Hi! I'm Richard! I'd like to meet some cool people to get to know, meet up with, go to gigs with, play games with etc and just generally kinda be part of each others everyday life/routine :) Online or IRL are both good with me!
I'm a guitarist that writes songs and I love rock/metal/pop punk and a whole bunch more. My hair is currently blueish and im not sure whether to dye it again or let it go back to natural.
I have tattoos and plan on getting sleeves as soon as I can decide on what I want, I'm looking to book a septum piercing soon too! I play games (PC and Switch), I'm a hugeeeeeee Zelda fan. I just finished blindly playing Undertale which I loved and I'm currently playing through Tears of the Kingdom (which im actually a bit disappointed with) and some PubG but my library is huge so I'm down to play anything! I love animals, volunteered in animal rescue for years and recently adopted the worlds sweetest cat! :D I like working out and want to get back into running so I can hopefully get all lean and muscley before the end of the year even though sweets and pizza is just so damn good :P
I'd love to meet some fun people with the same or similar interests. It'd be nice to play some games and chat about music and life in general. If you've got a silly sense of humour and want to chat then send me a message and see if we click. At the very least I'm not gonna ghost you and I reply pretty quickly.
Some pics of me >>> https://imgur.com/a/XyKCHqU

Hey! I am Peter, nice to meet you! I am looking for someone I can share my interests with and develop a real connection.
My interests are what you would expect from a nerdy person: gaming, programming, anime, drawing, reading, learning instruments and just taking long walks at night. Also love everything horror related and I am especially into cosmic horror, my favorites of course being H.P Lovecraft and Junji Ito's works. I am also a metalhead and music is really important to me so would love to find someone with similar tastes but it's not a big deal if you aren't a fan of it. Recently got into cosplaying too. I can be a bit shy at first but I just hope to meet someone I can share everything with and just be myself.
I am currently in university learning software development. Feel free to send me a dm if you would like to chat (:

Hi all. Been a Firefox user for 6+ years now and never looked back. However, every time I use firefox on my Macbook Pro, I always notice the battery life taking a big hit.
This was a major issue on my 2015 13" MacBook Pro, and it's still one on my current device (2021 14" MacBook Pro), though not AS bad as before. I always take a feature compromise when I go to Safari, and I take a privacy compromise when I use Edge (both of which have great battery life).
Any extensions I can use or settings I'm missing here? My current extensions don't seem to be causing much CPU usage, but here's a list of them anyway in case I'm missing something.
I'm currently running v115.0b3, but I have these same battery issues on non-beta builds too, which tells me maybe this is just the compromise I have to take for privacy and features? Thanks!

