Girls finger paint

For a bit of context, I (20F) have two sisters (25F, 30F), in out country it's uncommon for people to move out after they turn 18 so most houses have lots of generations together. In our home, it's just us and out mother.
My eldest sister (I'll call her Jenny) was ALWAYS spoiled by my mother, father and grandma. Father was rich and only cared about parties and his company, mother was a stay at home mom that only cared about buying expensive stuff, grandma took care of Jenny while both parents were out expending money with useless stuff. If she wanted anything, she'd get it in a snap. She was NEVER scolded for anything, my mother never raised her voice at her but raises her voice at me the whole time for stupid shit.
Anyways, I'm currently working an extremely difficult job. Basically I fix machines for factories and there's this one machine I'm currently working in that has been giving me lots of trouble. I spend about 9 to 10 hours daily working on it, testing, fixing, walking up and down around the city looking for specific stuff yo aid me fixing it.
Mother also works on the same factory, my middle sister works as a secretary. None of us spend much time at home. Jenny, however, spends 24/7 at home. She doesn't lift a finger to help, doesn't even try. Usually I cleaned the whole house and dishes daily but since I'm working on this machine for long periods of time I can't get home and do everything.
Mother noticed this and lashed off on me, saying she's too tired to do the dishes and that everyday there's tons of dishes to clean. Mind you, I only eat out and if I use a single cup I wash it right after finishing. The WHOLE plates piles are Jenny's. I told mother she's talking to the qrong daughter because none of these plates, cups and cutlery is mine then pointed at Jenny's room.
She got even more mad and said I do nothing to contribute to the house. I got fed up because most of my money goes to this household then said that she's the own cause of her misery because if she raised Jenny right that girl would wash her own dishes herself and none of us would have this problem.
In the end she just stormed out and hasn't returned yet, it's been 4 hours. Jenny heard the whole thing and just smiled smugly at me when I went to cook something for myself, this is annoying. Though even after it I think I went a little overboard, I should've just cleaned the dishes myself but I'm just so tired, both from work and for always being boamed for Jenny's mistakes. My middle sister agrees with everything I said hut I can't help but doubt saying all these things was a good choice. AITAH?

I know people didn't like the storyline in season 8 involving Dany and Sansa and truly believe that this was a show only storyline, yet, re reading the books, those 2 characters are looking more and more as mirrors and foils for each other. Also, the more I read A Clash Of kings, the more certain I am that Sansa will be the Queen in the North by the end. There is a lot of foreshadow of Sansa be queen, in fact, on her first chapter of this novel. Anyway, let's start with Dany and Sansa bizarre dance in the first book A GAME OF THRONES.
We start the books with Dany telling us that "She doesn't want to be his Queen, she wants to go home"

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Daenerys has no desire on marrying Khal Drogo and be his Queen, she is terrified of him, she thinks he is ugly and unatracive. All she wants is the house with red door and the lemon tree, she is longing for the only place she ever felt happy and safe.

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Dany wishes to be free, to have no past or future, yet the Targaryen legacy doesn't allow her to make her own choices.

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Another interesting detail I notice is how she sees Westeros. It's almost like a dream, a magical place that was described by her in songs, yet, a place she had never actually been. Is something that exists only on her imagination.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. "Our land," he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. "Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers."
And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
.......on the other hand .... Sansa is absolutely in love with the idea of marrying Joffrey and be his queen. She could not wait to leave Winterfell, the only place that was ever a home for her and march south and marry her beloved prince. In fact she falls in love with him EVEN BEFORE meeting him.
She was told in the begging of the book that Joffrey belongs to her and only her, that he is her betrothed, his future King. He will be HER husband and no one else. Joffrey is supposed to care for Sansa and treat her with affection and love. (we all know how that ended up)

It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa I
If we switch Joffrey for Westeros, it makes for an interesting parallel. Sansa falls in love with Joffrey before even meeting him, it's the idea of Joffrey that seduces Sansa. He belongs to her, he is supposed to love her and be kind to her. She probably grew up hearing songs and stories about how lovely and honourable princes are. That's Dany's position during most of the books. Westeros belongs to her, the people of Westeros are supposed to care for her and celebrate her return. She never met this strange place, only heard songs and stories about this land. I feel like Westeros is going to break Dany's heart just like Joffrey broke Sansa's heart.
By the end of the book, we know exactly that everything goes terrible for Sansa and her beloved prince is a cruel monster. We start chapter SANSA chapter VI with Sansa in bed, having dreams about her father's death, she is morning the death of her father, Ned Stark. Sansa is heartbroken and very weak, she hasn't eat anything, she wants to die and she cries day and night.

Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of Father. Waking or sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him down, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw the moment … the moment when … she had wanted to look away, she had wanted to, her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting, and her prince had smiled at her, he'd smiled and she'd felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he said those words, and her father's legs … that was what she remembered, his legs, the way they'd jerked when Ser Ilyn … when the sword …

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
Buy the time Sansa wakes up from her dreams and see Joffrey in front of her, her world has been completely turned upside down. She can see clearly now that he is no hero. and Sansa has now a new goal in her mind. She wants to go home.

"It does not please me," Joffrey said. "Mother says I'm still to marry you, so you'll stay here, and you'll obey."
"I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!" Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. >He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya's hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …
She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
Sansa is literally switching places with Daenerys, now Sansa doesn't want to be his queen. She thinks he is ugly, she is surprised she never noticed that before. When Joffrey takes Sansa to see her father head, Sansa looks towards the entire city of Kings Landing and her attention now focus in the North. Sansa now longs for the home where she was happy and safe. Just like Dany longed for the house with the red door. We could literally have a line where Sansa says "I don't want to be his queen, I want to go home"...
The next chapter of the book is Daenerys IX we have Dany also having dreams, dragon dreams..

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
The dream goes on and on for pages, she is waking the dragon, she is flying, she sees the red door..... it's so close.....

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.......the dragon....

all of sudden, she sees Rhaegar and she hears Jorahs voice whispering the last dragon... I think what's happening here is that the dragon dreams are replacing Daenerys own dreams..

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.
"Yes, Khaleesi." Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed … something … someone … what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to …

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
Once Dany wakes up she is informed she lost her child and will give Drogo a merciful death. She is now determined to wake the dragons and conquer Westeros, the red door is left behind....

Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. "Princess …" he began. "Why do you call me that?" Dany challenged him. "My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?" "He was, my lady." "Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now."

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X
Daenerys is now in pursuit of Viserys dreams, she is embracing her House ambitions, all the dreams of being free, of finding the red door and left behind. From now she sets her goals on Westeros. Now Dany does want to be a queen.
Why do I expect Sansa and Dany to clash? first of all, the parallels of those two girls are too strong for me to be ignored, those two little girls have so much in common. Both Sansa and Dany are sold in marriages against their will because of their claims. Dany to Khal Drogo and Sansa to Tyrion Lannister, both never imagined to be heirs of their Kingdoms since they both had older brothers, both have motherhood and longing for children and family in their storylines, both have older protectors who desire them, Ser Jorah and Littlefinger, both are running from assassins in some part of the story....
We know that Sansa will take back the North according George RR MARTIN 2003-2004 outline for AFFC
And once Sansa is back at Winterfell she will feel stronger and safer than she ever was in the beginning of the story. I think she refusing of giving up the North independence was hinted in the books.

His uncle's part went less well. The bride's cloak he held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. No one had thought to bring a stool, however, and Tyrion stood a foot and a half shorter than his bride. As he moved behind her, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her skirt. He wants me to kneel, she realized, blushing. ......She felt another tug at her skirt, more insistent. I won't. Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine?

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III
Sansa is refusing to kneel so that Tyrion can cloak her in her wedding ceremony. I always thought that this could be a foreshadow for a future storyline. Sansa refusing to kneel and give away the North after conquering back from The Lannisters and Boltons.
And for those who forgot, you have to remember that on book 2, ACOK, Rob has been named King in the North and this decision infuriates Joffrey and she was brutally spanked and tortured every time Rob won a battle against The Lannisters...

"She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.
"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I
In the chapter 32 of the book we have Sansa be taken to a public audience with Joffrey to answer for Rob latest victory. This entire chapter is a living nightmare, Sansa not only is publicly spanked for Rob's victories, people are laughing at her beating, Joffrey wants her stripped of her clothes, he wants her blood to spill for her brothers triumph. Sansa literally spills her blood for the North Independence.

When she emerged, Sansa walked on the Hound's left, away from the burned side of his face. "Tell me what I've done." "Not you. Your kingly brother." "Robb's a traitor." Sansa knew the words by rote. "I had no part in whatever he did." Gods be good, don't let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.....Joffrey stood in the center of the throng, winding an ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were with him. The sight of them was enough to tie her insides in knots. "Your Grace." She fell to her knees. Frowning, he lowered the crossbow. "I'd shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they'd kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog, hit her." "Let me beat her!" Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a "morningstar" whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his broomstick around her, shouting "Traitor, traitor" and whacking her over the head with the melon. Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces. Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied. Joffrey did not so much as snigger. "Boros. Meryn." Leave her face, I like her pretty... Boros slammed a fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows. Enough," she heard the Hound rasp. "No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked." Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. "Beat her bloody," Joffrey said, "we'll see how her brother fancies—" What is the meaning of this?" The Imp's voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III
Sansa was abused, beaten, humiliated and threatened with death because the North proclaimed independence, her blood was spilled every time Robb achieved a victory. And by the end, for her to suddenly giving up after so much pain and sorrow doesn't seem likely.
sooo, yeah, those are my ramblings. I have been re reading the books now after season 8 and I am not gonna lie to you, some storylines do seem to have come straight from George.
So yeah, I think we may have a clash of those two characters in the end, just like season 8, but I believe it would be better done by George himself.

Came to vent my thoughts about the BSA name change announcement. I thought this might be a supportive space.

1. I keep seeing people suggesting that Girl Scouts should combine with boy Scouts!

How would that work exactly? Which badges stay? Which traditions? Uniforms? Camp songs? Whose history gets told and whose stories get shared? I always loved Girl Scouts as a kid because it was something that was for girls, by girls. So few spaces have that. A female founder! Wow! I loved learning about women! I think if we combined into one organization…. The male narrative would be favored. Juliette would be forgotten.

1. Boy Scouts is inclusive now! More inclusive than Girl Scouts!

Right. Sure. For one day! And it is so clearly for the wrong reasons. Girl Scouting has been far more inclusive for far longer but now they are being painted as the non inclusive organization. Sometimes providing space for a minority is what inclusion looks like.

1. Girl Scouts should be ashamed for violating child labor…. This always comes up.

I was only able to be in Girl scouts because of the cookie program. We went to DC, NYC, the zoo, campin! I would not have been able to afford anything like that if I didn’t sell cookies. And, even better, I feel like I earned all those opportunities! I feel pride when I think about it.

1. Boy Scouts funding.

Boy Scouts get more individual donors because men make more than women! Girl Scouts make less in donations partially because of the pay gap!

1. Girl Scout Lawsuit

The lawsuit was justified because boyscouts had an internal plan to use the confusion in the marketplace to their advantage. They wanted to tell people that the organizations had merged to confuse people. I’m all for choice… but that’s not what they promoted! They promoted confusion.
And lastly… I just keep thinking about how misogynistic the world is. Girl Scouts was created BECAUSE girls were not allowed in male spaces. And now we are accepted… sorta… after 100 years… and we are supposed to be grateful! Supposed to give up our organization that we fought hard to create! It makes me so mad. I would NEVER let my child join the Boy Scouts due to how wrong they handled their sexual abuse claims. I am a child abuse survivor. My dad groomed me for ten years. If someone knew about what he was doing and stayed silent i would never forgive them. How can you stay silent when you see children being abused. That organization does not deserve to be the scouting organization for all.

I had a feeling she never thought Cub was going to make that video and call her out for the crap she's doing with the financial leverage she has over him. She thought she had that control on lock down.
I really believe that's why she was trying to paint it as if it, "suddenly just happened out of nowhere", before his video among other vague AF replies in her TT comments to others.
Not to mention the whole, "I'm sad, but I don't want to talk about it" card, as she'd have to admit to leaving him over something petty and won't get to be the victim. That's actually the reason I found her to begin with, she was on her sad girl hours after her last Virgo BF and her split. She got so many views after that as people wanted to see her succeed after her heart break.
Just my thoughts on this.

Today was kind of the last straw with my apartment complex, and we called to complain about it with no real resolution, so still steaming from it all.
Background before today: my apartment complex used to be pretty decent about sending out communications, warnings, and responding to maintenance requests thru their portal. For the last year or so, it’s gone really downhill. Like deleting requests in the portal bad. At the start of the year, they started renovations on the outside of the buildings. We all got emails saying they were going to start painting the whole complex. They would do a cluster of buildings each week before moving onto the next, every time they’d move on they’d send a new email saying which buildings were next. There was also an email saying to keep an eye out for future details about an upcoming roofing project.
I work from home, so I’m used to there being a fair bit of noise as I work with things like the weekly landscapers or the garbage truck passing by. So as the complex got covered in plastic and blasted with paint, I decided it wasn’t that loud or disruptive and I could work around it. Half ass painting job in the end, but that’s another story. So our building got painted and we waited for updates about the roofing, because that kind of work was something I didn’t want to work around. We saw as little by little parts of our complex got new roofing, but no update came. I went about my work, when one day, hours into my shift, there was tons of stomping and slamming and yelling coming from the roof above me. My building wasn’t one of the models that was getting the new roofing (again, another half ass job), so it came as a surprise and was random odd days that they’d turn up on the roof in the middle of the day and go until sunset.
Then you have what was going on inside my apartment. We got new downstairs neighbors two months ago and with them came a complaint: a mysterious leak in their bathroom. One night after they just moved in, I was taking a shower and heard knocking at my door. Next day, maintenance shows up, plays me a voicemail from new neighbors saying water was gushing downstairs in their bathroom. Okay, water is an emergency so I let them check it out. Fills the tub, flushes the toilet, can’t replicate the leak and leaves. Couple days go by and same maintenance dude shows up to replace the drain after more fiddling with the tub and toilet. Couple more days, maintenance supervisor comes by, replaced the drain again saying the last dude didn’t install it right. Fourth time, issue still isn’t fixed. Every time they’d come around it was during my working hours and I’d have to put my dogs up in my bedroom so they could come and go and come and go to check for the leak downstairs. The last two times, they’d come by, have all the lights on in the bathroom, leave to check something downstairs, and just never come back. So, seeing the lights were on, I’d wait for them to come back. I’d give them an hour before I’d let my dogs back out. Never got any heads up if the issue got fixed or not. There was even one day they wanted to do more lengthy work on the tub and I had less than an hour left of work, so I wanted them to come back after I was done. I’m a pharmacy tech, so I have to maintain patient privacy as these guys are coming and going. That day I try to explain this. Nope, they were going off the downstairs neighbor’s schedule. Gotta do it right that minute. “I won’t listen.” That’s not the point. Then one day the maintenance supervisor shows up, says they finally brought in the professional plumbers. You know who got a notice they were coming? The downstairs neighbors. We didn’t. So they just show up, make themselves comfortable coming and going as I’m trying to work, smashing into the drywall in my bathroom. I stop for a break as this happens and explain the work from home pharmacy tech situation, “oh we’ll try to be quick, just an hour” okay, but if I had known you were going to do this shit TODAY I would’ve gone into the office. I have two dudes I don’t know taking an hour or more destroying walls down the hall, setting my fire alarm off a few times, and constantly coming and going in view of my screens with patient info on them, I would have commuted to the office. It took five visits and the professionals for someone to even think to turn the shower on and find the actual problem. Three replaced drains before they figured the issue was with the shower pipes. I tried to put up with it all, messaging my manager that I’d be slower to finish my work, and when they leave, I’m left with a gaping hole in the wall of my shower. So I immediately call the office because I was over being left hanging on what the hell was going on. “Oh, we‘ll have someone out later today to patch it and we’ll give you a call as a heads up.” This was on a Friday. No one showed, there was a hole in my shower wall until Tuesday when some random third party vendor showed up, barely understanding what was going on and where he was going, and once again, ZERO WARNING during my work hours. Fine, they patch the wall and the paint doesn’t even match in a plain as hell apartment bathroom, but the hole’s gone.
Then comes today. I’m working when I heard a commotion outside. Ladders clanging around and making my dogs bark. Okay, whatever. More commotion and I turn around, some dude is throwing a leaf blower over the side of my THIRD STORY balcony and climbing over furniture and storage totes we had outside. I scream for my husband as the guy pushes more furniture aside and cleans the dryer vent with some crazy drill bit and leaf blowing the dust around on the balcony. So I go from scared to pissed cuz this is yet another stupid apartment maintenance thing that we got zero warning for. So we call the office. “Oh they were supposed to do that last month. And the roofing was supposed to be done two months ago. Let us talk to the vendors and call you back.” Didn’t warn us last month about dryer vent cleaning either. My husband tried to explain, for like the fourth time now, that I work from home, we never get any kind of email or paper notice and it’s getting ridiculous.
I dunno what to do at this point, but I’m fed up. I understand emergencies needing access to my apartment, but I can’t even say no to the unscheduled shit when the vendors are vaulting themselves over my balcony wall to do whatever they want. It doesn’t even seem like the complex themselves knows these people are actively working on their buildings, cuz the girl we spoke to couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the fact there was a strange announced dude cleaning our dryer vent right then. There’s so many other shitty things going on here, but we can’t move yet. A bug problem where we get no follow up from the office and told by management not to use ANYTHING to kill them, a peeling tub floor that needs the whole place empty for 24 hours, deep as hell potholes around the complex, shitty package management, I could go on and on, but I’ve said enough.
I’m tired and needed to vent.

