Head shops in in manhattan ecig

1. I installed a new head unit and was advised to change the A/C blend unit, which I did. 2. I’ve taken my truck to three different shops. Each one has given me a different diagnosis and fixed various things, but none have resolved the issue. 3. The system has been filled with refrigerant and checked for leaks – there are none, apparently. 4. I’ve also had a new compressor installed. 

1. I installed a new head unit and was advised to change the A/C blend unit, which I did. 2. I’ve taken my truck to three different shops. Each one has given me a different diagnosis and fixed various things, but none have resolved the issue. 3. The system has been filled with refrigerant and checked for leaks – there are none, apparently. 4. I’ve also had a new compressor installed. 

So to clarify 1 I am British so my terms my confuse people. 2. This happened in summer 2021 and also a heatwave. 3. names are changed for GDPR purposes.
I use to work in a care home for MJ a beautiful lady in her 30's with physical and learning disability also blind with fragile bones (which is important later). MJ a little petty and finds being naughty or cheeky hilarious.
We were out on a girly shopping trip for new wardrobe as MJ had drastically gained a lot of weight during over 18 months due to physio and hydro being cancelled due to covid and building work. Due to her needs her wheelchair is a little longer and bulkier than the average and her right leg support is straight out as she cant bend it . (also important for later), Also I have to explain what's going on every few minute so MJ knows what's going on and MJ doesn't always know if she's involved in conversations so this is also explained.
After a lovely brunch is a department store we headed down in lift. To resume the shopping. This is when the incident occurred. due to the size of her wheelchair she takes up a good portion of the lift so I have no room to move, can only wheel in and reverse out. As the lift lowered I could hear children approx. 5 -9 in age and guessing 4 in total. The doors took there sweet time to open.
When they did I quietly swore because the store had a massive redesign during the lock down and what was once a nice clear area around the lift was now a narrow area surrounded by a sofa and display stands leaving me a very tight turning space. I then realised the children I heard where using this narrow space to play It/tag and were not 4 was about 6 to 8.
I called out to them to Excuse me let us through please. No answer from children and no parent telling them to move . Children still running. MJ is already in giggles as she has worked out things are not going to the plan.
I am now aware that the lift doors will shut again soon so reverse out a little to make sure the safety sensors keep doors open. Also hoping this means the children's adult might notice me better and control the little chaos.
I hoped to much and they got louder so I got LOUDER. I shouted You need to move now your in my way. MJ is now in tears because she thinks I'm shouting at her and is asking why. So I whisper to her to not worry its just some naughty children blocking our way out and I might need to yell at them again and she calms down.
This is when the boy who I think was the oldest replied "where not taking up that much space just walk around us." So waved him closer and he came over I explained the problem. " You see these handles I'm holding on to" he nodded "this means its not just me I need space to turn MJ around, so please give us that space and sit on sofa". His reply "my mummy got through okay with my sister is our pram so you get your baby through too". MJ has decided to join in by singing, "I'm not a baby, your a baby, move naughty naughty baby" . I then spot the mummy and wave my arms in the biggest motions possible to get her attention. But apparently the lacy bra she has in her hand holds all her brain power.
So I shout again. "I'm going to count to 4 and if you kids are not out of my way that's your problem not mine anymore". 1, still kid chaos, 2 , 3, nothing 3 and a half, FOUR !. So I reverse in one quick motion. I'm amazed that I didn't hit walk in to anyone. I take a moment to asses the best route to go and yes the children are still running around. but I no longer care. So I choose go to the section on the left and to do that I have to turn slightly right step backwards line up the wheelchair then go foreword. And the smallest child chose that very moment to run out right in to MJ's right leg support. MJ starts laughing at me for being a bad driver think I hit a display with her leg. I whisper to her what's happened and she laughs more, shrugs and winks at me "oops you told them". Children run over to see there crying sibling and one runs off to tell mum about the mean lady. I check the little girl over (I'm first aid trained and she risked more harm to MJ then her) and went to shop. That's when mum finally appeared and yelled at me "Watch where your going, you Spazzie Retard you hit my kid."
So In the UK these are about the worst words you can use to describe a disabled person. I took the worlds biggest breath and willed my professional BS filter to sensor my inner rage. But MJ had my back. " I can't watch where I'm going I'm blind and she had to parent your kids because you were too busy, she meant to help me shop not babysit kids , good bye B\*ch". I smiled sweetly trying not to laugh and we left her shouting about court . A staff member came over to see if we okay and I explained the situation and they go kicked out of the store of endangering customers.*
After reporting this story to the manager she laughed (unofficially told me served the woman right) and told me to record it for policy just in case she memorised the logo on my badge .But I did not get into trouble. No one was harmed apart from a possible bruise on the child's leg.

English is not my first language so be patient with me lol. We’ve been friends for 2 years. She always said that birthdays aren’t her thing so I wanted to make today special about her.
We have agreed to go shopping in the morning. She ended up not getting anything and I could see that she was pissed off. I asked her what was wrong and she said “We are in the mall all day with you shopping around and I didn’t get anything!” (???) I was confused but decided to not speak up and let it slide.
Keep in mind I had planned her birthday dinner with 2 other girls tonight. After we left from the mall and I got home she called me crying and upset. I asked what happened and then she lost it. She basically said “I was out all day with you shopping around when it was supposed to be about me today!! Also it was so annoying that you kept asking me if I liked something so you would get it for me as a gift! Gifts don’t work like this it was frustrating!!”
At this point I felt so mad and disrespected that I raised my voice at her. I told her that she is being ungrateful and that all I wanted is to make her day special. She then went on crying-screaming and saying that I didn’t even bought her a birthday cake and that all friends do that normally…
We eventually hang up and I was crying from frustration. I had 1 hour left before dinner and I was hesitant about going. I ended up showing up and getting her a birthday cake but it wasn’t heartfelt. I did it because of guilt. I was mad and pretending to have a good time while she acted like nothing ever happened.
Now that I am home I replay the whole day in my head and feel like I am going to explode. What are your thoughts?