Tina Manchetti slopped nacho cheese into a box of corn chips and tried not to lose her shit. Twenty minutes to the weekend, then it was nothing but sweet grass, Atari, and the Allman Brothers. She tossed in a handful of jalapeno peppers, grabbed a vanilla shake with picante crunchers, and handed the customer her Vanilla-peño Grande. A large woman with a slim cigarette and a mound of hair-sprayed locks leaned out of the Dip-N-Sip’s back room to yell, “Tina!” Tina ignored her manager and said to the last customer, “You have a creamy, crunchy day, ya hear.” She craned over the counter and confirmed there was no one else in the parking lot. Just her mint green Buick LeSabre and Liz’s motley Bel Air. She shouted back, “We had a customer! Whachu you need, girl?” Liz’s hair emerged from the back and, a few moments later, the rest of her followed. She inhaled her cigarette, then rasped, “You’re working tomorrow.” “Bullshit,” she said, “I did three weekends in a row.” “I got a date,” Liz said. She waggled her eyebrows and said, “In the city.” She asked, “What are you doing in the city?” “Ray-Lee got us tickets to KISS.” Tina scrunched her nose in disgust and not just because of the Signature Creamy Beef congealing on the range. She said, “Ray-Lee Pettimore? He’s gross.” “He’s my kind of man.” “Spendy and easy?” “Fun,” Liz said. “Speaking of, you’re working tomorrow,” Tina picked guacamole off her smock, then put her arms akimbo and said, “I have a life too you know.” Liz tucked her chin and shook out twenty pounds of auburn curls. She checked her reflection in a mirror, then said, “Arcade games and dope aren’t a life, they’re an addiction. I’m the manager and you’re working.” Tina gave her the finger as Liz headed for the parking lot. On her way out, Liz shouted over her shoulder “Love you, girl!” While clearing the toppings bar, Tina splashed her goldenrod hip huggers with a gooey slug of red sauce - enchilada or strawberry, it was hard to say. Shit, there went fifteen dollars down the drain. She headed into the back room to see if Liz had any club soda hidden in her desk when she saw them: Crisp fives and hard-used ones, green and soft and beautiful, just sitting there in the open. Liz had counted them out, put them by the safe, and never actually locked up. Now that was interesting. She riffled a pack of bills. She could toss it all in her car, smash the place up a bit, maybe drop a joint. Then, in the morning, call the cops, turn on the tears and let the pigs blame it on hippies. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was a fine jumpstart on the future. She sighed as she stacked the bills carefully in the safe and spun the dial. There were better ways to change your life than robbin’ the Sip-N-Dip. Like magic mushrooms.
The LeSabre growled around the backroads of Contention, a shining gem of modern engineering in defiance of the clapboard houses and rotting farms. She’d bought it too cheaply off a sweaty-handed man out back of a Waffle House, but best not to think hard on it. Someday she was driving this girl out of the hollers and off to who knows where. Today, she was just heading to Mildred Mitchell’s place to score a bag of caps. She landed the big girl up on the gravelly shit-pit Mildie called a yard and scowled to see Skeeter’s battered Gremlin out front. She drummed on the steering wheel. Did she want them that badly? Skeeter badly? She sighed. Yeah, she did. She tapped the door frame as she came in saying, “Knock knock.” Mildie was cradling a Banquet beer and watching Hollywood Squares. She seemed oblivious and pleasantly confused, which was perhaps the finest way to endure the charms of country life. Best way to handle Hollywood Squares anyway. Mildie struggled to focus, but finally said, “Rad outfit, Tina. I dig the, like, cool pickle guy.” “That’s Chilly. He’s a chili pepper who makes ice cream.” She said, “That’s really beautiful. You can’t let them fence you in, you know. You gotta do it your way.” “Been playing a lot of old records today, Mildie?” “Oh woah, yeah. You’ve got a really strong intuition. Have you been getting out on the outer vibrations?” Tina rearranged the filth so she could claim a seat, then said, “I was thinking you could help me with that. Do you have any shrooms I could pick up?” “Oh, uh, no. I don’t think we have any shrooms, hun. Man, that would be rad though, do you have any?” This is what you get when you try to score late in the day. Tina tried to roll with it and said, “What are you rocking on tonight, sister?” Mildie perked up. Every burnout is a documentarian; They have a rich, personal chronicle of pills, fumes, droppers, and blotters that they want to share with the world. Mildly said, “Nothing much just a bit of grass and some brownies. Well, and a little chill pill to shake the paranoia - I put too much oil in the brownies. Ooh yeah, and the shit Skeeter got. That moss. That’s some cosmic stuff and it’s all natural, you know, a gift from gaia.” Mildie was drifting back toward the glib nonsense of Paul Lynde and the clock was ticking. She needed to get some goods, get dosed, veg out, and still get up on time to open tomorrow. She was losing precious tripping time. “Sounds far out, let me pickup some moss, then.” “Skeeter! You got a customer, babe,” Mildie said before completely disappearing into the vast wasteland. A bony, bird-like man emerged from the kitchen wearing nothing but basketball shorts and a brown felt hat. He was carrying a jug of whole milk and a mixing bowl full of Tang powder. He nodded at Tina and dropped into a bean bag chair. Milk sloshed over him and sank into the crevices of the bag, but he seemed unbothered by this. He moistened the orange powder and slowly shook the mixing bowl to swirl them together. He lifted it up like an ancient king draining a goblet, smacked his lips, and said, “You want to score some of that good green, little girl?” Tina tried not to shudder at this Tang-encrusted caveman. She couldn’t even pick up without some slavering dog howling at her. For all the talk, the average hip man was just a Nixonite pig with better taste in music. At least, Skeeter was too stupid to overcharge people. “Hey, Skeeter, I hear you’ve been gardening,” Tina said. “Oh yeah, I’ve been working on a hybrid strain up in the attic. The key is to water them,” he said gravely as if imparting ancient druidic lore. He slapped more milk into his trough and swirled without breaking eye contact. “I was talking about some new shit? Some moss you found?” “The moss, yeah. I don’t grow that though, that’s from the old mine, babe. It was soaking in this rad pool of water. I swear it was glowing, man, although I was on a lot of MDT at the time, so you know, most things were glowing. Do you think I could grow it with the bud?” “I want to buy drugs from you,” Tina said slowly, holding out a five dollar bill. “Give me the moss.” “Right on,” Skeeter said. “Let me get you a package. You’re going to want to take this with a lot of booze for that primo slam.” Mildie saluted with her beer and said to the TV, “Primo.” Skeeter dug around on the ground, then tossed a plastic baggie of silver threads on the table. He didn’t even ask for cash before sinking back into the bean bag. He was too busy milking his Tang to close the deal. It seemed like he was falling into the gravity well of TV nonsense as well, so she just dropped the dough on the table. “Take a pinch and down the hatch,” Skeeter said as he went totally potato. Tina wasn’t one to argue with an expert.
The LeSabre was stationary as the world sped past her window. Birds hovered in flight and the radio was reading The Stepford Wives to her. When she changed the station, it just started on a different chapter. Except for the Country station; that one was reading in Portuguese. There was a faint crackle at the edge of her vision, but it didn’t get in the way. She imagined it was the moss, hitching a ride on her optics to peep the world above ground. Ride along, little friend, and welcome to the planet earth. She’d made this drive a thousand times, but this one was something special. Ghostly sharecroppers rose up from the glens to tend the metaphysical echo of corn and tobacco stands. The Quiktrip melted into strips of brightly-colored modeling clay, then rebuilt itself as an old time saloon. Looking in the rearview mirror, the saloon fell on hard times and a small tree forced its way through the gap-toothed shingles on the roof. A 50’s sedan the size and shape of a river barge nearly clipped her bumper as it overtook her on a blind turn and evaporated into a pepto pink fog. By the time she reached her apartment building, the crackle in her eyes was ecstatic and she was on the cusp of a panic attack. This was a lot. Like, a lot a lot. She just needed to get upstairs, get into clothes that didn’t smell like nacho cheese, and rescue the planet from some Space Invaders. Maybe throw on Fillmore East or get wild with Money Talks. It was Friday night and there was time enough for both. When her feet touched the lawn, she was suddenly wired into the primitive consciousness of every object in her domain. She felt the late evening sun kiss each blade of grass, she felt the rust grow on the iron railings, she felt the cement foundation adjust under the weight of the apartment building, and even heard the low hum of the basalt beneath the ground. The tension left her chest, drained away by the simple joy of the stones and the breeze. When she blinked, she teleported forward. She appeared beside the empty pool to visit the fallen leaves. She took careful stock of the laundry and listened patiently as the dryers complained of disrespect and overloading. She tried to cheer up the mailroom, but every box was trying to talk over all the others and the rug was simply boorish. She was in her clean, plain apartment playing Breakout and eating a turkey and coleslaw sandwich. Judging from the cans, she’d been here for some time. She was over the peak, but not back to normal. Which is to say, she wasn’t sober enough to pretend the world was normal; She was still open to the fundamental weirdness of reality. She grabbed a cooler with snacks, Six Days of the Condor, and a light jacket. Camped out by the empty pool, she settled in to read accompanied by a soundtrack of cicadas. Not quite as funky as the Bar-Kays, but the bugs and the frogs brought a lot of passion. The late evening glow was gorgeous and the gray crackle at the edge of her eyes framed the reds, purples, and oranges nicely. Like a simple frame on Rothko. She was thirteen pages in when a helium blimp named Martin Wellsby floated at her. A small dog on a long leash was the only tether keeping Wellsby chained to the Earth. He hissed hot gas at her and tried to ogle her legs when he thought she wasn’t looking. The dog sniffed her twice, then backed away growling. Tina lifted her book as if to say, “Trying to read here, dude.” Wellsby wasn’t easy to dissuade and he started hissing longer and louder. All the while, his little dog was yapping, yapping, yapping. Tina stared at the blimp as it bobbed around her. Did he think he could talk her into giving a darn? Like, what was the end-game here dude? Just take a hint and go hassle someone else. Elmira Skump, an R Crumb drawing of a woman with towering legs, crossed the courtyard. She caught Wellsby’s attention and he floated away tugging the dog along behind him. Elmira stared at Tina in disgust, her eyes were yawning portals to a neon furnace, burning brilliant and ice cold. She greeted Wellsby and turned her glow to warm reds and oranges. Tina lifted her book and left those two to torment one another. If they wanted to clobber one another with their aching insecurities and groping desires, that was their business. Just leave her out of that mess. She was still on the first day of the condor when the McGregors exploded into the common area. Red-faced and snarling as usual, Roger McGregor was surrounded by a hive of wasps boiling with rage. Every few seconds, a platoon would break loose from the swarm to prick his weathered children. Mrs. McGregor was a wraith stepped straight from an El Greco. Gray and blue fumes slid off of her like fog from a block of ice. These noxious vapors tore at her husband and children, but most of all they recoiled back to nip at her thin, papery limbs. Two sapphire bands dropped suddenly from her face and shimmered back and forth. Roger’s swarm reached new heights of frenetic buzzing, diving at the children over and over. The poor kids hunkered down like sailors lost in a hurricane. She tried not to hate, but my god she hated that man. She laid back in her lounge chair and let her fingers drop to brush against the grass. She couldn’t find their psychic voices again, but she was comforted knowing the little blades were there, just excited to be alive and drinking in the light. The static caught her attention like it was tugging her toward the moon. Luna’s pale face was placid as always, but, now that she looked, there was something a bit strange. She held her breath and leaned forward to focus. It was hard to see, but tiny black lightning crackled around the rim of the moon. Thin veins of gray spread from the poles faintly staining the moon’s countenance, and then they were gone. The apparition lasted less than a second, but that moment stretched out like hours for her. Just as her grip relaxed, it came again. Then again and again, building in strength each time. The veins staining the moon were deep black now and filled the entire orb like the eye of some demonic stoner. The crackling black lightning was no longer a mere fringe; It was flailing in space, the flagellum of a vast and unholy amoeba. Defying reason, it was brightly black against the staid darkness of space. The blackness of unreality. The color of nothingness. The unbeing arms of the moon strained back and whipped a bolt of black lightning at the diving board. There was a terrible crash that no one else seemed to hear. The bolt congealed around the poles and dripped to the ground like writhing molasses. It gathered itself up and grew scythes, clasping mouths, and broken antennae. A towering beast of nothingness screamed at her, a savage challenge, the absolute opposite of that delicate communion she’d found just an hour before. And then it was gone. She was sitting astride a lounge chair pointing at the peeling paint of an old diving board while her neighbors glared at her. Two young people were flirting awkwardly and playing with a small dog. An older couple was arguing with one another and their tired children. She was slightly cold and extremely thirsty. Mrs. McGregor wiped her eyes and shouted, “Will you please go inside, you awful hippie. We’ve got children here.”
Tina sat down at her kitchen table with the notebook she used for grocery lists, a cool glass of water and two aspirin. Bad trips happen. That’s just a fact. Sometimes you go out to far reaches and drink from the well-spring of all creation. Sometimes you think the FBI is wiretapping your toaster. She’d had a journey turn on her before, but she’d never felt anything like that. She’d never seen anything like that. She tapped her pen on the notepad and wrote out everything she’d experienced from downing the moss to then. She needed some distance. Each step of the way, what did it feel like? What did it look like? How did her thoughts work? Once it was on the page, the break was obvious to her. Any square would write it all off as druggie nonsense, but she was an experienced pharma-naut and she could draw a stark line between regular chemical madness and this black lightning crap. There’s a difference between seeing things and seeing something. Maybe she was doing a bit of both, to be fair, but still. She stuck her grocery pad back to the fridge with a strong magnet and started pacing. She went to the window and flicked open the drapes just enough to peek out. Nothing there but an empty swimming pool and some flickering lamps. Evening had given way to night and the bats were out in force dropping down from the low clouds to streak through the riot of flies around each lantern. Terrified, the flies swarmed even closer to the lamps, packing themselves together to make their murder all the easier. What did the flies make of the monsters in the dark? Did they warn one another of the screeching hunters? Did they train their children to trust the light? Did they pray to the god on a pole or to the demons from the sky? She fixed the drapes and dropped into a crouch in the middle of her living room. She closed her eyes and stilled her breathing. Thoughts tugged at her attention, but she wished them well and let them pass her by. Crackling static. Small, and inconsistent, but there at the edge of her vision, half-hidden beneath the mind’s ceaseless chatter. Hold onto that shape and let it lead you. She returned to the window and looked out into the dark, but she couldn’t find anything apart from the mundane darkness. “Mundane darkness.” It’s funny how fast you can shift into a new normal once you open the mind’s eye. Her hands were drawing back from the drapes when Roger McGregor stamped out to the poolside. The static in her eyes peaked and something more than mere nosiness told her to stay and watch. McGregor was ugly drunk and alternated between swearing and sobbing. Pretty normal stuff for a macho asshole come-apart. About once a month, he got way up in his feelings and instead of, you know, accepting the call of the universe or talking to his wife, he’d get Bukowski-grade drunk and sobbed about the communists ruining his life. He didn’t need help from the KGB to pull that operation off. He suddenly stopped and stood, wobbling in the dim light of the street lamps, as if someone was talking to him. After a moment, he started beating his chest and boasting about something. Without warning, he stuck out his butt and dropped to the ground. He held onto his knees and started rocking back and forth wailing, “You ruined my life Mary. You ruined everything.” The night was cool and dry, but she was sweating and her heart was racing. The crackle in her eyes was tugging her attention into the darkness. There wer small flashes of the black-beyond-black. They weren’t as coherent as before, but there was something out there. She ran out the front door and sprinted down the stairs. She shouted, “Go inside. You need to go inside, it’s not safe.” He growled wordlessly at her and waved his arm clumsily as if to shoo her away. There was a short strip of grass, a decorative fence, and a few feet of concrete between them, but it may as well have been the Berlin Wall. She was urging herself on, but something held her back, the invisible threads of some monstrous spider web. “Mr. McGregor. Roger. Please, go inside.” “Don’t judge me, you stupid beatnik.” Beatnik? What was this 1950? She was struggling with the latch on the gate. It didn’t even have a lock, what was going on here. She said, “I’m not judging you, Roger, I just want you to be safe.” “Get away from me. I hate you, I hate all of you. You humiliated him!” “Who?” He was sobbing, his face contorted with rage and hatred. Snot was rolling from his nose and he screeched, “Nixon, you witch.” A bolt shot from the gate and drove her hand back from the latch. She leapt away from the gate and saw a small black nimbus around her own hand and gray veins pulsing under her skin. A tendril of black-beyond-black flailed from the gate and burned itself out in the concrete pitting the surface. The black veins pulsed once more and then faded back into her skin. When she looked up, a great bolt of black lightning struck just behind Roger. It gathered much more quickly this time, the scything hands, the gouging mouth. Roger was rocking himself faster and faster, gibbering and moaning. The arcs of black unbeing were blinding, the crackle deafening, but he didn’t respond at all. He was looking at her with hate in his bloodshot eyes when it took him. She watched, unable to move as umbral scythes opened him like a letter. A man-shaped coral of living, twitching nerves hung in the air facing her while the flesh fell away. She ran.
She could barely breathe when someone finally answered at the Sheriff’s office. She didn’t even remember dialing the number. “Hello? Can you speak? Are you having a heart attack?” She got enough air in her to speak. Once she started, the words flooded out, “My name is Tina Manchetti and I just saw something. I don’t know what it was, it was this thing.” “Ma’am, are you on anything tonight?” “It killed him!” “Ma’am, did you see someone get injured?” “I saw something. I don’t know what it was, OK, but it was a thing and I saw it kill my neighbor.” There was a long silence, then, “Ma’am, could you give me your address?” “Eight thirty six, Old Cornelius Way.”
The sheriff Jim Clark was only a few years older than her, but he seemed antique as he paced in her sparse living room. He gave her a condescending, but comforting smile like an indulgent grandpa. The woman with him was tense and unfriendly, and she wasn’t wearing the normal police uniform. She was wearing a gray coat cut very loosely and had the swagger Tina associated with G-men in old movies. The sheriff said, “Why don’t you make us a cup of tea, Karen, while I talk this through with our friend one more time.” The woman nodded like he was a sergeant barking orders instead of a prematurely old man leaning on the back of a chair. He looked at Tina and said, “When you called in, you seemed a bit… worked up. Were you experimenting with anything that may be a factor here?” “I swear to god, I was not hallucinating.” “I didn’t say that you were, I just want to get all the pieces together.” “I saw him get… I saw something kill him out by the pool. Just go down there and look at him. Nothing normal could do that.” He looked genuinely worried for her and patted the air with both hands, then said, “Slow down there, slow down. I looked all over out there and there’s not a drop of blood. Karen looked, she didn’t see no blood. We checked on the McGregors and they’re not even home. Place locked up tight and empty as can be.” “I just don’t understand, I saw it. I was six feet away. I was talking to him! When it…” Karen yelled out of the kitchen, “Do you have sugar?” “It’s in the yellow tub with red posies by the mail tray,” Tina said. She picked up her thoughts and said, “I know it sounds crazy.” “I don’t think you’re crazy, ma’am. I just think you maybe didn’t see what you thought you saw.” “It was made of black light. It was huge.” “Think on that a moment, Tina. How can there be black light?” She took the cup of tea when Karen offered it and smelled the herbal steam. “Did I have green tea?” “I had some with me,” Karen said. “To help with witnesses.” “That’s really nice, actually,” Tina said while sipping the tea. “I didn’t know you did things like that.” “Sometimes a soft touch is all it takes,” Karen said. There was no trace of warmth or kindness in her and Tina felt, if anything, more frightened. But as the warmth spread out from her stomach, her tension slacked and it no longer seemed so pressing that the sheriff disbelieved her. She’d said her peace, now it was in their hands, you know? The sheriff squatted down beside her and started speaking softly, “You were having a bit of fun tonight weren’t you? Maybe you had some marijuana or did a square of acid.” Tina nodded slowly. She did like to do drugs. “You were reading these scary books, this conspiracy stuff,” he said, picking up Six Days of the Condor. He went on, “It got you in a bad place, got mixed up with those drugs. It happens, you know?” She was feeling very tired, but not in a bad way. She felt like she’d just sat down after a long, long shift. “You thought you saw something, even called it in, because you’re a good citizen and you want folks to be ok. But it was just two wires crossing. Just a bad trip, man.” The woman said something, but she couldn’t make it out. She was too tired. “You can’t sleep just yet, Tina. You need to tell me where it started. Did you do anything before you had that bad trip?” “Oh,” she said, “I talked to Skeeter. He had been to the mine. That’s where I got the stuff.” Karen was on her other side now, gripping her shoulder with bony fingers. She said, “Tell me about Skeeter. Tell me about the mine.” Normally Tina would never drag someone else into this, but these two seemed so helpful and, somehow, this all seemed very far away.

