​
I love to write I love to write in a space where I know,
I can live in my spirits luxury,
Writing is like fucking to me.
Working in the depths of my mind is like fucking to me.
When I was younger, more healthy and playful.
Sadness was a tad bit lighter; evil was only the cherry on top of life.
How could that be?
Its all around us but to internalize wrong and humiliation?
I’ve created a glass home in my body,
And when I look around, I believe in it all in the world.
My glasses of red tint and cherry wine,
My stigmatism in the distance of street lights.
Loneliness and without the hands of some other swinging,
Because I forgot to practice my eyes fluttering when the desert sand comes through in the summer.
It feels this way.
I don’t cry as I should and now my body is a steel soldier,
Resilient to all pain,
I don’t feel close to the wrongs I’ve done to others,
And this is how the day begins.
‘For someone I love.’

This post is an overview of the blackmail tactics used to control most of the influential people and governments around the world. Obviously I cannot cover everything in a single post, so as with my previous posts I highly encourage you to research further yourself. All sources and links are at the bottom of the post. An understanding of what trauma-based mind control programming (MKULTRA/MONARCH) is, and how it works, is again necessary to understanding much of this. My other posts here:

• Deep Underground Military Bases
  
• Alice in Wonderland Programming
  
• Overview of the Mind Control Running our World
  

The world is run on blackmail, mind control, and shame.
There exist many collections of videotapes of 'high-up' people engaging in some of the worst, sickest things imaginable. Drugs, torture, pedophilia, and murder are common themes to these videos. These tapes are in the hands of many different people, groups, and especially intelligence agencies. 'Honey-trap' operations are constantly being run to gather compromising and incriminating evidence on people of importance. Child slaves will be used to compromise people on video. Global leaders are often covertly videotaped doing perverted things with sex slaves sent to them by intelligence agencies, the Illuminati, or other groups, and this is then leveraged. Rape and murder of a child (forced or not), one of the most repulsive things possible, is many times filmed to ensure future compliance.
"Back in 1966, Rothstein became the first police detective assigned to investigate the prostitution industry. Almost immediately he discovered an underground sexual blackmail operation that compromised politicians with child prostitutes. ‘Human Compromise’ is what he labelled the honey-trap process. Rothstein and his colleagues found that approximately 70 percent of top US Government leaders were compromised in this way. Rothstein said, the CIA conducted the human compromise operation, while the FBI was tasked with covering up any leaks."

• Fiona Barnett [6]

"One of the things I found out over the last ten years of studying governments and listening to intelligence and counter-intelligence is that those in government are sexually compromised, and their sexual secrets are collected and then they are promoted into governments and into judiciaries and into all the positions of importance. Paedophilia is the preferred dirt as it is easily photographed, easily presented in a range of media, immensely shameful, and the public demands your resignation."

• Greg Hallett [12]

"Paul Bonacci, one of the victim-witnesses in the Franklin affair, also clearly stated Larry King used him in blackmail operations in New York and Washington. The latter was in connection with the activities of a close associate of Larry King, Craig Spence, who was involved in a prostitution ring consisting of underaged boys that were supplied to Washington's upper class, which went right up to the White House."

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Sexually bent politicians in denial of their sexuality to the public are a threat to their own country and policies. They are easily setup, photographed, politically bribed, toppled, and supported in the destruction of their country. This method of altering a country’s policies is epidemic and now endemic to politics."

• Greg Hallett [12]

"Bob (Hope) was politically connected and knew how to lure people in and insure they would work for him. He invited them to his parties and dangled various kinds of illegal or immoral perversions in their faces. Once their perversions were uncovered, he could blackmail or control them. That is how Bob worked. Bob was very good at this. I watched him do it to people over and over. He lured them in, detected their weaknesses, then used that knowledge in his favor, for his connections, and ultimately for his personal gain."

• Brice Taylor [5]

These blackmail 'practices' are often used in conjunction with trauma-based mind control. This mind control is an integral component of, and is deeply intertwined with child trafficking, sex slavery, Satanic ritual abuse, and many other horrific crimes. Many of the children used for blackmail are programmed, and many of the people being blackmailed (including (sometimes future) politicians, leaders, presidents, etc.) are also programmed themselves.
"My personal belief, based on my experiences, is that over the years, more leaders were under mind control."

• Brice Taylor [5]

"Fritz Springmeier notes that 'It is a standard tactic of the Illuminati, their New World Order and its various branches to use fear and blackmail to bring people into line.' Cheryl Beck had a 'sexy Sadie' program that was used to blackmail government and military people as a child prostitute seductress. Cathy O’Brien’s daughter Kelly was 'being prostituted to the CIA for blackmail purposes.' Svali notes that using child prostitutes to blackmail political leadership outside of the Illuminati was very common."

• Veronica Swift [10]

"Beryl-Green said Epstein knew about MKULTRA. He was into mind-controlling victims and satanic ritual abuse (SRA). Epstein was into DNA mixing, human cloning and he knew about New World Order plans."

• Hope Beryl-Green [17]

"This dirty game has been honed to a fine art, which is a standard feature of the Illuminati/intelligence groups. The CIA term for blackmail is an 'OK FIX.' When they use a person’s past sins to force someone to do something they refer to this as 'biographic leverage.' Any weak point in a person can and will be exploited. Sexual entrapment for blackmail is referred to as a 'HONEY TRAP'. Black widow alters are being trained and sent out for this purpose. In order to blackmail, or threaten, you have to have something to threaten the person with. Men are frequently entrapped by sexual behavior which is criminal. Sometimes they are also entrapped by murder. The Monarch slave will be allowed to have children so that they can be blackmailed into complying to save the children or grandchildren. The Monarch slave in turn may be used to blackmail others. Certain alters are trained in this. A Monarch Beta model is highly trained in seduction. Many politicians and ministers are operating under blackmail today. The extent that blackmail is being used by the NWO would boggle people’s minds. Porn films are taken of the Monarch victims, so that they can be used to blackmail the victim. Monarch victims are forced to commit ritual murders which are photographed and then used to blackmail the mind-controlled victim."

• Fritz Springmeier [15]

Intelligence agencies all over the world utilize blackmail, routinely employing and exploiting it as much as possible. It is an extremely important 'tool' of theirs. Operations are done to gather the incriminating evidence.
"Other 'neutralisations' verge on the bizarre. An individual who must remain nameless for a variety of reasons - but whose name is known to this writer - underwent an experience that is both horrific and chilling. I shall call this individual 'Mr. X' or, simply, 'X'. Mr. X was a leader of one of the largest CIA-backed Contra groups. He recently testified before the US Senate Intelligence Committee. Formerly, X was a senior executive in a South American subsidiary of a leading US soft drinks corporation. During his Senate testimony, he denied any knowledge of CIA involvement in the narcotics trade, adding that condoning such activity would have been foreign to his way of life. Not so, says Tatum. Mr. X had been recruited into the CIA by then-Director William Casey, with the assistance of Oliver North. In 1990, when Nicaraguan leader Daniel Ortega announced there would be 'free elections', X was ecstatic. He began jostling for position and asked President Bush to ensure he be given a prominent position in the new government - in return for his years of toil at the behest of the CIA and the Enterprise. The pressure came in a form that Bush could not ignore. Failure to help his friend would result in X's intimate knowledge of Bush's involvement in the dope trade being made public. His threat left Bush with a sour taste. A Pegasus team was assigned to 'neutralise' him in early 1990. Mr. X, Tatum states, 'fancied himself a lover of women. Tall, large-breasted blondes were his favourite. It was determined that, if effectively neutralised, [X] could be an asset. Therefore, it was decided that intimidation would be used to control [X].' They chose to use the drug Scopolamine, which also went by the nickname 'Burundanga' or 'the Voodoo drug'. The drug is extracted from the pods of a flowering shrub that grows in remote regions of South America. In its processed, powdered form, Scopolamine is 'void of smell, void of taste'. When properly administered 'it causes absolute obedience' without this being 'observable by others'. Importantly, the target will not recall any of the events that occurred during the period they were under the spell of the drug. Tatum states that X was invited to spend a relaxing weekend at a luxury hotel as a guest of his friend George Bush. His host for the weekend was a trusted 18-year veteran field-intelligence officer. The evening started with cocktails and was followed by a fine meal. ''Nothing but the best' were the orders.' Following the meal, he was ushered into the suite of a 'blonde bombshell' supplied by the CIA. Mr. X had already ingested a dose of Burundanga during pre-dinner cocktails. X was gallant with the blonde as they both moved into the bedroom where video cameras were already set up in one corner. In short order, the blonde had X standing naked in front of her and began to indulge his desires. All the while, the video cameras whirred. Slowly stripping off, the 'blonde' revealed his manhood in all its glory. Mr. X was instructed to reciprocate the favour and perform fellatio. He obliged, his intimate activities recorded at 24 frames a second on videotape. Tatum says the male prostitute was hired from a bar in New York and killed that same evening. Two weeks later, X - wholly unaware of the events of that evening - was visited in Nicaragua. He was presented with a copy of the video footage, along with instructions. Tatum says that X can never allow that video to be seen: 'Not only does it reveal his homosexuality, but it also reveals his bestiality and satanic worship rituals.' As frame after frame flicked by, X reportedly wept, forced to watch himself kill his homosexual 'lover' and then engage in the most grisly cannabalistic ritual imaginable. Neutralised, Mr. X became a leading member of the Nicaraguan government a few short weeks later."

• The Pegasus File [13]

"Check out the FBI records on Scarlett: What was his original HOOK that got him so deeply embedded into UK Illuminati culture? He murdered the nanny of Lord Lucan in the 1970's. Lucan wasn't actually involved. Scarlett got it wrong. He was under mind control at the time. How we all laughed on his training sessions when we heard that one. Not funny, really. We were all in the same boat. Each had something terrible attached to us, in our past. That is all part and parcel of the Illuminati contract. Young people forced under mind control to commit murder when young and then later on, picked up by British Intelligence to be used and abused as they wished - as loyal servants of the British Crown. One can only hope that by exposing these HOOKS, that some sort of amnesty can prevail. If these people are freed from the demonic Illuminati contract by exposing their HOOKS - one can only hope that they will come forward as a sizeable and influential body of political and public figures, in order to put an end to it. Here's hoping. Check out Rimington's hook to see what sort of mind ran MI5 for so long. It's a game called 'mafia' and it is ALL about blackmail."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"...He had previously signed off on Epstein’s 'sweetheart deal' because Epstein 'had belonged to intelligence.' Acosta, then serving as US attorney for Southern Florida, had also been told by unspecified figures at the time that he needed to give Epstein a lenient sentence because of his links to 'intelligence.'"

• Whitney Webb [4]

"Detective Rothstein found that the CIA were behind a blackmail operation in which child prostitutes were used to honey-trap and compromise politicians, military brass, top businessmen, and key government officials. Rothstein, who arrested the key Watergate perpetrator, said Watergate solely concerned this human compromise racket, and specifically was an attempt to obtain a list of compromised pedophile VIPs and their proclivities that was held at the Democratic National Headquarters."

• Fiona Barnett [8]

"Michael Aquino was in the military. He had top Pentagon clearances. He was a pedophile. He was a Satanist. He founded the Temple of Set. And he was a close friend of Anton LaVey. The two of them were very active in ritualistic sexual abuse. And they deferred funding from this government program to use in this experimentation on children. Where they deliberately split off the personalities of these children into multiples, so that when they're questioned or put under oath or questioned under lie detector, that unless the operator knows how to question a multiple-personality disorder, they turn up with no evidence. They used these kids to sexually compromise politicians or anyone else they wish to have control of...they were taken to be used by professional pedophiles. People that have the money to buy what they want, take the kids wherever they want...and by splitting the children’s personalities they could then train each one of the personalities to do a different function. And the rest of the personalities within that host personality would not be aware of it or remember it."

• Noreen Gosch, Johnny Gosch's mother (of the 'Franklin Boys') [1]

"Vinson also told Nick Bryant that Spence and Larry King were 'partners' and 'hooked up with the CIA', stating specifically that 'King and Spence were in business together, and their business was pedophilic blackmail.' They were transporting children all over the country. They would arrange for children to be flown into Washington, DC and also arrange for influential people in DC to be flown out to the Midwest and meet these kids. Per Vinson, Larry King had confided in him that he had clients who liked to torture and even kill children: 'King said they had clients who actually liked having sex with kids as they tortured or killed the kid. I found that totally unbelievable.' After Vinson said this to Nick Bryant, he asked Bryant later on in the interview if King’s disclosure had indeed been true. He was unaware at the time that other evidence, including witness testimony, had suggested that it was."

