It was a rainy Wednesday morning when Bobbin Bonnet traded his Fiat for a MINI Cooper Sport. It was a nice model; metallic blue with a panoramic roof. Once he had managed to pry the door open, he also discovered it had air-conditioning, an excellent sound system, and colored interior lighting set to blue -- to match the paint.
Excited about his upgrade, Bobbin had gotten into his new car and reversed it out of the driveway. He turned right, to take the quick route to the highway and it was then his trouble began. Try as he may, his foot refused to press down on the gas pedal.
"Come on, Bonnet," he scolded himself, making sure to add a stern look in the rearview mirror. "Not this again. Just press down on the gas pedal and get out of here."
Bobbin's foot did not move. He tried forcing it into action by pressing down on his knees with both hands. And, when that didn't work, he stomped his foot with the other one. That jolted the car forward a bit, but he doubted that driving on the highway in little jolts would do him much good, although it would probably give the cops a good laugh.
Frustrated, he slammed both his hands down on the steering wheel as hard as he could, and promptly hit the car horn. The loud honk that followed startled him so much, that he almost shot out of his seat and through the glass panels of the panoramic roof.
"Great", he said to himself. "Now you're a sitting duck in a stolen car in broad daylight and you've drawn attention to yourself. Good job Bonnet." He punctuated those last words with short taps on the horn. Might as well, he figured -- he was already screwed. Come to think of it, his occupation was probably one better carried out at night.
At the last short honk, his head snapped to the side. He heard a door squeak and squeal -- it was quite the dramatic sound for a door to make -- and an old couple stepped out of their home. Stay calm, he thought. They're probably just going out to do groceries.
When the old lady settled her glare on him, however, Bobbin shuddered visibly. She looked quite menacing for someone her age. Her hair was cut in a short, spiky style and she wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt. It probably wasn't so much the look in itself, but more the way it punctuated her 'I will fuck you up' stare that made him shudder.
Her husband wasn't any better. He was the skinhead-looking type, with a shiny, bald head and a leather jacket. Somehow, he had forgotten to wrinkle as he aged and thus, looked somewhat like a retired baby. Which would've been funny, if it hadn't been for the dangerous twinkle in his beady eyes.
"Come on, Bonnet," Bobbin grunted as he strained with the effort of moving his foot, which remained unmoving and stubborn. The swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he would not be able to make this trade; it wasn't a fair one. He would have to throw in at least a flat-screen TV and a gaming system to make up for the discrepancy in value and -- seeing as the pensioners were moving towards him -- he truly didn't have the time to arrange for that.
A sharp knock on the passenger seat window interrupted Bobbin's train of thought. "Excuse me," said the spike-haired menace -- she was even more terrifying up close. "What are you doing with my neighbor's car?" Behind her, he could see the woman's husband get in his car.
Think Bonnet, think! The cops are going to have a field day if they catch you again.
Bobbin put on his best smile and rolled down the window. "Morning ma'am," he said cheerfully. "I'm Bobbin from the garage. You know the one, Bobbin's Bonnets..." he had to stop to swallow as the searing skeptical glare that came his way took the moisture straight out of his mouth. The fact that her husband was backing out of their driveway to block Bobbin's new car, didn't help either.
"Erm, as I was saying. Bobbin's Bonnets. Your neighbor asked us to pick up her car for servicing, there's a problem with the gas pedal."
In a moment of brilliance, Bobbin thought to demonstrate the issue. He stomped on his foot with his other one and jolted forward. "See, it's going to be a long ride to the garage. Would've gotten the tow truck but it's out of commission due to an intern-related mishap."
The woman turned to the side, addressing her husband as he got out of his car, his task to block Bobbin now complete. "Says he's from the garage," she started as she walked out of earshot to explain the situation to the man. He could see her punctuate her story with fierce hand movements which made her look like she was conducting an invisible orchestra.
The husband nodded as he rubbed his chin. He asked a few questions to his wife and then -- having decided his course of action -- approached Bobbin with a resoluteness to his step that said he was a man on a mission.
"You're never going to get to the garage like this," the man remarked, his low voice a rumble. "You can use our car to tow this one to your shop and once you're there do some maintenance on ours as well. The tires need replacing so it seems like a win-win."
Bobbin's mouth hung ajar as he tried to process what the man had just offered him. He looked at the car that was blocking his -- a decent SEAT Leon, red, no panoramic roof but no damage either -- and nodded thoughtfully.
"Are you sure, sir?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement. The husband nodded and tossed Bobbin a set of car keys through the open window.
"She's a good neighbor," he replied. "Wouldn't want her to be inconvenienced because you couldn't get her car to the garage. There's a tow rope in the back."
Bobbin got out of the MINI Cooper and got to work. He grabbed the tow rope from the back of the SEAT and knelt in front of his previous new car. As he sunk to his knees to start tying the vehicles together he made sure to make a show of inspecting both cars to make it look like he knew what he was doing. He really didn't.
He flexed his muscles as he pulled on the loose knots, pretending to test how strong they were and if they would hold when towing. He knew they wouldn't, they were looser than a drunkard's tongue. The husband and his wife watched him work with interest, but they didn't comment.
When he was done, he walked over to the Fiat he'd left and grabbed the keys from the dashboard where he'd left them. He handed them over to the old couple. "Loaner car," he said. "You folks are going to have to share it with your neighbor, but she said on the phone that she wasn't planning on going anywhere for a few days."
They both nodded and thanked him and the husband walked with him over to his car to hold the door open for him. "She's a bit finicky on the transmission but she'll get over it once she's warmed up," he said before slamming the door shut.
Bobbin looked around. This car also had air-conditioning, but the sound system was a standard edition and there were no fancy lights either. This would be a fair enough trade. Just a bit better than his previous car, but not too much.
Satisfied, and the swirling feeling in his stomach gone, he turned the key in the ignition and fastened his seat belt. Then, he gave a friendly wave to the old couple -- they had been quite helpful, after all -- and pressed down on the gas. The car came free with a quick snap and he sped away, ignoring the screams and the frantic motions of the people in his rearview mirror.
This had been a good deal, he thought. He was Bobbin Bonnet; a trader, not a thief.
******* This story was inspired by a conversation on the WP discord server. We wondered what would happen if Robin Hood had been a fae who had to compulsively trade instead of steal but didn't know it. I wrote a silly story to explore the idea and Bobbin Bonnet was born. It was written quite quickly so it might be a bit rough, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1518-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-ave-chapter-101/
PROMPTS: byo
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:

X

The castle hall was empty and grey, only the autumn dusk in the Gothic window; and the shuffle of the octogenarian butler sounding very dismal as he pottered across the tessellated pavement. On learning from him that Mr Martyn was still writing, I wandered from the organ into the morning-room, and sat by the fire, waiting for Edward's footstep. It came towards me about half an hour afterwards, slow and ponderous, not at all like the step of the successful dramatist; and my suspicions that his third act was failing him were aggravated by his unwillingness to tell me about the alterations he was making in it. All he could tell me was that he had been in Maynooth last summer, and had heard the priests declaring that they refused to stultify themselves; and as the word seemed to him typical of the country he would put it frequently into the mouths of his politicians.
How drama was to arise out of the verb, to stultify, did not seem clear, and in the middle of my embarrassment he asked me where I had been all the afternoon, brightening up somewhat when I told him that I had been to Coole. In a curious detached way he is always eager for a gossip, and we talked of Yeats and Lady Gregory for a long time, and of our walk round the lake, Edward rousing from my description of the swans to ask me where I had left the poet.
At the gate.
Why didn't you ask him to stay for dinner? And while I sought for an answer, he added: Maybe it's just as well you didn't, for today is Friday and the salmon I was expecting from Galway hasn't arrived.
But Yeats and I aren't Catholics.
My house is a Catholic house, and those who don't care to conform to the rule—
Your dogmatism exceeds that of an Archbishop; and I told him that I had heard my father say that the Archbishop of Tuam, Dr McHale, had meat always on his table on Friday, and when asked how this was, answered that he didn't know who had gotten dispensations and who hadn't. Edward muttered that he was not to be taken in by such remarks about dispensations; he knew very well I had never troubled to ask for one.
Why should I, since I'm not a Catholic?
If you aren't a Catholic, why don't you become a Protestant?
In the first place, one doesn't become a Protestant, one discovers oneself a Protestant; and it seems to me that an Agnostic has as much right to eat meat on Friday as a Protestant.
Agnosticism isn't a religion. It contains no dogma.
It comes to this, then: that you're going to make me dine off a couple of boiled eggs. And I walked about the room, indignant, but not because I care much about my food—two eggs and a potato are more agreeable to me in intelligent society than grouse would be in stupid. But two eggs and a potato forced down my throat on a theological fork in a Gothic house that had cost twenty thousand pounds to build—two eggs and a potato, without hope of cheese! The Irish do not eat cheese, and I am addicted to it, especially to Double Gloucester. In my school-days that cheese was a wonderful solace in my life, but after leaving school I asked for it in vain, and gave up hope of ever eating it again. It was not till the 'nineties that a waiter mentioned it. Stilton, sir; Chester, Double Gloucester—Double Gloucester! You have Double Gloucester! I thought it extinct. You have it? Then bring it, I cried, and so joyfully that he couldn't drag himself from my sight. An excellent cheese, I told him, but somewhat fallen from the high standard it had assumed in my imagination. Even so, if there had been a slice of Double Gloucester in the larder at Tillyra, I should not have minded the absence of the salmon, and if Edward had pleaded that his servants would be scandalised to see any one who was supposed to be a Catholic eat meat on Fridays, I should have answered: But everybody knows I'm not a Catholic. I've written it in half a dozen books. And if Edward had said: But my servants don't read your books; I shall be obliged if you'll put up with fasting fare for once, I would have eaten an egg and a potato without murmur or remark. But to be told I must dine off two eggs and a potato, so that his conscience should not be troubled during the night, worried me, and I am afraid I cast many an angry look across the table. An apple pie came up and some custards, and these soothed me; he discovered some marmalade in a cupboard, and Edward is such a sociable being when his pipe is alight, that I forgave his theological prejudices for the sake of his aesthetic. We peered into reproductions of Fra Angelico's frescoes, and studied Leonardo's sketches for draperies. Edward liked Ibsen from the beginning, and will like him to the end, and Swift. But he cannot abide Schumann's melodies. We had often talked of these great men and their works, but never did he talk as delightfully as on that Friday evening right on into Saturday morning. Nor was it till Sunday morning that his soul began to trouble him again. As I was finishing breakfast, he had the face to ask me to get ready to go to Mass.
But, Edward, I don't believe in the Mass. My presence will be only—Will you hold your tongue, George?... and not give scandal, he answered, his voice trembling with emotion. Everybody knows that I don't believe in the Mass.
If you aren't a Catholic, why don't you become a Protestant? And he began pushing me from behind. I have told you before that one may become a Catholic, but one discovers oneself a Protestant. But why am I going to Gort? Because you had the bad taste to describe our church in A Drama in Muslin, and to make such remarks about our parish priest that he said, if you showed yourself in Ardrahan again, he'd throw dirty water over you. If you send me to Gort, I shall be able to describe Father ——'s church. Will you not be delaying? One word more, It isn't on account of my description of Father ——'s church that you won't take me to Ardrahan: the real reason is because, at your request, mind you, I asked Father —— not to spit upon your carpet when he came to dinner at Tillyra. You were afraid to ask a priest to refrain from any of his habits, and left the room. I only asked you to draw his attention to the spittoon. Which I did; but he said such things were only a botheration, and my admonitions on the virtue of cleanliness angered him so that he never—
You'll be late for Mass. And you, Whelan; now, are you listening to me? Do you hear me? You aren't to spare the whip. Away you go; you'll only be just in time. And you, Whelan, you're not to delay putting up the horse. Do you hear me?
Whelan drove away rapidly, and when I looked back I saw my friend hurrying across the park, tumbling into the sunk fence in his anxiety not to miss the Confiteor, and Whelan, who saw the accident, too, feared that the masther is after hurting himself. Happily this was not so. Edward was soon on his feet again, running across the field like a hare, the driver said—out of politeness, I suppose.
Hardly like a hare, I said, hoping to draw a more original simile from Whelan's rustic mind; but he only coughed a little, and shook up the reins which he held in a shapeless, freckled hand.
Do you like the parish priest at Gort better than Father —— at Ardrahan?
They're well matched, Whelan answered—a thick-necked, long-bodied fellow with a rim of faded hair showing under a bowler hat that must have been about the stables for years, collecting dust along the corn-bin and getting greasy in the harness-room. One reasoned that it must have been black once upon a time, and that Whelan must have been a young man long ago; and one reasoned that he must have shaved last week, or three weeks ago, for there was a stubble on his chin. But in spite of reason, Whelan seemed like something that had always been, some old rock that had lain among the bramble since the days of Finn MacCoole, and his sullenness seemed as permanent as that of the rocks, and his face, too, seemed like a worn rock, for it was without profile, and I could only catch sight of a great flabby ear and a red, freckled neck, about which was tied a woollen comforter that had once been white.
He answered my questions roughly, without troubling to turn his head, like a man who wishes to be left to himself; and acquiescing in his humour, I fell to thinking of Father James Browne, the parish priest of Carnacun in the 'sixties, and of the day that he came over to Moore Hall in his ragged cassock and battered biretta, with McHale's Irish translation of Homer under his arm, saying that the Archbishop had caught the Homeric ring in many a hexameter. My father smiled at the priest's enthusiasm, but I followed this tall, gaunt man, of picturesque appearance, whose large nose with tufted nostrils I remember to this day, into the Blue Room to ask him if the Irish were better than the Greek. He was a little loth to say it was not, but this rustic scholar did not carry patriotism into literature, and he admitted, on being pressed, that he liked the Greek better, and I listened to his great rotund voice pouring through his wide Irish mouth while he read me some eight or ten lines of Homer, calling my attention to the famous line that echoes the clash of the wave on the beach and the rustle of the shingle as the wave sinks back. My curiosity about McHale's translation interested him in me, and it was arranged soon after between him and my father that he should teach me Latin, and I rode a pony over every morning to a thatched cottage under ilex-trees, where the pleasantest hours of my childhood were spent in a parlour lined with books from floor to ceiling, reading there a little Virgil, and persuading an old priest into talk about Quintilian and Seneca. One day he spoke of Propertius, and the beauty of the name led me to ask Father James if I might read him, and not receiving a satisfactory answer, my curiosity was stimulated and Caesar studied diligently for a month.
Shall I know enough Latin in six months to read Propertius? It will be many years before you will be able to read him. He is a very difficult writer. Could Martin Blake read Propertius?
Martin Blake was Father James's other pupil, and these Blakes are neighbours of ours, and live on the far side of Carnacun. Father James was always telling me of the progress Martin was making in the Latin language, and I was always asking Father James when I should overtake him, but he held out very little hope that it would be possible for me ever to outdo Martin in scholarship. He may have said this because he could not look upon me as a promising pupil, or he may have been moved by a hope to start a spirit of emulation in me. He was a wise man, and the reader will wonder how it was that, with such a natural interest in languages and such excellent opportunities, I did not become a classical scholar; the reader's legitimate curiosity shall be satisfied.