Tina woke up late and puttered around in the kitchen making pancakes. She hadn’t bothered to make pancakes from scratch in ages and it felt good in a Betty Crocker kind of way. A woman named Liz called and said a lot of things about ice cream and the band KISS, but she was having trouble making sense of it. Tina apologized hoping it would make the lady happy and hung up on her. She sat on her sofa and let the TV tell her stories for a while. It wasn’t very interesting, but it was something to do. She found a book on the floor, but it had a very ugly aura and she wasn’t looking for anything that harsh today. After lunch, she took a walk around the block and noticed a nice young man and his lady friend talking. They seemed very interested in her, but didn’t wave for her to come over. On the contrary, they looked a bit afraid of her. Maybe she’d acted out a bit last night. She couldn’t really remember what she’d done, but something funky had happened for sure. She didn’t remember drinking that much, but maybe she’d got a hold of a bum tab of acid. You can’t be too careful these days, you never know what people put in that stuff. 

For some reason, she felt like she’d talked to the pigs, but, well, she was walking around free. If she’d narced on herself, she would have woken up in the drunk tank at the very least. Most likely the man and woman had seen her being a bit out there and freaked themselves out. Maybe she’d play a Zappa album when she got back and cultivate a reputation. She laughed at the idea and went home feeling fresher than she had in a long, long time.
Someone had eaten all of her snacks. Strong evidence for the ‘bad trip thesis.’ Oh well, she needed to pick up a few things anyway. She picked up her groceries notebook and flipped to the end. Page after page of dense sentences. She skimmed it quickly and a throbbing headache built up behind her eyes. Reading was making her feel sick. She wanted to just put this down and forget about it. She forced herself forward. This was her handwriting, but she couldn’t remember any of this. The headache was so bad she could only keep one eye open, but she had to keep reading. There was something gathering around the edges of her vision. Not tunnel vision, not that kind of darkness. Something else. A different kind of darkness. She looked at the journal again and saw she’d meditated to find that same tricksy sensation before. She willed herself to focus, counting her breaths and leaving space for the universe to speak. There was something else in here with her, she could tell that for sure, but it wasn’t ready to be caught. Or she wasn’t ready to catch it. She opened her eyes and a dim memory of a memory stumbled into view. She’d taken the moss, she’d cracked her mind wide open. She’d seen her neighbors in the true light of the weird. And then she’d gotten scared of the dark. There had been something in the dark. Liz! She was supposed to open for Liz! She’d fucked everything up. Her horoscope was right, she needed to make major changes this season. She was moving toward the phone rehearsing an apology, when she caught herself. Why was she worried about that? Wasn’t there something more important, something she’d just thought to do? It was as if something was trying to push her mind away from what she needed to get done. God she had to stop smoking so much pot. She set Liz aside as Monday’s problem and reread the notebook. Instead of feeling like a story someone had told her, last night started to reform into real, solid memories. How the hell had she forgotten all of this even if she was blazed? Her apartment was stuffy and ominous, the spartan decor inhuman. Intuition drew her out to the courtyard, where she wandered about doing her best to channel Philip Marlowe. Something had happened here. Nothing obvious was amiss, there was no blood or broken glass or anything like that. In fact, there wasn’t anything going on at all around here except for movers carrying boxes out of the McGregor place. There was something wrong with her eyes, like a visual static. Mildie would call it a cosmic vibration resonating with the ape brain. That thought pulled at her, but she didn’t see what to do with it. Instead, she crouched down to inspect the concrete closely. Just old concrete. Smelled like spilled beer. The crackle was sticking with her, but it didn’t seem to be getting any worse. How hungover was she? Dissatisfied and worried, Tina headed back to her apartment. As she reached for the gate, a gentle static shock forced her hand back. She stared at her fingertips for a long moment. The gate, the pitted concrete, the burning feeling in her fingers… She invited this into her mind. She let her thoughts and worries drift away. They could tend to themselves for a while; This was important. The haze was here, but it wasn’t her enemy. It was beckoning. It wanted her to remember. Her mind tried to bolt, it tried to find something, anything else to drag her away from this. To drag her away from the truth, but she was hip to the game this time. She waited alone in the cacophony of her thoughts and let the crackling haze lead her through the hangover, through the gap in her memory. And then she remembered.
The LeSabre tore down the country roads like a rockslide. She’d squealed on Skeeter after they dosed her. What the fuck had they put in that tea? Hopefully, she hadn’t mentioned Mildie. If the Man took Skeeter, she’d be bummed for sure, but you know, shit happens, man. But if they’d done something to Mildie… She pumped the accelerator and took turns as fast as she dared. A proper square in a tan Cadillac beeped at her, but she was too busy even to flick him off. Her heart sank as she passed a tow truck dragging a battered AMC Gremlin. She couldn’t be sure it was Skeeter’s - every Gremlin looked equally shitty in her eyes - but it wasn’t a healing omen. She slid around the last turn and accelerated into the skid, her new tires grabbing fistfuls of asphalt and dragging her back into the right lane. For the first time in her life, she was relieved to see the awkward gray slump of a Gremlin in Mildred’s front yard. She burst through the front door shouting Mildie’s name and nearly tripped herself stopping short. Mildred waved bleary-eyed from the sofa and finished a bong rip. “Hey, Tina, you want a beer?” “Oh thank god, you’re OK.” “Sure I am, babe, I’m eating organic and staying off the brown liquor. You know it's the dye that gets you, not the booze.” “Mildred, this is very important: Where is Skeeter?” She looked up slowly from the TV and cocked her head like a confused Spaniel. She blinked one eye then the other and, at last, said, “We broke up ages ago, Tina. That guy was a loser.” “Then why is his car in your front yard?” Mildred stood up unsteadily and peered through the blinds. She looked at Tina with gentle confusion and said, “That’s not Skeeter’s wheels. That’s, uh, the lady from the university. Shit, Karen! That’s what it was. She’s out checking the levels.” Tina clenched her teeth so tightly she thought a molar might crack. She exhaled slowly and tried to hide her fear as she said, “She’s out back?” “She’s out in the woods, you know, checking the levels.” “The levels of what?” “Toxins, girl.” “I think I’m going to go talk to her, Mildie. We can smoke a bowl when I get back.” “Sure thing, I didn’t know you were into science though.” “I’m getting into all kinds of new stuff.”