• Whitney Webb [4]

"According to fugitive ex-CIA officer Frank Terpil, CIA-directed sexual blackmailing operations were intensive in Washington at about the time of the Watergate scandal. One of those operations, Terpil claims, was run by his former partner, Ed Wilson. Wilson's base of operations for arranging trysts for the politically powerful was, Terpil says, Korean agent Ton Sun Park’s George Town Club. In a letter to the author, Terpil explained that ‘Historically, one of Wilson’s Agency jobs was to subvert members of both houses [of Congress] by any means necessary. Certain people could be easily coerced by living out their sexual fantasies in the flesh...A remembrance of these occasions was permanently recorded via selected cameras...The technicians in charge of filming were TSD [Technical Services Division of the CIA]...The unwitting porno stars advanced in their political careers, some of whom may still be in office.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Intelligence and counter intelligence ‘work’, and they ‘work together’ to create scenarios that are so unbelievable that they cannot be published in the mainstream media, and if they are, they will appear like a joke. The information to blackmail a country, to blackmail its politicians, to blackmail its Prime Ministers and Presidents, to blackmail its judges and lawyers is a very serious matter."

• Greg Hallett [12]

The Illuminati and other cults also engage in the same blackmail operations. There is a huge overlap between secret societies/cults and intelligence, with top intelligence usually being run by them. All of them do this.
"I was able to have first hand access to the Jeffrey Epstein case investigation documents. According to the documents, Epstein was the head of a global fraternity related to the Shriners called The Royal Order of Jesters. This order is covered with scandals and lawsuits related to human trafficking, but they are very protected because many members of the order are high-profile political figures and businessmen. It is crazy how these people manage to operate under the radar for so many years, decades...Now you may ask how they do this? Easy...By using blackmail tactics, they manage to have Judges and Law Enforcement licking their feet. That's how Jeffery Epstein got assassinated. After he was out of the game, the whole business is run by other people. Major names are involved and many high-profile people who are all bound to the order by means of blackmail. This is particularly disturbing when you find out that the cases of Catholic priests involved in sex scandals are events organized by The Order of Jesters. They run blackmail operations with the purpose of seducing people in power...With those videos in their power, the careers and the public image of many people are in the Jester's hands. They are free to do anything, they can turn even the President of the United States into a slave."
-- "Jeffrey Epstein Post" [7]
"Illuminati 'FROG ON A LILYPAD' programming: The FROG as a paedophile - with no 'tadpole tail/tale', as in no memory of what he/she has done until they get past 40 years old. It becomes clear that so many people were forced to be paedophiles and to abuse their children - only to wake up to all of this later on - post 40 years old. Then to have Stella Rimington on their doorstep with a videotape - telling them that she will send it to the police if they do not do precisely what she says. The ultimate blackmail weapons combined: A tape of you committing paedophilia - and even worse - incest with your own children. Guaranteed to 'silence' most people for life. The scope of this Illuminati blackmail project has been immense, in British society and it has to be exposed. There is safety in numbers."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"(Sue) Arrigo adds that the kids with the most smarts and/or looks, about 5% are skimmed off the top by the Luciferians in charge like the Bushes and used as either spies or corporate sex slaves or both. They’re typically pimped out on high priced loans to influential politicians as house boy and girls to ensure the puppets in Congress are happy and blackmail-able for control."

• Joachim Hagopian [14]

"The Masonic leadership of Freemasonry in a given area will have thousands of 'blackmail' files on essentially everyone of importance in their area. Upper echelon people such as judges, lawyers, and politicians are generally controlled via IRS infringements, and many of the lower echelon people are controlled through weird sexual items. This is where the Delta and Beta Monarch slaves are so helpful to the Illuminati. (This information comes from several witnesses who are informed about the blackmail files & their methods for blackmailing.)"

• Fritz Springmeier [16]

These people are already in power, and have set their system up so that nobody rises to a prominent, powerful, or influential position without being selected, extensively compromised, controllable, and usually under mind control. They are all 'in it together', and because of this they protect eachother. Most have 'insurance' on one another.
"The most common phrase associated with that one was ‘talk about the pot calling the kettle black’, meaning that each Illuminati slave had been caught on camera and from an early age – doing something terrible – as Rimington was fond of saying ‘we are all as bad as each other and all in it together.’"

• Ex MI6 [2]

"Oftentimes when I and others were prostituted to various government (New World Order) leaders, Dante had hidden cameras filming perverse sexual acts apparently for future blackmail leverage. These videos were scandalous in proportion and were usually ordered by Reagan. Dante turned the videos over to Reagan, and covertly kept copies to protect himself. Dante converted a small room of his Beverly Hills mansion into a security vault, where he kept his personal copies of the international blackmail porn tapes there. Blackmail was openly initiated to ensure that each criminal participant understood that if one fell, they all fell. Maintaining 'dirt' on each other through this Mafia-style method was seemingly the only way these criminals implementing the New World Order kept each other 'honest.'"

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

"The Watergate break-in was strictly based on one thing - the pedophile records that were being kept at the Democratic National Headquarters."

• Detective James Rothstein (NYPD, Retired) [6]

"In 1972, Rothstein arrested one of the five Watergate burglars, CIA operative Frank Sturgis. During a subsequent two-hour interrogation, Rothstein discovered the truth about Watergate (plus Sturgis’ and the CIA’s involvement in the Bay of Pigs incident, and the related assassination of JFK). Sturgis told Rothstein, the Watergate burglars sought something they nicknamed ‘The Book’ which listed the Democratic and Republican politicians who accessed child prostitutes, their sexual proclivities, the amounts they paid to rape kids, etc."

• Fiona Barnett [6]

There are certain places known for this, two famous examples being Little St. James island or Bohemian Grove (there are many, many others).
"For those of you who are interested in Bohemian Grove and the current list upon the Internet of those poor unsuspecting 'invitees' who will be pressganged into going (and subsequently blackmailed out of their minds afterwards, by the Illuminati)...the entrapment going on at Bohemian Grove is of an avaricious and esoteric nature - in relation to all of those unlucky 'invitees' who want to join this 'prestigious club' but then get videoed doing things that they wouldn't want anyone to know about - 'guests' who are then subsequently blackmailed out of their brains...and for the rest of their lives. But then that was what the Illuminati cult and their Sat B'hai contract has always been about...promising that you would get everything for nothing (if you agreed to be unquestioningly obedient to the Crown) and that you would now be part of an 'esoteric' prestigious Satanic club."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"Numerous videos are covertly produced at the supposedly secure political sex playground in northern California, Bohemian Grove. High tech undetectable cameras use fiber optics, and fish-eye lenses were in each of the elite club's numerous sexual perversion theme rooms. I was programmed and equipped to function in all rooms at Bohemian Grove in order to compromise specific government targets according to their personal perversions. 'Anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone' was my mode of operation at the Grove. My perception is that Bohemian Grove serves those ushering in the New World Order through mind control, and consists primarily of the highest Mafia and U.S. Government officials. Project Monarch mind controlled slaves were routinely abused there to fulfill the primary purpose of the club: purveying perversion. Bohemian Grove is reportedly intended to be used recreationally, providing a supposedly secure environment for politically affluent individuals to 'party' without restraint. The only business conducted there pertained to implementing the New World Order, through the proliferation of mind-control atrocities, giving the place an air of 'Masonic Secrecy'. The only room where business discussions were permitted was the small, dark lounge affectionately and appropriately referred to as the Underground. The wooden sign was carved to read: 'U.N.DERGROUND'. My purpose at the Grove was sexual in nature, and therefore my perceptions were limited to a sex slave's viewpoint. As an effective means of control to ensure undetected proliferation of their perverse indulgences, slaves such as myself were subjected to ritualistic trauma. Slaves of advancing age or with failing programming were sacrificially murdered 'at random' in the wooded grounds of Bohemian Grave, and I felt it was 'simply a matter of time until it would be me'. Rituals were held at a giant, concrete owl monument on the banks of the Russian River. These occultish sex rituals stemmed from the scientific belief that mind-controlled slaves required severe trauma to ensure compartmentalization of the memory. I witnessed the sacrificial death of a young, dark-haired victim at which time I was instructed to perform sexually 'as though my life depended upon it'. I was told, 'The next sacrifice victim could be you.' The club offered a 'Necrophilia' themed room to its members. I was so heavily drugged and programmed when used in the 'necrophilia' room, that the threat of actually 'slipping through death's door' and being sacrificed 'before I knew it' did not affect me. Other perversion theme rooms at the Bohemian Club included what I heard Ford refer to as the 'Dark Room'. When he not so cleverly said, 'Let's go to the Dark Room and see what develops,' I understood from experience that he was interested in indulging in his perverse obsession for pornography. In the Dark Room, members had sex with the same mind-controlled slave they were viewing in porn on a big screen television. There was a triangular glass display centered in a main through way where I was locked in with various trained animals, including snakes. Members walking by watched illicit sex acts of bestiality, women with women, mothers with daughters, kids with kids, or any other unlimited perverse visual display. I was once brutally assaulted by Dick Cheney in the Leather Room, which was designed like a dark, black leather-lined train berth. There was a room of shackles and tortures, black lights and strobes, an opium den, ritualistic sex altars, a chapel, group orgy rooms including poster beds, water beds, and 'kitten' houses. I was used as a 'rag doll' in the 'toy store,' and as a urinal in the 'golden arches' room. From the owl's roost to the necrophilia room, no memory of sexual abuse is as horrifying as the conversations overheard in the Underground pertaining to implementing the New World Order. I learned that perpetrators believed that controlling the masses through propaganda mind manipulation did not guarantee there would be a world left to dominate due to environmental and overpopulation problems. The solution being debated was not pollution/population control, but mass genocide of 'selected undesirables'."

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

News 'headlines' with hidden symbolic communication are also used by intelligence and other groups, many times referring to blackmail (among the many other varieties of covert operations).
"'Nuclear' is a comm used all over the world to symbolize extraordinarily explosive information, like blackmail. Which is why if we reconcile blackmail with news about nuclear, a secret truth will become clear. The two most powerful blackmailers ever? That would probably be Jeffrey Epstein and Hugh Hefner. And this is why the deaths of blackmailers like Hugh Hefner and Jeffrey Epstein both coincided with 'Nuclear Accidents':"
08/09/2019 Is Putin covering up a Nuclear disaster?

• 08/09/2019 = Russia Hides a Nuclear Accident!
• 08/10/2019 = CIA Blackmailer Epstein Dead
• 09/26/2017 = Russia Hides a Nuclear Accident!
• 09/27/2017 = CIA Blackmailer Hefner Dead

09/26/2017 Nuclear explosion kept secret by Russia
"Why are CIA blackmailers dying the day after Russia declares nuclear accidents? The reason for the -1 day in Epstein’s case is they likely died before the official day, and these comms were to give agents a heads up on the upcoming BOOM before it hits papers. In Hefners case they had to signal people to move the blackmail. The point as stated is a lot of 'nuclear' is all about blackmail. Not all of it, but a lot of it."

• "Symbolic Communication" [9]

Blackmail is a worldwide 'practice', with all countries and their governments engaging in aquiring and utilizing it to the fullest.
"Just as the 1986 Mirano scandal, the X-Dossiers contain evidence that sexual blackmail operations, whoever is running them, are not limited to the United States. In 1996, X1 reported how the same activities had been going on in Brussels."
"As the bewildered Belgians tried to make sense of what was going on, incredible rumours began circulating that Dutroux might have been protected in some way, that he had friends in high places. Pornographic videos taken from his home were said to feature prominent individuals, one a senior member of the Roman Catholic church. It almost defied belief. Who would protect a psychopath, other than people with something truly terrible to hide?...'It is quite obvious,' said Katarin de Clercq, Belgian coordinator of the pressure group End Child Prostitution Abduction and Trafficking, 'that some people were protecting Dutroux. The government tried to convince us that he was a lone serial killer and psychopath, but now we hear stories about unnamed famous personalities being involved in sex orgies and blackmail and pornographic video tapes. People feel that something is completely wrong here and we have to show we will not tolerate it.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"I was unfortunate enough to attend the IHS Templar Castle rite in 2001. Amongst the people in attendence were: J. K. Rowling. Gordon Brown. David Miliband. Stephen Daldry. Stella Rimington (she was the Dr. Mengele of the organisation, organising the torture and murder of kidnapped children). Dr. Joanne Collie. Andrew Marr (he spent most of the time naked and screaming - off his head on some form of narcotic). John Scarlett (he was so drunk/drugged up that he had very little idea of what was going on around him). The Templars had captured a large amount of people whom they called the 'snakes' i.e. slaves in a large dungeon underneath the castle. One brave person managed to set them free and the result in the neighbouring village of Mons and other places nearby, ensured that the British Army had to move in. Thus began the most incredible cover-up in recent European history. It was like WACO, Guyana. I was one of the 'slaves' taken at that castle but subsequently freed by the British Army (who also know what happened - a MASSIVE cover-up). The British Army ordered those in the Castle to come out. They then sent a tank in to bulldoze the walls. Prince Philip and Prince William were in that Castle. Both of them had murdered countless tiny children in their rites. The British Army assembled watched as both walked out with large, dark, woven potato sacks over their heads. They were then bundled into a van and driven away. The name SPUDNIKS was coined because Prince Philip and Prince William had to exit the castle with potato sacks pulled down over their heads and bodies. The British Army present at the time - may or may not have had any idea who they were but the SIS general there, certainly did. They might have managed to cover it up regarding the ordinary soldiers there but the videotapes are now on sale worldwide. The whole event had been closely monitored for blackmail purposes."

