This has really helped me, I hope it helps you too. Do let me know what you think.
Summary with Examples from "A Self-Help Guide for Copywriters" by Dan Nelken
Main Idea: The book is a comprehensive resource designed to help copywriters enhance their skills in creating compelling headlines and developing creative confidence. It provides practical advice and techniques for improving the writing process, generating ideas, and crafting effective headlines.
Essential Points:

1. Creative Process:
   • Think First, Write Second: Emphasizes the importance of planning and brainstorming before writing.
     • Example: Nelken suggests taking time to map out ideas and concepts before putting pen to paper, ensuring a clear direction and stronger end result.
   • Create and Fill Buckets: Encourages organizing ideas into different categories or "buckets" and consistently adding new ideas to these buckets.
     • Example: Use a "bucket" for potential headline themes, like humor or urgency, and continually add relevant ideas as they come.
   • Rinse and Repeat: Stresses the importance of continually refining and iterating on ideas.
     • Example: Nelken advises revisiting and revising drafts multiple times to polish and enhance the content.
   • Look for Relatable Truths: Suggests finding universal truths that resonate with the audience.
     • Example: A headline like "We all dread Monday mornings" taps into a common experience, making it relatable.
   • Benefit of a Benefit: Focuses on understanding and highlighting the deeper benefits of a product or service.
     • Example: Instead of just saying "Our product saves time," explain the deeper benefit: "More time to spend with family."
   • Asking Unique Questions: Advises asking unconventional questions to spark creativity.
     • Example: "What if our product could talk? What stories would it tell?" helps generate creative, engaging content.

• Bad Ideas as Fertilizer: Views bad ideas as a necessary step towards generating good ones.
  • Example: Nelken notes that even seemingly poor ideas can lead to breakthroughs when re-examined and reworked.

1. Headline Techniques:
   
   • Sack the Competition: Creating headlines that stand out from competitors.
     • Example: Instead of a generic "Best Coffee in Town," use "Why Our Coffee Beats the Rest Every Morning."
   • Embrace Your Dirt: Being honest and transparent to build trust with the audience.
     • Example: "Our coffee isn't for everyone—just those who love bold, rich flavors."
   • Less is More: Using concise language to make headlines impactful.
     • Example: "Fast, Fresh, Delivered" conveys a strong message with minimal words.
   • More is More: Sometimes, being elaborate can be more effective.
     • Example: "Discover the Complex Flavors and Aromas of Our Single-Origin Coffee, Roasted to Perfection."
   • Current Events: Leveraging current events to make headlines relevant and timely.
     • Example: "Start Your Day Right with Our Limited Edition Winter Spice Latte."
   • Twisted Visuals and Straight Lines: Combining creative visuals with straightforward text.
     • Example: A visual of a coffee cup tipping over with the headline, "Don't Let Mondays Spill Over—Get Energized with Us."
   • Manipulate Language: Playing with letters, words, or punctuation for effect.
     • Example: "Get a 'Latte' Love in Every Cup."
   • Product Inspiration: Drawing inspiration directly from the product.
     • Example: "Brewed to Perfection, Just for You."
   • 180-Degree Thinking: Approaching ideas from completely opposite perspectives.
     • Example: Instead of "The Best Coffee," try "Why Bad Coffee is Ruining Your Day—Switch to the Best."
   • Specificity: Being specific to increase the clarity and impact of headlines.
     • Example: "Experience the Rich Flavor of Ethiopian Sidamo Coffee."
   • Saving the Punch for the End: Building up to a strong ending in headlines.
     • Example: "Wake Up to the Best Part of Your Day—Our Coffee."
2. Types of Headlines:
   
   • List and Twist: Combining lists with unexpected elements.
     • Example: "5 Reasons Our Coffee is Better—and 1 Shocking Fact."
   • Smile Headlines: Creating headlines that evoke a positive emotional response.
     • Example: "Start Your Day with a Smile and a Perfect Cup of Coffee."
   • Misdirect: Using misdirection to surprise and engage the reader.
     • Example: "This Isn't Just Coffee—It's an Experience."
   • Cliffhanger: Crafting headlines that leave the reader wanting more.
     • Example: "Discover the Secret Ingredient in Our Best-Selling Blend..."
   • Twisting Popular Phrases: Modifying well-known phrases or quotes.
     • Example: "Wake Up and Smell the Coffee—Literally."
   • Personification: Giving human traits to inanimate objects in headlines.
     • Example: "Our Coffee Misses You—Come Back Soon!"
   • No-Headline Headline: Creating impactful content without a traditional headline.
     • Example: A visual of a steaming cup of coffee with minimal text.
   • Exaggerate the Benefit: Amplifying the benefits to make them more appealing.
     • Example: "One Sip of Our Coffee Will Change Your Morning Routine Forever."

Author’s Intent and Tone:

Dan Nelken aims to empower copywriters by providing them with actionable strategies and techniques to improve their craft. His tone is supportive and encouraging, seeking to instill confidence and creativity in his readers.
I've attached the pdf too in case you want to access the entire book
https://breadl.org/d/419333

2 years ago I changed forever.
I had hourly texts/emails with threats to my entire family (including names, addresses) and other things that I won't say. I changed my number 3 times and within 30 min he'd get the new one, taunting me for trying to evade him. Every text/email he sent was from a different numbeemail address using VPNs and spoofed phone numbers. He also contacted and threatened my coworkers, friends I hadn't spoken to in years, even their parents. Yes, he contacted and threatened my coworkers and the parents of friends I hadn't even spoken to in years.
Random people started showing up to my gfs work, thinking she wanted to hook up with them (the stalker used photos of her to fake a dating profile for her).
I called police in 2 states, 3 cities, and they said there was nothing they could do. They said to buy a gun and hope for the best. Keep in mind I'm only typing maybe 1/3 of what he did (e.g. he used false reports to trigger state investigations into things in order to screw up my gf's life). At one point, they called and accused ME of being the stalker, with the stalker taunting me with more texts every step since he somehow knew I was talking with police.
Even my little sister, who the guy said he was on his way to (with her exact address and apartment number, and saying how easy it was to get a gun in my state), that was all the police suggested, was for her to get a gun. She was actually completely down, but I told her she'd go to jail if she just fired a gun through a door. If she waited until he banged down the door, it'd be a 50/50 chance she'd survive, and even if she shoots first, adrenaline can keep someone going for plenty of time to shoot back.
So she slept at her work (a hospital).
And yes, the whole time I knew with 99% certainty this filth would never do anything violent, but I didn't want my sister or parents to be dead and for me to only have "I didn't think he'd actually do it" as a response.
My gf had a suspicion of who it was. When the police questioned me as if I was the stalker, I was done. I was done with life at that point. I screamed at them over the phone that if they didn't put an end to it, that I'd kill the guy my gf suspected myself. That even though I'd be in jail, it would be worth it because nobody would have to deal with him anymore.
I posted my drama to reddit, somebody suggested the FBI. I figured if the police were so fucking useless, there's no way in the hell the FBI would be helpful.
Wrong. They called just days later, sent special agents to meet me. I was terrified, I didn't think they were real. I figured their phone calls to me were fake, and the agents would just be paid associates from the stalker or maybe the guy himself. I confirmed that wasn't the case (I won't say how) and met with them. They took photos of every single text, every single phone number this piece of shit used, every email, they were cordial and professional, although one agent never spoke.
Time goes by. My gf has me check whatever random noises we hear in the house. Stalker was silent, which was almost scarier, because he of course knew we went to the feds. At the time I thought I was fine, other than severe acid reflux and left sided chest pain and my muscle wasting away and turning to fat.
One night my gf and I had absolute mental breakdowns and break up, for some drunk reason I was convinced she was the stalker all along, that's how manic I had slowly become. And after the breakup, that was when the PTSD finally set in. At random points in the day, my ears would become super-human, which unfortunately was not fun for my ear drums, and my heart would try to explode itself. I once asked a cashier once if the fans in the grocery store are always so loud, they had no idea what I was talking about. My heart rate was so fucking loud and fast all the time, luckily urgent care and later an ER visit showed nothing wrong, but breaking down in tears for the first time to an urgent care psych helped a fair bit (even though I was already in therapy).
More months go by, in a drunk rage I look up the address of the guy I suspected it was using some shady website. 15 minutes later, I get an email from the FBI saying to please be patient while they conduct their investigation. I will never be able to describe the feeling I had when I read that.
More months go bye, and while I'm showing America to the European girl I met while I was hiding and drinking my PTSD away abroad - they call me, saying who they arrested. A man who was framing the guy my ex-gf suspected. A man with a high paying job, living a quiet life. Threw it all away, arrested and in federal prison. They say the guy who was being framed is absolutely going to the sentencing and I don't blame him. They said they'll pay for my flight and hotel to attend as well, but I want nothing more to do with it.
But I do want to thank whichever redditor it was who said I should contact the FBI in my post those years ago, on whichever account it was. Those were some shitty days. hope he dies in prison