Recently I purchased a Canyon Lux, which makes my old Hardtail, the Grand Canyon pretty much obsolete. The Lux is lighter, has more travel, dropper post, better geometry and so on.
In additon to thos two bikes I also own a Focus Atlas which I have so far used for gravel and bikepacking, but for some of the bikepacking routes I have done I really wished I had those fatter tires and MTB drivetrain, so since my Hardtail isnt being used anymore I thought I would convert it into some kind of poor man's Salsa Cutthroat.
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Here are my thoughts and ideas:
First things first! The current suspension fork has to go. Its worn out and since the bike doesnt have a tapered steerer tube I cant really upgrade it, so I wanna go for more reliability and some more extra mounting holes. For that I want a simple rigid fork. Ideally it has the capacity for cargo cages and take a 15x100 thru-axle, but quick release would work fine as well with my current wheels and it would be below 200€.
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So far pretty simple, but here comes the part where I'm still scrathcing my head:
Handlebars & shifting! As it is right now the bike has a flatbar, Sram GX mechanical drivetrain and Shimano SLX brakes. I really wanna swap to drop bars, because I presonally prefer them for the riding I do, but that comes with some problems. In a perfect world I only wanna swap the stem, bars and shifters and thats where I really need your help!
My first idea was to keep the brakes, keep the drivetrain and use Shimano 12 speed GRX or road shifters, because that way, I think, I could keep the brake calipers and all of the drivetrain. Could I make this setup work with something like the WolfTooth Tanpan or a similar product?
Second idea was to get rid of the brakes and buy a pair of eTap Shifters along with the brakes and upgrade the derailleur to a GX AXS one while this is pretty simple and should definitely work (at least if they still make postmount rear brakes...?) it also is pretty expensive and I think I would prefer not having to worry about charging batterys while out bikepacking.
And my last idea is something I came across yesterday. Get Sram 11 speed shifters and brakes and buy a Ratio 1x12 Wide Upgrade Kit. While I'm quiet sure this would work as well I am not quiet sure about how expensive it would be since I havent gotten around to window shopping a pair of those shifters and brakes.
What are your thoughts and possibly other solutions you have found to these problems?
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As for the frame I only have one concern: My cables are routed externally and beneath the top tube where there are out in the open, not in an outer cable. My concern here is that they would interfere with a potential frame bag that I would like to mount. Does anyone have experience with this?
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And the last thing I havent quiet figured out yet is rear storage. On my Atlas I currently use Focus' adventure rack in combination with a Topeak Backloader, the Backloader would work on the Hardtail for sure, but the bike doesnt have any fender or rack mounts, so I've been wondering if there are options out there that would allow me to either, ideally, mount my adventure rack, since I already have that or mount a different kind of rack, which doesnt need rack mounts to mount to your frame.
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Greatly appreciate any input and experience you might have to share!
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I think a lot about signals. Signals that show people what groups they belong to. Signals that hide the truth. Everybody uses signals to blend, entice, or trap.
Grandma Pearl died not long after her stroke, and I've been making bad decisions ever since. Maybe my expectations are too high, or I'm just an idiot. Either way, I ran away from the group home to be with people who called themselves my "family." They were the wrong people. They used the words family, brother, sister, and love like lock picks, stealing trust, and taking self-respect.
The only person I remember using the word family correctly was Grandma Pearl. She was a small woman who toured the US as an actress before settling with Granddad above their theatrical rentals shop. I was three when the car accident took Granddad and Mom, so I don't know if they used the word "family" correctly, but I hope they did.
I was never as outgoing as Grandma, but that didn't bother her; she taught me how to watch people. How to see their signals, and how to listen. When she died. I forgot a lot of those lessons for a while.
They called it a "family". The "family" moved product. That product could be goods, drugs, or people.
The uninitiated, like me, were distracted with food and a dry place to sleep, but it didn't take long to see behind the curtain. Things got too intense with the new "family" and I ran.
I ran back to my old neighborhood. The buildings were familiar even if my home was gone. The old theatrical shop had been turned into a microbrewery.
After an appropriate amount of self-pity, thirty minutes, I wandered the alleys, picking up cans or scavenging for bits and pieces that could be recycled, used, or bartered.
I recognized old faces, but I tried to stay out of sight. It was safer that way.
The only place I allowed myself to be seen was the old Lutheran church on the park's far side. Most people who might have known me had aged out of the congregation or died. It was worth the risk because St. Lazarus had a food pantry in the basement and gave out lunches most days, so I wasn't always hungry, which was nice.
I found a dry spot near the library to sleep, which seemed like a stroke of luck until it wasn't.
I had the contentment that came with being in a familiar place. Little bits of comfort let me believe, for a moment, that I wasn't a screw-up and hadn't trusted the wrong people. That moment scurried away when Stick found me.
Stick was a scary asshole. He technically wasn't in charge of the " family," but he made it work. He got things done. I have no idea how old he was. He was all corded muscle and could clock in between twenty and fifty. He looked half-starved and moved like a stalking predator, even with his limp.
His left leg was stiff. The knee didn't bend, and anytime he sat, his left leg would be splayed to the side like a kickstand on a bike. The leg was why he walked with a cane. The cane and how he used it was why we called him Stick.
I don't know why he took the time to track me down. It's not like I was wanted. Maybe it was that I had become property. Property shouldn't just wander off.
Sometimes, you feel a person before you see them. The air is different. When Stick was around, the air felt dead and motionless. I knew I was being watched before I opened my eyes.
Stick was sitting on a milk crate, his bad leg cocked to the side and his forehead resting on his cane. I pushed myself out from beneath the ductwork of the HVAC unit I had been sleeping under and slapped the dirt off my jeans.
"I thought that was you," Stick said as his sharp grin curved up to his unblinking dark eyes.
Stick wanted my discomfort. I'd seen him play the intimidation game too many times. He'd act too friendly, and then when you were good and worried, quick movements, a hand around the back of your neck, and violence would be next. Then he'd act like the whole mind fuck was a big joke, like you were friends, and isn't it great that you can joke around with someone who "really" cared.
It worked, too. If you were the unfortunate focus of Stick's attention, you would be grateful when he smiled and said, "Just a joke, kid. Don't be so sensitive." I'd seen the pattern enough times to know Stick trained people like dogs with his hot and cold game. I didn't like the game, or the fear, so I changed the pattern.
"Hey, Stick, did you come to help pick up cans?" I asked, making sure my smile reached my eyes. I was trying to be pleasant while ignoring the burning nervousness in my gut.
It was still dark out, but I could see Stick's expressions well enough.
Stick tapped his cane on the sidewalk and squinted at me skeptically before answering. "Just checking on my little brother."
We were not related.
Stick liked to call the uninitiated his little brothers or little sisters. He forced intimacy into his language. I didn't argue the point. Interactions went best with Stick when you agreed with everything he said.
"Thanks, man," I complimented, trying to sound genuine and ignorant as I stepped forward and offered him my hand.
Stick didn't move, but I could see that this conversation wasn't going as planned for him, and I forced myself not to react to his confusion. I couldn't break character, or he would know I was playing him.
Stick tapped his cane on the ground twice, grasped my hand, and stood. He watched me. I held his stare, but in an open, naive, guileless way that I had perfected in front of the mirror as grandma gave acting advice while she put her face on.
I once asked Grandma Perl why anyone would practice acting stupid. She pointed her mascara brush at me and, in her ditsiest Minnesota Nice character, said, "It's easier to be forgiven when people think you're a little dumb, don't ya know?" Like with most things, Grandma was right.
Before I understood what had happened, Stick pulled me into his side and slung an arm around my shoulder.
"You don't have a name yet. Everyone gets a name, but they don't get to pick it." He paused and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. "I have a name for you, little brother. You are going to be called Slide." Then he held my chin and forced eye contact." Your name will be Slide because I have never seen anyone slide out of shit faster than you. I can't tell if you do it on purpose or not, and I've been watching. I watch everybody. You do, too. Hell, this might be the first time I've ever heard you talk. So let's celebrate your name, Slide." Stick's smile slipped as he pulled me out of the alley. "We'll go do something special."
I stayed silent, knowing full well what was coming. Being named meant doing something you could never take back. It was public and would put you in prison if the police ever took the time to look for you. It meant severing yourself from your life before and relying entirely on the "family." I had been absent each time naming seemed to be in the cards, but I couldn't duck out this time.
There was only one place to go at this time of night that would have an impact, the Bodega.
The Bodega was a red hole in the wall with a glass door papered over with grocery ads years outdated. Canned salmon two for one seemed to be the dominant theme. Although there were two large windows, one on either side of the door, you could barely see in. The right window was a tapestry of cigarette promotions. The left window displayed the only swath of uncovered glass with a view of the interior. From the outside, the view was of tobacco, lottery scratchers, and Old Lady Imitari.
Old Lady Imitari owned the store. She was a short, dark-haired woman who always wore a long floral tank top. Grandma Pearl loved the old woman but said Imitari looked like an old man's thumb all the years she had known her, and Grandma moved to the neighborhood with Grandad thirty years ago. Imitari was a local legend even then because the Bodega was open twenty hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and no one else worked in the store. Grandma used to make an extra strong coffee called Barako and chat with Imitari sometimes when work in the shop was slow.
I would sneak out at night and try to catch Imitari sleeping. No matter the time, I never caught her snoozing, and she always saw me peeking at her through the window. I know she saw me because she would uncross her arms and wave her flyswatter at me.
All these memories flicked through my mind as Stick smiled his too-wide smile and pushed me into the Bodega.
Imitari flicked her fly swatter at me in acknowledgment, and her attention returned to the small TV she had nestled beside the cash register, which seemed to be the old woman's only real tether to the world outside her shop.
The inside of the Bodega was just a long hallway with shelves of convenience foods, drinks, home supplies, candy, and cold meds covering every available surface from floor to ceiling. The only break in the tunnel of products was the glass counter at the back corner of the store; Imitari presided over her mini domain by casually ignoring her shoppers. I tried to make eye contact with the old woman again as Stick pushed me to the back of the shop, but after her initial acknowledgment of our entrance, Imitari's eyes stayed focused on her TV.
As casually confident as possible, I walked to the cooler and grabbed an iced tea. "Want a drink," I asked over my shoulder, my voice unusually steady, given the electric current of anxiety flowing through me.
Stick sneered and tapped his cane twice on the ground. His eyes found all the security cameras in the tiny store, a frown creasing his angular features.
I followed his line of sight and finally realized what had bothered him. The cameras were fake. They looked like security cameras, but they weren't. There were no wires or lenses, just rectangles and circles in a security camera shape.
Stick took a deep breath and tapped his cane on the ground again. " There… is … so… much… here… to… see… but… no… one… is… watching," he said with a singsong. Then his sneer turned into a cruel smile.
I knew Stick wanted an audience for what he would force me to do. The fact that the security cameras were fakes meant that whatever was going to happen would now have to be significant. An event that the neighborhood wouldn't be able to ignore. My stomach twisted with the thought.
Stick waggled his eyebrows at me. He had been watching. He had seen my thoughts, and we both knew he had something terrible in mind.
The cane twirled in Stick's hand and then tapped twice on the shop tile.
"I think I want a little bit of this," Stick said, gesturing wildly with his cane, sending a row of soup cans tumbling to the floor. "And a little bit of that," Stick added as another wild gesture sent cups of ramen spinning and knocking glass bottles of hot sauce to the floor.
I stood paralyzed, unable to run. I was trapped with nowhere to duck away to. I didn't want Stick to hurt Old Lady Imitari, and I didn't want Stick to hurt me, either. The truth was, he would hurt both of us no matter what I did. That was just the way Stick was. I'd seen him. I'd seen him show us who he was every day.
Then I realized Imitari hadn't moved. She was watching her TV and chuckling at the sitcom as if nothing had happened.
Stick glanced at me, confused. I almost felt sorry for the sociopath. His night was not going to plan.
Imitari chuckled at her TV again, and a crease formed in the middle of Stick's forehead, letting me know that he was beyond angry. He was calm, dangerous, and vicious. People had been left for dead when Stick got this way.
Stick raised his cane and flipped it so the handle jutted like a pickax. He was going to attack Imitari.
Somehow, I moved. I didn't do much, but when I slid forward and grabbed the back of Stick's shirt, the cane missed Imitari, and the sharp handle punctured the thick glass top of the counter just above a roll of Lotto scratchers.
Old lady Imitari slowly looked up into Stick's eyes and smiled. Her wide, gentle frown was replaced with a look of joy and something else, something primal, something hungry. Her pupils were blown, and I had the uneasy feeling that I was watching someone be served their absolute favorite meal.
Before Stick could pull his cane from the punctured glass, Imitari casually reached forward, grabbed the cane, and pulled the wirey man forward. Small, old, and wrinkled, Imitari stared into Stick's eyes and overpowered him.
Stick fell forward across the counter. He tried to push himself back, but Imitari's hand clamped down on his wrist like a vice.
Bones ground together as Imitari pulled Stick's hand to her mouth, and with a swift, subtle movement, she bit off the tips of Stick's pinky and ring finger like she was sampling a cookie.
I jumped back next to the cooler as a thin spray of blood arched toward me.
Stick screamed and thrashed, but Imitari's small form was static and immovable. Stick was a fly in a trap. No matter how much he struggled, punched, poked, or kicked, he could not break the old woman's hold. Then, slowly, she took another bite.
It was strangely fascinating watching the frail form of this old woman I had known for years take bite after bite out of Stick. This man, whom I thought of as a predator, a hunter, an enforcer, was crying and begging while an old woman, who looked like a wrinkled thumb in a floral top, quietly devoured him.
I was surprised by the lack of blood after the first spray. I'm sure it was Imitari's crushing grip that stanched the flow of blood. The flesh of Stick's arm looked white from the pressure.
Hand over hand, Imitari pulled Stick forward. Bones cracked as she gripped higher on Stick's arm, clamped down with her long leathery fingers, and fed the flesh and bone, one concise bite at a time, into her open smiling maw. It was rhythmical in its simplicity: chomp, crunch, chew, chew, swallow. Over and over, the pattern continued until the begging stopped.
Stick wasn't dead. He gave up. Not struggling, he laid over the glass counter like a rag doll. He watched me glassily as Imitari took bite after bite, and I knew he wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Stick Stick had either curled up and hidden in a dark corner of his mind or had been devoured with his arm.
The old woman seemed displeased that her meal had stopped struggling. She shook him, but he flopped, and his head lulled from side to side. Imitari frowned, let go of Stick's arm, and pushed down on the limp man's back. Blood gushed from the ragged stump, and Imitari lowered her mouth and drank from the wound like she was sipping from a garden hose.
Stick didn't move. He just grew pail, and eventually, his panicked, shallow breaths ended, and the blood stopped flowing.
Then Imitari stood. With a quick tug, she pulled Stick's body over the counter and let it flop to the floor at her feet. Her eyes closed. A contented smile bloomed on her face as the explosive sound of crunching and cracking bones echoed through the small shop.
The deafening sound of crunching stopped, and only the buzzing of the drinks cooler reverberated through the small space. Imitari opened her eyes and watched me, a broad smile still on her lips. At that moment, I realized I could hear the drinks cooler so well because I had crawled into it, wedged between the glass door and the shelves.
Imitari held me with her gaze as cords of pink flesh lowered from the ceiling and efficiently tidied up Stick's mess, lapping up blood and hot sauce, placing cans on shelves, and scooping up cups of ramen with whip-like tendrils. Then, the cords of flesh nudged me forward, and I stood before Old Lady Imitari.
The thing that I had always thought of as a stern old woman handed me Stick's cane. With the same benign smile I remembered from buying red hots from it as a ten-year-old, it waved me away with its flyswatter, and the cords of flesh pushed me out the door onto the sidewalk.

