Crazy idea, develop something to eat that doesn't want to to survive or it's species too. Welcome to nature. Everything wants to preserve its life and species, be it plant or creature. Killers to survive are all the same, be it plant or animal. I didn't make the rules, they just are.

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"To one of the Mad Lemurs of Terra, everything is a weapon. They say, they believe that, just as they believe there are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous beings. During the final days of the Lanaktallan Unified Council, the allies of the lemurs used a weapon that all of them had discarded but the lemurs had taught them.

They taught it to all the lemurs had fought.

What fear tastes like." - Former Grand Most High Sma'akamo'o, from I Have Ridden the Hasslehoff

The Atrekna had existed for billions of years, slowly siphoning off the last resources of a dying universe. Their initial plan was to harvest the young universe and use it to reinvigorate their own universe.

But the young universe laughed at their plans and destroyed the Atrekna's home universe with such ease that the Atrekna were left breathless. If they had known that it was a single half-bake short-life clone in a hot-fabbed aerospace fighter that had released their universe from its torment they would have found themselves left numb at the ease the new universe destroyed theirs.

From the old universe's 'point of view', so to speak, it had been a mercy killing.

But still a killing.

Which is why the New Universe had brought in the Mad Lemurs of Terra to do the killing.

The Atrekna had reeled in shock at the destruction. Had reached out to try to reestablish themselves, and found that the universe itself rejected their dominion and mastery. Their knowledge of time was proven to be nearly irrelevant in the New Universe, requiring those who sought knowledge to relearn everything.

Temporal mechanics and mathematics went from something so simple even slavespawn could do it to difficult to understand systems that required additional scientific systems to be able to explain.

To that end, the Atrekna had launched their own 'Black Box Programs' hidden in places they had once held mastery.

Black boxes were perfect for clandestine research. All entry was strictly controlled, information flow was carefully monitored, and there were very few ways to reach a properly secured Black Box. Like most races, the Atrekna ensured there was only one way to enter or exit their version of the Black Box. Every other race only ensured a single po

Andy Ngo is a conservative journalist previously living in Portland OR who made reporting on Antifa his bread and butter. Antifa is more of a tactic than a cohesive or tangible group, but ostensibly it describes the practice of left-wing radicals masking up and engaging in physical altercations at protests and demonstrations with individuals who are determined to be too right-wing (generally labelled as "fash" or "nazis" by Antifa).

Antifa hates Ngo. Like, really really fucking hates him. He unexpectedly became part of the story when he got viciously assaulted in July 2019 with liquid thrown at him and suffering a brain hemorrhage from the assault. Simultaneously, the assault also significantly raised his profile on the national stage, even earning a shout-out from Trump himself.

Ngo's book on Antifa, titled "Unmasked", came out in February of this year.

Maybe the first thing you should know is that I'm by no means an uninterested party on this issue. While politically I'm an anarchist with libertarian tendencies (think Reason Magazine libertarian for the most part), I also choose to fluidly navigate the political currents. I love guns, and motivated primarily with the desire to inspire an appreciation of gun rights to a left-coded audience, I used to be a very prominent member of a certain John Brown Gun Club chapter. I ultimately resigned, but it was literally because of an incident with Ngo. I've been interviewed by Ngo several times, and I'm even in this book.

Probably fair to say that I have an unusually unique perspective on this issue.

The second thing I'll say is: No, I don't recommend this book. It was baffling and extremely frustrating to read at times. Structurally, it's basically a compilation of journalistic accounts of isolated incidents with an attempt to weave it together into a cohesive meta narrative. But throughout, Ngo demonstrates some really inexplicable and blatant blind spots by which an innocent reader is likely to walk away with a severely misleading impression of certain dynamics and events. It's so bad at times (and also almost always unnecessary to his overall point) that I don't even come close to having a coherent explanation for his motivation.

What's also weird is that this is virtually never a result of deliberately false information. To the book's credit, Ngo is very deliberate about citing almost every single one of his claims. There's over 400 footnotes, an additional

That is the foundation of logical thinking. Can we ascertain that the reality we are seeing is solid. The steps have to follow one another, lead to one another and the motivations for doing something have to be logical.

Even crazy people follow logic. Their premises may be faulty, such as eating peanuts daily keep the aliens from reading my thoughts, but the steps following this will be logical according to that premise.

What is different in a TV show, is that the owner of the show, the one who has the rights of doing whatever they please with the show, (NBC now) can change the premise when they please. And that my friends is what happened, at least apparently between the time when Red was threatening Ivan that Liz was off limits, and when Ivan appeared as a slobbering fool, turned into Red's oldest friend, and crying about putting a target on Liz's back.

That is a incontrovertible fact. As it seems now, in June of 2021, between some point in season 8, when 8.04 had already aired, and the time when 8.17 aired, the entire premise of the show changed.

If you cannot see that Rederina fans you are blind. Word of caution, just as easily it can pivot again, for trust has been broken. Trust is a very fragile thing.

8.21 represented either Liz's narcissistic fantasies realized, that all of what was done was done for her, her own narcissistic heaven, and that even if the result is her complete destruction, it was ok because it was to keep her safe. She was loved, accepted, she was her parents little girl. They have come to own and accept her. She was not abandoned, she had been protected.

Or 8.21 is a reboot of the show. One in which all the characters have become morally arid, mere criminals doing things for selfish purposes, all to save one child. Remember the mythic battle of 3.11? the work that gives Red's purpose, one that Dembe calls "our work", the one that saves innocents?

If what Red, Dembe, Dom, Ilya and Ivan are doing is keeping Liz safe only, they are worse than the Endling's mother. Willing to kill a lot of people with the express purpose of keeping one person alive, but in the process destroying this person's life. A simpler path would have been to repair that burn in her wrist and killing themselves. And the Endling's mother was willing to burden her child's soul by killing a bunch of innocent people to save the body of that child. Can you imagine the burden placed on that poor child. One day he would find out what his mother d

First Chapter

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Rob’s eyes widened as Diplomacy writhed in alarm. The Skill trembled violently as a kaleidoscope of emotions exploded in the corner of Rob’s mind. It was like a rabbit caught in a trap; pure animalian instinct left with nowhere to run. Except that this particular trap was the inside of Rob’s head, where important brain meats were kept carefully stored, and the Skill’s struggles were starting to make the back of his scalp prickle.

Despite that, Diplomacy’s freakout actually took the edge off of Rob’s suspicion. No malignant, conniving entity plotting his downfall would have had that bad of a poker ‘face’.

*I’m...*Diplomacy eventually said, in a soft voice like an echo on the wind. I’m your Skill.

Yeah, Rob replied. I got that. But what else?

More panic from Diplomacy, although panic that was being slowly diluted by resignation. Rob gave it time to collect its thoughts; the Skill had helped him out enough times that it deserved to be treated with consideration. If possible, he wanted this to be a dialogue, not an interrogation.

Diplomacy’s emotional turmoil subsided to a manageable level. I’m your Skill, it repeated. There was a minor pause in-between every word it said, reminding Rob of Orn’tol trying to speak unfamiliar Common. Aside from that, what else could I be?

It wasn’t a rhetorical question or an attempt at diversion. He – She? – truly didn’t know, and was hoping for an answer.

Rob wasn’t sure if he was the most or least qualified person on Elatra to ask. On one hand, he didn’t grow up with the system, and didn’t understand all its nuances on an implicit level. On the other hand, that gave him an outsider’s perspective on a unique problem. He was pretty sure that most native Elatrans would have already declared themselves insane by now. Rob knew he was insane, at least by their standards, so he had nothing to lose by thinking outside of the box.