Continued from part one.
In the mirror I saw a figure of the darkness next to the foot of my bed. I screamed, only for the figure to dash back inside my closet and close the doors behind it. To the naked eye, the doors seemed to roll back on their own, but because of the many mirrors inside my room, I could see the shadowy figure.
“What’s wrong?” my mom burst into my room not even four seconds later.
“J-j-just a nightmare?” I was uncertain if my imagination was too strong for my own good so I held back on the truth.
I wish I told her the truth. That wasn’t the last time I would see the figure in the mirror.
It happened again, about five years later. Yeah it didn’t happen right away. I wondered if the figure I saw was friendly and I simply scared it away for a while. That was my first mindset, but then I second guessed myself and simply thought maybe it was just my imagination playing with me.
At age 12, things started to become rocky with my parents. They fought over the same things, but they also fought over me. I had gone into the world of music to the point where I wanted to take up guitar, piano, and violin. My mom took one side of the stance where she didn’t believe that I could commit to any of them. My dad believed the opposite, fighting that I could do anything if I set my mind to it.
Again, conflict resided. My angry mother could still barge into my room if I didn’t lock the doors. She once found me writing, insisted on me showing her what I wrote, when I resisted she pulled it away from me and read my vampire fanfiction.
I was an angsty girl. Hence my writings were a bit suggestive at the time. My mom and my dad both read my work. My dad actually liked what I wrote aside from the fact it was about the supernatural. Of course, my mother again got mad since she’s the most religious in our family. She was, in a sense, a heretic.
Needless to say, since my family’s religion absolutely detests “spiritualistic and demonic” media, I got grounded. Also to clarify, yes this also meant I never read or watched the Harry Potter series, including the Twilight series. Although I don’t think I missed out on much with the Twilight series lol. Eventually I managed to rent a book that I got from my school’s library, called Hush, Hush, which laid in my backpack, tempting me to read it.
So there I was, no laptop and in my room. I didn’t really care since I had a guitar and a notebook. I still could find pleasure outside of my laptop, which of course my mother absolutely detested as well. Whenever she grounded me, she used to take away any kind of toy. Then, once she realized I could read on my own and was making up stories when I couldn’t read, she began to take books away. Punishments with my family wasn’t really a punishment, I could always find a way to entertain myself. Even if she took my notebooks away, I’d still end up daydreaming about something, even act out scenes I’d come up with in my head.
Now you can understand why I pushed off the incident with the figure in the mirror as a figment of my imagination. I had figured it was a draft, that the wheels and tracking were well lubricated with some kind of oil that makes it hard for them to stay in place.
Sitting on my bed at age 12, I leant back and closed my eyes. I had notebooks, several books, a keyboard for me to practice piano on, and a guitar. It wasn’t a big deal. (Yes I was a spoiled child. I’m owning up to this since I was the only girl among four boys- plus I was also 13 years younger than my youngest brother.) However I was so tired, that I decided on lazily daydreaming. Besides, I could always sneak my laptop back late at night.
As a devoted writer, I continued on imagining the story I began. I imagined what it would feel like to have fangs teasing the throat of the neck, how it would be to be kissed and then bitten by a vampire... my mind was rolling and it didn’t stop. I was a twelve year old girl going through puberty.
I told myself to stop and I decided to pull out the book, smiling at my little success. I went back to the page I left off on at the library earlier that day. I buried myself into the book and became sleepy. I nearly finished the book by the time I set the book aside and stupidly put it on my bedside table.
I passed out soon after. I don’t recall what kind of dream I had at first, all I know is that sometime later in the night, I woke up again, but I could not move my body at all. I looked around my room, which was now fully dark. I barely could recognize anything around me. The familiar outline of my vanity was gone, any silver reflection was gone, I did not see a single mirror, so I knew I was no longer in my room anymore.
A slight humming noise was around me, the room I was in lit up with a red flashing light. It felt like I was being pinned down by some kind of restraint system, so I looked down and noticed these short pale creatures crawling on top of me, towards my face. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, and I knew one of the creatures had bit me already.
It became to feel like sharp knives stabbing me all over my body, until five creatures met my face, their eyes sullen- beady- staring down at me with bloodied mouths and lunged at my neck, causing me to scream..The sound finally piercing through and I could hear myself breathing again, I could hear my screams and my frantic prayers escaping my lips.
Had my mom not come into my room and slapped me on my face, jolting me out of it- whatever it was- I would have seen more than I could bare. She saw the book and her anger brewed even more at me.
“Are you tempting the demons to attack you or something?” she fumed and took the book off of the table. She led me down to the entryway and opened the garage door. “Put it in there.”
I followed her command and put the book into the garage. I knew it wasn’t the book’s fault, but it was associated with “demunz” in her eyes, so I didn’t dare argue against her.
“Do you want to die? If you keep associating with demons, you know god will never forgive you. You won’t inherit everlasting life, only everlasting death. You know that right?!?” she yelled at me, had my dad been there that night- he would have stopped her from going that far. I suddenly missed him.
Her anger then died down after she ranted at me, once she recognized that I was still petrified. She at least brought me to, which made me thankful, but I also felt betrayed. She was supposed to protect me, but all she cared about was the idea of force feeding me her belief system. All she cared about was telling me I was wrong.
“I’m-” she had begun, and I just looked away from her and saw a shadow in my mirror again, standing behind my mom. It didn’t feel as eerie anymore. It felt almost comforting to see it, it moved from my mom to me. A figure of it’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, and I felt the cool breeze raise goosebumps at it’s touch.
“Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?” her voice lowered.
“I’ll sleep alone,” I remarked, still stung with the hurt from her hurtful remark.
She looked hurt for a second, but then returned to her normal frown. “I’ll sleep in the little entertainment room next to you, if you need me just yell out again.”
“Fine,” I simply just pulled my blankets over me again, waited for her to leave, then cried into my pillow.
My mom left, not seeing the dark figure in the mirror and went into the adjacent room. At her departure, the darkness came into my bed, the eerie feeling no longer there and it snuggled against me.
Shh. It hushed me and brushed my hair.
I didn’t question it. I had been afraid of it for so long, but with the sweet affection it gave me- the affection I desired and longed for from both of my parents.
The falling tears turned into a silent sob, my body shook against the bed, little breathy whimpers muffled by my pillow.
Shh, it repeated until I fell asleep again.
When morning came, I woke up with a sore neck and I was irritated with my mom. I remembered what happened and then I snuck out to my laptop and searched up what had happened to me. I learned it was sleep paralysis and figured maybe my imagination went too far with the vampire thing. I was stiff, my body was so sore and I saw my closet doors closed.
Again, I had felt as if my imagination had made it up. I knew the kind of comfort it gave me is what I desperately longed for. It gave me what my family didn’t, and I hated myself. I thought it was a figment of my imagination since it knew all the things I wanted. That is, until something else showed up. The shadow figure in the mirrors was just the start of it all.

I've been a happy Ring customer for years and it's saved my bacon a few times providing proof to police.
Now as far as I'm concerned, installing so many products from Ring and Ring-Enabled allows me to track movement in multiple forms, direct and indirect, footage, sensors, following which lights are triggered having them strategically placed and mapped out.
Signage galore, thieves hate one thing more than being disturbed mid theft and that's being lit up hard when approaching a property and/or having an audible "your being recorded". As most low level thieves are incredibly flaky and run at any kind of first contact. My doors are sensored and I've got my shed loaded so if they breach its like them breaking in my front door, house alarm ON, go time. Chimes easily update me, bridge everything, boosters galore. Smart doors, glass break, motion, smoke alarms, co alarms, flood/freeze, all manner of indoor, outdoor cameras.
If we keep to the theology of what's important for the initial stages of property theft, scoping, lurking, lighting them up, motion sensors, tripped lawn lights at intervals early warning before cameras, spot lights engage and audible warnings or sirens, if that hasn't spooked em followed by the actual stage where the theft happens which the cops care about and what you end up sharing with them is the identifiable features. This means you have enough footage, and light on target in as many angles and for as long as possible to get those ide rifiable features, clothes, color, ethnicity, possible scars/tattoos, trinkets, bicycle type,, hair, male/female, general age. Things the cops can use. What I gave the cops clear as day when I had one loser who wasn't spooked. 4 hours later posted on social media dude was spotted and cops had him, true story. Have proof.
I live in a very rough part of town. In 2 years I've only had two door checks, and one major theft at this rental property that I have have to keep all my stuff safe. My neighbours get check regularly, I'm skipped. And I firmly Beleive its because of my extensive system, early warnings, direct and indirect and an integrated Ring Ecosystem that I've only scratched the surface of what's all compatible.