When he teleports to the Vengeful Spirit with the Emperor Rogal Dorn is instead scattered somewhere else and over the course of centuries begins losing himself
This seemed to cause a lot of discussion within the community so here is the full excerpt

Rogal Dorn spends a century in the yellow desert until he finally concedes that there is no way out of it.
After a century, he also believes there is no way into it either, although he is in it, which suggests that this is untrue. A small fact to cling to. He came here. He was brought here. There must have been a way in, once.
Unless he has always been here. After a century, that starts to feel like the truth.
He meticulously orders the facts he can be certain of. Every day, he collates the available facts. Every day, for a century, there are fewer and fewer of them. The sun rusts them away. He is here. Fact. The desert is endless and the sunlight unrelenting. Fact. Something, technological or metaphysical, intercepted his teleport pattern and diverted him to this wasteland. Fact. None of those who departed with him are here. Fact. This is not the Target Principal, the Vengeful Spirit. Fact. But it is a trap. Fact. He is alone. Fact. He knows exactly who he is. Fact.
‘I am Rogal Dorn, Praetorian of Terra, primarch of the Seventh Legion Imperial Fists, seventh-found son, defiant and unyielding,’ says Rogal Dorn to the hot and empty desert air.
The desert is boundless, a soft sea of yellow sand, the colour of his Legion’s plate. The sky is a hot white haze, the colour of his hair. There is no sun, except that everything is sunlit. There is a breeze, parched and dry, that comes intermittently, and lifts the soft sand from the crests of the dunes in horsetail plumes to make new dunes nearby, grain by grain. There are walls. Ancient stone walls, faded pink, and bleached by light. They are too high to climb and they serve no purpose he can identify, for they keep nothing in and nothing out, and merely stand, crossing the dunes in forking, geometric lines. There are walls either side of him, suggesting but never admitting that he is caught in some gargantuan labyrinth.
He tries and fails to climb them. He listens at them, hoping to detect sounds from the other side, but he does not. Some days, he ascends to the top of the highest dunes, and from there, as the breeze lifts the sand around his feet, he can almost see over them. Almost. Enough to see the odd, angled lines of their arrangement and the fact that, beyond them, lie more dunes, and other walls, and more dunes.
Fact.
Every day, for a century, he orders the facts he can be certain of.
He is here, and no one else is. Fact. He is alone. Fact. His pattern was diverted. Fact. This is not the Target Principal, the Vengeful Spirit. Fact. It is a trap. Fact. The desert is endless and there is no way out. Fact.
There is no way in. Perhaps.
He knows exactly who he is. Fact.
‘I am Rogal Dorn, Praetorian of Terra, primarch of the Seventh Legion Imperial Fists, seventh-found son, defiant and unyielding,’ says Rogal Dorn.
The bodies are here. They are all long dead and they are all his sons. They are scattered across the dunes and piled up against the bases of the walls, for kilometres. They wear the yellow plate of the VII Legion Astartes Imperial Fists, but they have been here so long that only dry white bones reside inside them, and the plate is abraded by breeze and sand, so all numerals and identifier markings are worn away. He doesn’t know who they were, except that they were once Imperial Fists. They may or may not be the men who formed the company he left with. He can’t be sure. Those men, hand-picked, may be here, but if they are, why were they long dead when he arrived? And who are all the others? There are far, far more than a company-strength of men scattered across the dunes. There are thousands. Tens of thousands. Yellow plate is piled like metal shingle along the foot of the walls. Many times he attempts to count them, to reach an accurate number which he can add to his list of facts. But he always loses count, some days after ten thousand, some days after twenty, for there are so many, and it is impossible to know where he started counting and where he has finished. He tries to mark them with his sword as he counts, cutting a notch in each pauldron. That scrupulous method gives him a figure of thirty-seven thousand four hundred and nine, before he loses count and forgets if he has notched a pauldron or not. Besides, his sword-edge is beginning to blunt, and he is weary, and there are still so many more, more than those he has already counted.
Unsure, he starts again.
He orders the available facts.
There are very many dead, and the desert is endless. Fact. The walls are very slightly too high. Fact. There is no sun, but the light neither rises nor sets. Fact. It is slightly cooler in the shadow of the walls. Fact. There is no way out. Fact.
There is no way in. Is that a fact?
‘I am Rogal Dorn, Praetorian, primarch of the Imperial Fists, seventh- found son, defiant and unyielding,’ says Rogal Dorn.
The desert is yellow. The light is white. The walls are very slightly too high. He sits in the cool of the shadows, day after day, amid the litter of yellow armour, and recites the available facts to himself. His sword is notched. He is alone. The breeze lifts feathers of sand from the ridges of the dunes like spindrift from the sea. There is no way out.
This is a trap. Fact.
‘I am Rogal Dorn. I am. I am Rogal Dorn. Primarch of the Imperial Fists, seventh-found son, defiant and unyielding,’ says Rogal Dorn.

...

Later that century, the rusting brown cast of the desert and the walls and the sky have grown darker still. It is red. Everything and everywhere is red, like blood, the colour of blood, scarlet out in the sunlight, across the endless dunes, and crimson, madder and orchil hues in the darker shadows of the wall.
He remembers, sometimes, longing for blood. The fire of blood, the gush of blood, the physicality of blood. He wanted that simplicity. He wanted to fight, in a blood fight, spilling blood close up, not fight with his mind from a distance. He wanted to put the mental fight aside, give up the crippling, endless puzzle of war, the never-ending facts and data, and just be a man with a sword. Just give up. Stop thinking and give in. Just fight. Just fight, mindlessly. Just be free. Just fight and kill, for blood. For blood, the colour of this desert. Just blood for the sake of blood, simple, released, unthinking.
Just blood. Blood for–
How long ago was that? Who was there?
Does it matter? Which side was he on?
He tries to order the available facts. He was a warrior who just wanted to kill. They wouldn’t let him. They wanted him to think. They wanted him to decide everything. They wanted him to order the available facts because they said he was good at it. He didn’t want to decide. He didn’t want to have to make those decisions. It was killing him. He never told anyone that. He wanted to stop and make somebody else decide, make somebody else order the available facts. All he wanted to do was to go to the walls and forget it all and fight, a man with a sword. Just fight. No thought. No decisions. Just fight, mindlessly, free, the way the others did. Just fight. Spill blood. That’s all. Just blood. Blood for the–
Just give up.
‘I am Rogal Dorn, defiant,’ says Rogal Dorn.
Just give in. ‘I am Rogal Dorn,’ says Rogal Dorn, sitting in the crimson shadow under the red wall.
Are you even that? Were you ever? Just give up.
‘I am Rogal,’ says Rogal.
Not even that. Don’t think. That’s all you really wanted, isn’t it? Not to have to think any more? You can do that here, in the shadow of the wall.
Just give up. Give in.
He orders the available facts.
‘I…’ he says. Is there anything he’s certain of any longer? All the facts have rusted, and all the thoughts have gone. There is only blood. That’s all he really wanted. Give in to that.
‘I…’ he says.
Just blood. Say it.
‘I…’
Say it. Say blood. The thing you wanted.
‘Blood,’ he says softly. Soft as the flecks of rust the dry breeze lifts in horsetail plumes from the ridges of the dunes.
Say it again.
‘Blood.’
Who is the blood for?
‘For–’
Say it. Who is the blood for?
‘Blood for the–’
For? For whom?
He’s waiting for you. You just have to say it.

Professional sharpening supplies and accessories are essential tools for maintaining the sharpness of knives, scissors, and other cutting tools. A well-maintained edge not only makes cutting easier and more efficient but also helps to prevent accidents and injuries. In this guide, we will discuss the different types of sharpening supplies and accessories available and how to choose the right ones for your needs.
Types of Sharpening Supplies:
Sharpening Stones: Sharpening stones are perhaps the most traditional and widely used sharpening tool. They come in various materials, including natural stones like oil stones, water stones, and Arkansas stones, and synthetic stones like ceramic and diamond stones. These stones come in different grits, which determine the coarseness or fineness of the sharpening surface. The coarser the grit, the more metal will be removed, and the sharper the edge will be.
Sharpening Steels: Sharpening steels are long, cylindrical rods made of either ceramic or steel. They are used to hone and maintain the edge of a knife or other cutting tool, rather than to sharpen it. Sharpening steels can be used to straighten the edge of a blade and remove any small burrs or nicks.
Electric Sharpeners: Electric sharpeners are a quick and convenient way to sharpen knives and other cutting tools. They work by using abrasive belts or grinding wheels to sharpen the blade. Some electric sharpeners also have guides that help to maintain the correct angle for sharpening.
Honing Guides: Honing guides are used to help maintain a consistent angle when sharpening a knife or other cutting tool. They come in different sizes and styles and are often adjustable to accommodate different blade thicknesses and angles.
Leather Strops: Leather strops are used to hone and polish the edge of a blade after sharpening. They are typically used with a polishing compound, which helps to remove any remaining burrs or nicks and give the blade a razor-sharp edge.
Choosing the Right Sharpening Supplies:
When choosing sharpening supplies and accessories, it is important to consider the type of cutting tools you will be sharpening, as well as your experience level and personal preferences. Here are some factors to consider:
Material: The material of the sharpening stone or other tool will affect its durability, effectiveness, and maintenance requirements. Natural stones like oil stones and Arkansas stones require regular flattening and maintenance, while synthetic stones like ceramic and diamond stones are more durable and require less maintenance.
Angle: The angle at which you sharpen the blade is critical to achieving a sharp edge. Some tools, like honing guides, can help you maintain a consistent angle, while others require more practice and skill.
Size: The size of the sharpening tool is important to consider, particularly if you are sharpening larger knives or other cutting tools. A larger sharpening stone or honing guide may be necessary to accommodate the size of the blade.
Budget: Professional Sharpening supplies and accessories can range from very affordable to quite expensive, depending on the material, size, and quality of the tool. Consider your budget and how often you will be using the tool when making your purchase.
Professional sharpening supplies and accessories are essential tools for maintaining the sharpness and safety of your cutting tools. With the right tools and techniques, you can achieve a razor-sharp edge that will make cutting easier and more efficient. Consider the factors we discussed when choosing your sharpening