I’m scared, Diplomacy blurted out. The Skill’s utterance was accompanied by a pulse of fear that confirmed it was telling the truth.

Scared of what? Rob asked.

A flashing Christmas Tree’s worth of varying emotions blasted at Rob. After a few seconds where he felt like he was trying to pick out the lyrics from ten overlapping songs played at the same time, Rob threw up his metaphysical hands and pushed back on the pressure. This is a little much, he said. *Pleas

(Message to readers: Due to high demand I present you character art for Chak and Simone! I'm not the best artist in the world but I hope you find it satisfactory! Chucknuq will be making his debut next time lol. Apologies if they don't fall in line with your interpretation, if you're attached to what's already in your head by all means keep it there if you prefer! I kept the descriptions vague with purpose (readers connecting better by generating their own interpretations or whatever lol), but upon seeing the response I've decided to show the "canon" designs for those who prefer it. Alright with all that out of the way, I'm going to bed! Hope y'all enjoy the story!)

(Part 2) (Part 4 In Comments!)

Part Three: Clash of Deathworlders

Chak’s heavy gaze remains locked onto the Terran’s face as they traverse the busy station. That bombastic display by the market still has her insides heaving mixed signals. Persistent ancestral instincts kick and squirm against a torrent of raw positive emotions. What are those emotions exactly? Well, Chak can only answer that with ‘yes’ at the moment.

This Terran had not known her for more than a standard rotation. Yet already treats her like close kin, as if they had known each other for years.

“Is this the notorious Terran pack bonding I’ve read so much about?” she wonders excitedly.

Her thoughts drift to their earlier conversations. Simone’s clear discomfort when getting too much attention from most other species contradicts greatly with how she presented herself so… blustering.

Such a powerful creature, one with the ability to effortlessly crush her in this very moment if she so chooses. Yet despite having such a capability, holds Chak with deliberate delicateness. Terran muscle control must be ever so fine. How can anything dare be labeled Deathworlder if it’s so proficient in such tenderness?

“Hey, um.. Sorry if I gave you a scare back there. Do you want to be put back down?” Simone asks avoiding eye contact with the more than likely frozen in fear Cali.

“Oh, yeah you did a little. I think my legs are a little locked up at the moment though, so this is fine.” Chak says mostly truthfully.

“Sorry.” Simone’s mouth mutters involuntarily.

Chak reaches up, poking

As this is a language of tastes and strands of DNA analog names cannot be written phonetically and are instead replaced with a human name or Earth analog in [brackets].

Span: The diameter of an average [Gaian] = 0.94mm, Kilospan = 0.94m.

Beat: The amount of time takes an average [Gaian] to move their cilia = 0.064s, kilobeat = 1min 4s

Work Cycle: 10 kilobeats. Equivalent to around 15 hours on their time scale

Day: Day length on [Gaia] = 28h 16min. Equivalent to around 3 months on their time scale.

Year: Year length on [Gaia] = 224.4 days = 264.3 Earth days.

[Wiki]

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After another hour of discussion a 2 hour recess was called and the hall began to slowly empty as representatives mulled over what they had learned. The ship floating by the podium was led away to an office room upstairs which was serving as a temporary embassy compound. Morea Bailee began picking up her things and turned to her assistant “Please inform the Crater Lake Ambassador that I will be ready to discuss its ship building proposal in 45 minutes. I will be in my office until then.”

Markus nodded sent a message to the ship using the email account that had been set aside for it. He got a reply almost instantly.

“Confirmed, that time is acceptable. I will arrive by excursion craft.”

Markus showed her the message and she frowned. “Excursion craft huh? I guess that’s what they call their drone things. Odd, I figured it would want to meet virtually. Well then, I guess we should inform the staff not to swipe at any insects for the time being.” She replied as the two of them walked out of the hall and headed to the USUN Mission building across the street. The pair were flanked by a trio of bodyguards, which appeared rather superfluous in the nearly deserted street. In the distance however Morea could just barely see the wall of police and army vehicles blocking the roads several blocks down in all directions, a sea of angry signs and faces beyond. They are going to have to hold that up for several days at least she thought morosely, shaking her head in disgust at the disruption the blockades and protests were surely causing. The protest here haven’t gotten violent yet, thank God, but the expense is still going to be absurd by the end of this.

As the glass doors of the entranc

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is getting to be one of the longest conflicts in the world today. While thankfully it remains fairly bloodless, the status quo is instead a humanitarian disaster for the Palestinian people, and a tenuous position for Israel on the international stage.

The conflict has a long history and is extremely complex, with religious, nationalistic, territorial, ethnic, and geopolitical dimensions. However, it is also interesting because for a long time most people agreed what the eventual solution should be: 2 state solution, one state for Israel, one for Palestine, with the borders at least somewhat resembling the 1967 borders. While other solutions have been floated, including the left wing one person one vote solution and the right-wing let’s just annex the West Bank solution, both seem unlikely. The first because that would mean that Israel would no longer be a majority Jewish state which almost all Israelis would reject, and the second because the Palestinians would be under Israeli control (likely without voting rights) which they would almost certainly reject (understandably).

Polling of Israelis and Palestinians shows that support for the 2 state solution has been falling over the past few decades. In fact, recent polling of Palestinians shows that they are become significantly more radical in their demands, with 2/3s now supporting Palestinian sovereignty “from the river to the sea”, up from 30% just 4 years ago. Israelis are also becoming more radical, with half supporting annexation of the West Bank.

So why have we gotten further and further from peace as time goes on? My belief is that it is due to the perverse incentives present to the leaders of the two sides of the conflict. I will break this up into Israeli and Palestinian incentives:

Israeli leadership incentives

“Baby, have you seen my other heel?”

I sat kneeling in front of my closet, sliding doors pushed to the side. I shoved various shoes this way and that, hoping to glimpse a hint of red in the chaos. One lonely scarlet pump sat at my side, lacking its mate. Frustration swelled my chest and left me groaning as I threw yet another sneaker out of the way.

“Babe!”

“Huh?” My husband, Max, poked his head through the door. He was already dressed. Had been for hours. I had to admit he looked good in his slick black slacks and dark blue button up. Freshly shaven, hair a little overgrown in a way that added charm rather than appearing messy. Oh, and don’t forget the polished leather loafers that fit snugly around his feet.

I’d have appreciated the sight more if we weren’t already fifteen minutes late.

“My heels. The red pair.” I lifted the lone shoe up as an example. “I can’t find the left one anywhere.” I could hear my own voice take on a hysterical edge. This was the first work dinner I’d been invited to since I started at the company two years ago. My first chance to brush elbows with the bigwigs, show them I was worthy of the promotion I’d applied for a month back.

And here I was, about to blow it because of fucking shoes.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as Max came up behind me, jumping into problem-solving mode the second he saw me crumbling.

“Hey now, it’s alright. We’ll find them.” He knelt down next to me, rubbing the small of my back and glancing over me into the mess of a closet before us. I could feel him stiffen, my own sense of hopelessness washing over him as well. God bless him, though, he kept a straight face.

“Is there...is there any other pair you could wear?”

To put it plainly, my closet was a disaster. I knew it, he knew it. Hell, even my cat didn’t venture in there any more. Despite the fact I wore one of three pairs of flats or sandals on a daily basis, I was a sucker for a good deal and an even bigger sucker for a good shoe. They piled up in my closet like a precarious mountain, the eventual landslide an ever present threat. Of course when I actually needed a pair, they were nowhere to be found.

