Does anyone else dread the weekend?
It's Friday afternoon with work ending soon and I've just been hit with sadness. It's been like this for a while now. I don't even want to see friends or play online with anyone because I've just been so overwhelmingly down recently. It makes no sense to me because I've been okay enough during the week and now I'm preparing myself to just cry for the next two days.
I'm so tired of this.

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*
Chapter Thirteen - Bridge Over Swift Water (Part II)
​
The cottage beside the mill was not large, and its low ceilings were packed with all manner of cupboards, shelves, chairs and tables, pressed in against the walls in a maze of well-worn clutter. The result was a rather overcrowded space, and Ren was forced to take more care than usual so as not to bump into anything when they entered, but the hearth was broad, and the smell of cooking filled the air, so it did not take long to settle into a comfortable lull of pleasant talk around the table whilst they waited for their lunch. Ted's wife, a young, slender woman with dark, smiling eyes and shoulder-length fair hair, hurried about the fire busily, stirring and seasoning her pots with a methodical efficiency. A mug arrived for each of them (water for the boys, something stronger for Ted), and they talked for a time of small things, of the weather and the harvest, hoping for a mild winter, idle talk for idle minds. Even Trin seemed to have relaxed in the lazy firelight, though he was more quiet than usual. Ren thought of how scared he had been of the miller as a boy, remembering the fearsome man with his scarred neck and deep voice that had raked their dinner table at the farm with his dark eyes. It was a memory that fit the man beside him about as well as a child’s boot might fit its fathers. He started to feel a little guilty for avoiding him, whenever he visited the farm.
‘Heard you were heading to Overwood, last week.’
Ren blinked, looking up from the fire to find Ted watching him over his mug. He swallowed.
‘Took a cart to the market with grandfather.’
‘How is the old goat?’
Ren hesitated. ‘He’s… he’s well.’
Ted took a swig of his ale, not a little wistfully. ‘Used to live up there, you know. Overwood, I mean. After the soldiering, when the Black Breath took my Da. Coughed up his own lungs, ‘fore it got ‘im. Always was a scrapper. Not easy, losing someone like that.’
Ren swallowed, looking away, and the miller’s eyes softened.
‘Your Ma, too, boy, I know. Damn shame.’ he said apologetically, and Ren decided not to correct him. ‘Long time before I came out here, anyways.’
‘You fought in the war?’ Trin asked tentatively.
‘I fought in the rebellion, boy.’ Ted corrected him. ‘Was only one King, back then.’
Trin swallowed, looking at the floor.
‘But that was a long time ago now. Afore you were born, I reckon. Not a lot of work for soldiers in peacetime. Must have dug half the privies in Overwood before I earned the coin to up sticks.'
‘Earned?’ Werla snorted from beside the fire, cheeks dimpling. ‘Swindled, more like.’
Ren looked over at her. He had always thought her a little young for the old miller. He was well past forty, and with his weathered brow and ugly scar he was hardly an obvious match for a pretty young girl not long from twenty when they had wed a couple of summers back. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had fallen in together to begin with.
‘Now, don't be giving our guests the wrong idea.’ Ted told her, grinning, and the scar on his neck knotted. He turned back to the boys, holding up his hands earnestly. ‘An honest game of chance, I swear it. Northerner, he was, didn't know dice from a pebble.’
Ren and Trin both nodded sagely at his explanation, neither of them knowing one jot about dice, or gambling, or Northerners, for that matter. Werla swept to their rescue, appearing at the miller's shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Swindled.’ she said pointedly.
Ted smiled in spite of himself, shooing her away. She chuckled and turned back to the stew, humming softly to herself.
‘I hear there’s a lot of new folk in town.’ Ted said, turning back to the boys. ‘From up in the Stonelands.’
‘Enough to notice.’ Ren replied, thinking of the unpleasantness on the road. He frowned. ‘Unfriendly types.’
‘Been a while since I made it over that way. Couple of winters back, now.’ He frowned thoughtfully, then smiled in Werla’s direction. ‘A lot can change in two years, though.’
Werla looked up, flashing him a smile, then went back to her stew pot again, humming. The miller paused, scratching at his scar, then gave the boys a curious look. ‘So, then. What brings you out this far?’
Ren lowered his eyes, and Trin shifted uncomfortably beside him. Ted laughed, weathered face creasing into a smile.
‘Come now.’ he told them. ‘Can’t hardly turn you over to your grandfather from here, can I?’
Ren swallowed. ‘We were just out for a ride…’
‘Mister Derin told us never to cross the bridge.’ Trin finished for him, scowling. ‘He said it was too far from the farm. Not safe, he said. So of course that’s exactly where Ren has to go. We’ll be in for it when we get back!’
‘You didn't have to come, Trin.’ Ren told his friend patiently. He thought of his grandfather’s old map, carved with rivers and mountains and cities in dark ink. The Swiftwater wasn’t even big enough to merit a line, and the distance they’d travelled this morning wouldn’t be more than a nails-breadth.
‘Well you didn't tell me where we were going.’ Trin replied, fidgeting nervously. His fingers twisted around a stray tear in his shirt, tugging at it. ‘And besides... Hardly going to let you go running off on your own. Too risky. It's not safe this far from the farm, for you most of all, so they says.’
‘Who’s they?’ Ren asked, scowling.
‘Hector. Your grandfather. And Ma, too! Everyone!’
‘Your Ma doesn’t know everything, Trin.’
‘Still a damn sight more than you!’
‘Easy, boys.’ Ted was smiling, and his scarred neck twisted. ‘I wager the north side of the river is much the same as this one.’
Trin lowered his eyes, and his cheeks reddened. Ren thought of the shadows moving in the trees over the bridge, the way he had fallen when Ted had found him, and started to feel very foolish indeed. His thoughts had been dark, unpredictable, these past few days, since the trip to Overwood. He never had been a good sleeper, but his nights had been more restless than usual, too, his dreams a little thicker with shadows. Shadows with faces, and a hunchback with gold eyes to give them voice. Turning every doorway to the gloom of the fortuneteller’s tent, every flame the silver light of his brazier. He frowned at himself. Just rhymes and empty words. Best not to dwell on it.
‘Food's ready!’ Werla said suddenly from the fire, and a few moments later they had steaming bowls of fragrant brown stew sitting in front of them on the table. Ted carved up some slices of soft, pale bread for them to soak, and they set to eating it all in relative quiet for a time, content with good food and the soft warmth of the fire, and it was not long before all thoughts of the bridge, and the shadows beyond it, had gone entirely from Ren's mind. He found himself staring wearily into his cup, watching idly as the clear water rocked and rolled against the rim, listening to the rumble of the river outside.
‘Won’t turn to ale just by looking at it.’ Ted told him, and he looked up to find the miller looking at him curiously, taking another mouthful of bread. Trin was still quite engaged in his food, and Werla was sipping her mug contentedly, pale hair brushed back behind her ears.
‘What?’
‘Come, now, boy. What’s got you twisted?’ Ted asked, taking sip of his drink.
Ren hesitated. ‘I was thinking about the market.’ He said after a moment, looking up. It was true enough.
‘Ah. Town ain't what it used to be.’ Ted looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then began rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug, staring at it. His young wife watched him with a slight frown. ‘All these unsavoury types arriving. You hear the talk, even out here. City folk, some of them, and worse. Heard… there’s talk of Brothers abroad, up in the Westmere. Out in the open, again, like.’ He pressed harder against the mug, thumb turning white. Werla reached out and pulled his hand away, folding it in her own and meeting his eye. Ted frowned, squeezing her hand, and the ugly scar on his neck gleamed. Trin had stopped eating.
‘But the Westmere’s a long way from here, and I ain’t one to be complaining. Got a good roof over my head, and a good living. A good woman, too, and might have a son of my own by next winter, Makers willing.’ He grinned at Werla, putting a hand to her belly, and she smiled, pulling it to her mouth and kissing it softly. ‘Reckon I’m a lucky man.’
Ren smiled at them both, lowering his eyes.
‘Say hello to your folks, for me, boy. Tell your old man I better see his arse over here before the snows.’
Some words of thanks, warm, earnest ones, and one or two more for goodbye, then they were homeward bound again, ponies snorting in the afternoon sun, promises of a return visit ringing in their ears. Ren was left with the distinct feeling that he had misjudged the old miller, scar and all. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned towards the rumours he had imparted from the Westmere, his white knuckles pressed against his mug. To Hector’s words in the shadow of the farm hill. To the ugly fortuneteller and his tent of oddities and silver fire. Words whispered in the dark. He’d not mentioned the encounter in the tent to anyone. Not even his grandfather. In truth, he’d been doing his best not to think about it at all, without much success. He frowned, hunching over his saddle.
A mask on fire.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Trin, for his part, was busy trying to subtly feed Pol the stash of small treats he had smuggled away from the cottage, glancing over at Ren occasionally to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He had, of course, but there was little use in pointing it out.
‘Trin.’ Ren said once they had crested the hill, looking back towards the river-bound cottage in the distance. Trin started and stuck his hand quickly back into his pocket, hiding a scrap of bread.
‘What?'’
‘You heard what Ted said?’ Ren asked. ‘About Brothers?’
Trin frowned. ‘Suppose so.’
Ren was still looking back the way they had come. 'What do you make of it?'
‘Reckon he’s right.’ Trin shrugged. ‘Westmere’s a long way away.’
He hesitated, frowning.
‘But Hector’s been saying it for years. Overwood’s not what it used to be. Strange folk coming and going by night. No safe place for good folk that side of the Swiftwater. Brothers or no.’
‘Grandad says there haven’t been Black Hand this far south in years.’ Ren murmured, still looking back towards the river. ‘Not since we were born, at least.’
‘Wouldn’t pay it any mind. Plenty to worry about without them.’ Trin told him, giving him a serious look. ‘You’ve been acting up more, these past few weeks. Ever since the old man came calling.’
‘Have I?’ Ren scowled, shooting his friend a sideways glance.
‘You know what I think about him.’ Trin told him seriously. ‘Can’t be trusted, that one. And you can’t be taking so many risks. Not with your… Well, you know.’
‘Your ma tell you that, too?’
‘Don’t make it wrong.’ Trin grumbled, turning away in his saddle and trotting off south over the crest of the hill. Ren waited a moment longer, frowning to himself, then followed him reluctantly. The sound of the river was long gone behind him, but he caught one final glimpse the gleaming water before he shook the reins and disappeared finally over the brow of the hill, bound for home.

