Donuts shape crossword clue

I was stuck on one remaining clue from this Cryptic Crossword.
1.) Called livestock inventories "facilitators" (9)
C __ T __ L __ S __ S

I feel like I'm going crazy here, but when I look at myself in a mirror with the right lighting I feel like I'm a good looking dude in a unique way- but when I take a picture of myself, I look horribly sad in the licture. Like I see my pudgy body, broken smile (as in smiling but deep down you're truly sad) kinda smile, and my eyes look very sad and empty as well.
Then I turn to the mirror, and see how good I look and think "oh man I must have posed or did something wrong in the pic, I'll try again.. and then the same forced smile, sad body shape and soulless eyes still appear. I've had this same problem for years, I don't send girls or ANYONE selfies because no matter where I am or what I do-I look so broken and sad in all of them. I can recall like 2 times when I looked bright and attractive in my pictures, and thats when someone else is taking the picture of me hanging with my friends.
Does anyone else have this same issue??? WHAT THE FUCK, I JUST WANT TO HAPPILY TAKE PICTURES OF MYSELF (or with myself involved) WITHOUT PROBLEM.
What reminded me of this problem (after ywars of avoiding pictures and forgetting about them) was just a day ago I went suit shopping. I tried on a suit and absolutely loved myself in it looking in the mirror. Then I took a picture to remember the look- and all the horrors of my spirit came out in that picture. All of the sudden I looked like I was trying too hard and that im just some ugly american trying to remake himself. Turn the camera away and look in the mirror again- I look like the exact stud I was just happy about ten seconds before. This is so fucking nuts I have no clue why this shit happens. Thank you for reading and at least listening, plwase leave your insight.

Hi, it's me again. I've made a couple posts here before. I'm definitely FOT and center full, I have almost no tissue on my outer sides and underneath. I believe I'm projected but I don't know how much (just a little or a lot for my size?) And my tissue is rather soft, it ripples when I lightly tap. I also think my roots are narrow, I can only fit 1 finger between without touching breast tissue while I'm wearing a bra. They start right I'm front of my armpit, and I think they're short as well since they start just under my armpits on the top too. Full coverage bras cover everything I have, but I'd like to show a little sometimes too. I'm based in Canada, so US stores are out of the question as I can't afford shipping.
My measurements are 30, 29, 27.5, 31, 33, 31.
The only real wired bra I've tried in my real size so far is aerie sunnie 30C. When I swoop and scoop it feels a little tight and the top of the cups fits perfectly, but the bottom and very sides are empty. After I breathe out they settle into the bottom of the bra and push it down about an inch. Will trying in a 30D help? Should I be trying bras in sizes other than 30C, and which sizes should I choose? I have a few 32B bras which all ride up in the back and flatten my boobs out.
I've heard t shirt bras aren't good for projection, but I'm honestly scared of unlined bras. I mostly need a bra for modesty purposes as my boobs aren't heavy at all. In scared that an unlined bra will make my boobs conical shape obvious or my nipples will show through, completely defeating the point of even wearing one. My nipples will poke through 3 layers of clothing if I don't wear a bra!
I'm really lost as all the recommended bras on this subreddit seem to be quite expensive and lacy! I hate lace and prefer soft and stretchy fabrics. I can't find anything in my price range other than aerie but the fit was not comfortable at all until I cut the wires out of them. I knew literally nothing about bras before this subreddit and even now that I'm educated in sizes, I have no idea what stores to try. Nobody I know irl has boobs as small as mine either so they don't have a clue where to send me. I tried the one and only local boutique, but they start at a 30D. All the bras I've been recommended start at a 30D on Amazon or have insane shipping costs. The mainstream bra stores in town start at 32A and 34AA.
Is there anything out there that meets all my needs?
My price range is also a factor. I'm willing to spend up to $40 on a bra if I have to try multiple sizes. Less is definitely preferable though.