Some people like small talk more than others, but no matter where they stand in their small-talking skills, it is clear that small talk plays a significant role in our lives in developing deeper connections and building long lasting social skills.
Small talk is prominent in work settings, because most of the people at work aren’t that close. They’re colleagues, not best friends. This causes conversations to be more surface level than conversations people with more close relationships may have. Since some people don’t care that much for their colleagues, they tend to avoid small talk like the plague. However, this isn’t necessarily a good thing. According to Jamie Terran, a license career coach, “Building rapport through interaction with colleagues could be the thing that gets you the promotion or keeps you in the role you’re in.” (Source A) Building rapport through small talk may not feel like much in the moment, but it is long lasting in the long run. Small talk allows for people to get to know each other. Through short conversations, comfortality is formed and people will know who they can go to if they need help. For example in the previously mentioned example, by Terran; If the promotion is between two people, one who sticks to themself and only focuses on their work versus another person who goes out of their way to ask how their colleagues and boss are doing and see if theres anything they can do to help out, the promotion is going to the person who isn’t afraid of small talk. While small talk may feel tedious and meaningless, it paints a bigger picture and can even build someones character.
Nowadays with technology at the tips of our fingers, a lot of communication is done online, especially between teenagers. According to a survey done by Pew Research Center on teenagers aged 12-17, they found that 51% of teenagers text just to say hello or chat several times a day, as well as 18% of teenagers at least once a day. (Source C) Having access to technology allows for deeper relationships to be formed even when apart, and this is also heavily reliant on small talk. With these teenagers saying that they send texts to just say hello or chat, it shows that they are not afraid to reach out themselves, even if it's not for a long deep conversation. This is excellent for the new generation because it allows them to build social skills. This can also be applied to long distance families, or relationships. Texting is what ties the relationship together since seeing each other is very limited due to the distance. Small texts about what’s going on in the day and little things can keep a relationship close, or even make it blossom. Before technology and phones, communicating with one another was limited to in person interactions, meaning, when it’s time to go home, there’s no more hearing from one another. However, with technology, it allows for these conversations to continue on at home, allowing for relationships to grow even when apart.
Like mentioned briefly, many people highly dislike small talk because it’s either awkward, or repetitive. Like depicted in Source F, some people view small talk as a “vortex” where it’s the same topics discussed each time, and they are sucked into it with no escape. While this may be true in some cases, small talk is the bridge and connecting point to deeper conversations in the future. Some times it’s going to be repetitive, but without it, conversations are going to stay surface level. Working on social skills with small talk will allow people to get more comfortable with one another and foster communication and relationship growth.
Small talk is what allows deeper conversations to arise. It is not common for people to be able to jump into a long conversation about their personal life with someone they just met. Instead, they need to feel comfortable with that person before sharing their personal stories. “Most people feel the need to get comfortable with one another before they jump into the deep end of serious conversation or ongoing friendship.” (Source D) Small talk ultimately leads to closer-knit relationships because once it becomes more normalized to talk to someone, they start becoming someone you know you can rely on, building rapport. It becomes a habit to think of them as someone to count on, making the relationship feel closer on both sides. Without small talk, people would never get to the point of comforbility and never get to know each other on more intimate level.
Overall, small talk plays a huge role in our society, especially in recent years with technology growing and connecting more people together. Small talk is great for building social skills that will be helpful in the future when doing business, making friends, and so much more.

Hey everyone,
There is a girl in my class that I am interested in (college). Had a little bit of a chat today, and I noticed she wears quite a few rings. From my understanding, a ring on her left ring finger is indicative of a relationship, however what does it mean if she is wearing multiple? Think around 3-5. I didn't count them.
I don't want to be a nuisance, I apologize.
Also side question, she mentioned something about being a "passenger princess", does this indicate a relationship as well?
Really inexperienced with this sort of thing, I would appreciate any help I can get.
Thank you all :).

I paint animal portraits for commissions. My last client really scared me.
Firstly, I've always enjoyed art. Putting paint to paper and creating something, if only just for a few hours, is a pleasure that cannot be replicated. It was my escape from reality, and it didn't hurt I was paid handsomely for my work, either.
Secondly, ever since I started painting.. I see things.. memories.. while painting my subject. It's hard to describe but basically I get point of view flashes of memories that the person I was painting had experienced. It was terrifying.
When I was 13 I did my first ever painting of my aunt and saw my uncle, her husband, raising fists and smashing glass, holding the jagged edge against my throat. I remember being too upset to finish the portrait, and the hushed voices of my parents later that night after my aunt had gone home.
At 13 was too young to really put two and two together, and I experienced a similar thing for every other person I drew over the years. I never told anyone about it, but once I painted a neighbours horse and saw nothing but green grass and cute little Foles, I figured out I could still indulge in my love of art without the trauma associated with it.
That's honestly why I stuck to painting pets. Dogs and cats had much less running through their mind than their human counterparts. A dogs memories were usually a run at the dog park, chasing the ball in the backyard, pats off their human.
Dave emailed me last week to book in a portrait for his dog, Barney. Barney was a saint Bernard, 5 years old, recently adopted. He had been found wandering the streets, lost and scruffy, before Dave had rescued him, taking him home for a much needed groom and big bowl of dog food. They'd been inseparable ever since. I loved stories like this, and felt myself drawn to Dave's kindness and compassion.
Dave was just as sweet in person, and so was Barney. I'd had plenty of experience with strays and usually found them to be skittish, so I was prepared, but big Barney sauntered in and lumbered up on the pet sofa and sat up straight, as if posing for his portrait.
Dave asked if I would like a coffee from the cafe down the road, and left to let me get started on the portrait. I waited for him to tell Barney to stay, but he didn't, and there wasn't really any need because Barney watched him go with bored eyes and then turned to me, to my art supplies and canvas, as if waiting.
I chucked to myself and got to work.
The first scene that flashed through my mind was not a dog park. It was a simple concrete room, with a dirty, blood stained floor. A single mattress was on the floor, along with a bucket of water. It wasn't my memory, but I could feel the painful emptiness of hunger.
My heart lurched at the thought of Barney tied up in some cold shed, all alone and starving.
I took a deep breath and continued painting.
Heavy boots, a light scent of ammonia. A whimper escapes Barney/me. A bunch of keys rattle in the distance, and the boots keep getting closer. The door moans when it opens. A man in Gumboots walk slowly, thump thump thump. In his hands is a metal bowl, filled with a beige sludge that faintly smells like weetbix mixed with something sour. The bowl clatters to the floor. "Eat."
The memory is broken by the sound of Dave returning. I am grateful for the break, the distraction. I take the cup of coffee with a smile but Dave frowned and asked why I had been crying? I felt to my face to find it wet and realised I hadn't realised. I played it off by making a joke about loving dogs that much it made me teary. We chatted for a bit longer and Barney had a toilet break, before resuming our positions.
The same room, but this time the bowl is empty. I'm seeing things through Barney's eyes, feeling what he was feeling, and at that moment, I'm dizzy and disorientated. I feel sick. The metal bowl is empty of the beige sludge, but there's gritty white residue left. I can feel Barney's eyes growing heavy, and his body start to relax. Eyes are closing, and Barney's/my head lurches forward as we drift off, when a flash of long blonde hair comes into my peripheral, before sleep takes us.
Dave's voice brought me back to reality. He asks if I'm okay? It's not a good look, I think numbly to myself whilst also not really caring, for your paying client to keep asking if you are alright. I forced a smile and said absolutely, when I'm painting I just totally get into the zone.
I already know something's wrong but I don't know what exactly. I dont know what else to do, so I keep painting.
The room is different. It's still old, cold and concrete but this one has a long metal table and bright lights up ahead. The man is mumbling to himself, humming some sort of tune as he arranges cords and medical equipment that looks as if it's from the 1800's. Barney/I struggle against the metal but we are tied down, a sinking feeling says it's futile to bother escaping.
The man moves closer and smiles down sadly. Barney recognises and know him, I can feel the hurt of the truth this brings, but I have never seen the man before. He looks evil, crazy. Bloodshot eyes, the stale stench of sweat.
My heart lurches even more, when the man brings down a dirt streaked hand held mirror, holding it up over Barney/me to reveal the imagine of a young woman with long blonde hair and green eyes. Duct tape is over her mouth, and her eyes are bruised and swollen. Despite that, you could tell she was beautiful. As quickly as the mirror appears it is thrust away, and the man waves a finger and says if she can't be a good wife, maybe she can be a loyal dog. Fear takes over. Everything goes black.
When I put down my brush, my hands are shaking so violently I spill the paint. I stare at Barney, or whoever she was before she was turned into Barney, and I can see that they know that I know. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I told Dave I wasn't feeling well and I'd send him the art work out when I finished. I told him wouldn't charge him.
He was confused and I don't think he really believed me but would could he say? He left without much issue, Barney close and faithful by his side as he walked out.
I've tried to put Barney out of my mind. I've tried to forget about the man who did this. I've even stopped painting.
But last night I got another email from Dave. He told me that Barney had gone missing, that he must've run off when someone left the gate open.
I didn't reply. I deleted the message right away.
What could I say? Barney's been at my back door, sleeping on the porch for the last 2 hours. I've put water out, and food. I'm too scared to let him in.. I know how loyal dogs are to their owners, that's all. A
nd I can't escape the thought that perhaps the loyal dog might be wanting to find their real owner another 'good wife'.

Me 20M and my girlfriend 20F have together since we were 15, 5 years. We moved away and I followed her to her college while I work in tech full time. We are each others first real relationship.
During our first year, everything was great. I lived by myself in my apartment and her in the dorms. She'd come over all the time and always spend the night. We even got a dog together and raised it. We were always together and it was great.
During that summer after freshman year, I ended things with her. There were some issues and I needed a break. I mentally ruined her, she was a complete wreck since she felt like her whole life was gone in a snap of a finger. After around 3 weeks of being apart, I reached back out since she was about to head out of town to go back to school. We ended of mending things and talked about it, and got back together. I vividly remember her telling me that she completely gave herself to me and was totally wrecked, and how she would never give someone that much power again.
After we have been back together, the first few months were fine. The dynamic was defiantly different. She preferred to spent more time at her apartment with her friends rather than with me. I am a very anxious style attachment person, this led to me over thinking things regarding her, even though she hasn't given me reason to.
I started to become very controlling and angry about every little thing she did since I would always read way to deeply into it. From things like her being 15 mins late to coming over, to not texting me back within a certain time frame. I was even mad that she wasn't as clingy to me as she was prior, and would encourage me to go out with my own friends (like a normal partner). I just read this as she stopped caring about us.
The past month has been extremely rough, where she threatened to leave multiple times after my outburst and controlling behavior. The issue is I truely though I was in the right, the only people I would get advice from was other dumb 20 year old guys who hadn't had a real relationship.
She had broke up 1st prior because of this but gave me another chance, I was slowly making improvements but not quick enough.
Last week I went back to our home town to spend time with my friends and family, and returned back to my girlfriend two days ago on sunday. When I got home, she came over later that night for what was supposed to be dinner and to sleep over. Within 5 mins of us driving to dinner, I made a dumb comment about how she knew a song from a rapper who mostly guys listen to, inferring another guy showed her. She asked me to turn the car around and drop her off. She said she wants to end it because she feels completely controlled, and that she can't have her own life. She said that I stress her out with all my little comments and behavior.
I tried to reason with her and apologize but this time she didn't accept it. She told me she wanted to go no contact and not speak to me again. She said I needed to figure out my issues and get therapy.
The last text I sent to her afterwards was asking to speak in a week or so, since the last conversation wasn't pleasant, and asked if we are 100% done or if there was a chance we could make it work.
She said she's not "100% done".
I left to go back to my hometown now. It's taking ever bone in my body to give her space and not text her, especially seeing her snap score go up and her active. But I know this is the controlling behavior she is talking about.
I really would do anything to make this work, I truly think she is the most amazing girl alive and want to be with her. I already spent over $500 for therapy and have spent hours trying to learn why I do what I do and how to fix it.
My overall question is; When I go speak to her, how can I convey to her I really do want to change and be the person she needs me to be. In the past, I would just say i'd change but not a lot would. This time I really and proactively doing things to. I want her to have her own life, and realize I don't need to consume every part of it. How do I tell her this in a way that she will allow me another chance? I know if we wait too long, she pushes away her feelings and avoids it, then it'd be too late. I need to show her in this conversation this week.
TLDR: I was controlling throughout the relationship, and she reached her breaking point. I am starting therapy to better myself. I am speaking to her soon and want to convey this to her and hopefully get another chance. how do i?

Me 20M and my girlfriend 20F have together since we were 15, 5 years. We moved away and I followed her to her college while I work in tech full time. We are each others first real relationship.
During our first year, everything was great. I lived by myself in my apartment and her in the dorms. She'd come over all the time and always spend the night. We even got a dog together and raised it. We were always together and it was great.
During that summer after freshman year, I ended things with her. There were some issues and I needed a break. I mentally ruined her, she was a complete wreck since she felt like her whole life was gone in a snap of a finger. After around 3 weeks of being apart, I reached back out since she was about to head out of town to go back to school. We ended of mending things and talked about it, and got back together. I vividly remember her telling me that she completely gave herself to me and was totally wrecked, and how she would never give someone that much power again.
After we have been back together, the first few months were fine. The dynamic was defiantly different. She preferred to spent more time at her apartment with her friends rather than with me. I am a very anxious style attachment person, this led to me over thinking things regarding her, even though she hasn't given me reason to.
I started to become very controlling and angry about every little thing she did since I would always read way to deeply into it. From things like her being 15 mins late to coming over, to not texting me back within a certain time frame. I was even mad that she wasn't as clingy to me as she was prior, and would encourage me to go out with my own friends (like a normal partner). I just read this as she stopped caring about us.
The past month has been extremely rough, where she threatened to leave multiple times after my outburst and controlling behavior. The issue is I truely though I was in the right, the only people I would get advice from was other dumb 20 year old guys who hadn't had a real relationship.
She had broke up 1st prior because of this but gave me another chance, I was slowly making improvements but not quick enough.
Last week I went back to our home town to spend time with my friends and family, and returned back to my girlfriend two days ago on sunday. When I got home, she came over later that night for what was supposed to be dinner and to sleep over. Within 5 mins of us driving to dinner, I made a dumb comment about how she knew a song from a rapper who mostly guys listen to, inferring another guy showed her. She asked me to turn the car around and drop her off. She said she wants to end it because she feels completely controlled, and that she can't have her own life. She said that I stress her out with all my little comments and behavior.
I tried to reason with her and apologize but this time she didn't accept it. She told me she wanted to go no contact and not speak to me again. She said I needed to figure out my issues and get therapy.
The last text I sent to her afterwards was asking to speak in a week or so, since the last conversation wasn't pleasant, and asked if we are 100% done or if there was a chance we could make it work.
She said she's not "100% done".
I left to go back to my hometown now. It's taking ever bone in my body to give her space and not text her, especially seeing her snap score go up and her active. But I know this is the controlling behavior she is talking about.
I really would do anything to make this work, I truly think she is the most amazing girl alive and want to be with her. I already spent over $500 for therapy and have spent hours trying to learn why I do what I do and how to fix it.
My overall question is; When I go speak to her, how can I convey to her I really do want to change and be the person she needs me to be. In the past, I would just say i'd change but not a lot would. This time I really and proactively doing things to. I want her to have her own life, and realize I don't need to consume every part of it. How do I tell her this in a way that she will allow me another chance? I know if we wait too long, she pushes away her feelings and avoids it, then it'd be too late. I need to show her in this conversation this week.
TLDR: I was controlling throughout the relationship, and she reached her breaking point. I am starting therapy to better myself. I am speaking to her soon and want to convey this to her and hopefully get another chance. how do i?

The days since Sarah had been found were a blur of statements, reports, and sleepless nights. The official story was that Bill Thompson had suffered a psychotic break, became fixated on the cold cases from the 60s, and murdered Daniel Cobb as part of some delusional ritual. Case closed; the town of Millfield could breathe easy once more.
But Sarah knew better. She'd seen the truth in Bill's eyes in those final moments and had heard the dark certainty in his voice. Millfield hid a secret, one written in blood and shadow. And though Bill was dead, Sarah knew with grim certainty he wasn't the only one guarding it.
She threw herself into research, scouring historical records and online forums for any scrap of information that might shed some light on the mystery. She read and read until late at night, delving into ancient texts and obscure mythologies, trying to find some sort of meaning in the half-glimpsed horrors that Bill had hinted at.
Repeatedly, the name Glaaki was whispered in connection with eldritch rites and unspeakable sacrifices. A being from beyond the stars, sleeping under the earth, waiting to be woken by the spilled blood of the innocent. Was this the Ancient One Bill had spoken of, that he and all others like him had pledged their lives and atrocities to?
But hard answers eluded her, the truth slipping through her fingers like wisps of fog. In the daylight, with the bustle of the police station around her, Sarah could almost convince herself it had all been some sick fantasy, the product of trauma and overwork.
Almost.
Until the second body was found.
She looked down at the corpse, spread out in the middle of a familiar clearing, her heart a heavy weight in her chest. It was Ashley Sutton, the pretty librarian who had been so forthright about Daniel's research. Her throat cut, her bare torso carved with those same twisted geometries that had adorned Daniel's body.
"This is a message," Sheriff Briggs said grimly, his face pale beneath the brim of his hat. "Whoever did this…they're telling us to back off."
She crouched down, examining the runes cut into the cooling flesh. The wounds were too precise, too ritualized, to be a mere copycat. No, this was the same killer. The same dark purpose.
"Bill had accomplices," she murmured. "People who shared his beliefs, his mission. With him gone, they must be trying to continue his work."
Briggs scrubbed a hand over his jaw, rough and stubbled. "Jesus. How many of them d'you think there are?"
"I don't know. But what I know is that they won't stop; not until they have reached whatever demented goal they're after." Sarah said, standing up with a hard-set face. "We need to find them, Sheriff. Stop them before they can kill again."
But even as she said it, Sarah could feel the pressure of shadows bearing down around her, those eyes in the darkness, old and insatiable. Those whispers in the back of her mind: blood, and madness.
In a place deep down that she dared not acknowledge, Sarah feared that maybe they were already too late. The wheels of a horrific plan had been set in motion; all that she did would be for naught against the momentum of an evil centuries in the making.
Still, she had to try. For Daniel. For Ashley. For all the innocent lives she feared would be lost if she didn't find a way to stem the tide of darkness rising beneath Millfield's quiet streets.
It consumed all her time. She interviewed witnesses, followed up leads, went into the backgrounds of everyone remotely related to the victims. But the trail always led to mist, and the suspects always had iron-clad alibis. Like smoke, killers would slip through her fingers and elude her grasp, never to be found.
The murmurs grew ever louder. The shadows grew darker. Her dreams were haunted by visions of blood and stone, of twisted forms writhing in the darkness below the earth. She awoke soaked in sweat and trembling, her mouth filled with the taste of blood.
She knew, with a certainty that transcended reason, that time was running out. That the servitors of those ancient things were on the brink of something world-shattering. Every instinct in her screamed to run, to flee this cursed town and its eldritch secrets before she, too, could be swallowed by the gathering dark.
But she couldn't. Wouldn't. Not when there was still the slightest chance of preventing the horrors that were to ensue.
So Sarah soldiered on, even as the shadows lengthened and the weight of unseen eyes bore down upon her, and found the third body, and the fourth, each more grotesque than the last.
She poured over ancient texts, followed up whispered rumors, bargained, and threatened for scraps of forbidden lore. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, painting a picture of cyclopean horror that threatened to shatter her sanity.
For what lay asleep underneath Millfield was so much more than a cult's dark god. It was a piece of primordial chaos, an eldritch intelligence from the unfathomed depths of the universe. A being that had planted its seed of taint upon the Earth eons ago, waiting for the time when the stars would align once more and the sealed gate be thrown open.
The murders, the rituals. they were all in service of this impending apocalypse. Every drop of spilled blood weakened the barriers a little more, eased open the metaphysical locks trapping the ancient ones in their stygian prison.
And now the locks were straining, the very air humming with the dissonant resonance of their imminent failure. Sarah could feel it in her bones, see it in the shadows that twisted in ways that defied physics. The veil was thinning; the darkness pushed through.
When the next body was found, spread-eagled in the centre of town as if in mocking invitation, Sarah knew the end was upon them. The runes on the disembowelled torso were a message, a promise of the horrors yet to come.
The final seal was broken. The way was open. And all of Millfield would be the sacrifice to usher in a new age of Eldritch nightmares.
Standing at the edge of the abyss, Sarah felt how heavily the gun on her hip weighed; this knew, however, that it was the only thing standing between this world and the horrors that lurked over the threshold.
But what could one mortal woman do against such primordial evil? What hope did she have of stemming this overwhelming tide of shadows?
Tired. So hollow, the gales of truth she'd caught sight of in the darkness, that the temptation was to give in to the madness that would take her—this was a siren song in her blood.
But she couldn't. For the sake of every innocent soul, who didn't know the end coming their way, she had to fight, even if it cost her soul and sanity.
Sarah Reeves squared her shoulders, checked her ammunition, and stepped out into the unnatural twilight settling over Millfield. Out to meet her destiny, for good or ill. The shadows twisted in anticipation. The ancients were roused in their feated dreams. And lastly, Sarah's final thought as the darkness surged up to claim her was that at least she had met this horror on her terms. At least she had gone down fighting. Even though in the end it turned out to be all for nothing.
The End?