The title is a bit misleading. It's been a few months since this happened. You may be asking, why did you wait until May to post it? Well, what I did was pretty fucked up. I'll start on the day it happened.
My ex-girlfriend, let's call her S, had asked me to come visit her at her school in NYC. She goes to a great school in the City and, me, being a 16-year-old boy in love, decided, "hmm, let me ask my parents." Now I live in the Hudson Valley here in New York. It's not like getting to the City is a tall task at all. It would have been way simpler if my parents had let me. My mom conferred with a NYPD Officer in that location and came to the conclusion that her school wasn't in a safe neighborhood and didn't want me to go.
Anyway, a few weeks go by. I'm sitting down, and once again, S (who is 15) is pestering me about coming to her school. I want to say that the ex I had before her was extremely abusive. I was scared of breaking up. In an effort to make S happy, I said "I'll get over there as soon as I can." Well that was a major mistake, because for days, S pesters me requesting me to go. One cold Thursday afternoon, I said "fuck it." I told my mother I would be at extra help for my film class to finish filming (which I really did do, just not that day), turned off my tracking app, and walked my ass all the way across the bridge to the Tarrytown Metro-North Station.
Now here's where things get a little stupid. It took me an hour to cross the bridge. My school lets out at 2:15 and I had been at the station at 4. If you know anything about the MTA and Metro-North (and LIRR), there is Peak and Off-Peak fares. So obviously, I didn't come equipped with any money to pay the fare. I stupidly boarded the train, but fortunately for my dumbass, I met a very kind conductor, who was willing to let me travel for free, after I told him the whole story. He printed out a ticket, and I got out in Spuyten Duyvil, which is a neighborhood in the Bronx. Now, this in itself was a stupid choice. If I was really planning on making it to her school, I should have travelled further south to Harlem-152nd or Marble Hill. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I walked out of the station, and about 5 minutes into my walk, I looked around and saw some buildings.
It was PITCH. BLACK. outside. The only light were the street lights. I ended up on Broadway, not the Manhattan one, and thought I would glance at my phone. Well, boy, would you look at that. I'm at 5% battery! So I say, "you know what, fuck it!" I run my tiny ass back to Spuyten Duyvil Station, and board the next train back up North. The conductor is obviously pissed that I didn't have a ticket. This train terminated in Irvington, which meant I needed a last leg to get to Tarrytown.
On the train going to Tarrytown, the conductor did what nobody else did, and asked to scan my Learner's Permit. This stupidly included my address, phone, everything. I got off at Tarrytown, and boarded HudsonLink. The bus operator let me pay a reduced price. My mom calls me as I'm disembarking in my town, and she's furious. Obviously, I'm not at school right now. And obviously, I didn't take the Late Bus. I had my mom go pick me up from the town next to mine, and my only excuse was that I took the Late Bus and it dropped me off in the wrong spot.
My parents fell for it until 3 months later, when my dad goes marching up the stairs into my room, with a bill from Metro-North. The bill essentially read that I skipped a Peak fare. I tried to make up some bullshit, and say I boarded it and got off, but clearly, that's impossible because they wouldn't charge that fast. So my dad calls Metro North and made me pay for it. It was $11.75 because it was a Peak Hudson Fare.
Me and my ex have been broken up for a while now. I held off on posting this because I wanted to see if anything else would come from it, but it hasn't. If I get updates of any future bills, I'll be sure to update. Thank you for reading :), and don't put your life on the line for a girl who doesn't give a shit, it's not worth it.
TL;DR: A few months ago, I did something pretty reckless. My ex-girlfriend, S, asked me to visit her school in NYC. Despite my parents' concerns about the neighborhood, I decided to go without their permission. I lied to my mom, turned off my tracking app, and walked to the Tarrytown Metro-North Station. With no money for the fare, a kind conductor let me travel for free. I got off at Spuyten Duyvil in the Bronx but quickly realized I was lost and had a nearly dead phone battery. I rushed back to the station and headed home. Another conductor scanned my Learner's Permit, which led to a bill being sent to my house. My parents eventually found out when the bill arrived, and I had to pay $11.75 for the Peak fare. S and I have since broken up, and I learned not to risk so much for someone who doesn’t care.