Hello again everybody!
Before we get started on today's post the current voting for Whimsicott currently has votes for B tier with a pretty solid lead!
So with that being said it looks like the fluffy hair fairy will be joining the B tier! Like with all previous votes I'll continue to check the numbers and if anything changes I'll update it on tomorrow's post.
(Please note that this voting/tiering is centered around Classic as after a certain point in Endless only about 5 Pokemon and 2 abilities are truly viable.)
So current tiers are:
S tier - Garganacl, Cloyster, Skeledirge, Gholdengo, Tinkaton
A tier - Gyarados/Mega, VenusauMega/Dyna, Aegislash, Corviknight/Dyna, Excadrill, GardevoiMega, Toxapex, ScizoMega, GengaMega/Dyna
B tier - Kanto-Persian/Dynamax Kanto-Meowth, Weavile, Starmie, Rhyperior, Quagsire, Mamoswine, Whimsicott
C tier - Linoone
F tier - Dustox
With that being said let's get to today's vote!
Today is day 30 of Tier Voting and today we will be talking about a Pokemon that won many fans over with its design all the way back in Generation 3. Aggron has extremely high physical defense and a pretty solid Attack stat at the tradeoff of a little rough on the Special Defensive side. And while it has a bit of an infamous typing in Steel/Rock and a rough Speed stat, its Mega form makes it a pure Steel type and increases its Attack and Defenses even more, making its Special Defense quite a bit more passable. It does lose STAB on Head Smash in Mega form but its survivability definitely increases in this form. It also has a Passive in this game which helps mitigate its weaknesses and when in its Mega form combined with its natural Ability to completely neutralize all of its weaknesses. It also has some amazing Egg moves (including one of the strongest moves in the entire game in Salt Cure). It does have a little bit of flexibility as it can run either of its normal Abilities for a bit different of setups and doesn't typically prefer its Hidden Ability which makes it a bit more accessible as well.
(Please note that Pokemon with Mega/Dynamax evolutions will be tiered as one Pokemon and not tiered separately for their Mega/Dynamax form. Different variants such as Alolan Persian vs. Kanto Persian will be tiered separately however.)
(Also here is the post with rules for voting/tiering posts and a little more explanation about them in general: https://www.reddit.com/pokerogue/s/0LNZhPPzR9 Links to past votes can all be found here as well in comments added to the OP with each new vote)
And here is a quick reminder of what each tier generally means:
S tier: Top tier, can make or break your entire run, essentially the cream of the crop
A tier: really strong but not quite top tier, maybe slightly outclassed or has a slight weakness holding it back
B tier: solid choices that can make it to your endgame team, might be reliant on team composition to truly function well or might just be outclassed as well
C tier: usually early-mid game Mons, ones you don't really want to take to end game if you can avoid it, usually pretty decently glaring weakness but something redeeming enough to keep from F tier
F tier: no reason to use in end game unless you're doing it for a meme/joke
Abstain/No Opinion: this will be a voting option mostly just in case someone accidentally votes and then can't remove their vote (I've noticed that happens on Reddit sometimes) or for Pokemon people haven't unlocked/used to their full potential yet. If Abstaining votes outvote each individual tier then the Pokemon will be tabled for the time being and another vote will open up for it later (can mostly see this happening with Legendaries).
(Data in parentheses is for the Mega form)
*
Aggron (Mega)
Type: Steel/Rock (Steel)
Mega: Yes
Dynamax: No
Starter cost {Aron}: 3
Possible Egg moves: Head Smash, Shore Up, Body Press, Salt Cure
Abilities: Sturdy or Rock Head (Filter)
Hidden Ability: Heavy Metal (Filter)
Passive Ability: Solid Rock - reduces the effectiveness of Super Effective moves against the Pokemon by 25%
Evolution: Aron evolves into Lairon at level 32. Lairon evolves into Aggron at level 42. Aggron can Mega evolve with Mega Bracelet and Aggronite.
Base stats:
HP - 70 (70)
Attack - 110 (140)
Defense - 180 (230)
Sp. Attack - 60 (60)
Sp. Defense - 60 (80)
Speed - 50 (50)
Learnset by level up: Harden, Metal Claw, Rock Tomb, Tackle, Roar, Headbutt, Protect, Rock Slide, Iron Head, Metal Sound, Take Down, Autotomize, Iron Tail, Iron Defense, Heavy Slam, Double-Edge, Metal Burst
Notable TMs: Mud-Slap, Curse, Dragon Rush, Superpower, Dragon Claw, Sunny Day, Rain Dance, Sandstorm, Earthquake, Dig, Brick Break, Double Team, Aerial Ace, Facade, Rest, Sleep Talk, Shadow Claw, Payback, Stone Edge, Avalanche, Thunder Wave, Stealth Rock, Rock Slide, Bulldoze, Swagger, Rock Climb, Fire Punch, Ice Punch, Thunder Punch, Protect, Whirlpool, Rock Blast, Smart Strike, Stomping Tantrum, Low Kick, Outrage, Crunch, High Horsepower, Body Press, Head Smash
*
By request, we will be doing the rest of the traditional starters (the first ones you have unlocked in the game) that we haven't done yet for the next votes, we're hoping this will give people a little more time to try out some other Pokemon so there's less Abstaining votes winning out and we feel like it should help to flesh out the lower tiers a little more since they're mostly in direct competition with each other and some are certainly better than the others. We'll start with the 3 from the list below that were specifically requested and then just start from Gen 1 and go forward from there doing the ones we haven't done yet. (Except for Charizard until its Passive ability is implemented)
Tomorrow's vote: Infernape!
Pokemon on the radar for voting very soon: Comfey, Crobat, Ferrothorn, Gliscor, Delphox, Roserade, Vileplume, Minior, Hitmonchan, Bibarel, Chandelure, Archaludon/Dynamax Duraludon, Alakazam/Mega, Flamigo, Volcarona, Alolan-Decidueye, Barbaracle, Butterfree/Dyna, Beedrill/Mega, Mawile/Mega, Drednaw/Dyna, Annihilape, Cramorant, Aerodactyl/Mega, Glimmora, Heatran, Tapu Koko, Dialga/Primal, Galarian-Zapdos, Regieleki, Regidrago, Zacian, Zamazenta, Rayquaza/Mega, Latias/Mega, Latios/Mega, Ho-Oh, Volcanion, Toxtricity/Dyna, Carbink, Porygon-Z, Cinccino, Snorlax/Dyna, Wishiwashi
(Other requests will be added to this list and this list is not necessarily in order)
Happy voting!
View Poll

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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.

for the first time in a while i broke down pretty bad. ive thought too much into myself, about the fact i was essentially groomed without me even knowing it, fed and taught into having horrible fantasies involving myself a younger self a reflection. someone else who i encapsulate and wear the skin of, and then flaunt around in awaiting to be noticed and hopefully loved, because everyone loves him, and i want love too
he speaks and thjnks on his own because i gave him life, and that life has burdened him. he wishes to be put down yet he fears death at the same time, and he screams and cries when he feels it necessary, or if he wants to fucking die, which is lovely. tonight wasnt even human it was a dog, whining and crying. a fucked up dog, fuvked up fucked up
and we botb thoight but moreso him prior to that moment that we wished to be groomed again. whether it be we deserve it, or if we want it again, eitherway doesnt matter we'll take it in anyway. just to feel a bit of thst rush again and the sheer elation of being fucked senselessly until we couldnt even think anymore, to feel the embrace of that fucking man and have him rip us apart, or us rip him apart instead
but there is nothing to gain from it besides a temporary satisfaction. the worst part about it all is the person we didnt even block, we never fully realized they groomed us until it was too late. they probably dont even know my new names but its scary the idea they could prop up ahain whenever they like. but part of me wants that, so we can have a proper relief again. who knows maybe it'll fix me, this pseudo-relationship simply to fulfil each others desires, because im an adult now. that should make me more desirable right?
bodily, at the very least of course. mentally, not so much. but that is an adult nonetheless, right? they were 3 years older than me, making them 23 then. thats within my acceptable range with other adults yeah? do you think theyd take interest in me? an older version of the sick fuck they kept contained? except its a conscious willing decision, fully and now legally consensual. hell im sure they missed me, we ended off on an awkward note but maybe they'll see i can be exactly the way i was before! a dumb bitch with a hypersexual hyperhormonal body and an appetite for those older than me
i used to think it was my sexual assault that led to me being this way. or my cousin exposing me a bit too much to the internet. or my lack of adult supervision in general. neurotypical parents cant deal with autistic kids. but really i believe i was fucked the moment i came out of the womb. like no child ever thinks thats okay! aren't they all much wiser? apparently those my age were! so why didnt they fucking DO anything? a child visibly tearing itself apart and yet the things in danger were the fictional ones. oh boohoo, god forbid you exhibit clear traits of mental illness
everyone is all for mental health awareness and support until you exhibit the undesirable symptoms and have visible signs of trauma. trauma isnt just the constant lingering sadness its the inescapable haunting thing that can never leave you and beckons you to do things you would never do. and nobody is safe, if you were there too you'd listen to it too. i remember when i first hit puberty. i blamed it on my assault because i never processed what happened to me
and then 4 years later i engage and get fascinated with overlapping stories to my own, and i saw nothing wrong with it. because i never processed what happened to me, and when i found out it was too late. justas it is with everything else
i type like a madman i must SOUND mad but i swear. im telling as much as i can and this is as coherant as one can get
ive run out of things to say

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
Archive

Palestinian Happy Family
A short story.
A father in his 30s named Ammar, looking so weak and exhausted. With his 7 year-old daughter named Lara, a thin injured girl in her arm with bandage under her brown hair covering wounds having green eyes filled with holded tears. They live inside a ruined house in Gaza.
Everything around them is dead. Wrecked streets are dead. Collapsed Schools are silent. Children and families used to fill the air here with life are now either dead, injured with no hospitals to rescue, or forced to leave places they have always belonged to.
The girl breaks a long dead silence saying to her father: “Dad…why all that happened? What was the wrong thing we did to deserve this punishment?” The father replies in disappointment: “I don't know!”.
After short silence while Lara is looking around to see what happened in pity and pain, she asks again in confusion: “How comes?! My mother and brother were killed…lost 5 of my friends who were killed also…what was our fault…before all this happened to our district, we were playing Hide and Seek after finishing our school day…can Hide and Seek game deserve this punishment?”
Ammar with a smile: “wouldn't you eat? I baked this loaf of bread to you using the oven we made together yesterday from mud, sticks, and cement…Oh! Thank God…we are really genius.” The girl looks at her father longly into the eyes and says: “Where's your loaf?” He answered: “I ate a piece from yesterday’s bread…we are out of flour now…but don't worry…I will find my way to some flour again. Don't underestimate your father.”
The girl began eating hardly but stopped again after eating two small pieces saying: “Dad! You changed the subject…what did we do to deserve this punishment?” She continues on: “You know dad! I heard someone say that it's because we are Muslims…but what about my friend Cristina who was killed last week?” Ammar says: “Oh Lara! I didn't ask my old brother all these questions when my father and mother were killed when I was at your age…I know that you have the write to ask all the time…but sometimes questions have no answers.”
Lara looks at her father's face silently and after a while she asks with pain: “Dad! Are you trying to hold your tears? Didn't you get used to being into this throughout your life? You spent your life either in war or in calm ordinary big prison sieged by poverty, corruption, soldiers, tanks, and planes.”
Ammar keeps silent and silent. All of a sudden, he breaks down crying while trying to hide his face by his hands. He begins talking with distorted voice: “What a shame; I can't do this…I can't be weak in front of you…there's no one left for a tiny girl like you in this world but me…but I’m a human…I can't stand all of this…won't I see my girl go to school in peace and joy?! Won’t I see my girl in a home again?! Will I be able to find you a loaf of bread tomorrow?! What if I can't?! What did you do to deserve all of this?! What did your mother and brother do?! What did my father and mother do?! What did my imprisoned for life older brother do?! What did your tiny friends do?! I feel weak in front of you and it kills me every single moment as a father…I and you despite our weakness should be proud…we will die but inside ruins of our home…these bricks are not of bricks…every brick means home, means motherland, means dignity, means resilience, means glory and pride…real pride.”
Lara rises up and hugs her dad who is sitting tired after a hard speech leaning on a wall standing tall from the wrecked home. Rain comes heavily on their heads. They hide under remains of a roof. Sounds of a new air raid are heard.

Throwaway bc I don‘t want this on main :(
This may sound really stupid and not educated at all but… they told me I had hpv not so long ago and I‘ve only been with 2 men my whole life:

1. my ex who was my first everything and i was also his, we dated for 5 years and broke up after a year of lies and manipulation and emotional cheating etc (all from himb btw haha). Last year of the relationship was basically long distant and the only validation I got from him was through sex. He lied saying he had work meetings but in reality I caught him meeting his girl bf lol. So i don‘t know about all the lies I never uncovered. Broke up last August
   
2. my bf who is a sweetheart and i also was his first everything, we spend all day together all the time. It can‘t be him because first and foremost he was a virgin and i trust him to death, but the first time we had unprotected sex was after the test but before the results, I didn‘t know I was going to get those. I was just having a regular check up in theory.
   