• Ex MI6 [2]

The CIA also blackmails incestual/pedophilic parents for their children to use in trauma-based mind control slave projects like MONARCH.
"My Uncle Bob, also implicated in manufacturing the porn, out of apparent desperation informed my father of a U.S. Government Defense Intelligence Agency TOP SECRET Project to which he was privy. This was Project Monarch. Project Monarch was a mind-control operation which was 'recruiting' multigenerational incest abused children with Multiple Personality Disorder for its genetic mind-control studies. I was a prime 'candidate,' a 'chosen one'. My father seized the opportunity as it would provide him immunity from prosecution."

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

"The expendables are the children of parents who were blackmailed into turning their children over to the CIA. This is all hidden by the power of the National Security Act. These are children, who have been sold by pedophile fathers, or pornographic parents. The programmers/masters program them with the expectation that they will be "thrown from the freedom train" when they get to age 30. (Freedom Train is the code word for the Monarch trauma-based mind-control. To be thrown from the Freedom Train means to be killed.) The CIA and the Illuminati are skilled at blackmailing parents to give up their children. They would watch the mail for porn. Pedophile and murderers who abuse their children are warned that they will go to prison for long lengths of time if they do not cooperate by selling their children into mind-controlled slavery. In return for the parent’s cooperation, they provide rich financial rewards to the parent(s). It’s clearly a case of 'if you don’t cooperate you lose in life big time, if you do cooperate you win big time.'"

• Fritz Springmeier [15]

Blackmail is the glue holding together all of the sick people in charge, and is the one of the top methods of control. This is the truth: blackmail, pedophilia, and mind control are how this world is really run.
"Former CIA director William Colby giving advice to John DeCamp, urging him to quit his investigations into the Franklin child abuse affair:"
"'What you have to understand, John, is that sometimes there are forces and events too big, too powerful, with so much at stake for other people or institutions, that you cannot do anything about them, no matter how evil or wrong they are and no matter how dedicated or sincere you are or how much evidence you have. This is simply one of the hard facts of life you have to face.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Again, it’s built in, entrenched foxes guarding the predatory henhouse that permeate all levels of government, military, courts, law enforcement, entertainment and news media, corporate global finance and education. With pedophile puppet masters controlling the pedophile puppet strings of blackmailed, compromised and controlled Western politicians, courts and law enforcement, their diabolical infrastructure has afforded them living above the law continuing to rape and kill our innocents for centuries."

• Joachim Hagopian [14]

Links and Sources
[1] - Noreen Gosch Speaks About - Jeff Gannon, Johnny Gosch And The Attempted Theft Of Her Book 'Why Johnny Can't Come Home'

• Noreen Gosch

[2] - Master List of Quotes and Comments

• Ex MI5/MI6 Agents and Royal Arch Illuminati slaves

[3] - Trance-Formation of America

• Cathy O'Brien

[4] - One Nation Under Blackmail

• Whitney Webb

[5] - Thanks for the Memories

• Brice Taylor

[6] - Eyes Wide Open

• Fiona Barnett

[7] - "I had access to classified documents about the Jeffrey Epstein case"
[8] - Child Trafficking, Ritual Sex Abuse & MK-ULTRA Are A Single Worldwide Operation, Run by the U.S., U.K. and AUS Secret Services

• Fiona Barnett

[9]- Symbolism Communication
[10] - An Illuminati Primer

• Veronica Swift, Jessie Czebotar

[11] - The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks
[12] - The Hallett Report No. 1

• Greg Hallett

[13] - The Pegasus File

• David G. Guyatt

[14] - Anatomy of the Luciferian Elite’s Global Child Sex Trafficking Pedophile Operations