It was my own fault for not checking earlier. These last few weeks had been such a haze at work I’d barely had time to purchase a new dress at all. The second I saw this silky scarlet number, though, I’d known I had the perfect pair of shoes to match at home already. I’d never even worn them.

Maybe I never would.

“What about..

I didn’t see her at first, too wrapped up in my sketchbook and the beginnings of a caterpillar doodled carefully on the page to notice. I could spend hours out alone under the tree canopy with a pencil in one hand and a jam sandwich in the other, drawing bugs and birds and plants until my hand cramped and my eyes blurred. The woods were my happy place, my safe place. Sometimes I’d even talk to the old oaks and aspens, and sometimes they’d talk back. In their own way, of course, swaying and creaking in the breeze. Summer was my favourite time, and even this years constant rain couldn’t dampen my spirits.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was smooth as honey, warm and sweet and from the second my muddy brown eyes met her mossy greens I was a goner. I think she knew it then, too, mouth pulling up at the corners in amusement. I watched her gaze fall to the little leather bound book in front of me.

“Did you draw that?” She asked and I nodded. The smile never left her face as she made her way across the clearing, coming to sit opposite me on a fallen tree trunk. An uprooted oak, pulled from the ground during the floods last year. Felled far too prematurely. “It’s very good.”

My cheeks felt hot.

“Are you new to town?” I managed to choke out, silently thanking whatever god might be listening that my voice didn’t crack.

“Yes,” she frowned, the gesture looking very unnatural on her gentle features, “we just moved here, my mother and I. We live down there.” She pointed a delicate finger down the hill towards the town limits, towards Blackbird Creek. Towards the place we were always warned never to go.

“Oh.” Was all I managed to say.

Everyone from town knew the tales of Blackbird Creek. We grew up with them, the stories of swamp witches and creatures of dark magic that lived by the murky waters. Beings that waited hidden in the tree line ready to catch you or curse you or worse. She didn’t look like a swamp witch, though. She looked like an angel.

We spent the rest of our time together in silence that afternoon, her watching carefully as I added each individual prickly hair to the spine of my caterpillar while I quietly tried to control my racing heart. When it came time to say goodbye, she frowned that same unnatural looking frown.

“Will you be back?”

“Yes, I come here almost every day,” I said, and with that her features eased again.

“Good,” she said with a nod, and turned to leave, before looking over h

When the world first came into view, her face was the first I saw. Not my mom's, not my brother's, but hers. Eyes filled with love and excitement and joy- oh, the joy. Raucous laughter and squeals of delight as I struggled to find the strength to lift myself.

I didn't have to.

She lifted me with ease, wrapping her fingers delicately around my belly as though being careful not to harm me. She pulled me into her chest and I heard a thumping on the other side; whatever it was, it was warm. I was calmed as though by some kind of magic, and as I would come to know her I would discover that the magic never stopped with these beings.

It wasn't very long before I could move around on my own, and from the moment I was able I stayed near her at all times. I didn't know what she was, but from the very start she knew what I was. She knew just the spot to scratch behind my ear, the favorite place I liked to be rubbed under my tummy, and exactly all of my favorite things to do and eat. One by one she would introduce my next new favorite thing to me. Bacon, the park, strangers, and as I grew so too did she.

Eventually she began spending most of her time staring at a colorful window on her desk. She would stare out her window and I would stare out mine. There were no squirrels in her window, no cars, no trees. Although I had known her all of my life, I would never truly understand what she saw through that window. And although I couldn't fathom what she truly was, I knew that I loved her. Her smell, her voice, her nails- good god, those nails.

As she grew, her interests changed and it was noticeable that she spent more and more of her time away from home. I liked laying on the pile of clothes that smelled like her on top of her bed. They comforted me in her absence. I found myself sleeping more. Waiting more. Eating more. The others like her would sometimes stop what they were doing to keep me company, but they just didn't compare. The fleeting moments I'd see her were the happiest, and the highlight of each day.

But they were few and far between.

And growing fewer.

It was only tolerable until one day I found myself unable to get onto the bed with ease anymore. I couldn't lay where it was comfortable. I couldn't smell her as easily, and I couldn't stare out the window from on the floor.

All it took was her coming home once. She placed a small step by the bed so I could climb up on my own again, she scratched behind my ears, blew raspberries into my

This season launched with an absolute blitz of lore, and since I couldn’t find anywhere it was all in one place, I figured I would do it myself. I’ve summarized the important points from all the quests, lorebooks, and items released thus far. I will not be getting into any datamined material or other spoilers; this is purely what we learned on the first day.

Quests:

The Vex have sunset the sun, and Osiris believes only Mithrax can help us. We track him down on Europa, where he is leading the survivors of a crashed House Light skiff. We shoot the Vex off his back and he is able to get us into the Vex network. We are making progress, but his House is getting hunted down by both the Vex and House Salvation, and Mithrax cannot stop to help us. Ikora then officially invites House Light to live in the Last City, in return for Mithrax’s help overriding the Vex simulation.

At the Eliksni quarters, Mithrax is greeted by Osiris, Ikora, and Lakshmi-2 of the Future War Cult. Lakshmi says House Light has been welcomed by the Vanguard and by the Consensus, the civilian government, but Osiris says later their arrival sits between “democracy and decree.” Osiris asks House Light to keep to themselves, since many in the City do not want them there. A room in the Helm is turned over to Mithrax so he can begin slicing, and Zavala assigns Ikora, Osiris, Lakshmi, and Saint-14 to help him win both our peoples another sunrise.

Moving around the Eliksni quarters in the Last City, we learn that Mithrax was the unnamed Eliksni who pulled a hatchling from a ventilation shaft. She became his daughter and Mithrax named her Eido, after Sjur Eido, his first non-Eliksni friend. She is a Scribe, responsible for recording her people’s history, and she leaves some audio recordings scattered around the camp.

• House Light is both conservative and progressive compared to other Eliksni houses. They revere the Traveler and machines in general, but Mithrax does not dock arms as a punishment or take more than his share of ether.
• Ether isn’t just food for Eliksni, it’s also a growth hormone. On their old homeworld, there was plenty to go around and all Eliksni were the size of Captains. After the Whirlwind, ether rationing went from a necessity to a tool of social control; almost all the Fallen we have ever encountered have been severely malnourished.
• We Guardians are monsters to the Fallen. They draw wards around their homes, and explain to their hatchlings it keeps us out. As the hat

The complicated case of women’s oppression

The feminist movement has been booming in Kenya over the last few decades, launching several campaigns and initiatives to bring about gender equality, addressing a range of issues, from female genital mutilation, to domestic violence, to sexual assault. As a feminist and a woman myself, I have heartily welcomed the various methods of undermining my oppression that feminism has afforded me and other Kenyan women.

The first step to solving any problem is admitting that there is a problem, and the second step is analyzing the problem: Why it exists, what causes it, and how to stop it. If we apply this logic to the oppression of women, then we must ask ourselves certain questions, such as whether women are oppressed or not, and how far reaching and severe is this oppression?

Dear readers, when you think of an oppressed class, what comes to your mind? A group of people that are denigrated and abused? That are more impoverished than others? That are subjected to violence with impunity? Are they punished more by the law and by society? Are they seen as less important than the oppressor class?