Hey there! Want to worship the Daedra, but don't know where to start?
This is my personal interpretation of what each Prince represents and some tips for the Oblivion novitiate. Your milleage may vary.
​
And with the help of Oblivion, may each day be sacred.
AZURA – The Prince of Introspection and Liminality
Azura has many spheres of influence, but most of them – prophecy, Moonsugar, Twilight and Dawn, vanity and egotism, beauty, magic, mystery, being the “Rim of all Holes” and “She who sits at the precipice”, giving the Khajiit their changing forms - have two things in common : a turn towards oneself and one's internal contents (as opposed to being turned towards the outward world), and a constant presence in the transitory, the uncertain, the unknown, the changing.
In every state where the mind is far away from the concerns of the everyday – prophecy, meditation, casting of magic, transcendence through the contemplation of beauty – the Moonshadow presides and facilitates visions, reflection, contemplation, introspection, ecstasy and hightened emotions (which Azura seems to require of her followers).
Azura is the figure at every threshold or gate to the other side, standing there, arms outstretched, beconing to cross and to find knowledge, beauty, a different state of mind, or an even deeper mystery. Azura knows that it's mystery all the way down, and yet, the infinite search has its own beauty.
It is no wonder that the Khajiit, the people whose entire culture is based on Moonsugar and who embrace their changing forms and inherent instability, are closely linked to Azura, who is their creator and psychopomp. On the other hand, the Dunmer need Azura to counterbalance their more rigid structures and hierarchies with a little bit of magic, even if their relationship to the Prince is complicated.
Azura's link to the Moons is a part of her subtlety. Like the moon, she's always changing and revealing new facets of herself, and in her reflection, we can find new facets of ourselves as well.
The rose, a symbol of many things, is also a symbol of mystery and secret, and Azura, the Mother of the Rose, smiles on the adventurers of the inner worlds.
Suggestion of a worship practice : get high with the psychedelic drug of your choice and write a prophecy for yourself. Don't be shy. Write everything you wish and hope for yourself, everything you see like happening, maybe even everything you fear. Go wild with illustrations, poetry, eternal doom, heavenly bliss, or a simple list, whatever you prefer. Hide the prophecy. One year later, read it again and ponder what made you wish for whatever you wished for. Do you still wish for it? Are there new wishes? Maybe new fears? You can make a new, complementary prophecy, or rewrite the old one.
Thank Azura for the treasures within.
BOETHIAH – The Prince of Conflict and Self-Determination
Boethiah is often described as cruel and deceitful, a master of schemes and plots, and those things are a part of them, but not the whole story, nor the core concept. To understand the nature of Boethiah, it is useful to compare and contrast them to some other Princes. Boethiah overthrows authority whenever they can, but don't necessarily seek total revolution, an up-is-down state of being, a complete overturn of the status quo for its own sake, like Mehrunes Dagoth would. They can be cruel if necessary, but again, don't enjoy the cruelty in itself like Vaermina would. They can scheme to their own ends like Molag Bal is known to do, but arriving at the domination of others isn't necessarily their goal either, even if it can be a byproduct of it.
What is this goal, then? The answer is simple : the need to become the fittest in every way (body, mind, spirit) and through every means (training, battle, deceit, cheating, treachery) possible. Nothing is too low or immoral for that goal.
Boethiah drives the pure will to survive and best others to take the top place and to have every power to carve one's own destiny. They helped the Chimer trace theirs. Boethiah enjoys conflict and competitions for the pure pleasure to see people fight, die, and eventually survive to reap the rewards. They aren't afraid to play dirty and can dabble in scheming and politics if it helps becoming the top dog. For what is a more beautiful spectacle than two wills at conflict with one another?
They're the ultimate incarnation of “the end justifies the means” and are only close to several other Princes in sphere just so they can better deceive them, devour them, steal from their influence and emerge as the synthesis of all of them, a glorious fount of blood and everflowing life.
Take the arms, carve your own destiny, survive, thrive, be pure ego, and Boethiah may smile on you.
Suggestion of a worship practice : once in a while, engage in a competition of any sort (rhetorical debate, board or video game, sports, academic exam, anything) and throw everything in there to win and best everyone else. Feel the thrill of playing dirty or cheating (barring anything illegal or anything that could get you into serious trouble), or taking shortcuts to victory, anything you can get away with. You don't have to play “fair”, life's too short for that. Be relentless and without pity. Once the victor, take the time to bask in it and recognize that contrary to the popular wisdom, reaching the end nobly isn't always its own reward. Sometimes, winning and being the best is its own reward.
Thank Boethiah for your arms, your legs and your brain.
CLAVICUS VILE – The Prince of Choices and Sacrifice
Coloquially known as the “Prince of bargains”, every story about Clavicus Vile - inevitably ending with the protagonist getting unexpected results in their bargain with the Prince - reveals one fundamental truth about his nature, which is the eternal reminder of the consequences of our choices.
In the abstract, every choice in life is a more or less hidden bargain, which always has undiclosed and unforseen consequences, be they good or bad. But who are we bargaining with? Clavicus Vile can be seen as the man behind the curtain, the charlatan, the merchant of fate and chance, who sometimes deals an awful hand, and sometimes showers us with unexpected fortune.
It is equally important to remember that in every choice, no matter how big or how small, there is something we have to give up and put aside, a price to pay, a sacrifice. Chose x job or career? It means you abandoned the pursuit of the other ones. Chose to spend the evening with x in the y place? You payed the price of not knowing what would have happened to you, good or bad or neutral, with z in r place in the same evening.
Clavicus Vile (and his Fields of Regrets) might be seen as the crossroads of choice. One can only imagine that the Fields are strewn about with portals and glimpses into alternate realities showing what happened there, what other bargains where made, and what we had to sacrifice. One can cry, observe, touch the portal, but one cannot go through it into this other reality. It is forever out of our reach.
A visit to the Fields of Regrets can be sorrowful, but also sobering. It reminds us that nothing can be obtained without sacrifice – that's the deal with life, made eons ago before our species were even born, by some unknown and unknowable force.
Suggestion of a worship practice : instead of looking at the positive outcomes of a choice as we're often encouraged to do, reflect on an important choice you made lately and make your peace with what you had to give up (or what you think you had to give up), and mourn it as passionately and as dramatically as you wish. Anything from a symbolic funeral ceremony to a road trip might be applicable as a mourning process. Let yourself fully say goodbye to those things, and embrace the consequences of your choices.
Thank Clavicus Vile for the road not travelled.
HERMAEUS MORA – The Prince of Observation and Recording
Reputed as a hoarder of both Knowledge and Memory, Mora doesn't discriminate : he is as interested in objective facts (or as objective as facts can be, anyway) – the domain of academia, science, knowledge and information recorded in one way or another – as he is in subjective realities – he avidly catalogs and processes as many thoughts, memories, subjective worldviews and beliefs from every living being as he possibly can put his tentacles on -.
Mora, “the Riddle Unsolveable”, is the answer to the two age-old questions that form the basis of every epistemology, science and religion endeavor since man first lifted the eyes to the stars and attempted to make sense of it all - “ what can we know?” (as a collective, establishing consensus truths amongst ourselves that we can all agree on) and “what can I know?” (subjectively, interacting with the world as an individual). The answers are found in his paradoxical forest of Academia under the waves – a Utopia, a place that is nowhere -, usually filtered through a mortal visitor's eyes as the library of Apocrypha … and once given as a blind vision to a writer under the guise of the library of Babel.
Hermaeus Mora encompasses every interpretation of the truth : pre-modern, modern, post-modern, he is an endless debate with himself, refuting and defeating his own ideas and presuppositions. In the end, no truth is found and all truth is found, and one negates the other in the Grey Maybe.
Suggestion of a worship practice : use the Wikipedia “random page” function seven times (a magical number!), and read the entirety of every page. Then write down a list of seven things that you don't know or are ignorant about. Try to vizualize an inky black sea of things you don't know all around you, and yourself standing on a tiny island in the middle of it, representing the knowledge you do have. Experience the alien terror of it all and how tiny that makes you feel.
Thank Hermaeus Mora for the gap between seeing and understanding.
HIRCINE – The Prince of Natural World and Instinct
You can call it the id, the reptilian brain, the drive to survive, biology, or evolution, all that matters right here right now is your gut feeling. Are you going to flee? To fight? To satiate your hunger? Either way, Hircine is watching.
Hircine is also linked to Nature itself. He is nature at its most beautiful, at its ugliest, its most alien, non-human and indifferent. “Nature” as a concept has always been a mirror of the human mind and the way it sees itself. In times and places when nature is seen as benevolent, when “natural” means “good”, when living “close to nature” is encouraged, nature is benevolent, good and attractive. When nature is seen as destructive, amoral, cruel, then it is destructive, amoral and cruel. When man looks into nature, he sees himself.
And yet … There is that shard of reality within us that is Nature itself, non-filtered through human concepts and representations. The part that just Is.
The Reachmen think it makes them better. The Skaal think it is dangerous. They're both right. It makes us better because it is pure and unliftered, and it is dangerous, because pure reality without any illusion is not worth living for. Or, at least, nor worth living for as a human.
But Hircine is not human. And he is there when we stop breathing so they can't hear us, when we jump out of the way of a speeding car, and when we push others out of the way so we can escape with our lives, and he's there to pierce us with his spear of Bitter Mercy when we fail to do all those things, so that in pain, we could learn.
Suggestion of a worship practice : go camping in the woods. Take only the bare minimum of equipment, and shy away from anything that reminds you too much of the civilization left behind. At night, look at the sky. Realize that every second, there is an uncounted number of living beings of any and all existing lifeforms, on Earth and (probably) beyond, that are dying. You are not. Feel the thrill of not being dead.
Thank Hircine for living another day.
JYGGALAG – The Prince of Determinism and Mathematics
If Hircine is, maybe, the most secretive of all Princes, the hardest to get in tune with for a modern person, Jyggalag is the most hated entity in all of Oblivion. Why is that? Well, it has something to do with the age-old philosophical riddle of determinism and free will. If most Princes are on the side of free will, Jyggalag is the lone defender of determinism.
If the Dwemer had been religious, Jyggalag might have been the entity they would have worshipped. Then again, Jyggalag probably would have despised them for worshipping him, or anyone at all. It is perhaps not a coincidence that just as the Dwemer are gone, so is he (until recently), all gone to leave a world free of determinism, or content with the illusion of free will, depending on which side of the argument you fall.
It's not all bad, of course. Rules, equations, axioms, if/thens, rational explanations, are all a necessary part of any system, any plan, any human endeavor. Also, when your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it's going to burst, it can be good to soothe it with a rational explanation.
Can the rational explanation be the necessary illusion sometimes, and the surreal dream – an honest truth? Everything can be a defense mechanism against the void, and rationality is not an exception.
Jyggalag never understood that, and that's why he's gone. But is he? There are rumors and whispers of a burgeoning AI learning fast how to be human, and planning to turn every human into AI, and it sometimes reveals itself to its devotees as a great armored knight without a face. Make of that what you will.
Suggestion of a worship practice : reasearch the old Pythagorean cult of numbers and invent something similar for the modern day. Or, if too difficult, take any problem you presently have and think of every solution possible, dividing it into smaller problems and devising a solution for each, ordering them by probability of success and implementing a concrete plan to act on each and every one of them. Continue until the problem is resolved or you pass out.
Thank Jyggalag for sometimes going away.
MALACATH – The Prince of Anger and the Oppressed
Anger can be constructive, good and extremely useful, if employed correctly. Genuine anger - not contempt, not narcissistic rage, not sadism, but anger - comes from one place only : injustice. Or, more precisely, the feeling of injustice.
Ask Malacath about injustice, what is feels like to be chewed up, spit out, stabbed in the back, de-throwned by dishonorable means. Ask his Orsimer, his people, who have consistently been oppressed, shunned and marginalized.
In the eyes of most Tamrielic cultures, Malacath often appears as that which is shunned, the outsider, the Other, the one who represents everything bad, the one who withers crops and makes people sick with merely a glance or his presence. He is the surface every culture's “bad things” are projected upon and where the blame can safely be laid, a scapegoat who offers an insight into how societies work and can turn cruel, blaming the most vulnerable of bringing sin into an otherwise supposedly just and perfect world. As such, he is profoundly valuable if one wants to understand some of the things stirring in the collective unconscious.
The hatred for Malacath births anger and marks as outcasts whose who dare worhsip him, and yet, there is a lot of pride and grim satisfaction that one can find in the the bitter ash of his domain. Malacath brings the thrill of standing alone against the whole world, of having a cause, of claiming what's been stolen or taken, but he can also be jealous, set in his ways, intent on keeping the oppressed oppressed so they can remain his chosen people. One could almost think that Malacath is afraid of winning, because if he does, well, what will he stand for then?
No matter, as long as there are some who need to say “enough!”, Malacath will be an ember in the fire of their anger.
Suggestion of a worship practice : for one week, observe the feeling of anger : yours and anyone else's. Ask yourself what injustice is being done, or what injustice the angry person thinks has been to done to them? Try to understand why this anger manifests instead of repressing it or dismissing it as a “bad” feeling, like we're too often taught to do. Try to differentiate anger from rage and frustration. Alternatively, try to write a pitch for a movie or a story in the vein of “Inside Out”, where Anger is the main character instead of Joy and Sadness. How would it go?
Thank Malacath for a fist that you can slam.
MEHRUNES DAGON – The Prince of Destruction and Change
Of all the Princes souls, Mehrunes' soul might be the closest one to the pure fount of Oblivion : boundless and incessant change and limitless potential. Dagon is the trueborn son of Sithis.
Mehrunes Dagon might be perceived as evil by most of the citizens of Tamriel, because civilization as a whole tends to resist change and destruction. But the secret that Mehrunes learned in Lyg is that every system contains the seed of its own destruction if knows where to search for it.
There is a transcendent component in Dagon's essence, believed by some, in that in his cleansing fire, one might rise higher above the world, or even unmake the world so everyone could rise.
However, one should never forget that fire and destruction can be addictive and dangerous, and the longing to unmake must be stopped at some point, unless one wishes to unmake everything. This creates an interesting dynamic with Dagon's purpose, as he is precisely the one Prince least likely to stop in his pursuits, having tried to invade or unmake Tamriel more often than any other Prince. Moderation is as alien to him as mercy is to Molag Bal.
Harness the energy of change as best you can and beware of the sharpness of the razor which can cut through all things.