Karen hadn’t bothered with subtlety, so Tina had no trouble following her trail through the woods. It was cool and smelled of hummus here, but there was something else on the wind, a subtle rush of air with a tang of old water and mildew. A rusty sign warned her of open pits and it hit her: the mine. That’s where Skeeter had found the moss, that’s where Karen would want to go. She was breathing heavily as she picked her way carefully down the entry shaft. This wasn’t the mine proper, but some kind of entry way or staging spot right at ground level. There were a few rusted out wheelbarrows and some bat crap, but nothing else of note. The darkness closed around her as she pushed her way forward and the crackle in her eyes stood out all the more sharply. At first there were only spots on the walls, then little nets and traces, and finally a shag carpet of softly glowing moss. There were pools of silver here and there, but the rest were black-beyond-black. She felt very cold and not because of the icy breath of the mine. The entry gave way to a proper cavern and she gasped. The Karen woman was standing beside a small mound in the middle of the chamber basking in the light of unreality. It wasn’t just moss here; There were pools of sludge, crooked spires of rock, and scuttling vermin all dancing with hateful black lightning. Karen turned at the sound of her footsteps and smiled at her. She beckoned and said, “It’s something else isn’t it?” “This place isn’t safe,” Tina said. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just know we shouldn’t be here.” Karen laughed and said, “No, it isn’t safe. It’s not safe at all. It’s powerful.” “What did you give me last night? Was that some MKULTRA shit?” “No it’s not ‘MKULTRA shit,’ Tina. It’s just a flower to ease your weary mind,” Karen said. She wasn’t mocking her, exactly, but she seemed chipper despite the obvious otherworldly bullshit all around them. And, you know, poisoning her the night before. “It fucked me up, whatever it was.” “Not too badly, it seems, since you’ve made it out here. I’m quite surprised at your tenacity, young lady. We’ll have to do something about that.” “Why are you doing this?” “You don’t even know what ‘this’ is,” Karen said as the joy slid off of her face. She swaggered toward Tina, blinding her with a maglight. “It killed them all last night, you know, not just the man.” “What?” “The McGregors. It took the father, the mother, the children. It even got their goldfish,” Karen said with mild amusement. No, not amusement. Admiration. “I spent all morning cleaning that up. Do you know how expensive it is to book movers same-day?” “Holy god,” Tina whispered to herself. “He isn’t going to help you here,” Karen said. She withdrew into herself for a moment, then blinked the distraction clear and said, “There’s just lil ole me, Jim, and a few friends - well, ‘friends’ - who have the will to do what it takes. What you saw was just a little taste of the fucked up freakshow that is the real world, Tina. I think you see it, I think you know what you have to do. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “What did you do with Skeeter?” “He was a vector and I contained it,” she said, “And quite quickly at that. I’m pretty pleased.” Tina looked back at the small mound in the darkness. She couldn’t see clearly enough to be sure, but she knew what she would find there. He was dead. “Are you going to stop that thing, that monster?” Tina asked as tears gathered. Karen gave it a moment of thought, then said, “Probably not. Some things you solve, some things you bury. This one feels like a ‘bury’ to me. If you want to try, well, I’d like to see it.” The strange woman pulled a gun and pointed it at the center of Tina’s chest. She was still smiling when she said, “Or, I can bury you too, right here and now. But you did well getting here. How do you feel about a change of careers?” Tina was trembling and scared. The static in her eyes was off the charts, but she didn’t need its help - whatever the hell it was - to know this woman was a stone killer. 

There are better ways to change your life than robbing the Sip-N-Dip. Maybe this was a good idea.

Password is midir meet at big drop(:

I’m reading the son of Neptune right now and one remark has me thinking about if hitler is a half-blood son of hades or Pluto when hazel( I think it was her it’s been a while ) says that Pluto looks like Adolfo hitler or rather his father this thought had me think about some things Anabeth said during the original series to Percy saying that many famous world leaders athletes and celebrities are half-bloods and a few would surprise Percy if he knew she also said that World War Two was a war fought between children of the big three children of Poseidon and Zeus on one side and children of hades on another so does any one actually know for certain weather he is?
(Just a note I haven’t finished Hero’s of Olympus series yet so I’m not sure if my theory is actually truth in the later books)

Book 1: Raraku

Epigraph

Another entry of Sayings of the Fool by Thenys Bule. I've wondered before what kind of Fool the title refers to; I'm now comfortable saying that these are sort of anti-proverbs, which are examples of folly that must be avoided in others. The fool swims across the desert sands, because he has "seen shells and the like//On this desert floor." Thus, he "swims this land's memory//Thus honoring its past." Curiously, the Fool recognizes the suicidal nature of the task, "For [he] shall drown long before//[he is] done." Also, he is not dying of dehydration, but specifically drowning. It is the past that shall kill him.
The Fool has prioritized honoring the past over his life, the present. Such seems to be our lesson, and given the following chapter (and I assume Book 1 as a whole) being filled with characters making drastic choices for the sake of the past, I feel like this is a most relevant, and thus ominous, warning.

Chapter 1

A new setting, a new cast. I'd known this before I'd started GotM, but it conceptually bothered me far less than it seems to bother others. You learned a new setting and cast in the first book, right? You'd be doing the same if you backed out for another series, right? Anyway, with longer scenes and samples, I can confidently say the prose, characterization, and dialogue are all much improved after a decade's training on Erikson's part. This all also feels very Dune-ish, as well. But without further ado...

Epigraph

A poem or excerpt of a poem titled The Path of Hands by Messremb (whom the Dramatis Personae tells us will make an appearance himself at some point) It ties rather closely with the opening scenes of the chapter, so I'll give my thoughts on this once we have some more context below.

The Chapter Itself

It is the next year, 1164 B.S. and what is locally called the Sixth of the Seven Years of Dryjhna, the Apocalyptic. We get some indication as to what this means later. Mappo Runt watches a rising plume of dust moving across the desert while informing his companion, Icarium, of what it is he sees. Flat-headed, long-necked, shaggy, and black with three legs, he judges it to be some creature known as an aptorian. He also berates Icarium for his running hairdye. Disguised as a Tanno, the seven-foot, Jaghut-blooded Icarium speculates that their passage has been marked by anyone caring or knowledgeable enough to guess who they are, but such could not be helped. The presence of the aptorian speaks to another impending convergence, one which Shadowthrone is inspecting. This particular creature, ranging wide of its pack, has seemingly fallen under the sway of Sha'ik. We get some slight information on who or what Sha'ik is, but not terribly much. They do hold an army out somewhere in the desert, by a watering hold the two aim to reach.
Icarium eyes his friend, a millennium old, and as a Trell, large with a shaggy mane down his neck and back, bearing long, sinuous arms. He recognizes reluctance in his friend, and calls it out. It seems the aptorian is a demon of sorts, and Mappo is reluctant to face such creatures. Icarium, in contrast, is driven by curiosity and would press forward. They pack up camp and enter the basin.
Later, by nightfall, the two continue into the desert, and we get some nice descriptions of the land and its fauna. resting in some ruins, the two prepare for tomorrow's search. Of note, the sand faintly glows to Mappo's eyes, so I assume Trells can see into infrared? We already knew his sight was much better from the previous scene, but this helps contextualize it. We get confirmation that the land is indeed littered with tels, as that's just how long-term civilization works, especially in a desert. Separated fairly evenly at fifty years apart, there was once a rich and powerful civilization that lived here. Many of the ruins tell of a swift and violent end, although the exact nature of this end is uncertain. From this time, legends of Dryjhna the Apocalyptic have formed, resurging once again across the Holy Desert Raraku.
Curiously, the ensuing thoughts of Mappo, despite their strangeness, are considered "familiar ruts" by the text. Thoughts that deny they can discover what occurred here, that they are "no closer" than they've ever been, and that he has no reason to doubt such thoughts. They're looking for something in the lost past, and the nature of that hunt has Mappo checking himself. In the courtyard, Icarium has found something. Tiny scratch marks along the base of a column, coordinated. Could these be the imprints of passage the Epigraph speaks of? This is enough to suggest to the two that there are D'ivers nearby, and we soon find out why. They even assume a specific D'iver, Gryllen. They anticipate more shapeshifters, and it is now that I should point out that all the characters of this storyline are designated as ON the Path of Hands, indicating that this is a literal path/route which is part of some ritual or ceremony. One which seems to attract many shapeshifters, which is described here as "the fever for which there is no cure." The references to Ascendancy both here and in the epigraphs seem to indicate that this path has some ties with that as well. They also reference gates (Deadhouse Gates?) which some believe offer Ascendancy.
Speculation Time:
The Path of Hands is a path that leads to an Azath. Not the Deadhouse but the Odhanhouse in Seven Cities. Namely, because they themselves are near Pan'potsun Odhn, and are, well, in Seven Cities, lol. There is a belief that entering the fickle gates of an Azath provides ascendancy. Considering Shadowthrone and the Rope entered the Deadhouse, and Shadowthrone is evidently interested in the goings on here, there likely isn't nothing to the idea, but Icarium and Mappo seem to be heading for it for some other reason. Namely, Icarium's eternal goal, which we receive some indication of.
Icarium has lived for centuries, possibly millennia,* yet cannot remember his own past (whether this is because of magic shenanigans is currently unknown, but immortals with a mundane/finite memory are one of my favorite niche tropes in fiction so I'm all in on this storyline. It may be that he inherited a Jaghut lifespan and a human/whatever memory, causing this, but the continual reference to a curse may very well be literal) and seems to be seeking a way to recover them for what seems are personal reasons. Mappo seems to regret something in his or Icarium's past, considering his friend's curse a gift.
*This also makes his question "how long have we been friends?" into a bit of fun foreshadowing rather than just the tired "catch the audience up" question. He's legitimately asking on top of the rhetorical device.
A pack of six wolves follows them into the ruins, betrayed by their scent to be shapeshifters, or rather, one shapeshifter in six bodies. D'ivers, it seems, change into groups of animals, be it a swarm of rats or a pack of wolves. Absolutely sick. They recognize the shapeshifter as Ryllandaras, but he does not recognize them. The Trell offers to open their discourse, calling him the brother of Treach (an ascendant himself, the "First Hero") whom thought him dead. The creature responds psychically, promising to kill them, but curious of their story. They seem to feign ignorance of one another, an alliance of convenience rather then friendship, boasting that they'd be able to take him on. They do soon give up the charade, calling one another by name as a final intimidation tactic, and this dissuades the pack from taking them on. We get the implication that Icarium resorting to violence would be a very bad thing for everyone involved, such that Mappo is sworn to prevent such an occurrence. The D'ivers does not seem to recognize Sha'ik, and seems to think killing it's aptorian is no big deal. We leave Mappo and Icarium for the chapter with their disagreeing with that diagnosis, but allowing Ryllandaras to pass regardless.
The next morning, the Imperial Harbor of Hissar is filled with a fresh transport of troops, surrounded by native tribesmen and women armed and shouting, building towards a riot. Such are the musings of Imperial Historian Duiker, the same man who defended Heboric in his trial. Meeting him is Mallick Rel, advisor to the local High Fist, also named as a jhistal priest of the Elder god of the seas. That he was merely greeted by the advisor was a calculated insult. Curiously, this adviser has quickly ascended the ranks to get where he is, inviting countless dark rumors of what he may hold over the High Fist, such that any who stood in Rel's way seemed to meet an accidental end. With the ship now unloading is the new Fist of the 7th, Cotaline of the Crow Clan. Although Duiker doubts his capacity to navigate the political web of the Empire, we shall soon see he is more than adept at cowing the locals.
Mallick Rel near immediately insults the man, his words smooth and insidious. The historian remembers his quick-formed dislike of the creature. Rel informs him that the Empress has no active machinations in Hissar, whatever his source. Duiker is here to observe the new batch of prisoners bound for the Otataral Mines. It doesn't seem like a stretch to assume this is the same ship that Felisin and co. were boarded onto. Mages were often used in the Otataral mines so that they may double as a containment facility. While the mages within often went mad, it is unkown if this was from Otatartal changes or Warren deprivation. With the new batch containing so many muggles, long-term Otataral exposure can be studied in depth.
The two are approached by two more, an unnamed rough-looking captain and the lone surviving Cadre mage of the 7th, Kulp. The two newcomers express significant distaste for their new Fist and the Wickan people as a whole. MR inserts himself into the conversation to note that Coltaine is an odd choice, given the tension between the two groups as well as the Wickan's status as formerly one of the Empire's strongest rivals. But Duiker comments that this is not at all strange, Coltaine was the one to unite the clans and establish a rebellion, one the Empire had a terrible time putting down. The Emperor, in his usual fashion, acquired Coltaine's loyalty through unknown means. While the man was placed in Quon Tali backwaters to rot after Laseen's coup, the degredation of events on Genebackis necessitates the maintenance of order on Seven Cities at all costs, hence, the skilled local Coltaine is placed back in command in the face of the prophesied rebellion.
The man himself approaches the seething mob, who had been continuously escalating their hostilities over the course of the above conversation. With a sheer undulating shout he manages to quell them; compelling them to fall in line and quietly move out. Admiring this show of skill, the four comment on it, with the captain mentioning how Coaltine's political savvy matches his savage people skills. Mallick Rel thanks him for the advice. I must admit, despite spending several paragraphs describing how loathsome the man is, that his directness and frankness, calibrated to match the new energy of the conversation such to drop everyone's defenses was very well done. I myself didn't note the Captains blunder until it was pointed out. He may be a schemer but his people and manipulation skills match.
Elsewhere, sailing down from the Skara isles, our Bridgeburner crew of Crokus, Apsalar, Fiddler, and Kalam continue their journey home-ish. Fiddler, for his part, is bored and seasick, internally lamenting his presence. Crokus and Moby attempt to comfort him, with minimal success. The monkey/demon, for his part, has adopted the sapper as many creatures do.* Fid's internal monologue is a delight to read BTW. He internally frets over their coming excursion in 7C, and all the danger the continent posses.
*While I mentioned this before, it is weird to me that Mammot's familiar is just hanging around after his death. There's something there.
Apsalar calls out a school of flying fish, running from something large. Kalam mentions that its odd the hunting fish would themselves be hunted round these parts, being apex predator's in the area. The dherabi of Seeker's Deep hunt them, but they never come out into water this shallow, or on the opposite side of the continent. Unfortunately, a dhenrabi, one who's scent betrays it as Soultaken, far more massive than any natural creature, appears and begins pursuing them. I will say, this is some excellent creature design. Sure, it's "just" a centipede sea serpent, but the added details of how it swims/sinks with filling/emptying it's caprice with air, along with how it uses this to hunt is the kind of creative and interesting detail that makes this stand out without devolving into an exposition dump.
Interestingly, the Soultaken uses the opportunity to out itself by communicating with them. Fiddler uses the opportunity to warn the creature not to approach. It ignores his warning, moving in for the kill, and promptly has it's head blown off by Fiddler using a munition. My guy is just wandering around a fantasy world with a backpack of thermite grenades while being vaguely unimpressed with all the wizard shenanigans he come across. What an excellent character. As an aside, I assume this particular Soultaken was heading much in the same direction the others were, for whatever reason. I also wonder if they survive the deaths of their animal forms. Hours later, they notice some ridders on the coast, a Malazan messenger and his guards. The two Bridgeburners comunicate through glances, one touch I like with this is how Kalam's messages, while clear, are in Fiddler's pattern of speech, as we're in his head.
I'll note the likely importance of whatever this messenger is hoping to convey, but not speculate as there's nothing to speculate about. Also, Blue Moranth are apparently a thing (although they may have received a passing mention in GotM, now that I think on it) and the route that Fiddler internaly lays out gives us a rough idea of some of the geography of this world. Crokus attempts to make small talk, giving the audience a peek into the Bridgeburner's last time on 7C. The time when Kalam and Quick Ben were on the opposing side, the T'lan Imass marched for the Emporor, and somehow, the two were folded into the Bridgeburners themselves. I'll also note the mention of the "Seven Holy Falah'dan" for later. Fiddler demands the boy be quiet, as "all wars are ugly, but that one was uglier than most." Kalam himself only revealed these details while drunk.
Crokus, thwarted from one line of communication, demands that the BBs explain why they're passing almost completely through the wrong continent on their way home. They explain that they intend to assassinate Empress Laseen. Apsalar takes to this well, muscle memory brining an old smirk of Sorry's to the forefront all the while. She remembers that Kalam himself was a master assassin, high ranking within both his time under a Falah'dan and in the Claw, and is thus confident in his skills. For whatever reason, their plans and preparations begin in 7C with the rebellion. Whatever it is they intend to do here is in accordance with Quick Ben's (who can apparently just warp wherever) scheme he was cooking up at the close of GotM. For the sake of Darujhistan, Crokus agrees to the plot; and so we leave them as they land upon the coast.
Well this has been one heck of a setup! Expanding the world while still being constrained to what's been referenced before. Shapeshifters are racing an immortal amnesiac down the Path of Hands, rebellion is closer than ever, and our good old Bridgeburners are scheming to take the Empire down from the head. I, for one, cannot wait to see how it all unfolds!