Perhaps this ought to start before the end of May.
An action on everyone's part to refuse making any Loblaws owned store a one-stop go-to for our grocery needs, but using it to target only sales. And not the "sales" that mark off something expensive, that's still expensive after the "sale", but the deep sales, that are designed to lure people in.
Point in case: butter at 4.99 and water melon at 2.99. Those sales are apparently happening right now. They're designed to get you to come with a shopping cart, and they're hoping that you might as well load up with various other items. A water melon in particular, is heavy, and most people will need a cart for that. Those guys know that possibly selling water melon at a loss, they will make up for it, by pushing other heavily marked up item to us suckers.
Resist!
Don't be tempted to buy other items. Just go in, and get only sales where you'd really say: that is a true sale. Resist any fake "sales", quote quote.
This accomplishes multiple goals:

1. We show that we continue to refuse to accept unreasonably marked up items.
2. We deprive them of profits through rip offs.
3. We benefit from deep sales, that are possibly sold at a loss.
4. They lose money when we stubbornly only get deep sales.
5. Other stores see that we're willing to shop around, enticing them to play nice so that they gain our business.

Will Loblaws smarten up?
Most probably not right away. Once a business becomes accustomed to certain profit levels, they have a responsibility to their investors to meet (ever greater) expectations. That, plus the greed of the ones running the show. They can probably cover up reduced sales by shoving things around, but they can't hide it forever. They need to be forced to alter their business model. And investors will need to come to the realization that it can't be a forever growth model. The Ponzi scheme can't continue to work, but that's another whole topic.
In the meantime, our job should be simple. Simply refuse to give in. Shop elsewhere. But go in to grab the deep sales. We need to talk about how we can keep up to date with those deep sales, and I guess we can call it that, and it might be dependent on location. Areas where there are enough people with high disposable income that don't care, might not see those deep sales. They'll just tease them with fake "sales". Areas where people have less alternatives will probably be disappointed also.
It's going to require a bit of effort. We need to resist saying to ourselves "oh, I have kids and don't have a the time to go to two stores". Make it work. Realize that when done efficiently, it will not take twice as long to shop. It's worth saving money. Plus it's the right thing to do, because you'd be part of a movement that can help everyone see competition restored. It's like fighting for and protecting democracy, in comparison. You might only save a little for your particular pocket book, but there are those that benefit far more. It feels good to fight for all of us the people. Also resist other excuses and cop-outs. "Oh, but it takes gas". Calculate it. It might take you $2 more in gas to do two locations instead of one. $2 is easy to overcome. Don't be that automatic naysayer, that person that opposes automatically out of reaction. Many people do that habitually. Stop! Help the cause, not work against it! Be part of the solution!
Ok, so what flyers, what apps, what posts could we all look at, to help us all home in on those deep sales. And share how much you probably have saved by doing the Loblaws-for-a-quick-deep-sale-grabbing and then heading over to a proper grocery store. When you go into a Loblaws to grab what you need, while you walk to the target, you can see a few prices looking left and right. Make mental note of that. Making up some numbers here: Bananas 89 cents, apples $5, etc etc. Then proper store, 69 cents, $3. Some might feel that, "meh, 2 bucks, 20 cents, who cars". But if every item is like that, it adds up. A $300 grocery bill becomes a $450 grocery bill. And that is what this entire thing is all about ! It takes work to make competition work. Without that work, they will exploit us, and they have!

Yesterday in my 2018 Gti Autobahn, the TPMS light goes off. I head to the tire shop and they spend an hour trying to figure out if there were leaks in the tires and the valve stems. They found nothing and reset the TPMS. Light hasn't come on again in 24 hours. Anyone else have this have this happen? The ghost light......

So my three boys and I were doing a bunch of errands the other day. Ages are 17, 14, and 7 the youngest is autistic, level 3, non-verbal. He had been doing really good with all the extra stops and shopping we were doing. For context we stopped at Sam's club for bulk items, the older boys had some money they wanted to spend at a video game store, ate lunch and then hit Walmart for some essential stuff. So, by the time we get through Walmart my youngest is sitting in the cart and starting to have a meltdown. We are on our way to the register and letting him know that he has been so good and strong all day and we were going home and he can watch his YouTube. I overheard a woman telling her friend, "that little brat needs a spanking, not YouTube." The other one laughed in agreement. I just put my head down and decided to focus on what's important, getting my son home. The 17yo decided to use a different approach, he walked right up to the two women and loudly announced, "my little brother has severe autism and a long day. Maybe instead of judging a family and bullying a 7yo kid you could choose to be kind and keep your keep your comments to yourself." The women looked pissed and about to blow up on my son when he added, "I can't believe you two suggested abusing a mentally disabled child, disgusting." That made them go red in embarrassment and walk away.

ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH THIS SOFT PINK BEAUTY from JW Anderson! Perfect for adding a touch of elegance to any outfit. Discover this and more luxury finds on italist and get your hands on the latest trends straight from the fashion capitals of the world. Head to the link in bio to shop.

The highly sensitive person's traits often make travel a struggle if not downright misery sometimes. As a highly sensitive person myself I've learned a lot of things over the years to keep me a happy traveler. In fact it is my favorite thing to do! Here are 8 tips to make travel less stressful and dare I say it, great fun!