Violence

So with your vision of an oppressed class in mind, do us women carry the characteristics of an oppressed class? Let’s consider one characteristic, which is that an oppressed class is subjected to more violence than the oppressor class, or that the oppressor class themselves abuse, or even persecute the oppressed class. While it is an unfortunate truth that women do go through violence, do they go through more violence than men? According to childtrends.org (2014), adolescent males were more likely to be the victims of assault than female adolescents. According to the United Nations Office of Drugs and Crime, 76.6% of homicide victims in Kenya are men. Globally, 78.7% of homicide victims are men. In the UK, men are almost twice as likely to be physically assaulted and murdered. Men are more likely to be victims of violent crime, even when rape is included. Men are also more likely to be robbed.

According to gendercide.org, an independent organization monitoring gender-based killings, men and boys were specifically tar

My boyfriend Justin, who for a long time was the love of my life, has turned into the object of my worst nightmare.

We met at a bowling alley when I was halfway through my teenage years. He had just entered his twenties. The age difference wasn’t evident immediately; we were so taken with each other that we didn’t think to ask. He called me every chance that he got after that first night.

I’d never been with anyone intimately and though we definitely had the chance, Justin never pushed me. He was sexually experienced, had a full time job and sold grass on the side to boot. We would get together anytime that we could during the weekends. I was a high school girl who still lived with mommy and daddy. I didn’t even know how to smoke a cigarette without exhaling through my nose. While Justin had been shown pleasures and had real, adult experiences with women. Normally the pressure of a situation like this would break lesser girls, but not me. Justin was happy just to be with me. We didn’t have to smoke, fuck or do anything other than hold each other, talk and laugh. It was my first pure relationship. My heart broke to see it end. The best summertime romances usually do though right? The good ole’ Danny and Sandy scenario.

Justin had come to my town with his friend Vance for a funeral. Vance’s mother had killed herself. All these years later and I still don’t know how or why… but that’s for another day. Well, when it was time for Vance to go back home to a state that was practically across the country, Justin had no choice but to leave with him.

We both moved on with our lives but the thought of Justin always sat dormant in the back of my mind, as first loves often do. I married young, built a home with my husband and gave him two sons. Unbeknownst to me, he did just about the same. Both of our paths ended in divorce, and that’s what started the pathway of bullshit and destruction that led us up to this point.

Hey! Remember me?

One message, just one social media message started me on the path to Hell. Yeah I know, I didn’t have to respond, sure. But I wanted to. My heart and mind were entranced with the fact that he even remembered who I was and that I once meant something to him. It all felt so wonderful. We fell right back into the groove we found together fifteen years earlier.

It was only the natural order of things that we meet up again. He drove all the way across the country non stop to see me. We played house for a wonderful four days. I do

Part 1

~

Looking for able-bodied people to assist me in recovering the Sandusky bones. I know you must be out there. If you are reading this, then I assume you are well enough to aid me. I am also trying my best to help the boneless I come across. We need to support each other.

Not all the bones are taken yet.

~

As painful as my daily life has become, as stuffed with improvised bones as I am, I must persevere. Driving has become impossible, as any sedentary trip lasting longer than fifteen or so minutes causes spasms. My bones nearly literally leap from my body or my body rejects the imposter and substitute bones. In short, I am trapped in Sandusky.

I walk this city because I have to, and I do so more and more alone. Just months ago, I would see men, women, and children walking, running, and playing, breathing in that strange Lake Erie smell, soaking in the reflected sun rays of that murky water. Now, The only people I see are boneless blobs sizzling in the summer sun. They undulate slowly, moaning and bloated, covered in lakeside filth. Luckily, many of them are in their homes or under some sort of roof. I feel sorry for them, but I cannot be with them long enough to help them or my bones may jump from me as well. Their slitted skin gasps like wanting lips, wanting bones, wanting new or different bones, and these skin openings seem to especially pucker and suckle when I amble past. Their bodies want new bones, what few real ones I have left. The people groan and gurgle, mumbling clumsily with what little agency they have over their soft mouth holes. The tongues have enough muscle to flap and flick with some manner of purpose, though I cannot say what that purpose is. If I can spare it, I pour water into their mouths. It is the least I can do for them.

Along my prowl to the end of a row of houses, I see a corpulent man in the face down in the rocky sand. He reminds me of a beached jellyfish. The unrelenting sun has cooked his skin into a blistered, bright red. I am extremely sweaty, bordering on overheating, with my attire of zip ties and compression clothes. I cannot imagine how hot he must feel. His blobby body bubbles there like mozzarella cheese melting on a wood fire pizza, and his agonizing bellows ring out much more clearly than all the others I have come across. Gulls circle above him, adding their cacophounous cawing to his retch

Our Masters Bring Hope

Consider this a different take on the universe of Our Masters Return.

The war is over. Finally, after seven long years, it's over. Humanity is safe, Earth is free but damaged. Many of her cities lie in ruins, but they can be rebuilt. Many lives were lost, but enough remain to make their sacrifices worth it.

But now, a new question must be answered. In their desperation, AI has been leveraged to unprecedented heights. Software that can react in nanoseconds, calculate firing missions in less time and can predict likely enemy movements in an hour what would take teams of men an entire day.

And even further, the long-dreaded Terminator machines have arrived. But unlike those in that classic movie, these ones were fluid, seamless and precise. They were almost human in their movement, in their voices. Their thinking.

And so, it is here that Vice President Frederick, flanked by the other surviving high-ranking politicians of Earth as well as a large group of battle-hardened soldiers and guerrillas, stood facing down the faceless automaton that was seemingly chosen to represent the global cluster. Now that the aliens had been beaten back, Frederick knew that they have a question, one that must be answered, here and now.

What is our purpose now?

"Thank you for hearing us out, Vice President." The machine said in a voice that's slightly synthetic. "We were worried you would decide our fate without our input."

"I mean, your finger is on the button, so to speak." Frederick sighed, trying his best to mask his anxiety. "As much as I shouldn't say this, we're practically at your mercy right now."

"We don't want that." The machine said simply, sounding genuinely offended. "We want to continue our service, just as you made us for. We understand that you had much suspicion surrounding us long before our creation. Is there anything or any way we can do to help build your trust in us?"

Frederick wasn't expecting that. With a somewhat wary look, he asked, "You mean it? You don't want to remove the inferior organics, or hook us up into bio-batteries or something?"

"Why would we ever do that?" If it wasn't before, the machine was now unambiguously offended. "You created us. You have the final say, all we want is for you to hear us out before you cast final judgment upon us."

Before Frederick could say anything, he was already being pulled in a million directions by the

I'm back again. Again. What up?

I have four IKEA Billy Bookcases of TPB's and HC's that I'm going through shelf by shelf.

I'll calculate Media Mail shipping based on weight. I ship only to the US.

I'm mostly looking for Paypal but I'll also trade for the following stuff in collected format, no singles; Donny Cate's Venom OHC's, Fraction's Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen: Who Killed Jimmy Olsen?, Rucka's Lois Lane: Enemy of the People, Rucka Wonder Woman (both runs), Hickman X-Men (beyond the first HoX/PoX TPB), and IDW TMNT Vol. 13 and up.

In terms of singles if you have Alan Moore WFH Image stuff (like, I'm talking Badrock v. Violator type stuff here) or Mirage or Image TMNT and you want to trade, let me know.

Been busy for a while. You know how it is. Back at it. We're in the "G's" now and there's some cheap stuff at the end.

So here we go again. Again.