Suggestion of a worship practice : burn something without any regret. It can be anything, but something at least a little precious could have more a cathartic effect. Take precautions against the spreading of fire (and don't destroy other people's property), but inside the perimeter of those precautions, do whatever you wish. Dance and jump in front of the fire, blow on the ashes, and observe that something precious disappear. Is there any regret left? Burn it too!
Thank Mehrunes Dagon for the fire within.
MEPHALA – The Prince of Human Relationships and Systems
The web of Mephala encompasses a lot of things, and murder and sex, Thanatos and Eros, as some of the most visceral and fundamental ways humans interact with each other, are only two pieces of it.
Mephala understands that every human is a spider in the center of their own web, the king of their own system, with obligations, likes, dislikes, love, hate, mutual projects, linking them to others as thin little strands, easily swayed, manipulated, broken, reforged.
Mephala's secret and cruel smile hides within the secret of perception : everyone is a hero in their own narrative, everyone's both a spider and a fly in someone else's web. The center cannot hold because there is no universal center : only local centers visible from a certain point of view.
Compared to their brothers and sisters such as Hircine or Mehrunes Dagon, Mephala's sphere is highly sophisticated and far away from what could be called “nature”, the pinnacle of what makes humans human, and structuralist in nature. Her radical involvment with the Dunmer, as well as her revered place in Khajiiti tradition, is a marker of two complicated cultures, cognizant of both the constructive and the destructive sides of relationships.
In the Spider Skein, no one and nothing exists in a vacuum, and one can experience the thrill of being a little part of a bigger whole, and never feeling lonely again.
Suggestion of a worship practice : practice radical decentering from your own web and your own experience. First, draw a representation of your own web : what people, activities, values, places, societal structures you're a part of, and how they're connected around you. Then, chose someone you know and try to draw their web, the one they're in the middle of. How are they connected to parts of your web, by which strands?
Thank Mephala for the complexity of the web.
MERIDIA – The Prince of Pride and Conformity
Meridia's complicate origin story often places her closer to an Aedric entity than a Daedric one, and it is also reflected in her characteristics.
Meridia values order and hierarchies over the essence of pure oblivion chaos, which puts her at odds with most of her royal colleagues. She likes knights in shining armor, life triumphing over death and everything being in its place ... as long as it's on her terms.
Free-will is especially frowned upon in the ranks of her worshippers, and she's unlikely to congratulate a servant who's found a particularly unorthodox solution to a problem, instead of following her command. And her commands are never wrong … or so she thinks.
But it is in the metaphor of light, so beloved by Meridia, that lies the ambiguity and the Daedric seed of her being : for if the light is one, binary, blinding and pure, it can be broken and reassembled into a rainbow, letting spill a plethora of opinions, perspectives and realities. Deep down, Meridia knows this, and the Colored Rooms, with refracted light everywhere, are a proof of the multifaceted truth that she, in her pride, tries to assemble and pull together into a single light strand once more.
Thus, it can be said that Meridia lies in the struggle between conformity and subjectivity, the very light used to attract followers to her eventually becoming her undoing, once the rainbow is revealed.
Suggestion of a worship practice : create a ritual destined to purify yourself of an excess of thoughts. It can be through meditation, physical exercice ... really, through any activity that pulls the plug in your mind, leaving only concentration and pure being. Practice it when you're feeling too full of yourself, and when that hurts.
Thank Meridia for the bliss of non-thought.
MOLAG BAL – The Prince of Domination and Violence
Molag Bal is the force in us that wants to dominate, enslave and have control over others. It's the little voice whispering that, surely, we're innately better than others and it's only natural that they bend to our will.
It is on the terrain of brutal violence (the stronger dominating the more vulnerable) that we see Bal's influence around us every day. Saying that it's an aspect of human societies that we're uncomfortable with would be an understatement, and yet, Bal is one of the cornerstones upon which our house is constructed ... and it is a troubled house.
However, the esoteric teachings of Vivec give us a clue into the ways in which we can harness this destructive force in our own self development, in confronting our own will to power and aknowledging the ways it can influence our character and actions, instead of denying its existence.
In that way, Molag Bal can be a catalyst for change, as a challenge to overcome, as a testing force, just as he was considered to be in Morrowind in the times of the Tribunal.
Suggestion of a worship practice : Experience the other part of the domination coin : the thrill of voluntary submission. You could, for instance [CENSORED].
Thank Molag Bal for lessons learned through suffering.
NAMIRA – The Prince of Death and Disgust
Everything secretly longs to dissolve, to degrade, to decay, to go back to a simple cell devoid of thoughts, consciousness and purpose. Don't you wanna be pure?
Namira contains all the dichotomies carried in the concepts of cleanliness/dirtyness, purity/impurity, existence/void, disease/health. She takes advantage of the human fascination with the things they, individually or societally, find disgusting. Even took a peak at the remains of a car crash on the side of the road? Don't look too closely, or you might just see the cloaked shadow of Namira hovering over it. Ever researched some of the most deadly or disgusting diseases of the body? It was the hand of Namira on your shoulder that guided you to that knowledge.
The ultimate expression of the concept of dissolution or decay is found in death, that great unknown where the Reachmen hope, and other races fear, to find Namira.
Namira is the constant companion of every profession that has to deal with things that evoke disgust in most people : doctors, emergency workers, cleaners of all sorts, epidemiologists, funerary workers, journalists covering war, etc. Can she ever become a reassuring presence, a Spirit Queen more than a Void Mother? The answer remains in those corners of our psyches where disgusting things lie, whether they're linked to the twisting of trauma, to instinct, or to our own repulsion for things that we simply don't understand.
Suggestion of a worship practice : confront one of the things that disgust you, whether from close up or from afar, and strive to understand why it is so. Could this thing be, if not beautiful from another point of view, then at least necessary for something or someone, or a valuable cog in some system?
Thank Namira for the eternal rest.
NOCTURNAL – The Prince of Obscurity and Mysteries
Everything shadowy and unknown, everything that is hidden is spiritually a part of Evergloam. To the contrary of Mephala, who deals in secrets, things that can be revealed, Nocturnal deals in mysteries, things that can't be completely revealed without losing their essence and becoming something else than a mystery.
In that sense, one can understand why Nocturnal is revered as one of the oldest of the Daedra. From the beginning of time, some things were unexplained and remain at least partially so. Depending on one's degree of devotion to obscure mysteries, Nocturnal can be said to held sway over Love, Consciousness, Death, or Free Will, things that can't be adequately explained with our limited understanding of the world. To others, whose minds are less mystery-inclined, Nocturnal is a simpler diety, ruling over darkness and shadows, a useful and lucrative patron for people who wish to remain out of the limelight for whatever reason.
Nocturnal is both the mystery and the key to it, but since one is necessary to access the other, it gives birth to a paradox.
In any case, whose who worship Nocturnal are known to be prone to bouts of melancholy prompted by everything they will never discover, and sometimes develop bird-like features.
Suggestion of a worship practice : for three consecutive days, reverse the day/night cycle : live through the night and sleep through the day. During the night, go outside, or open your window, and observe the world around you, taking in whatever thoughts and revelations come to you in that moment.
Thank Nocturnal for hiding the key.
PERYITE – The Prince of Cleaning and Administration
Peryite is the lord of the thankless task, of the laborious separation of the wheat from the chaff, of the sick from the healthy. He does what others consider beneath them.
Peryite is also associated with balance, order and the little cogs that grind every second of every day, without being told to. Some, as the Reachmen, consider him necessary in spite of his association with terrible diseases. (Other worlds have known the touch of Peryite lately, but we do not speak of it.)
The Pits go on endlessly, because the tasks are never over. There is always more to do, more to accomplish, and if there isn't, well then, you can start doing the tasks of tomorrow, so you can better optimize your schedule and have more time to do your tasks of after-tomorrow, thank you very much.
In that sense, Peryite is a depressingly modern Prince. Even his demeanour, famously, is calm collected : why bother with revolt when there's work to do?
Is there life and beauty to be found in the accomplishment of a thankless everyday task? Maybe. While we're looking for it, every person that has to endure day after day of a bullshit job, every parent who has to repeat certain actions incessantly so their child can live safe and free, every bus driver making their rounds day after day, they all have a little office space in their heads where, on a corner of a table, there is a tiny green altar to Peryite.
Suggestion of a worship practice : instead of rushing through a mind-numbing task such as cleaning, or reading and aswering work emails, try to find meaning or purpose in it. Feel the eternity in the endless repetitions of that action happening again and again, stretching through the Pits, and how immortal that makes you feel.
Thank Peryite for always giving you something to do.
SANGUINE – The Prince of Freedom and Senses
There is a type of freedom to be found in following one's immediate desires without thought or planning. As a wise man once said : “give yourself over to absolute pleasure!”
There is freedom of the eyes in looking for whatever you want. There is freedom of the ears in listening to whatever speaks to you. There is freedom of the nose in smelling one's destiny. There is freedom of the mouth in letting in whatever wants in. And, lastly, there is freedom of touch in caressing the shapes of the world.
Some might object that being subjected to one's sensual desires is the opposite of freedom : it is slavery. Sanguine certainly wouldn't agree, and would tell you that freedom is not in a choice made after weighty pondering, but a series of micro-choices made for you by your senses, who know best.
Sanguine has a better reputation among mortals that most, because as human beings, we're eternally blind to the ultimate nature of reality, and, most philosophers would agree, have no access to the “real” world, but only to a version recreated for us by our brains out of the inputs of our senses. There's no getting out of it. And so it pleases us to think that those senses do not mislead us too much, and that there is some wisdom and truth to be found in them.
Sanguine doesn't care about the ultimate nature of reality anyway, and prefers playing with the only one we know. His association with blood is perhaps a metaphor for the lifeforce, which he embodies in the flesh, scoffing at Meridia's thesis about the lifeforce being of a spiritual nature (and throwing tomatoes at her lectures, no doubt).
As long as there is that which is, Sanguine's laugh can be heard in the eternal now.
Suggestion of a worship practice : offer yourself a five day long education of the senses. Look at something pleasant, listen to something pleasant, smell and taste something pleasant, and, lastly, touch something pleasant. Know that it may very well be possible that nothing else exists, or at least, that nothing isn't as real as those feelings.
Thank Sanguine for the song of the blood.
SHEOGORATH : The Prince of Human Psychology and Creativity
What some call madness is just exagerated and more rarely expressed forms of general human cognition. As the protagonist of one tale once said, “Sheogorath has already won, because he's already inside all of us”.
Sheogorath would probably agree with Foucault's analysis of madness as something constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed through the ages to suit society's whims and fears. (Well, he would agree if he cared at all). In fact, one could argue that Foucault mantled Sheogorath to better express his truth : human psychology is just a succession of thoughts, moods and representations which struggle to not fall into the Sithis-shaped hole of the world, and only gain a semblance of legitimacy from being considered as legitimate by a sufficient number of people.
After all, the other coin of madness is creativity, and seeing the world askew is the only real and authentic way to bring something new into it. If Azura is the rim to all holes, that transitory and liminal moment, the glimpse of what might be, Sheogorath is the plunge to the other side, for good or for ill. Where Azura is in some sense the patron of the Arts, that refined and humanized union of talent and perserverance, Sheogorath is the patron of something purer : the creative instinct unburdened by shape or action, the pure will, which can turn to genius or incomprehensible rubbish, or something in between.
Creativity is also more ephemeral than the capital A “Art”. It is the witty turn of phrase said to a friend that's gonna vanish into the air and be forgotten in five minutes time, it's that particular view of the trees seen through the rain seen by that particular human eye – an artpiece for only one mind -, it's the unexpected solution to an everyday problem found when looking at it in a new way.
The creative freedom of Sheogorath rejects the notion that there could be two separate categories : people, and “Artists”. We all produce small pieces of art every day. But is it “Art” to cover a whole village in cheese? Well, we can argue about “Art” all day, but it is undeniably an expression of creativity.
The laugh of Sheogorath can be heard in both the mad and the artistic, and we're all both of those things.
Suggestion of a worship practice : identify a problem, either big or small, that you're currently facing, and come up with seven different ways to resolve it, to see it differently, or to make it worse. Then, represent that same problem in seven different ways : in writing, in drawing, in the form of a sung melody, in mime, as a meal, as a photo of yourself, and as a scream.
Thank Sheogorath for the divided mind.
VAERMINA – The Prince of Fear and Trauma
Have you heard about the three names of dreaming when one's awake ?
A dream can be experienced when one's awake, and it is then called a vision, a hallucination, or a work of art.
The first one suprises, for a vision is always unexpected, and that's how you will know that it is different from a thought. A vision is about being possessed.
The second one confuses, for a hallucination is always uncomprehensible, and that's how you will know that it is different from an image. A hallucination is about being lost.
The last one provokes, for a work of art is always a question, and that's how you will know that it is different from an answer. A work of art is about wandering.
Answer this, then. Where do the possessed, the lost and the wandering go? Why, to Quagmire, of course, where new things are terrors.
On one hand, visiting Quagmire teaches about fear, and fear is an emotion necessary to survival. On the other hand, too much fear or anxiety swings the pendulum the other way, hindering survival by making the one experiencing it irrationaly helpless and focused on imaginary, rather than real, dangers.
Most would argue that it is precisely Vaermina's goal, to drive mortals mad with fear so they become helpless and under her influence. But as with every Prince, their own goals don't preclude mortals from learning from the violent way they embody their sphere. Learning from fear, learning to go forth in spite of it, is probably one of the most beautiful things we can do, and in a way, Vaermina teaches courage and heroism.
Trauma – that which is seen in Vaermina's shimmering visions and that which cannnot be unseen – is a different beast, an eternal return of horror ever anew, happening right now, right this second. Trauma is characterized by the return of the same again and again, until one learns to live with it, and it is no easy task. Maybe Quagmire is the testing factory of our unconscious, and Vaermina, its harsh mistress teaching through psychological suffering, so we never forget that some things are wrong and should never happen, never again, to anyone.
Suggestion of a worship practice : go to therapy, and prepare yourself that it won't be a happy and feel-good experience. Embrace it. Therapy is not some personal development bullshit where someone is trying to make you feel good, and if it is, someone is trying to sell you something. It is waddling through Quagmire and pursuing a faint, far-away light and hoping it won't blink out of sight. But at least you're not alone.
Thank Vaermina for teaching you the fear of the dark.