1. Get a Great Guidebook

One highly sensitive person trait is the propensity towards overwhelm. This is where planning is crucial to having a great trip. The more you know and can prepare for a trip the better. Knowing what to expect and having a good plan always decreases the overwhelm and anxiety I feel.
Having a guidebook also gives me all the information I need to know about a location in one place. It reduces overwhelm because I don't have to figure out all the different sources I need to research. Airport, Hotel, Transportation and Site Information are all in one place.
Check out a few guidebooks and find one that speaks to your interests. My favorite travel guide for Europe is Rick Steves. I like how he focuses on authentic cultural experiences which speaks to the Highly Sensitive Person's soul.
Highlight sites you want to make sure you don't miss and other sites that would be fun if you have time. Make time to familiarize yourself with all the practicalities of visiting a new place such as the language, money and local customs.

1. Pick the Right Flights

Another highly sensitive person trait is feeling stressed with time pressure. If I book a flight that is later in the morning I have more time to get the rest I need the night before. This is also imperative because another highly sensitive person trait is we get more tired than other people.
I want to make sure that I start my day on a full tank. Plus, if my flight is a little later I don't feel that I have to rush as much in the morning to get to the airport. Highly sensitive people hate to feel rushed.
I also make sure my flight doesn't get in too late. I like to have time to check into my hotel and get my belongings situated. Getting to a grocery store is also important to me, so I can stock up on drinks, snacks and possibly some breakfast items.
Especially when I'm on vacation I like to take my time in the morning, savor a cup of coffee and perhaps a pastry. That way I don't have to rush out of the hotel in the morning to go find food. The highly sensitive person is more prone to getting hangry than other people.

How to Find the Right Flights

I always start my trip planning by choosing my flights as the cost can change drastically by adjusting my schedule by even just one day. Hotels are not as volatile in their pricing. I do check out the hotel rates before booking my flights though just to be sure.
I use Orbitz to research all my flights because I can easily search all airlines and filter by time blocks (morning, afternoon or evening).
Plus I can filter my options to include seat choice and carry on bag requirements, so I get a true cost of a flight without any surprises. Not to mention I can also filter by number of stops.
Direct flights are less stressful and have less room for unexpected delays. The simpler I can make travel the more overstimulation I can avoid.
Also, there is no rule that you have to use the same carrier to and from your destination. Orbitz is great for finding just the right timing of flights to meet your schedule.
I often do this by booking two different carriers. I can purchase both tickets on the same website and add in my frequent flyer numbers, so I don't miss out on miles, as well as manage all my flights from one app. It's perfect!
One word of caution though. If you are not taking a direct flight to or from your destination try not to mix carriers. If the flight is delayed for some reason the second airline will not get you on another flight if you miss it the way they would if you booked both flights on the same reservation.

3. Choose a Central Hotel

I always choose a hotel that is central to the things I want to do. Sometimes this can be in a busier or more chaotic area. However, what I love about a central hotel is that I have a convenient home base to come back and take a break if needed. This helps with the highly sensitive person trait of getting tired more easily due to our depth of processing.
If my hotel is convenient I can do an activity and come back to take a nap or get in some quiet time afterward. This recharges me, so I have the energy to go do something else later. It's especially important if I'm visiting a big city which is full over overstimulation, another highly sensitive person trait.
Pick a hotel recommended in your guidebook. This will cut down on the number of hotels to research. I pick the area where I want to stay and review the recommended hotels in my guidebook. Then I pick the hotel with the vibe I like.
My favorite hotels when traveling abroad are boutique hotels that remind me I'm some place new. However, if this is too overstimulating then choose a chain hotel. This will provide a familiar and comfortable atmosphere when you return from a long day.

1. Assess Transportation

Personally I love taking vacations where I can take a break from driving. My trips to big cities or to Europe are perfect for this. They have such efficient and low cost public transportation. Sometimes it's nice to have someone else take care of getting me where I need to go for a change.
Renting my own car can be nice too. This can be essential if I'm traveling within the United States. I like being able to leave a place when I've had too much stimulation, am hungry or tired.

1. Plan Only One Thing per Day

Don't try to do too much in a day, running around ragged to see everything. As Rick Steve's says, "Assume you will return". I usually pick one big thing to do per day and maybe one smaller, low key thing for later after I've taken a break.
If I am going to a museum where there will be lot of crowds and I will be walking around for hours then I plan a break for lunch afterwards and then maybe a walk through a park or to sit by some water. Water is very calming for me. Time is nature, water in particular is restorative and soothing for the highly sensitive person.

6. Timing of Activities

Crowds can cause a lot of overstimulation for the highly sensitive person, so plan and book your activities for early or late in the day when crowds are lighter.
Now that I'm a little older I've become more of a morning person. Anything that I need or want to get done needs to get done in the morning or it just doesn't happen. It's great because I can get into museums and other attractions when they first open before the throngs of people rush in.
More of a night person? That works too! As the crowds are heading out to prepare for their dinner reservations, stroll in and see everything when things are more relaxed and less busy. Make sure you take some water and snacks with you, so you don't get cranky. Another highly sensitive person trait is to be more sensitive to hunger.

7. Plan in Buffer Days

Don't plan to do too much the first day in a new place. Take time to get acclimated to your new surroundings. There will be a lot of new information to take in which may cause some overstimulation. I am also usually tired from the entire travel process as well.
Get oriented to the new destination. Go for a walk around your new area or a take a bus tour of the city to get the lay of the land. I always feel much more relaxed when I know where things are and how to easily get to what I need (rest, food, nature, etc.).
Plan a buffer day when you get home too. There is nothing worse than getting home and then having to head to work the very next day.
The highly sensitive person is very attuned to their physical needs. Travel is wonderful and exciting, but since we take in so much information due to our depth of processing it can also be very overstimulating. Overstimulation can lead to exhaustion.
Make time to go to bed early and take care of other practical concerns like getting groceries and doing laundry before heading back to work.

8. Pack Right

I suggest only taking one carry on bag when traveling and resisting the urge to overpack. Another highly sensitive person trait is attention to detail. It may be tempting to prepare for every eventuality, but it's not really necessary. If you forget something it's usually easy enough to purchase it.
Having too many things to keep track of can be overwhelming and it can make the difference between everything going as planned or disaster if you need to change flights or if your bags don't make it to your destination.
https://www.yourbestfriendsguidetotravel.com/the-highly-sensitive-person-8-tips-for-planning-a-great-trip/
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Watching Hermitcraft for a few seasons and through multiple updates to Minecraft it starts to feel like the content is quite similar. Apart from the obvious fact that it is still Minecraft. More in along the lines of the game being in such a state now that within 3 episodes, almost every material/block/item/mob is part of a farm and everyone is flying everywhere.
It almost changes from a survival game to a creative game, and while I do enjoy seeing what crazy, builds, farms, shops, games, challenges, etc the Hermits create, it feels rather rinse and repeat with very little survival remaining.
So I got thinking, I played 1.7.3 for a while and I thought it would be an interesting experience to see all the Hermits head back into 1.7.3, taking all their building skills and ideas into a new world and see what they create. With the usual quality of life mods.
There would be no Elytras, so roads and rails would no longer be decorative. Material farms would be far more limited, and no easy access to high quality gear through trading, taking the game back to a survival base. Sure over time the Hermits would tame the server, working as a community to make the server safer, but there would always be higher risks and rewards. Basic redstone and no hunger or sprint would change a few playstyles too.
It's a silly thought but something I'd be curious to see, how about you all?

31F - 130lbs - Active
I’m going to explain this the best I can, I don’t say anything to anyone because it sounds crazy to me and I don’t think I’ll get anywhere with it. But probably mostly embarrassed to even bring it up.
I get deja vu, like intense deja vu I think..to the point I stop with what ever I am doing and get really confused with what is going on. The impending doom feeling comes on and I cant pinpoint why I am having it or finish the thoughts of the deja vu I guess? If someone is with me I usually just say I had deja vu and I feel weird/sick. Like I need to throw up. It’s the worst feeling I’ve experienced.
Some instances I remember off the top of my head right now with age and what I was doing:
23 - marching on military parade deck, but I completely blacked out and was still functioning and came back to and thought I was going to throw up.
24 - during a uniform inspection
28 - shopping in a shoe store with a boyfriend at the time
31 (last night) - hanging up led lights behind my tv
*Medication
Vyvanse 20mg - 17 y.o until about 20 years old. Pause on that medication while in the military. Prescribed 20mg again at 30 y.o., only take on work days.
Synthroid .075mcg - diagnosed with Hashimotos Disease 2021.
Lexapro 15mg to 2.5mg - For anxiety November 2023. Coming off of it, currently at 2.5mg.
“Happy V” Pre and Probiotic
——
Sensory things that I’ve noticed over the years but having a boyfriend move in I’ve noticed it more and he’s pointed them out as well.