• Joachim Hagopian on CathyFoxBlog

[15] - The Illuminati Formula Used To Create An Undetectable Mind Control Slave

• Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler

[16] - Deeper Insights Into the Illuminati Formula

• Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler

[17] - Hope Beryl-Green Article

Ibandr, during the morning and afternoon so full of life and sound and laughter, slowed as the sky darkened above. The sun had set for some time and the shadows of the city were erratic and scattered in the evening torchlight. There were many lit throughout the city at sundown, many in the city center, some south by the riverbank to ward off animals, and some in the west by those who grew cotton and made goods. Shadr held one of these torches now. He was a young man, having grown up in Ibandr and never knowing the starving times, although his father always spoke of them. He had also talked to him about the day the city spilled its own blood. How he had been part of the fight to retake Ibandr from the Zivold and how he barely survived, losing an arm for his efforts. When the eastern man had come - Barnam had been his name - his father jumped at the chance to sabotage the man who stole their lives, even if it had been so long. Shadr’s father was too old but Shadr himself was not, the young man eager to serve his family however he may. So now he stood as the sun set, stick alight with flame, looking at the large pile of dried grass and hemp and cotton. Waiting.
Over a hundred men on horses galloped toward Ibandr. Barnam rode at the head, taking one last glance over his shoulder at the men riding behind him, Shahadr’s Point falling further in the distance. It was getting darker by the gallop, the sun having set to their right. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. The rhythm of horseback calmed Barnam. He felt at home, at peace on horseback now. His life with the Albayet had been good to him, prepared him for his duty. He looked at the sky as he rode, the first twinkling stars shining in the dusk. He blinked. What was that? Another! A streak of light shot through the blackening blue of the heavens. Some time passed then, another!
“Vastatn blesses us on this night!” Barnam called to the riders behind him, pointing to the sky at the shooting stars making their way across the world. He gripped the spear in his hand tighter. Good fortune was to come.
Ibandr was more difficult to see as they rode on the flat plains between Shahadr’s Point and the city, but in the darkness he could just make it out. Flames. The old boys have done it then, he thought. When last in the city, he found an old friend of his father and that man’s son, Shadr. There were a handful of others but all too old or afraid to move against the Zivold. Shadr, though, was eager. Setting fire to the cotton in Ibandr’s west had worked well enough, if he could see the flames from here. The sky darkened as they neared the city. It was almost time.
He was close enough to hear shouting over the sound of the horses around him. Then, a great bellow louder than he’d ever heard. A bellow sounding across the city, the plain, again and again in long, slow bursts. An alarm? A call for help? Someone must have seen them. A hundred men on horseback would be hard to miss, but Barnam did not care. “It’s time, Albayet! Ride to our glory! Ride for Kalliza!”
Shouts of Kalliza, victory, to war called out behind him as the hundred split into three groups, one stayed straight behind Barnam while the others spread out in two directions, one to the west to the fire and the other to the east.
“Victory!” Barnam heard himself shouting as he burst into the city, the vastness of the plain suddenly replaced by houses and canals and patchwork fields of sorghum. Men, women, children had come out of their peripheral homes to answer the commotion, and Barnam looked at their terrified faces as they saw him and his horsemen ride toward them.
A scarred, weathered, bearded man, in billowing clothes carrying a spear in his right hand and a scythe tied to his hip, screaming as he charged on a horse. A sight to see. A last sight to see. He did not want to kill innocents, he did not mean to kill them, but you have to be realistic about these things. In the heat of war, Barnam would not stop to question each and every life he took. Today was a day of new beginnings, of a cleansing of the city and washing it in a new path. The stars streaking above were the ushering of a new dawn on the Luzum and Barnam would be damned if he would get in the way of that. He thought all these and more as his horse ran down the man who stood defiantly in front of him. As they made their way to the city, the screams confirmed that the first man was only one of many. You have to be realistic about these things.
The city had no way to prepare for what was coming. Through his whole life Barnam scarcely had heard of any meaningful raids on the city, or great battles between one city and another. Ibandr and its people had not been tried and tested as Barnam and the Albayet had.
With that Barnam could not have expected the first fighters they saw. Ten men burst forward down a street between two larger houses, two had spears and the rest holding hoes or scythes. They came so suddenly Barnam and the horseman next to him, Gudenle, had no time to move. Bunched up as they were they had no time to fight. One with a spear burst it through Gudenle’s horse, throwing him to the side. Another ran to finish Gudenle off but was stopped by a second spear bursting through him, Barnam having flung his own to defend his man. The defenders stood shocked for an extra breath, and Gudenle, with Kalliza watching over him, landed well and was on his feet. He swung a scythe from his hips into his arms and Barnam did the same. Barnam, Gudenle, and the other horsemen fought through the men then, losing two more horses but no tribesmen.
Having bested their first challenge, they trudged on. Barnam and the Albayet fought for quite some time as they made their way to the city center. Those who came to defend the city were few and far between, but they fought fiercely and bravely. By the time they reached the great storehouse of Ibandr and the Temple of Kutenr, only Barnam, Gudenle, and eleven others remained. Barnam dismounted from his horse to confront the sight before him. He and his Albayet stood opposite a tall, lean man dressed in cotton and some foreign leather clothing, with others around him. All stood fierce and tall, with either spears or blades of copper or stone. The tall, lean man held a copper blade in his right hand. Beyond, dozens of citizens were running either into their homes or making a dash to leave the city. Flames blazed in the west and a cacophony of screaming, neighing, and yelling filled the air.
“Where is the Zivold?” Barnam bellowed above the clamor. “I am Barnam, son of Huttl, a righteous man who walked in the light of the Paroxl. He was murdered by Attarnap, a coward and a thief, and I demand his presence in front of me today!”
The tall man raised his eyebrows and gasped. Behind him, the storehouse glowed in the light of the flames, encroaching closer and closer. “Barnam? Is that really you?” He started to laugh. “The little boy who lived on the edge of the furthest part of the city. Amazing, even the dung can come back to haunt you. And here I thought I was being punished for killing my father.”
“Your…” Barnam couldn’t believe what he had heard. “You killed… Attarnap? You killed the Zivold?”
The man who Barnam knew as Belis only nodded. “My father was complicated, Barnam. He was complicated and he was a fool. He thought he could take more and more, demand more and more of the people, and everything would be fine. This temple, those canals, that lake to hold the flood waters for a drought? Do you know how many died for those Barnam? Too many. Too many times there were riots like the one your father tried to start and I fear that if he stayed alive that would be the end of our,” he gestured to the men around him, “position in the city.”
Barnam could not believe what he was hearing. The men around Belis moved forward, and Barnam’s men did the same. “No!” Both men shouted at once. “He’s mine,” Belis said, and Barnam grunted in agreement. How dare he?
Barnam let out a roar. “How dare you take what was mine by right?” Barnam took a step forward, Belis almost stumbling to step back, keeping his distance. “Your father took the life of my own. Theft in its many forms is the only sin worthy of punishment by Marryagai the thief, is it not?” He held out his right arm, scythe in hand, rounding it on those who stood by to watch. Then, pointing at Belis, “and your father Attarnap stole the life of Huttl, stole a husband from a wife, a father from a son. and now you steal my revenge from me? You, Belis, lowlife of lowlives, believe you can take your father’s place. You, Belis, murderer of your own kin, your own father believe you can steal vengeance from me?” Bantam raised his arms, “Look at what you stand against! I am Barnam, son of the union between Mauair and Huttl, chosen by the Albayet to lay waste to what you claim, summoned by Samvastatn to bring glory to this earth. You call yourself Kutenr, as your father did?” He stepped closer. “Do you remember who Kutenrs nemesis is? Do you know the story of Kalliza, Paroxl of horses and creator of the plains, champion of the world when the greed of Kutenr and his grains grew too great. Look around you, Belis. I am Kalliza manifest in flesh and bone.”
Barnam cackled as he looked around him once more, taking yet another step toward Belis, and pointed with his scythe. “The gods have forsaken you, murderer! Dezmedetem rages behind you laying waste to all that you were. Samvastatn courses the sky with light, laying waste to all that you will be. And here I stand, I, Barnam of the Albayet, Barnam of Mauair and Huttl, Barnam the bane of Belis, Kalliza reborn, true lord of Ibandr, to lay waste to all that you are!”
With a guttural cry, the would-be conqueror flew at Belis. It was all Belis could do to raise his copper blade in time, a loud clang misshaping both scythe and sword as the two men connected. Barnam came at him with the fury of gods, whirling his scythe on Belis faster than he ever had. Belis stumbled back with each strike. Barnam was practiced, experienced, weathered from his life in the east, while Belis had only ever killed those around him with treachery, not skill. Belis was slower, weaker and more fatigued with each strike he had to block. But there was a chance. Barnam was the more skilled fighter, yes, but the fury of the gods which coursed through his veins made him move faster, think less. The maddening smile on Barnam’s face blinded him to any outcome but his victory. The Zivold’s eyes darted around with every chance, desperate to unearth some victory.
As the two men moved in their melee, Belis saw his chance. Barnam arced high and Belis, in one move, turned to yank a torch jutting from the ground, grabbing it with his left hand. The blade in his right flew at Barnam’s scythe while his left burst forward, torch in front, at Barnam’s face.
A howl of pain burst through the chants around them. Shocked by his own success, Belis stood there, mouth agape, torch and blade in hand. Barnam reeled from the strike, face almost smoking, and when he looked at Belis the right side of his head was a scarred and seared mass of red and pink flesh. Barnam stared at Belis, right eye almost blocked by the puffing of his face, and muttered something to him.
“What did you say, brute?” spat Belis at the hulking man in front of him.
“Burn me,” Barnam repeated, “and you burn the world.” The words of the Paroxl Kalliza, when he struck down Kutenr in their battle for the heavens. Barnam leapt at Belis once more. They fought again but this time there would be no mistake on Barnam’s part, and Belis felt it. Barnam pushed him further and further back toward the great storehouse. As they stood at the entry way, Belis’s arm outstretched with his balde in hand, Barnam brought his scythe down hard on the man’s wrist. A second howl of pain and a clang as Belis’ blade fell to the ground and his wrist was carved through. His hand was still attached but he’d be getting no use from it any longer.
“Stay back!” Belis screamed, waving the torch in front of him. On the floor in front, his shadow danced in the light of the growing fires in the western district. The flames were nearing them now, the heat coursing through the air. “Stay back you demon! You’ll get no more from me, you and your horseback brutes will not take this city while I live!”
Just as Barnam was to respond, “Then die,” Belis turned and ran into the storehouse. Barnam raced after him. “Take this monster!” Belis yelled as he shoved the torch onto an open pile of grain. The dry sorghum burst into flame, sparks flying and fires licking the roof. “Take this as your payment for your father’s death,” Belis was screaming now as he ran further in the storehouse, laying fire to piles of cotton, throwing off jar lids and burning the seeds and fibers within. Barnam could do nothing, impotent with his scythe, as a wall of fire separated him from Belis. Enraged, he bellowed and ran outside and around the storehouse to the Temple of Kutenr. Belis stood there now at the base. Behind him the storehouse was just beginning to burn as a whole. In front of him the temple, and behind the temple the fires of the western districts were finally upon them.
“So Barnam,” Belis stood at the base, torch flames licking the air and wrist dripping with blood, “is this was you wanted? Is this what you wanted to claim as your own?”
Barnam ran at him, raising his scythe and in one motion bringing it down on Belis’ neck. His face froze in horrified surprise and the scythe dug into his shoulders and neck, blood spurting from the wound. “Let it burn Belis. Let it all come to the ground from which we sprouted.” He brought his scythe out of Belis, who fell to the ground, gurglilng, and brought it back down to hack again and again. “Let it burn!” He was shouting, hacking, laughing, “Let it all burn! You stole my vengeance so now I shall have it back twelve-fold! Let it burn! We shall rebuild! We shall rebuild! We… shall… rebuild!” And with the final cut Belis came apart, head, neck, shoulder, and arm separated from the rest of him, face still looking on in horror at Barnam.
He was panting now, the man turned conqueror, his old and rutted copper scythe dented and broken from the fighting and the effort. He tossed it aside with a clang. His face burned from the torch, his lungs burned from the flames beside him, his muscles ached from the battle.
But above? Above the sky was a light with the streaks of a thousand stars, coursing through the sky as though it was Samvastatn and Niovollin creating the earth once more, sending stars from the heavens to course their energy through the world as rivers. Thousands and thousands of stars streaked across the sky, heralding the rise of a new man. A new Zivold. A new God.
“Barnam!” He looked behind him. Gudenle was coming from one of the round homes next to the storehouse, dragging a small, frail man behind with him. “Is this him?”
The man fell in front of Barnam, wrapped in bundles of cotton and hemp, thick matted hair gray and white with age. “Hadr,” Barnam breathed and knelt at him, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders.
Hadr brought his face up to look at Barnam. One thin, shaking hand came to rest on Barnam’s cheek, and he breathed a staggered breath. “Is that you Barnam? Is that you my boy?” A tear welled in his eye and he started to shake his head. “No, no, no,” Hadr muttered, “no, no no. Do not give me your empathy, my dear boy. I have wronged you.”
Barnam could not understand. Gudenle was saying something about needing to leave as the fire was only growing, but Barnam waved his hand and stared at Hadr. “It was me, Barnam,” the old man said through tears, “I betrayed your father, your uncle, everyone that day. I told Attarnap when i got you and your mother out of the city. It was me Barnam! I’m the reason your father is dead,” and he shook in his sobs, muttering, “let me die, boy, let me die.”
Hadr fumbled with his hands in his rags, but Barnam could barely see for the red that covered his vision. Hadr had betrayed his father, his family. Hadr had betrayed him. He grabbed Hadr by his hair and yanked his head up, putting the two men face to face. “You don’t die yet old man,” and he spat in his face. “You come with me. When the fires abate, you will proclaim me Zivold of Ibandr. You will proclaim that I am the vessel from Kalliza on this world. You will put me higher than any Zivold has ever been, and only then will you be allowed to die. I will do it myself.” He spat in his face again and pulled him to his feet by his hair.
“Let me DIE!” Hadr screamed as he was yanked up. His hands fumbled through his rags and they emerged gripping a small blackshine [obsidian] blade from his rags. He pulled his arms out and thrusted into his belly, but Barnam grabbed his arm like a vice, inches from death.
As he twisted the blade from Hadr’s hands, Barnam only repeated, “You do NOT die yet old man,” and threw him forward. He nodded to Gudenle, and the company walked away from the flames of the city center.
Flames swallowed Ibandr. For two days and two nights, Barnam, the Albayet, and the prisoner Hadr waited at Shahadr’s Point as they watched the city burn on the riverbank. Refugees fleeing from the burning and seeing where the conquerors had gone had come to be with them, either to curry favor or through sheer terror of seeing their home burning. Others stayed by the farms in the homes that survived or camped by the great reservoir.
When the fires abated, the survivors, the conquerors, and Hadr the prisoner walked into the city, faces of terror and horror and grief staring back at them. Some houses stood, others charred, and still others broken and brittle. Barnam had tried to stop the pillaging of the city but you have to be realistic about these things. He was Kalliza on earth. The city needed to be burned before it could be rebuilt.
When he arrived at the city center, the storehouse was a charred ruin and the temple behind it stood charred and blackened. The fires had raged and the once great city of Ibandr now stood charred but still proud. The Albayet went and corralled those who remained in the city center, and still others had come to the core now, refugees in their own lands, fleeing the fires that burned without remorse. Many had come to Barnam and the Albayet but others had stayed in the city, finding refuge in this or that district that survived the fires.
Barnam announced who he was, why he had come, and what the future held for Ibandr. “Belis was a fraud! Attarnap was a fraud!” He brought up Hadr. “A fraud held up by this man against the Paroxl, against our gods!” He walked to the ruins of the storehouse. “I am no fraud. I am Barnam, Kalliza reborn. Kutenr is nothing to the light of Kalliza and it is in his name which this city will be rebuilt.” In one year Barnam promised they would be returned to their former glory and poised to reach greater, grander heights than ever before.
The conqueror’s bloodthirst had been quenched. Knowing Attarnap was dead, killing his son, and laying waste to Ibandr had been revenge enough against those who wronged his father and those who stood by and done nothing.
Barnam the conqueror became Barnam the rebuilder. Over the year he convinced the Albayet to move west, abandoning the Duf river in a great migration to Ibandr, calling the union between the Hortens of Ibandr and the Hortens of the Albayet the Hemoph Hortens, or Union of the Hortens. He replaced the storehouse with one of similar grandeur, but on the side walls and pillars were carved intricate images and forms of Barnam as Kalliza, striking down Belis of Kutenr. The Temple to Kutenr was stripped bare and its walls adorned with images of Ibandr, or stories of the Paroxl, and above all of Barnam the Magnanimous, images carved to tell his story and his journey from refugee to god.
At the year’s end, Barnam held the Festival of Kalliza. It was here that he brought out the imprisoned Hadr, old and shriveled and frail. He had not been kept in a prison or in solitude or tortured. Barnam let the man walk free under supervision. “Let those who died by his hand torment him,” Barnam once said. They had forbidden him from holding weapons of any kind lest he take his own life, but the sight of the free Sinnamit, free by the mercy of Barnam the conqueror alone, did much to grow the new Zivold’s legend.
Hadr announced Barnam as a god reborn, lord of the new world and Zivold of Ibandr, son of a man and woman wronged and champion to all those that had been wronged. Never mind that Barnam had created so many wrongs when he burned the city. No, never mind all who died for one man’s vengeance. You have to be realistic about these things.
At the height of the ceremony came Barnam’s final act for the new city. As Hadr finished proclaiming him god of a new dawn on the Luzum, Barnam repeated all of Hadr’s transgressions. His slights against his father, against his city, against the gods. His cowardice and failures as Sinnamit. Barnam called Hadr a necessary sacrifice to give for the life of Ibandr, and slit the old man’s throat on the steps of the new temple, bringing all of the Sinnamit’s powers into his own.
Ibandr rose back to its prominence prior to the Albayet Sacking, and rose further still. Barnam learned of the projects built by Attarnap, of how Ibandr had risen from its people and its lands and by harnessing the power of the river Luzum to control the fate of their crops. To defend against the dry seasons and the wet. Ibandr was rebuilt and Barnam ensured that it was he who was credited. He played his factions of the loyal Albayet families and those who felt were allies within the city, against those who wished him to be gone. Barnam kept ownership of the grain but for other goods he allowed families to hold their own. His reign was tenuous in reality but the image of Barnam as greater than he was, as a god among mortals, a step in a new direction, the rosy fingers of the coming dawn, cemented any fears against his hold and guaranteed he would not often be tested.
Barnam had three daughters and two sons with his wife, married from the time he was with the Albayet, and when he died his son, Askalladr, was appointed the Zivold by the strong families, the Illir as they were coming to be known. The Zivold was now the strongman of the city, emblematic of the gods on earth, priest-king, god-king, father-king, all were encompassed by the great and powerful Zivold.
Attarnap and Belis were nothing. They were glorified tribesmen who hoarded wealth. Barnam was something else, a ray of heaven on the ground. Askalladr’s ascension was only further proof that now, indeed, there was a new Dawn on the Luzum.
Context: Was a lot of fun writing all this. This last piece may not be as strong for evidence of statehood but in connection with the other r rp posts I hope this is enough to establish season 5’s first true city state! There’s a lot more to develop in the next week but hopefully this is solid enough ground for Ibandr to gain prominence on a larger stage. I will definitely be sticking to shorter pieces in the future lol

(warning: I got a bit carried away so this is a little long.) It was a crisp early summer night.
You were walking home after a late shift at the local library. It was only job you’d managed to get so far as you’d only been in this new town for just under a month. Your boss seemed to be very insistent that you stay late to “organize”. However, there was a nervousness in her eyes a they peered at you through the thick prescription glasses she wore. But you needed the job and she wasn’t willing to budge so as hesitant as you were, you listened. You were beginning to regret that decision as you walked along the dark sidewalk. Woods on either side and only occasionally lit by a street lamp. The regret was mixed with an awful anxiety as you began hearing noises coming from the other side of the road. It sounded like a gathering of some sort. An 11 pm gathering. Maybe it was just a bunch of drunken idiots partying…on a Tuesday. You felt your stomach churn as a sense of dread grew stronger when you heard screams and cries being carried down from the direction where the sounds were coming from. As soon as your feet started moving, you ran as fast as your legs would carry you, trying to get far away from the noises. You looked behind you every so often, the screams and cries growing fainter with each time your shoe hit the cement. Unfortunately for you, that’s not where your shoes stay. Before you could even blink, you’re joiked into the air as something caught you around the middle. The impact against the pavement knocked the wind out of you as if you had been tackled by a football player. You didn’t dwell on it too long as you realized you were being carried through the air like a rabbit hunted by a large bird. You don’t dare look up at what had grabbed you, fearful that it may just stop your heart to see the being you’ve been captured by. The being that was currently bringing you deeper and deeper into the woods and closer to all the noise. You couldn’t help but let out a scream as you’re suddenly dropped to the ground. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut, your whole body trembling like a leaf under the gaze of the now very silent group of hollering ‘people’. After a few moments one of them spoke.
“Ah, Claude. What the hell man? I told you not to pull this shit tonight.” The voice sounded human.
You cracked your eyes open to see a group of what looked to be young adults, gathered around you. Everyone was looking at you exept two.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re kind doesn’t drain just anybody.” You look up to see the creature that brought you here. He was a young man, dark brown hair and gleaming blue eyes. He had a cocky smile stuck to his face. “But I’m not one of your kind-“
“Yeah, but you’re at one of our gatherings and we already have people to drain.” Your breath gets caught in your throat as your eyes land on three people laying motionless on the ground ahead of you. They don’t seem to be injured from what you can tell, but these people were most likely the source of the screams and cries you’d heard earlier. “It seems you just wanted to show off.” You hesitantly look just to your right and see a brown skinned brunette, looking annoyed.
“You’re misunderstanding me, Rin. I caught this one sneaking around just at the edge of the trees back there. And I figured, ‘What the hell? The more the merrier.’ so I figured I’d just..” He flashed sharp teeth when he smiled, picking you up, bringing your neck and head dangerously close to those sharp teeth.
“Put them down.” You were dropped. “We all heard the footsteps, Claude. They were running away. On the other side of the sidewalk.” The brunette sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘Claude’ slunk closer to the exasperated ’Rin’. “Aw come on. This gathering was boring and you know it. Now we have the new townie to play with. Plus, it’s not like we can let them go now.” Your heart sank and your stomach churned, you began to panic even more that you had already. If that was even possible. “Blaire, control your brother before I make you an only child.” A pale, light haired young woman emerged from the small group and pushed Claude aside as ‘Rin’ turned to you. “As much as I hate to say this, that idiot is right. You’ve seen…a lot and I can’t trust you not to say anything..” She mutters, stepping closer to you. “You’re going to have to come with me.”
“But-“
“It’s not up for debate, Claude. This gathering is now over.”
Hey, I hope you enjoyed my prompt. I’m looking to do a vampire role play that takes place in a small and secluded town. I have a general sense of how I want some things to go, just to keep things interesting. Mysteries to uncover, evils to overcome. I’m 20 so I’m looking for a partner that is at least 19 to play the human. I haven’t role-played for just under a year but I want to get back into it and I actually enjoyed writing this out so I decided to give it another shot. I mostly rp on Discord but I can do it on Reddit as well. This rp is open to all genders, so just PM me if you’re interested! Thanks for reading and I look forward to hearing from you!