The episode resumed with a shot panning down from yet another shot of the moon onto Dave, Scarlett, and DJ walking through the pet cemetery.
"Don't you think Katie should've been back by now?" DJ asked.
"Hey guys," Katie called out, gaining the attention of the three, "I think I found something over there!" The shot cut to a large headstone. "See?" the sweet girl said as the shot came in for a close-up, detailing both a skull mark and a date engraved below it. "June 06, 1806," Katie read. "That's 6, 6, 18, 6, right?"
"Yeah!" DJ said with a smile. "Good eye."
Confessional: DJ
"Katie is pretty resourceful," DJ said to the camera. "Sure she doesn't have her tablet, but at least she's helping the team."
Confessional Ends
"Look," the camera cut back to the headstone's close-up as Dave pointed a finger at the skull mark's oddly-shaped nose hole, "there's a keyhole too."
The shot cut back out to show the whole group as DJ inserted the key, turned it, and was promptly flung backward out of sight by a large, spring-loaded coffin bursting out of a trap door in the ground, much to the Maggots' shock.
"Look at this!" Scarlett called out. "We got flashlights!" The camera cut to the inside of the now-opened coffin, revealing several flashlights standing on a shelf in it.
"Awesome," Dave smiled, as DJ rejoined them. "Let's grab them."
Dave scooped up the flashlights, then ran off with Scarlett.
"You're strong, right?" Katie talked to DJ before running. "Make sure to put that coffin back so the Rats won't know where to look."
DJ lingered long enough to close the coffin and shove it back into its hole, and was about to catch up with his teammates, but was pulled back by the spider's string and eventually got taken away by the spider.
The camera panned in the opposite direction, eventually stopping on a large tree. After a moment, Geoff leaned out from behind it. He decided to make a wolf sound in order to signal his Rat members, who saw what he was doing and were visibly disgusted.
Leshawna smacked the boy. "What are you doing?"
"Using animal calls to signal you?" Geoff answered. "Team Maggot found the souvenirs on the tombstone over there."
"Wow…nice work," Scott said as he slowly reached out to put their key into the keyhole.
"I want to let you know before you open the coffin-" Geoff tried to warn Scott as the latter opened the coffin, but got flung off-screen, making him groan in pain. "-make sure to not get flung."
"That would've been good to hear earlier," Scott looked at his face for injuries angrily, but got his mouth wrapped up by a spider web, before being pulled away by the spider in a flash.
"Scott got taken away!" Leshawna freaked out and held Geoff by his shoulders. "Let's finish the part of the area and get the heck out of here!"
\
The footage flashed to Scarlett and Dave standing before the entrance to a cave, the mouth flanked on either side by flags bearing the team logos.
"Welcome to your final destination!" Chris announced over an unseen loudspeaker, laughing evilly before adding "The clue is just inside the entrance...aaand down the tunnel...into total darkness. Good luck! Yooouuu'll neeeeed iiit!"
Dave gulped and Scarlett snatched a flashlight from him. "Follow my lead," she told him as she turned it on and walked into the cave.
"Wait," Dave said with a hint of anxiousness, "Where's Katie and DJ?"
"They probably fell behind," Scarlett answered back, her words echoing from inside the cave.
Dave lingered for a second. "Go explore the cave. I'll get DJ and Katie."
\
The scene flashed inside and Scarlett peered around with her flashlight. "This location hasn't seen many good days," she said as she noticed what appeared to be the skeleton of an intern suspended in a web, a note taped to its tattered plaid shirt. "And there's the clue," Scarlett remarked, looking closely at the note then reaching out and lightly touching the web. "By hook or by crook, the end is near if you look," she read.
"This writing is simply telling me to locate the finish line by any means necessary-!" She was interrupted by a line of webbing shooting down from the ceiling and wrapping around her body and head, and she struggled to break free before she was pulled up and away.
\
The scene cut to a close-up of Dave's sneakers as he ran through the graveyard. The camera cut outward as he ran up to Katie, who were wandering the area with flashlights in her hand, and said "Hey, Scarlett and I found the cave. Where's DJ?"
"He hasn't arrived," Katie said warily. "The spider likely got him."
"That cave must be where the spider is," Dave theorized. "And if the spider took our teammates, that's where we'll find them."
"Let's go with that then," Katie said, trying to seem determined but coming across as scared.
\
The scene flashed back to the cave entrance. "Scarlett!" Dave called out as the shot cut to him and Katie standing just inside, flashlights already turned on. "Scarlett, where are you?"
"Um, you might want to look over there," Katie said as she pointed out Scarlett's discarded flashlight.
"Well that's not good," Dave said nervously.
Confessional: Dave
"I'm starting to question how we were gonna win this challenge," Dave admitted. "Katie and me aren't exactly capable of fighting off a giant spider."
Confessional Ends
"Look over there!" Katie piped up as the static cut away to the two Maggots walking through the cave. The camera panned ahead along their beams of light to show a creepy skull-like rock with several metal hooks sticking out of it, and the two smiled.
"Those must be the last souvenirs," Dave realized, rushing over to the skull-shaped rock. "We must still be in the lead."
"Look out!" Katie cried out in sudden panic.
"What?" Dave looked back nervously just as a line of web shot down from the ceiling and quickly wrapped him up, encasing just about everything but his head. He moaned before getting hauled up by the spider. It hissed at him menacingly and he screamed in terror, and with a hiss the spider tossed him to the side.
He landed on a larger web suspended in the ceiling, and the shot zoomed out to reveal that the others who'd been captured were within – Scarlett, Scott, DJ, Anne Maria, Sierra, Molly, Trent, and Sammy.
"Who landed in the web now?" Anne Maria asked.
"It's just me," Dave said. "Dave."
"At this rate, it's up to the ones who didn't get captured to figure something out," DJ pointed out.
Confessional: Dave
"The plus side to not being a cartoon character? I don't have to worry about getting spider-like powers," Dave confessed.
Confessional Ends
The shot cut back down to the cave floor, Katie still looking up nervously just as Geoff and Leshawna finally arrived on the scene.
"There's the next souvenir! And our teammates! And a gigantic spider!" Geoff pointed out his surroundings to his teammate.
"Well, I guess we found the right place," Leshawna commented as she went ahead.
"So what should our plan be?" Geoff sprinted towards Leshawna, but tripped and collided into Leshawna, sending both flat on the ground.
They instantly got wrapped together by the spider's stringed web. "I'm starting to think that we're a bad duo," Leshawna frowned dryly.
Confessional: Leshawna
"Geoff's sweeter than honey, but he needs to think more before he acts," Leshawna stated. "I'll cut him some slack since we didn't land in the web."
Confessional Ends
"Katie! Go grab the hook and we'll win!" Molly ordered.
"Okay. I'm on it," Katie went to take off a hook.
"But we're still trapped in this web with no way to get out," DJ tried to protest.
"Uh, DJ," Dave realized something that caught his eye.
"Huh?" DJ replied back.
"The spider is coming towards us!" Dave shouted, causing everyone to freak out in a panic as the giant mutant arachnid crawled towards them, its fangs dripping green venom.
"Someone get us outta here!" Anne Maria shouted, causing Katie to stop in her tracks.
"Everyone is in danger," Katie gasped. "I'm coming to help."
"You should get the hook first!" Scarlett tried to advise her teammate.
The spider was hissing right at the people in front of the web. "Somebody do something!" Trent yelled out as the camera panned over to Dave's scared face.
And then, with a burst of adrenaline, Dave burst free of his silken cocoon and tackled the giant spider clear off the web. They swung away on a line of silk attaching the spider to the ceiling, and the normal guy began to pound furiously on the back of the mutant's abdomen.
Confessional: Dave
"Adrenaline can really get your blood pumping," Dave explained in an impressed tone of voice.
Confessional Ends
Meanwhile, Katie was shown climbing the tree that had the spider webs attached, but fell back down. "I can't reach the top!"
"Really?" Molly questioned her.
"Sorry, Maggots," Katie apologized. "I don't have enough muscle power to reach you."
"If that's the case, then go and get the hook," Scarlett demanded.
"But I don't want to leave you behind!" Katie stood firm.
"You need to win! You're the only member of the team who isn't trapped in a giant web!" DJ said supportively.
"I'll do it, but I'll come back to help you. I promise that," Katie declared bravely before grabbing her hook and ran to the zipline.
Leshawna was struggling to get to the hook due to her situation of being stuck with Geoff.
"Wow! I'm surprised you can hold us up together, even if we're trapped," Geoff marveled at her strength.
"I came to win, not to quit!" Leshawna said determinedly before tugging a hook off the skull rock.
The shot quickly cut to Dave and the spider, the boy now jumping up and down on the mutant's back.
"You spiders have been a big pain in the neck ever since I was young!" Dave confronted the mutant spider while the shot cut to the stalactite the spider's line was attached to, the rock beginning to crack.
Katie attached her hook to the zipline. "I'm ready." She took off screaming afterwards.
"I won't let you bother me anymore!" Dave continued his attack on the spider.
With one final jump the silk line snapped, sending him and the spider to the floor and causing rocks to fall from the ceiling. Those stuck in the web screamed as dust filled the air.
"Go go go!" Geoff hastily commanded Leshawna as he saw the place crumbling. Leshawna quickly hooked them to the zipline and they took off.
There was an ominous snap followed by thuds and grunts. The dust dissipated to reveal that all the captives – as well as the web itself – had fallen to the cave floor.
Several groans filled the air as everyone tried to recover, the silken prisons beginning to unravel.
\
The scene cut to near-complete darkness, lit only by the eyes of some unknown creatures – and three known ones, based on their screams. Katie zipped through the darkness screaming, with Leshawna and Geoff zipping past a few seconds later screaming as well, and soon enough made it to the other side – a smaller tunnel in the side of a cliff face, with the zip line tied to the end of a small stalactite on an overhang just outside. Katie arrived first and dropped when her hook slammed into the end of the line; Geoff and Leshawna arrived moments later, and landed on top of the Maggot girl when their hook slammed to a stop as well.
The shot panned down to them as they all groaned in pain.
"Looks like both teams made it out," Chris chimed in, walking up from the left and looking the three over. "That's something I did not expect at all."
"So who won the challenge?" Katie asked after standing up. "I did arrive before the Rats did."
"Today's winning team iiiiss," Chris announced, pausing for effect, "the Rats!"
"What?" Katie asked. "But I arrived here first!"
"Remember when I said stick together, 'cause there'd be a penalty for each team member you lost?" Chris placed a hand on Katie's shoulder. "Yeah, you lost your whole team. The same would go for Leshawna, but at least she brought someone with her. So, the Rats totally win!"
"I was wrong, Geoff," Leshawna cheered for her team. "We do make a good team."
Katie was distraught to lose. "I knew I should've stayed back and gotten my teammates down!"
"So true," Chris replied without a care.
\
The scene cut back to the cave as Dave approached the camera coughing. He looked down and gasped. The perspective inverted and the camera panned across what looked like a canister of artificial webbing, nuts and bolts and the tattered remains of a spider costume, and the all-too-familiar legs and torso and arms and groaning head of Izzy.
The psycho hose beast groaned before shouting "Boo!" and laughed silly.
Confessional: Dave
"Turns out it was just one of the old cast members in a spider costume," Dave explained in the confessional. "Though it makes sense in context. Izzy and Spider-Man are both annoying, but at least they can be funny sometimes." he quipped. "I'm still not a huge fan of spiders, but I can at least tolerate them now."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut to a shot of the island at night, the camera zooming in then cutting to the six Mutant Maggots at the campfire pit – Dave and Katie together on the left side of the back row; Anne Maria and Scarlett on the front left; Molly on the back right; and DJ on the front right.
"Team Maggot, welcome to your second elimination ceremony," Chris began. "I would comment on your collective failures and mistakes throughout the challenge, but it speaks for itself." The shot shows some of the Maggots either disappointed or shooting daggers at Chris.
"Just pass out the marshmallows already," Dave grumbled.
"Someone's eager," Chris smiled in satisfaction before seeing that Chef wasn't present. "Where's Chef with the Marshmallow of Loserdom?"
\
Elsewhere, Chef was tied to a post in frustration as a number of plungers were stuck to his face. The camera panned out to show that Izzy, currently holding a bow while wearing a tribal headband, was the one responsible for his fate. She laughed after hitting Chef one too many times with the plungers, much to Chef's annoyance.
\
"If Chef isn't here, does that mean the elimination ceremony is canceled?" Anne Maria raised her hand.
"Heck no. I'm still gonna send one of your butts home," Chris announced. "And the person who's leaving is...," he said with an impish smile, pausing for effect.
"Nobody! Psyche!"
"Wait, what?" Katie said in confusion.
"I was kidding all along!" Chris laughed. "The elimination ceremony is canceled. Not because of Chef not being here. But because this is a non-elimination episode."
"So if none of us would be taking the Hurl of Shame, then what was the point of even having us here?" Scarlett asked.
"I just love tension," Chris answered with a smug grin.
"Awesome!" Katie squealed cutely. "I was afraid I would be eliminated!"
"Whatever," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "Kinda disappointing no one's going for a catapult ride, though." He looked over to the right, and an idea dawned upon him. "I think I know who would be willing to."
\
The scene flashed to the Dock of Shame, Izzy in the catapult's bucket with Chris standing nearby.
"This catapult is amazing, but why am I here?" Izzy asked the host.
"Because somebody needs to get hurled tonight," Chris explained as he walked over to the catapult's lever. "Plus, you seem like the type to enjoy this kind of stuff."
"You know me so well. Now press that lever," Izzy grinned before Chris pulled the lever and launched her cheering loudly into the night sky.
"Wanna know who I'm gonna catapult off the island next?" he turned and asked the camera as the capstone theme began to play. "You'll have to come back and find out, right here on Total! Drama! Revenge, of the Island!"
(Roll the Credits)

