I'll...I'll cry ;-;

General Romance

• Four Ever by Sloane Kennedy - Goodreads - (poly, hurt/comfort, menage, age gap, angst)
  • One established couple with many furry babies and deep emotional scars take in two young men who have been through an abusive past. I was hesitant to love this one, but there's a build up here that feels so natural. Many poly stories feel like there's not enough time given for each character to get a full scope of them, but Sloane Kennedy wrote this beautiful and healing story with the respect of someone who understands it's not a wham-bam and done deal. You learn to love each character so thoroughly that by the end you can't help but want to give each of them a big hug.
• Rat Park by Marina Vivancos - Goodreads - (hurt/comfort, explicit drug use/recovery/relapse, age gap, redemption, found family)
  • I love anything by Marina Vivancos, and I devoured this book as soon as I saw it on KU. Fair warning, this is not a typical romance. It mostly follows the life of Dominic as he grows up in a drug ridden home and becomes addicted and throughout the years battles his addiction. The second half of the book is where romance comes in but even then, addiction and his past haunts him as he navigates feelings of self-worth and acceptance. I would recommend this book to everyone but there's a special kind of person who can respect the care and time the author took to tell this story.
• Until I Saw You by Diania Roman - Goodreads - (contemporary, disability, hurt/comfort, bi-awakening, abuse)
  • Yeah, yeah, I know everyone will always recommend this one, but have you guys listened to the audiobook version? Cause wow, I thought I'd read Harper and Riley's story, but I felt like I got to listen to a whole new story with how well the narrators did on this one. I can really see how funny Riley is and how calm and lovable Harper is. I was laughing so hard sometimes nd those quiet, solitary sobs one emits when surrounded by others you'd rather not let see you getting weird for sobbing over fictional characters. If you loved the written book, check out the audiobook. You'll thank me later!
• Someday Someday by Emma Scott - Goodreads - (friends to lovers, forbidden love, hurt/comfort, religious trauma, angst)
  • I haven't seen many people recommend this one and I stumbled upon it myself through audible. It's about this heavily repressed man named Silas and Max who applies for a caregiver position for Silas's dying father. Now, I have never hated a fictional man more than I hated that old homophobic bag of bones, but Silas and Max's story was moving and emotional. It was an emotional rollercoaster, but I loved it and would ride it again just for the fantastic writing of Emma Scott. Check trigger warnings before reading this.

Omegaverse Series

• Hedonist by Roe Horvat - Goodreads - (omegaverse, fantasy, erotica, poly, open-relationship, mpreg)
  • Everyone on this sub absolutely loves Roe Horvat! And for good reason! Roe writes these extremely erotic omegaverse novels that are not only hot but also have complex depth to the characters. I wonder if you guys have given the Hedonist series a chance. Yes it's erotic scene after erotic scene but honestly, the premise, the politics, and the personalities of the characters create this whimsical historical fiction world where the omega king needs to find an alpha to give him an heir. The king himself has a group of omegas that he's saved or bought out of abusive situations and gives them a highly respected title amongst the court where the omegas are to be treated with the utmost respect. Consent is a beautiful thing and like any Roe Horvat novel, it is not forgotten. Give this duet and the spinoffs a read, it's truly one of my favorite eroticas.
• Forbidden Desires by Piper Scott - Goodreads - (omegaverse, paranormal, dragons, shapeshifters, romance, knotting, mpreg)
  • I've never quite loved a shifter series more than I've loved this one. I mean, the worldbuilding surrounding this secret society of dragon shifters and the magic of it all is just up my ally. This series follows each brother of the Drake family as they fall in love and find their mates. They have to navigate the politic mess of the dragon world, the nature of dragon shifters, and the adorableness of baby dragons.
  • Don't get me wrong, every single couple is amazing, but my favorites were Harrison & Everard with Harrisons quirky scientific mind and Everard's endless patience and love for his mate. But out of every character, I truly fell for Perry and Sebastion. This couple's story is told from the time they met hundreds of years ago and tells of their losses and love for one another. These two are couple goals, and Perry's struggles with pregnancy and the love he has for his children made it all a truly heart-wrenching story.
  • Oh, and don't discount the audiobooks! I loved them just as much as the written books.
• Alaskan Pebble Gifters by Amy Bellows - Goodreads - (omegaverse, shapeshifter, fantasy, knotting, mpreg)
  • I for some reason avoided shifter omegaverse novels. But I think that was mostly due to just not finding an author whose writing I could really sink my teeth into. Amy Bellows is an author unafraid to write darker storylines, but this series is one that's part typical omegaverse politics, truemate love and hardships, and a whole big part adorable cuddly baby penguins and polar bears <3 oh my god I melt when reading about the babies in this series!!! A baby penguin in a bowtie? GENIUSLY ADORABLE! Def recommend this shifter omegaverse series if you are already familiar with the genre or just starting.