I'd put "spoiler" on this, but since the title tells you it's a recap, I'm just going to roll with it. Moderators, let me know if you'd prefer me to make it a spoiler.
This episode felt a little more like they are finding their footing with the new dynamics. I still don't know what Elizabeth sees in Nathan -- he's a nice enough guy, but if he wasn't a Mountie and was, instead, a farmer or a barber, would she be interested?
Allie and Nathan are walking along the road to school, and Allie asks him “what’s going on between you and Mrs. Thornton?” Nathan denies anything is going on, but Allie tells him that it didn’t look like “nothing” when she saw them in the orchard. Nathan shrugs it off, but Allie persists: “She’s amazing, and she’s super-important to me. I just . . . don’t want you to get hurt . . . like before.” He tells her that “that was a long time ago, and things have changed” but Allie is skeptical. He reassures her that there’s nothing to worry about, and shoos her off to school.
On her way to school, Elizabeth is giving Toby a pep-talk about an upcoming test. She spots Lucas across the way, and tells Toby she’ll see him at school, and walks to meet Lucas, who has seen her and is walking towards her. He tells her he owes her an apology. “I’m listening,” she responds, and Lucas proceeds to apologize for Jeannette ambushing her, and most of all, not telling her about his previous relationship. “So, were you engaged?” Elizabeth asks, and Lucas allows as how they had talked about it. . . “well, mostly, she had talked about it . . . but there was never a ring or anything like that.” Elizabeth thanks him for the apology, but tells him that she’s really not bothered by Jeannette. He tells her that he was trying to leave his past behind him, and sympathetically she finishes the sentence, “ . . . but it always seems to catch up with you.” As they are talking, Nathan comes around the corner and sees them in serious conversation, as Elizabeth puts hand on Nathan’s arm and tells him “I’m very glad to hear that – you and I will always be friends.” (Ouch – “friend zone”?) Nathan watches her hand on Lucas’ arm, and swallows.
(So far, we’ve taken care of most the previews in the first 5 minutes . . . )
Lucas finds Henry in the orchard, and tells him that he doesn’t think that growing hazelnuts is going to be enough for him for long. “Henry . . . “ he begins, but Henry cuts him short and tells him that if he’s going to ask him to come work for him again to save his breath. Lucas tells him that he needs Henry’s help with the location of the resort. Henry wonders why it’s so important to Lucas, and Lucas admits that while all his other initiatives are helping other towns, he wants to do some especially for his own home town. Henry shakes his head, and when Lucas starts to beg him to reconsider, Henry cuts him off, and tells him that “I promised myself I was going to take a different road.” (Again with the cryptic life choices. Just marry Abigail, already!)
Elizabeth pops into Nathan’s office with a soup bone that she has saved for Scout. (goodness, she’s getting a lot done before school starts!) Nathan, pretending to be very busy at his desk, tells her that Scout isn’t in right now (weird response, but ok . . . ) but Elizabeth puts the bag on his desk and tells him to give it to him later. She sits down and asks him if everything is alright. (Why shouldn’t it be, Elizabeth?) Nathan doesn’t look up from his desk. “Nathan?” she asks, and Nathan finally looks her in the eye and tells her that he really has to finish up his paperwork. So Elizabeth leaves in a huff, with a snarky “Of course. Don’t let me distract you.” as she leaves. (What did you expect, Lizzy? You busted in on him unannounced and he’s supposed to stop what he’s doing and flirt with you?)
Maisie Hickham presents Lee and Mike with a list of Benson Hill’s requirements to participate in the resort. They unfold the very long list and start frowning. “You want us to build you a new train station? And a railroad extension?” Lee asks incredulously. “And you want us to build you a new dump?” Mike asks. “It’s only fair, Mikey,” responds his sister, citing the increased trash all the tourists will produce. Lee goes on to review the list, his voice rising with each item:: “Benches, a baseball diamond, and a new public transportation system with 10 buses?!” Maisie smiles and declares, “That a must –with all those tourists going back and forth to the resort.” She also adds that the new access road must go through Benson Hills. Mike, with years of frustration in his voice, whines “Why does everything have to be your way?” She declares that if the governor wants this “pipe dream” to go ahead, we want to be in control of it.” Mike and Lee exchange exasperated looks.
At the Canfields, Joseph has just finished repairing the water pump as the children are doing their homework, when Minnie bursts in with mail. “You have a letter!” she announces, and he just gestures for her to leave it on the table. “You’ll want to read this one . . . it’s from Jacob.” Surprised, Joseph slowly opens it as the children watch breathlessly. “What does it say?” asks Minnie, and Joseph, puzzled, reads, “he says it’s been too long and he’s open to a visit.” Minnie and the kids declare “that’s great!” but Joseph is still puzzled, wondering how he got their address. Minnie suggests a relative, but Joseph keeps reading and stops: “He says he got my letter . . . and he’s looking forward to my apology.” He throws the letter on the table angrily. “Has he lost his mind? I never wrote him!” Joseph takes a deep breath and quotes some Bible verses about welcoming all in their home as the kids cower slightly, but he finishes by declaring “and if he thinks he’s going to get an apology from me, he has another thing coming!” and storms out.
Bill and Rosemary come running into Nathan’s office, showing him that the crime report of Nathan’s shooting doesn’t mesh with the testimony. The shooter was supposed to be far away, but the trajectory of the bullet that hit Lucas’ leg is consistent with Lucas struggling with the shooter at close range. “So close, Lucas had to see his face!” Bill observes, but Rosemary finishes with “if only he could remember.”
The children are finishing up a math test. Opal even gets acknowledged: “Thank you, Opal.” She then announces that she has a surprise – it’s Anna, all the way from the teaching college in Capital City. (Can I just mention that I really, really hate the name “Capital City?)" The older girls are excited to see her, and Elizabeth announces that Anna will be doing her practicum (i.e., student teaching) there. “You mean, you’re going to be teaching us?” one of them asks. “I’m going to try, but I’m sure I’m not going to be as good as Mrs. Thatcher!” (Oh, barf . . . ) Elizabeth reassures her.
Mike and Lee review the meeting at the saloon with Mei. Mike admits that when he’s around her, he feels like her little brother. “She even called me Mikey,” he admits glumly, and Lee agrees. Lucas comes over and is intercepted by Bill with news about the shooter. “Can it wait? I have bigger problems,” and invites him to join the pow-wow with Mike, Lee and Mei, who admit the negotiations are stalled. Bill tells Mike to “just stand his ground!” but Mei observes that Mike may not be the best person to be negotiating with Maisie. Lucas suggests Bill take over, but Bill refuses (so much for “let us know how we can help!”), and they ask Lee to step in as mayor. Mike is on board – “you only lost by just a little bit!” – but Lee demurs: “Not like this!” Bill points out that the Governor is there, and then turns to Lucas and asks “Your Eminence? What sayth ye?” Lucas asks Hickam, who gladly resigns on the spot. Lucas then proclaims Lee as mayor pro tem, pending a special election. Everyone congratulates Lee, who looks a little aghast at the turn of events.
As the children play at recess, Elizabeth and Anna chat on the steps of the church. Anna admits that the classes are harder than she expected, but Elizabeth reassures her by telling her that teachers are best made by experience, not just what is taught at teacher’s college. As they stand up to go inside, Elizabeth pauses, watching Nathan ride across town on his horse, dashing in red serge. She pauses so long that Anna asks her “What’s the matter?” and then shakes it off.
An excited Lee bursts into his and Rosemary’s office. He prefaces his announcement by assuring her that this will not affect how much time he spends with Rosemary and Goldie. She frowns: “Oh no – did we buy another saloon?” Lee blurts out that Lucas just made him mayor. “WHAT?!” exclaims Rosemary, but Lee earnestly tells her that he wants a shot at the job, because he thinks he can really make a difference. Rosemary rises, goes to him, and gives him a lingering kiss. “Lee Coulter, you were made to be mayor,” she assures him. “It’s perfect – I’m so proud of you!” Then, suddenly it’s all about her: “I always thought I’d make a wonderful political wife - holding salons, debating issues of the day, driving the conversation towards a better world for all of us!” Lee just shakes his head, smiling. “I can see it now,” he smiles, and receives another kiss.
Anna hands out the math tests – Toby did well – and gets to ring the bell to dismiss class. Toby thanks Elizabeth for her help. The Canfield children are talking to Allie, telling her about the letter Joseph received, and Elizabeth overhears. They wonder if they should tell their dad who wrote the letter. “I think you already know the answer to that,” she tells them, and they nod glumly.
Henry wanders to the cafe and joins Joseph at a table outside. Joseph notices that Henry is troubled and asks what the problem is. Henry says, “I just want peace,” to which Joseph responds, “Why do you think you can’t have it?” (Oooh, nice philosophical question, Joseph!) Henry says that Lucas has asked him to help with the resort, but admits he doesn’t know if he can do it. “Business doesn’t excite you any more?” Joseph asks. “It’s not the business anymore, it’s the person I become when I’m doing the business.” Joseph puts his cup of tea down, and tells Henry that he has grown, changed and is wiser now. Henry gestures to his hair and retorts, “I’m greyer now! I wouldn’t say that I’m any wiser, now.” (And if that isn’t wise, I don’t know what is.) Joseph observes that he’s been called upon to share his wisdom, but it’s up to him to decide if he wants to share it.
Maisie is enjoying a mud facial from Mei, and comments that her shoulder is acting up, as it usually does with stress or family – “in this case, both” Mei offers to try acupressure, and Maisie agrees. While she relaxes, Maisie lets her guard down and tells her that she thinks it’s a bad idea of the governor’s, but the people of Benson Hills are “dazzled” by it. She then relaxes into a snooze just as Mike appears. Mei motions him out, and joins him outside as Maisie snoozes, and tells Mike that the people at Benson Hills are for the project, which delights him.
Elizabeth is walking down the street (with basket!) and sees Nathan chatting to some townspeople. He tips his hat and walks away, stops when he sees Elizabeth, but then keeps walking away. Elizabeth looks confused and slightly hurt. Later, she and Rosemary are talking by her front porch, and Rosemary asks if everything is ok between her and Lucas. Elizabeth says she thinks that both of them just want to be friends, and Rosemary agrees that it’s good to have fabulous friends that endeavor to do great things. Elizabeth goes on to say that “looking back, there was love, but not . . . “ “. . . the love you had with Jack,” Rosemary finishes for her. “Or the love you have with Lee. Is it asking too much to want that kind of love again?” Rosemary reassures her that no, it’s not, and that there’s a love written for her in the stars. Elizabeth, frowning, says, “Sometimes the stars don’t get it right,” and Rosemary asks what’s wrong. “Sometimes, it’s just hard to know what’s going on in other people’s minds – and hearts,” Elizabeth says. Rosemary asks if she’s talking about Nathan, and observes that minds and hearts don’t always agree.
Lee, Mike and Lucas are meeting to discuss the new information from Mei. Henry is sitting a few feet away, pretending to read a book, but is listening closely. Mike says that he thinks that Maisie is being deliberately difficult because she wants to force Hope Valley to pull the plug because she knows that the people of Benson Hills actually want the resort. Lee realizes that what they have isn’t a negotiation. Lucas looks at Henry and asks him if he’s hearing this. “I am,” Henry replies, nose still in the book. “Well, could you throw us a bone?” Lucas asks. Henry replies, “She’s trying to paint you in a corner – you have to take the paintbrush away from her.” The guys think about this for a moment, and Lee asks “How do we do that?” Henry allows as how he has a thought. Lucas smiles and says, “It sounds like you’re on board, Henry.” “Maybe. Let’s talk more,” Henry replies, as he gets up and walks out. Lucas starts to follow him, but notices Nathan, in off-duty clothes, listlessly playing darts in the corner. He walks over and proposes a wager on a game, and Nathan says he doesn’t trust his luck. Lucas throws a dart, smiles, and says, “It’s not luck, it’s skill.” Nathan laughs and says, “That, too!” and observes that Lucas seems to be in a good mood. “Some things seem to be going in my favor, and I cleared up a small misunderstanding with Elizabeth,” Lucas admits. “You mean, with Jeannette?” Nathan asks. “You were engaged to her?” Lucas observes that you can’t put your socks on in this town without everybody knowing it, and that no, he and Jennette were not engaged, but were together for a while. “As it turns out, Elizabeth hardly batted an eye, so I guess that means she has well and truly moved on.” “You’re ok with that?” Nathan asks skeptically. Lucas looks at Nathan and tells him “I’d rather have her as a friend than not have her in my life at all.” Nathan absorbs what Lucas has just said.
At the Canfields, Angela offers Joseph some pie. As he sits down, he notices they are nervous and asks what’s wrong. Angela admits that they sent Uncle Jacob the letter, but they didn’t mean to cause trouble, but after what he had told them about how important siblings are, and how you shouldn’t take them for granted . . . “ “ . . . we just thought that maybe you were taking it for granted, too.” finishes Cooper. Joseph sighs and says “you may be right,” and tells them it’s ok.
At school, Opal has made a very detailed picture of what she imagines the new resort would be like. Elizabeth suggests that she could be an architect or even an engineer. Opal looks thoughtful and asks Elizabeth to give the picture to Governor Bouchard.
Maisie enters the conference room for the next round of negotiations, but is surprised to find Lucas and Henry also in attendance. Lucas tells her they have an idea that might be fair to both parties, and Henry explains that they accept all of her demands. “You do?” she says, nervously. Henry goes on to add that they have an idea to help both towns. “What’s the idea?” Maisie demands. Lucas replies simply: “We merge the towns.” Maisie explodes, accusing them of trying to push her out of office, but Lucas explains that there will be co-mayors, until the next election. She looks speculatively at Mike, then smiles. “Co-mayors, you say?” Mike tries to interrupt her (to explain about Lee being the current mayor), but Maisie brushes him off with a condescending sweep of her finger and tells him “Mikey, I’m speaking with the governor.” Mike sits back with a “well, I tried” look on his face and a small smile. She asks Lucas, “And if either of these co-mayors persuades the other to oppose the resort?” Lucas smiles charmingly and tells her that ‘that would be most unfortunate, but I can’t see moving forward unless we have the full support of at least one mayor.” “Then I agree!” she says, standing and preparing to leave. “Thank you, Madame Mayor” Lucas tells her, and then administers the coup de grace: “Oh, by the way, Mike isn’t mayor anymore, Mr. Coulter is.” Maisie turns in disbelief, as Lee puts out his hand, smiles, and says, “And I look forward to our collaboration!’ he tells her, with a little laugh. She glares accusingly at Mike, who shrugs and says apologetically “I’m sorry Maisie – I tried to tell you.” She storms out of the conference room, leaving behind a room of smiling men.
Nathan (in uniform) sees Elizabeth on the street and asks to speak with her. He guides her over to an alcove and apologizes for his curt behavior the day before. “It obviously was just bad timing,” Elizabeth offers, but Nathan denies it and says, awkwardly, “I thought you and Lucas were . . . still . . . “ Elizabeth denies it, and assures him that she and Lucas are just friends. “I know,” says Nathan, “but what am I to you?” he asks earnestly. “I mean – are we just friends?” Elizabeth stares at him, mouth open, but is then interrupted by Henry, who tells Elizabeth there is an emergency meeting of the town council, and tells Nathan he might want to attend, too.
(Interesting to see who is on the town council. Where is Molly? Or Faith?) Florence and Ned Yost, Mike, Mei, Lee and Rosemary, Bill, Joseph and Henry. Apparently Elizabeth is, too. As they enter, everyone is already gathered, with Lucas standing in front of them. Bill is incredulous: “You want to merge the towns?” Ned Yost asks, “We won’t be Hope Valley any more?” Lucas reminds them that Maisie will also have a say, but tells them the vote must be unanimous, or else the project goes to Jamison or Buxton. Lucas also reminds them that if they merge, their school would come under the jurisdiction of the Valley School District and they would lose their independence. Elizabeth goes wide-eyed, and then looks down in thought as Rosemary looks at her worriedly and says “I don’t like the sound of that.” Florence agrees, remembering “the last time the school board came knocking.” Ned says that if it affects Elizabeth’s school, he votes no. Everyone looks at Elizabeth, who slowly says that while they have had their issues with the school board before, they have always overcome them, and this might mean more benefits. Lee agrees, saying there may be more resources and more opportunities for their kids. Ned asks Elizabeth if she agrees, and she hesitates, gazing at Lucas. “Do you really believe in this?” she asks him. He holds her gaze and says, “I do. Economically, it means a better future for the whole valley and everyone in it.” “She thinks for a moment: “Then I say ‘yes’.” She turns and glances at Nathan, who gives her a small smile – which is observed by Lucas.
Maisie is meeting with Henry, Lucas, Mike and Lee, and declares that the towns aren’t merged. “We thought you were in agreement?” responds Henry, and Maisie blusters, “Well, THAT was before . . . “ and Lee smiles and finishes her sentence for her: “Before you found out that I was going to be your co-mayor instead of Mike?” Mike throws his two cents in gleefully: “You aren’t pushing Lee around!” Maisie shrugs, and Lucas tells her that they want to work with her, and promise to deal with her demands in good faith, but “yes, it is a fait accompli.” Maisie is still against the idea of the resort, and states that it will bring endless trouble to the valley. Lucas promises her that won’t happen, but Maisie shoots back, “Just like your predecessor promised the water would be safe? I may be a lone voice, but I will continue to fight this monstrosity. And maybe the voters will turn against me in the next election – but at least I will be able to sleep at night. Can you say the same?” Mike tries to reason with her: “Your own council agrees!” She dismisses his argument, telling him that he is being fooled. Mike stands firm, though, and tells her “Maisie, you’re wrong. I know you aren’t used to being told this, but you’re wrong.” She glares at Mike, and then tells them all that “this isn’t over” as she flounces out. Mike apologizes to Lucas, who says that he’s sorry, too, for causing a family rift. Mike brushes that prospect off with a short laugh: “As Hickam rifts go, this is mild!” Lee congratulates Lucas and leaves, leaving Lucas and Henry. Lucas turns to Henry and tells him, “Well played – I knew we needed you on the team. Welcome aboard!” Henry nods, but looks less than thrilled.
Elizabeth (carrying the basket) knocks on Lucas’ office door and asks if he’s busy. He invites her in, and apologizes for blindsiding her at the council meeting, but she admits that it was inevitable that they would end up joining the school board. He assures her that he will do everything in his power to maintain independence, and she thanks him. She reaches into her basket and pulls out Opal’s sketch, and tells him that Opal really wanted him to have it, because she had been inspired on the hike. Lucas studies it and says “this is even better than I had imagined it!” Elizabeth tells him that “she really believes in the Bouchard GV!” “GV?” “Grand Vision” she explains, smiling. “And I believe in it, too.” Lucas tells her that that means a great deal to him. As she turns to leave, he tells her that he really meant what he said to her, and asks her to promise him that if she ever does have a chance at happiness, that she will jump in with both feet. You deserve that.” Touched, she tells him “Thank you. I will.”
Minnie joins Joseph, who is deep in thought, on the porch of the cafe. They talk about Jacob, and how Minnie remembers them being inseparable when they first met. Joseph agrees, but then says that after the argument that his brother was “Impossible! And difficult! And stubborn!” Minnie observes that “I guess it runs in the family,” and reminds him that it’s been a long time, and that he should remember what he told the kid, that there is nothing more precious than family. Joseph shakes his head slightly, but Minnie persists: “You have nothing to lose . . . and everything to gain.”
Bill and Rosemary are explaining the shooter theory to Lucas, who still doesn’t remember the shooting. He points out that Clayton Pike confessed, but Bill presses on, and reminds Lucas that Pike may not have been acting alone – or even was there. Rosemary chimes in, saying that if that’s the case, the real shooter is still out there, and Lucas is still in danger. Lucas tries to brush it off, reminding them that it’s been five months, and the other person has had plenty of time to finish the job if he was still in danger. Rosemary reminds him that they just want him to be safe, and he thanks them. Bill picks up the file as he and Rosemary begin to leave, and a photo of the crime scene falls out. Lucas picks it up to hand to Bill, but as he glances at it, he has a short flashback. “I do remember . . . something I grabbed the gun.” Bill asks eagerly if he remembers the face, any detail that might help, but that’s all Lucas can recall for now, and he promises to tell them if something else comes to mind. He looks distracted. “Right now, I’m just tired – it’s been a long day.” Bill and Rosemary nod understandingly and leave. Lucas stands in the middle of the room, as flashbacks flit through his mind: The headlight of a car. A man with a hat with his back turned towards him. A struggle. A gun. And lastly, an umbrella lying on the ground in the rain.
Nathan is enjoying a drink on the front porch of his house as Allies comes out, declaring the dishes have been done. He thanks her, and she apologizes for "sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong” the day before. He reassures her it’s ok, but she asks what he’s going to do. “I thought I’d walk Scout and walk off some of that dinner,” he teases, and she says, “No! About Mrs. Thornton!” Nathans tells her it’s complicated, but Allie looks over his shoulder and interrupts him by springing up and telling him, “Oh, I have homework!” and dashes inside. He turns and, surprised, sees Elizabeth walking up to him. “I didn’t get a chance to answer your question,” she tells him. He tries to be nonchalant about it, but she persists. “Nathan. Friends don’t look at friends . . . this way.” She tears her gaze from his and walks away, leaving him smiling.