First, I just have to say that while I'm kind of quiet so I don't say much, I've been a listening to MFM since the beginning and I just love them and this community so much. So glad to have found people like me!
Well, my Fucking Hooray is that I'm FINALLY releasing a novel I've worked on and off for 14 years (the last 4-5 in earnest)! Eek! It's a contemporary mythological thriller called Where Madness Lies, centered around a lonely and cursed mortuary technician who, thanks to her new friend Artemis (the ex-Greek Goddess of the Hunt), is pulled into a strange world of immortal ex-gods, impossibly strong assassins, mysterious cults, and devastating family secrets.
I'm so proud of it, and of myself for working so hard for so long and not giving up. It's the first time I've consistently worked hard for myself—not for my job, not for my kids, or the house, just for me and a dream.
A quick side story only this group would probably appreciate. I actually struggled with the plot of Where Madness Lies for ages until I began killing off characters, which is when it all started coming together. Not sure what that says about me, but at least now it's a novel *I* would enjoy (you all get it). However, I did earn some serious side-eye while doing book research at my kid's preschool, when I accidentally had an entire conversation with the principal while a "Smith & Wesson 10.7in Tactical Spear Blade" was displayed on my laptop screen. LIKE A PSYCHO. Haha, but omg. #iswearimnotaserialkiller
So anyway, the book has murder, a super cool cult (but alas, no dads), strong (yet fallible and relatable) female protagonists, a hint of romance, page-turning suspense, twists you won't see coming, and a pantheon of delicious characters. It's so fun. Fucking Hooray!
P.S. If any of that sounds up your alley, I'm actually looking for advanced readers who would like a free eBook in exchange for an honest review, especially if they can read it in the next 2-3 weeks (but really also whenever)! Please let me know if you're interested and I'll DM you! Or DM me! Or whatever!

This is my first ever post, forgive me for the long ass essay lmao
Early Childhood
Ok, how do I begin lol. This is going to be my entire life written down. I've never done this before so you're the first.
I don't know why, but for as long as I've remembered, I've never been truly happy. The only time i had some form of real happiness was kindergarten and earlier. When life was simple. Living life with no worries, just you and mom making snowmen in my grandparents backyards, having the time of my life. No matter how much time passes or where I'm or what I'm doing, I've always had this negative energy. It layed at the back of my mind up until middle school. Up until that point, it had slowly been creeping up from my subconscious to my conscious mind. I don't have many memories of that time and nothing notable happend.
Elementary School
I remember when i was young, I used to hit myself when i got stressed or upset. I stopped doing that a while ago though. Notable things that happend during elementary school is when I accidently killed my dog in second grade. I was walking around in the kitchen, when my teo week old puppy started chewing on my sock. We got him by my mom's coworkers dog having puppies. His name was Brody. We named him that because my mom almost named me Brody until my grandmother said it was a bad name. Anyways, I was walking with this dog chewing on my foot, and I didn't do anything about it. To this day, I still don't know why I didn't do anything, but I tripped backwards, stepped on him, broke his ribs and he bled to death infront of my eyes. I still have the vivid image in my mind, his beautiful little brown body in a pool of growing blood, shaking violently, desperately trying to move. I don't know how long I cried for, only looking at grandma through teary eyes. It affected me for a long time, gave me a fear of small animals because I was afraid that I would hurt another one. I'm over it now.
Another thing that happend was one time my mom left me by myself in Walmart. She came back after a few minutes but i was crying wondering where she was. Turns out she was in the bathroom lol.
I also remember going through a lot of babysitters when I was a kid. Most notably would be my uncle. He wasn't actually my uncle, just my dad's good friend. Anyways, he had bipolar, and did not take medication. Naturally, we would get into screaming matches with each other. It's funny, a ten year old screaming and cussing at a grown man lmao.
Mid way through third grade, I moved to another state when I was eight years old. Another thing that happend was when I was ten and learned that my dad isn't my biological father. I think that I started to very slowly drift away from my dad after that. I still love him and always will, it's just that it's getting harder to see him as my dad and not a regular person. That sounds fucking horrible doesn't it.
In fifth grade, my mom and dad decided to invite one of their Coworkers who was seventeen years younger than my dad ivy their relationship. That lasted for a few months, up until my dad divorced my mom, staying with the second girl. My mom was always skinny, but she lost a lot of weight during that time.
Now that I think of it, I can't remember a single memory of my mom smiling during that time. On top of that, but she had to singlehandedly raise three spoiled kids on her own. Whenever I think about that time, I remember how I never even asked how she was doing, how her day was, or anything really. It makes me feel like a total piece of shit. My mom did so much for us, even when she was struggling 1000x worse than us. I have always tried to be kind to people around me, neglecting my own needs to put others first, and yet I didn't do that to the people who loved me the most. I think I blocked most of my memories out because mom and dad fought a lot. I can't remember, but my little brother sure does. I only learned this recently, but when they would fight, my dad would call my mom names and insult her. I think my perception of dad changed after that.
Middle School
Anyways, I have a tough time in middle school. It was way harder than elementary, and the work load was too much for me. I think that's when I started procrastinating. All the work was stressing me out, so I just waited and waited, forgetting about the work. Then I would have a mountain of missing work, which only added onto my stress.
All this combined with the fact that I used to be incredibly sensitive, the stress and anxiety from school, and everything else going on was like the perfect gateway for all the negative energy I've been storing up to be let free on my conscious mind. It went as well as you could imagine. I would cry all the time. Multiple times a day. I felt every negative emotion you could possibly imagine. I had no one to really go to, so I went to my mother. Looking back on it, I know why she didn't do much. She was in a dark place herself, working her hardest to put food on the table. She just couldn't be there for me all the time. I also told my dad about how I'm feeling, but he said I was just stressed. He always had a hard time understanding mental health. The pandemic didn't affect my mental health. In fact, I think it made it better for a time. But good things must ask come to an end.
These awful feelings only got worse over time. They got better during the summer, most likely because of no school. Now we move onto 8th grade. Worst. Year. Ever. I'll skim over most of the details. But all my feelings were amplified ten fold. I was suicidal for a long time, almost went through it a few times. I had panick attacks daily. Every time I looked at an assignment, I started hyperventilating By the end of the year, I had 85 missing assignments, and awful depression. When it came time for new years, I resolved to stop crying. Over time, I've stopped feeling. I'm kind of emotionally numb.
Now
That's brings me to now. It's now hard to cry, I can only make myself misty eyed every once in a while. Things I would normally freak out, cry, and have a panick attack over, are now just meh. I've come to realize that I don't want to die, I just don't want to exist anymore. It's hard to describe, but I just desire not to exist anymore.
Throughout my life, I've tried to put others before myself. Recently though, it's been hard to do. I feel like I'm turning more into an asshole as time goes on. I wish I could be kinder, but it's so hard. Even talking to people for more than a few minutes can be exhausting. It's hard to be all optimistic, caring, and supporting to people. I wish I could be there for everybody all the time. I wish I could find the right words to say. I wish I had the energy to pick up the phone and talk. I just can't seem to find any of that anymore.
I've also come to one more realization. I always used to think that I lacked any romantic attraction to anybody, but I don't think that's the case. I just don't allow myself to love anybody romantically. When my brain starts thinking of somebody romantically or sexually, it thinks it's bad to see people, especially friends that way, so it just buries those feelings deep down so I won't ever feel them. Nothing else. I don't know how you're supposed to fix that, but I can live with it. I've lived with it for over fifteen years so far, I think I can live the rest of my life like this. That was until the one person I've ever liked confessed their feelings to me. I was so damn happy, but then a few days later they said they weren't ready for a relationship, which is completely understandable, but it broke me. I get so nervous everytime I see them, and I can't seem to suppress these feelings. It's awful.
As you can probably see by now, me and my emotions don't have the best relationship. I've always hated my emotions as they only bring me nothing but pain. It's always been hard to talk about them too, because I feel what people might think of me when I express them. I am very vulnerable to negative comments and criticism, which makes expressing myself very difficult. I make my own opinions based on others, my personality is made from others, and I conform to any and all standards. I also get really attached to people. I've lost friends in the past, they all kind of drifted away and we stopped talking. I always take that really hard, and I always doubt my self worth. It took me a year to stop feeling awful for friend in particular. We were one super close, I would talk to them everyday for hours, but over time we talked less and less until eventually we stopped interacting at all. Even if there is just a few days where I don't talk with a friend, I end up sad.
I might just be broken. I've lived a wonderful life, and have amazing people in my life, I just can't ever be happy. I just don't have the energy anymore. I barely have the energy to live. I'm just a lonely, lazy, miserable asshole. That's all I am. I'm afraid to tell anybody this, I couldn't say why. I've dug this hole so deep, that I can only see darkness ahead in any and all directions. The only way I can go is down, until I hot rock bottom. Until I have no reason to do anything anymore. Until everything becomes numb. Then fall off the face of the planet, to be forgotten like so many before me have. Like billions have throughout this world history. I fucking hate my life. I hate myself. I hate this awful, disgusting world we live in. And there's no way out. And most of all, I hate that I feel this way. I should be happy, willing to to people how I feel, not afraid to tell others and seek help if I must. I should be able to get good grades, to make my parents proud, to be an amazing big brother. But I can't and I don't know why. Or maybe I can, but there's part of me that is just so rotten that I can't even care for anything. People have had it far, far worse than me, worse than I could even imagine and they're fine. So why not me? Why am I like this? Why am I so fucking miserable? Maybe I've done this to myself, I honestly don't know.
Me Overthinking Shit
One of the only things that makes me have strong, negative emotions is the feeling that something is missing. It's incredibly hard to describe, but I'll do my best. Sometimes, on those cloudy days, sitting by the window, and have nothing to do, I get a feeling that something is missing, but I don't know what. Whatever it is, it's something not really physical, past any object. It feels like something greater, something so simple, so important, yet I cannot think of what it is, and it's always it of my grasp. When that feeling comes over me, that something is missing, all I want to do is die. All I want to know is what is missing, but the way things are going, I just know I'll never find it. I hate that. I hate that so much. I have that feeling for up to a day, and it's kind of a haze. It's like all the colors on the world are dull.
It's like I'm not really living, just existing, like the grains of sand on the beach, the snowy mountains across the horizon, like the moon that orbits the earth, as the millions of stars, planets, and other celestial bodies that orbit around the milky way galaxy, with a magnificent supermassive at its center, constantly devouring material, as all the galaxies move around endlessly in the vastness of space. I'm not there, in the moment, I'm just existing, along with the rest of everything that has, is, and ever will be. Just an insignificant organism, drifting along our tiny blue home that we call earth.
Everyone that I've ever known, that you've ever known, that anybody has ever known, every living thing, every hope, every dream, every fight, every birth, every death, every word ever spoken, every plea of desperation, every good act ever done, every sin ever committed, every feeling ever felt, every story ever told, every good person, every bad person, every king, every violent dictator, every oppressive ruler has all occurred right here, on this world, hurtling through space, with no destination, until the sun expends, engulfing the inner planets of our dollar system and shrinks again, until the earth falls out of orbit, left to freeze in the vacuum of space, left to have no home ever again, until the expansion of the universe reaches a critical level, and everything gets ripped apart down to the subatomic level, and only black holes remain, only to evaporate into the sheer nothingness. Now I'm here to ponder, does anything truly matter?
When you boil everything down, no, nothing really matters. So what do I do? What am I supposed to do? Live a nice comfortable life knowing everything is meaningless and that is the beauty of everything? Should I do whatever the hell I want, knowing that no matter what actions I take, it will never truly matter in the long run? That we all face the same destination no matter what? Should I give up on this miserable existence? I always thought that there was no objective meaning to life, that you made your own meaning to it, but I can't seem to find mine. I just wish I knew my purpose.
When I think about past me, the me when I was young, the me that was truly living, the me full of energy, the me who was curious about everything and wanted to absorb knowledge like it was my last meal on earth, I almost feel bad for him. How he turned out. The shitty person he is now. But I can't feel bad for him, because that means I would feel bad for me.
If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. That I sent this to you. The last thing you need is to hear other peoples problems. This is the story of my life so far, hopefully things get better, for me, and everybody reading this, and thank you for reading,
With all my love, LazyGuy :)