I (26f) am in charge of the bar of a hotel that also has a fine dining restaurant right next door. Both places have terraces that look similar but are entirely separate etablissments with different staff and computer systems etc.
Today a man walks in while I am doing the last round and asks me: Sorry do you have the keys? Me: The keys?? (In the middle of bringing drinks to my terrace) Guest: For the terrace (referring to the restaurant terrace) it's locked. We are a group of 19 and your co-worker said we could sit there for drinks.
At this point I am super confused because the restaurant including their terrace has been closed for almost 2h now and I know all the restaurant staff has either left or is having a closing drink in the back office. They also know I am alone at night and would never just send me a group of 19. But who knows maybe it was someone from the reception or another random co-worker, it's a big hotel after all. So I let him know I will double check with my coworkers but it is very unlikely that they can stay because I simply do not have the capacity. Half my bar was already set up for breakfast since we are completely booked out for the weekend and the other half was already taken by other guests. I double check with the staff that is still there, obviously no one told them they could reopen the restaurant for them because that would be absolutely ludicrous. So I decide to send the group away politely since there is simply no space for them.
Couldn't even finish my sentence before the Guest started talking over me getting louder and louder, suddenly becoming somewhat aggressive and angry. Usually I would say I can deal with these situations relatively well but I don't know what happened today, maybe it was exhaustion from being 8h into a shift on an unforgivingly hot and busy day, but I completely flew into a panic. Had a massive adrenaline rush while he kept berating me until his wife finally pulled him away from me. I was violently shaking and almost threw up into my bar sink. But I had mojitos to make for my terrace and so I toughened up and continued but the nausea stayed and I was fighting back tears which was very visible to the other guests.
It's my first time being in charge of a bar like this, having the last word on things and while I love it it's also a lot on days like today. I look very youg which definitely doesn't help me being taken seriously by drunk older people...
I guess I am looking for people who can relate to rough days like that, maybe offer their experiences or advice how to deal with these kind of situations. I am super embarrassed about how I handled the situation, but on the other hand I really wouldn't know what to do differently.

I just started learning Spanish. Like JUST started. Like I’m on the third lesson of the first unit of Duolingo. From looking online, one of the big tips for learning languages well seems to be to read at or slightly above your current level. Does anyone know any good books, articles, or other reads that would be good for someone at my level? Am willing to spend a bit of money if necessary.

I'm a big sucker for family drama and tragedy stories. I recently read "We Now Return to Regular Life" and "A List of Cages" and enjoyed both.
I'm looking for similar books with subjects like abuse, kidnapping, illness, etc in relation to kids/teens because I like to make my heart hurt.
I'm 21 so preferably books in the young adult/adult category
Please give me recommendations!