Hey all, upfront I’m not exactly familiar with this show. Someone came by my studio and we were talking about doing illustrations over acrylic pour paintings, and while looking at this video they suggested I do that with “the Soul Eater Halloween episode with the witch cat girl that is half naked”. So I figure that the witch cat girl is Blair, but it doesn’t seem like there is any specific Halloween episode. Based off that YouTube video and the description, does anyone have any idea what episode this person was talking about? Thanks!

So a couple years ago I came out to my BELOVED nana and I told her that I liked both boys and girls and I was surprised that she was actually very happy and supportive, considering she's a Catholic Latina grandmother 😭 I was like "damn...well now what?" I think it's because she became less homophobic once we got her into RuPaul's drag race (which she loves) which also surprisingly made her supportively of my trans friends??? She even helps paint my nails and braid my hair sometimes 😭😭😭

The size of my mana pool used to be a point of pride until I had to spend an hour tinkering with four rune enchantments. Then, I realized how shallow it was. Four rune enchantments required twice as much mana as three rune enchantments, and after a few tries, I was sweating cold. I couldn’t even imagine how much mana the creator of Firana’s fluttering cape had to pour into the enchantment to make seven runes work.
I reexamined my notes.
The cape creates a small wind current.
The cape recognizes its user.
The cape recognizes movement.
The cape recognizes direction.
The cape recognizes the user’s intent to activate the effect.
Finding the Wind and User runes wasn’t particularly difficult. As soon as Astrid failed to activate the wind pebble in my hand, the entries were added to the Rune Encyclopedia, which piqued my interest. To learn a new rune, I had to engrave it successfully and know its particular function inside the circuit. The Encyclopedia would not index any rune I randomly added to the mix.
I sighed. The remaining three runes played hard to get.
I considered the best way to decode the remaining tunes. I could always ask Loki to assist me. The Rune Debugger would help me outline the enchantments, and Loki would help me test them without spending massive quantities of mana. Convincing Loki wouldn’t be easy. He preferred to doze off near the stove and play with the kids. Elincia and Ginz ignored if the long sleeping schedule was normal Changeling behavior.
I left the desk and sat on the bed with my legs crossed. I focused on my mana pool. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in the circular room with walls covered in runes. Most of the runes were still unknown, but I noticed the User rune repeated every few lines. I decided to ignore the implications and focus on the bottom of my mana pool, where the walls were still shattered by Corruption.
The fight against the group of assassins didn’t do any favors for the patch of black Corruption on my chest. Still, it was a small fraction of the initial wound. It would disappear eventually, as long as I were a good enough teacher to get more [Favorite Teacher] stacks.
I focused on the Fountain, grabbing small strands of golden mana and adding them to my mana pool. Suddenly, the walls of my mana pool came to life, and the Fountain mana slowly turned blue as I assimilated it into my reserves. The patch of Corruption blocking a bigger patch of the runes slowed the process.
I only recharged a fraction of my mana pool before someone opened the bedroom door.
“Mister Clarke, blonde Firana wants to talk with you!” Nokti said with a big smile on her snake-like face.
“Blonde Firana?” I asked, just to realize who the snake girl was referring to. “Oh. Corin. Thanks, Nokti. I’ll be there in a second.”
The snake girl waited for me in the doorway and offered me her hand. I gladly accepted it, and we walked down the corridor to the kitchen. Looking through the windows, I saw my class sparring under the gray sky. I had to stop to take a second look. Was Risha blocking their swords with his bare hands?
I sighed. So much for the safety measures I had been engraving in the kids’ heads.
“What do you think of Risha?” I asked Nokti now that we were alone. It hadn’t passed a week, but Risha and Astrid seemed to fit well into the manor’s life—at least with the orphans. Elincia didn’t seem entirely on board with having them around. Some wounds took time to heal completely.
The snake girl thought for a moment before answering.
“Risha is like Wolf but funnier, and his breakfast is good. I wonder if he likes potatoes,” Nokti happily replied.
“Yeah, I wonder,” I replied. The seven-year-old me would’ve pissed his pants at the sight of Risha, but the kids seemed accustomed to half-orcs. “It would be strange if he didn’t like potatoes, right?”
“Right,” Nokti nodded as we reached the kitchen. “I have to go back to play. Bye.”
I opened the door to find Elincia arguing with Astrid about the preserved fruits on Wolf’s birthday cake. I decided to ignore them. As much as they didn’t like each other, they had to find peace for themselves. In the corner of the table, Corin swiftly ate a bowl of gruel.
“You know you can chew, right?” I greeted her.
Corin jumped to her feet and swallowed without chewing.
“I have a message from Prince Adrien. It’s about the tournament,” she said. “I was told to inform you about a small change in the duel format. Prince Adrien decided to drop the point system and adopt the old imperial duel system to improve spectator attendance. That’s all.”
I blinked, confused.
“What is the old imperial duel system?” I asked, not sure if I would like the answer. Usually, there was an inverse correlation between the participants' safety and the audience's enjoyment.
Elincia stopped scolding Astrid and joined the conversation.
“The point system requires a referee, while the old imperial duel requires a Fortifier to set a certain amount of barriers around the participants,” she explained, biting her nails. “I’m afraid the change would disfavor the teams that can’t afford a Fortifier and haven’t trained under this ruleset.”
“Like us,” I pointed out. Only Ilya had fought with the Fortifier’s barrier around his body, which had happened once.
Elincia gave me a nervous look.
A smile crept onto my face. The secret technique I had taught Wolf and Zaon would be especially effective with the Fortifier barrier as a point system, but that wasn’t the main issue. I couldn’t help but smell foul play. As Elincia had pointed out, such a change in the rules would favor the richer families to the detriment of those who couldn’t afford a Fortifier.
“What’s the deal with that creepy smile?” Elincia asked.
“Don’t worry about it. The kids are ready,” I said. The changes in the rules weren’t drastic enough to worry about. “Corin, can you relay a message for me?”
The girl nodded.
“I need you to relay a message to Lady Lyra Jorn. She is currently staying at the Great Hall. Tell her we are worried about her delay, and she can turn to us if she needs anything,” I said.
I wasn’t really worried about Lyra’s well-being; she was the daughter of a duke and a guest of the Marquis at the end of the day. However, I couldn’t help but think that whoever held her back knew about the attack. It was one thing to attack an orphanage of commoners, and a completely different one was attacking the residence of a duke’s daughter.
I put a few bronze coins in Corin’s hand, a couple more than the usual rate, and excused myself, saying I needed to return to my workshop. Corin shoved a couple more spoonfuls of gruel into her mouth before speeding through the door into the backyard and around the manor.
Elincia grabbed my arm before I could leave.
“Do you think they changed the rules to reduce our possibilities of winning?” She asked.
Despite being a kid’s tournament, there was much at stake. Credibility, after all, was a heavy coin in politics.
“They are trying to improve their chances,” I replied.
Without us knowing, the tournament had already started.
It took me a couple of hours, Loki’s begrudging help, and a lot of Fountain Mana to figure out the rest of the runes. The three remaining runes were hard to grasp because they lacked an effect by themselves. Just as I had theorized, they worked as modifiers and conditions for the main effects.
The easiest to discover of the three was the Direction rune.
A Light-Direction-Gradual-Recharge circuit transformed a light stone into a flashlight. If I exchanged the Light rune for the Wind rune, I would have a hair dryer. I made a note to add a Fire rune to the mix to enchant a hair dryer that used warm air. Elincia would love to dry the kids’ hair in winter.
The last two runes were harder to decipher because they worked like logic gates. The Rune Encyclopedia tagged the first as Activation, which was nothing but an ‘if’ statement. The second rune was Movement, which was the condition for activation. It made perfect sense, considering how Firana’s cape worked. If there was movement, the effects activated.
I couldn’t yet comprehend how the Activation rune discriminated between regular movements, like walking or signaling, and the movements Firana made to activate the cape deliberately, let alone how it modified the Direction rune. I sighed, worried. If the System could read my memories, then it wouldn’t be surprising if it could determine people’s intent. As far as I understood, skills were activated by intent alone.
I stretched my back, and a wave of pleasure traveled through my body. A long day of work at the law firm never felt this good. My job at the orphanage was completely different. It had meaning.
Loki slept belly up on the desk, his whiskers and little feet moving as if he were having a bad dream. Much like the runeweaving process, Loki’s transformation also required a lot of energy. After several dozen failed attempts, Loki was exhausted, but we had a working prototype.
The cape’s circuit was Wind, User, Activation, Movement, Direction, Instantaneous, and Recharge. In other words, 'If the user activates the effect with a movement, create a wind current in the direction of the movement'. My prototype for the sling was Wind, User, Direction, Gradual, and Recharge. For starters, I didn’t think I could enchant more than five Runes simultaneously. Then came the problem of the ‘feel’ of the sling. As much as I wanted to power the shot, I also had to avoid making it uncontrollable.
“You did good work, buddy,” I said, scratching Loki’s belly.
He slapped my hand away with his little rat paw and grumbled something that sounded like his usual ‘damn beast’.
The excitement of the rune discovery slowly disappeared, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. The Encyclopedia indexed the runes, yet the whole process still felt esoteric. In the worst case, I could delay Wolf’s gift and try the enchantment again tomorrow when I had more mana.
I grabbed my notes, put Loki inside my pocket, and exited the room.
Ginz was inclined over his workshop table, working on a piece of leather.
“The Ginz I used to know would have the order ready by now,” I taunted him from the doorway.
Ginz grunted.
“Knowing the idiot who commissioned this sling, I decided to make it as sturdy as possible,” he replied, applying a coat of dark liquid all over the leather. “It’s Skeeth oil. It will make the Laughing Fox leather even more resistant.”
“Sounds good, I guess,” I said.
As socially inept Ginz was, he knew craftsmanship backward and forwards.
“You should start respecting me, Robbo. My inventions have become so popular among nobles that I got an invitation to see the tournament from the VIP section,” Ginz added with a huge grin.
“Do you mean my inventions?” I laughed.
“Our inventions,” Ginz pointed out with a laugh.
I smiled back, and I sat by the sideline. Just like watching Elincia brewing potions, watching Ginz work was soothing.
“Corin brought the payments for the last shipment,” Ginz said, vaguely pointing toward the cabinet near the door with his brush. “Most of the nobles already commissioned their decks of cards, so we can move to phase two. Use crap materials and expand the market to commoners.”
On top of the cabinet was a leather pouch full of gold and silver. With that amount, Ginz could’ve been considered the breadwinner of the orphanage, but I avoided saying it not to overfeed his ego. I had to admit, Ginz had a good nose for business.
“I took some of it to pay my debt to the Odrac-Aias loan sharks,” Ginz added. “I thought cutting all ties with them would be best.”
“Good call,” I said.
Our alliance with the royalist faction had dissuaded Kellaren from attempting anything against the orphanage so far. Despite being the most obvious suspect, I was starting to doubt his participation in the last attack. If Kellaren were allied with the Osgirians, a direct attack on royalist allies would be too dangerous for the kingdom's cohesion. Whether I liked it or not, Osgirians needed the rest of the noble houses to fill their pockets with money. Without a seller and a buyer, there were no trade routes.
Ginz summoned a high-intensity white flame from the tip of his finger and passed it over the Skeeth oil-impregnated piece of leather. A pungent, acrid smell filled the room. My eyes teared up, and I had to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt.
“The fumes are toxic. I recommend you get to the window,” Ginz said, unfazed by the stench.
I opened the guillotine-style window and threw the entire top half of my body out of the workshop. Outside, the older kids were still training with Risha while the smaller ones ran near the farm plot. Elincia had loosened the rules about playing outside as the days became warmer.
The little ones waved at me, and I did my best to hide my tears.
After a minute, Ginz said, “We need a development fund. I want to start experimenting with magical materials. Maybe that way, we could bring your crazy ideas to life.”
“I’ll make sure to put some money aside when I review our books,” I coughed.
Ginz continued working in silence, unfazed by the putrid fumes, until, half an hour later, he announced the sling was ready. I left my position near the window and approached the working bench. I was left without words.
“The rope is made with braided Shrewmouse Flax, and the pouch is made of Laughing Fox leather treated with Skeeth Oil. You can probably tie up a Wendigo with it,” Ginz said, proud of his work. “I branded a wolf on the pouch. It’s Wolf’s name and his tribe’s guardian animal. I thought it was fitting for the occasion.”
Ginz craftsmanship was astonishing.
“I guess it’s my turn now,” I said. Elincia wouldn’t be happy when she knew Ginz was aware of my enchanting powers.
I grabbed the sling and hoped for the best.
I inscribed the runes' outline on the pouch's outer side, aiming the Direction rune in the opposite direction of the spin so it would speed the sling up instead of slowing it down. Then, I opened my mana reserves and poured a wave of magic into the circuit. The runes drank the mana like desert sand, and for a moment, I thought I wouldn’t have enough to complete the enchantment. I tapped into the Fountain to slowly replenish my reserves as the circuit continued to ask for more.
You have obtained Mana Depletion (Minor). Temporary
I brushed the prompt off, knowing a minor mana depletion stack would be gone by morning. A moment later, without announcement or fanfare, the circuit closed.
“Did it work?” Ginz asked, his eyes shining with amazement.
“I don’t know,” I replied. The runes were there, but the actual effect might vary from what I had in mind. “Do you know how to use a sling?”
“Please,” he raised an eyebrow and snatched the sling from my hands.
Ginz examined our creation as if he were trying to detect any difference in the materials. Then, he pulled a small metal ball from one of the drawers and put it in the pouch. As much as I wanted to keep the present a secret until the last moment, I wasn’t entirely on board with testing it indoors.
“What now?” Ginz asked.
“Make it spin and channel a little mana,” I said.
The sling started spinning, slowly at first, then faster and faster. I moved out of the way and crouched behind the desk. I noticed a small problem. The enchantment would have benefited from an abort mechanism, but I lacked the knowledge or the mana to implement it. Once in movement, one had to shoot.
The sling slipped through Ginz’s fingers, and the metal bullet flew across the room. A vase of wine that rested on top of the shelf burst into thousands of pieces, and the bullet ended up embedded in the wood. We exchanged a knowing look just to burst into laughter.
The wind-powered sling was a success.
New recipe achieved! Updating Rune Encyclopedia. Robert’s Wind Sling added to the recipes tab.
That looked good, but it will have to wait.
“I guess I’m going. I haven’t even greeted Wolf today,” I said, grabbing the sling and walking to the door.
Ginz gave me a quizzical look.
“You will help me clean up the wine, right?” He asked. “Right? Rob?”
I smiled, hoping that would help teach Ginz to warn me before gassing me out with toxic fumes. I closed the door behind me and whistled through the eastern wing and into the backyard. The enchantment, although crude in some respects, had been a success.
“Happy Birthday, Wolf!” I yelled across the backyard.
The kids stopped the light sparring session and came to greet me.
“Shouldn’t we be celebrating Wolf’s birthday instead of sparring?” I asked. During Ilya and Firana’s birthdays, we spent most of the time inside, eating, dancing, and chatting. Even if it was the day before the tournament, I didn’t see why we couldn’t have a lovely, relaxed celebration.
Firana jumped forward because anyone could reply. Her face told me she was discontent with the day's activities. “Wolf said he wanted to spar like any other day, so here we are. This is by far the lamest birthday ever!”
“It is,” Ilya nodded.
The sudden attack made Wolf all flustered.
“What?! I enjoy our regular training schedule. There’s nothing better than training the body and the mind to become stronger,” he muttered.
It was the first time I had seen Wolf so flushed, but that wasn’t enough for the girls to stop their attack.
“And here I thought Zaon was the teacher’s pet,” Firana sighed.
“I thought it was Ilya,” Zaon jokingly said just to earn a murderous glance from the girls.
“Enough of that. Firana, you are in charge of sorting today's training material. The sparring is over. You need to be well rested for tomorrow.” I interrupted the conversation. “If you don’t mind us, I would like to chat with Wolf. Just the two of us.”
Firana grumbled but ultimately obeyed. Before she could convince Zaon to help her, Ilya grabbed the elf boy and dragged him to the farm plot where the small kids were playing. Even Risha turned a deaf ear and walked away, leaving his wooden shield on the big stump.
“Alright, I understand; I’m sorry,” Firana grumbled as she grabbed the equipment.
I looked at Wolf and signaled the grove with my head. We both walked in silence until we reached the tree line. There, Wolf leaned against a tree and let out a long sigh.
“Not used to the attention?” I asked with a sympathetic smile.
Wolf shook his head. “I haven’t told them I plan to leave the orphanage after the tournament. They are talking about giving the Imperial Academy a try. Firana, more than anyone, wants us to stay together.”
“I’m sure Firana will understand if you explain it to her,” I said. “She might be an airhead sometimes, but she wants the best for every one of us.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to make anyone sad, but I probably will,” Wolf replied, defeated.
I remember the time I left my home to go to college. It wasn’t that far, but the goodbye was hard, even with cell phones and video calls being a thing. In retrospect, it was probably even harder for my dad.
“Wolf, listen. If returning to the tribes is what you want, we will be thrilled to help you. It’s your life we are talking about, and only you can make the final decision,” I said. “Of course, Elincia and I will try to give you the best advice possible. You are strong and smart, and the orcs will be fortunate to have you among their ranks, but the Imperial Academy is also a good option. The rank of Knight opens up many avenues. In the end, it’s your call. We will always be here for you.”
“Thanks,” Wolf muttered. “It means a lot coming from you, Mister Clarke.”
This day looked more like a funeral than a birthday, and it wasn’t the slate gray sky over our heads. I hoped the enchanted sling was enough to light up Wolf’s day.
“I saw your relatives using these, so we thought it would be a good present,” I said, offering Wolf the enchanted sling. “Happy birthday.”
Wolf extended his arms and grabbed the sling. He carefully examined the craftsmanship, and the more he looked at it, the more his lips curved up.
“It’s beautiful, thanks,” Wolf said. “Can I try it?”
“Be my guest.”
Wolf grabbed a stone the size of a tennis ball, and for a moment, I thought the leather pouch would be too small. Ginz, however, had gotten ahead of the problem, and the projectile fit perfectly. With their size and strength, it was no surprise orcs preferred bigger bullets.
The sling spun over Wolf’s head.
“Give it a bit of mana,” I said, stepping to the side.
“I don’t have a lot of mana. I’m not Ilya,” Wolf replied.
“Just do it! We have been working on meditation for months now!” I said.
Wolf’s eyes suddenly shot wide open as the sling gained more velocity. He pushed the little mana a classless person could muster into the sling and aimed for a low branch. He let go, and the stone hit right in the middle, splitting the branch from the tree. Unlike Ginz, Wolf was a great shot.
I smiled, not because of the enchantment's success but because of Wolf's gleeful expression. The young half-orc laughed to his heart's content as he prepared a second shot. With his arm, he could knock down a deer.
Loki peeked out of my pocket, looking as angry as a sleepy rat could be.
“Damn beast!”
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7th Moon of 21 AC - Casterly Rock “It has taken some work, my lord, but the wooden lion figures should breathe flames like you have requested.” Lancel Lannister looked over the loose papers on his desk and his grin broadened to an almost predatory width. This feast and tourney was shaping up to be a legendary one indeed. “I know it is almost certainly running over the cost proposed, but it does not matter,” he declared. “No amount of coin should be spared to make this as splendid as possible.” “Ser Gregor seems to think King’s Landing might protest, my lord.” murmured Maester Abelard. “Animals breathing fire might seem to be coming too close to what the dragons have as their right alone.” His uncle. Ever the stick in the mud. Here they were, planning a glorious event and Ser Gregor Lannister seemed to only be capable of finding what could go wrong in the situation. Damn him, had he no sense of joy in his body? “And if they are offended, there is the entirety of Westeros from east to west for them to forget such an imagined slight!” Lancel declared. “I am not going to lessen the glory of this tourney for anyone. Not my uncle, not the Hand, nor for the She-Dragons. It is for House Lannister that we do this. Any questions?” Silence fell upon the room, none daring to look at their lord in the eye. Casterly Rock was a lively place, but all knew better than to be on the wrong side of their mercurial Lord Paramount. Lancel ‘the Lion’, and he had paid the bards to call him, had numerous, and his willpower to achieve them was tremendous. They knew better than to oppose him so openly after a declaration with that much finality in it. “Now, onto the other matters.” the Lord of Casterly Rock said, clapping his hands together in excitement. “The tourney itself. Has all of the coin been… allocated, shall way say, to the proper places?” Now the silence took a notably uncomfortable turn as the assembled advisors looked at one another. “It has, my lord.” the Steward of the Rock said. “Though some were unwilling to accept the payments, and you said yourself that informants have mentioned several fresh-faced knights that we have not even bothered to approach. Their hunt for glory would make it to where we could give them all the coin in the Rock and we would still not give them enough to buy their honor.” Lancel was quiet at this, steepling his fingers together and nodding slowly. He closed his eyes as he meditated deep in thought, pondering the information he was given and that which he already possessed. “The gold we would have given to them will be spent in other ways.” he finally declared. “Fate may have closed a door, but it opens a window that I mean to go through all the same.” Quiet once again. All of them not knowing what to say. In the end, it was Lancel himself who broke the silence, ringing a bell and sending for some of the finest wine they had available. “Let us speak no more of it, my friends.” he said with an easy smile. “There is fine wine to be consumed, and a good deal more fun things to make sure we have in store for our guests…”