Now my question is, i‘m very used to manipulating my own mind to justify anything dodgy from guy n.1 because that was the dynamic for a whole year. I‘m no contact with him and never will be because of what he has put me through but I think I still have the dynamic from justifying him even to this day.
Would the HPV be caught through laser hair removal sessions…? Sorry if this is stupid haha. I just want to know if it‘s safe to assume that he also cheated on me physically. And that‘s literally the other possible factor.
I brought my current boyfriend up because we had sex unprotected before I tested possitive. He knows everything and comes with me to the doctors, so he‘s aware. I want to know, if I gave it to him, we have the same type of HPV, right? And if I gave it to him and I have it and we‘re both already infected, is oral safe? Or it‘s different from genitals. Sorry if this is really uneducated but I never got this info at school or anything.
Thank you💗

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

"Katsuki Bakugo, the hero known as CoolOff is a villain killer!"
The news circulates throughout the country. It's on TVs, YouTube ads, Posters, Billboards, stickers. If that wasn't enough the people are now wearing badges calling Bakugo a criminal.
"Young Bakugo, I heard what happened. Come we need to leave the country NOW" All Might stressed.
"No, I'm not leaving because a bunch of damn extras starting sympathising with a fucking femicidal maniac"

...

"I'm sorry, I'm just really agitated by this whole thing. I can't believe my entire career as a hero is over" Bakugo said as he looked down at his feet sheepishly.
"Don't be. This whole thing will blow over soon when the truth gets out" All Might responded
"Thanks"
KRAKAKAKOOOOOOOMM!
"What was that"
"I don't know but we should go check it out"
Bakugo stops Yagi
"I should go check it out. You stay, with OFA's embers down to 45% you're in no condition to go fight"
"Fine, but I'd feel more comfortable by your side Young Bakugo...That way I'd know your safe"
"Aww, your making me blush" Bakugo replied sarcasticly as he ran off.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
"There's more where that came from" The mysterious voice answered as he joyfully tormented his victim
"Please...Please stop" Izuku pleaded
"NO"
"Now I'm gonna make sure your kind never sees the sun rise again. INDISCRIMINATE SHOCK 1.3 MILLION VOLT-"
"SHUT THE HELL UP NERD"
Bakugo caught Denki off guard
"Wait. Are you that pathetic quirkless murderer guy i've been hearing about because frankly you're such a damn bore" Bakugo teased
"A-Are you making fun of me" Denki questioned
"Duh! What else do you think I was doing shit for brains"
Denki gasped
"That's soo rude" Denki reacted
"KAAACHAN!" Izuku gleefully cried
"Oh hey Deku"
"Wait. You know this juvenile" Denki queried
"Well-um yes? Kaachan and I go way back. We used to hang out back in Junior High"
"DEKU!!! Stop telling the bad guy E V E R Y T H I N G" Bakugo started grinding his teeth in frustration.
"Oh...sorry"
"HUMAN STUN GUN!" Denki electrocutes both Deku and CoolOff and runs off
All Might smacks Denki with a wooden plank effectively knocking him out
^{"Timber from Cainz...Specifically Miura Smash"} All Might careful whispers to his sleeping opponent.
"Who are you talking to?" Bakugo said bluntly
"N-No one" All Might hastily said
"Is that?...All Miiiiiiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhttttt" Izuku breaks out into a fanboy frenzy
"Yes, it is I young man. You must be awfully scared but fear not for I am here"
Izuku starts crying and tells All Might about how scared he was
"What do we do with this piece of crap now?"
"We?"
"We" Bakugo confirmed
"OW!" Bakugo yelled
"What's wrong Young Bakugo?" All Might asked
"Yea Kaachan are you alright?"
"I'm FIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNEEEEEEE"
Bakugo was indeed not fine
"You're sweating and your arms are covered with black veins"
"Huh?"
"Denki has an electric-type quirk" Izuku blurted
"Then it's worse than I thought" All Might added
"I think...You might be dying"
Bakugo laughs at All Might
"What are you crazy?"
"I'm quite serious Young Bakugo..How's your breathing and your heart rate. Check your heart rate"
"Alright All Might"
Bakugo checks his resting heart rate
"It says 160. Is that good?"
All Might dissolves back into skinny form
"You should be dead" All Might articulated
Blood starts dripping from Bakugo arms and old wounds start opening up
"That's not good"
"NO SHIT DEKU"
Bakugo's heart rate starts rapidly beating as if it were to explode
Bakugo struggles to breathe
He tries to shake the feeling off but ends up splashing his blood all over Deku
Bakugo realises his time is up and flys as far away as he can from the city and people
He explodes in an abandoned warehouse
Tears drop down All Might's face as he hears his protege's demise
Izuku goes home that night upset and gloomy.
He wakes up the next day
And punches his door in a fit of rage
His arms explode off
Terrified Izuku calls his mom for help.
4 hours later
"The surgeons have managed to successfully reattach your arms Izuku"
"Are you ok, honey?" Inko asked worried about her son's spontaneous combustion
"I'm fine mom"
BREAKING NEWS! TEEN HERO COOLOFF FOUND DEAD IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE
Inko switches off the tv
"I'll give you some space"
Inko exits the room and heads over to get some coffee
Izuku's door opens
"Mom, I thought I made it clear I wanted to be left alone"
"Well then it's a good thing I'm not your mom"
"ALL MIIIIIGGHHHT"
"Hello Izuku-Kun, I heard your arms exploded off which is why I came"
"You see Bakugo is....dead. Which I'm sure you already know but what you don't know is that I gave my power to Bakugo..One For All...And he gave that power to you"
"Me? Why would Kaachan give OFA to me?"
"Well he didn't do it intentionally. When he tried shaking all his blood off some of it must've entered your mouth or gone up your nose and with the intention in mind to transfer the power you received it"
"Why would Kaachan want to give up this power?"
"Because his burden proved to great for him to handle"
"I'm sure you took note of the media cancelling Young Bakugo"
"I did"
"Well the media kind of twisted the truth and as a result Young Bakugo has been having thoughts of quitting for months. He let his rage get the better of him and now he's....May his soul rest in piece".
"Now that your arms have been fixed I think it's time to start your training"
Meanwhile in an abandoned warehouse
"Ah! CoolOff the 9th and last user of OFA! Now OFA will finally be mine!
The mysterious man grabbed CoolOff's hand but to his surprise no OFA
"He passed it on. I should've expected this of course Toshinori's protege would have his own protege". The mysterious man thought
"No matter. I'll make use of what I can" the mysterious man said a loud as he carried CoolOff's corpse to his van before driving off
"Vive Les Puissants"
Fin.
Some trivia about this universe:

• In this universe Bakugo is given OFA (at least 2 years before he ends up in UA).
  
• Bakugo is a lot nicer and friendlier to All Might than everyone else (All Might gives up on his relentless quest of finding a quirkless aspiring hero. It's been 20 years so he just gives OFA to the strongest and most dedicated aspiring hero he can find).
  
• Izuku also pulls up to UA (quirkless. He's in the General Education Department).
  
• All Might uses tech from David and Melissa Shield as well as Mei Hatsume and Power Loader [to make up for OFA's declining embers All Might utilises tech to continue his day-to-day hero pursuits. All Might's support gear includes: Electromagnetic Soles (for speed), High Density Capture Nets (neatly compressed and fired from a gun to swiftly capture one's foes), Koete Arm Bracers (a mix between Izuku's Airforce gloves, the mid-gauntlet and the full gauntlet. It's reinforced with iron, tungsten, tantalum, and vanadium. The fingertips of the Arm Bracers are covered with potassium chlorate, sulfur, and nitroglycerin [covered with resin so All Might doesn't accidentally set himself on fire. These coin-like projectiles activate when All Might flicks them at his opponents], The QAD (David Shield's Quirk Amplification device. The prototype was a headset but since then the design has been redeveloped and has been drastically changed to a set of trendy shades), and a Jetpack (to allow All Might to fly without placing further strain on OFA's embers).
  
• Weirdly enough Bakugo has been silently doing hero work for 2 years (He's following Eraserhead's footsteps by avoiding the media).
  
• Bakugo comes face to face with his arch nemesis [the weird slime villain who got the better of him 2 years ago] and blasts him to smithereens...This creates a very unfortunate series of events of Bakugo.
  