The Iconoclast was very different on the inside than it was on the outside. The outside was painted a dark, rusty red and kept simple to help blend into the void of space. It was large, sure, about a kilometer and a half long, but it was also bulky in a sleek way, two words that shouldn't have fit together but did in this case. The ship had a lot in common with those of tilfish design; substantial in tonnage for its purpose but still practical and efficient. But it was also clearly pieced together from several salvaged tilfish ships by humans, making it thinner and and more predatory in nature than what you'd normally see constructed by the aquatic insectoids.
The inside, however, well that was a different story. It was a warm orange color throughout, and filled to the brim with things you wouldn't expect to see inside of a warship. The first place she saw just down the hall when she entered the ship was the dining hall. The dining hall was actually more like a very large dining room, with dozens of wide circular tables that were bolted to the floor surrounded by elegant dining chairs. Two red vintage soda machines sat side-by-side next to a series of glass-door fridges containing all sorts of drinks from soda to bottled water. A buffet was to the far side of the hall, next to a pair of push doors leading to the kitchen. A few dozen members of the crew were already seated, most of them being Arxur and Humans, although she spotted a few Gojids and Harchens in the mix. Babushka Polina hobbled past them back to the kitchen while mumbling about something, a Venlil wearing an apron opening the doors to the kitchen for her before following her inside.
Everybody was chatting and socializing, dinner apparently not having been served yet. She preened her feathers nervously, scared of what would be served. Even if it wasn't a sentient, the idea of these predators tearing apart a live animal terrified her. She didn't want to be here to observe their eating practices, even if she had seen some outliers. Would they even serve anything other than meat? Sure, Song Lui had served her vegetables, but these people were very different; they had different accents, skin tones, names, clothing, and probably a different culture. She couldn't assume they would act the same as Song Lui, as it would be both foolish and unbecoming of her.
She felt Sargen's clawed paw squeeze her shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort her. "Whatever you think is going to happen, it wont. Just sit down and relax, and I promise I'll be right next to you."
Silijima took a deep breath in the vain attempt to calm down. "What will they be serving," Silijima hissed, the panic in her voice readily apparent. "I don't want to be eating meat from some carcass like a predator. I know that the predators on this ship won't eat me, but that still doesn't change the fact that they eat like predators."
Sargen just chuckled. "You really don't have a clue. Let's just go sit down, I'll introduce you to some of my coworkers before Igor gives his speech and Babushka announces the beginning of the feast."
Silijima fidgeted but relented, allowing Sargen to steer her into the dining hall and to a table with a few crew members along with a tall, white bottle containing some kind of potent and clear liquid; alcohol maybe? Their presence didn't ground her at all, rather it only made her even more anxious, but she pulled herself together and shooed Sargen away before sitting down. The largest of the humans, practically a giant in size and only a few inches shorter than Tarlim himself, looked at her and she nearly jumped out of her feathers. He was young, but still mature enough to seem jaded, and he had a mop of messy black hair that covered his dark hazel eyes. His lip was scarred, and his neck had a few nasty scars as well that reached down under his loose t-shirt and onto his chest. He was muscular and toned, reminding Silijima of a tree trunk you'd find on her homeworld, and his arms were the size of bridge cables. He was sitting in a larger chair than usual, probably because any normal chair would've seemed comically small in comparison, and probably break under his weight.
"Who's your little friend, Sargen? Is she the new blood?"
Sargen nodded. "That she is. This is Silijima, our newest hull engineer and weapons maintenance coordinator." Sargen gestured to the truly massive human gently. "Silijima, this is Haran, also known as Goliath. He's one of our assault specialists and heavy gunners."
Silijima waved meekly, and Haran nodded. "She doesn't seem too confident. Lucky for us she isn't a grunt."
Sargen scowled at Haran, obviously not happy with how he spoke about Silijima. Silijima, on the other hand, wasn't too offended; she understood she wasn't exactly confident even if she was a trained soldier.
"Haran, please try to show some respect; she's our newest crew member."
Haran shrugged. "I didn't mean to offend, just pointing out that she doesn't exactly have nerves of steel."
"No, no; it's fine," Silijima interjected. "Don't worry about it, Sargen, I know what he means." And she did. She wasn't brave at all, or at least she didn't think she was brave. Sure, she had fought before, but she was just an engineer. Her combat experience was limited to assisting the ship guard in defending the more vulnerable parts of the ship. It wasn't her job to go out of her way to be face to face with predators, and thus she wasn't used to it. In fact, that was one of the reasons why she was able to last so long inside civilian society after her temporary discharge; most of her fellow soldiers were desensitized to predator glares, a surefire symptom of predator disease, while she was merely capable of reacting in time to not be gutted by an Arxur.
Haran simply nodded. Next to him was a tall, youthful and pale-skinned human with brown hair and green eyes. He gave Silijima a friendly human snarl and a small wave. "It's good to meet you, hun, I'm Timothy."
Silijima imitated him, waving her wings nervously. "It's nice to meet you too, Timothy. What's your role on the ship?"
Timothy chuckled for a moment before responding. "Oh, me? My job's pretty boring. I'm just the quartermaster, essentially the guy who manages the ship's stores and assigns rooms."
Sargen nodded behind her. "Timothy's a good man; he helped me through some hard times and he still does from time to time."
"Yep, I try to help everyone on the ship when I can; Sargen is just special to me because he's one of my close friends." Timothy then turned his attention to Sargen, who seemed to shrink under his carefree gaze. "That reminds me, Sargen, you missed dinner last night. What's that all about?"
"I… something came up." The enormous Gojid stuttered, obviously nervous.
"Oh really? Well, we have a few days before our next assignment. You should come over tonight."
Sargen didn't seem too amused by that idea. "Timothy, you don't have to invite me over every week."
"Oh, but we do," Timothy countered. "Sargen, when you're at home on the station you subsist off of takeout and whatever junk food you pick up at the insta-mart. Me and Madison want to make sure you eat at least one healthy meal every week."
Sargen grumbled for a moment, but didn't resist causing Timothy's smile to only grow. "Good, I'll expect you to be there. Siijima ,hun, you're invited too if you want to join us. We don't serve meat at the table when our crew members join us for dinner, I promise."
Timothy's kindness shocked Silijima. Inviting someone over for dinner on Nishtal was only done for business or if the individuals in question were good friends. For Timothy to invite Silijima, a relative stranger, over for dinner showed that he truly saw her as a potential friend. "I would be honored, but I wouldn't want to intrude on whatever… this is."
Haran snorted in amusement at Silijima's synopsis of the odd relationship between Timothy and Sargen, obviously having experienced this conversation beforehand.
"Nonsense," Timothy replied, "We always make extra, and any friend of Sargen's is a friend of ours."
Silijima didn't say anything in return, but Sargen spoke in her place. "Timothy, let's just get through lunch before you start inviting people to dinner."
Timothy shrugged, a smile on his face. "I understand. Just make sure you come tonight; Gabbie misses her Goji."
Silijima had never seen a Gojid blush so deeply before. "Please don't use that name in public, it's degrading."
Timothy made a face that implied he obviously wasn't going to respect Sargen's request, causing the Gojid to fume.
To the right of Timothy was a Venlil female. She didn't wear anything except for a simple pearl necklace, but her fur was meticulously combed and groomed. She gave Silijima a soft, motherly smile, a smile that put her at ease.
"Don't mind the boys, dear, they're just acting like fools as usual. My name's Varka, one of the resident nurses under Dr. Kaczemeric." Venlil stuck out her paw, and Silijima was confused until she remembered to take Varka's hand. Varka simply giggled, obviously amused by Silijima not being used to human social norms. "It's nice to meet you too, dear. Why don't you sit down next to me? Carphano and I are probably less intimidating than our human friends."
Varka gestured to the final crew member at the table, a male Harchen with a scar across his face. He waved as well, his side facing eyes droopy and full, as if he hadn't had much sleep recently. "My name's Carphano, communications officer, nice to meet you."
Silijima sat in between them, the feeling of being amongst a group of species she was familiar with making her feel much more comfortable. Sargen and Timothy were still arguing quietly, while Haran watched with an amused look on his face. Suddenly, she heard the loud and repeated clinking of a spoon against a glass. Across the dining room, Igor stood on a podium made from inlaid mahogany, a bright snarling smile plastered on his face. "Friends! Today is a good day! In the past week, we made history!"
The entire dining hall went silent at the sound of his voice. This must be a man that commanded their respect.
"Five days ago, we returned from what may just be the greatest group liberation in Commonwealth history. Thirty two cruiser-class cattle ships were captured, their prisoners saved and their guards captured or killed. Today, the Coalition has finally given us the exact number of cattle liberated, as well as our cut of the spoils!"
The entire dining hall was dead silent, the anticipation palpable. Finally, Igor gestured to a man next to him, a shorter human with a thin brown mustache and olive skin. The man passed him a paper, which Igor opened like a giddy child receiving a birthday card. Finally, he read the contents, his snarl only growing.
"The final number of liberated cattle was… one hundred and twenty-two thousand, three hundred and seventy four; the largest liberation in history."
The entire room broke into cheers, aliens of all races holding each other and yelling. It was pandemonium, but Silijima couldn't help but join the crowd, both the news and her herd instincts causing her to join in with triumphant squawks. The idea of saving over a hundred thousand sentients from slavery was so incredible that it invoked a euphoria inside of her that she hadn't felt for a long time.
Igor gestured for the crowd to quiet down, and as they did so he spoke up again. "We must remember, however, that this was not only our doing. We must congratulate our comrades who assisted us, all seven ships, their crews and captains, as well as mourn those who were lost while fighting for the freedom of others." With that statement, Igor held up a small glass of the clear liquid, as did many of the crew members. Then, he shouted at the top of his lungs "mortem tyrannis et oppressoribus!" Before downing the liquid in a few gulps and slamming the glass onto the podium with a loud thump. The rest of the crew followed suit, the largest arxur to the tiniest dossur drinking and shouting the motto Igor had proclaimed. Silijima didn't have a glass, so she just watched expectantly, waiting for Igor to continue.
"Now, for the part all of you have been waiting for; payroll. Even after the Coalition took their cut, and we split the profit eight ways, we made out like bandits. Needless to say, you'll all be getting the maximum bonus on top of your commissions."
More cheering, even louder this time. Silijima didn't blame them; Igor seemed like a good boss if he was giving out the maximum bonus for a job well done. Even Sargen had a bright smile on his face, as if he was already planning on what he was going to spend the money on.
"And finally, our future work; we won't be taking part in any liberation fleets any time soon. Instead, the Coalition sees fit to assign us on a defensive rotation, so it should be a calm few weeks. This means that if you've been on a few back to back missions, you should go home and rest for the month. Spend time with your family, or vacation planetside for all I care; God knows you all need it after our last victory. The rest of you; be prepared to take off on Friday and be space-born for at least a week at a time. And be prepared for a fight; NeoSec has detected a small Farsul fleet in the area, at least five thousand ships. Nothing cataclysmic, mind you, but still a worthy challenge."
There was murmuring now, people discussing the change of pace and whether they liked it or not. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sargen practically pouting, arms crossed and eyes refusing to make contact with Timothy's. Timothy, to his credit, seemed very pleased with himself.
"So hun, what brings you to our little slice of chaos?" Asked Timothy, eyes twinkling. He took another sip of his drink, a bottle of soda so green it almost looked radioactive. He seemed really nice, like a preacher, but without any of the feelings of hesitation she'd get from speaking to one. He lightly tapped the wedding band on his ring finger against the neck of the green glass bottle, causing it to make light clicking noises.