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Despite all of his reservations, Ser Gregor Lannister had to admit the tourney looked more splendid than he could have imagined. The wooden lions that were painted to look gold and had flames spouting from their roaring maws had drawn no ire from King’s Landing, and the tourney grounds themselves had to be second to none in all the realm. Floral arrangements covered every wooden beam, crimson and gold banners flapped proudly in the breeze, and there was a literal army of jugglers, bards, and servants carrying platters of fine wine along with delicate treats. In the grand viewing box reserved for the Lannister family, Gregor and his children along with his eldest son’s bride-to-be sat watching the spectacle unfolding before them. It had been a happy day, full of valor and courage by all combatants. Lord Lancel in particular seemed to be in rare form, defeating all who rode against him and it was a rare sight indeed to see a knight not fall against the Lord of Casterly Rock upon their second or first tilt against him. But Lancel was in his tent, waiting for the next time he was called up to the lists. For now, it was knights of lesser renown and seeming lesser prowess to run at each other for the moment. And it seemed as though one of those knights was making his way towards them right now, stopping his horse directly in front of their seats and opening his visor to reveal a young but pockmarked face brimming with confidence and looking upward with clear emotion. “Ser Jon the Hewer!” bellowed the herald, motioning to the knight now standing before them. “Seven blessings to you and your house, Lord Gregor.” Ser Jon said with a respectful bow. “And may the Seven Above bless young Lord Jason and his lady wife, the lovely Lady Jeyne Turnberry most of all.” “Your blessing is appreciated, Ser Jon.” Gregor said with an appreciative bow. “But please, I am only Ser Gregor Lannister, as is my son Jason. My dear nephew does not want rival claimants to his title now, does he?” The knight was no fool. He smiled and bowed slightly on his horse before looking back up at the old lion. “I do not know if you remember, Ser Gregor, but we have met once before. On the happiest day of my life.” “Oh I remember it well, brave knight.” Gregor replied with a warm grin of his own. “It was the day we brought down Lodos the Twice-Drowned and ended that accursed rebellion on the Iron Islands, was it not? You squired for one of the first knights to make his way through the breach in the lines of those misguided zealots, and it was you who took up your knight's sword when he fell in battle and used it to slay many enemies. I was glad to bestow knighthood on you at the end of the battle.” “It was my greatest honor, second only to being one of the few who delivered Lodos into your hands.” Ser Jon replied. “But, mayhaps, can I ask for a third?” “Oh?” “Should your gooddaughter, the lovely Lady Jeyne, give me her favor, then I am certain to win these games.” the young knight said. “And with her knightly husband’s permission, it would be my utmost pleasure to crown her Queen of Love and Beauty when I win it all.” Jeyne Turnberry laughed behind him, and Gregor saw his son give an approving nod out of the corner of his eye. His gooddaughter descended the steps gracefully, and put a garland of strawberry vines and white buds that would have turned to berries had they been left to grow around the knight’s lance. “It is given with affection, Ser Jon.” the lady said with a joyful giggle. “May you fight well.” The knight gracefully backed up his horse and took his place at his end of the tourney grounds. His opponent this round was Ser Hugor Perryn, a brute of a man from a house known for its unflinching loyalty to Lord Lancel, for which he and his entire family had been richly rewarded. Not a noteworthy opponent, Gregor was sure Lancel had bribed the tourney officials to let him enter, but it was expected of Lancel at this point. How had he failed the boy this badly? When the boy’s father, Lyman Lannister, had died in the Kingswood Tragedy, it had been Gregor who took up the mantle of regent and guided the Westerlands into the prosperity it had today. Along the way, he had tried to teach the boy what it meant to rule. To wield the power had been given by birthright in a just manner. To do well by doing good. None of it seemed to stick. Lancel had once been an apt pupil, eager to learn whatever Gregor had to teach him. But when Gregor had returned from his two year campaign on the Iron Islands bringing down the mad prophet Lodos the Twice-Drowned, he found that the eager boy had been replaced by a petulant manchild who wanted nothing so much as to throw party, surround himself with whores, and shower his sycophants with gold. Ser Hugor being one of them. As he thought of the knight, he looked down towards the tourney grounds as the horns sounded and the two armored warriors charged towards one another. It looked like any normal run, until he saw something that made his blood run cold. “Nononono…” he muttered. “The lance is too high. See it, look at the lance you bloody fool. Look ou-” The knights struck each other. Ser Jon’s lance hit true and struck Ser Hugor’s shield with tremendous force which would throw the other knight clean off his horse. But Ser Hugor’s lance was aimed too high. It skidded off the top of Ser Jon’s shield and struck his neck, splintering into dozens of pieces that embedded themselves into the throat of the would-be champion. There were screams of horror and outrage, but Gregor found them to be strangely muted. Attendants rushed to try and save the life of Ser Jon as he writhed on the ground, but the old lion knew that it was too late. Jason was comforting his betrothed, his younger son Tybolt was whispering in hushed tones with both of his sisters, but their father was thinking of an altogether different Lannister. He left the stands and made straight for the veritable city of tents that stood outside in the forests surrounding the Rock. He brushed aside everyone asking what had just happened as he kept his furious pace forward. “By virtue of his actions, Ser Hugor Perryn has been disqualified. His next opponent, our gracious Lord Paramount, shall automatically move onto the next round!” the herald shouted out faintly, but Gregor paid the call no attention. He knew how this mummer’s farce would play out before it was even announced. Besides, the tent he was looking for was right in front of him. “Allow me to announce you, Ser Gre-” the guard posted outside said hesitantly. “Don’t be a fool. He knows who I am.” Gregor interrupted curtly, shoving the man aside and entering into the tent. Lancel Lannister didn’t even have his armor on. Almost as if he knew he wasn’t going to be needing it for some time. Instead, he lounged in the finest silks and sipped wine from a solid gold goblet. Upon seeing his uncle, the Warden of the West raised the wine up high in a mocking salute. “Uncle!” he called. “Come, share a cup of wine with me. This Dornish Red is simply an experience. You must share it with me.” “Did you have that boy killed?” Gregor demanded. Lancel’s expression went cold, and his eyes lost all light that was mere moments ago full of shining merriment. “When you address me, you will refer to me as my lord.” he replied coldly. “The question still stands, my lord.” Gregor returned. “No… I didn’t.” “You truly deny it?” “... Categorically, dearest uncle.” “SEVEN HELLS, MY LORD NEPHEW!” Gregor roared. “Bribes and spoilery are one matter, but this is another matter entirely! What are you even playing at with this foolishness?” “Have you not seen the state of the Seven Kingdoms, uncle?” Lancel asked mockingly. “They are tinder waiting for dragonflame to spark all of the discord that has been building underneath the surface. Meanwhile, our people feast and forget their troubles. They look to me for a champion, a stalwart and golden leader that will keep the peace. If I must make that legend with a mountain of gold, then I suppose I was born into the right house to do so.” Gregor could not believe his ears. All this corruption only to be loved? To be the people’s favorite? What petty monster was it that ruled over him? “You were so different once,” he said softly. “What happened? What did I do that made you like this? I tried so hard to be there once your father died, but I do not even know where I failed.” Lancel merely scoffed at that before draining his goblet and rising to fill it once more. “Oh I don’t know, possibly when you left me for two years and galavanted in the Iron Islands while leaving me in his hands.” “Lord Ruttiger?” “One and the same.” “He was a good man. We were on the Field of Fire together. He helped me ride back into the flames and rescue your grandfather.” “Oh I have no doubt he was a splendid knight.” Lancel retorted dryly. “And I am sure he made a fine friend that you could reminisce with about the days of the old kingdom. But he was a poor guardian. While you played at war on the Iron Islands. He drank our cellars dry and beat me black and blue for displeasing him.” “You lie…” Gregor said, though the strength of the statement deserted him. Ruttiger had indeed been a man fond of his ale, but Gregor had specifically chosen him for his steadfast nature. Could he really have been a monster underneath his friendly visage? “Every day I did not make him smile was a day I was in danger.” Lancel continued as if he had not heard his uncle’s objection. “The beatings were especially bad on the days he was drinking heavily, and sometimes he would even make the servants drag me to the training yard on days I was supposed to be free from his ‘tutoring’, screaming into my face that he’d make a warrior out of me and beating me with a dull sword until I tried to fight back. Then he’d beat me again. Happened more times that I care to count, nor do I even wish to try. For two years I did this, until word came that you were returning. Then I offered him a cup of wine as he retired for the evening. He was dead two moons later. Still, the lessons he taught me haven’t faded. Now I’ll make everyone smile, dearest uncle of mine. Who cares if they’re bought with gold?” Gregor made to speak, to challenge his nephews claim or to offer condolences, he didn’t yet know. It was a tale almost too wild to believe. But before he could make up his mind one way or another, Lancel spoke up yet again. “Oh, and I know you don’t care for me. I know that you scorn me, even if it is in the privacy of your own heart. But don’t you dare make to displace me from my throne, old man. I have friends all over the Westerlands. Ones that will make life difficult for everyone who isn’t them should something happen to me. You’re many things, and predictable is one of them. After spending your entire life trying to keep our lands stable and secure, I know you won’t throw away that chance simply because you are disgusted by me. You are no lion, uncle. You are nothing but a dog. And like the good dog you are, you will do as your told even if I have to beat you once in a while.” This time, there were no words Gregor had left to say. For all his faults, Lancel was an excellent judge of character, and he had the truth of it when he said Gregor would do anything to keep the West together. If that meant tolerating this… then he would do so with a heavy heart that tried to find love. “I trust you will see yourself out, ser knight.” Lancel said with a dismissive wave as Gregor silently bowed and made his way out of the tent. “Oh, and do try to act the part later this evening. When the win the tourney, I expect your cheers and applause to be the loudest of all. That should be enough to convince my doubters about the veracity of my victory. Until then, my beloved uncle…”
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The wedding had been glorious. The feast before him was indescribably delicious, and Ser Jason Lannister could not remember a time in his life when he was this happy. Only his new wife sitting next to him could even be remotely described as joyful as he was. Jeyne Turnberry was a vision of radiant beauty, and he could scarcely believe that she was all his. Insulted by Lord Lancel almost immediately after the lord came of age, House Turnberry’s relations with the crown had turned understandably sour and it was only Ser Jason volunteering to marry the lord’s maiden daughter that had prevented the situation from turning to open rebellion. He had agreed to the marriage without ever seeing the girl, and had been prepared to wed even a comely youth if it meant sparing his house the unsightly task of putting down a nascent rebellion. To his surprise, she was a buxom youth with a quick wit and a kind heart. Already, as he started into her deep amber eyes, he could see the many children and wonderful memories they would make throughout the years. So deep in thought as he was, that he almost missed his lord cousin tapping his knife to his goblet and calling for the musicians to stop their playing. “My lords and ladies, friends one and all!” Lancel called out to the assembled host. “I wish to be the first to wish the happy bride and groom a long and fruitful union. May the Seven shine upon them both!” Cheers and yells of approval broke out, and it took several seconds for Lancel to restore order, not that he appeared too eager to do so when the cause of the delay was his own adulation. “And that is not all.” he continued. “Do not think that after winning the tourney today, that I forgot to crown a Queen of Love and Beauty. No, my friends. I merely waited for the perfect moment. And for the perfect candidate to be at her most beautiful, so that none with eyes and even those without could doubt my decision. It is therefore, with the utmost honor, that I bestow this most honored garland upon the Queen of Love and Beauty this evening, Lady Jeyne Lannister!” The screams were deafening. Jeyne was weeping she was so overcome, and Jason Lannister felt his heart might burst in his chest right there and then. “So beautiful is she, in fact, that I cannot help but feel the need to uphold my lordly right.” Lancel continued, draining his cup dry of wine as he looked upon Jeyne while smacking his lips. “A Queen of Love and Beauty is worthy of the affection of one who has the blood of kings running in his veins. It is therefore, with the utmost joy and honor, that I invoke my lordly right to First Night with the beautiful bride.” Jason’s blood ran cold in his veins. His cousin could not, would not, do this. Madness. He was her goodbrother! This could not stand! How could he live with himself, with Jeyne, if he let this go through. He grabbed a knife and made to stand up. Lancel was in good need of a bleeding to make him come back to his senses. His cousin wouldn’t dare give him a permanent punishment for this, and Father could protect him if it came to that. And his cousin wasn’t the only one with a Lannister’s pride in their soul. Jason’s felt the irresistible call to answer the insult to his marriage’s honor. It was only the vice-like grip of his father upon his other arm that caused him to snap back to reality. Gregor Lannister’s face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes belied someone in complete control of their emotions. Action now would benefit no one, they said. And Lady Jeyne’s fate would be far crueler for it. At long last, Jason rose from the table with fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were white as snow. “You honor me and my wife, Lord Cousin.” Jason forced through a smile. “I would not deny you that right.” The room was deathly silent as the lords and ladies looked on with obvious shock and horror. To do such a thing was unheard of. The Targaryens had outlawed it in all but name when they conquered Westeros. Would he really do such a thing, even here in the heart of his own domain? The silence was broken when Lord Lancel let out a bellowing guffaw of a laugh. “The look on all of your fucking faces!” he screamed, face turning red as tears streamed down his face. “It’s a joke. A fucking joke. Oh gods, that was too easy!” Laughter uneasily broke out, before a few of Lancel’s toadies broke out in applause and the whole thing seemed to be over in an instant. Jason could feel his teeth clenching against one another as he forced a smile and politely applauded along with all the rest. He grabbed his cup and drained it, just to see that the Lord Paramount had brought in casks of some of the finest wine the Rock currently housed, from his own private collection, it looked like. A few more full cups, and everyone here would forget about his tasteless little jape and all would be happy again in the West. Fucking Lancel Lannister. House later, he found himself on a balcony overlooking the garden where the remnants of the feast were still going on. He didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful that most of the feast goers had carried on as if nothing had happened. A mercy? Or perhaps cruel apathy. He eventually decided that it didn’t matter. He’d adamantly refused that there should be a bedding ceremony. Lancel had done enough harm that night, and he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the Lord of the Rock had been there to usher Jason's new wife to her marital bed. Though she was allowed to enter into their room privately, the poor thing was still so shaken that she told Jason she did not wish to have him touch her that night. Or for the foreseeable future. What else was there he could do? Taking his leave, he elected to sleep on one of the benches near the gardens and hopefully get a few merciful hours of sleep before the morning light called him to duty once again. As he wallowed in his pity, a song rose up from the lower gardens, carried by a lovely voice that he was entranced by. Leaning over the edge of the railing, he strained to hear the words as the wind carried the tune in his direction. You saw courageous Ser Jon next You know what he became Boldy he entered the jousting lists Knowing not the game wasn’t meant for him And though his lance struck fast against the enemy fool Lannister gold made Perryn’s lance far more cruel… The world, however, did not wait But soon observed what followed on It's honor that had brought him to that fate… HOW FORTUNATE OUR LORD HAS NONE! “Disgusting, isn’t it?” Jason almost jumped out of his skin as he whirled around to see his half-naked, lordly cousin standing behind him listening to the tune as well. Lancel Lannister stunk of wine, and from the way the moonlight reflected the dull, glassy look in his eyes, Jason knew that his cousin would be regretting some of his beverage choices in the morning. “Good evening, cousin.” Jason said curtly. “You hate me, don’t you?” Lancel sneered, sauntering over to the railing and leaned against it next to his cousin. “Want to push me over the edge? Go on, do it.” Jason’s silence had been demanded by his father, who told him that Lancel might very well try such a thing. It was a test, nothing more. One that he promised Gregor he would pass. “She is quite beautiful, your lady wife.” his cousin continued. “Shame she has you for a husband. I’d make her a much happier lady, if you catch my meaning.” Stony silence was the only reply as Lancel prowled behind him, only to appear at his other side with an arm thrown around his shoulder in a sign of mock friendship. “Perhaps I’ll send you out into a battle you can’t possibly hope to win. Make sure you go straight to the front lines. As your body lies in repose, given a great spot in the Hall of Heroes, I’ll comfort your sobbing widow. Give her a shoulder to cry on. Perhaps even a hand in marriage.” Seeing he would still get no reaction, Lancel abandoned the tactic and simply listened to the faint snippets of the tune in silence. “Don’t think me ungrateful, my dear cousin.” he finally said. “I’m grateful you got me out of this spot of trouble with her miserable auroch of a father, so I hired the finest armorsmiths in Qohor months ago. Plate armor, filigreed with some of our finest gold in shapes of mighty lions doing battle against enemies from every era of Lannister Kings. You could buy an army with such a present, but instead, I show how highly I value our friendship.” “Forgive me for seeming ungrateful, my lord, but it has been a long evening.” Jason said, interjecting where he felt safe to do so. “If it pleases you, may you tell me why you are hear with me now?” “Hmmm. Straight to business I see.” Lancel mused. “No offense taken, cousin. None at all. In fact, I have something else for you. A task I would trust no one else with.” He gestured out towards the lower garden, and gave it a middle finger to show exactly how he felt about the music emanating from it. “My little friends tell me she’s called ‘the Songbird’.” he said. “Some common whore with talent in her voice and with an instrument. Normally I wouldn’t care, but she seems to know things about my dealings and the dealings of my friends that should have stayed between us. I want her found, and I want her questioned sharply about how she knows such things. And you seem to be a valiant and puissant knight in your lord’s service. I shall task you with riding out tomorrow and hunting her down.” “I… I would wish to be with my lady wife, my lord.” Jason said, his voice cold and distant. “Then I would offer you my best advice: find the Songbird quickly.” Lancel said as he walked away. “Because I will be honest with you, Jason: I don’t know how long she’ll stay faithful to a knight who can’t catch a simple vagabond when there is a rich Lord Paramount whispering sweet nothings in her ear.” Tears ran freely down as he gazed outward into the sky outside Casterly Rock. Ser Jason Lannsiter could not remember a time where he felt more miserable or lonely than this. The thoughts inside his head were dark ones, and he cared for none of the destinations that his thoughts seemed to be going towards. His only companion tonight as he finally collapsed, exhausted, onto the garden bench was the final verse of the Songbird’s mocking tune. You heard of Jason Lannister The man with a blushing bride So lovely and fair was she That it was with her that our lecher lord wanted his First Night And Ser Jason found his balls were gone Only for them to be in Lancel’s left hand and his right… The world, however, did not wait But soon observed what followed on It's true love that brought Ser Jason to that state… HOW FORTUNATE OUR LORD HAS NONE!