In the vast countryside, away from the busy city of Savannah, exist hills as tall as buildings and green as emeralds. There was also an aura of calmness, with a few birds twittering away in dispersed trees, followed by the gentle swaying of the wind.
Then, out of nowhere, came a small, lonely girl wearing a once-lily-white summer dress with a striped long-sleeved t-shirt underneath it. She was also wearing a dark blue and cream-white baseball hat with the letter D on the front of it. She was moving wearily, with a pistol in one hand, and wiping her damp eyes with the other.
She knew what happened to make her weep. According to her, it was her fault that she got him killed; she was convinced by a towering man who said he knew her parents. But that was a brainless, childish lie that got Lee killed. She shouldn’t have run off. At least, Lee taught her how to use a gun and what to expect in the future before his tragic passing. But now she was all on her own.
Eventually, she came to a log, which was next to the rusted shell of a car. Anyway, she proceeded to sit down on it. Throughout all of this, she was as quiet as a mouse, only looking at her feet and wiping her blood-red eyes. She noticed that on the floor next to the log was a mixture of bullets—some shell casings and some unfired ones. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and examined it before exhaling deeply, which is when she noticed something else. Something she could just about make out if she scrutinised her eyes—something on the nearest hill—looked like two figures. One followed the other, and they looked like they stopped to look at her, making her start to hyperventilate as her eyes extended to the size of oranges. Was it someone she knew? Was it a threat to her? She didn’t know.
"Lee said I needed to find Omid and Christa before he got killed because of me." She said to herself, still looking sad, as she noticed that the two figures were now coming down the prominent hill—they didn't look like walkers. So she clasped her gun tightly until the figures came into view. She ended up not firing the gun and running towards the figures, as it was Omid and Christa, and they were alive!
Omid was a tall, slim Persian-American man with short dark-brown hair and a beard to match.
Christa, on the other hand, was a slightly taller African-American lady. She also had jet-black hair tied up in a ponytail, and she was Omid’s girlfriend.
"Clementine, honey, where's Lee?" Christa asked, kneeling to the nine-year-old.
"H-h-he's...dead." She answered with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
"Oh, Clementine, we’re sorry," Omid said, who started to kneel to her height as well.
"W-where's Ben and Kenny?" Clementine asked, still with her face buried in Christa’s shoulder.
Omid and Christa then looked at each other without Clementine noticing, and it was Omid who told her what happened to Ben and Kenny.
"So, it’s just us three," Clementine responded, now looking at Omid and Christa with her eyes dry again, a short while later.
"I guess, Clem, I guess so." Christa replied, "Come on, let’s go somewhere safe."
With this, the trio (Clementine, Omid, and Christa) began to walk, with Clementine tagging behind while Omid and Christa were in front. They were busily talking away, apart from Clementine, who was still looking at her feet, along holding the gun in her hand. As a result of this, she wasn't engaged in the conversation that they were having. She was too melancholy about what happened today. With her being kidnapped, seeing her walker parents, Lee dying, and now Kenny and Ben dying as well.
It was a lot for her to take in.
* * * * *
Sometime later, the trio found an abandoned house that had been abandoned for decades, as thick ivy hugged the walls. Furthermore, it reminded Clementine of that house they stayed at in Savannah; it was hard to believe that was a month ago.
Anyway, they succeeded in getting into the house rather than struggling, so now they could search within it.
Clementine, honey," Christa said, kneeling to her. "Omid, and I believe you can search parts of this house on your own. Just remember, if someone, walker or not, tries to hurt you, you got your gun. If you run out of bullets or are in a tight place, call us, and we will help you if you get into trouble. Do you understand?"
“Yeah, I do, Christa; I will be careful."
“Good," replied Christa, "let me know if you find anything."
With this, Clementine strayed a little by searching for anything useful on her own, though she stayed close to Omid and Christa.
As usual in the kitchen, she found faded, rusted cans with nothing but spoiled food inside. So she decided to head upstairs, and it seemed like they creaked with every step; as Omid and Christa were searching the enormous living room. Once she was upstairs, she clasped her pistol tightly and opened the door with one of her hands and the other on the pistol. Nothing. The room was that of a bathroom, with its normal interior—a bath, sink, toothbrushes, and some cupboards—which was stripped of life.
So she closed the door, walked to the next door, and proceeded to open it in the same manner she did for the bathroom. This room was that of a child’s room, which made Clementine remember her room back in Georgia, with its toys and books. It felt like she was just coming home from school and wanted to play with her dolls until supper time; it was hard to believe that was a year ago. Yet, here she was searching for anything useful in terms of survival—and not searching for a certain toy she wanted to play with at present.
“Just as well Lee found me when he did.” She said to herself as she glanced over at the room, trying to remember simpler times. When she went to school, she watched cartoons all day and rode her bike in the park with her parents. When she was thinking about this, she noticed that there was a medium-sized lump near the wall, cloaked in dust. It was a doll, and there was a string attached to its back, and when Clementine pulled it, it produced the word "Mama”.
Clementine remembered the doll that her mother gave her for her sixth birthday; it was probably still in the back of the wardrobe.
Eventually, she found an old pocket-sized backpack with a few flowery stickers, along with a dark-blue hoodie in her size.
“Have you found anything, Clementine?” called out Christa.
“Yeah, a backpack and a hoodie," answered Clementine, walking towards the edge of the stairs where Omid and Christa were.
“Just remember to check the bag, Clem; they might have something useful." Replied Christa.
“Ok," Clementine replied, unzipping the bag and then putting her hand into it, but not looking into it. Lo and behold, she found a working lighter, and it looked like it had a decent amount of fuel for a while.
Clementine then walked to the conclusive door upstairs, and like what she did before, however, the door required a little exertion to open. As a result of this, Clementine noticed that the noise she made alerted her to the presence of a walker heading towards her. This, of course, made Clementine a little timid, but she knew what to do. As her heart started to ram against her ribcage, likewise, a thick seal of sweat began to form on her hands, transferring onto her gun.
Always aim for the head," Clementine said to herself as she exhaled deeply and fired the gun. BANG!! The walker fell with a deafening thud, and Clementine was astounded at herself for shooting the walker that was coming towards her.
I did it, I did it," she exclaimed in a loud whisper. Which is when the door bursts open to reveal Omid and Christa with perturbed faces.
"Is everything OK, Clem? Are you hurt?" Asked Omid.
Yeah, I’m fine; I’m not hurt. Replied Clementine, as the trio all stood in stupefied silence at the walker that Clementine gunned down. "Did you find anything? Clementine asked after a minute of silence.
"Yes. We have found two cans of beans and some water." Christa replied.
"Oh."
“Well, let’s keep moving on, Clem. People might have heard the shot and might come here.” Omid said.
“Ok," responded Clementine. "I said already, but I found a backpack and a hoodie."
“Put it on, Clem; it’s starting to get colder, and we get going."
“Ok, I’ll put it on now."
Clementine then took off her hat, gave the gun to Omid, put on the dark blue hoodie, put her hat back on, and took the gun back from Omid. After that, Clementine followed Christa and Omid downstairs and out of the house and walked on.
* * * * *
Some short weeks later, the trio now situated in a substantial-sized forest under a thick canopy of leaves with Omid tending to a fire. Clementine and Christa, however, were sitting down on some nearby log around the fire.
Christa was busy talking to Omid about her pregnancy, whereas Clementine was busy herself by looking at the stars. The stars flickered and danced in the sky like a million tiny flames, casting a shimmering glow over the forest below. Furthermore, the sky itself was filled with low oranges, along with a mixture of light blues. Which were progressively getting into the realms of dark blues, purples and then full-on jet-black. Moreover, there seemed to be a chorus of crickets hiding somewhere in lush grasses, chirping away harshly.
“I would say that rabbit is cooked now, Omid.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” replied Omid, as he began to take the cooked rabbit off the spit – and handed it out to Christa and Clementine, then to himself.
"Thank you very much," Clementine said as she reached for the rabbit meat before going back to look at the stars. She thought to herself as she ate: "How many are there? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?"
“Hm, what – sorry Christa; what did you say?”
“Omid and I said that we are going to rest here tonight and get going in the morning."
"Ok, as my legs still ache from all that walking we did today."
"Well, get some rest, you're going to need it," Omid said, rising from poking the fire.
"Ok," responded Clementine, getting up from the weather-worn log, wishing Omid and Christa a good night before she got onto the floor near the fire and began to close her eyes. She then began to dream about what she would be doing tomorrow, what would happen, and what she would see.
The next morning was filled with colours ranging from warm yellows trickling through the gaps in the trees. Clementine rubbed her eyes before getting up from the harsh, tough ground and walked to the log where she sat last night, where she saw Omid was cooking again.
"Morning, Clem," Omid said. "How did you sleep?"
"Ok, I'd rather sleep in a bed than on the floor."
"Yeah, I don't like it either, but it's necessary until we get to Wellington."
"Where's Christa?" asked Clementine, now looking around the campsite as she noticed Christa wasn't there.
But then, five minutes later, after Clementine had eaten, Christa came back - and with this, the trio began to walk on; with her now near Omid and Christa. Yet, like last time, Clementine's fingers were still wrapped around her pistol as if it were a part of her. But instead of looking at her feet, she was looking around the pensive clearing.
The clearing was serene, where only a few walkers were roaming around, but they could be seen more evidently through a few hacked trees. The trio strolled down the lane through dappled light filtering itself through the trees; moreover, the sound of the leaves rustled in the weak wind. There was also an occasional bird twittering away on a pile of stacked logs near the broad track Clementine, Omid, and Christa were walking. There was also an infrequent number of signs that littered the road.
"TWO MILES UNTIL TRUCK STOP", Clementine read as she walked on with Omid and Christa.
"How about...Isabella?" Christa said aloud.
"Nah," scoffed Omid, "James is far better."
"That's if it's a boy, Omid. Clementine, do you have any name ideas?"
"What about...Carley?"
"Yeah, that's a good name." Responded Omid, with an expression of puzzled thought in his voice.
For the next couple of miles, they (primarily, Christa and Omid) talked about what seemed to be endless baby names for Christa's child; to pass the time. Clementine wondered if her parents had this amount of difficulty when they chose her name.
Eventually, Clementine stopped a little as Omid and Christa walked on regardless; as she noticed there was a blackbird perched on a nearby tree which cawed before flying into the lush forest.
"What do you think?" asked Omid, as he poised at the truck stop over the abandoned road before crossing it with Christa and Clementine.
"Omid, you can't be serious," answered Christa.
"I am."
"We are NOT doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because one of you is enough!"