Chapter 24: Top Dog
Boys: Shawn
Girls: Heather, Lindsay
Episode 24: Top Dog
"Last time on Total Drama Action," Chris said over a shot of the film lot. "A sweet, surprise package from the outside world left Heather bitter," Heather was shown looking at her jawbreaker with disgust, "and the cast got a taste of life in zero-gravity conditions," the four were seen floating in the space shuttle.
"But all was not well in the universe as Shawn and Courtney continued to spitefully hate each other," the two mentioned were shown making comments at each other.
"In the end, Heather won the challenge," she was shown to be covered in barf, "but lost her sweet smell. Lindsay fixed things between Courtney and Shawn" she, Shawn and Courtney were shown talking, "but lost her chance to stay in the game almost. Thanks to a tiebreaker, Courtney lost the game, but won a Lame-osine ride back to the real world?" She was seen puking into her pot and entering the limo.
"Can Lindsay breathe once more now that she barely got lucky?" The dumb princess was shown in the confessional.
"Will Shawn be able to carry on without his sole alliance?" The conspiracy nut was shown looking at his tinfoil hat.
The scene flashed to Chris in front of the cast trailers. "All this and more, on today's out-of-this world episode of, Total! Drama! Action!"
XXXXX
The episode opened on a shot of the morning sun before panning down to the cast trailers. The camera centered on the girls', then cut inside as Lindsay woke up.
"That was a nice dream I had," Lindsay talked to herself while sitting up in her bunk. "Marshmallow pillows and candy rainbow pieces have never been so tasty."
She soon looked around for a bit. "Where did Heather go? I thought she would be back from showering last night."
The door opened and Heather walked in, though she was looking groggy and tired.
"Where were you all night?" Lindsay asked her roommate. "Were you out on a secret trip thanks to your immunity? Let me guess where you went. The cheese factory, Niagara Falls, or did you go to the mall?"
"Zip it!" Heather shouted. "I spent the entire evening in the bathroom."
"Why did you sleep in there?" Lindsay asked.
"That ghost slash vampire fighting freak soaked the last of the gumbo on me!" Heather complained. "It took me hours to wash the food off and make sure I smelled exquisite."
"I don't blame Shawn for what he did," Lindsay shot a glare at the queen bee's direction. "You made him get into a fight with Courtney. Things could've gotten worse if I didn't solve their problem."
"Shut up, Lame-say," Heather insulted. "That homeschooled reject is going down, and once I deal with him and you, I'll claim the grand prize."
"I have no idea how Amy could tolerate you," Lindsay told her. "You worked with her, sure, but you decided to strategize behind her back just because she had standards."
"Amy and the other contestants mean nothing to me," Heather said. "Just watch your back!"
Confessional: Heather
"I knew I'd make it to the end. Big shocker," Heather filed her nails. "I just can't believe the zombie weirdo and brainless blondie made it. So they may as well just give me the check, I mean come on. I think we all know who's gonna win."
Confessional Ends
Heather yawned and laid down on her bunk. Just then, the trailer door burst open. Chris walked in and promptly and joyfully blew a few notes on a bugle into the room. "Wake up, sleepyheads!" he announced with glee. "Breakfast is served, along with today's movie challenge. You've got ten minutes to get your sorry butts down there!" He backed out of the room.
"I bet today's genre will be "guy in a coma" movie," Heather suggested as she lied down.
"I doubt it, but I'm just going to eat breakfast," Lindsay said before leaving.
\
The scene flashed over to the craft services tent. "Wow Chef!" Shawn said in awe as the camera cut to a close-up of his plate as Chef ladled a portion of something that was pale yellow, lumpy, and slightly hairy onto it. "These scrambled eggs actually look pretty good!"
Chef looked at the theorist, then burst out into raucous laughter. "Scrambled eggs," he repeated before resuming his laughter and even falling over.
Shawn shot his food with a worried look and put it back before walking away. "I'll just eat on the leaves I've gathered."
Confessional: Shawn
"The way Chef was laughing made me believe that the scrambled eggs were too good to be true," Shawn confessed. "Or maybe they were poisoned. Or maybe they were drugged with sleeping medicine. But worst of all-"
Confessional Ends
Shawn sat next to Heather, who stopped eating once she saw him. "I gotta say, you smell pretty good," the theorist told her teasingly.
"It's just lavender soap," Heather glared. "I used three bottles of it thanks to your stunt."
"Now you know how I felt when you messed with my mind and got Courtney eliminated," Shawn said. "Zombies may eat brains, but they don't have any control over what they're doing."
"It's always supernatural stuff with you," Heather groaned. "I'm stunned Jo even likes you, but it makes sense. You two are ugly and can't dress fashionably to save your lives."
Shawn furiously got in Heather's face. "She likes me for me, and I won't change myself for her."
Confessional: Shawn
"It's one thing to be manipulative, but to insult my feelings for Jo? That's crossing the line," Shawn ranted. "Like Jo did before, I will make sure Heather loses."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut to Lindsay approaching the serving counter, only to look confused when she didn't see Chef. The cook then lifted his arm up and dropped a ladle of fake eggs onto her tray.
"Scrambled eggs?" Lindsay wondered as she looked at her plate. "It's the second episode all over again." Chef broke out laughing again behind the counter, but he managed to sit back up and wipe a tear out of his eye.
Lindsay sat down next to Shawn. "Hey Shawn. Where's your food."
"A heads up," Shawn whispered. "The eggs aren't cooked well. They're just fake."
"They looked real," Lindsay slid her tray away.
"So anyways, me and you are up against Heather, Lindsay" Shawn told her. "I know what you're gonna say."
"Let's team up and take her down," Lindsay grinned.
"It's almost like you read my mind," Shawn said, "but without being an alien."
Confessional: Lindsay
"Shawn is really cute," Lindsay admitted. "His constant nagging about his theories do bug me and he could really use a shower every once in a while, but I can see why Jo is into him."
Confessional Ends
"What can I do about the eggs?" Lindsay asked Shawn. "Chef will totally kill me with his eyes if I throw it away."
"Leave it to me," Shawn told Lindsay.
Shawn grabbed the eggs with his two hands. He mushed them together and created a ball out of the eggs. Twirling it on his finger for a brief moment, he tossed the ball away and it landed in the pot Chef was using to cook a meal. The cook stopped whistling to see what slipped in, but went about his business without a care.
"I can't believe he didn't even care," Lindsay commented.
"I don't know what Chef uses to make his food, but it's probably leftovers," Shawn said.
"Attention, cast!" Chris said, the camera cutting to him standing on the other side of the tent with a blue-and-yellow macaw perched on his shoulder. It squawked as the three contestants walked up.
"What is that parrot doing on your shoulder?" Lindsay asked.
"That's my new BFFF!" Chris explained with a grin. "Best Flying Friend Forever. That brings us to today's movie genre: the Animal Buddy flic." The three teens gave him skeptical looks.
Confessional: Chris
"You try coming up with twenty-two movie genres," Chris accused in the confessional. "It was either animal buddy, or guy in a coma movies."
Confessional Ends
"The hallmark of any good animal buddy flick is the human-animal bonding," Chris explained as his macaw watched him. "First, the human and the animal start out as enemies. Then, through many misadventures, the animal and human grow to care about each other," the camera zoomed in on the macaw as it seemed to be touched by the host's words, "and become fast friends."
The parrot rubbed Chris' chin affectionately with its head, and the host responded by extending a finger to rub the bird. However, the macaw decided to playfully chomp on the finger and squawked laughingly as the human winced in pain.
"You guys just hang tight for a sec, 'kay?" Chris told the cast with a calm look on his face. He walked off camera, and the castmates watched in mild horror as sounds of an attack were heard. Feathers flew, squawks were heard, and the host yelled "Let go of my coif!"
He walked back into view moments later, brushing the feathers off his shoulder but ignoring the ones in his now-ruffled hair. "So...where were we...?" he asked idly before smiling in realization. "Right! The first animal buddy movie challenge will be to pick an animal and teach it to be just like you," he explained as the camera panned across the wary faces of Heather, Shawn, and Lindsay. "That shouldn't be too hard, since you're all animals." A rimshot played, but none of the cast were amused.
Chris got serious again. "The cast member whose animal most resembles them at the end, wins the challenge." The contestants were shown again, and Lindsay in particular was looking pleased.
Confessional: Lindsay
"I love animals, especially dogs," Lindsay gushed in the confessional. "I even have one of my own. One time, I told my math teacher that his new hair piece looks like my dog's butt. But he totally took it the wrong way. My dog has the cutest curly little butt!" the blonde explained. "It was a compliment!"
Confessional Ends
The footage resumed at a shot of the contestants outside. "Alright cast," Chris announced, "time to meet your future BFFFFFs!" He motioned behind him, where something large and covered in an orange tarp was stationed between him and Chef. "Best Furry, Feathered, or Finned Friends, Forever!" he explained further, earning an eyeroll from the cook as he pulled away the tarp.
The four teens gasped as the four cages were uncovered. The camera focused on each animal one-by-one. First was a brown bear that roared at the cast, then a bigger cage holding a rather agitated looking shark, then a smaller cage holding a raccoon that tried to claw at them, and finally a bird cage holding a chameleon that rolled out its tongue.
"Pick an animal," Chris told the cast, "and get training. You have three hours."
"I got the raccoon!" Heather said immediately, shoving Shawn to the ground and dashing forward towards the small cage before either of the others could react.
Confessional: Heather
"I had to pick the raccoon," Heather reasonably told the viewers. "The chameleon is gross, the bear is huge, and the shark is murderous."
Confessional Ends
The scene returned to Shawn and Lindsay standing with the other animals. "I'll take the chameleon," the blonde said. "If it can change colors, I can't pass that up."
"And I'll take the bear," Shawn announced. "It has a lesser chance of eating me alive in comparison to the shark."
Chris saw that the final three have made their decision and chosen their animals, but noticed that the shark was lonely.
"So it seems they left out the shark," Chris mused. "I paid good money to bring all four of the animals out here, and I won't let any of them go to waste." He thought to himself. "What to do, what to do."
Ezekiel suddenly ran up to Chris. "Hey Chris. I'm here to help judge the animals."
"Ezekiel! Great timing," Chris piped up. "Say, do you want to pet sit for an animal while we wait for the judging part?"
"Uh, sure," Ezekiel agreed. "Which one do I have to watch over?"
"Chef, bring the pet here!" Chris ordered, causing the cook to drag the shark over to the home schooled guy."
Ezekiel's eyes almost popped out. "I have to take care of a shark? They're dangerous looking eh!"
"That's not my problem," Chris laughed while departing. "Just make sure it doesn't try to hurt the other animals. They didn't get picked, so they're sorta jealous."
All Ezekiel could do was gulp at his predicament.
\
Heather and the raccoon were sitting on a table. "I don't know if you've been tested for rabies, but I have my eyes on you, so don't try any funny business."
The raccoon snarled at her. "Hey hey! I don't want any trouble. I just want to win this challenge."
Heather pulled out a box of doggy treats. "If you behave, I'll feed this to you." This caused the raccoon to sit up straight, and Heather gave it a treat. "Good."
After devouring the treat, the raccoon held out its paw, causing Heather to awkwardly shake it.
\
The camera went to the chameleon, who's colors changed from red to bright yellow. It was supposed to change to Lindsay's hair color, but it didn't obey.
"That's not the color," Lindsay told her animal. "It's supposed to be blonde, not bright yellow. Let's try this again." The chameleon turned dark green in response.
\
The scene flashed to Shawn and the bear inside the service tent. "I know something that we share," Shawn told the bear. "We both like food, but the only difference is that I can cook and you can't."
The bear growled at that, causing Shawn to retract. "I'm not saying this to insult you. I'm just saying that I teach you how to cook. That way, you won't have to eat out of the trash can."
The bear smiled in response.
\
Ezekiel was looking at the shark still in its tank. He touched the tank with his hand, and after the shark chomped its jaws, he recoiled back in fear.
"You know what I like to do?" Ezekiel said. "Play songs on my harmonica."
The home schooled guy took his harmonica out and played "Ocean Man" by Ween. Just as he was going to get to the third stanza, the shark howled in boredom and pretended to fall asleep by rolling over.
Ezekiel stopped playing to see what the shark just did and sighed. "I know music doesn't kill animals eh. I'm not that naive."
\
The scene flashed to Heather and her raccoon lounging about. "I've already taught you manners, but I don't have anything else to do."
The queen bee's face lit up with inspiration. "I know." She lifted up the raccoon. "Want to help me sabotage the others? I'll give you the entire box of treats if you do."
The raccoon thought about it, but complied.
Confessional: Heather
"This will almost be like sabotaging my competition in the ballet competition, only this time, it's on a reality show," Heather said.
Confessional Ends
Lindsay's chameleon was now orange-colored. "My hair looks like it's colored orange, but that's not the case," Lindsay expressed her frustration.
Behind her, Heather had hooked her raccoon to a fishing line. She swung it over Lindsay's head, allowing for the raccoon to use a can of spray paint on Lindsay's hair.
Seeing what color the hair was now, the chameleon turned white.
"That's definitely wrong," Lindsay said while the raccoon resprayed her hair brown, causing the chameleon to turn into that color. "Wrong again!" Her hair got sprayed pink. "My hair isn't even close to pink!"
Not wanting to be exposed, Heather quickly reeled her raccoon back and took off.
\
The camera flashed back to the kitchen. The bear was stirring pancake mix and flour in a big bowl as Shawn watched him.
"I work in a bakery, so making cake is my first lesson in cooking," Shawn instructed. "I need to use the bathroom. Keep stirring until I come back."
After Shawn left, the bear decided to search the cabinets for more ingredients. The raccoon, who was under the table, crept from under there and stood near the bowl.
They took out a bottle of maple syrup, and quickly squirted it all onto the bowl. As soon as the raccoon was done, they went back to hiding when the bear came back with the ingredients.
The bear added some sugar into their bowl and resumed stirring the mix, unaware of the syrup. Heather saw her pet return back and they smiled at their sabotage.
\
Meanwhile, Ezekiel was bringing a set of books with him. "Alright, shark. I think you'd like to read a story."
He took out "The History of Canada" and turned to page one. "This book is one of my favorites. It describes how Canada was made."
Seeing the book that was picked, the shark silently whined before taking out some earplugs and placing them into their ears. Afterwards, they faked a smile just to show that they're paying attention.
"I knew you'd like the story," Ezekiel looked up from his book, unaware of the fact that the shark wasn't listening.
\
A flash took the scene to a stock shot of the film lot before another cut took it to Ezekiel, Chef, and Chris sitting at a judge's table, the contestants and their animal buddies waiting around in front of it. "Alright cast," Chris announced, "time to judge the animal buddies."
"Why does the bear have frosting on their lips?" Lindsay asked Shawn after seeing the animal lick their lips.
"It's a secret," Shawn replied.
"Heather!" Chris called, earning the attention of the mean girl and her partner. "You and your raccoon are up first!"
"About that," Heather walked up. "I didn't teach my raccoon much of anything," she said, causing Chris to frown at her.
Heather soon whispered to her raccoon, and before anyone else knew it, the raccoon sprung up and snatched Ezekiel's crochet hat.
"That's my hat you're taking!" Ezekiel protested as the raccoon returned to Heather.
"But I did teach it how to snatch and grab," Heather said.
Chris and Chef looked at each other and held up two signs with numbers on it. "Ten!" Chris announced with a smile.
Ezekiel revealed his score. "I give it a six personally!"
Heather glared at the boy and hurled his hat at his face.
\
"Alright chameleon," Chris said next, "give it all you got."
The chameleon stood on Lindsay's shoulder and turned its color blonde like the girl's hair color.
The three judges clapped and gave Lindsay an eight.
\
"Shawn," Chris told the remaining contestant. "Time to see what your bear cooked up." He opened the pot and saw a chocolate cake with maple syrup surrounding it. "Why is there maple syrup?"
"I don't know," Shawn shrugged. "The bear must've put it in as a surprise." He got slapped in the head by the bear. "What? I didn't give you any syrup."
Chef took the first bite. "This is an eight. The cake is good, but it gets hard to scrape off your teeth."
Chris was next. "Nine out of ten. I'd like the dessert better if you had properly planned it out."
Ezekiel was the last one. "Maple syrup goes great with everything," he smiled. "Especially cake. This scored ten points!"
"If it makes us look good, I applaud you for your skills," Shawn complimented the bear.
"Points have been tallied," Chris announced. "And the winner of the first challenge is Shawn!"
"Yes!" Shawn cheered, but noticed Ezekiel still eating the cake. "Uh, Ezekiel, are you gonna share with us?"
Ezekiel stopped eating when he heard him. "It is your cake, so yeah."
"I do get first dibs," Chris grabbed a piece before turning to look at the camera. "Be right back," he said with a wink.
\
(Commercial break)
\
The scene faded back in to a shot of a dirt road running through some unidentified forest just as a bus pulled up. Its door opened with a hiss, and Chris stepped off. "Here we are gang! Don't you just love field trips?"
Following him off the bus were the raccoon and Heather, then Lindsay with her chameleon on her shoulder, and finally Shawn who had to pull his bear through by the paw.
"The woods? Again?" Heather asked.
"Your next challenge is to find your way back to the film lot," Chris told them as an angled shot of some trees nearby was shown. "A ten mile hike through these woods," the camera panned back to the castmates, "using only your animal buddies to guide you," the host added and the shot moved over to the raccoon, chameleon, and bear as they shrugged in ignorance.
"But be careful," Chris warned. "Several vicious and life-threatening traps have been set up along the way."
"Who would do such a thing?" Lindsay got scared.
"Hint; it's the only guy here," Heather said.
"It wasn't me, so obviously it was you," Shawn accused Chris.
"Correct!" Chris confirmed. "First one back wins invincibility. Shawn gets to shave thirty minutes off his final time for winning the first challenge. Everyone ready?"
"Wait, where's Ezekiel?" Lindsay asked. "And where's that shark?"
Chris chuckled a bit. "They're just spending time together."
\
Ezekiel was standing on a rock supervising his shark. "I only have a couple of hours left before I can go home, and it's just you and me."
He realized that his pet had brought more sharks into the stream of water. "What the heck? Chris never told me I had to watch all of you."
\
"See you all back at the film lot," Chris told them as he took a step onto the bus, "and good luck." He boarded the bus, and moments later the door slid shut and it sped off in a cloud of dust.
The three teens lingered in the area for a moment, then slowly split up. Heather and the raccoon went left, Lindsay and the chameleon went right, and Shawn and the bear stood still.
Shawn saw the girls going their own ways. "I know how to get back. I'm a bit of a navigator," he told her companion, who smiled at the knowledge.
Confessional: Shawn
"If you want to know the inside of my bunker, check it out!" Shawn said before pulling out blueprints and showing his first page. "Entrance chamber with eye-scan entry and remote lasers here, here, and here. And here and here. And here." He turned to the next page. "Master bedroom with bite-proof bedspread and weaponized pillows, and just in case…" the page turned, "this is the panic room." He flipped one last time. "And this is the panic room inside the panic room. Can't be too careful."
Confessional Ends
Heather and her raccoon were shown wandering through the woods and searching around.
"How did Jo manage to do this part of the challenge?" Heather rambled. "It was a stranded episode, but I still don't know which way she went."
The raccoon rolled their eyes, but still followed Heather.
\
The camera flashed to Lindsay walking through the woods. "No offense," she said to her companion, "but I think I should've picked the bear. Shawn must be lucky riding on their back."
Whether or not the chameleon got offended, they turned themselves invisible. "What the? Where did you go? I can't lose you!" Lindsay frantically ran about trying to locate her pet.
The camera moved to show her stepping on a string hidden behind a small shrub. It snapped, and a rock was launched out of a nearby bush by what looked like a small catapult. It hit Lindsay in the stomach, causing her to kneel over.
"Those were the traps," Lindsay wheezed out before collapsing.
Confessional: Lindsay
"One of the things I would've liked to do with my money is spend it on a lifetime supply of lip gloss, but I canceled it because there's more things to value," Lindsay confessed. "Like creating a brand new style of lip gloss."
Confessional Ends
Back with Ezekiel, he was sitting down as he watched the sharks racing each other. He pulled out some cake pieces from the one Shawn and his pet created and proceeded to eat them.
"I should've packed them in a bag if I didn't want syrup in the pockets, but I'll make do," Ezekiel shrugged before a shark swallowed all of his pieces. "Hey! If you wanted a piece, you should have just asked!" he said angrily.
This wasn't the smartest thing to say as the sharks chomped their jaws and went towards his direction.
Not wanting to potentially die, Ezekiel took out the last of his cake slices. "If you want these, go get them!" He threw them far away, causing the sharks to forget about Ezekiel and swim for the cake. "That was close."
\
The camera cut to Heather as he followed the raccoon. "Are you sure you know where we're going?" she asked. "I am not going to lose because of you leading us in circles."
The raccoon growled, but still stayed by her side.
"Of course I'll be upset," Heather replied. "I have plans for when I win the million bucks."
Confessional: Heather
"When I win, I'm thinking of my own spin-off series. The World According to Heather," Heather described it. "Luckily, I'm up against the dimwit and the nutcase. So they may as well just give me the money, I mean come on. I think we all know who's gonna win."
Confessional Ends
"Chameleon, where did you wander off to?" Lindsay yelled as she walked through the woods, "We have to be together so we can make it to the film lot."
The camera followed her to show that she was rapidly approaching a large patch of ground with a suspiciously large number of sticks and branches on it. "Could this be the way home?" As soon as Lindsay stepped onto the odd patch of ground, the branches snapped and she fell with a holler into the pit that had been hidden. "Booby traps!"
\
Shawn and his bear were strolling along. You know," he told his companion, "I can say that I trust you. If you were robotic or built by Chris and the producers, there wouldn't be any trust." The bear giggled happily.
The camera followed them as they came across a pile of leaves. As soon as they hit it, a net seemed to appear in the leaves under their feet and dragged them up in a suspended bundle.
"This isn't good. We have to get down," Shawn mentioned.
Confessional: Shawn
"I never thought I would see the day where I got captured in a booby trap," Shawn said.
Confessional Ends
"I have an idea!" Shawn said as he grabbed some nearby blueberries and gave them to the bear. "You eat as many blueberries as you can. If we're lucky, your increased weight can get us out."
Shawn took out a piece of wood bark carved into a knife. "I'll use this to cut holes into the trap just to help us."
\
The camera flashed to Heather and the raccoon outside a small cave. "I don't think there's a time for breaks," she told her companion. The raccoon snarled viciously and crawled into the cave. "As long as we're quick," she complied and followed her pet.
Inside the cave was the raccoon's surprisingly luxurious den. There was a reading corner, a kitchen, a ping-pong table, and even a big screen TV.
"You guys are civilized?" Heather said in shock upon seeing the den. "This resembles my house, but much smaller." A raccoon walked by and offered her a sandwich from a tray. "One sandwich? I'll take more than that," she said as she took three.
The raccoon, holding a paddle, chirped at her from the ping-pong table. "Ping pong? Like I would pass up on that offer," Heather said before going over.
\
The camera went to the pit Lindsay fell into. She had dirt all over her body along with leaves, her boots were gone, leaving her barefooted, and she was drifting into insanity.
"I'm so hungry," Lindsay croaked out. "What can I eat that's edible?"
She pulled out her lipstick and took the tube off before biting into it. "Tastes just like cherries."
\
Meanwhile, as Shawn was sawing through the net, the bear had its belly and mouth covered from all the berries they were currently eating on. After a few more seconds, the net finally burst and the duo fell into the ground.
"We're free!" Shawn whooped. "Time to get back to the lot."
\
The scene skipped ahead to a shot of the afternoon sun high in the sky, the camera panning down and to the right to show Chris standing alone by the cast trailers. A little ways to the left was a meager finish line flanked by tall red flags.
"Shawn and his bear!" Chris announced as he saw them coming to the lot. "Nice one!" He proceeded to high five Shawn. "You're the first team to arrive, and for being the first one back, you get a guaranteed spot in the final two."
Confessional: Shawn
"Going to the finale!" Shawn whooped with the bear next to him. "Training pets can be a hassle, but as long as they're not your enemies, you can bond well with them!"
Confessional Ends
"Where is everyone?" Shawn asked the host, both watching the woods along with the bear.
"Sure they'll be here any minute," Chris answered while looking at his watch.
"I'm back!" the voice of Ezekiel announced as he entered the scene.
"Where's the shark, Zeke?" Chris wondered.
"It met some friends in the water," Ezekiel described the situation, "or its family."
"As long as a mammal is reunited with their family, I'm cool with it," Chris shrugged.
\
\
The camera panned to the sun as it set, then the moon rose, then the moon set and the sun rose. The shot panned back to them waiting for the remaining contestants, with Chris having grown a large and bushy beard, and the bear asleep.
"Any... minute... now," Chris said weakly, still looking at his watch.
"It's been days," Shawn pointed out. "Maybe we should send out a search party."
"And here they come now!" Chris announced brightly before speeding off screen. The camera pulled back to show Victor and his raccoon and a soaking wet Heather and her fox walking up to the brickhouse.
"Are you guys ok?" DJ asked. "What took you so long?"
"I lost track of time when spending time with Lord Montague," Victor said while gesturing to the raccoon.
"And I wound up taking the wrong river," Heather explained through chattering teeth.
A familiar shout caught their attention and they turned to see Kitsune, now sporting and eye-patch and the parrot on her shoulder, swing into the film lot on a vine. "Argh!" She said in a thick pirate accent. "It be good to be back in me home port."
"Welcome back cast," said a clean shaven Chris. "Better late than never. DJ and his bear buddy easily won the challenge, which means invincibility. DJ gets a free pass into the Final Three."
"Shiver me timbers!" Kitsune cried. "Good job me boy!"
"The question is; Who will join him in the Final Three?" Chris asked. "And who will be the next one outta here? The answer will be revealed on the most exciting Gilded Chris ceremony ev-ah!"
"Now be the time to make the treacherous wench walk the plank!" Kitsune told her allies, who just gave her confused and concerned looks.
"Faith!" Heather groaned. "You're so annoying!"
"Who be Faith?" The goofball asked in genuine curiosity. "I be One-Eyed Foxy, the deadliest pirate on the Seven Seas! And this here's me faithful parrot, Eddie," she added with an affectionate rub of the parrot's head.
"She spent too long in a pit," the parrot explained. "Rawk!"
Heather walked up to the goofball, then slapped her across the face. Kitsune's pupils shrunk and she blinked a couple of times. "Thanks," she said begrudgingly. "I needed that."
XXX
"I must say," Victor said, "this has been one of the strangest few days of my life. At least I do not have to vote for DJ now. And maybe Chris will realize that a mole is no longer necessary"
XXX
[A grand theme played as the camera zoomed in on the amphitheatre. Several film strips of the host's highlights from the previous season flew past the screen, then the camera panned out from a solid gold screen to show a Guilded Chris.]
\
"This is a big one cast," Chris told the four teens from his podium. "DJ's safe from elimination which means the rest of you, are fair game. So," he mined a cat's claws scratching, "sharpen those claws and cast your votes. Someone is going home for the last time."
"Pfft," DJ scoffed. "Sorry girl, but you gotta go." He made his vote, and the screen shrunk into the top-left of the screen.
Kitsune sighed in relief as she made her vote. "Now that's satisfying." She shrank into the bottom-right.
"Like it matters at this point," Heather spat bitterly as she made her vote. She shrank into the top-right.
"There really is one choice," Victor said as he made his vote. He shrunk into the bottom-left.
A close-up of Chris grew from the center of the screen and stopped just before it overlapped with any of the castmates' faces.
"The Gilded Chris goes to..." the host announced. "DJ! And Kitsune!" The screen cut to Chris at the podium. "Heather, since you were the only one who didn't vote for you, it's time for your ride home."
"Finally!" Kitsune cheered.
"And Victor will be joining you," Chris added, causing everyone to gasp.
"But why?" DJ asked.
"Let's just say he had some special caused in his contract that he is now in breach of," the host answered.
"But DJ was immune!" Victor protested. "What would you have me do?"
"I don't know," Chris answered with a shrug. "Maybe sabotage DJ like we told you to," the other three gasped again.
"So Sugar was right?" Heather asked in disbelief.
XXX
"Confession time," Kitsune said. "I kinda knew Sugar was telling the truth. Seriously guys, Victor's a terrible liar."
XXX
Victor sighed and stood up. "I apologize for my actions and I hope that you will forgive me," he told his allies. "Please know that had I not been contractually obligated, I never would have influenced your votes like I had."
"Don't sweat it," Kitsune said with a wave of her hand. "We can't help the things this show makes us do."
"And it's not like you gave anyone an advantage in the competition," DJ added. Victor, upon hearing their words, beamed brightly.
"I'm not okay with it!" Heather shouted. "What was the point in the vote if you were gonna boot him anyway?!"
"Huh," Chris said. "I did not think about that."
"So that means that I can stay and he can go right?" Heather asked.
"Not really, all votes are final," the host explained. "And even so, technically he was disqualified after you were voted off."
"Well you'll be hearing from my lawyers!" Heather threatened.
"Considering that his being here kept you in the game for like three more episode," Chris replied, "I doubt you have a case."
The camera cut to a long distance shot of the film lot as a frustrated growl from Heather shook the screen.
\
The scene flashed ahead to Heather and Victor getting escorted to the Lame-osine by Chef. "You'll be penniless! Jobless! Your name'll be mud on every blog from here to Cape Breton!" Heather yelled back at the host. "You think you were in trouble when Alejandro sued?! I'll make you wish you never met me!"
Victor got in the limo, Heather was thrown in by Chef, and the cook slammed the door shut. It sped off in a cloud of dust, and the shot cut back to the start of the red carpet where the host stood flanked by the two finalists. "DJ! Kitsune!" he announced, putting his arms around their shoulders. The two
Victor got in the limo, Heather was thrown in by Chef, and the cook slammed the door shut. It sped off in a cloud of dust, and the shot cut back to the start of the red carpet where the host stood flanked by the two finalists. "DJ! Kitsune!" he announced, putting his arms around their shoulders. The two smiled brightly at the camera. "The Final Two! One of you will become a millionaire! And the other...will
The host rose his arms and knocked the two down in the process. "Tune in to our most controversial episode ever, of, Total! Drama!
(Roll the Crdits
​
​
(Bonus
The Gentleman and The Queen Bee both sat in the limo in an awkward silence. "So," Victor
"Don't talk to me," Heather
"Pardon me for attempting to dispel the tension," he replied
"Well I'm sorry," Heather said in frustration. "But I just lived through six weeks of torture, the guy I kinda have a crush on is head over heels with the most annoying person on the planet, and to top it all off I was just voted off. By you! So excuse me if I'm ot in the mood to talk. Especially considering if you'd done your job as a mole, I'd still be in the
Victor pursed his lips. "You do realize that even without my vote you still would have been voted off. Also, the fact that the producers had to hire someone to keep you on the show should tell you
Heather opened her mouth but Victor cut her off. "But by all means, continue your sul
16th/15
16th/15th:
13th:
13th: S
12th
11th:
10th:
9th:
8th: Mik
7th: Amney
6th:
5th:
3