Chapter 1

Concept art for Sybil
Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 1: Chapter 13
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As he lay down, Carter wondered just how long it had been since he last slept, not counting however long he'd been knocked out for the surgical implementation of his new augments. Between the pirates, the surgery, and "getting to know" his new...huh... Were they his subordinates, his bosses, or just the ship? He shook his head. It didn't matter. He'd gotten to know them a little better, and they didn't feel quite so psychotic anymore. They were still plenty psychotic! But at least he could relate a little.
He thought back to the girl, the original one. How long had she been alone out in space, with nothing but the void, stars, and an emotionless, unthinking ship that only followed orders and offered nothing in return for company? It's a wonder she didn't just up and kill herself! Then again, maybe some people would feel the same about his situation...
Not that he had any intention of taking that easy way out any time soon! Carter had fought too hard and too long to just give up now! He'd find a way to turn this all to his advantage somehow! Though how exactly he'd do that with those three breathing down his neck remained to be seen.
Then, a thought occurred to him. Carter into the darkness. Hey, Sybil, are you there?"
Even before he turned to look her way as she answered, the glowing light in his room told Carter she was. "Yes, Captain?"
Carter laughed. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of someone calling me 'captain.' Now I've done it, and somehow...it feels empty."
The girl looked confused. "Oh? Why does it feel empty?"
Carter looked up at the ceiling, now illuminated by the girl's presence. "I don't know. Maybe it's because of how many 'captains' have already run this ship and how few of them seemed to have meant anything to you. Maybe it's because I just stumbled into the position rather than earning it by viture of my wit and skill. Or maybe it's because everything I do seems to lead me one step forward and two steps back..."
The girl pushed her glasses up, a motion Carter remembered the original girl doing in the memories he'd been shown earlier before answering. "Well, I suppose you'll have to earn the position. After all, it's not like any of our captains came into the role after being carefully selected from a pool of capable candidates. Although, you are mistaken in one aspect."
Carter looked over at the girl with a raised eyebrow. "Oh yeah, what's that?"
The girl looked off into the distance and smiled. "I remember all of my captains. Even the ones who didn't do a good job or were around for very long, and I learned something from all of them. You've already earned a place in my memories. Long after the rest of the galaxy has forgotten almost every human who lives today, your name and accomplishments will live on through me." She paused and smirked a little. "Although, how big the chapter of your tenure as captain will be largely depends on you."
Carter chuckled. "Fair enough, I suppose."
The girl tilted her head. "Was that all you wanted? To vent to me about your worries?"
Carter barked out a laugh of his own. "It sounds a little sad when you say it like that! But no, that just occurred to me when you called me captain. I called for you because I realized I forgot to tell you just what my first order as captain was going to be."
The girl smiled. "Yes, I suppose you did negotiate for the right to issue the first command. So tell me, what would you like to do, oh captain, my captain?"
Carter considered throwing his pillow through the image of the girl but knew it would cause no more harm than some slight digitization. Then he'd have to go get the pillow himself, taking any sting out of the point he wanted to make. Instead, he just grinned and answered, "Simple. I want to get my old ship back!"
-
They were almost to the escape pods when they were sandwiched between two groups of pirates. As Vanessa fired down one corridor to keep the first group at bay, Erik looked around the corner to try to get a count of the second.
The alien ducked back just as a hail of gunfire erupted around the corner. Despite the near miss, Erik grinned. "Well, the group ahead looks smaller but better armed! I don't think blindly charging at them will work this time!"
Vanessa spared her friend a glance as she reloaded the rifle. "Showing restraint in the face of danger, my lady? I suppose there's a first time for everything."
Erik laughed. "Danger is one thing, but I'm not exactly suicidal! What I need is a distraction of some kind!"
As Vanessa poured more gunfire back the way they'd come, keeping the pirates from doing more than blindly firing around the corner while Alen kept his head down, she offered a slightly unladylike grunt. "I would love to be of assistance, but I'm afraid I'm busy keeping the second group at bay."
Realizing this could very well be the end, Alen decided it was on him to do something for once. He could see a room with an open door across the hall. There was almost no chance he could make it without getting shot, however... "I'll do it!"
Erik looked at Alen and laughed. "No offense, kid, but I don't think you can take out the pirates any better than I can!"
Alen shook his head. "No, but I can give you a distraction. It won't be much, a second or two at most, but I can make them aim their guns at the opposite side of the hallway. Would that be enough?"
Erik's grin grew wider, and Alen could swear his eyes dilated just a little. "You buy me a full second of distraction, and I'll make it work, kid! Whenever you're ready!"
With a sigh, Alen shook his head to clear his thoughts, then took a deep breath. "Alright..." Then, without giving himself more time to think about it, Alen stood up and started running.
Alen was used to running. He knew he was in reasonably good shape, doubly so for someone who planned on spending his life aboard a ship as an officer, but he'd never run this fast before and likely never would again. As he passed the corner at a dead sprint, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Each step felt like he was pushing his legs past the breaking point as he willed himself to rocket forward faster with each step. He ignored the blurs at the corner of his vision, even as they opened fire, tracing his movements with their gun barrels as they roared to life, spewing deadly projectiles at his heels. He knew they could turn faster than he could run, but he just had to make it through the doorway ahead, and he'd be home free!
As his foot lifted off the ground, Alen felt a tug at his pant leg but refused to think about it. He slammed his other foot down, propelling him forward again. The sheer volume of gunfire chasing his every step felt like a pack of wolves chasing him through a forest, and all he could do was keep running...but when he slammed his other foot down again, everything went to hell. Pain shot up through his leg. It wasn't the kind of pain that can be described as burning or stabbing. It was the kind of pain that exists only as an abstract concept for most until it is experienced, the kind that sends a shock through your body and stops all conscious functioning.
Alen fell, but he didn't care. His mind was blank except in a pure reactionary way as he curled up around the leg that screamed in agony. He was only dimly aware of Erik's roar as the alien rounded the corner and threw his first two axes. There were screams and more gunfire, but Alen didn't care. He just wanted the pain in his leg to stop, but when he reached down to see what was wrong, his hand encountered only the bloody mess that had once been his foot. Alen's screem joined the rest.
Eventually, Alen became aware he wasn't alone anymore. He was being carried, and the pain was still excruciating, but somehow, it felt more distant. He felt cold, and the world was spinning around him. A part of him wanted to go to sleep, but then something slapped him in the face. "Nuh-uh, kid! No closing your eyes yet! Here. This ought to help!"
Alen felt something jabbed into his side. It hurt, but the pain was so much less than what he was going through it barely registered. Meanwhile, he was being manhandled as someone gripped his foot tightly, sending fresh waves of agony through him. It seemed like they were wrapping something around or above it. Alen tried to fend them off, but his hands were batted aside like a child's. After a moment, the voice returned. "There we go. That ought to stop the bleeding. Hey, that pack got any blood in it? I'm pretty sure he lost more than he ought to..."
Another voice that Alen recognised as Vanessa's answered: "There is a stable chemical similar to human plasma. It's insufficient as a total blood replacement, but it should help stabilize low levels due to traumatic blood loss. Allow me to administer it, as this requires a more delicate approach than I believe you are capable of, my lady."
As the pain started to fade, Alen recognized Erik pulling back from his position. However, the alien was strangely hunched over, as if he'd grown to gigantic proportions and was now too large for the room.
Suddenly, Alen remembered they were in the middle of a firefight. He started to sit up while shouting, "The pirates!" but was restrained by a surprisingly strong carapaced arm.
Erik laughed. It was strangely comforting to hear him back to his usual jovial self as Vanessa continued to treat him. "No worries there, lad! The captain must have done whatever he was gonna do because just as things were looking bad, all the pirates' suits all went dead, as did my axes and Vanessa's gun. However, with a little extra muscle, the axes still did their job just fine!"
Vanessa calrified as she stuck a needle into Alen's arm. "It was a powerful electromagnetic wave. Thankfully, the escape pods seem to have been shielded from the effects. Probably a necessity if you have such a system on board your vessel."
They were on board one of the pods, which explained a few things, including why Erik seemed so large in the relatively small confines of the room they were now in. Alen looked down at his foot. It was wrapped in bandages and looked like a bloody mess. "So then...this was all a waste? I could have just waited a few more moments, and we would have been fine?"
Seeing where Alen's gaze was resting, Erik's smile faded just a bit as the larger man answered. "Maybe. Or maybe we would have been overwhelmed and killed seconds away from salvation. We'll never know. What we do know is that when things were looking bad, you stepped up and did something brave, kid. That's not something Vanessa or I will be forgetting any time soon!"
That spin made Alen smile just a bit, even through the remaining pain. "Well, I just didn't want to die not having tried something."
Erik's smile widened again. "You'd be surprised how rare that is when things get real, kid! You did good back there! Take a little pride in that! You earned it!"
Just then, Vanessa jabbed Alen with something else. Shortly after, the world started getting hazy as she offered her two cents. "What he's earned is a rest. We'll deal with the rest when he wakes up."
Alen wanted to offer a counterpoint but found his mind slipping as the world got hazy while the rest of the pain seemed to fade into oblivion. Not long after, he found the effort of keeping his eyes open too much to deal with, and he quietly slipped into unconsciousness.
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Gonna take tomorrow off as I have a vet appointment in the middle of the day, but I'll add a chapter on Friday to make up for it!
My Wiki has all my chapters and stories, including the short series and stories that I write for an occasional change of pace or style!
As a reminder, "Of Men and Dragons" Books 1 and 2 are available to purchase in e-book or physical form. (Both softcover and hardcovers are available!) Book 3 is almost done being edited, so I'll just have to get the cover art and formatting done, and it will be available to purchase as well! Hopefully, in no more than a month or two! (Barring more Amazon drama like last time...finger's crossed!)
OMAD Book 1: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09NCPP3PP
OMAD Book 2: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQ7FQ1ZJ
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First / Previous
I’m very, very good at telling when someone’s lying to me.
People have lied to me my whole life, so I’ve had some practice.
I’ve only forgiven one lie—the first one I remember. The sky glowed maroon, machine oil odor filled my nostrils, and I huddled below my blankets while Alice squeezed Miss Marvelous and screamed in the bottom bunk.
Mom told us it would be alright.
She lied.
My therapist spent two hours lying to me. He only told me three things that felt true—the Number of Power. When I clammed up, he shoved some chewable pills at me and left. Dad drove us to the hotel twenty minutes later, drinking from a silver bottle.
I’d hidden the pills in my slippers, between my toes. No one saw.
◄▼►
Outside Victoria, British Columbia - May 23, 2043, 12:22 PM
- - - - -
{Stability 6/10}
The dinging sound in my aural aug wakes me up. There’s another weird message, but also a call.
A call. That’s good. Maybe it’s over. I…killed…the thinling. But Alice and Sora wouldn’t call through my aug. They know it heats up during calls. And my phone’s still on mandatory airplane mode.
I pick up.
The man’s voice is almost monotone, perfectly calm, and disgustingly familiar. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember where. Was it the principal’s voice? The therapist’s? I know it’s not Dad’s; he’s never monotone and rarely calm. “We’re tracking and inbound on your position. Hold your pos—“
“I’m Claire,” I say suddenly. And the floodgates open. “Claire Pendleton. I’m at West End High, and there were thinnings, but they both merged, and the first one brought a world through and a thinling, but the second one gave me a gun and I hid in the bathroom and used the mirror to stop it and I shot it. I shot it and it’s dead! But I need help. Help, pleasepleaseplease!”
“Subject is verbal.” The voice isn’t speaking to me. He’s talking through my panic, my hysteria. Is he even listening to me? No. No, he’s not. “Subject is a female adolescent, fourteen to sixteen years old. Potentially violent. Description does not match the augs’ owner’s description. Transferring to James.”
“What do you mean? They’re my—“
The line goes dead.
“—augs…” And just like that, I’m alone again. Everything hurts, whether it’s my raw, tender palm, aching throat, or just the phantom pain from the fires that swept across me when I…bonded…with the revolver. But the thinling is dead. I killed it. And if I can kill it, I can get to the shelter. I can blend in with the other students and pretend this hasn’t happened.
I fiddle with my optical aug, trying to pull up the System’s messages again. After a minute of fruitless attempts, I start muttering to myself, and it almost immediately flickers open in my eye. I roll my eyes at how stupid that feels, then start fiddling with it, trying to get a sense of how it all works together. Without the Assistance Functions, though, it’s tough to tell. I know I’ve lost Stability from fighting thinlings and discovering the revolver, but I’m not sure how to get it back.
I’m halfway through trying an equation using Skills, Truths, and Inquiries as variables when my aural aug goes off again. If it’s the calm, monotone man, I’m going to scream. I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hello, my name is James, and you’re Claire Pendleton, right?” This voice is younger; James can’t be more than my age—maybe a year older. And unlike the first voice’s calm monotone, James has life in his voice. Energy. Ups and downs. He’s a teenager, like Alice or Sora—I’m not sure why he’s on the phone and not an adult. But before he says another word, I know a truth about James. It’s in his tone.
He will lie to me. Maybe he already has.
I won’t forgive his lies, I decide I. But I don’t have any choice but to tolerate them. I take a few breaths, cough, and try to close the floodgates this time. “Yes, Claire Pendleton. Don’t lie to me, James. I’m in trouble, and I need help. Everything’s not going to be alright, and telling me that won’t help.” It comes out angrier than I wanted, but I can’t take that back now.