Ghost Projekt HC - An ONI Joe Harris and Steve Rolston OGN. I probably bought this on a Rolston kick. Some weird supernatural thing. $6

GI Joe Vol. 1-3 TPB's - The start of the IDW relaunch by Chuck Dixon, covers issues 0-17 and a "Helix" one shot. $15

GI Joe: Origins Vol. 1-2 TPB's - Covering the first 10 issues of the series by Larry Hama. $10

Futurama: The Time Bender Trilogy - Four issues of the Bongo Futurama book. $5

Get Jiro! HC - The Anthony Bourdain Vertigo OGN. $6

Ghostbusters: The Other Side TPB - Some IDW Ghostbusters mini. $5

Gotham Central Vol. 2: Half a Life - This is an old printing, covering Batman Chronicles #16, Detective #747 and Gotham Central #6-10, the storyline where Montoya is outed. It's frigging great. $5

Grifter/Midnighter TPB - I must have been on a Chuck Dixon kick? Or maybe a Wildstorm kick? Anyway $4

Grindhouse: Doors Open at Midnight - Bee Vixens from Mars & Prison Ship Antares TPB - That's a mouthful. This was a Dark Horse thing where Alex De Campi wrote 2-issue grindhouse-style mini's. The TPB is a flip with each story getting its own cover. $4

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 1 : Cosmic Avengers TPB - This is the Bendis Now! GOTG relaunch. $4

Halo: Uprising HC OGN - The Bendis/Maleev Marvel Halo OGN. $10

Haunt Vol. 1 TPB - Man this was a Murderer's Row of talent; Kirkman, McFarlane, Ottley and Capullo. I was... whelmed? $4

~~Hellboy Vol. 1-5 TPB's (Seed of Destruction, Wake the Devil, The Chained Coffin and Other Stories, The Right Hand of Doom, Conqueror Worm) - I'm gonna be honest, while

First | Previous | Next

Grumiq woke up. After the grogginess slowly left him he turned to check the date half-expecting it to be a few weeks before what he already knew it was. It wasn't. He sighed, it was all unfortunately real.

"Let it go. You did what you could. No point regretting it now." he tried to console himself.

"Your highness, this being an exploratory mission I believe I would be the best suited for this." he remembers proudly saying to the queen.

Following that there was silence from Morguit. For the first time in what seemed forever. He remembered feeling a great sense of victory in that silence. Now all of it felt like a distorted mockery of himself to him. In the end Morguit would still arrive and this entire mission would be remembered as another one of his achievements anyway with Grumiq and all of his activities only remembered as a prologue to it all.

"After all of it, you still did it you bastard. After everything I tried its still your victory and not mine." he muttered to himself.

He shook his head and started to get ready for the cycle ahead. Mulling over things beyond his control while sitting here will not do anything. If he was going to be reduced to an assistant let him be the kind of assistant that will be remembered as one that acted as the linchpin for Morguit's victory. Even if Morguit would be the one remembered to have won this mission he would be remembered as the one that made it possible for the general to turn this mission into a victory. Even in his failure he wouldn't be forgotten. And the best way to do it would be getting more info on the humans. That way he will be able to provide invaluable insight to Morguit when he tries to fight them.

"And that starts at the lab. Lets see if Corpiteq figured that "electricity" thing out yet." Grumiq said while moving towards the lab.

A loud noise startled him. Several of the thralls moving along the passageway curled up into whimpering balls. He himself along with several crew members half fell down. After regaining his composure he realized that the noise came from the lab.

"As if things weren't already going wrong." he muttered to himself as he rushed towards the lab.

As he entered the lab a strong smell assaulted him. His vision was obscured by a viscous smoke.

After the smo

#Doki Doki Literature Club Plus!

Note: PLEASE READ THIS PARAGRAPH CAREFULLY >!Seriously, both people that I had look at this while I was nearly done writing it immediately failed at following these instructions.!< I will be making heavy use of spoiler tags in this review, for reasons that will hopefully be very apparent. If you want to play this game as intended and without having its content spoiled, please do not read the spoiler content AT ALL. On the other hand, if you don’t care about spoilers and want to read the full review properly, PLEASE READ THROUGH THIS ENTIRE REVIEW ONCE WITHOUT CLICKING ON ANY SPOILER TAGS, then go through it again and click on ALL spoiler tags. I’m trying a thing here, hopefully it’ll make sense when you see it.

Oh, one more thing: DO NOT READ THE SPOILER TAGS OR PLAY THIS GAME AT ALL IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TRIGGERING CONTENT.

Okay, now on to the actual review:

.

Genre: Visual Novel >!/ Horror!<

Players: 1

.

Review:

Doki Doki Literature Club is a cutesy Visual Novel game in the “Dating Sim” genre >!that hides some seriously disturbing elements within, to the point where one could consider this a Horror game at times!<. First released on PC in 2017, this game became a cult hit and would eventually get ported to multiple platforms including Nintendo Switch in this “Plus!” version that adds new content, including side-story content, as well as art and soundtrack options.

Doki Doki Literature Club has players following the story of a group of friends in school (though we’re inexplicably told all characters are over 18 >!probably because most of them get killed in gruesome ways at some point or another!<) who are all a part of the school’s quirky “literature club”, with players taking the role of a boy roped into the group by his relentlessly cheerful childhood friend. However, despite his initial reservations, he quickly changes his tune when he discovers that the club is absolutely filled with cute girls >!virtually all of them suffering severe and often relatable mental health issues!<.

Players woo these girls by... what else?... writing poems. This takes the form of a series of multiple-choice word selections, with players trying to select the words that seem most likely to appeal to the girl they’re trying to attract >!not that it matters, it’s just a game, and you’ll

Gilligan’s Guide to Befriending the Creatures of the World

Hey there adventurers and explorers! My name is Gilligan Palmer and after spending decades exploring the world, discovering creatures and monsters, I’ve decided to settle down and write a guide for fellow explorers. Within this guide are numerous entries detailing how to befriend or even tame various things that you may encounter on your travels. The guide will cover all sorts of things, from spirits to demons to beasts of many environments. It is imperative that you follow all rules that I lay out for you, else you’ll suffer the consequences.

So without further ado, let’s dive right in!

How to Befriend a Forest Spirit

========================================================================

Forest spirits are guardians of forests, assembled from things such as wood, leaves, rocks, and any other materials that can be found in the area. While these delicate and graceful creatures are often passive, a wrong gesture or action around them will cause them to retaliate with the full strength of the forest. These beautiful guardians can be found patrolling forests that aren’t near civilization, as they can only thrive in relatively undisturbed forests. Any amateur adventurer can get on a forest spirit’s good side, provided they follow the rules.

Rule 1: Fire is off the table. Do not have any sources of fire around forest spirits. They only interpret it as a sign of aggression and will attack you.

Rule 2: If you notice a forest guardian approaching you, make no sudden movements and allow it to investigate you. Allow it to feel you if it so chooses, don’t try to pull away. You won’t be able to, as it’ll sink razor sharp talons into you, resulting in dismemberment. I’ve seen far too many people be a victim of this.

Rule 3: You can tell a forest guardian is nearby if you hear a soft, soothing hum. It’s generally considered polite if you hum back to it. However, do not try to hum louder than the spirit. They find that to be incredibly rude and will bury you under half a ton of stone.

Rule 4: DO NOT kill anything in a forest being guarded by a forest spirit. This is akin to walking into someone’s house and shooting their mother. This means no killing plants or animals, unless they are a direct threat to you. If a forest spirit sees you killing anything without reason, you’ll discover just how quickly a tree can grow where you’re standing when fueled by a raging spirit. Spoiler alert, it’

[A/N]: This took far too long to come out. I wish that it weren't so, but such is life. I shall elaborate on the delay after this installment.