• The feeling of loose/detached hair touching me. In the shower when hair is stuck on my body, a hair on a piece of clothing but I can feel it on my skin. I stop everything and have to find it, get it off. I gag if I see it in the shower, won’t clean out drains, struggle to clean out hairbrush. My. Own. Clean. Hair.
  
• Can’t walk bare foot on hardwood/tile floors. I will walk on my tippy toes.
  
• Certain fabrics I can’t touch, clothes come immediately off when I get home. Change to an oversized/loose hoody. Socks especially come off.
  
• If I notice a raise in my skin like a scab or pimple, I will end up making it a dang wound because I focus on it and will pick.
  
• Certain noises make me physically angry I feel like? Sniffing, throat coughs, dogs licking skin, scratching skin, people picking their nails, loud yawns. (I feel like Lexapro maybe helped this a little.)
  
• I gag if I smell something I don’t like or if someone talks about something gross. (I really noticed this after starting Lexapro)
  
• Multiple people talking at once, or just a loud environment, I get overwhelmed and have to leave. Loud music. No music when I’m working or cleaning.
  
• Just very particular about a lot of things.
  

——
I’m just sitting here like how the f did I make it through the military.
I have a great job and friends and family/social life. I’m just confused and concerned, mainly about the deja vu thing but sensory things affect me greatly too.
Thanks in advance for your feedback and I will answer any questions!

I am not the OOP. The OOP is u/TASoDHype posting in AITAH
Concluded as per OOP
1 update - Medium
Original - 16th May 2024
Update - 17th May 2024
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AITAH for leaving my fiancée after I learned there were strippers at her bachelorette party?
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What the title reads basically. I(29M) and my ex-fiancée(29F) were together for 5 years. We should have been married now in the normal conditions but I broke up with her and cancelled the wedding 2 days before it because they invited male strippers to bachelorette party. I am personally not a fan of these parties but reluctantly agreed after both groom & bride side confirmed we would keep it simple. I told my ex-fiancée I am not comfortable with strippers or other kind of crazy things. She agreed. I also told my friends if they were to do a stupid thing without me knowing, we would have problems.
We stayed at my friends' summer house and chilled there by the pool, did some wow raids and played board games. My ex-fiancée and her friends went to a restaurant then rented an airbnb. There was no problem during the night and next day I asked how things went. She and her close friends said it was really chill and good. We returned to the city centre after that.
I encountered another bridesmaid that day when I was shopping for a bracelet for my ex-fiancée for her upcoming birthday. I asked that girl how's everything as we were in the same department at the college but rarely talk now. She is closer with my fiancée than me. She said it's going good and last night was crazy with all the strippers. After saying that she looked uncomfortable. I asked her about the details but she was not willing to tell much. I think she realized she should not have talked about it. I laughed, said goodbye and left.
I confronted my fiancée and she seemed surprised about it. She was denying it first, then told me nothing crazy happened and one of the bridesmaids invited strippers. I reminded her that it was a strict boundary for me. I asked about the details but she said there was nothing much with strippers just solo dances and that's it. I told her I need some time to think.
Almost all of the bridesmaids messaged me ensuring nothing happened when I was on my way back home(definitely not coordinated). Things happened after that but in the end I decided to break up and cancel the wedding. I lost some money since it was only 2 days before the wedding. Things are not cool right now. My head is messed up, I get criticism from everyone and no idea about what to do. My sister told me to see a therapist to process my thoughts and feelings. That is what I'll do next. Some mutuals suggested me that I should reconsider things and stop being so whiny about such a small thing. I do not think it's such a small thing especially when they all tried to hide it from me.
AITAH here?
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Comments
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tasty-horse-paste
This is strangely similar to something that happened recently on 90 day fiancé.
Edit: A lot of people saying disagreements about strippers etc. is common, which sure, but it was the detail about playing MMO games by the pool at the bachelor party that got my attention. But I'm not saying OP's story is fake; it just reminded me of the 90 day thing.
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former_farmer
Because this happens a lot. Some people think that cheating in the bachelorette party is correct. It's so dumb.
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boredathome1962
NTA. "It was crazy with all the strippers" is hugely different from "it was really chill and good". This isn't just lying, this is a total reversal of the truth. Even her "it was just solo dances" is not the same as "crazy". So they are lying, all of them, except the first one.

OOP: Everyone is telling different things. One person says it was crazy, my ex says it was just solo dance, another person says it was different. I do not know whom to believe to be honest and that's one of the reasons I lost trust here. Apparently, the stripper was naked and that even alone is a dealbreaker for me. There is no way for me to know what happened that night and why she did not even bother with calling me or telling me about it.

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**Judgement - NTA*\*
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Update - 1 days later
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TL;DR: Bitter truth was revealed bit by bit. Ex-fiancée had sexual interaction with a stripper. It's therapy time.
I read most of the comments in the original post and thank you for the advice. My problem was that not her being blindsided by her friends but lying. Every bridesmaid told different things and none of them gave details about what happened. I believe you can understand it just shatters the trust and makes you think there is something going on.
I thought there was something wrong with me after reading the comments. There were a lot of YTAs and I thought I should apologize. One of the bridesmaid reached out to me last evening. I suspect she saw the post somewhere and recognized it. I knew my fiancée was having problems with her friends since last week but I did not know the extent.
Apparently, my ex-fiancée and her close friends blamed the girl that I encountered at mall about everything. This divided the group and led into a verbal fight. I will skip the personal details here but in the end she told me my ex-fiancée and other bridesmaids got sexual with the strippers. My fiancée was the only one who had boyfriend/fiancée/spouse(at least monogamously) there to my knowledge. Also, I was told by her that my ex-fiancée was not blindsided with stripper invites. She was happy to see the strippers and was relieved she had an excuse. I do not have proof for all of these but I got a short video of girls making out with strippers. One of the girls is my ex-fiancée and that's enough.
She has been trying to reach out to me since we broke up. I confronted her again. At first, she denied it again then it became we just touched, then okay we kissed too, okay I gave him a handjob, finally I was coerced into doing these by others as I pressed on. I just blocked her after the last part. I did not see any need to learn further. I was hurt already but learning that I got cheated on hurt more. I am not sure if it's the full truth even now. I will never know but all I can say is it hurts. I will go to a therapist to not carry my luggage to my next relationship. I lost 15K from the wedding related things and need to focus on filling the hole for a while.
Some misogynists made weird comments about women and I'll just ignore them. Some of the people told me I am an insecure, unfunny nerd for playing WoW on my bachelor party. Isn't the whole point of bachelor parties having "one last fun". It was raiding non-stop with the boys for me, not having one last sexual interaction with a stranger or having a stranger's butt on my face or penis. I will not miss on out these during marriage anyways(omitting the stranger part).
That's it. It's therapy time tomorrow and thank you for the help.
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Comments
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scotswaehey
I will never understand why people like your Ex Fiancée throw it all away for one night
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BigBlackBlasphemer
Not just that, the whole group had banded together in solidarity to lie.
If it wasn't for one person, they would've gotten away with it, while gaslighting OP the whole time
I hope all those votes calling OP, an AH rightly feel like DA's.
15k and a cancelled wedding is still LOADS better than divorce after the fact. You're doing the absolute right thing.
Also, I AM petty enough to blast her publicly with receipts if she wants to play the victim and make me look like the bad guy.
And the first person I'll send the video of her cheating to is her Dad. See how she likes those apples
PSA: Don't be the simp guy who didn't want to send his "wife" to jail after everyone caught her trying to poison him with bleach in the coffee machine.
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SuccessfulSeaweed385
I had a lan party at my bachelor party and it was awesome. Fuck the haters and screw your ex. NTA.
FarquaadStoleMyWig
My brothers bachelor party was pizza, flip cup, and halo reach on system linked Xbox’s. Fucken best night ever
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I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments

[First] [Previous] [Next]
Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!