He’s taken aback, though. I can tell from the silence in my aug for a minute. Then he clears his throat. “I’m building your profile now. Once we have it, my superiors will tell me exactly what I can and can’t tell you. You’re not who we expected from your augments. For now, here’s what you need to know. Your survival is important to us. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get to West End High’s safe room in one piece, and in return, you’re going to keep me on the line. Got it?”
“That’s not going to work,” I say. “My aug’s a piece of junk, and it’s already overheating. And I don’t even know who you are! I killed a thinling, and I’ve been through two merges today, and I don’t know anything about you or what you want.”
The panic’s hitting me again. I need to sit down. My feet don’t respond right away as I slowly struggle to stand and walk to the girls’ bathroom. I sit on the toilet in the limbo-dancer stall, the door held open with my foot, and clear my throat. “Who are you?”
“My name is James, and I’m cleared to tell you I’m an Operator for the Supernatural and Hidden Objects Control and Knowledge Service and that you’re currently a person of interest to us.”
I shiver despite my best efforts to keep it together. That’s not a lie—at least not all of it.
◄▼►
My aural aug beeps, letting me know it’s reaching critical heat levels. I already know that, obviously. It’s getting painful to listen to James at all. But I’ve been a person of interest to SHOCKS before.
Just after the burgundy skies, the machine oil and roses, and the metal tang I couldn’t spit out. And the missing wall that let in the warp and made Mom a liar. It wasn’t fun the first time, and it won’t be fun now.
[Patch Installation In Progress]
[Patch Installation Successful]
Before I can complain, James speaks in my ear. It sounds like he’s talking through a walkie-talkie now. “I’ve downloaded a speed limiter patch into your aural and optical augs. It’ll reduce my optics feed quality, and we’ll sound scratchy and staticky, but they should stop overheating. Twenty to thirty-percent drop in heat.”
Sure enough, the heat in my ear drops to a tolerable glow. “You’re in my optic aug, too?” I ask, concerned. SHOCKS hasn’t been my friend in the past; my therapist was SHOCKS, and the last thing I need is the boogeyman in my brain. The Halcyon System riding along is bad enough, but if James sees everything I do, too…
“Yes. I’m piggybacking through both of your augs right now. SHOCKS already has a profile for you, so expect some changes in our interactions over the next two or three minutes as I adjust. Please confirm the following questions: First, is your date of birth June 15, 2029?”
“Yes.” That’s pretty basic, and SHOCKS already knows the answer.
“You’re two months older than me. I won’t be fifteen until August 23,” James says. I’m still waiting for James’s next lie. “Now, I need to ask about something that happened on October 11, 2034. You were—“
“No.”
“I’m sorry, but I—“
“You already know exactly what happened. The truth, according to you guys. I don’t need to tell you anything.” He’s digging into places I won’t go with Sora. How dare he?
“I see.” James’s voice shifts slightly, his accent changing to Oxford English. “What do you know about SHOCKS?”
“You’re the boogeyman.”
“That’s not wrong,” James laughs. Even his laugh has picked up a British-sounding tone. I also feel myself relax as his tone shifts to a businesslike calm. Is the accent a lie? I can’t decide. “Claire, your augs show you in a relatively safe place, but that won’t last. The profile says you don’t trust people. I’m going to ask you to trust me.”
“No.” The word leaves my lips before I realize I’ve said it. “No, I can’t.”
“Claire, you’ve encountered a full-blown reality merge to R-389 and an instant-entry merge with an unknown reality. The rest of Victoria is experiencing merges, and no one else can help you. It’s unlikely you’ll survive the third merge without my help.”
I sit on the toilet seat, turning the revolver over and over in my hands. James still hasn’t lied. He doesn’t think I can handle it here by myself. And neither do I, to be honest. So why did I go from begging the adult to help me to being unsure about James? Because I know he’ll lie to me? Because I’m thinking now instead of panicking? Or is it just because I’m older than him? I narrow my eyes.
He’s right. Unfortunately. I can’t find a way to the shelter. Not without help, and he’s who I’ve got. “I can’t trust you. You’ll lie. You all do. But the shelter’s on the wrong side of the school, and I can’t get there. Give me a way through.”
“Not through, out. You need to break out a window, move past the soccer field, and find the cafeteria. If you go in through those doors, it’s a straight shot to—“
“The office. Got it.” I don’t stand up, but I do let the stall door squeak shut. The bathroom’s perfume-and-cleaning supply smell feels overpowering and oppressive, but it also smells like safety. The thinling couldn’t get me here. I’m half-tempted to stay. But only half. The revolver sits in my lap; I pick it up and hold it in front of my optic aug. “I need to know more about thinlings and this thing.”
“Thinlings? We don’t have anything by that name from R-389. Did you make that up?”
“No. Your emergency system told me their name,” I say, rolling my eyes. I finally hoist myself out of the stall and walk gingerly back into the hallway. I look carefully at the thinling’s remains. “That’s a thinling,” I say.
James goes quiet for a minute. A full minute. While he waits, I fidget with my glasses and rub my thumb against the Revolver’s bullet holder. I’ve decided the Revolver is a thing of power, like the Truth or the number Three. It’s from a merge, yes, but all three let me solve equations I couldn’t before. They’re the best kinds of variables; I can put them anywhere and have a good chance of not screwing up the math. They almost seem bigger than the equations, in fact.
James clears his throat in my ear. “There are some things I can’t tell you, but we have a record of these. 389-T-13/2I.”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“That’s its designation. It’s a 389-T-13/2I. That means it’s from Reality 389, it’s the thirteenth type of anomaly we’ve encountered from there, and it’s a Type Two Incomprehensible. Incomprehensibles are weird, but incomprehensibility works both ways with Type Twos like the 389-T-13/2I. It’s a high Anquan-Danger anomaly. Trivial for a trained soldier. Dangerous to you. They don’t tend to have a sense of self, so exposing them to themselves causes problems in their behavior. I see you used a mirror. Good thinking.”
I reevaluate my partnership with James. Even if I can’t trust him, he knows his stuff, and he’s just a voice in my head. I’ll know what he knows—most of it, anyway. There’s no way that’s all the information on 389-T-13/whatevers. And I’m not sure what’s more incomprehensible, the monster I shot or that name. It’d take a computer to keep track of a bunch of codes like that.
“We’re calling it a thinling,” I say. I hear him start to protest and cut him off. “I’m older. What I say goes.”
“That’s incredibly stupid,” James complains in my ear, but I know I’ve got him, so I don’t say anything. After a moment, he relents. “Thinlings, or 389-T-13/2I, are usually the first anomalies through merges to R-389, and they’re easy to deal with. They usually come through in groups, so be ready for more. Now, show me that pistol again.”
“The Revolver,” I say under my breath as I hold it up.
James goes almost silent; a keyboard sound clicks rapidly in my ear, but he doesn’t say anything for a while again. I shift the Revolver in my hands, careful not to hit my cut palm, and wait. It takes almost three minutes. I know because I count the seconds after the silence gets awkward.
“Claire, that object isn’t in our database. We don’t have a single sample on file.” James’s voice has changed. The British accent wavers, and seriousness washes over him, almost identical to the monotone man’s cadence but higher-pitched. “We’re labeling the reality it came from R-573-T. It’s likely the first object we’ve found from it, so it’s important that you don’t use it anymore. We don’t know the possible effects it could have.”
I close my eyes, count to three, and open them again. The Revolver’s off-white barrel almost glows in the twilight hall, and the faint light glints off the brass bullet holder. I wrap my hand around the grip, resting my finger on the trigger guard. “I’m keeping it. What’s the bullet holder called?”
“The cylinder. You need to keep it. Don’t lose it, whatever you do. SHOCKS needs that object.”
I step over the smoldering, stinking remains of the thinling and walk down the hall, the Revolver’s barrel facing the floor. My gut tightens almost painfully as I turn my back to the monster—what if it’s not dead? What if I have to run? But there’s no way it’s getting up. I’m okay.
I return to Mrs. Helquist’s math room. Splinters and sawdust cover the hall’s tiles; I step over them and into the classroom. Shockingly, the door and a few drops of blood on her carpet are the only signs I’d run through here or that the thinling chased me.
Those and the smell rolling in through the shattered window. A warm ground beef and electrical scent that sticks in my nose and makes my stomach heave. I choke back bile and look out the window.
And I see the Truth—that, Revolver or not, James or not, I can’t go out there.
◄▼►
I’m back in the girls’ bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat again. James hasn’t said a word since I turned around. Looking at the soccer field, at what was…out there…I couldn’t. So I’m back here, where it’s safe. Or at least where it’s safer than that. My stomach is lighter now, but I can’t get the taste of used breakfast out of my mouth—or the smell of warm meat out of my nose.
James breaks the silence. “The merge is backward, Claire. We can’t get a recovery and stabilization team into any merged zones near Victoria. You’re effectively inside of R-389 right now, and you’re in possession of an unknown anomalous object. That’s the bad news. The good news is that since you have the object, I was able to negotiate Class Zero clearance for you. Welcome to SHOCKS.”
I ignore him. He’s still not lying, but nothing he’s saying is helpful right now. “We’ll loop around. It’s a long push through the gym, but the second floor doesn’t have fire doors. They never installed them.” I’m not looking forward to traveling through Mr. Roberts’s gym or the lockers, though—not after what happened to everyone left outside. PE was my biggest nightmare all last year, and it’ll probably be worse now.
“Are you sure? The longer it takes to get to the shelter, the worse the merge will get.”
“I’m sure. I can’t.” I push myself to my feet and hold the Revolver. “It’ll be safer inside.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” James says. “R-389’s unreality levels are much higher than R-0’s. The longer this takes, the less stable the world will get.”
“So the whole world’s turning into a thinling?” I ask.
“Can we meet in the middle? How about T-Thirteens?” James asks. “Not the whole world, but it’ll get worse here soon.”
I ponder as I stick my head out into the hall. I’m doubling back toward Mrs. Helquist’s room, but instead of going inside, I’m heading through the Social Studies hall to the gym. If I can get through the basketball court and past the ticket booth on the far side, I can get upstairs. If I can get upstairs, I can find the main stairwell, and if I can find that, I can get to the shelter’s door.
Simple and linear.
Nothing moves in the dim hall. Here and there, white light pours in through the windows; the white, almost fluorescent sun seems to have won its war against the sickly yellow clouds. I hadn’t noticed them from Mrs. Helquist’s window. “Move from classroom door to classroom door. Always check behind you before you move. Keep looking around, and look inside every room you pass. Don’t leave any T-Thirteens behind you. Make sure you have an escape route.”
He’s trying to give me weeks of training in one long, never-ending lecture, but almost everything bounces off my brain like a tennis ball. I move to the first classroom door, look around quickly, then hobble to the next. The whole time, I’m rerunning my equation. If my math is correct, I’ve balanced it—for the most part. But James’s constant talking is a new variable, and I haven’t figured out how to solve it yet.
It also changes the rest of the problem. James is a wealth of information, but I can’t trust him, and whatever Class Zero clearance is, it’s not high-ranking enough to get the truth out of him. He seems genuine in wanting to help me. I just can’t digest everything he’s still saying about tactics, clearing rooms by myself, self-covering, situational awareness, and a million other soldier-sounding sound bites. I give up and set James aside as a variable. I need to solve the gym first.
“Go right,” James says a second after I turn right into the Social Studies hall. I roll my eyes and hold my tongue, darting from door to door. The posters are different here: maps of Canada, a student-made British Columbia flag made from magazine clippings, and timelines. I ignore them, checking rooms, hurrying through the dark sections of the hall, and lingering in the pale lights as long as I can. It takes almost five uneventful, heart-pounding minutes to arrive at the gym’s doors.
Mr. Roberts is inside.
Or maybe it’s something that used to be Mr. Roberts. Or something lying about being Mr. Roberts. Much like the thinling—I refuse to call it a T-Thirteen—his appearance shimmers and changes, but whether his arms bulge like a bodybuilder’s, his legs split into four bone-white insect legs, or his fingers rattle and clatter like chains on the floor, it’s still him—just…different hims. Looking at him makes me feel like I’m spinning or falling—or both.
Either way, he stands under the basketball hoop in his usual place, overseeing an invisible PE class. That’s a problem. The stairs are on the far side. I can see them from here, but I don’t think I can get across the gym without Mr. Roberts seeing me.
My hand’s on the door when James interrupts. “This is a Type Three Incomprehensible, Claire.”
“He’s Mr. Roberts.” Even though it’s not quite my PE teacher, it’s almost right most of the time.
“No, it’s a Type Three Incomprehensible. I’m not sure which classification, but all Incomprehensibles are mind-affecting anomalies. What do you see?”
I describe it, and I can almost hear James shaking his head. He types for a moment. “It’ll get worse the closer you get. I’m overlaying an image over it. Use your aug, close your other eye, and pay attention to the overlay, not what’s behind it. And hurry. I had to disable my patch and overclock your aug.”
“Got it,” I whisper, my hand still on the door. Everything James has told me is the truth, but it’s not the capital-T truth. I won’t find that in what some boy miles away keeps saying in my ear.
I push the door open and run inside.
Mr. Roberts turns and screams/roars. This close, he’s not much different than the thinling. I squeeze my right eye closed, and he fades into the background, replaced by a jet-black cut-out exactly his shape. As the black cut-out starts running toward me, Mr. Roberts’s long fingernails and split legs occasionally weave out from behind the blackness. Those bits give me vertigo.
I level the Revolver and fire. The shot hits the shadowy overlay, which keeps coming. I pull the trigger again, but nothing happens.
“Run, Claire!” James all but screams in my ear. I sprint for the stairs, shoes sticking slightly to the wooden floor. What did I step in that makes them stick? It feels like I’m running through syrup.
I look at Mr. Roberts. He’s closing the gap quickly, and the black overlay seems to be breaking down. His four insect legs propel him toward me across the tar-like basketball court, and his fingernails whip back and forth like chains—chains with spikes on the ends. My aug’s already overheating, a roaring inferno in my skull that doesn’t stop.
The floor gets stickier and stickier until I’m all but swimming through the gym. Mr. Roberts reaches me. The overlay disappears, fading to reveal something that’s both perfectly my PE teacher and something completely alien.
{Skill Learned: Endurance 1}
{Stability 4/10}
My head swims, and my mouth fills with bile again. I throw myself toward the stairwell, and the sticky feeling disappears when I crash into the first step. I scramble up the stairs, away from the thing that isn’t quite Mr. Roberts. Three steps. Four. I trip, roll on the stairs, and look back, both eyes open.
The Mr. Roberts thing screams/roars from below the bottom step. The Revolver’s bullet, the one lined up with the barrel, glows and illuminates his face. And in that moment, just before I scream and turn and crawl up the remaining stairs, I see the Truth.
It’s not him.
But it was.
◄▼►