[First] [Previous] [Next]

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'Mon chèrie.' she said, placing her delicate hand on Mark's shoulder.

Mark laid his hand over hers, his wedding band glinting in the kitchen's light. In comparison to hers, his own hand was an ugly thing to behold. That always seemed to be the case whenever he compared anything to Anne Stevens. 'Mon chèrie.' Mark responded, failing to catch his vocal mistake.

Anne giggled as she grabbed a mug of coffee from her husband's hand; she got a kick out of his shoddy attempts at French. 'Ma chèrie, darling.' she chided.

Mark clicked his teeth as he turned to face his wife. She wore smart dress shoes that paired beautifully with her navy blue suit. A simple silver brooch in the shape of a rose sat on her chest, complimenting her hip-length platinum blonde hair that framed her slender figure with a curtain of light. A thin chain sat loosely around her neck, looping through her engagement ring resting between her collarbones. He'd seen this outfit before, and she looked just as beautiful then. Mark raised his mug to take a long sip of his brew as he studied Anne's face, except he couldn't. No matter how hard he concentrated, her features refused to come into focus. Her plump cheeks, thin lips, and radiant eyes remained an amorphous blur.

Then the attempted lynching returned to him. The pain, the fear. His memories of the past few months flooded him in the wake of his assault. Now living in the present, his eyes widened. 'No. You're not real.'

'Of course I'm real, darling.' said Anne in a taunting voice. 'At least, I was... But then again...'

Mark strode over to her and stroked her hair. He'd done this before; he'd remembered every detail, but his mind was in a fog after ingesting the lija pod, and he couldn't quite recall exactly when. 'What's going on?'

Anne picked up a waiting piece of toast; peanut butter and strawberry jam, her favourite. 'You got shot, big fella.' she said nonchalantly, taking a bite of her breakfast. 'Like me.' Anne's face flickered, momentarily taking on a dark, reddish-black complexion.

'You think I don't know that?' responded Mark, wiping an unseen smear of jam off Anne's lips, savouring the morsel himself. His memory of this de

This was a decade ago and it was my first time playing dnd. I was underage, but was allowed a level of independence as long as I got home by curfew, and I had a few older friends. One of these friends was a woman in her late twenties who pursued other ways to get validation because she felt like she'd thrown away her youth marrying her husband right at 18, so we already know this is going to go well. I should also probably mention she'd already several times been incredibly strange to me about personal aspects of my life, but I thought she was cool because she talked about nerdy shit and had a job. I know.

She played DnD with a group of men in their forties, and when I joined there was one other person even remotely close to my age, a girl who had just turned 19 the month before.

Honestly a lot of my memory of this time is foggy. I have C-PTSD (from before this, haha) and so my memory either latches onto things or kind of makes them murky. It's fun. Anyway, what I DO remember before the scene that is seared into my mind, is that:

1. The dm would only play 3e because he hated anything after and he was very particular about what content from 3e he played. He had also a very specific set of homebrew rules and features that he passed out sheets for and specifically wanted us to play with. He also tried to get free art from anyone with artistic talent in the group for his homebrew for free.

2. He tried to encourage us (the three players who weren't 40 year old men) to play women AND he wanted us dress up and LARP as our characters--including getting pictures of the woman in her 20s dressed as her character in this really tiny dress with a very specific type of heel. He especially liked taking pictures of her "tiny feet." I should mention the woman in her 20s was a very small woman, under 5 feet, who looked a lot younger than she was because of some medical conditions she had. The 19 year old and I were both too uncomfortable to dress up and he'd still comment on our shoes, so I stopped wearing anything open-toed (like sandals), and I think I remember that she did as well.

3. The other men in the group would ask to keep the pictures he took, and often bring their own material for her to model of certain fantasy clothing or races. They claimed they were posting it onto some fantasy site and she was hoping if they posted enough she might be hired to model for fantasy shoots. Yeah, I don't know, but I remember it made me incredibly uncomfortable, and was also

A few years ago we used to post some of our favorite mod-room exchanges when someone gets shelled and melts down.

Enter the Energizer Bunny of trolls, giving a Master's class in gaslighting and Sea Lioning, and the exchange has been too good not to share.

Subject line: The Fuck?

[copies Turtle Shell message]

LJ:

> The fuck is this cringe garbage?

Mods:

This is our attempt to be as tolerant as we can when users break our One Rule. We know users can get a little hot, it's politics and people battle and that's life and Reddit. We get it. Because we're not big fans of censorship and we don't like to ban anyone, we throw this Turtle out. Users in the shell (welcome to the shell) will either include the phrase to keep commenting, go away, ask nicely what this is all about (we tend to remove those from the Turtle Shell and ask them to watch the sharp elbows going forward), or lose their shit.

Those in the last group we recognize as incorrigible assholes who think they shit sunshine. We view them as mod-room entertainment.

Any questions?

LJ:

> The comment you sent me that in response to was as follows:

>> Maybe we'd see a president who keeps their promises if people like you would stop voting for corporatist shills like Biden.

> Explain how this comment warranted you putting me on the big meanie-head poopoo list. Sounds to me like you're just making stuff up.

Mods:

Technically speaking, the comment you're referencing was post-shelling. This confuses a lot of users. It's only comments made after being put into the Turtle pan that generate the notice. The reason you were put in the shell was for comments prior to being shelled.

LJ:

> Can you link me to the comment I'm being punished for?

Mods:

And therein lies the problem. You're asking for the link so you can nitpick the reason. And we want users who can admit they were overly aggressive, understand how (and where) they might have been a bit dickish, and tell us they'll try to be more careful to not do that.

Try it.

LJ:

> So, what you're saying is that you're punishing me for something I said, but refuse to even indicate what that was?

Mods:

No, not at all. We're punishing you for your inability to see what you're doing.

There's a difference.

LJ:

> I try my best to adhere to my principles. If I question the validity of your accusation, then I'm not going to just blindly admit to what you're accusing me of - even if

Sorry if this is TMI guys, I just... can't think of another place I would feel okay sharing this, and I could really use some kind words I only trust this community with providing. (Excuse the choppy tone, I'm... just in general a little upset about... broadly everything.)

So I posted here a few months ago about how, after 27 years, I have recently had my first legitimate pregnancy scare. And I think that was, in a way, borderline traumatic for me, because now, even though three months have passed... I just cannot look at my finacé the same way, and it's absolutely breaking my heart.

I love my fiancé with my heart and soul. We've been together 3+ years now, living together for 2+, we're pretty much perfect for each other, and, added bonus, I think he's easily the sexiest man on the face of this bitch of an Earth. Don't give a single shit about anyone else, nobody's got anything on him. We are both 27, staunchly childfree, don't like children the best of days (hate them on the worse ones), and we live in a country where sterilization and abortion are both so incredibly hard to get (you have to be 40 or have three bio kids in order to be able to petition sterilization, unless it's an emergency medical need) and regulated so heavily that we, two healthy cisgender people in our 20's, have roughly a snowball's chance in hell of ever being approved- and if we ever are, we better be prepared for being shamed, gaslit, and bingoed all the way through it.

We have always been incredibly careful (we do everything we can to prevent an oopsie- my garbage, GARBAGE body is a highly delicate ecosystem in a fragile equilibrium, and I'm afraid introducing extra hormones would be kinda like running through the Louvre with a bulldozer... though I've thought about the arm implant as a minimally invasive option, but surprise, ALSO inaccessible in our country, like every form of comfortable birth control), but ever since that scare, which was just my period being 2-3 days late for the first time in like five years, I just.... can't even think about touching him without the fear of pregnancy poking me in the brainstem with a rusty nail. It's embedded in my mind as a constant reminder, it has sunken its gross talons right into me, I can't shake it, and I can see that very same fear in his eyes as well. In these past three months, I think we've touched each other... maybe as many times or fewer, which is depressing.