When the circumstances around us become desperate and hopeless, it's natural to seek refuge in our dreams and aspirations. In times of hardship and uncertainty, having a dream to hold onto can provide a sense of hope and purpose, and can serve as a source of motivation to keep pushing forward. In some cases, we may be willing to pay anything for a dream that we can resort to. In this story, Jack is one of those who devote their lives to his desires.
***
The sun was shining down on the garden as the family fired up the grill for their barbecue. The sweet smell of marinated meat filled the air, and the sound of laughter echoed throughout the yard. The son and daughter ran around the garden, playing tag and chasing each other.
The father stood by the grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs with a huge smile on his face. The mother was busy setting up the outdoor table, arranging plates and glasses and silverware.
Max ran up to Jack and asked, "Dad, can I help you with the burgers?"
"Sure, Max," Jack replied. "Just be careful not to burn yourself."
As Max took over the grilling duties, Lily tugged on Sarah's shirt. "Mommy, can I make the salad?" she asked.
"Of course, Lily," Sarah said, passing her a bowl of chopped vegetables. "Just remember to wash your hands first."
While Max and Lily helped with the food, Jack and Sarah chatted about their plans for the upcoming vacation. "I was thinking we could rent a cabin by the lake," Sarah suggested.
"That sounds like a great idea," Jack replied. "The kids would love it."
“Do you think you will need to do overtime for that?” Sarah asked.
“I’m afraid so. But don’t worry about that,” Jack replied.
Just then, Max ran over to the table, a huge grin on his face. "Dad, can we play a game of catch after lunch?" he asked.
"Sure thing, Max," Jack said, handing him a cold soda. "Just let me finish up these burgers first."
As they all sat down to enjoy their meal, Lily piped up. "Can we do this again next weekend, Mommy and Daddy?"
"Absolutely, sweetie," Sarah replied, ruffling her daughter's hair. "We'll have another barbecue."
Suddenly, Jack's eyes darted to his wristwatch, a look of worry on his face.
Sarah noticed and asked, "What's wrong? How much time do you have left?"
Jack let out a sigh and said, "We only have an hour and a half left until I have to leave."
Sarah frowned. "That's not much time. Then let’s just enjoy the moments we have left."
As the family gathered around the table, they shared stories and jokes, passing around dishes of potato salad and baked beans. Max and Lily took turns showing off their latest drawings and school projects, and their parents praised their creativity and hard work.
As Jack and Sarah sat on the blanket, enjoying the warm sun on their faces, Snowy appeared, wagging her tail with excitement. She knew that where there was food, there was always a chance for a tasty bite. Jack couldn't resist her cute face and tossed her a few pieces of meat from the barbecue. Snowy devoured them eagerly, and then lay down next to them, looking content.
After the meal, the children ran around the garden, laughing and playing games. Sarah laid out a blanket on the grass, and Jack sat next to her, putting his arm around her. At that moment, the family was at peace, surrounded by love and warmth and the simple joys of life.
"Do you think you could find another job that pays more?" Sarah asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"It's impossible. All jobs are the same, and all jobs pay the same," Jack replied, his expression downcast.
"I wish we could spend more time together," Sarah said wistfully.
"I'll try to do more overtime," Jack said, his voice hopeful.
"That's a good idea," Sarah replied, nodding her head in agreement.
Jack checked his watch and saw that there was less than half an hour left before he had to leave. He sighed, wishing he could stay longer with his family. Snowy seemed to sense his mood and nuzzled up to him, trying to comfort him in her own way.
"Thanks for a wonderful day, honey," Jack said, giving Sarah a kiss on the cheek.
"It was lovely, and hopefully we could do this more often," Sarah replied a hint of sadness in her voice.
The sun was still shining bright, and a gentle breeze blew through the garden, rustling the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded the property.
Sarah sighed. "I know. The kids are going to be so disappointed."
Just then, Max and Lilly came running up to them, laughing and playing. They were both dressed in their favorite summer clothes, ready for a day of fun in the sun.
"Daddy, can you play with us today?" Max asked, looking up at his father with big, pleading eyes.
"I'm sorry, buddy," Jack replied, ruffling his son's hair. "I have to go to work."
Lilly's face fell, and she looked up at her father with a sad expression. "But we want you to stay and play with us."
Jack knelt down and put his arms around his children. "I know, sweetie, and I wish I could. But I promise I'll make it up to you later. We'll have a big family day on Saturday, okay?"
Max and Lilly smiled, and Sarah hugged them all. "We'll miss you, Jack," she said softly.
"I'll miss you too," Jack replied, kissing his wife on the cheek. "But I'll be back before you know it."
With a heavy heart, Jack got up from the blanket.
"Bye, Daddy," Max and Lilly called out, their voices full of emotion.
"Bye, kids," Jack replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "I love you all."
And then, he disappeared into thin air.
***
The sleek white walls of the room’s interior shone brightly in the artificial lighting. The hundreds of cylindrical pods lined the walls, each with a transparent dome on top that revealed the occupants within. In each pod was a person, some of whose eyes were closed, while others were waking up.
Then a robotic female sound spoke up from the speaker of his capsule:
YOUR SESSION IS OVER. TO CONTINUE YOUR VIRTUAL EXPERIENCE, PLEASE TOP UP YOUR SESSION WITH ADDITIONAL WORKING HOURS. PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR MINIMUM SESSION TIME IS 1 HOUR, WHICH IS EQUIVALENT TO 8 WORKING HOURS IN THE VIRTUAL REALITY ENVIRONMENT. THANK YOU FOR USING OUR VIRTUAL REALITY SYSTEM, AND WE HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO ENJOY YOUR EXPERIENCE.
Jack got out of the capsule and headed to work. He exited to the hallway, which stretched ahead, metal walls were painted a neutral gray, with small lights flickering and sparking in the ceiling like stars. The walls were lined with metal panels and pipes, stretching out into the depths of the building. There were some consoles built into the wall, buttons with blinking lights, and transparent glass windows looking out at the limitless barren desert beyond.
After a brisk five-minute walk, he arrived at his workplace and quickly changed into his work clothes. Once he was dressed appropriately, he checked in at the factory to begin his shift.
In the factory, people, and machines intermingled in a chaotic overlap. Thick gray clouds of smoke and dust enveloped the workers in a thick haze, while sparks flew from the ancient machinery like fireflies in the night sky.
The machinery was large and looming, with gears that groan and grind as they rotated, and the metal surfaces were rusted and covered in thick layers of grime. Its automated arms were patched together with pieces of scrap and exposed wires, sparks flashed as they move in jerky motions.
Everything was bathed in a sickly yellow hue, the air was thick with sweat and toil. People of all sizes, shapes, and ages worked tirelessly at the assembly lines, their clothes caked with years of dirt and grime, their faces glistening with sweat in the overhead lights.
The factory hummed with a low, constant rumble of activity. The whirring of machines and the clanging of metal on a metal mix with the shouts of workers, orders barked out from foremen over the din of industrial noise. The rumbling motors and clanking gears of the machines fill the air, punctuated by the hisses of steam pipes and the occasional shouting from workers. The whirring saws, thudding hammers, and screeching belts create a nonstop cacophony of noise. The factory stank of sweat, oil-burnt metal, rust, smoke, and burning rubber that lingered in the air.
They were all working to go back to their dreams. Just like Jack, they all knew that these dreams would never become a reality.