A few days ago I was watching a Renee Rapp interview with Nardwuar, had no idea she was gay but she immediately starts going on about “I’m young and a lesbian” and Nardwuar gives her a poster of a musician and she’s like “this girl is so hot, wow I’m gonna go finger myself to this later” not even joking
And I just heard a snippet of a new Billie Eilish song called Lunch and all the lyrics are very cringey overly sexual about how much she likes eating pussy? Like this is one of the biggest artists in the world and this is what she’s doing? Really?
Maybe it’s just me being a bitter straight man but I can’t help but notice a double standard. If they were males and doing half as much as this, they would have been canceled immediately without question. It seems like blatant, perverted sexualization of women is given a pass if it’s coming from other women

Part 1 // Part 2
I paced my bedroom floor wondering what I should do next. I’d already placed the leg back in the gun safe, then searched the entirety of my house looking for something Christian to place on top of it. It seemed to work in the movies and I didn’t really have any idea what else to do. I couldn’t find any religious paraphernalia of any kind, so I ended up fashioning a small crucifix out of two large carrots and hot glue with a little Jesus made out of raisins.
I needed a plan! I was thinking about who might know more information about the artifact I’d come into possession of, then it hit me – all of my competitors!
Surely not all of them were fakes like me!
One by one, I called them up and set up meetings for that afternoon – staggered appointments of course.
The first one to show up was a woman named Destiny. I sent her home immediately after she tracked dog shit into my house from the bottom of her shoes. I will not work with someone who is not only rude but completely oblivious.
The second one was a guy named Tiger, which I thought was a badass name and he was a pretty cool guy. Too bad he failed every test I threw at him. I sent him home, but kept his number in case I wanted to try to connect with him sometime to hangout.
The third psychic was a total nutcase named Psycho Jimmy. I’m honestly not even sure if he was a medium or if google search just lumped the words ‘Psychic’ and ‘Psycho’ into the same page due to a lack of results.
He didn’t say a word to me the entire time. He came into my house, drank a glass of water, walked a lap around the living room, stared directly into my eyes, unblinking, for a solid thirty seconds, then simply left. Total fucking psycho indeed. And yes, I did upgrade my security system shortly after meeting him.
Out of options I reluctantly called Destiny back, even if she did smell like dog poop.
To my surprise, she didn’t smell like shit when she showed back up to my house. She explained to me that it wasn’t her that smelled but it was, in fact, the ghost of her dead dog, Hercules, that followed her around. She further explained that last winter, her dog passed away peacefully in his sleep. She was distraught, but thought it would be in bad taste to leave a dead dog lying on her living room floor, so she loaded the carcass up into a cardboard box along with his favorite blanket and a few toys. Then she sealed the top of the box with packing tape so animals couldn’t get in, and left the box out on her front porch where the cold December weather would keep him fresh for a day until she could gather herself long enough to make arrangements.
Porch pirates showed up not an hour later and stole the box off of her porch thinking they just scored a nice heavy Amazon delivery. I can’t imagine how they must have felt to open it up and find a dead dog.
Now Hercules walks the Earth as a ghost, unable to rest until he has his revenge against those that stole his bones away from his loving mother.
“Uh, okay, that’s…” I had no idea what to say in response to hearing such an insane story, “Well, can you have Hercules stay outside please?”
“Yeah, no problem,” She replied before bending at the waist to pet an invisible dog and whisper loving comments into its ears before following me into my kitchen.
“So how do I know you’re legit?” Was the first question I asked her when we were both seated at the table.
“Because I can see the ghost that is standing in your bedroom door,” She replied calmly.
I spun around in my chair towards my bedroom door just in time to watch it violently slam itself shut.
“You’re hired!”
I re-capped the entire situation to Destiny, who asked to see the leg.
She recoiled as soon as I placed it on the table in front of her, “You didn’t tell me it’s upholstered in human flesh” she said, “Pretty big detail to leave out”
“It is?” I asked.
She pointed to a pinkish brown blemish on the leather that covered the back thigh of the leg, “There is literally a nipple on it”
Closer inspection showed that she was right. The leg did indeed have a nipple on it.
“And here is a tattoo,” she said pointing at a heart shaped blemish. If you looked closely, you could just barely make out the words, “Mommy’s Home”. “Look I don’t know what this leg is, but I know a professor at my old college who might know,” Destiny said, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the nipple. “He specializes in ancient pagan literature and has several books bound with human skin in his collection. If anyone knows anything about this, it has to be him.”
With no other avenues to go down, I agreed a talk with this professor would be a good place to start.
Destiny left my house promising to call me tomorrow to let me know if her old professor had replied to her request to meet. Once again, I was alone with the leg.
Looking at the leg filled me with a strange sort of terror that I hadn’t felt since I was kid. The kind of helplessness you would feel as a child when you lost your mom in the mall, or when you were so sure that the shadow in the corner of your bedroom was a monster lying in wait until the moment you cross from wakefulness into sleep.
I brought the leg back to the gun safe and locked it away before leaving my house for the day. I didn’t have much in the way of errands, but I didn’t even want to be in the same building as the leg.
I wasted the day trying to get my mind off the absolute shit storm of a week I’d had so far. Ghosts, monsters, demons and God knows what else is real. How is someone supposed to just accept that and move forward with their lives? What else might be out there? Is God real? If so, that might be the scariest thing of all.
I went to the movies, but couldn’t pay attention. I went to my favorite restaurant, but didn’t have an appetite. I tried to go go-karting, but couldn’t get over how strange it was to go go-karting by myself. I spent the entire day thinking about how my inbox was full of things I’d thought were fake but now would never fully get over.
Eventually the sun fell and I found myself standing on my front porch trying to come up with any excuse to go and spend money on a hotel room. I almost did, but realized I was too broke to get one even if I wanted to.
A creeping dread wormed its way up my back as I walked through the dark house flipping lights on as went. I checked each room to make sure nothing had moved the positions I had left them in that morning. Looking back, I’m not sure if at that point I was more afraid of a ghost or demon or Psycho Jimmy in my house. Everything seemed to check out.
Feeling slightly better, but still a bit anxious I went to bed.
I woke up in total darkness, in the early morning. I could hear the wind in the trees. I turned over to squint at my alarm clock when the sound of my bedroom door unlatching made my stomach drop. In a flash I shot up in bed and tried to flip on the lamp on my nightstand only to find the light bulb had been removed.
I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight and directed the light at the door. The door was, indeed, unlatched and cracked open just a sliver. I sat in total silence, watching the small black crack between the door and the door frame, my ears strained to pick up any noise other than the wind outside.
My jaw dropped as the door slowly creaked forward, opening itself just wide enough for a head to peek into the room, but no one was there, just the empty blackness of the dark hallway beyond. My hands shook as I stared at the doorway, hoping something would come through, anything – a monster, a zombie, Psycho Jimmy. Anything would be better than the dread of sitting there in anticipation, my imagination conjuring up the worst. My heart was pounding against my ribcage and my mouth went dry. I gripped my phone with two hands to try to steady the shaking, but still they trembled, sending shadows dancing across my bedroom walls.
Then the door closed, just as slowly as it had opened, the door pulled itself back into its frame and latched itself closed.
Realizing I had forgotten to breathe, I sucked in air like a dying fish. I licked my lips and loosened my grip on my phone but my hands were still trembling and I dropped it. The phone bounced off the corner of my nightstand, hit the carpeted floor and bounced again under my bed.
A whole new set of shadows filled the room as the bright, fluorescent white light of the iPhone flashlight emanated from under my dirty bed.
It might sound weird, but this was almost as bad as the door opening by itself. The loss of control was devastating in the moment and I lunged over the side of the bed and blindly flailed my arm around searching for the phone.
My thrashing arm sent a wholly new set of shadows dancing around my room pushing my pulse even higher.
I’d never regretted not cleaning my room harder. I was wildly grabbing things and flinging them out from under the bed as soon as I confirmed they weren’t a cell phone. Magazines, old electronics and a few rock-hard socks flew across the room as I shoveled them out from under the bed. I continued to grasp blindly when my hand came across something I didn’t immediately recognize. It was a mess of tangled stringy material that seemed to grab at my hand as I brushed past it. I gripped and tugged hard to bring it out onto my bedroom floor, but encountered resistance as whatever it was seemed to cling to its secret refuge under my bed. I reestablished my grip on the object and pulled again, harder this time. I engaged the muscles in my stomach and back and just as it seemed the object would never relent a loud POP! echoed through the room as the object came free in my hand.
Startled and thrown off balance, I fell off my bed and sprawled onto the carpet below with the object still in my hand. I looked down at it and my blood turned to ice as I realized I was holding a woman’s head, her face frozen in surprise, her mouth a wide ‘O”.
I dropped the head and scrambled backwards on my butt until my back hit the opposite wall. It was only then I realized it was the head of a sex doll I had ordered 4 years ago, but never used. (It was too weird. Maybe guys who like sex dolls, would also like fucking dead bodies. Not for me!). Her name was Cynthia. I had hidden her under my bed in shame shortly after bringing her home and had forgotten about her. It’s not like a life-size doll is something you can easily throw away without the neighbors asking questions.
I relaxed at that moment. A wave of relief and amusement washed over me and I made a vow to get rid of Cynthia that weekend. Even if that meant I had to cut her into pieces and dispose of her in separate trash bags thrown into separate dumpsters like some sort of mannequin serial killer.
I started to get back up on my feet when the shadows danced around the room again. I glanced toward the space under the bed and saw the light was moving. Something under my bed had control of my phone.
Blinded by the light which was now pointed directly at me, I squinted my eyes to try to make out what fresh new terror was about to befall me. Slowly a form came into shape. A contorted silhouette that writhed in the confined space. It banged against the bed frame above it as it tried to right itself. The light moved, left, right, up, down as the dark shape twisted violently, but it always pointed the light directly into my eyes without fail.
For a moment, the noises below the bed stopped and the light remained still. The only noises audible were my own breathing and the wind that continued to whip the trees outside. I used my hand to shield my eyes from the now stable point of light and the shape solidified into a new form. It was a person crouched low. A Headless person. It was Cynthia.
She began to slowly crawl towards me. My heart skipped a beat as fear paralyzed me for a half second. Cynthia moved closer, moving in a jerky, unnatural motion because I hadn’t opted for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package.
My heart skipped another beat as curiosity paralyzed me for another half a second. Would it really be so bad to let her get to me? What would she do? Fuck me to death? Then I remembered she had fully articulated hands and a skeleton made out of titanium which snapped me out of it pretty quickly.
Cynthia dragged herself along, now halfway out from under the bed, my cellphone in hand.
I leapt into action. I sprang to my feet, took a few steps towards her and kicked at her. Unfortunately, it was dark and I aimed where a head would have been had this been a real person, or a fully-functional sex doll, and broke a toe on my metal bed frame.
Cynthia grabbed for me, but I quickly took a step back and she narrowly missed, her silicone fingers just brushing the skin of my leg. I tried another kick and this time aimed for my cellphone. I connected and sent the phone sliding across the bedroom carpet where it collided with the wall with such force that it flipped itself over landing the flashlight side-down.
The room plunged into darkness with the exception of the small light of my iPhone lock screen. I needed to get to the phone before the lock screen went dark in about 10 seconds, otherwise I would probably never find it.
I made a dash for the phone, but Cynthia caught my ankle sending me crashing to the floor. I couldn’t look back. I needed that phone, that light. Even if it was only so I could see how I was going to die I needed it. Worst case scenario, if I decided I didn’t like what I was seeing, I could always just turn the light off.
Not even wasting the time to stand back up, I crawled for my phone. I could hear the joints in Cynthia’s arms and legs squeak as she emerged from the bed behind me and stood herself up. (When I ordered her, they said the squeaking would fade with use, but like I said, I never used her, I want to make that very clear!) Still, I didn’t look back, I crawled forward, not paying attention to the rug burn on my knees or the pain that radiated up my leg from my broken toe or the 6 foot (tall girls, call me!) murderous sex bot that was standing itself up a mere few feet behind me. I need that phone.
I slammed my hand on the phone just as the light from the home screen faded away and I turned and pointed the flashlight at Cynthia.
She stood tall on her two feet, wearing a tattered and dusty school girl outfit (I’m different now), one large pendulous breast hung outside of her brassiere.
I was done for. Toast. Stick a fork in me. I was lying on my back, looking up at a killer dominatrix with a titanium skeleton, no head and zero pain receptors. All she had to do was fall forward and she’d be on top of me, strangling me with her delicate, perfectly formed and articulated fingers. Maybe, if I was lucky, her other breast would fall out of her shirt in the fall – you know, at least give me something to look at as life drained from me. Fortunately for me, that isn’t what she did.
The killer doll took one-step towards me and faltered.
The thing about sex dolls is that they are mainly designed to sit in chairs, pose on all fours and do a lot of lying on their backs. No one buys a sex doll to have it stand around. That’s like buying a dildo to use as a Christmas tree ornament. Sure, maybe with a little practice and a couple hidden supports you could have it stand around your house like some sort of fucked up anime wax museum, but that’s just not what it is designed to do. Especially if you didn’t spring for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package. I honestly doubt a real human woman would be able to stand unassisted if you gave them the strange cartoony proportions most of these dolls have.
So, Cynthia took a step towards me, wobbled, top heavy. Tried to over-correct, then fell backwards onto my night stand and started squirming to get back on her feet.
I took the opportunity to run.
I got back to my feet and found the bedroom door. My hand hesitated on the knob for a millisecond as I considered what else there might be hiding behind this door, then I opened it anyway. I rushed out of my bedroom and sprinted down the hallway, hearing moans and clicking and growling from behind the doors of the bathroom and second bedroom as I rushed past. I came to the end of the hallway to the main living area and kitchen and turned to head towards the door when I took one last look down the dark hallway towards my bedroom.
Just barely visible through the darkness was Cynthia, crawling on all fours out of the bedroom. Her head was now re-attached but backwards so she faced the ceiling as she crawled forward, her nails making a click-clack sound as she crossed from the carpeted bedroom to the hardwood floor of the hallway.
I shuddered and made for the door.
My plan was to get in the car and drive away, but I left my car keys inside. Instead, I walked to Walmart, the one place on earth where you can walk around in boxers and a white t-shirt and no one bats an eye.
For the second time in 12 hours, I was trying to distract myself to take my mind off of the horrors the lifting of the veil had shown me and this time I was stuck in a Walmart - the epicenter of human horror.
It actually wasn’t too bad; I only had a few hours to kill before the sun came up. At that point, I’d head back to my place, get some clothes and catch up with Destiny to see if she had scheduled a meeting with her old professor yet. I supposed I’d be expecting a call from Pedro at some point as well, I did promise him an internship. I just hoped I could run faster than him.

I’m 19 Turing 20 and my bf is 20 turing 21. In advance I apologize for any misspelling or poor grammar. I found out I was pregnant in February and I already love my baby so much. We both agreed to keep it and we have a lot of support from our family’s. We also both make good money. Our relationship is good and we are so in love even after being together for 2 years (we also have a lot of history) obviously we had our fair share of problems but we’ve overcome them and we always come out stronger. We have always talked about getting married soon just waiting on a good time. I have no doubt in my brain that he loves me and i love him so much. Despite all the love and support I’ve recently started to feel ashamed for my age. I tell friends and co workers about my situation and I get told “oh you’re so young” “what makes you sure he’s the right one” “your body is never gonna be the same” “don’t you wanna live your life”. Just the other day my bf took me to the mall to get me some bump friendly dresses. After trying on one of the dresses I left the fitting room to show my bf. While I was showing him my little baby bump which he loves, I noticed that girls around my age or younger were looking at me strange like I was crazy. I recently also hung out with one of my religious friends and she mentioned how when girls do things the right way and get married first and then have a baby god blesses them. Idk why she brought it up but it made me feel some type of way. She had also made a joke saying “at least I didn’t get pregnant at 19”. I laughed along because i didn’t wanna make it awkward. I was looking forward to becoming a mother and I know it’s not gonna be easy. I just never thought about my age until people kept bringing it up. So lately I’ve been feeling a little self conscious about it. Everywhere I look I’m getting judge. I’ve also been told I look older. So if I look like I’m in my early 20s and I have a great support system why are people so judgmental. I was so happy and content with everything that was happening to me but lately I’ve been letting people get to me.I wanted to hold off getting married and my bf wants to continue saving up for the wedding. He knows how heart broken I was when I never got a sweet 16 and I wasn’t able to go to prom due to a toxic ex I was dating back then. So he’s determined to make sure he gives me the wedding of my dreams. Plus I love the idea of our baby girl being old enough to be our flower girl. We also wanna be smart with our money so even tho he wanted to I told him to hold off on buying me a ring. I had no issues of waiting to get married but then all of a sudden I’ve been thinking about getting a fake ring to wear on my ring finger cuz maybe that would help with the stares, I also stopped telling people I’m pregnant cuz they are never happy for me. I even heard that one of my older sister’s friends were talking negative about my pregnancy.