Read the story so far on Royal Road - Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon
*
Chapter Thirteen - Bridge Over Swift Water (Part II)
The cottage beside the mill was not large, and its low ceilings were packed with all manner of cupboards, shelves, chairs and tables, pressed in against the walls in a maze of well-worn clutter. The result was a rather overcrowded space, and Ren was forced to take more care than usual so as not to bump into anything when they entered, but the hearth was broad, and the smell of cooking filled the air, so it did not take long to settle into a comfortable lull of pleasant talk around the ta-ble whilst they waited for their lunch. Ted's wife, a young, slender woman with dark, smiling eyes and shoulder-length fair hair, hurried about the fire busily, stirring and seasoning her pots with a methodical efficiency. A mug arrived for each of them (water for the boys, some-thing stronger for Ted), and they talked for a time of small things, of the weather and the harvest, hoping for a mild winter, idle talk for idle minds. Even Trin seemed to have relaxed in the lazy firelight, though he was more quiet than usual. Ren thought of how scared he had been of the miller as a boy, remembering the fearsome man with his scarred neck and deep voice that had raked their dinner table at the farm with his dark eyes. It was a memory that fit the man beside him about as well as a child’s boot might fit its fathers. He started to feel a little guilty for avoiding him, whenever he visited the farm.
‘Heard you were heading to Overwood, last week.’
Ren blinked, looking up from the fire to find Ted watching him over his mug. He swallowed.
‘Took a cart to the market with grandfather.’
‘How is the old goat?’
Ren hesitated. ‘He’s… he’s well.’
Ted took a swig of his ale, not a little wistfully. ‘Used to live up there, you know. Overwood, I mean. After the soldiering, when the Black Breath took my Da. Coughed up his own lungs, ‘fore it got ‘im. Always was a scrapper. Not easy, losing someone like that.’
Ren swallowed, looking away, and the miller’s eyes softened.
‘Your Ma, too, boy, I know. Damn shame.’ he said apologetically, and Ren decided not to correct him. ‘Long time before I came out here, anyways.’
‘You fought in the war?’ Trin asked tentatively.
‘I fought in the rebellion, boy.’ Ted corrected him. ‘Was only one King, back then.’
Trin swallowed, looking at the floor.
‘But that was a long time ago now. Afore you were born, I reckon. Not a lot of work for soldiers in peacetime. Must have dug half the privies in Overwood before I earned the coin to up sticks.'
‘Earned?’ Werla snorted from beside the fire, cheeks dimpling. ‘Swindled, more like.’
Ren looked over at her. He had always thought her a little young for the old miller. He was well past forty, and with his weathered brow and ugly scar he was hardly an obvious match for a pretty young girl not long from twenty when they had wed a couple of summers back. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had fallen in together to begin with.
‘Now, don't be giving our guests the wrong idea.’ Ted told her, grin-ning, and the scar on his neck knotted. He turned back to the boys, holding up his hands earnestly. ‘An honest game of chance, I swear it. Northerner, he was, didn't know dice from a pebble.’
Ren and Trin both nodded sagely at his explanation, neither of them knowing one jot about dice, or gambling, or Northerners, for that mat-ter. Werla swept to their rescue, appearing at the miller's shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Swindled.’ she said pointedly.
Ted smiled in spite of himself, shooing her away. She chuckled and turned back to the stew, humming softly to herself.
‘I hear there’s a lot of new folk in town.’ Ted said, turning back to the boys. ‘From up in the Stonelands.’
‘Enough to notice.’ Ren replied, thinking of the unpleasantness on the road. He frowned. ‘Unfriendly types.’
‘Been a while since I made it over that way. Couple of winters back, now.’ He frowned thoughtfully, then smiled in Werla’s direction. ‘A lot can change in two years, though.’
Werla looked up, flashing him a smile, then went back to her stew pot again, humming. The miller paused, scratching at his scar, then gave the boys a curious look. ‘So, then. What brings you out this far?’
Ren lowered his eyes, and Trin shifted uncomfortably beside him. Ted laughed, weathered face creasing into a smile.
‘Come now.’ he told them. ‘Can’t hardly turn you over to your grandfather from here, can I?’
Ren swallowed. ‘We were just out for a ride…’
‘Mister Derin told us never to cross the bridge.’ Trin finished for him, scowling. ‘He said it was too far from the farm. Not safe, he said. So of course that’s exactly where Ren has to go. We’ll be in for it when we get back!’
‘You didn't have to come, Trin.’ Ren told his friend patiently. He thought of his grandfather’s old map, carved with rivers and mountains and cities in dark ink. The Swiftwater wasn’t even big enough to merit a line, and the distance they’d travelled this morning wouldn’t be more than a nails-breadth.
‘Well you didn't tell me where we were going.’ Trin replied, fidget-ing nervously. His fingers twisted around a stray tear in his shirt, tug-ging at it. ‘And besides... Hardly going to let you go running off on your own. Too risky. It's not safe this far from the farm, for you most of all, so they says.’
‘Who’s they?’ Ren asked, scowling.
‘Hector. Your grandfather. And Ma, too! Everyone!’
‘Your Ma doesn’t know everything, Trin.’
‘Still a damn sight more than you!’
‘Easy, boys.’ Ted was smiling, and his scarred neck twisted. ‘I wa-ger the north side of the river is much the same as this one.’
Trin lowered his eyes, and his cheeks reddened. Ren thought of the shadows moving in the trees over the bridge, the way he had fallen when Ted had found him, and started to feel very foolish indeed. His thoughts had been dark, unpredictable, these past few days, since the trip to Overwood. He never had been a good sleeper, but his nights had been more restless than usual, too, his dreams a little thicker with shad-ows. Shadows with faces, and a hunchback with gold eyes to give them voice. Turning every doorway to the gloom of the fortuneteller’s tent, every flame the silver light of his brazier. He frowned at himself. Just rhymes and empty words. Best not to dwell on it.
‘Food's ready!’ Werla said suddenly from the fire, and a few mo-ments later they had steaming bowls of fragrant brown stew sitting in front of them on the table. Ted carved up some slices of soft, pale bread for them to soak, and they set to eating it all in relative quiet for a time, content with good food and the soft warmth of the fire, and it was not long before all thoughts of the bridge, and the shadows beyond it, had gone entirely from Ren's mind. He found himself staring wearily into his cup, watching idly as the clear water rocked and rolled against the rim, listening to the rumble of the river outside.
‘Won’t turn to ale just by looking at it.’ Ted told him, and he looked up to find the miller looking at him curiously, taking another mouthful of bread. Trin was still quite engaged in his food, and Werla was sip-ping her mug contentedly, pale hair brushed back behind her ears.
‘What?’
‘Come, now, boy. What’s got you twisted?’ Ted asked, taking sip of his drink.
Ren hesitated. ‘I was thinking about the market.’ He said after a moment, looking up. It was true enough.
‘Ah. Town ain't what it used to be.’ Ted looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then began rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug, staring at it. His young wife watched him with a slight frown. ‘All these unsavoury types arriving. You hear the talk, even out here. City folk, some of them, and worse. Heard… there’s talk of Brothers abroad, up in the Westmere. Out in the open, again, like.’ He pressed harder against the mug, thumb turning white. Werla reached out and pulled his hand away, folding it in her own and meeting his eye. Ted frowned, squeezing her hand, and the ugly scar on his neck gleamed. Trin had stopped eating.
‘But the Westmere’s a long way from here, and I ain’t one to be complaining. Got a good roof over my head, and a good living. A good woman, too, and might have a son of my own by next winter, Makers willing.’ He grinned at Werla, putting a hand to her belly, and she smiled, pulling it to her mouth and kissing it softly. ‘Reckon I’m a lucky man.’
Ren smiled at them both, lowering his eyes.
‘Say hello to your folks, for me, boy. Tell your old man I better see his arse over here before the snows.’
Some words of thanks, warm, earnest ones, and one or two more for goodbye, then they were homeward bound again, ponies snorting in the afternoon sun, promises of a return visit ringing in their ears. Ren was left with the distinct feeling that he had misjudged the old miller, scar and all. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned towards the ru-mours he had imparted from the Westmere, his white knuckles pressed against his mug. To Hector’s words in the shadow of the farm hill. To the ugly fortuneteller and his tent of oddities and silver fire. Words whispered in the dark. He’d not mentioned the encounter in the tent to anyone. Not even his grandfather. In truth, he’d been doing his best not to think about it at all, without much success. He frowned, hunching over his saddle.
A mask on fire.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Trin, for his part, was busy trying to subtly feed Pol the stash of small treats he had smuggled away from the cottage, glancing over at Ren occasionally to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He had, of course, but there was little use in pointing it out.
‘Trin.’ Ren said once they had crested the hill, looking back towards the river-bound cottage in the distance. Trin started and stuck his hand quickly back into his pocket, hiding a scrap of bread.
‘What?'’
‘You heard what Ted said?’ Ren asked. ‘About Brothers?’
Trin frowned. ‘Suppose so.’
Ren was still looking back the way they had come. 'What do you make of it?'
‘Reckon he’s right.’ Trin shrugged. ‘Westmere’s a long way away.’
He hesitated, frowning.
‘But Hector’s been saying it for years. Overwood’s not what it used to be. Strange folk coming and going by night. No safe place for good folk that side of the Swiftwater. Brothers or no.’
‘Grandad says there haven’t been Black Hand this far south in years.’ Ren murmured, still looking back towards the river. ‘Not since we were born, at least.’
‘Wouldn’t pay it any mind. Plenty to worry about without them.’ Trin told him, giving him a serious look. ‘You’ve been acting up more, these past few weeks. Ever since the old man came calling.’
‘Have I?’ Ren scowled, shooting his friend a sideways glance.
‘You know what I think about him.’ Trin told him seriously. ‘Can’t be trusted, that one. And you can’t be taking so many risks. Not with your… Well, you know.’
‘Your ma tell you that, too?’
‘Don’t make it wrong.’ Trin grumbled, turning away in his saddle and trotting off south over the crest of the hill. Ren waited a moment longer, frowning to himself, then followed him reluctantly. The sound of the river was long gone behind him, but he caught one final glimpse the gleaming water before he shook the reins and disappeared finally over the brow of the hill, bound for home.