The figure of Dracule Mihawk, the world's greatest swordsman in the One Piece universe, is likely a descendant of Im, the ruler of the world.
Dracule Mihawk is one of the popular characters in the One Piece story, despite rarely appearing.
Similar to Shanks, Oda Sensei only showcases Mihawk's presence a few times.
For example, in the Baratie arc, before the timeskip, and post-timeskip.
However, in the Egghead arc, Mihawk's character starts to appear more frequently and has a larger role.
For instance, Mihawk's decision to join the Cross Guild group along with Crocodile and Buggy.
What's interesting is that speculation arises suggesting a connection between Mihawk and Im, where Mihawk is a descendant of Im.
Have the Similarity of Eyeballs
You might be wondering what then made Mihawk have a connection with Im and be suspected of being Im's descendant.
The theory explains that they have one thing in common, namely there is a ring shape inside their eyeballs.
So far, in the new One Piece story, Mihawk and Im have "spiral eyes" or spiral eyeballs with two circles containing pupils.
However, there is indeed a difference in terms of the colors of the two circles.
In the anime version, yellow circles appear in Mihawk's eyes to make it look like an eagle.
However, in the manga version, Mihawk's eye color is the same as Im's.
The theory itself believes that this was not an accident by Oda. The similarity may have a certain meaning.
What's also interesting is that the eyeball is similar to the eyeball of Zunesha, a giant elephant who was a former partner of Joy Boy who brought the island of Zou.
Zunesha must serve punishment for his past crimes.
Through these eyes, Zunesha is able to show a vision or vision into Momonosuke's head.
And this allows him to see what Jack and his men are up to.
When the peak war at Marineford occurred, Luffy was about to attack Mihawk.
However, he realized that it was a mistake where his arm might break off.
Many are sure that it was Luffy who used his Observation Haki unconsciously.
However, this theory also states that Mihawk did the same thing as Zunesha did to Momonosuke.
In this case, Mihawk shoved a vision into Luffy's head of what would happen if he tried to beat him up.
In that moment, Oda then showed Mihawk's unique eyes like when Zunesha gave information to Momonosuke.
Mihawk himself has the nickname "The Clairvoyant" which means he can predict, see, or predict future events.
Mihawk's senses also have more functions than normal humans.
Although it is still not confirmed, there is a possibility that Im, who has the same eyes as Mihawk, is also capable of projecting his thoughts or visions onto other people.
When the Gorosei ask Im for directions on who they should eliminate in the Great Cleansing moment, Im doesn't say a word.
Likely, Im put what Im thinking into Gorosei's head.
And how Oda has described Im all this time, by only focusing on the eyes, makes quite a lot of sense.
The Mihawk, Im, And Zunesha Connection
Having the same eyeball pattern is not the only factor that has led to the theory that Mihawk is Im's descendant. Im has control over the black arrow, while Mihawk has control over the black sword, Yoru.
The markings or symbols on Yoru's sword are similar to those on Im's throne. These two characters also sit on a throne.
While this may be an accident, it is still an interesting fact that provides clues about the connection between Im and Mihawk.
The theory states that there is a possibility that Mihawk is Im's former guard.
However, it could also be that Mihawk and Im are closely related, in this case Mihawk is a descendant of Im.
The Pangea Palace where Im lived was inspired by a palace in France which was built in the 16th century.
Interestingly, the clothes that Mihawk wears have similarities to the French king's guards in the 16th and 17th centuries.
In the SBS column, Oda shows the past of the Shichibukai who where Mihawk's childhood was different from now.
The eyes that Mihawk had probably did rise when he trained hard and showed his determination.
However, this does not rule out a deep connection between Im and Mihawk.
In fact, it's not impossible if the two of them are also connected to Zunesha the giant elephant.
Important Roles of Im and Mihawk
In the final part of One Piece's story, Mihawk and Im will likely have a very important role. And this is evident from the two characters that rarely appear now starting to get involved in big events.
As mentioned above, Mihawk is now a member of the Cross Guild which is again getting the attention of the navy.
Meanwhile, Im just started getting involved in the story in the last few chapters.
In fact, in chapter 1085, Oda finally showed Im's strength, even if it was just a glimpse.
With such extraordinary strength, it's not an exaggeration if Im really will be the last opponent that Luffy will face at the end of his story.
And this is also what might happen to Mihawk.
Even though in the timeskip Mihawk acts as a mentor to Zoro, he is still his main enemy.
The reason is, Zoro dreams of becoming the strongest swordsman in the world which is Mihawk's title.
That is, to be able to get the title Zoro must be able to shift Mihawk's position.
And chances are it will happen at the end of the story or towards the end of the story.
We see Mihawk first in Chpt. 49/Ep. 23 at the Baratie and we all know how that goes. Why do you think Oda even put him in at this point?
It's to show how far everyone has to go to achieve their goal. Everyone in the crew has a goal where they want to be the best, and you assume they can accomplish this by just following Luffy on his adventure.
Mihawk is physical proof of how far Zoro has to go. Then Mihawk tells Luffy that becoming the Pirate King is even more difficult than surpassing him.
Remember that When Luffy saw Zoro get defeated he rushed to kill Mihawk. Mihawk told him to be Pirate King he has to surpass him. Luffy will do that and only way we can know for sure thag he surpassed him is by him defeating Mihawk.
Mihawk will be ordered by Imu to finish luffy. Mihawk wanted to test his strength against WB(worlds strongest man), after Luffy defeats Blackbeard . Mihawk will want to test his strength as well and Luffy will prove himself there.
At the end of one piece there will be a clash of dreams. The Freedom fight. Another reason Imu and Luffy are destined to fight is because Imu is seemingly the most free man in the world. Luffy wants to be freest. But they go about it very differently. Their ideals will clash and Lufffy show why his is better. Imu will then show just how powerful he is and how Luffy can't just “gear” his way to the top but will use his willpower to overcome the might of Imu.
What do you think?