File - Journal Entry Report - Elias Dexter
Species - Human
Date Stamp - December 2, 3023, Standard Union Time
Location - TAS LockHaven, in deep space
​
The Union accepted our plea for a war declaration. We should have been happy, right? The truth is none of us were happy. Video footage of the Grim’s attack on our expedition spread through the Union media like a wildfire. It was practically impossible not to see it. The Union stated there was going to be a mandatory draft. Something like that didn’t affect us, the Terran Alliance had already met their quota within a week after the draft announcement.
I was already a First Lieutenant in the Terran Alliance’s Army, so any draft already didn’t apply to me. It just meant the most likely scenario was our immediate deployment into no man's land. The Terran Alliance, or TA for short, wasted no time drawing up battle plans. While the rest of the Union drafted and trained their militaries, the Terran Alliance, along with the Luthal Commonwealth were set to launch a coordinated preemptive invasion on the Grim territories. Little is actually known about the Grim, other than the fact that they have the ability to consume us. They have some kind of technology that would allow them to drop us out of FTL in a moment's notice.
But I suppose I should start at the beginning of the battle, I’ll try my best to remember as much as I can. During the briefings we were given we were told we were about to take the planets most likely to be their outer worlds. Planet hopping a few of us even called it. The plan was derived from what the old United States did over a millennia ago in one of their major wars. But what most of us overlooked in the history books was how bloody those battles were.
The first mission would put us on a Grim planet you could say bordered the sol system, it was the closest habitable system to sol inside no mans land. The planet, we would later find out, the Grim called Drug. I'm not sure why the Grim gave one of their planets such a bland name but that was the least of our concerns. Our top priority was to eliminate all military assets on and around the planet. We would conduct orbital bombardment to soften up the anti-air defenses we knew had to be there, then we would drop in all sorts of assets. Tanks, armored vehicles, portable command centers, anything we should need in case of a long, drawn out war.
However, our first mistake was assuming we would make it to Drug easily. I know I mentioned we knew about the FTL disruptors, but the TA must've overlooked that key piece of intel. Hell, we all watched the video of Captain Hugh Adam’s crew. They experienced the FTL disruptors first and even warned us about them. Even the commons soldiers knew that.
I was in the mess hall when it happened, attempting to down what I speculated would be my last good meal for the foreseeable future. My closest friends in the service, Christian Newman, and Julian Smith sat across from me on the other side of the table. When the FTL disruptor hit us, there wasn’t much the Inertial dampeners could do to soften the blow. The table, along with myself, flipped over my two friends. I ended up landing on top of the table, which crushed them both. I rolled over, noticing I spilled some of my dinner on myself.
I quickly helped my friends push the table off of them, both of them rubbing parts of their body that the table must have hit. An alarm started blaring just in time for us to regain our sense of reality.
“That’s the battle sirens,” Julian spits out, “Bastards must have intercepted us, they must really not want us to make it to their planet.”
“Whatever, lets just head to the armory, I’ll fucking kill the bastard who made me spill my potatoes all over my uniform,” I mutter. We jog down to the armory and fit ourselves with our vests, knee guards, helmets, and our weapons of choice. Personally, I prefer a rifle, but Julian has always preferred the shotguns. Whenever we would go to the range to practice our shooting, he always boasted about how he puts bigger dents into the targets, especially at close range.
After I finish grabbing the last magazine of ammo I need, I have to push through a dozen other soldiers who need to grab their gear. I walk back out into the hallway, where Julian and Christian are already waiting for me, and secure my final magazine in my vest.
“All units, prepare for a Grim boarding party, I repeat, prepare for a Grim boarding party!” the loudspeaker shouts to all of us. “Grim forces are docking from airlock 3-C on the starboard side!”
Airlock 3-C? That should be right below us, I think to myself.
“Let's go,” Julian shouts to me and Christian. We follow him to the stairwell, where we can already hear intense gunfire.
“God damn it,” Christian says, “How the hell did they catch us with our pants down this far?”
“Relax,” Julian says, as we fly down the stairs. “Let's just focus on getting out of this alive.”
I open the door to the hallway, when we open it, one of our soldiers flies past us and lands hard on his back. When he landed, the three of us could clearly hear the snapping of some kind of bone in his body. The soldier shrieks out in pain. Christian quickly rushes to the soldier, while me and Julian turn our attention to the direction of the airlock.
There has to be two or three dozen Grim already on our ship, with several more barreling their way in. Several dead Grim soldiers blanket the floor in front of the airlock, their fellow soldiers walking over their bodies as if they couldn’t give a second thought about them.
I rest my rifle on a storage crate and begin to unload my ammo onto the Grim soldiers. I attempt to save several Terran soldiers who have gotten themselves cut off from retreating to us, but there is only so much I could do. I watch as one of the Grim appears to absorb one of our dead comrades. It's as if their skin opens up to allow the human into their body, and their body immediately breaks down everything. I put a bullet into the shoulder of one, missing the headshot that I was aiming for. Reinforcements pick off the remaining Grim soldiers from behind. Roughly two dozen soldiers stand on the other side of the dead Grim boarding party. Julian is the first one to point his shotgun in the storage room.
“Get the hell out here you bald headed piece of shit,” he shouts. The Grim soldier walks out with his hands above his head. Amazingly, the wound on his shoulder has healed.
“I shot you,” I shout, “Why the hell isn’t there a gunshot wound on your shoulder?”
The Grim soldier smiles, “It is the energy I stole from one of your pals, my body converts energy much faster this way, and the more energy I have, the quicker my body heals itself.
Julian shrugs, “Alright, let's test that out real quick,” he lowers his shotgun to the Grim’s knee, I grab the barrel of his gun and point it away.
“Relax, we captured one, we can’t go executing prisoners. Just detain him and help gather up our dead and wounded. Me and Christian will help board their ship. Clearly they underestimated us.”
Julian nods in agreement. Clearly watching our fellow soldiers getting eaten like slaughtered cattle was something that bothered him, hell it clearly bothered all of us. But it was clear he needed to process the situation on his own. I glance over to find the other soldiers had already abandoned us, all but two, who detain the Grim soldier while Julian watches.
“Christian,” I say, getting his attention, “me and you will catch up to our boarding party and back them up in the event they need it.” He gives me a nod and we head for the airlock.
The sheer smell of the Grim ship is overwhelming, we can smell it before we even reach the airlock. I quickly clear the airlock, even though Terran soldiers entered less than five minutes ago, we were taught never to assume an area is cleared unless we were the ones who personally cleared it. The other side of the airlock is dark. Given the Grim’s physical appearance, both their lack of body hair and pale body, I estimate the Grim must prefer dark environments. Me and Christian flip down our night vision goggles and enter the ship.
The hallways were probably three or four times the size of ours. It is clear from out initial observations the Grim must really appreciate personal space. We hear a couple of gunshots echo from the left side of the airlock, so we begin to make our way down towards the sound. We quickly pass few rooms, so far all of them appear to be storage rooms.
After another minute or so walking down the hallway, we catch up to the Terran group, who stand posted up aside from a large steel door.
“God damn it Dexter, we almost shot your ass, don't ever sneak up on us like that again,” Sergeant Morgan Chang states. “Several Grim soldiers are barricaded inside this room, the door is too thick for us to open it. What should we do?”
Since I am technically the highest ranking officer among us, It makes sense they would look to me, even if it did catch me off guard. “Honestly, depending how thick the door is, I say we weld their asses in there. But that probably isn’t the smartest tactical solution. Just use some C4 to blow the door in and we’ll just pick them off.”
The soldiers nod in agreement and begin deploying a large amount of C4 to the door. After they are finished, they hand Sergeant Chang the detonator. “These bitches are about to find out exactly why you dont fuck with us,” She says, then she squeezes the detonator, blowing the door inwards. Five pops from Chang’s soldiers, then silence. Myself and Chang enter the room last, with Christian keeping post outside, to inspect the damage.
Six Grim soldiers dead, which is odd because I only remember hearing five shots. “I thought I only heard five shots?” I ask Sergeant Chang.
“That is my fault,” one of her soldiers says with a smile. I look at the nameplate, which reads Fraizer. “They lined themselves up, so I guess one bullet went through both of their skulls,” he says.
After confirming all six Grim soldiers are dead, we move on. We still don’t know much about the layout of the Grim’s ship, but we ignore our ignorance and continue to make our way down the hallway. After another 100 feet or so, we reach the end of the hallway, only a secured door sits at the end of it. I sit back as Chang’s forces follow the same procedure from before to blow the door open.
This time, me and Christian sit back as they clear whatever is on the other side of that door. “Uh, Lieutenant,” I hear Chang’s voice shout, concerningly, “You might want to come take a look at this.”
I leave Christian behind as I enter the doorway. On the other side however, it appears to be some kind of holding center for prisoners. Blue light emits from the shield that holds its prisoners inside. I lift my goggles up to inspect the holding area. Four out of eight cells are in use, and the prisoners are all of the same species. The prisoners appear to be almost rat-like. They seem smaller than us humans, comparable in size to the Luthal.
“Who are you?” I ask one of the creatures, but get no response.
“I already tried that,” Chang replies, “They must not have neural-transmitters like we do, so we probably won't be able to speak with them, unless you have a portable translator device.”
“No, we don’t, we’ll have to get them back to our ship, I’m sure we have something back there,” I reply. “Free them, make sure you make no threatening gestures, if they struggle, then detain them. Our safety comes first, but just remember they are prisoners to a species that eats other creatures by touching them, so they are probably scared.”
Chang’s soldiers nod in agreement and begin smashing the controls to each cell, releasing the blue shield keeping them locked away in their cells. The frightened creatures follow us out of the holding cell.
“All Terran forces fall back to the LockHaven,” We hear over our radios. That order can only mean one of two things. Either the Grim are retreating, or we are. We secured the alien prisoners with cuffs, which I hated to watch Chang and her soldiers do, and began to head back onto the LockHaven. After securing the airlock, we watched the Grim ship disconnect from ours. Out the airlock’s window we could witness our ship and the Grim’s exchanged plasma fire. After we put a good distance between us and the Grim ship, dozens of missiles rocketed towards the Grim ship. The missiles collided in an explosion, leaving only debris where the ship once stood. I look around the space near us to see we were the last ones to ward off our boarding party. I don’t know if we all succeeded, but it definitely looks like we kept most of our fleet intact.
​
Previous