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Chapter 32
As Mae had previewed, the weeks that passed since the incident in the Logistics Bay were fraught with speculation and feeding the rumor mill. Quin felt he couldn’t walk ten paces on Nemo before meeting some askance gaze of a crewmember or hearing the murmurings of a conversation that abruptly stopped when he would round a corner. Mae was right though that, after a while, the incident became old news and the ruckus died down a bit. Certainly, there was always an inappropriate joke to be had during dinner or dark looks from certain members of the crew, but as the time passed, people turned once again to daily happenings onboard, when the next stopover would take place, and the perennial favorite: who happened to be sleeping with whom.
This last item tended to occupy people to no end, and Quin felt a bit unfortunate that this news also pertained him. Mae and Liza’s breakup and the apparent spat that he and Pepper had ran through the corridors just as fast as the news about Nova. Quin was honestly unsure which conversation he dreaded being brought up more. It seemed that individuals he had never or barely even met knew more about his world than he himself was aware. It was during one of these conversations with two people from the Engineering section that Quin accidently lost it and stormed off, an act he regretted immediately for furthering the gossip chain.
“So is it true that you had to hold Mae back so she wouldn’t punch Liza?” the guy had asked.
”What? NO. What the hell?” Quin responded, flabbergasted.
“Well, I heard from someone in the officer’s corridor that there was yelling and someone got hit. Do you know who got punched?” The other person was practically on their toes with anticipation.
“NO ONE GOT PUNCHED!” Quin shouted, ready to leave the conversation as soon as possible.
“Jeez, why are you yelling?” as the first person, blind to Quin’s growing frustration.
“Don’t you know, Liza’s friend broke up with him the next day because of the fight?” The second person remarked to the first, now completely cutting Quin out of the conversation.
“WE WEREN’T EVEN DATING! WHAT THE HELL?!” Quin screamed, turned on his heels and stormed off to nowhere in particular.
Thankfully, this was probably the worst interaction he had had as a result of those unfortunate few days, aside from the actual conversations themselves that he experienced with Pepper and Nova themselves. He would have appreciated any interaction with either of them at all, if he was honest. The silent treatment from the both of them was practically unbearable. Mae’s words of encouragement, “Time, give it time,” only helped so much when he would pass by Pepper in the corridors or when he had to work directly with Nova during his long shifts in the lab. Nova had limited their conversations to something like a comment box, dropping in parcels of a conversation to the syslog, to be taken up at her leisure and delivered at inconvenient times in the middle of the night. But at the very least, Nova was responding, albeit specifically for work and solely related to their responsibilities together. Pepper, on the other hand, was completely mute. Painfully so, Quin noted as she passed by him going into the cafeteria and didn’t even afford him a glance.
The level of complete non-interaction with Pepper and the invasion into his life by everyone else was beginning to wear on him, and he felt more cut off from the rest of the crew than ever before. He had stopped visiting Bostwick’s chamber for fear of the look of pity that the Commander often wore when passing by him. At least Mae had somewhat of a ‘tough love’ approach to cheering him up. Bostwick’s uncompromising warmth and sympathetic looks made Quin feel guilty rather than comforted, and shameful rather than encouraged. In fact, in the two and a half weeks that passed since Nemo had left the Rhea stopover and Quin passed the night under the watch of the Commander, Quin had only exchanged glances with Bostwick.
Then there was the insomnia. At first, Quin felt nothing but lethargy as he felt the different components of his life crumble around him. The inability to communicate with Tess, the intolerable pity of Mae and Bostwick, the unbearable silence from Pepper and Nova, the frustration expressed by the command staff, and the whispers and side-eyes from the rest of the crew all contributed to the complete physical and mental shutdown he experienced after leaving Rhea. He would steal away to his chamber during break periods to nap, and he would skip meals in order to stay in his room, profiting from the odd bits of food Mae snuck out of the cafeteria. However, after several days of feeling an inability to motivate himself to be out of bed, he started to find that he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, or glancing at the clock and fretting that it was already 4:00 in the morning.
It was on one of these early mornings that Quin saw the numbers 3:22 at the top of his tablet, and he felt as if it would be impossible for him to find any sleep that night. He had laid down in bed at 22:05 with every intention of forcing a good night’s sleep, but with five hours passing by and no respite coming, he sat up on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes a bit. He figured that the coffee station in the kitchen would probably have some hot water with which to make tea, and that could possibly help him. He threw his jumpsuit and boots on and strolled out of the room.
The ship was deserted and peaceful, the type of quiet that Quin relished. It was almost trance-inducing, the soft hum of the ship that Quin felt coming through the very walls themselves. He felt the sound reverberate through him and it was soothing. He set off toward the kitchen. The sleet grey walls of Nemo’s interior usually made for a serious backdrop, but at this hour, it had the effect of dimming the corridors and adding to the sleepy atmosphere of the ship. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and followed the sleek lines of the hallways with his eyes as he passed. He came upon the cafeteria doors and walked by them to skirt the main room. He was heading for the back area, the sparkling room with gleaming metal and white tile and a peaceful getaway. Upon swiping his arm against the pad, though, he found that the space was already occupied. A voice greeted him before he had an opportunity to look up.
“Hey Quin, can’t sleep? Is it another bad dream?” Bostwick was sitting on a stool with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and his illuminated tablet resting on one of the food prep work tables. The man had a weary look around his eyes but Quin could still discern the warmth that emanated from the wrinkles near his temples and the large smile he wore. Quin froze, unsure whether to step into the room and submit himself to another round of pity or try to find some excuse for leaving and head back to his room. In his uncertainty, he ended up standing in the doorway, causing the automatic doors to try to swish shut but freezing and retracting, over and over again.
“Well? Are you just going to stand there, mouth agape, or are you going to come get something to drink like you had planned?” Bostwick said with an eyebrow raised, his mouth now reflecting a knowing smirk. Slowly, Quin trudged into the room, his hands clenched in his pockets as he tried to suppress the nerves that were boiling in his stomach. He gingerly walked over to the coffee station and put a tea bag in a cup and pressed the release valve to allow boiling water to fall over it. Then he set the cup down to steep. He kept his eyes fixed on the surface of the brewing tea, though he felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand as he guarded himself for Bostwick’s eventual conversation starter. But after a minute, it didn’t come. Quin stood there watching the deep brown tea diffuse throughout the water but did not hear a word come from Bostwick. Hesitantly, Quin looked around and saw Bostwick tapping on his tablet, seemingly composing a message.
Quin shuffled his feet a bit before clearing his throat lightly. Without even looking up, Bostwick said, “I’m able to read signs, Quin. If you don’t want to talk to me, I’m more than happy to oblige your intention to be left alone.”
Quin’s eyes shot up to look at Bostwick, who kept on typing as if he hadn’t spoken. Quin was left a bit taken aback. Oh hell, he thought, is it that obvious or can he read my mind? He shuffled again and then picked up his tea cup. Quick, say something, you idiot, his mind was screaming at him as he struggled to put together his words.
“Look, uh, Commander, I—“ Quin started, but was immediately cut off.
“Louis, but please continue,” Bostwick said, looking up at him and smiling.
Whatever momentum Quin had built up in trying to speak, he lost it with Bostwick’s interruption. He started to second-guess even his need to speak if Bostwick was going to be able to anticipate the conversation. His mentor apparently picked up on his nervousness, because he relieved Quin’s tension by taking up what was going through Quin’s head.
“Quin, listen, I understand that you feel like you want to be left alone,” Bostwick said, his tone soft and unassailing. “And I’m sensing that you feel a bit embarrassed about being vulnerable in front of me. That’s a totally normal human feeling. I hope you aren’t feeling, though, that I overstepped any boundaries by not waking you up immediately when you fell asleep in my room?”
“No, uh, Louis, it’s not that,” Quin said abashedly.
“Good, I’m glad. So if you are feeling ashamed about the way I show that I care about you, please just tell me, and we can talk about how I can change that.”
Again, Quin was at a loss for words. It’s not that I don’t want him to care about me, he thought, it’s that I want him to be mad. Why wasn’t he angry at all? That I could deal with. But he’s so kind that I feel like I want to scream. Quin lifted his eyes and finally met Bostwick’s own piercing gaze. Bostwick seemed to interpret the silence and took up the conversation again.
“Unless…perhaps you are feeling ashamed about your own reaction?” Bostwick posited. “Quin, it’s almost the twenty-third century, well actually, for everyone not aboard this ship, it already is. We are long past the cultural stereotype of men not being able to cry. I’d say that your expression of deep emotion is quite masculine, and I for one would—“
Quin interrupted him, “No, Louis, it’s not that either.”
Bostwick fell silent for a moment, then continued gently, “Okay, again, if you wouldn’t like to discuss it right now, you can simply have your tea and we can sip our respective beverages in silence. Though I will note that a 3am excursion raises all sorts of eyebrows that a lesser XO would rush to conclusions. Thankfully for you, I’m not a lesser XO.” He ended with a smirk, returning to his tablet with a very self-satisfied look on his face.
Quin let the silence fill the room again as he turned his cup in his hands, the warmth slowly radiating through his cold fingertips and seemingly giving him a bit of courage. After a moment, he slowly walked over to the work table and set his cup down. Again, without looking up, Bostwick pulled a stool out from underneath the table and pushed it toward Quin. Quin couldn’t help but smile a bit at Bostwick’s level of tact in assuming. He took the proffered stool and plopped himself down, elbows on the work table and eyes fixed on the tea cup. Hesitantly, he glanced at Bostwick, who was humming a tune and slowly shaking his head back and forth in rhythm as he completed his message and hit the send button.
Quin cleared his throat and made his attempt, “Commander, uh sorry, Louis, it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything. I really do. I just…I was just wishing you would be less…I don’t know…understanding? A little more mad?”
“I have no intention of being mad at you Quin. That would be counterproductive and a waste of energy. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, I um, what do you mean?” Quin shook his head as his eyes fell.
“I’d imagine that your self-imposed reclusion and the restrictions imposed by Captain Fuentes would be a sufficient punishment, and you are probably looking for a friendly face, especially after things with Ensign Jefferson, erm, Pepper, have recently soured. That would leave you with Mae to seek some company and I daresay that Lieutenant Rohlwing has her own mission responsibilities and personal tumult to deal with, no?”
Quin was staring with his mouth open at Bostwick, who yet again was wearing a rather pleased smirk on his face. How in the hell did he know all of that? Quin thought, unable to keep an astounded look off his face.
Bostwick chuckled, then seemingly replied to Quin’s thought, “You people think the command staff are a bunch of old farts out of touch with the inner workings of the social network among you youths, but I too hear things. I have my spies on board.”
Quin laughed, causing Bostwick to perk up a bit, “Oh alright,” he rejoiced, arms up in the air. “Ten points to Bostwick for making the moody one laugh.”
Quin laughed more heartily and took a sip of his tea. When he looked back up he saw Bostwick was staring at him with an encouraging look on his face, as if to say May I keep asking questions? Quin sipped his tea again and nodded softly, almost to himself as he continued to chuckle.
“So, I take it you and Ms. Jefferson have not spoken much since we set off from Rhea?” Bostwick asked, eyebrow raised.
“No, that would require her wanting to speak to me,” Quin said dryly.
“How do you know she doesn’t want to speak to you?” Bostwick asked.
“Well, she seems to avoid or ignore me, so I’m trying to take the hint,” Quin said, trying to be nonchalant in his tone.
“Do you still like her?” Bostwick continued.
“Yeah, a lot. I thought we were doing well, really well on Rhea, but I said some stupid things in defending Mae to her, and I know I need to apologize, but she basically called me a coward, she said I needed to ‘grow a spine.’” Quin quickly gave Bostwick the back and forth of what constituted Pepper and his last conversation.
“I don’t think you are a coward. You do have a tendency to take your relationships with everyone very seriously, which is for the most part endearing, but I can see how she would find that stubbornness a bit frustrating when she is trying to argue with it.”
“So now you are on her side?” Quin said sharply.
“I wouldn’t dare try to take her side, but you don’t need to bite my head off for trying to give you some advice. I can see it’s not welcome though,” Bostwick said flatly, falling silent.
“No…wait, I’m sorry,” Quin said, changing his tone immediately. “Please, Louis, help me. What should I do?”
“An honest apology to start, you would be surprised how far being honest and sincere gets you. People seem to forget that. Then I would try to start seeing Ms. Jefferson outside of your interactions with Mae and Liza. Give yourselves something to talk about other than your common friends. That way you don’t revert into difficult territory immediately.”
“Like what?” Quin asked. “Watch a movie with her or something?”
“That being your strong, go-to approach, sure you could start there,” Bostwick said. “As an extra hint, I hear that the kitchen has some late-night snacks stashed away back here, and if you know someone, you can get good movie food. You could even, you know, call it a date or something. Don’t be afraid to ask her to do something at the next stopover too. Again, call it a date. If she sees you taking her seriously like you do everything else, she’ll probably appreciate you being intentional about it. That’s my guess. Anyway, Cronus is supposed to be a little bit more of an open schedule, so you can be more creative.”
Bostwick was making all sorts of sense. His was the type of advice that Quin had been looking for all along. Quin found himself shaking his head, as he processed everything. Bostwick seemed to misinterpret it.
“What? You’re thinking a different approach?” he said, a bit surprised.
“NO! No, sorry, it’s just…I’ve been such an idiot. That’s really good advice, I’ve just been stupid not talking to you. I don’t know why,” Quin finished, again shaking his head.
“Because you are young, and you guys don’t like getting romantic advice from someone your parents’ age,” Bostwick said, smiling.
“You aren’t that old,” Quin said, “I know we joke about it, but you can’t be more than…”
Bostwick laughed. “Be careful how you finish that sentence, Mr. Hammond.”
“Well, anyway, you aren’t that old. You just…I don’t know, you have this way about you, it made me want to avoid you. I felt ashamed that you were being all sympathetic, and it made me blind to the fact that I really needed to talk to you. What I mean is, you are a good listener, and I forgot that when I was unable to think straight. I felt all of these things happening around me, and you were there when that stuff happened with Nova. I know you were just trying to be nice. I’m sorry I was such an ass.”
“Well, if you were looking for honest and sincere apologies, Quin, you just found yourself one,” Bostwick said, putting his hand on Quin’s shoulder. “Change it up a little to be specific for her, and I’m sure you will have a good result. Don’t forgot to take care of yourself when you are trying to fix everything else, you know? It’s not possible to be perfect, so don’t make yourself sick in trying to be.”
“Yeah, right,” Quin said softly. “I wish I could fix everything, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“That would be nice, but unfortunately, we aren’t computers, and life isn’t all math problems. Sometimes life just needs time and a bit of decent humanity.” The two of them were silent for a little while as Quin stewed in his thoughts. Despite the hour, he was wide awake and appreciative of his little night excursion. After the pause had continued much longer than Quin expected, he looked up and saw Bostwick studying him. The man opened his mouth and then hesitated, before beginning tenderly, “Speaking of, how are things going with Nova?”
Quin sighed a bit, collecting his thoughts. Then he decided it was for the best and recounted to Bostwick the last conversation that Nova and he had face to face. The two of them had really not spoken since that evening some weeks ago. As Quin was narrating the story to Bostwick, the Commander was slightly chuckling and shaking his head. Astounded, Quin finished his story and confronted Bostwick.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded. “You’ve been laughing the entire time.”
“She’s quite brilliant, you know,” Bostwick said, scratching his forehead, eyes wide. “She presents these neat little ethical quandaries as if they were nothing and yet, scientists and philosophers have been asking the same types of questions about artificial intelligence for maybe two hundred years. It’s only now that we have got a being that is the walking and talking example of that.”
“Yeah, well, she’s another one that’s not talking to me,” Quin said.
“Well, Quin, I’m afraid I must give you the same advice. You should apologize. In her view, and I think objectively, you were somewhat of, if I may borrow your words, ‘an ass.’”
“This time I think you are definitely taking her side,” Quin said, sourly.
“Indeed. You created her. She takes her direction from you. You are kind of like her father, her brother, her friend, and her crewmate all rolled into one. The obligations of any one of those roles would be enough to say you needed to be there for her, and unfortunately you found yourself too busy being in your own head. Perhaps this is the root of your problem with both Ms. Jefferson and Nova. You are so busy letting everything weigh on you, being worried all the time, that you are unable to focus externally and be present for other people.” Quin’s eyes were downcast, his shoulders slumped. Well, if this is his form of a closing pick-me-up, I don’t think it’s working, Quin thought, sighing deeply.
“Fortunately,” Bostwick continued suddenly, “I think the solution is relatively simple and similar. You need to apologize to Nova, sincerely this time, and you need to spend some time with her, outside of work, so that you can normalize being around her. If your point was that you sometimes forget that she is only part human, then you need to do more human things with her in order to sensitize yourself to how she acts. She shouldn’t have to change for you, it should be the other way around. She can’t just be a mantelpiece in your career, Quin. She thinks.”
Quin sighed aloud, saying, “Yet again, another piece of sound advice from the ever-so-sage Commander Bostwick. And yet again, the solution is that I was wrong.”
Bostwick laughed. “Well, welcome to being an adult, my friend. Everything is complicated and you are usually wrong.” He patted Quin on the back. “Sarcasm aside, it’s okay to be wrong, just own up to it.”
Quin nodded slightly, acknowledging Bostwick’s counsel. The room was silent for a bit longer. The Commander downed his cup of coffee and looked into it, as if inspecting the bottom.
“You know what,” he said, looking up. “I think I’m going to have some tea too, but I’ve been keen to try some of the apple honey they brought me, you want some?” Quin nodded slowly, lost in his thought. Honey, he said to himself, honey, something about…honey.
“Can you believe they make all of this on Rhea?” Bostwick said over his shoulder. “I honestly can’t understand how their entire ecosystem, let alone their economy, operates off apples. It’s nuts.” Bostwick chuckled to himself. “Sorry for the pun.” Apples and honey, Quin’s brain was churning, but at this hour it was too fuzzy. …and honey.
He set two new cups down in front of them, still steaming and with the tea infusers bobbing around on the surface. He pulled a jar down from one of the kitchen cabinets and ladled a small bit of honey into each cup. After stirring a bit, Bostwick took a sip and smacked his lips, grinning satisfactorily at Quin.
“Oh my, that’s so good,” Bostwick said, relishing the taste as he took another draw. “You should drink it while it’s hot.”
Quin brought the cup to his lips mechanically, though he could have sworn that he was missing something. He felt himself distracted by Louis enjoying his cup of tea, the early hour, and the lack of a good night’s sleep for several days. I could have sworn that I just remembered something, he thought, growing frustrated at the lack of ability of his brain to recall what it was that was escaping him. Resigning himself, he took a long swig, his eyes closing automatically when the taste of the sweet and sour apple-tinged honey hit his lips. Instantly, he was transported back onto Rhea, where he savored several fleeting moments of being away and being happy. Unfortunately, his happiness was suddenly ripped away from the call from Nemo. What I wouldn’t give to be back there to have some more time with Pepper and Mae, he thought while recollecting the honey tasting in the orchard. He remembered the smile on Pepper’s face, how infectious it was, and Mae’s giggling at him.
“Hmm,” Bostwick said into the silence, “it’s just about time that the command deck wakes up. Some of the buzzing should start soon.”
“Buzzing?” Quin asked distantly, almost half-consciously.
“Sorry, yeah, buzzing. Message traffic. Unfortunately, a lot of the lingo revolves around bees.”
“Bees?” Quin asked, his brain slowly coming to.
“Yeah, bees,” Bostwick said, studying Quin curiously. “You know, Captain Fuentes being the Queen, the Deck being the hive, that sort of thing.”
“Bees!” Quin exclaimed.
“What?” Bostwick demanded, flabbergasted.
“Louis! BEES!” Quin shouted, shooting off his stool and slamming his cup down.
“Quin, I don’t-“ Bostwick began, but Quin wasn’t listening. The young man half-sprinted out of the room.
“BEES!” Quin shouted again, his face mixed with a smile and intense concentration.
“Okay, Mr. Cage,” Bostwick said, chuckling and shaking his head, his eyes and mouth reflecting a knowing smile as he watched Quin run out of the room.