(If this post is still up, I'm still looking!)
Hey there. I really want to develop a female led/slight gentle femdom relationship with a special guy.
When a lot of men see the term "female led relationship," they think, "Oh, the woman will make all the decisions with no input on what I think/want."
Are there dynamics like that? I'm sure there is. Personally, I'm not looking to be "the boss" or "above" you in any way. I want us to be equal... but have you give up control to me in a few other ways. :)
What do I mean? Keep reading on!
● ABOUT ME ●
You can call me Dreamer for now. (I'll tell you my real name once we get to know each other) Please do NOT call me Miss, Master, Dominatrix or Ma'am.
I'm 25 years old and an INFJ-T. I live in Nashville, Tennessee, USA (AKA Music City) and I'm on Central Standard Time. I'm a Black woman and I stand 5 feet, 7 inches tall. My eyes are brown and I wear glasses. I don't have any tattoos or piercings at the moment.
One thing I want to mention is that I'm plus size, AKA a bigger girl. I'm undergoing a vertical sleeve gastrectomy in two months to lose the excess weight I have in a sustainable and permanent way. I'm ready to regain my body and be healthy and confident again. I'd love to have you by my side throughout my journey!
As far as personality goes, I'd describe myself as empathetic and sweet. I like to help others as much as I can. In person, I tend to be rather shy at first. People tend to mistake that for weakness or gullibility. I'm anything but; my strength lies in introspection and quiet observation. I notice every nuance of a person's actions, words, body language, vibe... my intuition hasn't steered me wrong yet!
● INTERESTS ●
I won't go into detail on every single interest that I have but I'll talk about my biggest ones that you'll likely hear me mention the most.
✨️Writing✨️
I've been writing since I was six years old, but I started taking it seriously around 13 years old. All in all, it's been 19 years. As of right now, I primarily write Fanfiction but in the past, I've written short stories, poetry and I even tried to learn how to write screenplays at one point.
I wrote my first full-length book in 2018/2019. I started the sequel in early 2020, but I'm still working on it. I lost a LOT of inspiration during the pandemic but I'm finally writing for it again.
If you also enjoy writing, I'd love to "talk shop" with you and maybe we can exchange some of our past works.
✨️Music✨️
Music has gotten me through a lot over the years. Yeah, yeah, I know everyone says that. But it truly has. It's shaped my life and introduced me to a lot of things and people that I probably never would've done or met otherwise.
There's no point in saying I like xyz genre because I've listened to pretty much everything. The only ones I truly hate are country and gangster rap. If you want specifics, though... I've been a HUGE twenty one pilots fan for 9 years. (I have more merch, stickers and other random shit than I care to admit to lmao) I also love other artists like Amber Run, Purity Ring, Phantogram, Daughter, Lorde, OneRepublic... plus tons more.
I've always had this dumb idea of a guy and I confessing to each other through playlists with songs that make us think fondly about each other...
God, I'm single.
✨️Photography✨️
I've been into photography for 10 years and I've had my DSLR for eight years. (It's definitely the camera version of 'Ol Reliable) I enjoy nature and portrait photography. I'd love to show you some of my work and get your thoughts on it.
✨️TV/Movies✨️
TV genres I like: Animation (like Spongebob), comedy, drama, documentaries (disaster and crime ones are my favorites), true crime (like Forensic Files), old sitcoms (like Sanford and Son) and cooking and baking competitions/reality TV (like Kitchen Nightmares US and UK, Hell's Kitchen, Master Chef, The Great British Baking Show, etc)
Movie genres I like: Animation, drama, comedy, action, psychological thrillers and science fiction. I thoroughly loved The Greatest Showman so one could say I like musicals but it's the only one I've seen so not sure if that really counts. Comic book movies are pretty alright too, but I really haven't seen anything past the first Avengers movie lmaooooo.
I say this as unpretentiously as possible, but I haven't seen most popular TV shows or movies that your average person likes. I think the last "popular" thing I watched was that Jeffrey Dahmer series on Netflix. (mainly out of morbid curiosity because everyone was freaking out about it... and because I think Evan Peters is a cutie) I only saw a few episodes and then forgot to watch the rest of it, but it wasn't as horrific as everyone was saying. Maybe I've watched too much Forensic Files and I'm desensitized lmao.
✨️Video and computer games✨️
Video game genres I like: Adventure, action-adventure, RPGs & JRPGs, Strategy... basically anything that is relatively fun and not horror related.
Some of my all-time favorites: Kingdom Hearts II, Ratchet and Clank, Journey, Final Fantasy VII and Final Fantasy X.
As far as computer games, the only thing I play on a regular basis is The Sims 2 and The Sims 4. As a kid, I loved simulator and time-management games; some old favorites are the RCT series, Simcity: Rush Hour, the first four Diner Dash games, the Delicious series and Burger Shop 2 (which I still have on my computer actually lmao)
✨️Other random interests✨️
Art, traveling, people watching, researching random topics on Wikipedia and watching YouTube, especially channels with old shows and movies.
☆ CAREER ☆
My last position was working nights at a psychiatric hospital. I'm looking for something new at the moment.
☆ ET CETERA ☆
I really love dogs and cats. I have three cats and they're little demons but I love them to death. I also love small animals like ferrets, bunnies and snakes!
My main love languages are words of affirmation, quality time and gift giving/receiving. To be honest, though, there's elements of each language that I enjoy or relate to in one way or another.
I don't smoke and I drink every so often. Otherwise, I'm vaccinated and DDF.
● ABOUT YOU ●
I'm looking for a guy between the ages of 23-33 years old. I might be willing to talk to someone within two years in either direction (so 21 min and 35 max) if you meet all my other preferences/wants. If you're younger than 21 or older than 35, though, please don't contact me.
Please be single and emotionally available. I won't interact with anyone already in a relationship or married (even if you're separated or in a "dead bedroom," you're STILL married) and I'm especially not interested in anyone poly/ENM. I'm definitely 100% monogamous.
Hair is super important to me! I prefer medium length to long hair, something I can stroke and play with a lot lmao.
I have a REALLY big soft spot for blue and/or doe eyes, but don't let that deter you. If you have kind eyes, I'll fall in love with them, no matter their color!
I tend to like softer facial features and even softer personalities. Are you super masculine in public but a total softie in private? Lovely! Are you less masculine but a little more feminine? Great! Are you androgynous or otherwise fall somewhere in between? I can dig it!
Key traits that I like in a guy include, but are not limited to: Being sweet, gentle, empathetic, considerate, an active listener, exceptional at communication and willing to go the extra mile for those that you love, be it family, friends, your partner, etc.
With that being said, it's important that you have time for me. I'm not expecting us to talk 24/7 but if you're always too busy to talk to me, this won't work. At some point, I'd like for us to also talk on the phone as our schedules permit, of course.
As I mentioned in the beginning of this post, please be from the USA/North America and willing to meet and get to know each other in person ASAP.
● WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR ●
It's important to me that you're an active listener; what I mean is that you'll make an effort to listen to what I have to say and respond to it accordingly. If I tell you my thoughts on a matter or ask you a question or give you a compliment etc etc, please respond to it. It makes me feel so sad and small if I feel like my thoughts or opinions are not important/relevant.
I can tell pretty quickly if someone is genuinely interested in me or not. Like I said before, I notice everything lol.
I mentioned earlier how one of my love languages is words of affirmation. One of the ways I enjoy that is through compliments. I'm not looking for you to worship the ground I walk on, but being told "You look beautiful" or "When you do xyz, that makes me really happy" makes me feel SO seen and appreciated.
It's incredibly frustrating to send a picture of myself and get a lukewarm response in return. :(
Affection is also super important to me. Holding hands, hugging, kissing, cuddling, touching... all the cute couple shit. I want you to touch me, not in a pervy way, but in an affectionate way. I want to stroke your hair while I hold you close... little things like that make me incredibly happy.
Keep in mind, everything I want from you, I'll give to you in return. I'll always listen and acknowledge you, give you compliments, shower you in affection, plus whatever else makes you feel wanted and appreciated as a person and in a relationship.
● OUR DYNAMIC ●
I always want you to have a choice and be able to voice your opinion. I will never degrade or boss you around in general, but especially when it comes to your personal choices. I'm a switch that used to be a predominant sub and believe me, I've had doms tell me before, "I make the decision on what you wear, what to eat, who you hang out with, etc etc... because I'm your dom and what I say goes."
Some people may like that. More power to them. But I'm not like that. I want you to feel free to express yourself. If you want my opinion, I'll give it to you, of course. But my job is to build you up and support your decisions, no matter how small!
Again, I'm not looking for you to kiss my ass. I'd love for you to take the lead on most decisions (with my input, of course). But I want you to also have a "service" attitude; whether that's helping out with household chores or surprising me with a massage after work or giving me flowers "just because" or helping me paint my toenails lol... just to name some examples. The sky's the limit.
That extends to "the bedroom" as well. I want my pleasure to be just as important to you as yours is to me.
In short? I just want to feel doted on and taken care of. I want to be the most important person in your life and you be the most important person in my life. I want to make you feel special and praise you and tell you how much you mean to me. And I want the same in return. 💓
● "KINKS" ●
This is inevitably gonna come up at some point. I'll say when it comes to my "kinks" (if you want to call them that) I like:
Teasing, edging, telling you when you can cum and begging me for it (I believe it's called orgasm control/denial), moaning, praise, blindfolds, eye contact, body worshiping (you and me), breast worship, oral, fingering and using toys on you...
Been a little curious about pegging someone one day. We'd have to build up to it, of course, because I don't want to hurt you. If you're not into that, though, don't worry! It's definitely not a requirement.
Things I do NOT like (or hard limits) are:
Humiliation, degradation, anything that causes you or me physical, emotional and mental harm, blood, pee, scat, vomit, diapers, CNC, ageplay, raceplay, hitting, slapping, choking or anything else illegal, unethical or otherwise unloving.
● IN CONCLUSION... ●
If you read all of this, good job! Here's a cookie, hope you like chocolate chip. 🍪
Seriously, though, I can't name every little thing I want. Despite the length of this post, I'm not trying to play Build-A-Boy. I realize you have your own caveats and that's totally fine. Let's get to know each other and see what happens. All I ask for, again, is that you want a serious, longterm relationship and not view me as just some sort of "kink dispenser."
Chats or DMs are fine. When you send me a message, please include the following...
• Name or alias • Location • Age • Height, body type, hair cololength, eye color • Your interests/hobbies • Whether you're a sub or a switch • What you're looking for out of a relationship and something (or things) you really enjoyed about my post • A clear, SFW picture of yourself • Your current favorite song (so I know you actually read through all of this) • Whatever else you want to add to catch my attention. The more you can match my "detailed energy," the better.
I won't reply to those who ignore my preferences or the message requirements above. If you send me nudes/dick pics/sexting or FWB requests/rude messages, you will be blocked and reported.
Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope you have a good night!

• Dreamer

(P.S. I don't use Snap, Kik, Telegram, WhatsApp and whatever else. I use Discord and I only give my cell number out to people that I'm comfy with.)

Cardboard- https://imgur.com/a/reSTz6d
Playmats- https://imgur.com/a/Jxj7wm1
Sleeves- https://imgur.com/a/l869KXu
Field centers- https://imgur.com/a/40z1y1w
Hello! Looking for PayPal or trades for some of my wants!. Can get updated timestamps of accessories upon request. Pics of accessories from independent_poem!.
Wants!
Denglong yang zing
Chiwen Yang zing
Bi’an yang zing
Suanni yang zing
3x Spright blue
2x spright starter
2x gigantic spright
1x spright sprind
Sunavalon rikka core
PayPal
3x Secret or ulti imperms
Goat decks
Evil eye cores
High rarity staples
Binders
Deck cores let me know what ya got!