Now that I'm 3 months post op, I've noticed that when I'm going through my clothes in my wardrobe the grumpy mutterings in my head have gone and they're replaced with upbeat words. It's always good to be mindful about how you speak to yourself, but I feel so much better when I go through my wardrobe or when I go out clothes shopping. It's even the little things that I notice like having a shower and that extra fold of skin has been replaced with a streamlined waistline or catching a glimpse of myself as I walk past a high street window. Little things like this make me smile on the inside. How are you feeling post surgery? 😊🫶🏽

There is some potentially triggering content in this story
Did you know that memories aren’t real? No? Not really, you can misremember or change a memory without ever knowing you have. It’s a sinisterly important fact for me, some would be worried but I find it freeing, I can share this memory without fear or shame. I most likely haven’t remembered what happened as it happened, and considering what happened on the 9th of May all those years ago, I’d say it’s likely I don’t remember. It’s a relief really that memories aren’t real; I have always hated talking about my memories, about myself in general. In my experience, people are not interested in what I have to say, unless it relates to them or it makes me look less than them. Maybe it’s all in my head, everything is really. I’m not the most people friendly these days, I think you could call me a cynic, I call myself a cynic, but I’ll try and keep true to this memory, without the influence of hindsight and my cynicism.
It’s about that puddle and the 9th of May. Why the specifically the 9th of May? Well I don’t actually know why that day, it could have easily been the 8th, the difference is hours. I do wish I could change the setting; it’s almost poetic, I could always be misremembering, it was a long time ago, and I have been told many times since that I have a flair for the dramatic. A dark and rainy night, with the wind howling, well that’s a backdrop I can enjoy.
I’m sorry. Let me start at the beginning for the sake of clarity, otherwise I’ll never finish what I start to say, and I’ll never say what I need to say.
Once upon a time I went to a party. I enjoyed drinking back then, a healthy amount for most people, but for me, a dangerous amount, I had a tendency to get inside my head when I drink.
No again I’m sorry, that’s not the memory I want to share, I want to tell the 9th of May, I think this memory will be harder to tell than I first thought.
It was a birthday party for a friend, well a friend of a friend, I knew two people there, I was speaking my wisdom at the party, normally people would just nod and slide away from that kind of wisdom, but this was during the university days, everyone is intelligent, insightful and understanding at university. We few were the self-proclaimed leaders of the future, and so understood all, my green wisdom spewed with no start or finish was always well received. I remember some of what I said, you can walk into any pub or club and listen to the drunkest person in the room, they would have spewed the same wisdom, wisdom that I thought at the time was original and wise, but really was just old sentiment repeated with new words. Despite what I wanted at the time, wisdom comes with age, not self-assurance.
But this time was my spring years, that sweet age just before I faced reality, the real harsh reality of life, I had just begun to explore the world inside my bubble, and my exploration lead me onto the well-trodden path of clubbing and drinking, the respectable rebellion. I began as I always did, by talking, talking of going to some event, a lecture, a monument, an underground pub, of all the things I could do that evening, the places I could go, I and the other future leaders of the world, the potential was ours to squander. This ended as it always would, in that night club, the very same one I would always go to, my slice of reality.
Apologies my dear reader, I have a cynical mind, it’s hard to keep at bay, I’ll admit that I haven’t really tried to keep it from being an influence here, I can’t seem to help myself, but this next part of the memory is less clear, but I can relay it with a real, shame filled joy. This part of the memory feels more like a dream now, I don’t have the energy to do what I did that night, I don’t have the energy for much these days, I think that makes the memory more fond to me, drinking, dancing, worry free. Maybe fond was the wrong word to use here, jealous is more fitting, jealous of the innocence and time I wasted. The power of a drink back then was incredible; I miss the feeling, that burn in the mouth, the after taste, the saliva, the heat in your chest, and that feeling of being unstoppable. Of course drink has more than one effect, and while I’d like to believe my cloudy memory is caused by false and misremembered facts, or by the merging of a hundred single nights into one endless night, that’s too poetic. No, the memory is clouded by the amount I drunk that night, and many years after as I tried to forget this very memory.
Yet despite this, even now, the fragments still makes me smile, whether it’s because I enjoy the memories of the innocence I held then, or I’m jealous of them I cannot say, I’m a self-proclaimed cynic, not a philosopher or a psychologist, I’ll leave the analysis to better men than me. Instead I’ll try to give you an idea of what happened in the club without my opinions bleeding through. This night in the club was no different from all the others, they all start the same. Moving around the club in a daze, my head feeling big and unsteady, but also incredibly light and empty, my fingertips warm, my feet numb, I remember dancing to songs, dancing on tables, screaming out lyrics, smoking outside, stealing a bottle of champagne, fixing my hair in a mirror, buying a round of drinks, the lights flashing, the bass thumping, fog spewing, standing on my own staring at the old chandelier, crawling on the floor looking for money, I remember walking out the club and how quiet everything seemed in comparison while I tried to keep standing in the night air, looking at my hands, how bright the lights were, how blurry the world seemed and how beautiful the moon was that night.
Here, here the memory starts to come back into focus, the bright street lights and night air always helped me to sober up at night, plus I’ve always enjoyed being outside in the dark night or under the moonlight, I find it comforting to stand under the moon, it’s as if I’m suddenly alive.
As I came to my senses my memory sharpened, but that’s all, my drunkenness remained. I was with a couple of friends, some who I had been at the party with and some who I met in the club, we got food, and we spent such a long time talking, our conversations were mixed, some happy, some sad, all just more green wisdom. Much later on, me and my friend, maybe the one I went to the party with (it might have been someone else, who’s to say?), walked back towards our homes not because we wanted to walk as we said over and over to our screeching friends, but because the taxi was expensive and we couldn’t afford it, we lived in different places but close enough that we could walk together. Its funny to think of this moment, back then I had the money for a taxi, but I wouldn’t spend it on a taxi, now that I’m a poor man, I’ll spend money I don’t have on taxis I don’t need, apparently the youthful idiot I was, was wiser than I am now in some regards after all.
I don’t remember walking with my friend, or rather, I know where we went, how long it took and what we probably talked about, I had walked this walk so many times before this night, and so many after, they are all the same memory to me now, I enjoyed the walking in the night, the exhilaration of that has stayed with me more than the company on those walks. I always used to break it down into three segments, and so that’s how it comes back to me now. Leaving the club, past the library, past the race track, over the river across the bridge, up the steep hill, past the first university gates (which were actually the back gates), round the campus on the public roads, to the second gates (which are the main gates), a long walk with company, a painfully short one with alone. He was still living on the Campus my friend, I lived about ten minutes away from the campus, I said goodbye and goodnight, we agreed to speak in the morning if we survived. He went through the back gates and headed towards the halls, I continued on my way, onto the second segment of the walk past the gates. I was on my own for the rest of the walk; this happened a lot, both during my university days and many years after. I lived on the opposite side of the campus to most of my friends so this part of the walk was always mine alone, even when I started the night with the people I lived with. I didn’t mind, it was nice to enjoy the feeling of being drunk without having to show I was drunk, a few assured moments of peace under the moon light. I never deviated from my path, round the outside of the campus, opposite some housing estates, till I got next to a little shop that sold cheap, bottles of spirit. I would always stop for a moment to wish that shop was open.
Then it was down that straight road, the final part of my walk, big houses on either side, well-lit but not busy. It looked like it was a five minute walk but once you started it felt like it was never ending, and at the end of the night, in the night air, it was never ending. Sometimes I would run, sprint to see if I could make it to the end of that road without stopping, something to break the monotony of walking, other times to tire myself out so I could fall straight to sleep, and sometimes just because I wanted to run. Nearly every day for two years I walked down that road to go clubbing shopping or studying, to go for a meal, see a film, meet a friend, it was a constant part of my life, an unwanted companion and witness. Walking down that road, reader I don’t think I’m able to describe how I hated that road, but I always walked down that road, there were other ways I could walk, quicker ways, but I always took that road.
This particular night, actually at this point I suppose it was the morning. I was walking down that road in the rain and dark between the streetlights, bitterly cold staring straight into a street light walking on the right hand side. I’d always walk on the right hand side, I’m not sure why, whenever I walked on the left I had a bad day. Except for on the 9th, the 9th is the one exception.
I have no clue where the car came from; I didn’t see it until after the jump, just a blurred headlight, a door, a wing mirror. The driver, the make, the model, even the color is a mystery. It appeared and left like a phantom. There was no thought, I moved forward, but I don’t recognize that I was the one who leapt forward.
I remember the fall. I fell backwards. As if my strings had been cut and I fell limp into the puddle, there was no splash as I landed in that puddle.
The feeling I felt in that puddle, it was something I had never felt before or since, an overwhelming pull I was powerless against, I pray to never to feel it again.
Should I describe it? How to describe it? I have to describe it. I can describe the fear it inspired, but not yet, it’s easier to describe fear, but this isn’t meant to be easy, this memory never is. No the actual feeling, that’s harder, It wasn’t a happy emotion, not a powerful emotion, not a sad emotion. Hopelessness? Yes it was hopelessness. Nothing more, nothing less. No hope for the future, no point to anything, I think it is possibly the only time I felt hopelessness. You can’t live without hope.
I couldn’t stand could I? No, I wouldn’t have laid there if I could, to begin with I didn’t want to, didn’t care to, my legs wouldn’t move, arms were like stone, every muscle in my body cramped, I could feel everything. My eyes were open, rain hitting them, rain dripped from my lips to my chin, it tickled. The fingertips were warm, hair moved, stand by stand off my face. Puddle water lapped against my cheek, socks soaking up water, shirt getting tighter and heavier, jacket sleeves filling up with water, keys and wallet resting on my leg. I just lay there staring at nothing, seeing nothing.
I think to begin with I was gone; that everything I held myself up to and was trying to achieve, had suddenly left me, except my memories, memories that weren’t real. For the longest time that’s how I was, empty, even down to my emotions there was nothing I laid there empty. I could feel my body, but I couldn’t move it, I wasn’t welcome, I felt awkward, out of place. I’m not sure how long I lay there, dead (I had to be dead because I had no hope), it could have been a minute; it could have been hours, days or years.
The light was wrong. It was dark, only the light seemed to come from a streetlight, the sky was empty, the moon had left me.
Some portion of my mind came back, I started crying, I had failed, failed at even this simple task, I lay for a long time waiting, waiting for something else to come, I should have gotten up, but I just lay there waiting, I was muttering my secret . If that had been my mind for the rest of my days, I would have spent those days in that puddle unmoving; declared brain dead on the spot. The moment raises such disgust in me, I grieved my most important failure, hated my greatest success.
I’d like to lie here, to say anything other than the truth, to save myself the pain and the shame, but I said I would try to tell this memory as it was, not as I wish it, so while I’d like to say I had a vison, a burst of strength, that hope returned to me, I can’t, because in reality it was two words that saved me.
Two words. The Two words that cut through it all. I’m still not sure if I just heard them from somewhere else, said it myself or imagined it afterwards. “Get up” it was angry, disgusted, the words were almost spat out, “Get up”.
Those words have burned themselves into my mind, and affected me every day since. The fear and inspiration it awoke in my mind, throat pricked and butterflies in my stomach, anxiety. Next to the hopelessness it seemed like life had spoken, with a voice that wielded fear.
I took control of my body then……
No dear reader I didn’t…. I am almost finished, I have to be true to the memory, I can’t spare myself now, it’s too late for me to take it back.
I didn’t take control, I wasn’t there yet, it took me such a long time to regain control again, but it gave my eyes back to me for I had seen nothing long before the fall. I watched as fear drove me, took the strings of my life and moved them, dragging my shell in the dust, screaming.
I cursed everyone and everything, hated myself for what had happened, Oh and the fear, fear of the voice, fear of dying, the fear that someone would see me at this moment, see me and misunderstand me, I didn’t want to die,(I don’t want to die now) I was terrified that I had tried to die, terrified I didn’t know where that urge came from, that moment of energy and intention that was actioned without the consent of my mind, that I was powerless against.
Fear drove me, commanded me out of that puddle. I’d gone insane, truly, completely, utterly mad, I was dragging myself to the curb, screaming, crying, laughing, I ripped my finger nails out, shredded my palms and hands into bloody messes my knees into bruised pulp, my head and face cut by being dragged along.
I heaved up that curb fucking curb, shaking. I started to stand and scramble forward, to escape that spot, that puddle on that road. I stood up hunched and bent, buffet by the wind, laughing, crying, waving my hands in all directions spitting, shouting, wiping blood on my jeans, I was staggering side to side shaking, soaked to the bone, I was mad, insane, disgraced and humiliated.
Why say more? I won’t go further, there is so much more but to understand it…. This was not the place for such memories. That moment all those years ago, was not the eureka moment, the next day I turned this into a joke, a story to tell.
To this day, I cannot tell you what really happened that night all those years ago, as I sit here writing and rewriting the words over and over. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I wonder what would happened if I could relive that night again, doing everything again now. This was the time that my bubble began to burst and the real world hit me like a wave. Perhaps it was just a moment of growing pains. I’ve said it before, I’m only a cynic, all I have left is the memory of the 9th of May, a memory I visit daily.