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/wG4mf0F
https://imgur.com/a/kYNO3D2
10.5" barreled upper chambered in .300 Blk from Radical Firearms in Stafford, TX. Switched down to 8.5" and I don't need two of these things. Little bit of salt from being a truck gun but it's g2g. Barrel is 1:8 twist and puts together great groups with every type of bullet I put through it. Unsure of round count but if I had to guess I'd say less than 500.
Will trade for Holosun EPS MRS + cash from me or 507C straight up
sv: $250 + shipping (don't worry I use PirateShip)

Hi, we are a couple who have adopted two cats. They are 8 months old and we got them when they were six months. They are not spayed and we are waiting for them to get comfortable with us completely before spaying them.
And thats the thing! Mia is scared of us. She circles around the sofa constantly. She runs away if our paths cross while walking around the house. If she senses us coming, she ll make sure she changes her path and is some distance away, staring at us.
The only way to approach Mia is with treats. Even then she is very very jumpy and we have to stay still as a statue. Any movement, while looking at her or looking away, sudden or slow, she twitches and then walks/ runs away. She doesnt hide under the furniture but stays behind them.
We dread any vet visits because getting her in the carrier is so exhausting for all of us. Any time, we touch the carrier, she simply runs and hides someplace, then we have to coax her out.
She loves to play but if the toy reaches near our legs or near our bodies, she ll slowly turn around and decide not to play anymore.
Maya on the other hand is super comfortable and rubs herself on our legs all the time. She loves pets and demand attention all of the time. She loves door handles and jumps on them to open them. She tries to escape at any opportunity. We figure thats normal and probable because they are young and not spayed.
We have started sitting down with the food bowls at every meal so she can get comfortable with time. Its been 2 months, are our expectations high or is there something we can do to help?
https://preview.redd.it/49rya2luxz4b1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=696e242889b4d871a9acd92b910e46c2b08426ac