"I uhh… I wanted to get away from Nishtal. Too much is going on there for me to be comfortable with."
Timothy nodded. "That explains why you came to the Commonwealth, but not why you decided to become a Corsair. It's not an easy life, you know."
Silijima pondered his query for a second before responding. "Military life is all I know. When I finished secondary school I joined the navy because I had nothing better to do, but now that I'm out I can't imagine any other life. Sure, it's hard, and especially dangerous, but without that certainty and structure that I get from being on a warship, I feel lost."
Timothy nodded, his face becoming a little somber. "I understand that feeling. I'm ex-military, although I didn't see much combat. Getting out is the hardest thing I've ever done, although I'm pretty sure I never really left the service, I just changed who I served."
Silijima nodded. "It's refreshing to talk to someone who understands. That life… it changes you, and not for the better. Everyone at home, well, they're scared of me, they say I'm diseased and it's a matter of time before they throw me into some clinic where they drug and shock me until my brain melts. Even the people I served with, if they weren't already taken away for 'treatment' then they're too terrified to say anything because we don't know who we can trust."
For the first time since she had met him, Timothy didn't seem amused or amicable. He had a deep frown on his face and his eyebrows were bent downwards, an expression she had been told meant anger. She backed away a little, but he held up his hand. "I'm not mad at you, it's just the idea of an entire society treating those who risk their lives to protect them like dirt is despicable. On earth, we celebrate our heroes, not vilify them."
Silijima nodded. "In a perfect world maybe, but I'm used to it."
"But that's the problem; you shouldn't have had to live like that, in fear of the same people you swore to protect… it's not right."
"Maybe, but what's done is done. I left Nishtal and now I'm here, so maybe I can experience that respect for once."
"You don't have to hope, because I know you will. The people here are different, even the former feds, you'll see."
And with that uplifting though, dinner began. Polina and her assistants, two Venlil and a Sikvit, rolled out massive wheeled tables filled to the brim with different steaming pots, pans and bowls containing all kinds of food. To her dismay, there was meat on the table, but there was also a section entirely dedicated to vegetarian dishes, and it was even longer than the table dedicated to meat.
Some of the naval staff ran up to help, with Polina shooing them away stubbornly. They simply ignored her and helped anyway, rolling the tables to the far wall next to the kitchen. Soon, a massive feast was gathered, with over two dozen tables of all sorts of human delicacies.
The crew quickly made their way to the tables, forming lines at each. Plates, bowls and cups were passed out by the kitchen staff, and soon people began piling their plates high with all sorts of food. Sargen had two whole bowls of what seemed to be a deep red colored stew, which she first foolishly assumed was blood, but quickly realized was just the liquid taking on the red color of the beets and cabbage. Timothy had a bowl of hearty cabbage stew that she had learned was called Schi and a shallow plate of small, ear-shaped dumplings on the side called Pelmeni, swimming in a fragrant broth and topped with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of black pepper. There were other dishes, so many that Silijima couldn't count them all, but she was introduced to many of them by Timothy when he led her up there to get her a plate. There was all sorts of vegetarian dishes for her to try, ranging from cold soups like Svekolnik, Okroshka and Botvinyah, all sorts of salads with based on salted pickles and beetroots, several variations of hot soups like Schi and Borscht, Vareniki dumplings, farmers cheese shaped into cakes and shallow fried and so much more. Timothy insisted on making sure she got her fill, so he made her plate for her, filling her a bowl of Svekolnik and some Vareniki dumplings on the side with Smetana and black pepper. Only then did he let her sit down, after he quickly said grace, of course. Silijima didn't know what saying grace meant exactly, but she guessed that it involved them thanking their strange human God for their food, which felt anything but predatory.
Timothy took a bite of his Pelmeni. "So, how're you liking the station so far? Anything peak your interest?"
Silijima chuckled. "Everything, actually. This place is so unique and alien compared to anything in the Federation; it makes me think about what my species would be like if the Federation hadn't erased our old culture."
Timothy gave her a small smile, but she could tell he was troubled. "And you don't mourn for that lost culture?"
Silijima paused, thinking about his question. "I suppose I do sometimes. The idea of us being freer and less… inane with our thinking really strikes me as a wonderful change of pace. I could never see myself as an omnivore… no offense!"
But Timothy wasn't offended. "I don't blame you for not suddenly being enamored with omnivore; the same happened with cloned meat on earth. A bunch of elites tried to make cloned meat the rule and not the exception through all sorts of government restrictions and subsidization schemes. All these rich influencers and wealthy magnates who can still afford to buy the real thing, and still do to this day mind you, told us how we were supposed to live and what we were supposed to do, that we were supposed to sacrifice while they enjoyed every luxury imaginable. To this day it doesn't sit well with a lot of people on the station."
Suddenly, Silijima's mouth dried up and her appetite disappeared. "You guys don't clone meat here?"
Timothy shook his head. "Nope, not a single pound. In fact, it's been lawfully and democratically voted into illegality by the citizens of the station, to protect our cattle farmers planetside. Most humans on earth aren't vegan and vegetarian by choice; it's really expensive to buy meat because of meat cloning, and that was before the war and the deals with the Arxur. Now you have to be vegan because of the massive decrease in available cattle. That doesn't stop the rich from eating their fill though."
Silijima looked away, internal disgust battling moral indecision. On one hand, the idea of eating love cattle was far more disgusting to her than cloned meat, but on the other hand she understood his metaphor clear as day; it was about the Commonwealth and the Federation. "You support cattle farming not because it's better, but because it benefits humans more."
"It's not about 'you' or 'me', Silijima, it's about 'us' and 'them'. At the end of the day, a government is supposed to represent everyone and see to their requests, not what the government thinks they need or want. That also means everyone should be equal under that representation, and not that the rich and wealthy should receive all the attention and benefits while the lives of you and I get harder and harder. Sadly, people had to learn the hard way that when you give governments the right and the power to provide you with everything, suddenly they provide you with nothing. Medical care, for example, started out as a right after the satellite wars. It quickly became a privilege for the 'good citizens' who voted the right way, and said the right things, and if you didn't suddenly you got a bill in the mail for hundreds of thousands of dollars for your daughter's chemotherapy, stating that you had waived your right to state-sponsored medical care the moment you chose to practice your right to free speech in a way that was deemed unsavory by the UN." Timothy looked straight at her, his eyes boring into her soul, and she quickly realized that he was speaking from experience.
"What are you getting at," Silijima stated hastily, nervous over Timothy's sudden change in tone.
"What I'm getting at, Silijima," he stated, his eyes downcast as he ate another dumpling, "Is that rights shouldn't come with caveats. Just like you shouldn't be punished for coming back a changed woman after you dutifully served your people, I shouldn't have my daughter used against me for practicing what should be a universal right. Unchecked power is a cancer, and the Commonwealth was created to prevent that from ever coming into being."
Silijima mulled over what he said. Would humans really do that to each other in the name of power? Deprive each other of basic rights? Silijima was used to the Federation deceiving her people, but what punches had humanity pulled in the name of retaining power.
"Timothy, if I may ask, what is humanity really like?"
Timothy chuckled. "What made you think I implied we were any different from what the UN had shown you?"
"The reveal of my species' former omnivory, and your statement about caveats and free speech. You made it sound like humanity was hiding something."
Timothy sighed, obviously weary. "It isn't humanity that's hiding anything, Silijima; it's the UN. They want you to think that they were all these wonderful, misunderstood balls of cloud fluff. In reality we're assholes. We hate each other with a passion and we're not afraid to show it. War, racism, misogyny and misandry, prejudice; we'll find a way to hate each other even if it's impractical because we need some great enemy to battle or otherwise we'll start asking questions, questions that will be of a detriment to the UN. The rich and powerful used this for a long time to make us forget we were fighting a class war and not a culture war. They made us enemies of each other because of how strong our convictions could be."
Silijima's heart sank. She had guessed as much.
But Timothy wasn't done. "Before you start judging us too harshly, I'd like to add that the pendulum swings both ways. Humans, we often hate each other, but we can be even more passionate. We love, we love, and we protect those who dedicate themselves to our cause with a fury like no other. And even though we have problems with race, we are equally able to see beyond it when the reality of how petty it is is presented to us. And to me, Silijima, you aren't a Krakotl; you're family, and there's no bond stronger than family."
Silijima considered whether she liked that or not. Then she realized that her standards had been far surpassed. These strange primates had been everything she hoped for and more. She figured she could pull a human and looked past race from now on.
"I'd like that," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'd like that very much."
Timothy smiled again, that bright, mischievous smile, and for once she wasn't alarmed or frightened. She was comforted. "I'm glad you do. But there's something else I wanted to tell you. There's a city from my old nation, and at the entrance of that city stands a great statue. Most of it was obliterated during the bombing, but one piece remained; the plaque. It read as followed;"
Then Timothy spoke poetry that reached into Silijima's soul, and her tears became unbearable. She cried as he spoke it, as if they were the words she wished to hear all her life, a promise that could set her free.
"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”"
"We took the plaque with us when we fled, I helped carry it myself," Timothy said, a shadow of a smile formed on his lips, as if he was reminiscing the moment, "they're still demanding it back to this day, which is why we welded it to the wall behind the seats of our council chambers; the UN doesn't deserve it back, they lost the right to speak those words long ago. But the message is universal; you are welcome here, as is your family, and you will not be silenced or suppressed. We want you at your best, and we are willing to deal with your worst. All we ask is that you have an open mind, and do the same for us."
Silijima nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. "I can do that."
Timothy's smile grew even brighter, and he wrapped his arm around Sargen's shoulder, pulling him in close. "Then I'm sure me and my family would gladly welcome you, isn't that right Sargen?"
"Hmmmkmfh?" Sargen said, confused and with his mouth full of borscht. Silijima laughed, and for the first time in years the stress that had built up in her chest was gone. She was free. She was where she belonged.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I'm back. This is officially the end of the first Gunbirb Saga. I won't be focusing on Silijima for a while because I'll be focusing on other places, and other topics. The Galaxy of Interloper is even bigger than the standard NOP galaxy, and I've got so much to show you (;
I posted the first chapter of the next Part prematurely: that was a mistake on my part but I was dying to write more about Dojur and his consolidation of power. The next five or so chapters will be of a very different tone than the first five, much darker but also filled to the brim with Arxur and Dominion worldbuilding about culture, religion and daily life.
If you like what I've written so far, and you like my terrible writing and my inane worldbuilding, go check out other stories that I've written:
Waking Dreams: An insane pokemon/bleach crossover, and my first real attempt at writing something. It's a long story that's nowhere near finished, and it's got the deep worldbuilding that I'm not really known for [:
The Spider's Stronghold: Another insane fanfic crossover between Pathfinder and PJO, primarily Jason-centric. Take that as you will.
I also just wanted to thank everyone who either helped with this story or gave me support in the form of art (That would be u/BushBacon69 ) Or simply taking the time to comment ( u/A_Tank_With_Internet, u/AcceptableEgg5560, u/bltsrgewd, u/WonderfulMagpie, u/se05239, and others.) Thank you all; without the motivation you all have given me, I wouldn't have finished this fic.