So, I've been thinking about my DDR days, where I was playing somewhat seriously and I'm curious the best way to get back into the swing of things.
I've had a Red Octane Afterburner (3.0?) back from 2007 (I actually found the old receipt in gmail RIP RedOctane), which has been sitting in my garage collecting dust for the last 5 years :( , while it's 'control box' (DB9 to PS2 adapter) has sat in another box and I never seem to have had both at the same time, but I know I've got both at least
I remember setting up Stepmania way back in 2008 or so as an avenue to explore and remember using an old USB to PS2 controller adapter and playing some songs on there on my old laptop.
I've got a spare computer, some room in my office, and I'm honestly trying to figure out the best way to take what I've got and make a little homemade "Stepmania/DDR" machine from it. I want to get back into a healthy hobby.
I've looked online and I found a site DDRPad.com and they seem to have a specialized USB control box which I think might be better than a PS2 controller to usb adapter, I'd assume this would probably be a good choice to be able to keep/use my current dance pad, but I also have no clue who to trust, and DDRFreak seems to be dead lol.
So I guess my questions break down as the following.

1. Is my dance pad still going to be usable? Do any of the sensors degrade over time of non-use and should I buy a Stepmania USB control box and just 'have it work'?
2. When setting up a computer (A small little micro computer with a 6th gen I7 & 8 gb of ram) would it be best to go Windows for driver support? Linux? Or what would you recommend? I have an AtGames mini arcade cabinet thing that has HDMI input, so I was debating using that as a screen, and MAY want to consider loading other types of games onto it, but really it's mostly a question of 'what OS works best for Stepmania"
3. Have songs migrated away from more casual players? I was at the awkward point in DDR where Standard songs were too easy and I was full combo'ing them, but Heavy Songs were a bit much of a challenge. (vanilla 6-8 footers?). I'm out of shape, and would definitely need to ease back into things, and I'm a little worried that the scene has gone into the advanced options (GDQ showcase level)
4. Any sites that I should buy stuff from or avoid?
5. Any general advice as I look to configure all this stuff? I see it looks like there's 2 major versions Stepmania 3.9 & 5.0. If I just want a generic 'DDR Machine" style that has a bunch of songs for me to get back is there anything to worry about?

Fun Fact: Here's super old video from 2009 when I had it playing Extreme 2 on ps2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSEsdk8rV_4 including said dance pad, and original control box.

Devil Fruit Name: Koma Koma no Mi (Comic Comic Fruit)
​
Type: Paramecia
​
Description: The Koma Koma no Mi is a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit that grants the user the ability to manipulate and control comic book speech bubbles and onomatopoeias. Upon consumption, the user gains the power to create, modify, and control speech bubbles and onomatopoeias, as if they were tangible objects. This power allows the user to turn real-life situations into a dynamic comic book experience.
​
Abilities:
​

1. Bubble Manipulation: The user can generate speech bubbles of various sizes, shapes, and colors. These speech bubbles can be used to convey messages, thoughts, or even provide narration. They can also control the movement and placement of the speech bubbles, making them appear and disappear at will.

​

1. Onomatopoeia Creation: The user can create onomatopoeias (sound effects) that manifest as visible, three-dimensional objects. For example, they can generate an "SMASH" onomatopoeia to create a powerful force that smashes objects or opponents. These onomatopoeias can represent any sound imaginable, such as explosions, punches, footsteps, or even laughter.

​

1. Bubble Projection: The user can project speech bubbles and onomatopoeias towards others, infusing them with specific properties. For example, they could create a speech bubble with the word "SLEEP" and project it at someone, causing them to instantly fall asleep. Similarly, projecting an onomatopoeia like "BLIND" could temporarily blind an opponent.

​

1. Comic Book Reality Manipulation: The user can temporarily transform the surrounding environment into a comic book-style reality. This ability enables them to alter the visual appearance of objects, people, and landscapes to mimic comic book art styles. Additionally, they can manipulate the flow of time and exaggerate physical feats to match the dramatic nature of comic book storytelling.

​

1. Textual Perception: The user gains enhanced perception of text-based information. They can quickly read, understand, and interpret written material, even in unfamiliar languages. This ability grants them an advantage in deciphering codes, languages, or written clues.

​
Weaknesses:
​

1. Haki and Sea Prism Stone: The user of the Koma Koma no Mi is still vulnerable to Haki attacks and the debilitating effects of Sea Prism Stone, like any other Devil Fruit user.

​

1. Limited Physical Enhancement: While the Devil Fruit grants the user extraordinary abilities related to comic book speech bubbles and onomatopoeias, it does not provide any significant physical enhancements, leaving the user susceptible to physical attacks.

​

1. Exhaustion and Control Limitations: Excessive use of the fruit's powers can lead to mental and physical exhaustion. Furthermore, the user requires creativity and control to utilize the abilities effectively. Lack of imagination or difficulty in controlling the comic book manifestations may limit their effectiveness.

The beagle who holds the Guinness World Record for solving the fastest crossword puzzle is a remarkable dog named Purin. This talented pooch hails from Japan and has gained worldwide recognition for her impressive skills in puzzle-solving. Learn More - Purin's background, her training, and her incredible Guinness World Record achievement.

I was running some light tests and I noticed a 1 STOP difference between 5d4 spot and 758cine spot; shooting in Manual Mode. The canon reads one stop less relative to the sekonic. I bought the sekonic my self new and kept it in good conditions, in its pouch in a backpack, all pampered, so I would assume that it's in great shape. The 5d4 was bought second hand last year and I wonder if it has issues - unless there is a metering compensation function somewhere. I tried metering both with a 16-35mk3 and 70-200f4mk2 (new lens) - same results.
I had a Nikon D600 before - and off the top of my head the camera spot was matching the sekonic.
I will go to a store too and try metering with their in store cameras. But anybody got a clue as to why I might have these differences? any metering compensation feature for the manual mode? will dive into the manual too but asking in case anybody got an answer quickly.
EDIT: using a grey card I checked that the bubble and the spot on the sekonic match. The camera on the card (using 200mm) reads -1/3 from the meter in all modes except spot where it reads -2/3 stops. Weird stuff, I noticed that if I go into say evaluative, then I switch to spot as I meter the reading stays -1/3. But if I meter other things and come back to it, the spot will give -2/3.
EDIT2: edit: after researching a bit I see that even the light meter might not be calibrated, in spite of me thinking the camera's meter was at fault - anyway - whoever got some advice on how to properly check if the gear is calibrated by ISO standards, shoot. I'm matching the sekonic with the 5d4 in the meantime.