I have basically allowed myself to stop studying after my 3 year uni degree. Now I just work as a sound technician mainly doing stage rig stuff. I got my first ever job at 23 lol. Since then two years later I’m working as a technician for the local library and doing long hours at bigger concert events in general. I also worked at a psychiatric housing complex as a summer job aside from tech stuff.
I’ve slowly realized that even though these jobs never felt wrong for me per se; I’ve been enthusiastically going to work each damn time lol… My emotional state steadily falls apart critically after the 2-3 hour mark. And I tell myself every time it’s nothing but a passing mood and I have to just get myself together, endure it out. Or just have to eat. Or I haven’t slept enough but I’ll manage.
Those experiences combined with so many consistencies from school, hanging out long hours with friends, parties, seminars you name it… It’s honestly hilarious for how long and the amount of times I’ve been able to proudly gaslight myself out of recognizing the pattern.
At first I just feel a little bored after just 1 minute, then more spaced out, more and more until I get a feeling of existential dread tbh. And at that point I usually am so confused: I want to keep up, keep bantering and being present, but I’m so so fragile if I don’t get the response I expect. I’ll just have a smaller melt down on the nearest rest room and a bigger one when I get home.
I’ve known about it for many years and just always attributed it to other things that “I can control”. The last two years I have really tried to work on myself, become more grounded and self compassionate, doing mindfulness, trauma work and “kicking” social anxiety. But somehow it all just keeps happening again and again lol. I’m so done with neglecting my concentration difficulties. It’s staring me in the face now more than ever.

Me (19f) and my boyfriend (22m) have been together since january 2022, we started having sex a month later and in the first few months it was great - i usually had one or two orgasms and he did too. Unfortunately he made me bleed every time while fingering me so we stopped doing that for about a month or two (id say that was around april) but i was still enjoying it and got wet. He doesnt really know how to eat pussy or rub the clit so i didnt have any orgasms, he got around 2 or 3 every time but i didnt mind much. I was starting to be a little unhappy with sex so he started fingering me again, he was more careful so i didnt bleed as much and it was nice. Everything was great until august. All of a sudden i couldnt reach orgasm with him. I read about it online a lot and i saw that womens orgasms are more emotional so i thought it might be that. In july when we were on vacation in his hometown he made a joke about not minding breaking up and i cried for a few days. Luckily, that issue got resolved in a few days but after that i just couldnt orgasm. I also read that it could be due to stress or mental illness, i was diagnosed with depression and bipolar around 2016 and was on meds but the doctors here are really bad so nothing helped and eventually i just stopped treating it in 2019 and pretended it doesnt exist haha. Through september untill november i went through a stage where i starved myself quite a lot and i stopped getting wet as much. I noticed around mid-december when i started taking care of myself again and eating more sex felt a looooot better and i got wet more so i was really happy about that. Unfortunately i was doing very bad at school which caused suicidal thoughts which caused me being bad at school and so on, that lasted from september until january and in january i started feeling much better. In january it was also supposed to be our anniversary and i was super excited for it i loved him a lot and i couldnt wait to spend a few days with him celebrating and having fun. Unfortunately it wasnt fun at all. It all felt forced, like he didnt actually want to be there. A week or so later i admitted i wasnt happy at all during our anniversary, he actually said he kinda forgot about it and he was tight on money so he didnt give me a gift which made me a little sad because i handmade my gift for him for free. We decided to re-do our anniversary date on valentines day and it was a little better i think, i honestly dont remember what we did. We actually bought lube in february because i couldnt get wet anymore. We thought it was some sort of problem with me and my body but now i realize it was just him not doing ANY sort of foreplay. He thought i would be ready with 2 minutes of kissing and somehow i didnt see anything wrong with it. I told him i want him to touch me more after around 2 months of that the no foreplay business and i started producing just barely enough wetness so we can have sex. Its not like i cant communicate, on multiple occasions i gave him whole lists and details of all the things he could do to get me turned on and i specifically mentioned touching my clit. I think he did that only 2 times and stopped again. During sex i also tell him what feels nice and doesnt. Now we havent had sex in about a month because i had a pregnancy scare and he was scared it would happen again so i didnt force him. He still accepted blowjobs and handjobs, which i gave to him every time we saw each other because i just liked seeing him enjoying himself. Unfortunately he touched me only once in the last month. All this combined is making me dread having sex with him. Last night i told him (in the nicest way i could) i wasnt very happy with our sex life, i felt really bad because he said hes trying, even if he doesnt do absolutely anything to prove it which makes me a little mad, and hes been doing a little bad himself but he says that everytime i mention i want him to try and please me more. I dont even think im asking for a lot, i just want him to kiss my body more, hold my hips and try to touch my clit a little. I feel like its slowly ruining our relationship because i resent him for getting pleasure and orgasms every time we hang out and yet he rarely touches me. He says he knows what i want and like yet he rarely does them and often times he does things i dont like.
Sooooo what should i do? How do i reach orgasm again? How do i make sex good again?

I hope you all enjoy this one! Got a lot of these hanging around in my writing folder ready to be proofread and published.
The following record has been altered for mortal consumption.
BEGIN MEMORY EXCERPT
General Richard sighed deeply as he sat in the council chamber. This was all too much. He could see the Xol representative across the chamber, talking in hushed tones with another Xol. Ashley sat beside him, arms crossed. After everything he'd heard about her, she seemed a normal person, even if she was a bit awkward. Her umbra was tight against her skin, and almost translucent. He knew from her tutoring that it's weakness was a trick.
Silva Wrassack, a Sage of Law, sat to his right. Her face was impartial, as always.
Soon, all of the representatives arrived.
"Attention all sapient races." A voice called out. "We are gathered here today to address a grievance by the United Republic of Terra, against the Xol Khanate."
Richard straightened his tie.
"The Council held a remote motion to hear the grievance, and the motion was accepted. Representative from the United Republic of Terra, you have the floor."
General Richard cleared his throat, and then spoke. "Peoples of the council, I am General Richard Hammond. With me is Ashley, the Apostle of our home star, Sol, and a Sage of Law, Silva Wrassack."
Murmurs ran through the chamber. God, Richard hated talking in front of politicians.
"Before I voice the Republic's grievance, I would like to extend a hand of friendship and peace to those around us. I am a General, indeed, but in Human culture, if there is peace, I am doing my job correctly. For background to those of you who who do not know of the Republic, we are a republican representative-democracy of Humans. Humans are a bipedal, warm-blooded, hunter-scavenger, omnivorous mammal species. We typically make decisions based on both emotion and logic. Humans have a lifespan of 110-130 years with our current medical technology, and we reach adulthood by approximately age 17, and reach full maturity at approximately age 26. We sometimes alter our bodies with cybernetics, but typically only for increased access to information and to enhance our social opportunities."
He saw nods and more murmurs across the chamber.
"Sadly, the Republic is here as a matter of conflict. We are here to file a grievance against the Xol Khanate." He gestured to Silva for her to continue. Better to let the Lawyer do her job.
Silva spoke up. "We accuse the Xol Khanate of the enslavement of our sovereign citizens, and the occupation of Pre-FTL Republic-colonized systems. We demand our systems be left, and our people freed and returned to us. We are open to negotiation, but our demand of our people's freedom is nonnegotiable."
The murmuring turned into a cacophony.
The arbiter managed to calm things down for the moment.
"Representative Jir'lan of the Xol Khanate, the integrity of the Xol Khanate has been questioned. The United Republic of Terra claims you have claimed their citizens as part of your workforce. What say you against this claim?"
The Xol representative, apparently named Jir'lan, spoke after a moment. "It surprises the Xol Kahnate that the United Republic of Terra exists in the first place. Our contracted workforces are second to none in the galaxy, as most of you know, and were any humans to be among them, they would be the rightful residential contracted workers of the Xol Khanate, and would not be citizens of this Terran Republic. How a human would end up outside of an FTL-isolated system is beyond me. I motion to table this discussion, and move on to more important matters."
The arbiter let out noise of boredom. "Motion to table, any objections?"
Sage Silva raised her hand. "We have an objection. How may I address you, arbiter?"
"Your objection is heard. You may address me as simply Arbiter."
"Understood, Arbiter. Our objection is as follows: when the human race finally united as one nation more than two thousand years ago, we sent out generation ships as an act of unity. The residents of those ships were Republic citizens, as were their children, and their children's children, and so on. When they arrived at their destination systems, those systems and the colonized planets became Republic territory. At the time, we did not know of the sapience of stars, but those stars would today be allowed to become Republic citizens themselves, or negotiate terms for colonization."
"Objection heard. For clarification, please define the function of a generation ship."
"Oh, I see." Silva said. Richard was surprised the concept was foreign. Silva continued. "A generation ship is a type of exploration and colonization vessel that travels at sublight relativistic speeds. As per the name, the crew of the ship is a pre-designed and regulated society that lives and dies aboard the ship, until it reaches it's destination system."
Murmurs began to echo as the sage explained the concept. Was it really that crazy?
"Understood. Any responses to the objection?" The Arbiter spoke. A distant hand was raised.
"Representative Glagnon of the Firma Federation, what is your response?"
The gruff looking alien spoke up. "How many of these generation ships have you fielded?"
Silva nodded as the arbiter gestured to her to respond. "Thirteen. Each vessel holds approximately 1.2 million people."
"Response heard. Any other responses?"
Another alien spoke. "What is the United Republic of Terra's policies on indentured servitude?"
Silva cleared her throat. "In the Terran Republic, Involuntary servitude under any circumstances, by any means of coercion, is illegal and will result in life imprisonment and the dissolution of any organized group or corporation found culpable by a random jury of their peers and a Judge."
The murmurs rebounded as Silva explained. Richard didn't have much hope for this dialogue anymore. It was clear that slavery was commonplace.
"For the record, extreme cases of systematic exploitation can result in a death penalty."
"Outrageous!" An alien shouted. The murmurs turned into roars.
"SILENCE!" The Arbiter declared. "Order shall return to this chamber. Are there any objections to the objection raised by the United Republic?"
Jir'lan spoke. "The Xol Khanate objects. Any humans or generation ships which have entered territory are ours by right of appropriation under Article 76392-Kit."
"Objection, Arbiter." Silva said, "The Terran Rep-"
"Silence. Provisional Attendees of this council are only allotted one objection for every motion. Speak again and you will be arrested for contempt."
Richard could barely hold in his rage. What kind of council was this?
"Any objections?" The Arbiter asked the chamber. Silence rang.
"Objection resolved. The motion to table this discussion passes, and the motion to question integrity fails."
Richard sighed. Of course it would come to this. He then heard a message in his communicator. The Central Congress just voted. He took a deep breath.
"Arbiter, I wish to comment."
"Granted, though no new objections are allowed."
"Of course, Arbiter." Richard said, a shiver running down his back in disgust. "Members of this council. I want to reiterate the Terran Republic's extended hand of friendship. However, it disappoints me greatly that this galactic council of supposedly intelligent beings refuse to do anything about this injustice. Our citizens and systems have been taken from under our nose by a law that we never agreed to follow, nor that we knew existed. I have been in contact with the Central Congress of the United Republic of Terra during this discussion. Fourty-Eight seconds ago, in a monumental unanimous decision, all 18019 members of the Central Congress, under guidance of the Grand Council of Sages, voted to declare a war of liberation on the Xol Khanate. "
Roars filled the chamber. The face of Jir'lan turned from surprise to both anger and humor. The sly shithead thought this was funny!
"SILENCE." The arbiter thundered, bringing the wining to an end. "A motion to declare war under the galactic rules of conflict has been raised."
Richard couldn't hold himself in. He laughed.
"You misunderstand, arbiter. There is no motion. We are not asking for approval. We will not be pushed around by the hubris of this council who thinks themselves better than their peers, and thinks the rights of individuals are an afterthought. We will follow our own rules of conflict, which we will deliver to this council and the Xol Khanate momentarily." he said. "We will take our leave. After all, I am a general. It is time to do my job. To the Xol Khanate, we heavily recommend you start removing your non-military population from your military centers and emplacements. We do not like killing civilians."
The door behind Richard locked.
"You will not leave. It is not our hubris, but yours, to presume this is your decision, or that you are equal to anyone else. Speak again and you will be detained." The arbiter said.
Ashley stood up, and spoken for the first time. "Respectfully, Arbiter, you can go chuck yourself, your mate, your extended family, and your firstborn in an incinerator."
Outrage ran through the council chambers, the Arbiter's face twisted to disgust and anger. Ashley turned to the locked door. Richard saw Ashley's umbra flared up in a rainbow of colored tentacles, and the door simply crumpled. His umbra control couldn't compare, even though Sol and Ashley had been directly tutoring him for weeks now.
"Security, detain them." The arbiter spoke.
Richard opened his briefcase. He flipped open the hidden panel and pulled out his issued PDW. Ashley took a deep breath.
They bolted down the hallway. Armored aliens rounded the corner and held out weapons.
"Let us pass if you value your lives. We have no quarrel with you. Raise your graspers above your head and drop your weapons." Richard said, pointing his weapon back. "Don't make me do this."
The guards took a step forward.
Richard opened fire, the bullets cracking the air. Two guards fell, and one more stumbled. Their shiny armor was cracked and split, a single hole in each. Not designed against kinetics, he guessed. He turned his gun on the remaining guards, but a flare of burning light filled his vision before he could do much else.
The rest of the guards became charred husks on the ground. Ashley's eyes burned with an orange light, the wispy flame in her hand dying out. She held the hand out, and Richard took it.
He spoke into his communicator. "Detonate the ship, according to plan A2." He heard a distant rumble as the plastic explosives vaporized any hint of Terran data or technology.
Ashley pulled him close, then her umbra yanked them through the metal corridors. They shot through the hallways towards the emergency exits.
"Gonna be a rough ride home, General." She said as the white, gold, and chrome hallways sped past them.
"That's fine. Always wanted to see those floes and swells you keep talking about with my own eyes, anyway."
END MEMORY EXCERPT