Im typing this at almost 2am on a phone so whatever standards ya have lower them to the fuckin floor. This shit's gonna be all over the place. No this isn't feel pity me or "im not like other girls" i just need to get all this shit off my chest.
The night before i turned 12 my mom had told me i could grt whateber haircut i wanted and she'd let me. This meant the world to me, i absolutely hated(and still do) having long hair. I had really long thick hair with natural highlights and it went way past my shoulders before i got it cut. Ever since i was little i remember constantly getting told that people paid hundreds to have it, i couldn't give a shit less and still couldn't, so, i got the levi ackerman haircut with a side part- the only time i had short hair before this was when i was a baby and it was growing. I was so excited, i felt so happy and proud because i was finally able to somewhat express myself. I was mainly excited to see what my papa thought/said though, he never told me happy birthday because he couldn't, like, he was too sick and physically hurt too. It hurt, but i understood. The day after my birthday aka the day after my haircut he passed away. I didn't get to talk to him or even say anything for about a week or more prior. That was last year, my birthday is coming up. Im not sure how to feel. I was excited to see what he had to say since he is/was rhe only positive male rolemodel in my life, he was like my father figure since my actaul dad is a peice of shit that should've left a long time ago but sticks around like a fucking leech or parasite. I've always been the bud of the jokes in my family since as long as i could remember, immediate and extended on both sides. I remember getting made fun of for being ,fat" when i was a toddler and it never stopped and still hasn't, in kindgergarten i developed a eating disorder that im still trying to get over. My family loves to say family is important yet the second one of the family members gets out of earshot they immediately start talking shit about them until they come back. When we got the call my papa passed we headed over to say our goodbyes, everyone complimenred my hair and we(me and my brothers) were trying to lighten the mood. We came back a little over a month later and my aunt and her kids were there. My cousin kept talking to me about my hair, they said "uncle (name) said you were probably gay" or "grandma says you look like a boy" and many other things along those lines, including thise exact things. What the fuck? I literally just got a haircut. My sexuality is and none of their fucking business. Especially not because of a haircut. I'll admit, im queer, that still doesn't make it ok for them to talk about me or anyone like that ever. They, and my own immediate family, are literally the reason i was only excited for my papa to see it
I remember being told if my papa had a favorite grandkid it was me. He bought me my first real bike, got me my first real fishing pole, taught me how to use those long stick styled knife sharpeners from when he owned a butcher shop, and sooo many other things i can list. You know those boxes of Raspberry filled powder donuts? He'd get those and give me one or two(at dif times obviously) and tell me to keep it a secret since it'd sometimes be before dinner. I remember he used to babysit me when i was little. I remember everything we did together, how on Saturday's he'd cook breakfast and save me a peice of crispy bacon and watch cartoons with me, how on a couple occasions i put face paint on him, another couple occasions i did his hair, and sooo sooo much more. In summer we did yard work, winter we helped put up christmas decorations(he loved to go all out and we accidentally started a little bit of a contest for a few years with the neighbors), and later in the summer we'd have(and still have) beach family reunions for four days at the campsite we've stayed at for years. And for my 10th birthday he got me my own box of Raspberry filled powder donuts, which i had to wrestle out of my brothers' and cousins' hands on a few occasions, all the same day. Now every now and then my uncle and/or gramma get me my own box.
I really miss my papa. All the great memories we had and made. I wish i could tell him about all the new things in my life since he passed since so much has changed. I got a puppy since she was rescued, my other dog is taller then me when she's on back legs, im going to a new school, i have great grades and got into leadership, im starting track, and so many other little things like the recipes I've tried/or made that i know he'd love, I've gotten counseling, and all the really stipid and funny things i do at school. All because he's the only one who'd every actaully tell me he was proud of me, the only one who was actaully excited and happy for and with me. Like yeah other people would get happy and excited too, but at the same time it feels like it's something they expected and it was just a fake. And the only other time i get told someone's proud of me is whenever it's a joking type of mood, all i want is for someone to tell me they're proud of me and it not be fake. My papa made a very specific type of potato salad, I've never had anything like it and nothing better then it. He said his secret was cream cheese and love, along with whatever else he had put in it that you wouldn't typically put in potato salad. I used to get huge servings of it and would always go back for more. My uncle and gramma have tried to remake it on a few occasions, i either mever ate it or ate a small amount. Everyone agreed it was different even though they'd followed the exact recipe. I miss it as stupid as it may sound.
I haven't cried about his passing but as i right this i feel like i might cry, or sneeze, i cant really tell yet they feel the same to me when the come on lol. I know this was a lot and i doubt anyone actaully read it all, but if you did thank you.

Hello the Internet!
I got a major channeling problem (furiously spitting naked portafilter aka espresso rabies in my terms).
Machine: Sage (aka Breville) Barista Express SES875 BKS
Grinder: Niche Zero
Used methods:
- WDT (~1 mm thick) <- should I get a thinner one like 0.35 mm?
- Grinding straight to the portafilter
- Dosing cups
- Aggressively shaking the portafiler whit a dosing cup on it (it seems that screaming doesn't help much)
- Leveling tool
- Palm tamper
- Leveling whit my own finger
- Yelling and using curse words
- Stock and a Motta tamper (i can feel force in my hand and elbow when tamping)
- Paper filters <- should i get a additional metal screen?
- Asking my wife for financial and psychological support
- Used only the stock basket for closed and naked portafilter
- Multiple times I tried to grind finer. It reduced the spitting rabiosity of the portafilter, but the espresso tasted like roasted dog turds whit crema. My record is 3 drops per 45 seconds.
- Beans are fresh (?). Roasted on 9.3.23. Omniroast. Same effect on day 14.3.23 througout to today. From a trusted and legal source.
- On stock closed portafilter the espresso is kinda hollow, but still enjoyable.
My group head without the metal shield spits only a single stream of water on the right side. This might be the problem. A guy that is my roaster and a barista says machine of this class can't produce 15 bars of pressure. @!EDIT: The pressure gauge is going far right like its being paid for it.
Does anyone whit such setup have had or has this problem that drives me into insanity? How to solve it to be a bit more sane? But not too much, I still like this hobby.
And final question. Should I abandon all hope and go for an E61 group head machine?
Also You Guys and Gals are Legends. Naked portafilter is like black magic for me. Probably I'm doing something dumb at the moment whit puck prep.

Hi! This is the first post in what I hope to be (about) a 7 part series following the adventures of a human destroyer with a crew who was not trained for diplomacy becoming the last chance for peace between two alien species who aren’t very happy that their first contact with humanity is a purpose-built warship blundering into their space. Kida sorta. This is my first time writing anything like this, or really anything at all for public viewership, so feedback is welcome!
This is the prologue, the framing sequence is kinda vague here, this is mostly just to set up the main cast of this show and the titular gunboat, the UNS Crazy Train, so apologies if it drags a bit in a couple places, but I figured it’d be best to exposit now and focus on a more character driven story later (unless y'all really like exposition). Future chapters will probably use the memory transcription framing sequence, the next one will for sure, but I'm not great at writing in first person, so it depends after that. I’m aiming for one post a week, but IRL may have other plans for me.
Credit to u/SpacePaladin15 for his original series, The Nature of Predators, It is very good! Read it if you haven’t because, 1:why are you on the NoP subreddit without reading NoP? Silly. And 2:None of this will probably make sense unless you already know a good chunk of NoP’s plot.
I started working on this before part 98 came out, but this story is not set in the primary canon, so effectively that's about where it diverges from the normal timeline. I'll do my best to avoid contradicting lore from before 99 wherever possible!
That's enough introduction, on with the prologue!