Omegaverse Standalones

• Talk Nerdy to Me by Jett Matterson - Goodreads - (omegaverse, sports, college, contemporary)
  • If I could convince you to read just one Jett Matterson book I will have accomplished my goal here. No, this writing style is not everyone's cup of tea and there's not a whole ton of dialogue. But in my opinion, that just means we can experience the story from the characters point of view. It's written almost chronologically, follows the lives of these characters from the time they meet to its natural ending. But it truly feels like it could keep going on forever and I would faithfully keep reading it.
  • Alpha Matthew is the star football player in college, but he's failing his physics class. So he gets assigned a tutor, and this happens to be omega Miles Tran, a character with past trauma relating to bullying from footballs players like Matthew. But as these two get closer and begin to understand and care for each other, their romance also evolves. Lots of scent marking, sexy times, hurt/comfort, and a love so sweet it makes your tooth ache.
• Cutting the Braid by Jett Matterson - Goodreads - (omegaverse, fantasy, historical, paranormal, romance)
  • What it lacks in eroticism, it makes up for in storytelling. This world that Jett creates reminds me a lot of Marina Vivancos Honeythorne series. Historical with lots of character building. We're introduced to Valentyne, an omega whose lived alone since his mother passed away and works as the village's seamstress. In this world, omegas cut their hair after they lose their virginity, and Valentyne only wants to cut his hair after he meets his destined mate. When Ren moves into the village he knows he's met him. But will he be able to let go of his long beautiful hair for his destined mate? You will fall in love with Ren, Valentyne, and all their friends when you read this story.

Miscellaneous

• Otherworldy by F.T. Lukens - Goodreads - (Fantasy, YA, queer, paranormal, magic, romance)
  • If you are stoically set on erotica, you're truly missing out on some awesome stories. F.T. Lukens is one of my favorite YA queer authors whose written a few of my favorites like After Ever After and Spell Bound. I was engrossed the entire story, making it almost worth the months it took to come out since it was announced.
  • Knox is a familiar from the Other World who goes on the run after his master is killed. He carries with him a secret, but his biggest wish in this lifetime is to truly be able to experience what it is to be human. Ellery (NB) is a seventeen-year-old non-believer who's moved to the big city in order to support their family's farm because it's been hard times since the five-year long winter doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. These two literally crash into each other's lives and are thrown into a dangerous plot where they have to save each other in order to save everyone else.
• Tales from Verania by T.J. Klune - Goodreads - (Fantasy, romance, magic, humor, dragons, queer)
  • If you're looking for a story where there's action, adventure, magic, and very gay unicorn whose lost his horn, you've come to the right place! I WILL GUSH ABOUT THIS BOOK TIL THE END OF TIME! This series is not properly read unless you do yourself the favor of listening to Michael Lesly narrate a fabulously gay unicorn and horny AF dragon named Kevin. Sam is a wizards apprentice whose best friends Gary (the unicorn) and Tiggy (the half-giant and most precious character ever written) go on an adventure to rescue prince Justin after he is kidnapped by a dragon. Sam's story is told over the course of 4 books, with 2 half books, 1 sequel about prince Justin, and still ongoing!
  • Someone please read these books and gush with me because these live rent free in my head at all times. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/SisterGroundedThrway She posted in AmItheAsshole
Mood Spoiler: hopeful ending
Original Post: April 29, 2024
I (25F) live in a three bedroom apartment with my fiancé (27M). We have a six month old son.
My younger sister Mia (fake name; 20F) recently started attending a university that's closer to where I live than both my parents' places. Because she needs to get to class early in the morning, my fiancé and I allowed her to move into our spare bedroom. She's been living with us since January.
There's a set of rules I've been having Mia follow since she moved in, mostly to make sure everyone can live peacefully. One of the most important rules concerns arriving after my son's bedtime (usually between 19h and 20h). Mia is allowed to come home however late she wants, as long as she doesn't make too much noise.
The door to the apartment has an electronic keypad lock, and the one we use also has a normal lock under it. Everyone has a copy of the key, but we all prefer typing in the password. However, the keypad is very noisy, and my son's nursery isn't far from the door. Every time the keypad is used after I've put the baby to sleep, he wakes up.
So naturally, the rule about getting home late includes not using the keypad. Everyone, including Mia, has known about this since day one.
At first, we had no problems. But now that Mia has gotten used to college life, she's been going out at night frequently. This past month, she has arrived home after midnight every Friday and Saturday night. She always forgets the "don't make too much noise" rule, and she has, on multiple occasions, used the keypad. My son wakes up crying every. Damn. Time.
I'd sit her down and remind her of the rule whenever this happened, but she'd continue to do it. My fiancé and I got tired of putting our baby back to sleep because of that, so I changed the password and told Mia she was no longer allowed to use the keypad. She agreed, and promised to try to make less noise.
On Friday night this week, Mia went out with her friends. She came home very drunk at 4AM, and forgot that I'd changed the password. Not only did she use the keypad, she also got the password wrong so many times that she triggered an alarm.
I was furious. Not only did my baby wake up crying, but I also got complaints from my neighbors.
The next morning, I told Mia that I'm establishing a curfew: while living with me, she needs to be home by 20h. She won't be allowed to go out at night for the rest of the semester.
Mia put up a fight, saying I have no right to "ground" her (EDIT: I never used that word) like this or dictate what she does with her free time, but I held my ground. I told her she'll be free to do as she pleases when she has her own place and raises her own family. While living with mine, she has to do as I say.
She told our parents about this. Our mother and stepfather are both on my side; our father is on Mia's. He's saying I'm not her mother, and I have no right to treat her like a child. He also thinks it's unfair to do this to her over a drunken mistake.
AITA?
EDIT: No, I can't mute the keypad.
Relevant Comments:
OOP clarifies:

She is living here for free, but only for now. The deal is for her to start paying a small portion of rent once she gets a job.

Commenter: What if she never gets a job or takes months? What if she gets a job but doesn't tell you because she prefers freeloading?

OOP: If the latter happens, I will find out. She tells our mother everything, and my mom would tell me. I know my family.
But honestly, I don't need her to pay me right now. My father still gives her some money for personal expenses, so I'm not spending too much on her.

Commenter: I'm having genuine trouble how unlocking multiple locks and jangling keys into a door is quieter than a keypad (excluding the alarm) and also wouldn't wake the baby up.

OOP: It's only one lock. It's not noiseless, but it's quiet enough that it doesn't wake the baby.
The keypad makes very loud noises every time something is typed in, as well as another one once the door is open.
OOP (different comment addressing how loud it is): Very. It makes noises whenever something is typed in, as well as another one once the door has been unlocked. And she's not just quietly typing in the password, she's being loud besides that (slamming the door, knocking stuff over, etc.).

Commenter: I believe some electronic locks have a silent function. At least my alarm system's keypad does. Although I'm not so sure. I don't have electronic doorlocks, which is why I asked the question in the first place.

OOP: The one we use doesn't have a silent function.

Commenter: Just curious, is it possible to move your nursery to a different room that is further from the door? Not saying that you have to or anything, just wondering if it is a possibility would it help at all. You are definitely NTA though.
Also have you thought about saying she can go out later, but can't come home between 8pm and 6am? Basically she can go out, but has to crash elsewhere?

OOP: A lot of people are asking this, so let me explain why this is not an option.
Technically, it is possible. But moving my son from the nursery that I lovingly prepared while pregnant to the room my sister has been messing up since January would require time, effort and patience, none of which I'd have for this situation. I have a baby and a job, as does my fiancé, and I'm 99.9% sure my sister wouldn't help us. I'm making enough efforts as it is, and I refuse to do something like this when she can easily just use her key.
As for crashing somewhere else, I have suggested it before. There's always a reason why she can't do it.

Commenter: NTA and you've given her way more chances than I would have.
I would tell her that if she wakes the baby up one more time, she's out. I can't imagine how annoyed your husband must be that you keep letting your adult sister act like an entitled 16-year-old.

OOP: My fiancé is actually the reason I've been giving her this many chances. A big reason why I'm establishing the curfew now is because the situation has gotten bad enough that even he's sick of it.

Commenter: Well that's good that he hasn't been at his wits end as long as you. I would flip my lid if my husband let his sisters do this so I was coming at it from that perspective.

OOP: Understandable, really.
He's a younger sibling, so he tends to be more patient with her (especially now that we're all living together). He always agreed that she was being rude, but didn't want us to fight over it. Changing the password was his idea.

Commenter: Have you considered making her get the baby back to sleep? (not if she's drunk of course) Perhaps she would then understand the problem better.