In TWOIAF, we found out that Septon Barth wrote a book on how Valyria acquired it's dragons

In Septon Barth’s Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns , he speculated that the bloodmages of Valyria used wyvern stock to create dragons. Though the bloodmages were alleged to have experimented mightily with their unnatural arts, this claim is considered far-fetched by most maesters, among them Maester Vanyon’s Against the Unnatural contains certain proofs of dragons having existed in Westeros even in the earliest of days, before Valyria rose to be a power.
The World of Ice & Fire, Beyond the Free Cities: Sothoryos.

In his book, Barth makes the bold claim that Old Valyria made their dragons from bloodmagic. I do believe his claim to be the truth. Why?

Most of what Septon Barth claims, turns out to be the truth.

Septon Barth made another bold claim that the Children of the Forest taught the men of the Night's Watch how to speak through ravens, that using ravens as a means to transport letters is a degraded form.
This claim turns out to be the truth, despite the Maesters disagreeing with this notion.

"Do all the birds have singers in them?" "All," Lord Brynden said. "It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven … but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin." A Dance with Dragons, Bran III.

He also claims that the seasons are a result of the higher mysteries and magic rather than natural causes, a notion that is again scoffed at by the Citadel. A notion that our author GRRM has confirmed to be the truth.

It’s not another planet. It’s Earth. But it’s not our Earth. If you wanted to do a science fiction approach, you could call it an alternate world, but that sounds too science fictional. Tolkien really pioneered that with Middle Earth. He put in some vague things about tying it to our past, but that doesn’t really hold up. I have people constantly writing me with science fiction theories about the seasons — “It’s a double star system with a black dwarf and that would explain–” It’s fantasy, man, it’s magic.

By looking at those two examples, it's reasonable then to establish Barth as a reliable source of information.

Blood magic seems to be capable of doing what Barth claims.

According to TWOIAF, blood magic is capable of breeding two distinct creatures to create an entirely different one.

In the dungeons of Gogossos, torturers devised new torments. In the flesh pits, blood sorcery of the darkest sort was practiced, as beasts were mated to slave women to bring forth twisted half-human children.

Whatever Aerea encountered during her flight to Old Valyria seems to be a result of blood magic.

“The things…Mother have mercy, I do not know how to speak of them… they were…worms with faces…snakes with hands…twisting, slimy, unspeakable things that seemed to writhe and pulse and squirm as they came bursting from her flesh. Some were no bigger than my little finger, but one at least was as long as my arm…oh, Warrior protect me, the sounds they made…
Fire & Blood, Jaehaerys & Alysanne, Their Triumphs and Tragedies.

Dragons do resemble wyverns and firewyrms

After the Battle of Rook's Rest, Sunfyre is too injured to take flight and instead remained at the Rook's Rest. During this time, it's likened to wyrm by those that witness it crawling throughout the place.

The king’s dragon, Sunfyre, too huge and heavy to be moved, and unable to fly with his injured wing, remained in the fields beyond Rook’s Rest, crawling through the ashes like some great golden wyrm.
Fire & Blood, the Dying of the Dragons, the Red Dragon and the Gold.

When Daenerys takes Quentyn to see her chained dragons, she wonders whether her dragons can dig tunnels similar to firewyrms. They could, to a certain degree.

He's made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in.
A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

The strongest evidence of all, we find in Fire & Blood. Laena Targaryen, the daughter of Baela and Alyn, has an egg that hatches a creature that is for all intents and purposes, a wyrm.

“Her parents' pride and pleasure quickly turned to ash, however; the dragon that wriggled from the egg was a monstrosity, a wingless wyrm, maggot-white and blind. Within moments of hatching, the creature turned upon the babe in her cradle and tore a bloody chunk from her arm. As Laena shrieked, Lord Oakenfist ripped the "dragon" off her, flung it to the floor, and hacked it to pieces.” Fire & Blood

​
When you look at all these points, the most logical conclusion one can come to, is that yes. Targaryen dragons, or dragons from Old Valyria are a result of sorcerery and magic done by the Valyrians.

I have experienced two kinds: One kind approached me and welcomed me to the school, told me expectations and said, “We know the challenges you face here,” and added, “you come highly recommended.” I worked very hard for this admin and went above and beyond. I became part of leadership and also represented the school in the community. They acknowledged good in me and I wanted them to keep that opinion. It was a relief that they had already recognized the difficulty of teaching there. The other kind (most) think it is their job to “push” you, and find you doing anything wrong so they can admin you. Under this kind, I get resentful, don’t do anything extra because they don’t ask,” they “tell.” So I do what my contract requires and nothing beyond. Under this admin, every day is a dread because you wonder what inappropriate thing you will encounter. They seem to see teachers as the enemy. They don’t welcome you, aren’t happy you are there. They don’t send out agendas for meetings or ever follow through on anything. They take a kids word without asking you what happened. These employees are supposed to be more educated and trained than me and they are seriously the worst! You close your door and teach and try to stay under the radar.
Thoughts?

Season one castaways traveled to Iceland where Courtney was victorious. Season two they battled the heat of Death Valley and Stephanie took home the crown. Season three they embarked on a journey through the Black Sea where Tony was the last pirate standing. Season Fout was the great andreline Rush to find the gold Where Jordan won.
Now for season 5, eighteen castaways will set forth to explore the dark twist world of the Black market!!!!
Please join Welamon, Courtney and Hunter for a season you won’t wanna miss out on!
⭐️ $50 cash prize for winner
⭐️ Fun twists and challenges
⭐️ Both Newbies and Alumni may apply
Don’t miss out!
https://discord.gg/jPtWwhyNmy