A number of fans of the Homeworld (HW) Universe have put a lot of thought and effort into their posts and that’s a testament to the passion that HW has brought to a lot of people.
I want to start by stating it pains me to say HW 3, especially the campaign has been a disappointment. Did we know what we were getting? Yes we had clues. Did we know the potential that HW 3 could have been based on the previous games? Oh there was immense potential!
The Homeworld series has been my favourite games (including mods) since the release of HW 1 in 1999 and I was a FIG backer for HW 3. None of the games have been perfect, but the storytelling left a long term impression and naturally the desire to want more from the series and continue to story. This has led to a loyal fan base including myself. I remember reading the HW1 manual and details about the Kushan Kiithid and the ships details numerous times.
Some of the epic storytelling events in the series that have made Homeworld what it is:
· The Kushan Kithid feuding for generations on a desert planet, Kharak, to then discover an ancient starship (Khar-Toba) buried in the desert sands. The genetic study also revealing they were not native to the planet.
· Discovering the Guide Stone in the Khar-Toba with a map pointing out Hiigara “Home”
· Discovering a Hyperspace Core and the Kiithid coming together to build the Mothership with Karan S’Jet integrated as Fleet Command
· Kharak burning – What treaty did the Kharak people break and what was their past? The war with the Taiidan Empire begins to reclaim their home.
· The Garden of Kadesh and realising they were part of the same race.
· The Bentusi and discovering why the people of Hiigara were exiled to the far reaches of the galaxy.
· Defeating the Taiidan Emperor, Riesstiu IV, and taking back Hiigara
· Learning more about the Kiithid in Cataclysm, the Beast, and the Bentusi’s fear – “We shall not be bound”
· Bentus sacrificing itself so the Hiigarans and Karan S’Jet could re-unite the 3 Hyperspace Cores
· Progenitor Relics, ships and guardians
· Balcora Gate and the battle to recovering the third Hyperspace core from Makaan (who believed he was the Sajuuk-Khar) and the Vagyr
· Transferring from the mothership to the long-lost Progenitor starship Sajuuk. Seeing the mothership drift away. It was a memorable moment .
· Saving Hiigara from the Scorched Earth scenario. The fleet fought hard to save Hiigara and their people.
· The Eye of Aaran which Sajuuk and the 3 hyperspace cores unlocking the vast hyperspace gate network. Hiigara opened up a trade/exploration/colonisation network across the galaxy and beyond. Not just for them, but for all civilisations.
Finally the day comes when the HW3 Collector’s Edition arrives after waiting years as a FIG Backer. It was amazing. The artwork was beautiful. The models were great and go well with the HW2 collector’s edition. After so many years, HW3 was finally here!
I finished the HW3 campaign a couple of nights ago. First there was anger, frustration, followed by mourning the loss of such a great opportunity that could have been for the Homeworld Universe. After playing 4 previous HW games for years, it feels like the team that wrote the HW3 script really did not understand the franchise, storyline to date, and its ‘spirit’.
After watching the promotional videos from the team from Blackbird Interactive saying HW3 was for the fans that have been with them along the 25 year journey (Relic Entertainment back then) the disappointment was very real. Sure it’s a visually beautiful game and some of the game features are an improvement which they couldn’t do in HW 1 and 2, but this did not feel like a continuation for the long term fans. This felt like a simpler HW labelled game for a new fan base. Such a missed opportunity! There has been the release of Homeworld Mobile and the VR version so Gearbox are looking to maximise the revenue while they can, and I can’t blame them for that.
My HW3 opinion:
· Aesthetically, HW3 is stunning
· I really like the look of the Khar-Kushan Mothership
· Deserts of Kharak showed the struggle and Kiithid conflict aswell as how difficult life was on a Desert Planet. HW1 was about the Kushan coming together to fight for their true home after Kharak was burned. Cataclysm did a good job expanding the different Kushan (now Hiigaran) Kiithid. HW2 felt like an “unbound” storyline with the three Hyperspace Cores – Karan got her time in the limelight – the three cores and Sajuuk combined was the key to the hyperspace network and “The Age of S’Jet”. HW3 continued with a focus on being ‘unbound’ lacking the substance behind who the Hiigarans are and their history, even before their exile…a missed opportunity.
· Popular fan request – Let us finish collecting resources! Imogen and the fleet were being hunted so I understand the urgency behind the gameplay…….but still, the player should have the option to jump when they want to.
· Besides one interceptor getting stuck on an object on mission 13, I had a pretty smooth gaming experience. The intelligence of the fleet and formations was a bit dodgy which required a lot of micro management.
· Cinematics between missions. The quality varied. Feels like more time and money was spent on the development of each one instead of a decent storyline. Why did it need to be done when you compare to the predecessor games? Likely because this game was more character focussed instead of a Fleet Focus.
· Khar-Kushan colliding with the giant freighter. That would have caused catastrophic damage and serious structural integrity issues. It seemed a bit too much! An evasive manoeuvre which led to the Synth Hyperspace Core housing being damaged as it clipped the freighter would have been enough to temporarily take out, power, propulsion and two out of the three cores.
· Ship designs were bland and generic lacking the HW2 creativity. Hiigarans have discovered quite a bit of Progenitor tech so why are they still stuck with the same types of weapons.
· No Sub Systems compared to HW2
· No targetable ship components e.g. engines, primary weapon etc. compared to HW2
· IMO the fleet ship types and options were far inferior to HW 1 & 2. It felt dumbed down significantly.
· One kind of Corvette……..really???
· Hiigaran Carrier….horrible design and couldn’t keep up with the Khar-Kushan.
· Why no Ship Yard? I can understand the Khar-Kushan had capital ship building capabilities, but it still would have added flexibility in Fleet logistics.
· Fleet control options were not great and missing a few options compared to HW 1 & 2. When you have a fast paced fleet battle going on, you want to minimise the time it takes to search for ship order functions.
· Using classic controls with terrain tunnels sucked. I struggled with the camera view because of the terrain. Too often I was met with blue screen because the camera was inside a structure or terrain.
· The antagonist – The Queen of Incarnate, Tiaa’Ma. An Unbound that has been around for millennia with far superior knowledge and use of hyperspace, can move and destroy planets on a whim, can turn off hypergates or redirect them. With that kind of power, why didn’t she hunt down the cores and search the galaxy for them? A tyrant that has killed millions. The Queen in general as the antagonist and the campaign ending was incredibly bad.
· With the 3 Hyperspace Cores gone, the 15^th fleet are not the only ones stranded. The Hyperspace gate network is down for all civilisations. Far jumping is gone. What detrimental effect will that have on the galaxy at large including the Hiigaran colonies, economy, diplomatic relations with other civilisations etc.?
· Imogen’s choice not to engage with the Incarnate after their Queen was gone was poor form!
· Imogen S’Jet – The hair…dry and wet…WTF
· I personally wanted to learn more about the Progenitor. Instead, I got hive mind Progenitor worshipers and still very little information about them or those who created the cores and the gates etc.
· Sajuuk combined with the three hyperspace cores was the key to opening the Hyperspace Gates. It was a superior ship IMO. So where is Sajuuk now? Were the 3 cores removed and put into a new mothership (Khar-Sajuuk) with the primary weapon looking like a mini Sajuuk sticking out of the centre of the ship. If it is the Sajuuk with the Mothership built around it, the scale is way off. Sajuuk was a mothership size vessel!
So after that rant, HW3 is beautiful but a hard pill to swallow after 25 years of loving the HW Universe. Life goes on! I hope the loyal fan base provides constructive feedback for BBI and Gearbox Software in hope it is listened to and used to bring back epic storytelling.

I am pondering on the spirituality of having long hair, or hair in general, and how it's different, culturally, for men and women.
My family background is Catholic, but we moved away from the church when I was young. I spent many years bouncing around and studying various aspect of other religions before eventually making my way back to Christ.
From looking at different religions, and cultures, I can see that there is something about hair that is more than just a fashion choice. In buddhism there is a practice of shaving your hair, to detatch from the world around you. In Taoism, there is a practice of growing your hair to connect to the world around you. In Sikhism they also have a practice of never cutting their hair. The Rastas grow their hair in part due to Leviticus (or Nazarite vow type thing) but they also have other reasons for doing so. In the old testament we have Samson. Not to mention the old testament laws about cutting or shaving. I say all that to say that it's not something that I would dismiss quickly.
My own personal thoughts are something like this; we are created in God's image, and we have this hair on our head that grows extremely long. When looking at other creations, with fur, or feathers, it always grows to a certain length, then stays, for us humans our hair usually only grows about a metre long before stopping. So then I wonder, why is it like this?
I am not suggesting or alluding that God's image is that of an unkempt wild man, I think obviously some hygene and maintainance is expected of us, but how much?
When people join cults, the army, and in some cases when they go to prison, their hair will be shaved(also slavery). The purpose of this is to remove their identity, so they can be one of many, stripping them of their uniqueness.
(this might be a little new age influenced) I have heard it said somewhere that hair is like antennae, I think this is a Native American belief (who knows if that's accurate). I think about how women are said to have more 'intuition' than men, and how they can just 'feel things' a bit more, but what if this is neither a masculine nor femine trait, but rather a long hair trait. (If you're into conspiracies about keeping people blind you can insert one here). I myself have has long hair and short hair at different points in my life, and I can't say it personally gave me superpowers, something for sure feels different about my perception, although I wouldn't say it's not just in my own head. Jesus is often depicted with long hair, although this is only a tradition, why is it?
TLDR:

1. Many religions say long hair good, is there something in it?
   
2. God created us to have long hair, is that what he wanted?
   
3. Shaving, cutting hair is often a punishment, why do us men do it so voluntarily now? Where did this practice come from?
   
4. Hair and intuition, why women have more (of both)
   

Disclaimer:
This is a theological, philosophical, and spiritual discussion. It may be more about tradition than scripture

Hello Guys,
I have made a list of top Hair Iron Curlers according to what Redditors like the most. I've made this this after reading a lot of discussions on different subreddits and According to my insights these are the most liked Iron Curlers by redditors:
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Top Hair Iron Curlers 2024

1. GHD Curve Creative Curl Wand
2. Beachwaver PRO Curling Iron
3. Shark HD430 FlexStyle Air Styling & Drying System
4. T3 CurlWrap 1.25″ Automatic Rotating Curling Iron
5. Bio Ionic NanoIonic MX Long Barrel Curling Iron
6. Infinty Pro by Conair Secret Automatic Curling Iron
7. Ion Golden Titanium Curling
8. Iron Dyson Airwrap