(Warning this is quite long and verbose sorry!)
Hello,
I have been a lurker on this board and elsewhere for roughly a year and a bit now, I had another account but I forgot the password to it, so I'm having to post on a new one.
Basically I've decided to formally post some of what my interactions / "experiences" have been, with what I believe to be something quite extraordinary and likely non-human. Some of you may find that what I will describe tracks with your own experiences, and I think there at that intersection is where some of the most compelling andecotes can be found and shared.
I had for a long time decided against sharing my experiences on a permanent forum like Reddit (I have shared elsewhere before) but recent news events, as well as a perceived change in how people treat the subject, has made me reconsider this position. I want to preface this by saying quite firmly that I have experienced more than most of the population, but significantly less than some of the population, particularly those of you who are regulars here on this subreddit, so it will seem very tame to some of you. I am entirely earnest in what I will describe and nothing has been embellished or overstated.
_________________

1.

So I will just segway from that lengthy introductory preface into the meat of it: my first conscious interaction with a strange craft exhibiting non-standard characteristics, and displaying signs of self-aware conscious attention, happened roughly twelve years ago (2011). At this time I was going through some turbulent periods in my own life and I frequently enjoyed walking around my town at night to just get outdoors. I lived in an urban area and it was usually somewhat busy. This night, I decided to walk around at 1am and I took my flashlight with me. During this walk, I noticed for the first time that there was scaffolding erected on an old bank building, and this bank had been explored in years past by urbex folks, who had taken good photos of the views on it, and I thought suddenly, "why not climb it now for myself?" So I did. I climbed this building via its scaffolding at 1am at night in the cold somewhat rainy wind, and found myself at the top. I could look down at the people below and see new interesting sights of my town I had not seen before, as well as being able to look down into the bank itself, which had a huge Victorian-era glass dome on top of it framed in lovely wrought iron. I thought this was great, and I noticed that up here I could see nice views of the night sky. So after looking around for a while, I decide to lay down on my back and look at the night sky. I do this for about 10 minutes, just looking, while I listen to the people below and around me on the street going about their drunk business (it was a night that people went out to socialize, I can't remember exactly which day it may have been a Friday). I then try to go to sleep and I close my eyes. I can't remember how long I was in that state for. I think it was maybe 30 minutes. When I open my eyes, I noticed that there was a strange white bright light in the sky, like a bright white LED dot just hanging the sky. It was somehow immediately obvious to me that this was not a star. I noticed that it was moving in a circular pattern: clockwise, then anti-clockwise, then stopping, then moving up and down, and left and right, and then clockwise anti-clockwise again (for example). I thought: that's extremely strange. So I think, just for a lark, why not flash my flashlight at it? So I do. I flash a pattern at it. Flash! Flash flash -- pause -- flash flash (for example). It was like morse code, except it wasn't morse code because I didn't know morse code. Then it flashed the same pattern I flashed at it, back at me! I was amazed but not scared or gobsmacked. It was just like a "huh." moment. So I end up spending another 30 minutes playing essentially "Simon Says" flashlight games with this thing in the sky. Every pattern I flash, it flashed back. After flashing a pattern, or during times I wasn't flashing a pattern, it would start the movement routine again: clockwise, anti-clockwise, up, down, etc. and it would stop when it was time to flash. So eventually I have my fill of this amazing experience and decide that it's time to leave. I climb back down the scaffolding. I try to rationalize what I just went through: I have thought about this a lot. At the time I don't know what I thought. At the time though I just thought... that it was a nice strange experience. It was vaguely spiritual. In 2011 I didn't have a good phone. I hadn't gotten a smartphone yet. The camera on my phone was awful and it could only do SMS and calls and play Snake. So no sorry I do not have footage of it. And then for five, six years that was it.

2.

2016: I see strange white orb-shaped objects fly over rooftops in my neighbourhood, as I was on the top landing of my house looking out of the top landing window. There were two. They were extremely bright objects. They looked almost exactly like burning magnesium, if you ever had a science class where the teacher burned magnesium strips, they looked almost exactly like that, except less bright and it did not hurt my eyes to look directly at it. These objects flew calmy like leaves on water over the buildings. I tried to look at them for as long as I could until they were no longer in sight. I did not want to get my phone out for fear I would stop seeing them at any time. Smooth motion in-flight. They moved kind of like fireflies: no straight lines like jet planes or prop planes. Kind of like a weaving sort of motion. Then, a few months later after this, I see the same sighting again, from the same vantage spot that I was in the last time, flying the same path over the rooftops. So I know it was not some one-off weather event or something like that: this was intentional. This time I think there were 3. At this point I began to know, no longer doubting at all, that I had seen anomalous objects and linked it to my experience in 2011: all of these objects looked white and were orbs. The one from 2011 did not shine quite like magnesium that these ones did, but I chalked that up to, well, I don't know -- something to do with altitude if I had to guess, because these ones were significantly lower in altitude than the one from 2011, I could tell.

3.

It started to get weird for me five years later in 2021. Inexplicably so. I just started suddenly to begin to feel and know things. That year I had begun to get deeper into the UFO / alien folklore topic (I think the NY Times vids had piqued my interest in it again). During this year I had a spritual awakening, or was on the cusp of one (I still feel like I am on the cusp, but I'm also somehow pretty much over that cusp, but still kind of feel "on the cusp", because I haven't devoted near enough energy to it -- maybe some of you will know what I mean here, sorry it's hard to explain). I was beginning to explore astral projecting, meditation, and honing my intuition somewhat, and exploring various "occult" topics (thought forms and particularly manifestation and CE-5). I was beginning to become keenly aware of evil. I started to think about concepts such as the alleged "Great Filter", which I believe exists, and I think the filter is overcoming prior evolutionary selection traits that worked in the past but now do not -- it is overcoming the need to compete; competition got us here but now it is starting to hinder us and even harm us. We need to stop competing with each other and our planet. Competition is an early evolutionary strategy that only works for animals. Once an animal has evolved past a certain threshold it must discard competition and embrace new evolutionary stratagems or else it will fail at this threshold. I started to intuitively understand concepts about life, about being human, about difficulties of human-alien contact (inter-dimensionals being a truly difficult first contact situation because for example death and pain may not exist for them even conceptually), and about possible future mankinds. About where the evolution of apes may lead. It was a strange time for me. I was able to visualize strongly in my head certain things, and I think that was a magnet. I was noticing more and more of these white orbs in the sky at night. I could make them "flash" at me by standing outside and thinking, saying in my head: "Flash! Flash! Go on, flash!" and sometimes something would flash at me from the sky. One evening I was dancing to music. I was emitting positive "vibes." I was visualizing in my head about dancing with various alien types... you know the ones probably... grey, reptillian, mantids, nordics, lyrans, big foot, etc. it's cringe but I felt like this was the means to something. Suddenly I get the impulse to look outside, and I do. I see a very bright white shining nebula star-like object (very bright orb with white light tendrils) shining at me. Then it starts to move away. It starts to move away and fade. I felt like it knew that I was looking at it. I also started to have dreams around this time. They involved aliens. Images started to appear in my mind's eye. Some quite frightening. One dream was a test, and I failed it, and I refuse to elaborate on that test. In another dream I managed to "break free" and beat on a frail grey alien-looking being, strangling it and then crying in its face and telling it that I forgave it. Some dreams involved places "I" have not been to, but remember regardless, scenes I remember, people, places, towns, views. Everything felt familiar. Incredibly complex dreams. I have a vague memory of an encounter in my home, half-forgotten, with an entity. I gave assurances mentally that I would not be scared upon a meeting, but I was scared and screamed. This memory exists almost like a dream but I am entirely sure it did happen. Saw an orange orb in my room. Felt numerous and sudden instances of inexplicable nirvanic bliss, like I was feeling pure, pure, love. This was a time of strange growth.

4.

This was a major one and the most recent (nothing since). This happened in the tail-end of 2021. I was washing dishes at 11pm at night. Suddenly and without warning I experience honest-to-God telepathy for the first time in my life. Yes, I know that telepathy exists. I know it because I experienced it, and I know that it was incredibly gentle. It was not a "voice in my head." It was more like a foreign thought that was not mine, placed into my head, with an undertone of implication that it was communication. It was like language, but bypassing all somatic and verbal components and instead the raw information contained within a linguistic system was placed inside my head: raw, pure, information. A foreign gentle thought, that I knew intuitively came from elsewhere. It did not alarm me, did not scare me, did not jilt me. I just went: "oooooh." Perhaps I am fortunate in that I experienced gentle telepathy, because I understand that some have not. The thought was essentially, to go outside and look up. So I did. This was something huge and I knew it immediately. I went outside and looked up. And I saw it. A bright white LED dot-like orb flew overhead extremely low. It was MASSIVE and moving fast. I saw it moving like a leaf on water. Just gliding soundlessly. Smooth movement through the night sky. Like a firefly, weaving and bobbing on its way east. The entire time I stood there in AWE with my mouth wide open watching it as it disappeared out of sight over the roof of buildings. I got goosebumps as I stood there still, my eyes locked onto where I last saw it. After that I thought, "well!" and went back inside and finished washing up.
_________________
And that's it. I have had nothing since. But it seems to be every five years since 2011. So I'm probably due for more around 2026 (which is close to the 2027 date being touted around certain circles). Something else I want to mention is that I saw an "alien" when I was around 10 years old at a distance. Tall, grey off-white, gangly, walking into a woodland area. Bulbous head.
So those are all my experiences. As I said, they are relatively tame compared to some of what I have read here, and I'm leaving a few things out like more dreams and such and an off-hand minor poltergeist experience, and I'm sorry it was so long, but is it not the nature of this thing that it cannot be summarized so neatly? Thank you for reading if you have read this far, and please if any of this tracks with your own experiences, comment and tell me about it. I cannot share most of this with most people because it sounds very strange to them.

Please see Thread 1 and Thread 2 for above 5k due to text limit.

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So I'm not familiar with the books or games (but am an avid fantasy reader and gamer). Ive always heard a big complaint of Cavill was that the show strayed too far from the source material. I'm on a rewatch to prep me for season 3 and just finished season 1 episode 1. The fight scene near the end as he enters the town- he parries a crossbow bolt, does some great sword techniques, does some sort of "force push" and basically carves his way through everyone. It is the only time I've noticed that the show feels like a game. This is a long way of asking is the show really that far off from the source material or am I misreading this scene? As a bonus, as a fantasy fan are the Witcher books worth reading?