For context I am religious she only has a connection towards catholism but is not a believer but goes to church with me sometimes(reformed)
Hi guys, so this is from the male side. I got a girlfriend from college I am a Junior she a freshman. We are 6 months in, but I need help. I am a very lovey and clingy person and I love also receiving it. I give it to all those close to me and I do not expect it in return but I do want to expect it from my girlfriend however she does not like to express her feelings as much as I do. On the other hand, when I express my feelings about how I feel of she being distant to me she gets mad at me and i end up feelings worst and hurt and i get more ignored rather than get the attention i want. Lately she went to a school trip and does not have much communication with me due to not having internet but at the place she stayed they did so after the trip around the area (visiting hospitals) i would expect to talk to her however she decided to go out shopping at like after 10pm coming back like at 12 even after spending most day out. I felt like everything else mattered more than me because i made it clear i wanted to talk to her yet she doesn’t want to and this have given us more problems. (She went to a different country and visited different cities) I am jealous i know this and i did not get a clubbing girl for this reason but on her school trip the girls have been going out and she has drank like one drink saying the alcohol there is different as she does not like alcohol here besides being unable to drink it anyways. When i am with her i beg her to come to pool with me but she never wants to in one whole semester we did go once however she has gone once in the trip and wanted to go again the next day at a different resort pool where she stays(i felt sad because she does it with others but not with me) So yesterday we talked over the phone and while on the call she mentioned she put a coin at a guys crack while at a dance party and my head been spinning. I got mad at first “what the fuck you have idea of what you telling me” then i calmed and was like oh okay that’s what u did awkward silence minutes later she ended the call.
I cannot tell her anything she is very stubborn “does not like to be bossed around”
I need help when we are close face to face most of the times it is quite nice in distance we kinda fight, now very long distance she is unrecognizable i do not like her clubbing and she knows yet she has gone to bars and so i am i have been broken i even had suicidal thoughts which is dumb because i am not like that.