GHD Curve Creative Curl Wand:
The GHD has a unique design, with a tapered barrel that starts off round and graduates to a flat oval at the top, tapering from 1-inch to 0.9-inch. Both of these traits keep the curls from molding into a strategically tapered curl, which can sometimes look too perfect and unnatural. The slight taper and the gritty finish of the barrel keeps the hair from sliding down as it can do with a barrel that has a super-glossy finish.
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Beachwaver PRO Curling Iron:
Beachwaver Pro is an innovative professional rotating curling iron invented by celebrity hairstylist Sarah Potempa. This curling iron rotates in both directions to give you glamorous, bombshell waves with the touch of a button.
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Shark HD430 FlexStyle Air Styling & Drying System:
With the Shark Air Styling & Drying System, you can easily transform between a powerful, fast, hair dryer, and an ultra-versatile multi styler with no-heat-damage. One twist is all it takes to flex from one to the other. Attach different stylers and unlock the ability to curl, volumize, smooth, and dry. Lightweight & powerful, FlexStyle is the answer to fast, easy styling.
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T3 CurlWrap 1.25″ Automatic Rotating Curling Iron:
The T3 CurlWrap features a long, 1.25″ auto-rotating barrel and 2 SmartCurl timer settings for fast, easy, flawless curls and waves. A two-way AutoTwist switch steers effortless barrel rotation, and Digital T3 SinglePass Technology powers 9 precise heat settings for lasting curls on all hair types.
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Bio Ionic NanoIonic MX Long Barrel Curling Iron:
The Bio Ionic curling iron offers six labeled heating settings ranging from 250°F to 430°F, increasing in increments of 30°F. I chose 360°F, which the brand recommends for “normal hair.” The longer, 1.25-inch thick barrel makes it easier to curl larger sections of hair at once without forfeiting your desired style. While clamps can sometimes leave kinks in the hair that force you to redo a lock of hair, this one didn’t.
I enjoyed using this iron, but some with short or medium-length hair may find it bulky or unnecessary for achieving their desired style. On the other hand, if you have long hair that makes it difficult to get an even, tight curl from root to tip, this extra-long curling iron could be your solution.
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Infinty Pro by Conair Secret Automatic Curling Iron:
InfinitiPRO By Conair Curl Secret Auto Curler is the way to create curls that won’t quit. Select a temperature, a curl type, and a curl direction, then place a section of hair into the slot. Push START & watch hair gently wrap around the barrel.
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Ion Golden Titanium Curling:
If you’re after curls that last, you might want to give the Ion curling iron with the highest temperature a shot. It really stood out in our tests, especially for those with thick or coarse hair. People loved how it excelled in so many areas, like how easy it was to grip and maneuver, the simple controls, its compact size, and most importantly, how well it kept those curls intact.
One thing users particularly liked was that the clamp is the same length as the barrel, which is great for folks with shorter hair. And the shorter handle? Well, that keeps your hand in just the right spot to reach the thumb grip easily. Just a heads up though, the handle can get a tad warm when you crank up the heat to the max.
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Iron Dyson Airwrap:
The Airwrap is a styling tool with multiple heads and a controlled heat system. Essentially, it’s meant to be your hairdryer, straightener, and styler all in one as well as a healthier way to style your hair.
But all of this innovation comes with a sky high sticker price. If it means you’re able to swap out your hair dryer, flat iron and curling tools for one item, though, we think it’s justifiable. You can also opt for sets that target different hair types and textures, including long or short barrel sets, and attachments for kinky hair.
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The scariest thing about Nothing.. about being Nothing is that nobody remembers. When nothing takes you, it's like you never existed.. till it spits you back out.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened. Hours of your life so meticulously spent doing just enough now behind you.
Time is so precious because of it's one way trip. You got forward, typical. You got backwards, something for the dreamers.. But Time was different for me today. I think that thing took me.. somewhere else. Like if.. if Time were some straight path, then it pulled me off course.
At 4:37 in the morning I took liberty in shutting off my computer. All things considered, I was running considerably late today. Work was backed up, curtesy of trucking errors. To make a long story short, 4 pallets of produce simply.. vanished. All you'd really need to gather from such meaningless information is that I was suddenly put on the for front of discovering how $5,000 worth of food had somehow grown legs and walked away.
The best answer I had..? None! I had not a clue, and after what felt like hundreds of calls, I was greeted to the warm embrace of humid Georgia air. There were no leads. I was no detective, so the ultimate conclusion of this predicament could be summed up as, "It's not my problem."
All I needed in this moment was to make my way to the bus stop. So, that's exactly what I did. Maybe twelve or so minutes had passed. I was excited to see the bus make it's way around those trees. It was by no means the longest wait, but what can I say? I was a hangry fellow.
I convinced myself that it wasn't my problem, that I wouldn't allow it to be my problem. The unfortunate thing about life is that problems have a tendency to fall into the laps of those who just did as they were told. Now, I'm not one to make some social commentary on the state of the world's general fairness, but the point to be made is my adopted philosophy that unless a problem can't just be brushed off my legs, then I'll leave it to someone else.
So maybe I'm an asshole, maybe I lack integrity, but it's honestly no deeper than "that's how the cookie crumbles." We are all cogs in the world, might as well let one of the other gears have a chance to spin! Make their money's worth.

"Helluva' night, huh?"

I jumped to such a sudden question presented to me. It was a problem, in my lap.
"That obvious?"
I responded sarcastically, looking over my shoulder to be greeted by a young face. Some kid, looked no older than twenty with orange hair and foggy eyes.. eyes that admittedly sent a shiver down my spine. The kind of eyes that.. well, you know how they say a dead person's eyes look cold? It was like that, only I wouldn't describe them as cold. Just.. empty.
"Well between the heavy sigh and tapping foot, just seems like you got somewhere to be."
Whoever this was didn't seem to be looking at me. It was quite uncomfortable that he'd just admit to having analyzed my situation, but perhaps I was looking to far into things. He just had his eyes locked forward, so why he made any effort to speak to me was still unclear. It wasn't unusual for a stranger to try to make light talk during the ride, but something about this kid irked me.
Part of me felt some level of guilt when I stopped the conversation there. I'm not sure if I'm lucky or not to say I think the kid took the hint of my uncomfortably, and for the remaining 20 minutes of the trip he was seemingly preoccupied with staring out the window. It wasn't until I stood upon reaching my stop that he ever seemed to bother looking up.. but not at me.
Again this kid had just stared straight ahead, and even now I couldn't get a great look at his face. His hair seemed to obscure it, and whatever the hair hadn't covered seemed to be so enveloped in shadow to a point that identifying him beyond his hair was seemingly impossible. He was dressed so casually, so casually that detailing his worn black hoodie and faded grey jeans would do no good.
I shook my head.. shook this problem off my shoulders feeling the weight of an unsettling interaction lift from my mind the moment I stepped out of that bus onto the final stretch of pavement between myself and my neighborhood. 5:02 AM
Where is the.. humidity?
I felt a bubbling anxiety, just crossing my arms and lowering my head.. I wanted to hide. My heart was suddenly screaming, and the irrationality of it all hit me like a truck.
"What is wrong.. the hell is wrong?"
I'd confused myself with my emotions, my eyes darting from left to right. Nobody was around me, nobody was behind me, I was alone! So I took a deep breath..
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My eyes shot open, suddenly my heart bounding and my breaths heavy. I know I head him I know I did! But he wasn't here. He was still on the bus, he never got u-..
I turned my head to look in the bus window. The doors screeched, shutting firmly as the bus engine practically roared out into the night. The wheels hummed, the burst of air sounding out as the bus continued motion.
My eyes looked into that window. The window I sat at, where he was next to me.. I was aisle side, he was window side.
He never got up.
He wasn't there.
That was the final straw. I began walking home, speed walking. To hell if anymore problems would fall into my lap. Not this morning, not today! I would get home, I'd climb into bed, and I'd sleep this off. I had to sleep.. I had to go.
"It's not my problem.."
I told myself.
"He moved seats.."
I rationalized the situation. Where did he go? I didn't see him.. He couldn't have just disappeared! Those damn pallets! I did anything I could, fought with my mind to mute my rapid heartbeat. Anything I could think of, any way to distract myself from the fact that the crickets were silent, that the stars weren't out that..
Is something watching me..?
When my house came into view, I wasted no time in fully sprinting to my door, finding my keys and barging that door open, slamming it behind me. I swiftly locked it back. To hell with a shower! I'd be damned if I were too...
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My fully body turned faster than my mind could keep up with. That damned voice!
"GET OUT OF MY HOUS-.."

But I saw nothing.
Let me paint this picture for you. When I say I saw nothing, I mean there wasn't only nobody there, but there was nothing at all. There was no room behind me, no bed, no door, no world. Empty.. empty like his eyes! There was nothing! Nothing but that one.. light.
There was a white orb. It got closer, and closer. I saw a silhouette.. It was some lengthy figure with no arms? And.. its wore this cloak of nothing. Somehow I looked into a place? No.. There was something else behind it..? Not like I'd ever find out!
One second my room, my world, was enveloped with an infinitely spanning nothingness, and in the blink of an eye it was contained into this figure! It took all the nothing!
My room was back! My world! WHAT IS HAPPENING? I don't.. remember.. But then it vanished. The nothingness was gone.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened.
Hours of my life so meticulously spent doing nothing now behind me.
It's now 3:37 in the afternoon and I remember. I crashed my car, Thomas is dead. His truck is in that ditch back in Duluth.
I remember.
That's why I took the bus.. Thomas is dead. The truck was flipped. 4 pallets gone.
It visited me tonight. Nothing. I saw that boys face, I just can't remember. Nothing.. almost took me today, but I finally understand why they never looked for me. They all forgot me too. I killed Thomas. I didn't mean to but it didn't matter! Everyone knew! It was on the news, it was everywhere! But..
Nothing walked with me tonight.. and you all forgot. You forgot everything.
~I need you to remember me!~
At 3:37 in the afternoon, two months ago, my car collided with Thomas's truck. He'd fallen asleep at the wheel. I was lucky to make it out with my life. The following weeks my story was covered by local news outlets, and the world moved on. That's what happens with Time.. but it was more than that. I'd forgotten what really happened. That boy.. he was with me, in the car, that day. I think.. I think he is the Nothing. I think he IS the.. the Void. He took Thomas.
We.. we all forgot! 4 pallets? Where'd they go? I couldn't remember the funeral! I was gone for three weeks. When I turned around and saw that light, when I came back.. when he left, it had been three weeks. I didn't have a single call! Not from mom, not from work! I was FORGOTTEN!
But.. it's not my problem anymore.
You all really forgot. I got went to mom's and my pictures were gone. Dad's? Same thing. I was gone, for three weeks. Nothing took me. Nothing is.. mad at me? And I don't know why! I was nothing.. someone please! Suddenly I’m back and all the work I left behind is still here. I was gone! The world has proved it. But.. nobody remembers? All the logs! It’s all here. I WAS gone. You can see it in the company finances, yet nobody thought to look for me? Nobody noticed I’m back..? It’s like I never left?
Do any of you remember?!