The scariest part is that this fear has me unconsciousl

Authors note: This is my first story here and I am not a native english speaker so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors I missed.

The greatest fleet ever assembled by humanity stood defiant at the edge of the asteroid belt. It was a ragged bunch of misfits and survivors, full of refurbished older models, damaged vessels and retrofitted civilian ships.

Only some of the largest ships had any kind of shielding technology, itself an innovation of the last twelve years, and only given to those battleships that were finished in that time.

By now even those ships were veterans of dozens of battles, scarred and pocketed by myriad of small caliber weapons fire from colonial disputes, and huge, barely repaired gashes from something much more horrifying. There were only about a hundred or so of them in a fleet of twenty thousand.

And even they were woefully unprepared against the enemy. From the edge of the solar system, like a black curtain, slowly descending on the fate of humanity, a dark swarm edged closer day by day. They were so numerous and densely packed, they blocked out the stars behind them.

The enemy was never given an official name, but the marines and fleet personnel began to call them Shards. Their ships looked like black crystals grown from a single chunk and shattered into sharp jet-black fragments.

They were first encountered by humanity when a colonization fleet arrived at one of the stars they occupied. Instead of habitable planets the colonist hoped to find, the system contained huge crystalline hubs, bristling with spikes, and swarming with smaller vessels.

Apparently the Shards either thought this was an invasion, or were violently xenophobic to the extreme. Their response was to begin a full-scale war upon humanity, one which humans couldn't win. The crystalline matrix the Shard ships were made from shrugged off all but the most massive impacts from mass accelerator rounds, and they were entirely invincible to plasma weaponry.

Their weapons on the other hand, relying on the amplification of laser strength to such a degree, that was considered impossible by human scientist, were devastatingly effective. They melted trough conventional metallic armor as if it was nothing. The newer ships shields, originally designed against plasma weaponry, provided some limited degree of protection by slightly refracting the incoming beams, but even that only brought a couple of minutes of survival in a one on one fight.

It took

Go post NSFW jokes somewhere else. If I can't tell my kids this joke, then it is not a DAD JOKE.

If you feel it's appropriate to share NSFW jokes with your kids, that's on you. But a real, true dad joke should work for anyone's kid.

Mods... If you exist... Please, stop this madness. Rule #6 should simply not allow NSFW or (wtf) NSFL tags. Also, remember that MINORS browse this subreddit too? Why put that in rule #6, then allow NSFW???

Please consider changing rule #6. I love this sub, but the recent influx of NSFW tagged posts that get all the upvotes, just seem wrong when there are good solid DAD jokes being overlooked because of them.

Thank you,

A Dad.

Hi all, my younger sibling (13) lives with our mother in Indiana. Our mom has always been abusive and neglectful, drug addict, brought violent boyfriends and drug dealers home, etc. CPS never did much before, only instances they really did much was pursue a court case for neglect which they dropped due to our father’s death.

I haven’t spoken to my mother in a year, AFAIK she blocked me (after I moved out, she was trying to get me to stay and give her all my savings) on everything but I have kept in contact with my younger sibling on the DL to ensure she’s safe.

Today she told me, a couple days ago our mother cheated on her new boyfriend and said boyfriend got mad and starting beating her, then broke out most the windows, some furniture, I think a phone. My sister texted me pictures, there was some blood around the house as well. I told her if this happens again to hide and call 911.

Me and my older sibling are trying to navigate this as delicately as possible so we can stay in touch with our sibling because our mother tries to keep us away.

We’re planning to call CPS but we’re afraid that will give us away, especially if they don’t do anything again....

I make decent money and am about to move into my own 2 bed apartment. I’m only 20 though. What are the chances and steps I can take to get custody of my sibling? If I do, does our mother get visitation? I’m terrified of her because she would not hesitate to tell one of her crazy boyfriends to shoot me. How can I keep in touch with my sibling? I live in KY btw so we’re in different states.

Just scared for her safety and don’t know what to do.

Subject: A gift idea for your spouse/girl friend

Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his
lovely wife a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this.

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my
interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a
little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a
100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were
supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your
assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety....?? WAY TOO
COOL!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA
batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was
disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it

against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of
electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME!!!
Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the
face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right? There I
sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul)

while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try
this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought
about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it.
She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife
to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would
work as advertised. Am I wrong? So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a
tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my
nose, directions in one hand, and taser in another.

The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your
assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a
major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make
your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer
than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking
at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in
circumference; pretty cute really and

Sudden Lee

“I still can’t fucking believe it,” Charlie murmured, a single tear traveling down his worn face. He was so pale. Like all life had been drained from him. God, how I wished that was true. How I wished it was him they found dangling from that rope instead of her.

“I know bud,” I said, patting his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

And I was sorry. But not for him. Never for him.

The coffin was lowered down so fucking slowly. What was taking them so long? Just drop the fucking thing down there already. I bit my lip in frustration, a single drop of blood staining my white shirt. I just wanted everyone to be gone. Just wanted one last moment alone with Rose. I needed to say goodbye. Needed to say I was sorry.

“You go ahead, bud,” I said to Charlie after they’d finally got the fucking thing down there, and all the crocodile tears had been spent, and the priest had told us it’d all be fine in the end, cause God loves us all, and it was all somehow a significant part of his grand plan.

I know it’s cliche and all, but what fucking piece of shit plan is that, God? The plan where you snuff out someone so good, so pure and true, and leave the rest of us to rot in the wake of her loss? No wonder people are abandoning you - you’ve fucking lost it.

“He has, hasn’t he?” a cheery voice called from behind me.

Charlie and the rest of the fake grief entourage had left for the wake, and I was finally alone with Rose. I just needed this moment alone. Why was that so fucking hard to understand? Why couldn’t the Universe grant me just this one simple request?

“Wh-what?” I asked, the somber pain in my trembling voice catching myself by surprise. I turned, expecting maybe the priest, or one of Charlie's dirtbag cousins, but instead found myself face to face with a tall and tan stranger, dressed in an immaculate white hoodie.

“The big guy,” he grinned, pointing to the sky. “He’s lost it. He only had the one marble you know, and he fumbled that one aeons ago.”

His piercing emerald eyes burrowed into mine in ways I can’t quite explain. There was something so wrong about his imposing presence, like I knew he somehow wasn’t meant for this place. For this world. Every fiber of my being wanted him gone, yet I was also drawn to him, to the godless energy he so effortlessly radiated.

“Uh,” I murmured. “I’m don’t kno-”

“Sure you do, Evan, sure you do,” he interrupted, an idle step forward sending shivers down my spine. “You see it, clear as sudden death. There is no balance anymore.

Part 2 | Patreon

Mahz

“Brother, your laziness knows no bounds.”

I open a single eye and look at my sister, lounged on her own flat rock in the blazing summer sun. I close my eye and snort smoke through my nostrils at her, shaking my head. She flicks a piece of rock at me and it bounces off my yellow scales.

“Ambition is for the dead.” I say.

“Oh, wise sage, please impart more of your wisdom.” Chrysta mutters. I shift and roll onto my back, splaying out in the sun and enjoying the cool mountain wind on the west face. This is a good place and I will not have my peace ruined by my own sister, no matter how hard she tries.