I regret moving schools, self harm played a major part in this.
I’m in year 10 and I had to leave my first school since I was bullied after getting into a fight that started out of nowhere. I was punched 8-12 times in the head. Afterwards I stabbed my hand with scissors and had to go to hospital which a lot of people made fun of me on and blamed me.
Before this all happened, I was usually playful and did stupid funny stuff in class. I wasn’t too distracting and people thought I was sweet and chill. After the fight, I started to become completely quiet and barely talked to anyone, even my friends.
3 days after the fight, I returned to school. When I came back, this one girl started to be unbelievably nice and we started to become friends. Of course I still got some support from other people but she was the only one who checked up on me daily.
The few days while I was back, a lot of other people made fun of me for going to the hospital a lot of people were mad at me for calling the police and didn’t really get any support besides this one girl and two of my other good friends, even some of the friend group weren’t on my side or cared, even though I did nothing to start the fight.
I self harmed about 3-4 times a month since June 2022 but ever since the incident (beginning of March) it has been about 3-4 times a week. Barely anyone noticed before the incident but then I started to do it more frequently and didn’t try to hide it as much.
The worst time was about April when I brought a knife in and stabbed myself in the hand to the point I could barely move it. This was when people started to sympathise but it was also when people were at their worst. Some people made fun of me for stabbing my hand and refused to be near me, even my other ‘friends’ still.
The school had to check my bag everyday now. Soon, I brought in a knife another time but I was told if I did it again, I would get expelled. I was given 2 days inclusion. I sneaked in scissors another time and the school was mad at me but didn’t expel me. I was again given 2 days inclusion. I sliced my hand with a sharpener blade and got another day inclusion lost my support from the headteacher. They didn’t expel me. But they said for definite if I did it again, I’m expelled.
At this point everyone felt bad for me, besides these 2 people (one of them being who punched me). They were still mad and hated me for stabbing myself. They were a major reason why I moved schools. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made.
I still had the 3 really good friends (one boy, 2 girls) who have been on my side all the time and cared for me a lot. Although I still had thoughts about them and not wanting to move because of them, I still did. I just didn’t think they were enough. The dumbest reason why I left and my main regret was because I a crush on one of the girls but it was clear they liked someone else so I just couldn’t handle it anymore. They were still a really, really good friend and the only one who comforted me a lot ever since the fight. This was one of the dumbest reasons that influenced me to move. I can not emphasise enough how much I regret this decision.
I had a sudden breakdown in front of my dad and brought up everything that has ever happened. This was when I asked him to move schools. It was two weeks later when I moved. And within those two weeks I’ve told my friends. The main 3 convinced me to stay but I didn’t listen to their advice. They brought up stuff like ‘you need to make new friends, you’ve been with us for 3 years, you won’t find anyone with connection you have with us’. I should’ve listened to them. I would have listened to them but the fact that the headteacher said I could get expelled if I did again went to my head. I thought for definite I would do it again. I felt regret even before I moved, I would’ve asked if my dad if I can just stay at my old school and stupidly I thought it would be too awkward.
The last week at my old school was my hardest. I genuinely felt happy and I felt like all my prior problems that happened had finally stopped. I started to become more playful. But I felt dread knowing I was going to move, the bad feeling when I asked my dad to move had completely gone. I wanted to stay but all the paperwork had been done and it was too late.
I kept the fact that I was going to move from everyone else until the last day. When they all found out, they all looked sad. Even the people who made it clear they didn’t like me said sincerely they would miss me. I spent most of my last day misbehaving and having fun with everyone else, which I haven’t done for a while. But, the friend group I didn’t like as much didn’t even bother to say goodbye or hang out with me on my last day, this really made my decision on moving definite, I somehow felt happy I was moving and eager to start the new school.
The next day, I started the new school. I expected everyone to be nicer and more friendly but my first lesson everyone didn’t want to be next to me. The reasons they said was because ‘He’s Chinese’ and ‘He so ugly’.
2 days later I was invited to join a friend group. I felt happy that they invited me but they ended up being the most bullied people in the year. I wouldn’t have minded it but how weird they acted compared to how chill I wanted them to be disappointed me. They do weird stuff (not like morally bad) that I just feel uncomfortable to be around. They were nothing like my old friends and I don’t feel comfortable acting the way they act. So currently I’m just sitting there on my phone for the entire of break and lunch and occasionally having small conversations with two out of 7 of them. They’re not all bad people but just don’t want to hang out with them. However, one of the guys punched a Year 8 girl in the face and threw hot chocolate at her for only making fun of him and his friend’s glasses. I do not want to be near him but he’s the only guy who would talk to me.
I’ve had to urges to self harm again but if I did, self harming was one of the main reasons why I moved so I couldn’t do it again or else I moved for no reason. I’m still hated and unpopular but my new school just makes me feel worse.
I still talk to the main 3 over the phone but it just sucks not being able to see them as much, especially how they live in another town.
What’s worse is how I had to pick up an entirely new subject (geography) that I have to catch up on by myself and have to learn two more English literature texts (Romeo and Juliet & A Christmas Carol) before the mocks which is in 2 more weeks. AND I still need to be up to date with all my other subjects since all my classes are much ahead of me. I have been unbelievably stressed trying to catch up with all the work I’ve fallen behind in.

With the extreme situation finally resolved, the attentive but weird part of my mind had settled back into place. Which prompted a zigzagging trail of thoughts.
The weird structure beneath the pillories reminded me of a drill, which made me think about TMNT 1987 with those tunnelers that delivered Shredder and his cronies. That, in turn, made me think about April O'Neil '87, which made me remember one YouTuber talking about a clear difference between the '87 cartoon and the Nickelodeon version, that was summed up by a sprite version of Zangief from Street Fighter singing "Titties, Titties, Titties, Krang and Technodrome" using Tarantella Napoletana as a background music, ending with "April - Titties!". This brought me to the conclusion that I really should make up with my mates as soon as I get back because I wanted to fondle some... again. I wanted to fall asleep holding a titty in each hand or even smooshed against some, motorboat them.
As I came back from my mind trip, I became increasingly aware that I was aching all over and, across my whole body, there was a sensation of tiny little bubbles popping in my skin, it was most pronounced in the areas where I had scales out. When I pressed my hand against the scales, I nearly burned myself! What is this heat?! Or... is this Heat? The presence of my mates made it barely noticeable, for the most part, but it was still there, yet, until now, I treated it like a background noise, pushing it down. And now, it was coming up to the surface, it seems. When I got knocked around and the Dragon took over, there was a deep-seated frustration that I felt and couldn't quite understand. When the Goddess... was done with me, she sped up the whole "Unification of the Spirit" as it were... But Dragon was still his own self, it seems, and he wasn't happy with me. The gold was what calmed him down, some. My Dragon wanted release, one way or the other, which is why it actually took over. I needed to do something about it, try and channel it while I'm in control, so that I wouldn't need to rely on being knocked around. And... let Dragon loose sometimes, out to play.
"This was a Dungeon root," mage informed me, as he approached. "His majesty found several of them across the land. They sprout from the Demonic Dungeon as the means of delivering something to the surface, or delivering someone to the dungeon." "Huh, so my wild guess was correct... Hold on, does that mean demons can invade at any moment? They can just ride one of these and attack anywhere!" "The dungeon roots can, and have, sprout inside the wall. The spatial properties of the Dungeon, allows it to bypass the Holy Barrier and the Death Wall," mage confirmed. "His Majesty had ordered the research when they first appeared, and we know their limits. They cannot be used for the full-scale invasion because they require nutrients to function and not just magic energy, and because His Majesty can track their appearance due to his connection to the Barrier. We cut them down quickly. They never get a chance to blossom." "Got it. Sorry to ask this late, but what is your name?" I felt embarrassed, but the mage was in good humor. "Alabastor, Hero. I understand how you might've been pre-occupied with something else. And I must apologize for being caught off-guard earlier," mage said. "You, however, handled it rather well, despite encountering these new demons for the first time. We have no record of them, and that explosion... If not for your fast reaction, we would have perished. Thank you for saving us." "I got really lucky there. I became complacent, sloppy," I shook my head. "Besides, it's your shield that protected us. Thank YOU." "That was the protective shell that your Dragon's spirit conjures in the event of mortal danger. The survival instinct." "Damn... Okay... Well. Regardless, y'all came through for me and I appreciate it. Let's just say that we're all did great," I slapped my face to keep my mind from panicking. "Uh... isn't the Dungeon meant to be conquered?" "The core of the dungeon takes several months to calibrate, during which the person who conquered it has to remain within the room, as all the exits will be closed. The only person who can successfully reach the Core is the King, and, perhaps, you." "The dungeon isn't under the World Tree, is it? Would fit the theme." Alabastor shook his head. "The dungeon lies deep beneath the cursed lands where demons reside. Should you come up on the wall, near the Breach, in the early hours of the morning, you can actually see the entrance. Are you alright?"
My skin was actually sizzling now, blisters started appearing on the surface. "Uhhh... I lost all my gold during the attack, and now it's probably dust on the wind. Damn... this Heat is really getting to me..." "This gold, you mean?" Alabastor gave me collected coins, still attached to the adhesive makeshift tape. "How?!" "Sir Tiarlin have picked them up," mage smiled. "It was reckless but attentive, I would be sure to inform His Majesty of his exceptional talents. Although I'm sure he already knows."
I quickly pressed them against my skin and the calmness washed over me like a gentle breeze. Seeing this, Alabastor pulled a strange leather belt out of his Storage and quickly slotted all the coins into it, then he slung it over my chest like an ammo belt.
"Woah... I could've used that before! What is that?" "It's made to hold magic crystals or potions, strange that you've never had used it before. But, then again, you seem to lack some other common knowledge as well. Almost as if... something kept you distracted."
I facepalmed, but as I tried to find words, Radius appeared, dragging something behind him. "I found something on the edge of the forest, looks like a dump of unwanted stuff. There were demon footprints all over the place. This thing was the only thing intact," he called out. "Oh and... Thanks for the save, Hero. I owe you one. Those demon bitches pack a punch, my head is still ringing like a bell."
"Radius, next time you decide to stick your neck out like that - guiding us and all (thanks for that by the way) maybe you should go and spend your bells somewhere first. Your reaction to those bitches was a bit... strong," I noted, glad to divert mage's attention. "If you know what I mean." "Hehe, sorry about that..." "Hmm... this is... the Aggregator," Alabastor noted. "This should be inside the chief's house, not thrown out somewhere in the forest." "What does it do?" "The Aggregator serves as the core of magic barrier that surrounds the village, it is connected to special channeling bricks in the wall that serve as the anchors. As long as Aggregator is intact, the barrier is active, reflecting any magic sent at it, keeping demons at bay. As magic energy is channeled through the bricks, they maintain hardness of unprecedented scale, spreading to surrounding walls, making sure demons can't break through the walls via physical attacks," mage explained.
"This looks... very simple but sturdy," I noted. "Looks mass-produced." "You are correct. These were handed out to future village chiefs, they meant to protect it so that it can protect their home in return. Speaking of which, I suggest we either continue our journey or return to Kestrel. You look like you need some rest after this battle."
"Radius, how many villages are left on this side?"
"Three, they're pretty close to each other. I just hope we won't run into more demons..."
Honestly, at this point, I was ready to clock out, curl up inside a sleeping bag, lament how cold and cruel it is without my mates and fall asleep. With or without, quietly sobbing into my hands from crept up loneliness. So far, there were no notable results of our journey, every single village was destroyed. And yet...
"I feel like we NEED to keep going, I'm sorry if that..."
"Perhaps your Insight is driving you, I will trust that," Alabastor noted, he didn't look tired.
"I mean, it's only three, right? Let's keep going," Radius sighed.
Tia nodded, but I've noticed that he looked shaken. I gave him a hug, feeling his body trembling a little.
"Let's go."
The first village was mostly intact, save for the chief's house. Aggregator was broken to pieces, part of the wall collapsed. Examining those channel bricks made me pause - they really weren't stones, but Tia's village had stones! I couldn't recall any special visible barrier, either.
"Alabastor, where do these... bricks come from?"
"They are produced from the material found here, in the jungle. Strong but flexible. After being treated with special solution it would temporarily become malleable, then it would be cut into bricks and fitted into the wall."
When I heard this, something clicked in my head, like a puzzle piece slotted into place. I quickly tore the brick out and held it in my hand. Somewhere, from the depths of my twisted mind, resurfaced an old and weird phrase.
"A hyuck - it's mountain dilk!" I uttered. "Well, demonic jungle dilk anyway."
This was the silk produced by that demon beast worm! Which meant some lack of communication between whoever is making this and mages in Kestrel. They didn't recognize it. I was getting antsy, because the strange feeling I've had the whole time had only gotten stronger. There were two more villages this way, once we cleared those we could return, and boy did we need to. Radius was barely holding his eyes open, so have I. I wasn't tired physically, but letting loose with Dragon Spirit, exhausted me mentally. I wanted food for both body and soul, some TLC from my mates, some self-digging. But my mind cleared when we reached the next village, because of what we found.