My (34F) fiance (44F) have been together for 11 months, engaged for 9 of them. When we first met, I got out of a very toxic and abusive relationship [on both sides]. I was with someone that used me as a trophy girlfriend and I was using them for security and stability. We were both aware of it. Not my proudest moment.
Yesterday was his Birthday, and something happened that made me question whether he gaslights me, and how long he’s been doing it.
It was the hottest day of the year so far. We had to drop off his car to get his steering fixed. To kill time, we decided to walk downtown and sit down somewhere to have a bite.
We went into a small resto neither one of us have been in before. Being bisexual, I immediately noticed how attractive our waitress was. She was dark haired, slim, with beautiful manicured hands and was about 20-22 y/o.
He started following her with his eyes even before we sat down inside, when she was working on the patio. When she came to our table and took his order, he literally kicked back in his chair as he told her his order, which made it look like he was obviously stunned by how hot she was. After that he made every attempt to discreetly follow her with his eyes all over the resto. One time when we were talking, he did that thing that guys do when they steal a glance at a woman they find hot, then right back at you just as you’re looking back at them, making it seem like they’re only looking at you. He did that twice. I made it look like I didn’t notice, but I did.
Well aware of what was happening, I asked him “How old do you think our waitress is?” He replied, “Which one?” There was another older, overweight lady working in the resto together with that girl. He also started staring in the direction of the hot waitress, seeking her out with his eyes and making it out like he never even once looked at her before I asked him that question.
I was floored. I realized, in that moment, that he blatantly lied to me. My heart sunk. He asked me what’s wrong, I said “You don’t remember what our waitress looks like? The only person you’ve interacted with in here besides me?”, he said “No, I wasn’t paying attention, but I will now to tell you how old I think she is, which is about 20 now that I’m looking at her.”
This developed into a fight where he was denying ever even looking at her, when I could clearly see he also found her hot and literally couldn’t stop following her with his eyes. I left the resto abruptly and said “Enjoy your meal.” I never ordered food, only had water.
We met up afterwards, and this thing turned into a whole-day fight. He kept saying things like “You’re making this up”, “There is something wrong with you”, “You’re delusional” and “You should know me better than that! But instead, you’re making me feel like a piece of shit who is slutting around out there.” He always reminds me of how good of a guy he is and is always shocked as to why I don’t full trust him “this far into the relationship”, to which I reply “What? 11 months? That’s just the honeymoon phase honey. I still don’t know you.”
I never backed down once. I stood my ground and kept saying “I know what I saw” the entire day. The thing is, it’s not that he found someone else hot - we are all human, that’s bound to happen. It’s that he blatantly lied about it, gaslighted me, and made me feel like I was some psycho with delusional thoughts.
I felt sorry for this whole thing falling on his Birthday which I’m sure I’ll hear about for a while, but I refuse to sit there and be disrespected like that, especially since he’s a guy that constantly tells me that I’m “amazing” and “the most beautiful woman he’s ever met.” Certainly doesn’t feel like that when he can be so swayed by a young waitress and lies about it.
TL;DR My fiance found a waitress hot and completely denied it despite me sitting beside him the entire time.

/NintendoSwitch's Daily Question Thread

The purpose of this thread is to more accurately connect users seeking help with users who want to provide that help. Our regular "Helpful Users" certainly have earned their flairs!

Before asking your question...

• Check out the wiki pages listed below. - (If you're interested in becoming a wiki contributor, message the moderators.)
• Perform a quick Google search. - Sometimes it is actually quicker to search for something than to wait for someone else to answer.
• Search the subreddit. - Many questions have been asked before! reddit's search functions a bit differently than Google.

Helpful Links

Wiki Resources

• Frequently Asked Questions - Our FAQ has answers to many questions about the console system and controllers.
• Lost & Found Guide - Did you lose your Switch, or are you someone who found a Switch? Info on how to get it back!
• Tech Support Guide - Info on how you should react in case you discover a technical issue on your Switch.
• Error Code Lookup - Nintendo's Error Lookup System.
• Digital vs Physical Games - Listing the pros and cons of both formats to help you decide what will work best for you.
• Game Share Guide - Info on how you can share your digital games across multiple Nintendo Switch consoles, including playing on both consoles at the same time.
• Other Switch Related Subreddits

Wiki Accessory Information

• Accessories - Starter information about controllers, chargers, cables, screen protectors, cases, headsets, LAN adapters, and more.
• MicroSD cards - Some more in-depth information about MicroSD cards including what size you should get and which brands are recommended.
• Carrying Cases - An expanded list of common carrying cases available for the Switch.

Helpful Reddit Posts

• The /NintendoSwitch Best of 2017, Best of 2018, Best of 2019, Best of 2020, Best of 2021, and Best of 2022 Award Winner Recaps - A good place to start when you're looking for a game recommendation.
• The Switch is not USB-C compliant and overdraws some USB-PD power supplies by 300% - Why you shouldn't use just any USB cable, should research portable power banks, and avoid using third-party docks or wall chargers.
• Choosing Your Nintendo Switch Charger: A Comprehensive Guide to Understanding the Options - What sort of wattage you should look for in a battery bank or wall charger to get the best charging speeds.

Third Party Links

• Benson Approved USB Type-C Cables
• Benson Approved USB Type-A Cables

Reminders

• We have a volunteer run #switch-help channel in our Discord server.
• Instructions and links to information about homebrew and hacking are against our rules and should take place in their relevant subreddits.
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• Make sure to follow Rule #1 of this subreddit: Remember the human, and be polite when you ask or answer questions.

Hey, hi, hello.
I’ve been posting on and off for a few years now and I’m sure some of you are sick of seeing me. Oh well, we’re in this sub for one reason and one reason only: to find a connection and possibly a happy ending.
I’ve been told I’m too picky and too open about myself; I don’t think Im either of these things. We all have different tastes and expectations from other people and that’s fine. And yes, I am very open about who I am, shouldn’t we all be? Would save us some disappointment.
I did try numerous dating sites and chatrooms but to no avail; those whove been in the same situation know what’s that like. I have a fair share of horror stories from dating apps and who knows, one day I could share these with you!!
Before I move onto the spiel about myself and how much of a catch I am please read below:
About you:
-living the UK/Europe/US (max of 6h time difference)
-a straight man
-a homebody, with the occasional want to go out and do things
-aged 29 – 48 (I will not reply if you’re not within the age bracket)
-speak English (for communication purposes duh)
-child free (and must want to remain this way)
-MONOGAMOUS
-NO PREFERENCE HEIGHT OR BODY WISE, I’m all about a nice face
-impeccable basic personal hygiene (not expecting you smelling like your local perfume store)
-no addictions (ie excessive alcohol use, smoking and any type of illegal drugs)
-respectful, loyal, funny, affectionate, caring, loving and patient (a lot of it needed with me).
-will not demand any personal content (if you know what I eamn)
-in full time employment (if we are long distance, how else are you going to fund your travels?)
But beyond all that I’m after a best friend. Someone who will have my back until the end. Someone who will accept me for who I am and wouldn’t want to change me (I can offer the same back). Someone who will enter my life and assume the role of my partner (eventually) and join me on this rather bizarre journey called life. Don’t give up on me and I wont give up on you.
I will not respond to any messages along the lines of ‘hru’. ‘hi’.
Once again, no budging on the age or location.
If your profile contains anything inappropriate, I won’t respond either.
I think I made myself more than clear.
Just one more thing, I promise!!!!
This is not to get any attention or sympathy or help; more of a prewarning. I have met a lot of amazing people on here who got their hopes up about me and once things didn’t seem to be as amazing as this image, they had of me they left.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 12, as well as severe anxiety (no self-diagnosis here, by an actual professional). I take meds for it but some days are worse than the others. I’m also on the waiting list to get help, but like me you’re in the UK you’ll know what this is like (no issues with the NHS, they’re amazing; just overworked and understaffed). I can’t afford to go privately. At this moment in time,I am about 2 years away from seeing someone.
I suffer from fibromyalgia (if you don’t know what this is, just google it) in late 2019 after ruling everything out. I have days when I’m extremely exhausted and in a lot of pain. I still go to work and try to go on about my life as much as possible but please bear that in mind.
Ive been taking all sorts of meds too, including painkillers to control the pain.
Please don’t see me as someone hopeless or feel sorry for me. This is not the point of this confession.
My name is Anita and I’m a 29yo Eastern European woman, living in the UK just outside of Bristol. I’ve been here for the last 17 years and I consider myself England my home. I’m not considering moving back at any point in my life (however I’ll move elsewhere for the right reasons and right person). I will share my exact location once we’re acquainted a bit more.
I’m 6ft tall (yes I am this tall and I’m aware that it’s way too tall for a woman) and. weight approx 13st or 200lbs (my weight keeps fluctuating a lot and no, I’m not looking for any tips to lose weight). I dye my hair red but it’s more like ginger these days. I have green eyes (they’re useless as I wear glasses) and I wear a lot of black eyeliner lol. I guess you could say I’m kinda emo/goth?
An extreme introvert since I was a young one (definitely not shy, in fact I can get a bit volatile when it comes to standing up for myself). I don’t need to get out of my shell, so none of that please. I like my own company as well as my loved ones; and leaving the house only for work and groceries suits me well.
I’m a vegetarian (not a deal breaker if you’re not; your choice is to eat meat and mine isn’t. Respect it and you shall receive the same back). I think it’s time for everyone live and let others live too.
Tea, coffee and snack addict! (I love herbal tea with no sugar or milk; coffee wise I like a good cap or a caramel macchiato as a treat. Snack wise anything goes really. Fruit, crisps, cake and sweets!)
Bookworm (I haven’t read in a long time, I love books I promise. Just haven’t had much time lately. I have a stack of them which is growing. I need to finally find some time and immerse myself in one of many crime novels I have).
Apolitical (now, I read the news everyday but I do not support any of the parties. They don’t care about you or me, sorry to break this to you).
Animal lover (I have 4 rescued cats two boys and two girls aged between 10-11 who are my absolute life. In total, my mum and I have rescued about 60 cats in the last 10 years. We found them safe and loving homes but for some of them unfortunately it was too late).
No addictions here (I don’t drink or smoke; although I like my vapes a lot).
In my spare time (whatever I get of it) I like to go for walks, listen to music and podcasts, nap, watch tv, chill with my mum and cats, go shopping and grab a coffee with my ma, visit my brother in London, over eat, over think and read books.
I don’t really have any hobbies.
I don’t game religiously but I do enjoy sims 4 (someone told me that isn’t gaming although I’d say it’s a computer game so clues in the name but what do I know, right?) I don’t watch anime either, tried once and couldn’t get into it.
As you can tell, I’m just a relatively unremarkable human being, trying to find her place in this world. And I’m happy about that, being in the limelight is the last thing I know.
With that being said, if you managed to get through my ramblings and they somewhat resonated with you, shoot me a message.
Message me with your name, age and location and what caught your eye about my post. Don’t have to send me your picture right away; I won’t send mine until I’m comfortable enough. To show that you have read, end your message with ‘toodlepip’.
I will respond as soon as I can but please note that there might be delays in messaging back due to well… life being life I suppose.
And if you didn’t like what you read… well then scroll along, no need to let me know about this in the comments or to message me to call me names. It’s nice to be nice.
Thank you for reading this and looking forward to seeing some messages. If not, best of luck in your search!!!