Historical Record: July 12th, 2137
“Captain Krenshaw?”
The captain didn’t look up from his datapad, beckoning the visitor into his office. Probably just another new batch of paperwork for me to sign. While he was enthusiastic about captaining the UNS Crazy Train, the first in the UN’s new class of siege-breaker destroyers, he hadn’t anticipated the amount of documents he would have to sign and submit before. Liability waivers for every new piece of equipment on board, confirmations of deliveries of a dozen different ammo types, and signing the admittance documents for every one of the six hundred and thirty souls on board. Maybe the engineers have a new type of wrench they need approval to distribute to the workstations, he thought with a rueful smile.
The ship had been scheduled to launch five days prior, but the fueling shuttle had somehow brought fuel rods half again too long to fit in the reactor, and so the geniuses in engineering had figured out a way to cut them down to size. It was faster than waiting for replacements, but by no means a fast process, and some logistician had decided to take advantage of the ship sitting in dry dock above Mars and managed to add thirty tons of cargo to the manifest.
“The last of the ammunition has been loaded, we have one last matter to attend to before we are cleared for cast off.” The visitor said while handing him a clipboard.
The captain stood, recognizing the voice of Commander Wilson, his second in command and long time friend. If the commander was hand-delivering a hard copy, this must be an important piece of cargo. A cursory reading of the document proved him right, much to his consternation.
“We’re transporting war criminals now, Hanah? I thought four hundred incendiary bombs for the Fissan’s new “terraforming” project was a bit much, Lieutenant Kiref was already complaining about how he wouldn’t get any time to train with his marines with all this guard duty, and now he’s going to have to have to incorporate at least ten people into prisoner watch.”
Wilson shrugged. “I tried to argue with them, but apparently these criminals need to be delivered to the Venlil High Courts pronto. UN command wants any Arxur sympathetic to our cause to know that we don’t use exterminator tactics on defectors.”
Krenshaw sighed, “Great, just what I need to be worried about, racist pyromaniacs on a ship packed to the brim with napalm charges. I suppose I should go and talk to them before we set off, acceptable conduct and all that.” He rolled his eyes. “We’re ready to go other than that?”
Wilson nodded, and Krenshaw followed her out of his office, leaving her in the battle bridge to make final preparations, while the captain got in a lift down to the dock connecting them to the Martian Shipyards.
As he passed the levels, he again marveled at the warship he was now in command of. The Crazy Train was not a particularly large ship, coming in at just under half a klick long and a quarter of that in width and an eighth in height, but the armor made her literally second to none. While the lower half of her twin hulls were armored comparably to any other human warship, the top halves were covered and connected by a series of armor plates collectively thicker than the wingspan of Earth’s largest fighter, not even including spacing. In order to account for her massive weight, the four primary propulsion thrusters (one at the front and rear of each hull) could rotate to face straight down for atmospheric flight.
Her design had been the result of information gleaned during the UN Shadow Fleet’s marauding attack through Chief Hunter Shaza’s sector, notably the complete lack of any anti-capital ship weapons on the surface of any of the Arxur cattle worlds. A conversation with some of the Arxur sympathetic to humanity, and interrogation of one of the cattle farm overseers revealed the reason: apparently, about sixty years ago a cattle world had been drained of guards for another all-out attack, leaving just under one hundred Arxur in charge of roughly three thousand Mazics. One stampede later, and the Arxur had lost control of the farm and all of its anti-starship heavy plasma railguns. The facility was removed with antimatter bombs, but over a hundred bombers were lost in an operation that, had the guns not been operational, could have been handled by three or four. Rather than rework their entire military strategy to rely on smaller, more flexible forces that didn’t require reducing entire galactic sectors to skeleton crews, the Arxur just moved all the heavy guns to orbital installations.
As a result, the UN commissioned three new classes of warship under “Project Rustler,” with the objective of creating purpose-built warships for eliminating orbital defense platforms and liberating cattle farms. The designers of the Crazy Train had come up with the quintessentially human tactic of building a ship so heavily armored and with such powerful engines that she could hard burn past the platforms, dumping dozens of boarding torpedoes and enough countermeasures to cloak a small fleet in her wake, hover above the farm, drop the onboard detachment of marines to the surface, rescue as many cattle as possible, and escape virtually unharmed due to the upper armor plate being thick enough to take dozens of shots that would split a larger ship in two in stride.
Captain Krenshaw’s musings were interrupted by the bell indicating someone else was getting on the lift. The doors slid open, and the massive form of an Arxur blocked the doorway before quickly ducking inside the elevator.
“Mornin’ Captain” growled Lieutenant Kiref, crouching slightly to avoid whacking his head on the seven foot tall ceiling. “I’m heading down to the docks to take delivery of that batch of prisoners. Where are you headed?”
“Same place actually, I figured you might need some help.”
The Lieutenant waved his tail to indicate his skepticism. “Captain, I am more than capable of taking delivery of three Venlil, who are already cuffed. If they are that heavy, I can requisition some marines to help drag their bodies to their cells after they faint. Why are we hauling prisoners anyway? The version of the orders I got were blocked out.”
“Kiref, these are war criminals, exterminators deployed with the UN army on an Arxur scientific research base.”
Kiref cut in, “Well at least they should be accustomed to seeing sentient predator species then, shouldn’t that make them easier to handle?”---”Sir?” quickly correcting his mistake. Captain Krenshaw is tolerant of a lack of decorum, but I really need to get the hang of these human honorifics for the next time I have to justify my service to some admiral Kiref internally chastised himself.
“They were found by their commanding officer after having burned several defectors to death, so I think fainting is nowhere near the worst situation we could have.” Kiref’s yellow slitted eyes went wide, then narrowed with anger. “What’s more, there was another defector who was still on fire, and survived, so this will definitely go public. The UN wanted to try the exterminators at the Hague, make sure everybody else knows that’s not how humanity treats defectors and POWs, but Tarva insisted that they be tried on Venlil Prime. The UN wants to announce the trial before the story breaks, so the prisoners are taking the next ship to Venlil Prime, which is us.”
“Thanks for the heads up, and glad to know the ship’s leaving soon.” The captain nodded in agreement to the last sentiment, as the doors to the lift opened, revealing the ready deck, which was supposed to be kept clear for troops and equipment for planetary landings, but which was currently packed to the brim with shipping containers full of napalm and canned fruit. The pair made their way through the labyrinth to the airlock connecting the Crazy Train to the dock, Kiref taking note of the lack of any dropships within the hangar.
“Captain, has there been any word on when we will be taking on any landing vessels, and of what type they may be? I was hoping to run disembarkation drills with the landing party.”
“Some new Nevok design they don’t want to be sending the schematics over long range broadcast, probably a good idea given how poor the cybersecurity on those old Fed transmitters is.” The captain replied, with a chuckle at the last part. “You should have at least some time to train on the way to the rest of the fleet. I understand you had planned on using the ready deck to train for surface combat, but since that isn’t an option, I’ll set aside the living quarters and sickbay for the freed prisoners as a simulation for boarding actions.”
Kiref swung his tail in a gesture of appreciation. “I thank you for your consideration sir. I will make sure my men will be capable of securing any ship in the Dominion or Federation within less than a half an hour after boarding.”
Stepping through the airlock, the pair walked onto the dock, which was as large as a highway, and populated sparsely by crewmen loading the last few containers and a squad of marines who snapped to attention as the two officers walked passed. Sticking out like a sore thumb among all the sailors were three of the baldest looking Venlil either man had ever seen seated in benches a little way down the dock, flanked by four uncomfortable looking guards in UNMP uniforms. Upon seeing the alien’s strange haircuts, Kiref glanced quizzically at his commanding officer, who just muttered “exterminators” in response, causing Kiref to roll his eyes. The exterminators were wearing hand (or paw) cuffs clearly designed for someone much larger than them, and The lead exterminator, judging by the insignia pinned to his fire-resistant uniform, glared at Kiref with a look that betrayed not so much fear as anger and disgust.
As Captain Krenshaw began signing over custody of the prisoners, the lead exterminator let out a yell. “Hey human! You know you got a monster in your crew?” The captain put down his pen and turned to face the Venlil, a terrifying look in his eye that made the other two Venlil back down. The leader carried on, oblivious “We could take care of it for you! That thing’s a danger to anybody on board, at least get your chief of security to confine it to a cell!”
Lieutenant Kiref snapped his eyes over to the Venlil, and unsheathed his claws, causing the exterminator to take an involuntary step back. “I’m sorry prisoner,” said the Arxur, his every syllable dripping with venom “I didn’t quite hear you, would you care to repeat that?”
The captain jumped between the two aliens. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”
“Look, human, that thing-”
“I SAID ENOUGH. For future reference, his name is Lieutenant Kiref, not ‘it,’ mine is Captain Krenshaw, not ‘human,’ and as commander of my ship’s marine detachment, he is the security chief. You are under his charge for the duration of our voyage, so I suggest you treat him with the respect he is due.” The captain turned to the Lieutenant. “Take these war criminals to the brig. You know the handbook on prisoner transport inside and out, I trust you will have no problem keeping them confined?”
“None whatsoever” said Kiref, grinning at the now cowering Venlil. He motioned for two marines who were coming back from the interior of the shipyard, and the three of them escorted the cuffed Venlil into the bowels of the ship.
The captain sighed and turned back to the four military police officers, and finished filling out the clipboard before handing it back to the officer who had given it to him.
“Safe travels, captain, and good luck” The man said.
“Thanks, we’ll definitely need it.” Captain Krenshaw turned and began calling over his radio to the crew, “Alright, seal all airlocks, disconnect all umbilicals and prepare to release docking clamps, we will be underway within the hour.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ship wasn’t under way for very long.
The UNS Crazy Train exited hyperdrive about four lightyears from the edge of the Sol system, just over a day and a half after departure in a patch of seemingly uninteresting space. Captain Krenshaw ran onto the bridge, disheveled but attempting to put on a professional face, buttoning the last button on his jacket. “What’s the status?” This was a charted area of space, if there had been an asteroid or large space rock,it should have been marked on the map, and the only other plausible option was an enemy fleet, which seemed absent.
Commander Wilson turned at his entrance, vacating the command chair “We’re not sure what it is, the automated navigator detected an absurdly large object in our path, but only picked it up at the last second, and was able to break us out of FTL within just forty klicks of the object. Scanner Officer Casey is investigating now, but we haven’t seen anything since going sunlight.”
The captain took a seat and looked over at the sensor station. “Any ideas yet Caysey?” Officer Casey was by far both the youngest and least experienced member of the Crazy Train’s bridge crew, but Krenshaw was somewhat concerned with the Dossur’s ability to perform his duties under stress. He had been diagnosed with “predator disease” which manifested as an extreme lack of fear response, which meant that he was capable of exchanging small talk over lunch with Kiref for three whole minutes before fainting. Krenshaw had been assured multiple times that the diminutive officer would be just fine in performing his duties as long as the enemies stayed on the other side of a screen, and the Dossur’s natural extremely fast reflexes proved Caysey was adept at identifying and distinguishing targets, so the captain was hopeful, if a bit cautious.
Caysey looked up from his screen, his field of view severely limited by his blinders. “Captain, the only thing that could have blipped into and immediately out of sensor range that fast was another ship passing dangerously close without announcing it’s heading, headed inbound for Earth.”
“An invasion fleet perhaps? Should we turn around?”
“I don’t think so, It would have skipped in front of us for a fraction of a second. The object was detected for over a second, at the speeds we’re talking about, in order to do that the ship would have to be literally light-seconds long, and wide too given the distance this thing seems to stretch on to the sides” The scanner officer looked back to his panel and took several deep breaths before continuing. “I think sensor error is the more likely option. Possibly also some sort of energy field orbiting a local sun at superluminal speeds, but that’s not supported by any scientific theories I know of,” Caysey hastily added.
“I think we’ll avoid examination of theoretical physics for now, drop a beacon and we’ll see if anyone wants to send out a science ship later, helm, continue at sunlight speeds until we clear this field.” The captain said, relaxing a bit. We were needed at the front weeks ago, every day we aren’t there, more people die in Arxur farms.
The ship slowly trundled forwards at sunlight speeds for a few minutes, all eyes were looking at their instruments. The bow punched into the zone, the bridge crew collectively taking deep breaths.
“We should be clear in twenty seconds” Wilson called out.
The whole ship was in the space where the disturbance had been now.
“Fifteen seconds…”
No objects on scanners within the collision warning perimeter
“Ten seconds…”
The bow had reached the far side.
“Five…”
With one and a half seconds to go, Caysey yelled out “WAIT-” but it was too late. Within half a second the entirety of the UNS Crazy Train was engulfed in a bizarre energy field. The standard lighting on the bridge cut out and the emergency bulbs burst from the power surge, plunging the ship into total darkness. The ship rocked violently as the engines gimbaled in random directions. Faster than even the Dossur could react, every electrical system on the ship was flooded with power levels dozens of times higher than what they had been designed to handle. The helmsman screamed as his hands were electrified by the absurd amperage traveling through the ship’s wheel. The ship's reactors tripped, dropping the control rods within another half second, triggering warnings on every panel on the engineering decks.
Within another second the energy had passed, leaving the Crazy Train drifting lifeless in deep space. The turbines slowly winding down triggered the emergency batteries to connect to the ships power, keeping the remaining systems functional, for now. The backup computer activated, rerouting power through backup conduits wherever possible, and developing a list of what needed to be replaced.
Captain Krenshaw was the first to get to his feet. “Is anyone injured?”
“Helmsman Jones' hands are burned pretty badly, should I escort him to sickbay?” said Commander Wilson, helping the injured man to his feet.
“Please do, then help Dr. Mulvan get a triage going.” The captain replied. “Is there anything on scanners, Caysey?
“No s-sir” panted Caysey slowly getting to his fleet. “I should be able to check the beacon we dropped just before we entered the field.” The Dossur was quiet for several seconds. “Sir our comms and scanners may be more damaged than the computer says, I can’t even establish that the beacon is there. Should I launch another?”
“If we have that functionality, then do so. It seems your superluminal energy field hypothesis may have some merit after all” replied the captain, still a bit shaken.
Caysey punched a few buttons before frowning. “The next beacon is launched, and it’s meeting all expected readings. It’s like the other probe just disappeared.”
Krenshaw didn’t give it much thought, contacting engineering to see when the situation on damage control was. The damage turned out to have been mostly superficial or to redundant components, mainly to lighting systems and some CIWS targeting systems. All things that could be replaced in-flight or swapped out quickly at the next port. The only crucial component the ship was missing was the long range communications array, leading to the captain's decision to continue on towards Venlil Prime. At least they have an approach vector lined up for us, we would be cruising into extremely heavy traffic with no comms and dodgy sensors if we head back to Earth. So much for a peaceful maiden voyage, although at least it’s not the worst thing that could have happened...