Superman #85 - Abducted

<< < > Coming July 1st
Author: MajorParadox
Book: Superman
Arc: Nosedive
Set: 85

It Happened So Fast

Lois and Clark Apartment
Clark landed on the balcony, listening to Lois telling Jon a bedtime story. The boy’s breathing slowed, showing he was drifting off to sleep. He had tried to get home earlier, but the search for Dubbilex was eating all his free time.
The time since Lois and Clark learned Dubbilex was being held captive by Pipeline had been stressful. Every lead ended up nowhere. Every captured Pipeline agent wouldn’t divulge any information. It was possible Dubbilex’s psychic powers were exploited to keep it that way. Still, Clark couldn’t just stand by when an innocent person was held against his will.
Clark entered the apartment and made his way to the bedroom, stripping away pieces of his uniform until he reached the shower. He closed his eyes, feeling the hot water flow over his body. His mind wandered, trying not to focus on all problems going on at the moment. It was those small moments that kept him going. He didn’t know how long he could keep up the pace he was holding, otherwise.
Lois could be heard entering the bedroom as Clark dried off and put on his pajama pants. He brushed his teeth, listening to Lois fumbling around.
“Don’t look,” she said. “It’s a surprise.”
Clark smiled and picked up the mouthwash. “Tell me when,” he said before taking a sip and swishing it around.
“Whenever you’re ready, Smallville,” Lois called.
“Did you get me a present or-uh…” asked Clark, walking out of the bathroom, stumbling on his words once he saw his wife wearing his Superman suit.
The suit was baggy on Lois, but she tied it around at the waist, and rolled up the sleeves, giving it some style.
“Well, hello, Lois,” said Clark. “You’re looking super tonight.”
The two embraced in a kiss but were quickly interrupted when the building began trembling.
“Earthquake?” asked Lois.
“I don’t think so,” said Clark, looking around. “It’s only this building,” he added. His eyes kept darting in all directions.
“What is it?” asked Lois.
“We’re being watched,” said Clark, scanning upward.
Lois darted her own eyes toward the closed window. “How is that possible?”
A blue light filled the room as Jon knocked on the door. “Mommy,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Lois opened the door and scooped the boy into her arms.
“What’re you wearing?!” asked Jon.
Lois took him into the living room, but the light expanded outward.
“Ooh, pretty,” said Jon, trying to touch the blue glow emanating all over the apartment.
Clark focused his attention on a seemingly empty area above Earth’s atmosphere.
“Clark!” Lois yelled from the living room, fading in and out as the light dimmed and disappeared completely, taking Lois and Jon with it.
“Lois!” Clark cried, frantically turning back to where he was searching.
The light must have been some kind of transporter. There would have been some trace leftover if they were– He didn’t even want to think about it. His senses were picking something up in orbit, but nothing he could see. There must have been a cloaked ship.
Clark zoomed out of the apartment toward the sky.
Unknown Spaceship in Orbit Above Earth
“We’re okay,” Lois told Jon when they appeared in an empty room. The walls were a shiny gray and there didn’t seem to be any doors. “Clark,” she whispered under her breath. “I hope you can hear me.”
“What’s this place?” asked Jon. “How’d we get here, Mommy?”
“I’m not sure, Jon Jon,” said Lois.
One of the walls began glowing and then a circular section of it fizzled away. Three short beings with greenish-blue skin entered the room making strange blubbery noises.
“Who are you?” asked Lois, keeping her voice calm, yet stern. She didn’t want to upset Jon. “Why are we here?” she added.
The blubbery sounds continued.
“They sound funny, Mommy,” said Jon.
“Is that your language?” Lois asked. “I don’t understand.”
Lois had come into contact with aliens before, but there were generally never any language barriers. Apparently, universal translation was common in the stars. Were these beings behind the curve?
Jon giggled as they continued trying to talk. Lois placed him on the ground beside her.
“Can you understand me?” asked Lois slowly and pointing out the “you” and the “me”. “My name is Lois Lane,” she stated. “This is my son, Jonathan Kent.”
One of the aliens lifted a long, stringy finger and pointed to Lois’ chest.
“This symbol,” said Lois. “Do you recognize it?”
“Superman,” the alien said.
Above Earth, Near the Spaceship
The invisible ship wasn’t where Clark detected it before. He couldn’t stay up there forever, but he also couldn’t give up. The longer it took to find Lois and Jon, the harder it would be for him to save them.
Clark reached for his belt, to press the emergency Justice League button, but quickly remembered he was wearing pajamas.
The lack of sound in space made it difficult, but Clark was cycling through every visible spectrum he could try. There was just a lot of space to cover. Part of him said he should return to Earth and gather some help and breathing gear, but he couldn’t risk the ship getting too far away. Not when they were so close.
Funny enough, after Clark’s close call (Superman #36), he had an emergency oxygen mask build into his belt. But that would only have helped if he were wearing his suit instead of Lois.
A ripple caught Clark’s attention and he zeroed in on the location. His X-ray vision couldn’t penetrate the vessel, but he managed to make out some shapes in infrared. He quickly located Lois and Jon next to three smaller beings. They seemed to be okay, thankfully. But the ship was moving away from Earth quickly.
Clark flew toward them, closing the gap but a large cylindrical device in the center of the ship was pulsating erratically. He didn’t have a lot of experience with space travel, but his instinct told him it was some kind of faster-than-light hyperdrive. They couldn’t be allowed to activate it or they’d be out of his reach.
While heat vision could potentially disable the hyperdrive, Clark couldn’t risk causing an explosion. He opted to fire a warning shot at the outer hull, but there was no response. The ship was enveloped in a bubble-like field and then disappeared from Clark’s view.
It didn’t make any sense, but Clark flew in the direction the ship was facing. He should have given up and got help tracking the ship, but it was like his instincts told him to keep after them. Objectively, it was a waste of time trying to catch up. And the further away Clark flew, the greater the chances were he’d run out of air before he got back.
But something incredible and unexpected happened. Clark felt a surge of heat bubbling up from inside. Before he knew it, he was shooting through space, stars warping into lines as he passed them by.
Clark was traveling faster than light.

Mistaken Identity

Spaceship
“I’m not Superman,” Lois tried to explain to the alien pointing to her chest, who kept repeating the name. “You’re looking for him, right?” she asked. “Send us back to where we were and I’ll let him know.”
“Superman,” the alien said again.
The other two companions scurried around the room, pressing their fingers on seemingly empty parts of the walls. Jon watched them in amusement. He tried to follow them, but Lois pulled him back, keeping him against her leg.
“Lawnmower,” the alien said.
“Wh-what?” asked Lois, completely caught off guard by the first word she understood besides ‘Superman’.”
“Lawnmower microwave,” the alien continued. “Coorindated exoskeleton international starlight.”
“You can speak English after all?” asked Lois. “Well, I use ‘speak’ generously.”
“We cardinal storage,” said the alien. “Closer to fluid stamp. Articulation storage exact momentary.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lois. “Is there any way-”
“Speech,” the alien continued. “Fixing enter herald toolbox.”
The other two aliens pressed a few more areas of the wall and began bouncing their legs up and down in a little dance. They seemed excited.
“This should expert work now,” the talking alien said. “Apologies for our grain translator. We believe the species have been worked out. Can you understand me now, Superman?”
“I’m not Superman,” said Lois, sternly. “Why have you taken us? Who are you? Where are we?”
“You-you’re not Superman?” the alien asked. “My name is Cola. My companions are Belly and Dollar. You are aboard our ship, The Crunchy, heading to our planet Pancake.”
“Pancakes?” asked Jon.
“Almost,” Cola corrected, smiling at the child. “Pancake.” He turned back to Lois. “We need Superman to help us. Pancake will not survive.”
Space
Clark panicked and it broke him out of faster-than-light speed. Did he even end up in the same direction? If he were off by the slightest angle, he could have veered light-years away.
How did he even do that? Could he travel faster than light the whole time? Was it a new power? Something leftover from his power change (Superman #70)? It wasn’t the time to wonder.
Should he turn back? Could he even find his way back? He might have had the same chance trying to find the ship.
There was nothing around him. No planets. No ship. He had to do something, but he was basically stranded. Stranded in space in his pajama pants. Even if he could find a planet for air, would he be able to get back to Earth? Would he spend the rest of his life jumping from planet to planet, trying to find his way?
Clark looked far off in all directions, looking for any signs of anything. He must be able to kickstart his hyperspeed, but he needed to aim somewhere. If only he could find the ship. But he couldn’t do his family any good if just stayed there.
At last, Clark found a potential planet. But he couldn’t bring himself to head to it. It felt like giving up. He took another look at his surroundings, cycling through different visible spectrums again. He had to stop himself from exhaling a breath of relief when he saw an energy trail.
It had to be from the ship, what else could it be? Clark focused on the path and took off in a burst of speed along it. He didn’t seem to be breaking his usual top speed, though. The movement wasn’t along the stars like before.
Clark tried to remember how he felt before. The urgency of losing Lois and Jon. The heat he felt, which had started from his stomach and radiated outward.
There was still no change.
How long had he been out there? He could hold his breath for quite a long time, but it was starting to get uncomfortable.
What if his family was uncomfortable? What if they were in danger? He had no idea what was happening to them.
There it was. Clark was doing it again. Somehow bending the laws of the universe to travel faster than he, or likely any Kryptonian, had gone before.
The next problem was keeping on the same path, which proved difficult. Clark had to keep course correcting across the trail, almost on instinct alone. If he took too long, he could end up way off course. Before he knew it, though, the ship was in sight.
Lois and Jon were still standing, three beings in the same room. Clark slowed to match the ship’s speed and grabbed hold. He couldn’t detect any doors or airlocks. The inside of the craft was broken into small rooms and only the room with his family was occupied.
Clark positioned himself over an empty room and began punching away.
The Crunchy
“You need to take us home right away,” said Lois. “My husband must be worried sick.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Cola explained. “The Crunchy can only hold enough fuel for a two-way trip. So we must refuel at Pancake before setting out again.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lois. “You wanted Superman’s help, so you came to Earth to just take him without his consent?”
Cola turned his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand either,” he said. “With champions, consent is implied. Why would that be a problem?”
“What if he were busy?” asked Lois.
Belly glided over. “We had scanned his domicile and found he wasn’t,” she said, her voice high but every so often dropped lower. “Although, we had mistakenly identified you as him.”
“I was busy,” said Lois. “You can’t just make assumptions-”
An alarm began blaring and a red glow filled the room.
Dollar tapped a button on the wall and a portion of the wall turned into a screen showing Clark in a similar-looking room. There was a hole in the wall, but Clark was sealing it with his heat vision.
“Clark,” said Lois.
Once the hole was fixed, Clark could be seen catching his breath before disappearing from the room.
Clark burst through one of the other walls, rushing over to Lois and Jon, and embracing them in a hug.
“Daddy!” Jon yelled.
“Are you two okay?” he asked.
Lois nodded and Clark turned his attention to the aliens, his eyes glowing red hot.
“You abducted my family,” he said. “You better start explaining.”
“You’re him, aren’t you?” asked Cola. He and the others looked over Clark closely. “You’re Superman?”
“Superman?” asked Jon.
They’d have to deal with Jon once they were home safe again. He likely had a lot of questions, the answers to which he may not be old enough to understand. Things were going to be complicated. But the most important thing was they were safe.
“They want your help to stop an invader from conquering their world,” Lois explained. “They thought I was you.”
Clark let his eyes return to normal. “Seriously?” he asked Lois before turning back to the abductors. “Why didn’t you just ask?”
The three shared confused glances. “We don’t understand,” said Cola. “Asking for help would be an insult to you.”
“Maybe on your world,” said Clark.
“Pancake,” Lois added.
“Wh-what?” asked Clark.
Lois fought back a laugh. “That’s the name of their world.”
“Maybe on Pancake,” Clark continued. “But in our world, what you did would be considered a crime.”
The Pancakers shot open their eyes.
“Oh my,” said Belly.
“We would never,” Dollar added.
“Our deepest apologies,” said Cola. “We cannot correct our mistake, but all we can do is ask now.” He took a second. “This is tough. It goes against my upbringing, but will you help Pancake?”
“Are we having pancakes?” asked Jon.
“Maybe when we get home,” Lois answered.