The Vanishing Lake: Part 1
Deep in the heart of the forbidding forest, where shadows dance and whispers coil through the trees, there lies a place of unspeakable horror—the Vanishing Lake. It is a cursed realm that devours the souls of the unsuspecting, leaving behind only despair and unanswered questions.
On a moonless night, when the air was thick with a sense of impending doom, two young girls, Emma and Olivia, dared to defy the warnings that echoed through the town. The allure of the macabre beckoned them, luring them into the depths of the forest like moths to a flame.
Armed with flashlights and trembling with both excitement and trepidation, they ventured through the gnarled trees, their senses assaulted by the suffocating silence. The forest seemed to breathe, its darkened heart pulsating with an ancient, malevolent energy.
As they approached the Vanishing Lake, a misty veil descended, shrouding their surroundings in an ethereal haze. The girls exchanged nervous glances, but their morbid curiosity propelled them forward. They could feel the unseen eyes of the forest upon them, cold and unrelenting.
The lake's inky waters lay before them, devoid of life and light. A bone-chilling wind whispered secrets of forgotten tragedies, urging them to turn back. But their youthful bravado consumed their reason, and they stepped closer to the water's edge, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Suddenly, a mournful melody filled the air, its haunting notes reverberating through their very souls. It was a tune from an age long forgotten, a dirge that echoed the sorrow of the lost. The sound burrowed deep within their minds, unraveling their sanity thread by thread.
Unable to resist the siren call, Emma and Olivia stumbled into a dilapidated rowboat that lay abandoned nearby. As they pushed away from the shore, the water beneath them seemed to pulse with a sinister life, its dark depths teeming with unseen horrors.
The boat drifted aimlessly, carried by an unseen force toward the heart of the lake. The mist thickened, swallowing their feeble cries for help. Their flashlights flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the water's surface like specters of the damned.
As the moon momentarily emerged from the clouds, its pale light illuminated the horrifying truth—the lake was not empty. It writhed with grotesque tendrils, lashing out from below, hungry for flesh and soul. Panic seized Emma and Olivia, their minds teetering on the precipice of sheer terror.
In one horrifying instant, the boat lurched violently, sending the girls sprawling into the water. They thrashed against the icy grip, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the cacophony of tortured souls. Desperation consumed them as they were dragged under, their bodies entangled in the slimy tendrils that coiled around them like serpents.
Their final moments were a symphony of agony and despair, lost in the depths of the Vanishing Lake—a place where screams go unheard, and souls are condemned to an eternity of suffering.
The town of Ravenwood mourned the loss of Emma and Olivia, forever haunted by the horrifying fate that awaited those who dared to challenge the darkness. The legend of the Vanishing Lake grew, its malevolence spreading like a festering wound, forever etching itself into the minds of those who dared to remember.
Beware, dear reader, for the Vanishing Lake beckons from the shadows, hungry for new victims. And once it claims your soul, you too will become a part of the haunting chorus, forever trapped in its watery abyss.
The Cursed Echoes: Part 2
Deep within the forsaken woods surrounding the Vanishing Lake, an unholy presence stirred, fueled by the blood-soaked memories of its victims. It craved vengeance, yearning to ensnare those who dared to challenge its dominion. Unbeknownst to the world, Lily's triumph had awakened an ancient evil, hungry for new souls to claim.
Years after Lily's encounter, a young couple, Alex and Megan, arrived in Ravenwood, seeking solace in the tranquility of the town. Unaware of the Vanishing Lake's sinister reputation, they ventured into the heart of the cursed forest, drawn by an unexplainable force.
As they delved deeper, the air grew thick with an oppressive darkness. Whispering shadows danced along the path, taunting their every step. Megan clutched Alex's arm, her heart pounding with a nameless dread. But they pressed on, their curiosity entwined with a morbid fascination.
As they reached the lake's edge, the murky water reflected a moonless sky, devoid of any semblance of life. An eerie hush enveloped them, broken only by a haunting melody that reverberated through the stillness. It clawed at their sanity, casting a spell of unyielding terror.
Ignoring the warnings etched into the depths of their souls, Alex and Megan boarded the rowboat, their hands trembling. The vessel rocked with an unnatural rhythm, as if alive with the ancient curse that plagued the lake. With each stroke of the oars, the water beneath them roiled, dark shapes writhing just beneath the surface.
The haunting melody intensified, its symphony of malevolence driving Alex and Megan to the brink of madness. Whispers slithered through the air, malicious and seductive, promising untold horrors if they dared to turn back. Fear gnawed at their resolve, but it was too late to escape the clutches of the Vanishing Lake.
As the boat drifted farther from shore, time lost all meaning. The moon's light waned, leaving them in a desolate realm of perpetual twilight. The once-familiar forest faded into a maddening labyrinth of distorted trees and twisted shadows. Panic gripped their souls, a realization that they had become trapped within the lake's insidious grasp.
Their screams pierced the suffocating silence as the water churned beneath them. Skeletal hands, their flesh decayed and slimy, emerged from the depths, reaching for their vulnerable bodies. The once-harmonious melody transformed into a cacophony of agonized shrieks, an orchestra of tormented souls crying out for release.
In a desperate attempt to escape, Alex and Megan lunged overboard, their bodies plunging into the icy grip of the lake. The water swallowed them whole, dragging them into a vortex of darkness. Their screams dissipated into nothingness, swallowed by the cursed echoes of the Vanishing Lake.
Days turned into weeks, and the couple was declared missing, their fate forever entwined with the unholy waters. Their families mourned, haunted by the harrowing tales of their loved ones' demise. The town of Ravenwood sank deeper into despair, knowing that the curse of the Vanishing Lake could claim anyone who dared to disturb its slumber.
The cursed echoes continue to reverberate through the generations, a chilling reminder that some nightmares are more than mere legends. To this day, those who stumble upon the Vanishing Lake risk becoming lost within its eternal darkness, their souls eternally tormented by the malevolent spirits that dwell within its depths.
So, heed this warning, dear reader, and never underestimate the power of the unseen. For the Vanishing

When you’re trapped in a metal tube traveling more than 200 miles per hour in the air, you really don’t ever want to be confused.
But this week, on an evening United flight from Chicago to San Francisco, I and my fellow passengers were all very, very confused as the plane gently glided down toward the glittering lights of the Peninsula — then jerked right back up, filling the cabin with the deafening roar of jet engines on overdrive. As we floated above the clouds once more, the people sitting around me gripped their armrests and prayed; the pilot and flight attendants were silent, save to reprimand a panicked passenger who kept hitting the call button, the softness of its pings undercutting the urgency of its repetition.
We passengers were helplessly enduring the possibility that we might have all blown up together, our molecules splicing into a fiery tangle of flesh and titanium. Someone asked me if experiencing an aborted landing was like an out-of-body experience, and I’d say that it’s actually the opposite. Jolted out of the familiar bumps of a normal landing, you’re keenly aware of every hitch and noise in the plane around you and biding time until something bad possibly happens. Your ears cling to every whimper of your neighbors, and you feel envious of the babies that feel free enough to wail.
The next morning, I told a colleague about the landing and they asked, “Wait, the one I just read about?” I marveled at how quickly the news traveled — and then discovered that The Chronicle’s story was about a different United flight that aborted a landing at San Francisco International Airport on May 12. A week later, two separate flights into SFO aborted landings after spotting the same plane crossing their runway lanes.
What scared me the most was the familiarity of this feeling. For me, it wasn’t just the fear of dying, but something deeper: a low-lying dread that has hummed inside me ever since March 2020. I just don’t have faith anymore that anything in life is going to work like it’s supposed to work.
It’s like Alanis Morissette’s famous song about irony, looping in our lives ad nauseam. Like, wouldn’t it be ironic if the health care workers trying to save people got assaulted and yelled at more during a pandemic? Wouldn’t it be kind of weird for queer and trans activists to be arrested at a Pride parade? And like on the plane, it seems like you’re just supposed to sit there and wait for things to even out.
Remember when we kept hearing about a post-pandemic “return to normalcy”? On the surface, it’s about de-escalating the emergency: throwing away the masks and sending the kids to school. If “normalcy” speaks to a worry-free way of life, we’re way past the point of no return. Turns out, you can’t assume that cops will rush into a school to save children from being slaughtered. Turns out, your friendly neighbors think that vaccines are a way for Bill Gates to implant 5G receivers under your skin. Turns out, the plane might not land the way you assumed it would. We can’t unshrink the sweater; we can’t reverse the calendar to January 2020. Too much has changed.
Sauce

So I have always had the suspicion that the 75th was fixed to attempt to kill off a number of "difficult" tributes. After reading BSS I realised that at least the first 10 HG were not the same spectacle we see 65 years later.
In the book we see the beginnings of Dr Gaul (sorry if I spelled that wrong I listened to the audio book) and Snow moulding the games into what we see in the trilogy.
This makes me think that it was actually the two of them, if not then just Snow, that came up with the idea of the quarter quell when the 25th drew near. I suspect that each quell was not actually planned out before the first and that Snow and the head game maker chose a twist that would provide the most entertainment at the time.
The 25th adding the extra horror of electing the tributes and the 50th adding in the most tributes ever. We see Gaul and Snow working hard to make them the pectacle they are. I think there was maybe a lul in excitement around the 20th hunger games or so and the idea of the quell was born to boost the drama and viewership.
What do y'all think?