I was going to be late. I was on the verge of panic, uncertain of where I’d come from or why I was late, but I was going to be late.
Today was supposed to be different. I was sure of it. The start of something new. My only opportunity to move out of my little dead-end corner of Appalachia rested on me arriving for the night shift on time.
I sped over the rolling road in a panic. Dense old growth rushed past in a blur periodically broken by small plots of pasture, apple orchards and fields that a few months earlier were brimming with corn. Shadows danced out there in the dim moonlight and the closer I got to the airfield the more separated from the small outlying town I felt.
My steering wheel was cold and it vibrated wildly in rhythm with my heart. I tapped it impatiently.
The rusted hulk nearly left the road each time I crested a hillock. My suspension groaned under the salt spurred corrosion and strain.
I can get a new car if this all works out.
I nearly missed my turn. Fishtailing, I plodded off the main road onto an aptly named “Airport Drive”.
I came to a halt at the designated stall and turned the car off.
A minute to spare.
I looked out into the darkness beyond the parking area and a tingle ran down my spine. The shadows that were once dancing as I passed were still now and the air oppressive. My hands were tingled with cold yet brimmed with sweat. Before opening the door, I took a few deep breaths, flattened my hair, and made sure my uniform was sharp. Looking into my image in the rearview mirror I cleared my throat.
“Alright buddy. You’ve been drifting from service job to service job in this dying county for half a decade. Somethings got to change. *You’ve* got to change. You’ve got a daughter now, you can’t be out there chasing bar weasels and getting drunk every other night. It’s time to up your game. You aren’t the little boy who had to stand in the corner with his nose to the wall every time you messed up anymore. Now your choices matter for her life too. The pay and experience here are going to help springboard you off into something bigger and brighter. You can do this.”
My car door shrieked open causing the chirping and croaks in the forest around the airfield to briefly fall silent. The crunch of gravel followed me across the unpaved, unmarked parking spaces poorly illuminated by one lonely floodlight. I made my way to the entrance of the terminal and pulled open the door to the chime of an old brass bell.
“Oh, hey buddy.” He glanced at the clock. “You’re early.” Stepping into the room I saw Gus casually looking up from his crossword, bifocals resting on his fat, bright red nose.
“Yessir. I figured maybe if things weren’t too busy we could get started early. I’ve heard night shift can be a lot to take in.”
His brows furrowed and his mouth hung half open.
“Well….alright, I guess. But we’ll be easing you in. Just the basics for the first week.” He held up a finger, “Will and I are gonna rotate each night, until we know you’ve got the hang of it, then we’ll start giving you more responsibilities – if you’re up to it.”
We spent several hours on the night shift responsibilities for the airfield. Many of the duties weren’t too complicated. When we went to the control room at the base of the single tower overlooking the tarmac we flipped several very clearly marked switches turning the runway lights on and off. Then we walked over the several generators tucked away behind baggage claim to check their fuel and oil levels.
“Checking these emergency generators things each night seems a bit overkill, no?” I asked.
Gus smiled. “These aren’t for emergencies. This is our power. Yea, this past winter much to our surprise we found that some of the power poles came down. Some heavy rainfall right before the first snow turned the ground to soup and the just sort of…fell over.”
“They really shouldn’t do that.”
Gus shrugged. “Yea well, corners get cut all over the place. Damn things still aren’t back up, so here we are.”
As we walked back over to the portables for baggage claim and arrivals/departures. Another tingle ran down my spine. Instinctively I looked around and caught sight of something out in the dark. It was the feeling of being watched. I tried to focus my eyes on the darkness. I saw some gently pulsating shadows near the trees but nothing more.
The chirping and croaks were nowhere to be heard and I shivered.
“Come on kid, I ain’t got all night.”
I came to and trotted over to where Gus had stopped. “Sorry, I thought I saw…something.”
We continued onward, restocking the restrooms, went over baggage tagging and safe lifting procedures and the other mundane parts of preparing for the night’s departures and arrivals.
Finally, we wrapped up my first training session with perimeter checks.
Gus’ labored breathing alternated with his footfalls on the blacktop as we walked down the small runway.
“Every 3 hours you are going to be making this walk.” He gestured around. “You start over at the ATC tower and head out to the tree line, then follow that parallel to the tarmac until you pass the last of the landing lights and keep going until you hit the transmission shack. Don’t get distracted and go off following the transmission lines. Had a guy do that a year or two ago and it took us a week only to find his ass mumbling by the side of the road talking about the linemen – boy wasn’t right after that.”
He paused thoughtfully for a moment.
“Anywho, after the transmission shack you hook right following the shore of the river until you hit Eddie’s orchard then head back. You’ll pass his cornfield and follow that until you see the two terminal portables, then you check the parking lot and come back to the office to enter it all in the logbook. Just need to make sure there ain’t nothing out there that shouldn’t be.”
We continued walking in silence for a few minutes. “So what do I do if I find something? Are we looking for the Wilson boys or something? I thought they stopped causing trouble after you…”
“Well, you need to enter it in the logbook for one.”
“Bears? What do I do if it’s bears?”
He stopped. “Bears? What the hell are you rambling about? We don’t get bears this time of year. Oh, and be sure to bring your bear spray.”
“Even though there aren’t bears?”
“It’s under the counter next to the logbook.” He paused again. “If you see any wildlife, just take the truck out there and honk at it to get it away from the runway. Be sure to use your high beams, too. Very important. You see any people you get back to the office and call the Sheriff – don’t need to be a hero. You hear anything weird out there in the dark you leave it be, if it’s off property it’s not our problem.”
“Any questions?” he asked as we got back to the office.
A few.
“No, I’m good.”
“Great, Will’s in the control tower if anything comes up. No flights scheduled for tonight so it should be awfully quiet. Here’s the keys to the castle. Adios.”
He placed a massive key ring into my hand that had more keys than there were doors on the property and took off.
I sat down behind the counter, looked at the broken clock and sighed.
I was able to knock out the task list before midnight and had 6 more hours to kill before the end of my shift. There was no cell service, because of course not. I tried reading an old Town and Country magazine I found stashed under the desk and found most of the pages had been covered in circles and doodles by someone who must have been just as bored as I was on some unknown shift prior.
I decided to sweep up and clean the counters to keep myself busy and after I was done it was only 12:15.
I groaned.
The silence was oppressive. Outside the window was an empty, dark expanse with a slowly strobing series of red lights marking the flight line. I felt safer indoors but even then as I stared into the dark something felt off. If I turned my gaze from the windows I could see something out of the corner of my eyes. Branches swaying in the breeze.
There was no wind here.
12:34.
I pulled the logbook out from its shelf and placed it on the counter entering my start time, grabbed my flashlight and headed out into the frigid night.
The occasional whistling of the wind punctuated my footfalls. I passed red light posts every few yards on a never-ending runway. I kept walking for what felt like half an hour, losing count of the lights I’d passed. I turned back out of curiosity and still saw the slowly receding light of the air traffic control tower confirming that yes, all was well. After the runway ended I continued into the dark until coming to the boarded up transmission shack and the power lines that ran off into the forest.
I came the edge of the marsh and began following it. Minutes passed. I turned to get my bearings on the tower and found it’s lonely beacon, but I also noticed a void in the dark – not a blackness per-se, black is a color. No, it was a complete lack of color, a hole in existence out past the power lines. It was getting larger.
I picked up my pace.
I got to the orchard and looked back finding that the lights were out. All of them were out. And that thing in the forest was growing near.
I stood there and watched it for several minutes waiting for it to move. It didn’t.
I turned back now walking as fast as I could. After a dozen yards I stopped and turned around.
It was closer, I was sure of it. Much closer.
I turned and began to jog forgetting everything Gus had told me. It was gaining on me.
Now I was in a full-blown run down the flight line, glancing back every few moments, still unable to see it but sure it was there. The thing that had been watching me since I got here. The thing that drove a cold shock down my spine. This was it.
My legs pumped like pistons and the sting of cold air shot through my chest with each strained, gasping breath.
I passed the recently harvested cornfield, in which stood two perfectly still Deer judging me for my frantic escape.
It was gaining on me.
Finally I came to the portables. I slammed into the nearest door but it stood firm. I slammed my shoulder into it three more times and it didn’t budge. I remembered my key chain.
I pulled it out and started flipping through the keys. *too many keys*.
First key. No.
Second key. No.
Third key. No.
The fourth key worked, the tumbler clicked and I was in. Slamming the door back in place, I frantically locked it.
My hands were shaking and even though I was panting, I went to the window. The void cast long shadows across the field as it stood transfixed not on me, but on the deer.
“Shhhh” a man’s voice whispered from behind me.
“Oh SWEET JESUS FU-“ I screamed as a hand clamped down on my mouth.
“SHHH.” Sharper this time, commanding. “It’s me.” Will whispered, releasing his hand from my mouth.
“What..” I replied quietly as I turned to see him using his phone to maneuver the drone. “What’s going on? You scared the shit out of me. Nice to meet you by the way I’m..”
He smiled, “You gotta be more careful buddy, Didn’t Gus tell you not to go out into the woods?” Now that I could hear him clearly, his odd vowel pronunciation took me off guard. He’d fit right in, in Venice beach. Surfers. He sounded exactly like how I imagined California Surfers sounded. Very out of place for this part of the country. I shook the thought from my mind.
“I didn’t, I..”
He shushed me and pointed to the deer.
“Just…watch.”
I’d never seen deer stay still so long.
I strained my eyes to see. The shadows, tilled earth and wilted corn husks broke up the terrain making it hard to see what was hidden in plain sight. I’d see movement then have to dismiss it as wind kicking up gentle curtains of soil or the shifting of a shadow from the small movements in the night.
Slowly a thin sharp shadow moved, followed by another, then another. They moved in concert from that enormous void that had followed me.
The deer stood transfixed before it all happened at once.
A mixture of humanlike screams erupted as each of their bodies were slammed into the ground. Viscera painted the wind. In another moment the light went out and I heard Will sigh.
The wind whistled and died, but we could still hear it out there breathing heavily as it gorged itself. From where I stood I could only see a throbbing silhouette breaking the horizon as it went to work. A crisp snap rang out as it pulled limb by limb from the carcass. The throbbing of the shape slowed as a new sound arose. A contented hum made its presence felt through the rattling of the windows and doors and threatened to overwhelm my own beating heart.
The sound rose as the shape slowly moved closer.
“What do we..”
Will shushed me.
I jumped and stifled a scream as a wet, boneless appendage slammed against the window curiously. The doorknob rattled though this time not from the creatures’ purr but from it’s clumsy efforts to open the door and join us inside.
The ceiling creaked above us under a massive weight.
It groaned as if remembering something and suddenly began moving away back towards the trees. There were no footfalls, just the gently receding sound of a blissful purr.
When it finally entered the world beyond its movements melted into those of the swaying branches becoming indiscernible. The more I tried to focus on it the harder it was to recall its form or the impossibility I’d just witnessed.
Will smiled and patted me on the shoulder sadly, “Welcome to Murkintok.”