Thanks for reading, it means a lot! Again, thanks to SpacePaladin15 as well! Hope to see y'all next time on Gunboat Diplomacy!
(also did anybody else know disembarkation was the proper word? I just kinda assumed it was disembarkment until google and spellcheck corrected me)

Chapter 2 Book 1 Chapter 2—
Chris:
I watched the angel walk away.
Did she feel that too? Is that why we couldn't look away from one another?
I, Chris Wayne, for once was totally flabbergasted.
"Chris are you on your way?"
My father's voice rang through my head.
"Yes father" I mind linked back.
A perk of being a werewolf.
If you didn't count also being extremely attractive.
I shook my head to clear the image of the dark haired angel from my head.
I had bigger problems.
A rogue had entered our property today.
I jumped in my Bentley then made my way to the pack house that was located in the middle of Moonlight Woods.
It was the place the Alpha, my father, Dwayne and my mother, the Luna Nicki lived and the Beta and his family lived.
It was a very peaceful place most of the time...unless a rogue trespassed on our territory.
Then it was game on!
Wolves were known to be very territorial, and with the weight of being the next Alpha in the next few months I was all the more protective of his pack.
My father had mind linked me during class and I had been distracted when I had ran into...I frowned as I tried to remember if the angel had said her name.
No she hadn't, I realized. And she didn't look familiar, was she new?
She was beautiful though, with strange golden silvery eyes and long curly black hair. She was tan and had thick beautiful lips meant to be kissed.
My Mate.
My beautiful Mate.
I had felt the instant connection once our fingers touched.
It was how you found your Mate.
Skin to skin contact, along with electricity coursing through your body.
I'm sure that the electrical current had been felt by all of my pack, which happened when the Beta or Alpha found their Mate. Of course no one would ask unless I personally told them.
I swerved as I almost crashed into a blue sedan, due to my wandering thoughts.
I cursed as I shook my head to clear it.
The pack house came into view and so did the large group of men in front.
I jumped out and stalked to my father's side.
My father was angry, and I understood him.
A rogue was nothing to play with, who knows why he had left his previous pack.
The rouge before them was actually not a full grown man.
He looked around my age actually. He wore a black shirt, dirty jeans and tattered black boots. His blonde hair was sticking out in all places and he had bright green eyes.
Maybe in college then?
The rest of him didnt look better. He had long scratches down his face, chest and legs that had dried up blood.
Guess the pack got to him first. My father gave me a look before turning to the young rogue.
"You do know you tresspassed on my territory and I could have you killed, dont you pup?" Dwayne said in his alpha voice.
The pup stood his ground, seemingly unaffected by my father's alpha voice.
My eyes flickered to my father in surprise. Was he...?
The rouge nodded at my unanswered question.
"My name is Tyler Bay, future Alpha of the Midnight Pack a few miles away from here. My pack was attacked unexpectantly late last night.... I managed to escape..but my entire pack was annihilated...."
*********
Plans
Chris :
We entered my father's study to come up with a strategic plan.
With the help of myself, my future Beta Don and his father the current Beta Mike McMathew, my father finally decided on a solution.
Tyler sat in a seat, listening to us.
I would give him weary glances once in a while, thinking that no one should be going through this.
"We'll send Sean Paul and Frankie Hoss, our best trackers to go to your property to check things out. " My Dad said to Tyler.
He nodded his eyes dull and lifeless.
It was silent for a few minutes.
"We were totally caught off gaurd " He finally said.
We looked at him, waiting patiently .
"We were celebrating my younger brother, Matt's marriage to his Mate Kelley . Every one was happy, dancing and all of a sudden we're surrounded by these rogues...."
He swallowed convulsively before continuing.
"Clothes shred as my men shifted, protecting their Mates and siblings and pack. But not me, my gaurds forced me out the pack house. All I could do was mind link my father. He told me to leave, that he would take care of everyone . Above all he's my Alpha, and I had to listen. A few miles away, I told my gaurds to return . They should've been here by now..."
Tyler's eyes had become glassy and he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw.
"Son show Tyler to a bedroom, and with a change of clothes please. "
"Yes father" I bowed my head " Beta, Don I'll see you tomorrow. "
I led Tyler to a room, then went in search for clothes. When I drop them off I close my eyes in agony, he was sobbing in the shower.
I vowed these assholes would pay, no one should go through this!
I exited just as my father linked me to run a few rounds.
I ran till 11, not physically exhausted but mentally.
"Go on to bed Chris, you have school tomorrow " My father mind linked " We'll keep a look out for the gaurds, but either they're gone or captured."
"I agree father, good night" I climbed up the stairs and into bed.
I dreamt of my Mate, and I vowed I would find her tomorrow.
———————————————Sam————————————————
I cursed as I pulled up to my house.
His Charger was parked out front.
I checked my ipod, 6:34.
He got off of work at 6 .
I opened my door as silently as possible and closed it, silently praying that maybe he had stayed later than usual.
I had taken a few steps before a large figure loomed out of the living room.
"Where the fuck have you been?" He screamed.
Veins were bulging from his neck and forehead.
By instinct I took a step back.
"I....ummm.... I.." I stuttered over my words, fear immobilizing me.
"Don't try lying bitch! My food wasn't made and you know I hate that!" He screamed storming up to me.
joynovel

Hey y’all, I got a 5 month old chihuahua pup 2 months ago and we’ve made fantastic progress. So when we got her, she went potty in her play pen or on the floor whenever left alone even briefly. Crating or locking her in the playpen didn’t work for us as she would literally scream and we live in an apartment. We then decided to train her to free roam in our bedroom instead as she didn’t have destructive tendencies.
I was so so worried because it’s my first own dog and I’m only in my early 20’s. I was practically pulling my hair out worrying about this.
Two days ago, I left for work and my partner went out as-well. She was only home alone for 2 hours, but could have gone longer. The biggest win was that she did not cry, go potty and even slept whilst alone. Everyone dealing with separation anxiety knows that’s a huge win.
Here’s what we did in the first month we had her:

• staying with her 24/7, giving the dog a sense of security in your home is so important. “Getting them used to it” when they aren’t ready yet will set you back.
  
• not giving crying any attention.
  

Second month:

• leaving her for brief periods in a room but staying in the home. Waiting for a gap in the crying to re-enter. Leaving her with a good treat too.
  
• working hard on general obedience training (potty, sit & lay down, leash training). Having visitors in the home and lots of outdoor socializing really built up her confidence.
  
• making comings and going’s unceremonious (hard I know).
  
• not rushing the process. We waited until she was comfortable in a room alone before actually leaving the home.
  

How to prep to leave your dog:

• enrichment toys, I add her favourite liver sausage and wet food into a big puzzle bowl and freeze it with water. (Many enrichment toys aren’t safe to leave a dog with, I use a very big thick bowl a 4 lbs dog couldn’t chew through.)
  
• move anything that could topple over onto them and have the room generally tidy.
  
• important: leave the clothing you were most recently wearing on the floor. My pup slept on it while I was away.
  
• leave food and water, my pup at least worries about not having food or water due to a rough start in life.
  
• set up camera (for your own peace of mind).
  
• put on TV show or podcast you watch or listen to at night when your dog sleeps.
  
• close curtains and windows.
  
• sneak out when your pup is occupied.
  

This is just what worked for us but good luck to you guys and just know things can get better.

My hair is decently long, like an inch past my boobs (never been this long before) about half of it was virgin and the rest is grown out black box dye from October 2021. At this point the color is light/ medium brown, It has red tints in the sun and I hate it. I got highlights a month ago on my hair did OK, My stylist said next appointment we’ll have to focus on the end because It didn’t pick up the bleach as well as my virgin hair. I want to get a balayage but I’m worried about it all frying off just because the hair has been on my head for so long so it’s probably weak if that’s a thing? My hair and even ends def isn’t unhealthy now by any means. It isn’t isn’t thick, or thin, but my hair hates bleach so that’s why I never want to be fully blonde again. I know I’m risking length regardless but I guess I’m wondering if I have a higher chance of breakage just because the hair has been on my head for years

21 FtM, history of PTSD, Bipolar type 2, and adhd, seizures, hypertension, ibs, and alc use disorder. And legally blind. 153 pounds, 5’4. White, Asian, and Native American. Recovered from/got Serotonin Syndrome this January. Long history of psych meds. History of suicide attempt by overdose. I didnt take anything tonight nor have I had alcohol in weeks (i am in treatment)
I take Latuda 80mg, Vyvanse 40mg, Seroquel 50-100mg, Prasozin 2mg. and T injections for gender affirming care. Took my T shot (.4) earlier tonight and took my meds at 9pm (its currently 253am), took my vyvanse at 7am yesterday
I am sober for several weeks now. I did not take anything. But I have been experiencing these symptoms which usually would make me think liver problems but I dont understand how it could be as I only drank (although heavily, but not long term) from Nov 2022 to Feb 2023. And some of these symptoms have been here since Feb 2023, if it was a liver issue wouldnt I have already been needed to be hospitalized or straight up died after 2 days iirc?
The symptoms: These ones started within past 2-3 days - tonight my skin and eyes started becoming yellowish (check profile at previous post for photos if you so wish/it helps give a visual) -really dark urine (despite drinking tons of water) - foul smelling urine - really bad stomach pain (8/10 10 being the worst) as of tonight but previously more of a constant mild pain (4/10) starting end of Feb. its on my upper right side of stomach and my lower back, as well as stomach itself - as of two days ago my hair is falling out in random places. Its not a BUNCH of hair but this is unusual for me. Could be stress? - bruising easily and randomly. My girlfriend playfully tapped my shoulder earlier and it left a deep purple bruise. - painful diarrhea - bad, metallic breath no matter how much I brush or use mouthwash - jaw and teeth pain, 6/10 - randomly shaking and shivering really intensely - I can’t eat at all. I just have no appetite. I can’t finish a full meal. - Insomnia is 10 times worse. Haven’t slept more than 30 minutes in the past three days - extremely tired and sleepy all the time - randomly becoming confused and disoriented and unable to remember what just happened. This only started today and idk if its related but its not normal for me so i thought id mention it Symptoms that started in Feb/Early March: - nausea very frequently - abdomen swelling, almost like a balloon/bloating randomly followed by intense pain - diarrhea (could be ibs) - always feeling extremely hot or extremely cold there’s not really in between - Sweating profusely and excessively - Mild pain/discomfort/cramping feeling on the right side of my stomach kind of knew were my ribs are but not exactly (i doubt its a heart issue) - randomly losing arm or leg strength especially when I try to pick things up - throwing up at least twice a week, although luckily, no blood or coffee ground texture stuff. It’s usually just what I ate earlier. - shortness of breath - i’ve apparently lost 15 pounds since February 20 (i dont work out and my exercise for the day is just walking around campus or campus grounds typically) - depression/just feeling down - getting sick frequently - always feeling sick even when im not necessarily if that makes any sense
These are all I can think of. Theres no way in hell it can be my liver right? If it is/might be, what are my treatment options? Do my current meds have anything to do w it? Is it related to alcohol or is it unlikely? My avwrage drinks were fireball, vodka, 4loko, and kinky vodka. Average college kid I know. What are the chances it has nothing to do w my liver? What else could it be? If its my liver, does this mean I need a transplant? Is it even possible for liver damage to happen this much latelast more than a few days without intervention? Do I need to go to the hospital asap or can it wait till I see my PCP in the morning (725am, currently 327am)? Is it likely this is just from me not sleeping or eating well? Tyia.

Basically I remember watching a clip of this when I was younger and I have been trying to find this anime again for years with no luck! I'm kinda blurry on the details but heres what I remember from a scene.
I believe it's a group of witch girls stirring some sort of cauldron (?) And it's like, a group of witch girls.((6 or so))
And one of the witch girls I think either yells or just says something very rude((hurtful)) to this one other witch girl((who I'm almost positive has brown hair))
The now hurt witch girl says something and then runs out of the room, very upset.
Then I believe all the other witch girls look at the one who said the mean thing and the mean witch is kinda like "? "
I know this is very wild, but I must find this anime and it's the only scene I can remember!!! Anime fans do your thing please!

Its 1990:
Grandma : “oh shame, I hope they dont get hurt doing that”
Mom & Grandma : knocks on a wooden table, whist saying “touch wood”.
📷
An old English folklore, ’Knocking on wood’ is more than just something over 35’s do as another strange act to all pre-35 year olds. Its official definition, according to our trusted Wikipedia, is this :
Knocking on wood is an apotropaic tradition of literally touching, tapping, or knocking on wood, or merely stating that one is doing or intending to do so, in order to avoid "tempting fate" after making a favorable prediction or boast, or a declaration concerning one's own death or another unfavorable situation.
In all its glory and quite honestly misunderstanding. Knocking on wood 2.0 refers to a form of good luck wished upon someone or a situation. However the horrifying fact is that opportunity doesn’t come with a simple knock or two. It presents itself when you approach said door with a sort of hammering and beating down effort.
This topic got me thinking of some other strange things I grew up hearing. Things that occasionally spring to mind in relevant situations. Its almost as if, I actually consider the potential repercussions of not doing or saying said actions/phrases, as being legitimate risks. Regardless of how bizarre it sounds.
So here is a list of a few of these superstitions and their quirky explanations:
1. Lucky Pennies

“Find a penny, pick it up, all day long, you’ll... HAVE GOODLUCK” - in that exact sort of volume progression. Derived purely from the logical understanding that because pennies are made from metal, if you find them, you’ll have good fortune. (Fun fact, some take it a level further and believe that the luck can go either way depending on whether the penny was found tails up or headsup - eyeroll - that’s where I draw the line). 

2. Breaking a Mirror - Badluck

The belief that a broken mirror brings bad luck most likely has its origins in the simple fact that reflections of ourselves are uncanny and often unnerving (particularly on a “bad hair” day), so humans have long had bad associations with them. 

3. Walking under a ladder

This actually refers to a christan symbolism : the Holy Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit led to an association of the number three with something scared. The triangle, with its three sides, came to be regarded as sacred as well, and a ladder of course forms a triangle, so, naturally, to walk under that ladder would be to destroy the sanctity of the Trinity and thus incur punishment. 

4. Itchy Palms.

So I often have this scenario play out in my life. Whenever I have an itchy palm, I immediately scour the room looking for someone who can confirm if its the left or right that means money is coming in or going out. Truth be told, most of the time its a bloody mosquito bite causing said itch. 

5. Black cats.

Though cats have often been associated with good luck rather than its opposite and were even worshipped as gods in Ancient Egypt, things took a turn for the worse for our feline friends sometime around the Dark Ages when, in 1232 AD, when Pope Gregory IX declared them an “incarnation of Satan”, well thats according to People magazine anyway. 

So as it appears, we as xennials are more likely to continue these sort of superstitous acts, however most of the time its diluted by the lack of knowledge of their origins. So hopefully by the time we have grandkids, that dilution would be significantly greater. To the point that eventually people stop saying them all together.
I have to wonder, is that a good thing, or is that simply a dilution of our existence to date. A nullified time when the human species had these ludacris phrases that would be thrown out because they lacked what will become ‘basic knowledge’.
On that note - Sweet Dreams!
📷