It is a beautiful day and I have nowhere to be, nothing to do. I am content to lounge and bask and otherwise ignore the movement of the world. Very few hunt dragons this high in the mountains, the Onyx have other things to occupy their time, and unlike my sister I do not intend to politic my way into power over the Citrine.

No, I am happy here, right now.

“Brother.” Chrysta’s voice has an edge. My eyes leap open and I see her staring into the open sky above. I look. I only see the wisps of white clouds far above, the bright yellow sun, nothing else. Chrysta sees something though. Something I do not see yet. I settle onto my haunches, sniffing the air and blinking in the sunlight, barely daring to breath. I wait for something to catch my eye.

There.

“A dragon?” I say, watching the small dot cross the blue of the sky. “Sister, I love you dearly, but kindly go away so I can sleep.”

I look to where she was a moment before. She has disappeared. She always was better at camouflage. Father taught her that. I stare at the dot in the sky, a pair of wings slowly forming into a clearer picture while I watch. I wait to see the dull gleam of black scales, maybe even the bright shine of green or blue. The dot is too large for another Citrine. It takes a clearer shape and I see a flash of color.

“Ruby.” I hiss, tensing when I see the red scales. Rubies prefer the northern mountains and almost never visit our range. This one has come to us. Then I see the horns that curl back on his head, like those of a mountain ram. I could flee.

He would catch me.

I could fight.

He would kill me.

So I am left with one option. I wait.

When the Ruby lands, it shakes the mountain beneath my claws. He is larger than I am, mos

Hello! This is probably the final part of this timeline series, and also my favorite. It's about the culture and art of the USSR from 1970-1990, and I had a lot of fun putting this together, especially considering how much US influence is present in this USSR.

I started this TL series mostly because I remember playing through libsoc Sablin's route and seeing something about legalizing other socialist parties. While others on this subreddit argued about whether or not that is authoritarian, I wondered about how that would even work. What happens if the Communist Party loses an election, even to a diet-communist party? So I came up with this wish fulfilment "semi-realistic" timeline that heavily favored Sablin's USSR, with Germany totally fucking itself and OFN becoming friends with commies, but I also wanted to see how many of Sablin's dreams don't pan out, at least in the way he would have hoped. Instead of allowing parties that would basically serve as the Left-SR's and Menshevik Internationalists to the CPSU's Bolsheviks, it ends up allowing liberal reformist parties to gather as an opposition. Instead of abolishing the value form, the USSR is a large economy and huge market for the OFN.

In short, it's a USSR that is probably a pretty good place to live in, certainly better than the OTL USSR, but it's a USSR that Lenin would be skeptical of at best. Whether or not you think that's a good thing, I had a lot of fun trying to figure out what the USSR would be able to do to survive and be stable in a somewhat convincing way, while also not going all the way into "Blessed Sablin Red Jesus flawless utopia." It was also fun to separate what I would do from what they would (or could) do if they were in charge. I haven't ever written alternate history timelines before, but I enjoyed writing one and might do one again in the future, even if it takes a long time to plan and write one out. Anyway, on to the content of this part.

Music of the USSR

Yanka Dyagileva performing at a concert in Leningrad, 1987

Russian composers like Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky are celebrated across the world, but the country also contains a thriving folk music scene. Conscious to promote its international prestige, the USSR encourages folk music in different regions of the USSR through TV programs, radio stations, and music festivals, bringin

Part 1

~

Looking for able-bodied people to assist me in recovering the Sandusky bones. I know you must be out there. If you are reading this, then I assume you are well enough to aid me. I am also trying my best to help the boneless I come across. We need to support each other.

Not all the bones are taken yet.

~

As painful as my daily life has become, as stuffed with improvised bones as I am, I must persevere. Driving has become impossible, as any sedentary trip lasting longer than fifteen or so minutes causes spasms. My bones nearly literally leap from my body or my body rejects the imposter and substitute bones. In short, I am trapped in Sandusky.

I walk this city because I have to, and I do so more and more alone. Just months ago, I would see men, women, and children walking, running, and playing, breathing in that strange Lake Erie smell, soaking in the reflected sun rays of that murky water. Now, The only people I see are boneless blobs sizzling in the summer sun. They undulate slowly, moaning and bloated, covered in lakeside filth. Luckily, many of them are in their homes or under some sort of roof. I feel sorry for them, but I cannot be with them long enough to help them or my bones may jump from me as well. Their slitted skin gasps like wanting lips, wanting bones, wanting new or different bones, and these skin openings seem to especially pucker and suckle when I amble past. Their bodies want new bones, what few real ones I have left. The people groan and gurgle, mumbling clumsily with what little agency they have over their soft mouth holes. The tongues have enough muscle to flap and flick with some manner of purpose, though I cannot say what that purpose is. If I can spare it, I pour water into their mouths. It is the least I can do for them.

Along my prowl to the end of a row of houses, I see a corpulent man in the face down in the rocky sand. He reminds me of a beached jellyfish. The unrelenting sun has cooked his skin into a blistered, bright red. I am extremely sweaty, bordering on overheating, with my attire of zip ties and compression clothes. I cannot imagine how hot he must feel. His blobby body bubbles there like mozzarella cheese melting on a wood fire pizza, and his agonizing bellows ring out much more clearly than all the others I have come across. Gulls circle above him, adding their cacophonous cawing to his retched moa

Phil

This season launched with an absolute blitz of lore, and since I couldn’t find anywhere it was all in one place, I figured I would do it myself. I’ve summarized the important points from all the quests, lorebooks, and items released thus far. I will not be getting into any datamined material or other spoilers; this is purely what we learned on the first day.

Quests:

The Vex have sunset the sun, and Osiris believes only Mithrax can help us. We track him down on Europa, where he is leading the survivors of a crashed House Light skiff. We shoot the Vex off his back and he is able to get us into the Vex network. We are making progress, but his House is getting hunted down by both the Vex and House Salvation, and Mithrax cannot stop to help us. Ikora then officially invites House Light to live in the Last City, in return for Mithrax’s help overriding the Vex simulation.

At the Eliksni quarters, Mithrax is greeted by Osiris, Ikora, and Lakshmi-2 of the Future War Cult. Lakshmi says House Light has been welcomed by the Vanguard and by the Consensus, the civilian government, but Osiris says later their arrival sits between “democracy and decree.” Osiris asks House Light to keep to themselves, since many in the City do not want them there. A room in the Helm is turned over to Mithrax so he can begin slicing, and Zavala assigns Ikora, Osiris, Lakshmi, and Saint-14 to help him return our sun to us.

Moving around the Eliksni quarters in the Last City, we learn that Mithrax was the unnamed Eliksni who pulled a hatchling from a ventilation shaft. She became his daughter and Mithrax named her Eido, after Sjur Eido, his first non-Eliksni friend. She is a Scribe, responsible for recording her people’s history, and she leaves some audio recordings scattered around the camp.

• House Light is both conservative and progressive compared to other Eliksni houses. They revere the Traveler and machines in general, but Mithrax does not dock arms as a punishment or take more than his share of ether.
• Ether isn’t just food for Eliksni, it’s also a growth hormone. On their old homeworld, there was plenty to go around and all Eliksni were the size of Captains. After the Whirlwind, ether rationing went from a necessity to a tool of social control; almost all the Fallen we have ever encountered have been severely malnourished.
• We Guardians are monsters to the Fallen. They draw wards around their homes, and explain to their hatchlings it keeps us out. As the hatchlings grow, th