I was going to be late. I was on the verge of panic, uncertain of where I’d come from or why I was late, but I was going to be late.
Today was supposed to be different. I was sure of it. The start of something new. My only opportunity to move out of my little dead-end corner of Appalachia rested on me arriving for the night shift on time.
I sped over the rolling road in a panic. Dense old growth rushed past in a blur periodically broken by small plots of pasture, apple orchards and fields that a few months earlier were brimming with corn. Shadows danced out there in the dim moonlight and the closer I got to the airfield the more separated from the small outlying town I felt.
My steering wheel was cold and it vibrated wildly in rhythm with my heart. I tapped it impatiently.
The rusted hulk nearly left the road each time I crested a hillock. My suspension groaned under the salt spurred corrosion and strain.
I can get a new car if this all works out.
I nearly missed my turn. Fishtailing, I plodded off the main road onto an aptly named “Airport Drive”.
I came to a halt at the designated stall and turned the car off.
A minute to spare.
I looked out into the darkness beyond the parking area and a tingle ran down my spine. The shadows that were once dancing as I passed were still now and the air oppressive. My hands were tingled with cold yet brimmed with sweat. Before opening the door, I took a few deep breaths, flattened my hair, and made sure my uniform was sharp. Looking into my image in the rearview mirror I cleared my throat.
“Alright buddy. You’ve been drifting from service job to service job in this dying county for half a decade. Somethings got to change. *You’ve* got to change. You’ve got a daughter now, you can’t be out there chasing bar weasels and getting drunk every other night. It’s time to up your game. You aren’t the little boy who had to stand in the corner with his nose to the wall every time you messed up anymore. Now your choices matter for her life too. The pay and experience here are going to help springboard you off into something bigger and brighter. You can do this.”
My car door shrieked open causing the chirping and croaks in the forest around the airfield to briefly fall silent. The crunch of gravel followed me across the unpaved, unmarked parking spaces poorly illuminated by one lonely floodlight. I made my way to the entrance of the terminal and pulled open the door to the chime of an old brass bell.
“Oh, hey buddy.” He glanced at the clock. “You’re early.” Stepping into the room I saw Gus casually looking up from his crossword, bifocals resting on his fat, bright red nose.
“Yessir. I figured maybe if things weren’t too busy we could get started early. I’ve heard night shift can be a lot to take in.”
His brows furrowed and his mouth hung half open.
“Well….alright, I guess. But we’ll be easing you in. Just the basics for the first week.” He held up a finger, “Will and I are gonna rotate each night, until we know you’ve got the hang of it, then we’ll start giving you more responsibilities – if you’re up to it.”
We spent several hours on the night shift responsibilities for the airfield. Many of the duties weren’t too complicated. When we went to the control room at the base of the single tower overlooking the tarmac we flipped several very clearly marked switches turning the runway lights on and off. Then we walked over the several generators tucked away behind baggage claim to check their fuel and oil levels.
“Checking these emergency generators things each night seems a bit overkill, no?” I asked.
Gus smiled. “These aren’t for emergencies. This is our power. Yea, this past winter much to our surprise we found that some of the power poles came down. Some heavy rainfall right before the first snow turned the ground to soup and the just sort of…fell over.”
“They really shouldn’t do that.”
Gus shrugged. “Yea well, corners get cut all over the place. Damn things still aren’t back up, so here we are.”
As we walked back over to the portables for baggage claim and arrivals/departures. Another tingle ran down my spine. Instinctively I looked around and caught sight of something out in the dark. It was the feeling of being watched. I tried to focus my eyes on the darkness. I saw some gently pulsating shadows near the trees but nothing more.
The chirping and croaks were nowhere to be heard and I shivered.
“Come on kid, I ain’t got all night.”
I came to and trotted over to where Gus had stopped. “Sorry, I thought I saw…something.”
We continued onward, restocking the restrooms, went over baggage tagging and safe lifting procedures and the other mundane parts of preparing for the night’s departures and arrivals.
Finally, we wrapped up my first training session with perimeter checks.
Gus’ labored breathing alternated with his footfalls on the blacktop as we walked down the small runway.
“Every 3 hours you are going to be making this walk.” He gestured around. “You start over at the ATC tower and head out to the tree line, then follow that parallel to the tarmac until you pass the last of the landing lights and keep going until you hit the transmission shack. Don’t get distracted and go off following the transmission lines. Had a guy do that a year or two ago and it took us a week only to find his ass mumbling by the side of the road talking about the linemen – boy wasn’t right after that.”
He paused thoughtfully for a moment.
“Anywho, after the transmission shack you hook right following the shore of the river until you hit Eddie’s orchard then head back. You’ll pass his cornfield and follow that until you see the two terminal portables, then you check the parking lot and come back to the office to enter it all in the logbook. Just need to make sure there ain’t nothing out there that shouldn’t be.”
We continued walking in silence for a few minutes. “So what do I do if I find something? Are we looking for the Wilson boys or something? I thought they stopped causing trouble after you…”
“Well, you need to enter it in the logbook for one.”
“Bears? What do I do if it’s bears?”
He stopped. “Bears? What the hell are you rambling about? We don’t get bears this time of year. Oh, and be sure to bring your bear spray.”
“Even though there aren’t bears?”
“It’s under the counter next to the logbook.” He paused again. “If you see any wildlife, just take the truck out there and honk at it to get it away from the runway. Be sure to use your high beams, too. Very important. You see any people you get back to the office and call the Sheriff – don’t need to be a hero. You hear anything weird out there in the dark you leave it be, if it’s off property it’s not our problem.”
“Any questions?” he asked as we got back to the office.
A few.
“No, I’m good.”
“Great, Will’s in the control tower if anything comes up. No flights scheduled for tonight so it should be awfully quiet. Here’s the keys to the castle. Adios.”
He placed a massive key ring into my hand that had more keys than there were doors on the property and took off.
I sat down behind the counter, looked at the broken clock and sighed.
I was able to knock out the task list before midnight and had 6 more hours to kill before the end of my shift. There was no cell service, because of course not. I tried reading an old Town and Country magazine I found stashed under the desk and found most of the pages had been covered in circles and doodles by someone who must have been just as bored as I was on some unknown shift prior.
I decided to sweep up and clean the counters to keep myself busy and after I was done it was only 12:15.
I groaned.
The silence was oppressive. Outside the window was an empty, dark expanse with a slowly strobing series of red lights marking the flight line. I felt safer indoors but even then as I stared into the dark something felt off. If I turned my gaze from the windows I could see something out of the corner of my eyes. Branches swaying in the breeze.
There was no wind here.
12:34.
I pulled the logbook out from its shelf and placed it on the counter entering my start time, grabbed my flashlight and headed out into the frigid night.
The occasional whistling of the wind punctuated my footfalls. I passed red light posts every few yards on a never-ending runway. I kept walking for what felt like half an hour, losing count of the lights I’d passed. I turned back out of curiosity and still saw the slowly receding light of the air traffic control tower confirming that yes, all was well. After the runway ended I continued into the dark until coming to the boarded up transmission shack and the power lines that ran off into the forest.
I came the edge of the marsh and began following it. Minutes passed. I turned to get my bearings on the tower and found it’s lonely beacon, but I also noticed a void in the dark – not a blackness per-se, black is a color. No, it was a complete lack of color, a hole in existence out past the power lines. It was getting larger.
I picked up my pace.
I got to the orchard and looked back finding that the lights were out. All of them were out. And that thing in the forest was growing near.
I stood there and watched it for several minutes waiting for it to move. It didn’t.
I turned back now walking as fast as I could. After a dozen yards I stopped and turned around.
It was closer, I was sure of it. Much closer.
I turned and began to jog forgetting everything Gus had told me. It was gaining on me.
Now I was in a full-blown run down the flight line, glancing back every few moments, still unable to see it but sure it was there. The thing that had been watching me since I got here. The thing that drove a cold shock down my spine. This was it.
My legs pumped like pistons and the sting of cold air shot through my chest with each strained, gasping breath.
I passed the recently harvested cornfield, in which stood two perfectly still Deer judging me for my frantic escape.
It was gaining on me.
Finally I came to the portables. I slammed into the nearest door but it stood firm. I slammed my shoulder into it three more times and it didn’t budge. I remembered my key chain.
I pulled it out and started flipping through the keys. *too many keys*.
First key. No.
Second key. No.
Third key. No.
The fourth key worked, the tumbler clicked and I was in. Slamming the door back in place, I frantically locked it.
My hands were shaking and even though I was panting, I went to the window. The void cast long shadows across the field as it stood transfixed not on me, but on the deer.
“Shhhh” a man’s voice whispered from behind me.
“Oh SWEET JESUS FU-“ I screamed as a hand clamped down on my mouth.
“SHHH.” Sharper this time, commanding. “It’s me.” Will whispered, releasing his hand from my mouth.
“What..” I replied quietly as I turned to see him using his phone to maneuver the drone. “What’s going on? You scared the shit out of me. Nice to meet you by the way I’m..”
He smiled, “You gotta be more careful buddy, Didn’t Gus tell you not to go out into the woods?” Now that I could hear him clearly, his odd vowel pronunciation took me off guard. He’d fit right in, in Venice beach. Surfers. He sounded exactly like how I imagined California Surfers sounded. Very out of place for this part of the country. I shook the thought from my mind.
“I didn’t, I..”
He shushed me and pointed to the deer.
“Just…watch.”
I’d never seen deer stay still so long.
I strained my eyes to see. The shadows, tilled earth and wilted corn husks broke up the terrain making it hard to see what was hidden in plain sight. I’d see movement then have to dismiss it as wind kicking up gentle curtains of soil or the shifting of a shadow from the small movements in the night.
Slowly a thin sharp shadow moved, followed by another, then another. They moved in concert from that enormous void that had followed me.
The deer stood transfixed before it all happened at once.
A mixture of humanlike screams erupted as each of their bodies were slammed into the ground. Viscera painted the wind. In another moment the light went out and I heard Will sigh.
The wind whistled and died, but we could still hear it out there breathing heavily as it gorged itself. From where I stood I could only see a throbbing silhouette breaking the horizon as it went to work. A crisp snap rang out as it pulled limb by limb from the carcass. The throbbing of the shape slowed as a new sound arose. A contented hum made its presence felt through the rattling of the windows and doors and threatened to overwhelm my own beating heart.
The sound rose as the shape slowly moved closer.
“What do we..”
Will shushed me.
I jumped and stifled a scream as a wet, boneless appendage slammed against the window curiously. The doorknob rattled though this time not from the creatures’ purr but from it’s clumsy efforts to open the door and join us inside.
The ceiling creaked above us under a massive weight.
It groaned as if remembering something and suddenly began moving away back towards the trees. There were no footfalls, just the gently receding sound of a blissful purr.
When it finally entered the world beyond its movements melted into those of the swaying branches becoming indiscernible. The more I tried to focus on it the harder it was to recall its form or the impossibility I’d just witnessed.
Will smiled and patted me on the shoulder sadly, “Welcome to Murkintok.”