OOP: The problem is that she usually is drunk, so there aren't many opportunities for her to help.

Commenter (downvoted): Yeah. And I'm not sure if women like OP understand this but babies can and should get used to people making normal sounds when living in a household. She probably is entitled and expects everyone else to cater around her baby.

OOP: I'm not sure I appreciate the "women like OP" comment there, but my son is used to normal sounds. The door beeping loudly at 4 in the morning is not a normal sound.
No, I don't expect everyone else to cater to my baby, but I do expect those sharing a space with him to let him sleep. It's not hard to use the normal key.

Commenter: The school year is probably just about done though, right? Maybe she should live with friends for next academic year.

OOP: We don't live in the US. The school year started in February.

OOP is voted NTA
Update Post: May 10, 2024
Before I start this update, I want to recommend reading my comments on my previous post. There were many questions that I was able to answer there.
It's very hard to explain my relationship with my younger sister in proper detail, but I will say that, while I love her dearly, Mia has always been a very inconsiderate person.
I have countless examples. She almost didn't attend our cousin's wedding last year because she didn't want to walk to the venue (which was two blocks away from our mom's place). We shared a bathroom when we were younger, and she'd insist on having the top drawers because she "didn't want to crouch down", but she was cool with me doing so. She slept through my college graduation, and didn't apologize for it.
I'm bringing this up now because whenever I asked Mia why she kept forgetting to use her key, her excuse was that looking through her bag took too long and the keypad was quicker. In her head, bothering other people is better than slightly inconveniencing herself.
After I established the curfew, Mia tried different ways to make me change my mind. She'd talk about not being able to cancel her tickets for Party X, or about the fun her friends had at Party Y. She'd show me her "developing" LinkedIn profile, and tell me she had learned her lesson and would be more responsible.
At first, I really didn't want to have to kick her out (which many of you suggested), but I have limits. A few days ago, I heard her complaining to her friends on the phone about her "bitch of a sister" who wouldn't let her do anything.
Later that day, I asked her which of our parents she planned on moving in with. Cue more fighting.
I managed to tell her that I had no obligation to continue housing her (for free!) if she couldn't respect my family. Mia could either move back in with our parents or continue living with me for the low price of respecting my infant son and stop complaining about it.
We did have a very productive conversation afterwards. I managed to get a lot off my chest, as did my sister. Mia apologized for everything. She admitted she'd been selfish, promised she'd make efforts to change and mature.
I'm a strong believer that people can change, which is why I'm not kicking her out right now. But I made it very clear that Mia is on thin ice, and the next time she does anything like this will be the last time she ever sees the inside of my home.
The curfew will continue until the end of the semester, as originally planned. My father also agreed to pay for Mia to go back to therapy. It helped her a lot when she was younger, so I'm hopeful about the future of this living situation.
I also want to thank those who suggested a white noise machine. My son is not a light sleeper, the keypad is just very loud and startles him awake, but my fiancé and I are still looking into getting one. Anything that helps our baby sleep better is welcome.
Thank you, Reddit!
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: The fact that she'd rather wake a sleeping infant than go through her purse is just... Selfish and lazy is too weak a descriptor for that. Also the idea that you, not her, is keeping her from doing stuff... Mind boggling!
I'm really happy that she's in therapy 'cause that shit aint normal. Did your parents never allow her to suffer any consequences for her actions as you were growing up? And/or is she incredibly stupid?

OOP: She did suffer consequences, but Mia never liked hearing the word "no", specially from me. I wouldn't even call her lazy, she just genuinely doesn't think about anyone else. If it's a minor inconvenience to her, she probably won't do it. That's why I'm so glad she's returning to therapy

Commenter: You realize that this summer will be her “hot girl era “ and she will still be her. But kudos for second chances

OOP: I live in the Southern Hemisphere. Summer starts in December, and we'll all be traveling for the holidays. But I don't think she'd want to stay with us during the Summer anyway.

Commenter: You should've kick her out that night,why are you being so nice??? That's not gonna help you or son.And lives rent free she would of been out so fast.

OOP: I'm being nice exclusively because Mia is going back to therapy, which was very helpful before she quit.
And I do believe things will get better. My sister is smart enough to understand that the extra time it would take for her to get to class if she moved back in with one of our parents is WAY more of an inconvenience than just using her key.
But this is her last chance. If she ever tries anything like this again, she's out.

Editor's note: OOP titled her the final update as her "last update," so I marked it as concluded.

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