Help

In Orbit Above Pancake
Later
After Lois gave Clark back his suit, and the Pancakers provided Lois with something to wear, they filled in Clark about their fuel limitations. He agreed to help however he could, but they would need to send his family back to Earth as soon as possible.
“The Crunchy is charging,” Cola explained. “It will take several hours until we can make a return trip.”
Clark was studying footage of the attacks on their world. Metal robots overpowered their forces, but they managed to hold their own, keeping them from advancing too far. They seemed to have specific areas of the planet they were trying to access, but it wasn’t clear why. Some of them were attempting to build odd, spire-like structures, while others were circling around the capital city without even advancing inward.
“They seem to be an automated army,” asked Clark. “Do you know who controls them?”
“There’s another ship in orbit,” said Cola. “A being who calls himself Breadial attacked our ships as we attempted to flee to get help. We have to keep our ships in cloak all the time or risk them being destroyed.”
“I see,” said Clark. “Can you call Breadial? I’d like to talk to him.”
“That would be too dangerous,” said Cola. “Transmitting would reveal our location. Breadial’s ship would shoot us down.”
“Let me outside,” said Clark.
Breadial’s Ship
A blue light glowed next to Breadial’s ship and Clark appeared, hovering toward the front window, his back against the planet. The ship was small and covered in black, silver, and green metals. There was a green, humanoid being standing inside staring back at him.
Clark pointed to himself and then back at Breadial. He hoped it was obvious he meant “I need to talk to you.”
The being continued to stare. He was saying something, but Clark couldn’t make out the words. Superhearing did no good through the vacuum of space.
A section in the front of Breadial’s ship began to glow red and before Clark could react, it fired a blast that sent him hurtling toward the planet below.
The Crunchy
Lois watched Clark get attacked on the wall screen. “You have to do something,” she said, trying not to raise her voice. The Pancakers set up a bed for Jon and had finally fell asleep again.
“We cannot,” said Cola. “We’ve alerted our people on Pancake of the situation. They’ll offer whatever help they can.”
“I want to hear the moment they reach him,” Lois ordered. “I’m sure he’s okay, but I have to be sure.”
“Of course,” said Cola.
Belly walked over and waved her hand. “Miss Lois,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know we resolved the rest of our translation bugs. Apparently, names were still not quite right, assigning similar-sounding words from your language.”
“That explains some things,” said Lois.
“My name is not Belly for instance. It’s Belleny. Cola’s name is Collior. Dollar’s name is Dollire.“
“And your planet’s name?” Lois asked. “As much as I loved the name Pancake, I take it that’s not quite right either.”
“Correct,” Belleny said. “Our planet is called Panscake. Also, our ship is called The Crunchero.”
Lois looked back to the wall screen, still showing Breadial’s ship. “And the invader?” she asked.
“His name is Brainiac.”
Lois’s mouth dropped. “Wait, what?!”
To Be Continued…
<< < > Coming July 1st

We return from the commercial, a five-minute video that was just a still image of Dexter Flux.
Babaganoush: The following contest is scheduled for -
Crowd: ONE FALL!
Javier smiles at this response, and he’s clearly got confidence that he’s shook the rust off.
Babaganoush: ...And it is for the WiR Tag! Team! Championship!
Crowd: YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Babaganoush: Introducing first, the challengers…
Shit, you judge me on my appearance… face value ennat…
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOO!
As “Inglorious” plays, King Mustafa exits from behind the curtain with Eddie Skelter following closely. Mustafa has a suit - a blindingly light-blue Christian Dior one - on over his gear and he curses at the crowd, but Eddie, dressed in red sweats, just mean-mugs and gets up in the faces of a few front row spectators.
Mann: Look, I - I know why people hate these lads. I really do! Not blessed with great social graces and they get off on getting ill-gotten cash and hurting people. But they make for a tremendous team, both covering each other’s flaws and fighting as more than the sum of their parts.
The two of them hop up on the ring apron and remove their outer gear - horrifyingly enough, they take off their pants to reveal their short tights - and point to their chests: Mustafa has a lion symbol on his blue gear, while Eddie has a rose symbol on his red gear.
Babaganoush: …From the United Kingdom, weighing in at a total of 445 pounds, they are King Mustafa and Eddie Skelter… TWO! SMOKING! BARRELS!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOO! / ENGLAND SUCKS! ENGLAND SUCKS! ENGLAND SUCKS!
Woodbridge: They’re right! They should say it! England DOES suck! That’s why guys like Brendan Byrne came here! He’s a good boy and he’s smart!
Mann: Moving on, and I’d like to apologize to our UK-based fans… as much respect as I have for 2SB, they’ve got their work cut out for them. Because here comes…
Babaganoush: And now, introducing the titleholders…
There is the completely incongruous sound of a blast on a Viking war horn before the jazz classic “Cantaloupe Island” begins to play and champions Jim Baker and Dexter Flux come from behind the curtain together, belts around their waists. Baker has on a chainmail shirt, while Dexter is in a huge fur cloak, which doesn’t even seem to be making them sweat. Their faces are painted with blue woad designs.
Crowd: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! HORDE! HORDE! HORDE!
Flux: OC BABY!
Crowd: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! DEXTER! DEXTER! DEXTER!
Mann: The crowd in Dexter Flux’s home region are giving him love.
Woodbridge: They’re wearing the belts! As it should be! Too much of this damn “I’ll put it over my shoulder” nonsense in wrestling these days.
Mann: And the rejuvenated Horde seems to be taking their name very seriously, judging by those outfits!
Woodbridge: What? What’s that mean?
Mann: Because of the barbarian type clothes -
Woodbridge: I still dunno what you’re talking about.
Mann: sigh I finally am starting to empathize with Allen Paisner.
On their way to the ring, Baker and Flux hand out a bunch of fist bumps; they take a brisk walk up the stairs, get their entrance gear off and hand it to Maurice Chondon for safekeeping, and Baker steps on the middle rope to help Flux in - Dexter is apparently adamant about starting.
Babaganoush: …from Orange County, CA -
Crowd: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Babaganoush: …and Cincinnati, OH, weighing in at a total of 425 pounds, they are the WiR Tag Team Champions - Jim Baker and Dexter Flux, THE HORDE!
Crowd: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Mann: Dexter Flux clearly going to be in the match first, and it looks like out of 2SB, Eddie Skelter wants to start…
Referee Harry Undersach checks over the four competitors - everyone complies even though Mustafa calls him a “chi chi man” - and signals for the match to begin!
DING DING DING!
Skelter offers a lockup to Flux, which the champion accepts, doing his best to ignore King Mustafa pounding on the ringpost and goading him while making rude English gestures at Baker from across the ring. The two wrestlers in the ring grapple - Skelter puts a facelock on Flux, goes to lock his right arm as well, but Flux gracefully gets out and tries to get a headlock on Skelter. Skelter has none of this and pushes Flux off, but Flux gets him down with an arm drag!
Crowd: YAAAAAAAAAY!
Mann: Both of these men are accomplished technical wrestlers. Skelter is obviously more a traditional mat wrestler, Flux is well-known for his high flying, but they’re going to do more of feeling each other out like this, I think.
Skelter attempts to put a wrist hold on Flux while the two are both down, but Flux gets out of his grip and kips up, and Skelter gets into a crouch, rising slowly and deliberately with both his eyes fixed on Flux, who assumes a readied stance but doesn’t go to attack Skelter yet. They re-assume a lockup, seemingly out of mutual agreement - this time, Flux manages to snap off a headlock takeover, bringing Flux to the ground again! Instantly he tries for a jumping elbow drop but Skelter rolls out of the way, and Flux makes a smooth recovery, landing on both his hands and pushing back up.
Crowd: AWWWWWWWWW…
Woodbridge: Both guys still actin’ wary. For now. Even Flux didn’t commit too hard to that elbow drop. Woulda been cool to see him break Skelter’s nose like that, hah.
Mann: Be that as it may, I feel like this pace will pick up soon!
Mustafa shouts a little more while Baker looks on calmly but still at the ready. The two stare each other down, and Skelter decides to take the first swing, throwing a fast but vicious jab towards Flux’s face. Flux, however, is able to dodge backwards and follow through with a forward jumping elbow! It hits Skelter square in the chest and he winces but SLAPS Flux right across the right cheek!
Crowd: OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! / BOOOOOOOOOO!
Woodbridge: The level of disrespect!
Mann: It’s still a legal strike, Mark. And it’s a treasured part of Eddie Skelter’s arsenal.
Mustafa is obviously pleased at the pimp smack, while Jim Baker looks irate, and is about to gesture for Flux to come back to their corner and tag him in. But Baker thinks the better of it, letting Flux avenge the insult himself instead. This he does, with a nice uppercut to Skelter’s jaw, but even as the Brit reels, before Flux can hit a follow-up attack, Skelter ducks behind him and grabs at his arm, a hold which Flux spins out of. But Skelter isn’t unprepared for this and knees Flux in the gut! He brings a chop down towards Flux’s head as Flux doubles over, but Flux is able to block it - Skelter then locks Flux’s arm and attempts to drop Flux with a Russian legsweep - Flux dodges and goes behind but Skelter turns around in time and throws a hard left-handed punch which Flux counters with an elbow, and both men’s strikes connect! They both stagger!
Crowd: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Woodbridge: Both of ‘em have their fire up! Kill him, Flux!
Mann: No easy task! Now it’s going to be a question of which man is forced to tag out first!
It’s Skelter who gets his head clear first and dives in for a double-leg takedown, which Flux blocks by splitting his legs - Skelter goes under and uses the leverage to attempt to lift Flux onto his shoulders - but Flux is ready for it! He clamps his legs and THROWS skelter with a modified headscissor takedown!
Crowd: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Woodbridge: That tijeras came straight from Guadalajara!
Mann: And now both competitors are on the mat!
Skelter sits up and winces and Flux scrambles to take advantage, but Skelter grabs his ankle and flips him to the mat with an ankle pick! Suddenly both men get about the same idea at the same time - Skelter takes further hold of Flux’s ankle but Flux tries to grapevine one of Skelter’s legs! They battle for a hold on the mat!
Crowd: LET’S GO DEXTER LET’S GO! clap clap LET’S GO DEXTER LET’S GO! clap clap
Meanwhile, dark gray clouds are gathering in the sky above the ring. The venue turns on some extra lights for better visibility.
Woodbridge: We’re onto Indian leg wrestling now!
Mann: That, and it looks like rain.
Woodbridge: You think the Tongva Indians ever used leg wrestling to do a rain dance?
Mann: …I do not think the one thing has to do with the other. Anyhow, the battle in the ring’s been VERY evenly matched so far.
Whilst Skelter goes for a modified figure-four leglock, Flux has something else in mind. He suddenly grips both of Skelter’s ankles, bridges onto his neck, and surprises Skelter by forcing him into a pin!
Woodbridge: DAMN!
Mann: Whoa, a flash pin attempt!
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
Crowd: AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW…
The pin catches Skelter off guard but it’s clearly not enough. Both men spring to their feet and Skelter tries another double leg takedown attempt which is fended off by a flurry of overhead elbows by Flux! Skelter holds his head and decides he’s had enough for now, backing into his corner and tagging in the furiously waving hand of King Mustafa.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mann: His partner Eddie Skelter may have started off, but the big man of Two Smoking Barrels has wanted in all match so far.
Mustafa leaps in the ring and curses at the crowd once more.
Woodbridge: Dexter Flux is standing firm!
Mann: He did well against Skelter, who was his equal in terms of physical strength, but I have a feeling King Mustafa’s going to absolutely overpower him now!
Mustafa steps right up to Flux and proceeds to slap him in the left cheek!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mann: The cycle of disrespect is completed by Skelter’s teammate!
Flux backs off, before returning back in for a lockup with Mustafa, who uses his size advantage to throw Flux back into his corner, where he tags Skelter back in, and the two stomp Flux down into the corner. Skelter then immediately tags back out to King Mustafa.
Woodbridge: I can’t judge. Literally can’t. Used that tag team tactic there too many times to count.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOO
King Mustafa once again overpowers Flux, using her superior size to launch him into the hard camera turnbuckle. He attempts to charge in, but Flux skitters out of the way! Flux tries to bring down King Mustafa with a kick to the knee, but he doesn’t budge. King Mustafa blocks an attempt at a strike, and throws Flux by the arm off the ropes! As Flux careens towards the opposite end, Baker sticks out his hand, and smacks Flux on the shoulder!
Woodbridge: That’s a legal tag!
Flux baseball slides underneath King Mustafa, who is unaware the tag has been made, while Baker comes in and pearl harbors him! Baker takes control with an overhand right, a blow to the chest, and a Russian leg sweep, before attempting a body slam, which King Mustafa is too large for. Mustafa offers Baker a test of strength, but before Baker can even accept, he kicks him in the gut.
Crowd: BOOOOOO
Mustafa scoops Baker up with ease, and delivers a gorilla press slam, taking a moment to flex for the unappreciative crowd before continuing his assault. Mustafa wrenches the arm of Baker, before tagging Skelter back in. Skelter climbs up to Bret’s Rope, and while Mustafa wrenches the arm, Skelter dives off, and delivers a double axe handle to the trapped arm!
Mann: Some solid teamwork here by The Barrels!
Skelter puts the larger Baker on the mat with a clubbing blow to the back, before delivering a fist drop to the skull. Skelter, relishing his small victory, backs off the ropes and prepares an elbow drop, but Baker rolls out of the way, and tags Flux back in! Flux charges in once again to meet Skelter… and is caught instantly with an arm drag. Skelter brings him down to the mat, and applies a sleeper hold…
Crowd: BOOOOO
But Baker charges back into the ring, and breaks it up! King Mustafa enters the ring to try and chase Baker off, drilling Flux with a shoulder tackle as soon as he lands on his feet with a kip-up, planting him back on the ground. Mustafa returns to his corner, while Skelter ascends a turnbuckle!
Mann: Not something we’re used to seeing! Skelter wants to beat Flux at his own game!
Skelter dives off the top, attempting a flying forearm… and falls short. As he tries to get back to his feet, Flux batters him with a closed fist, before whipping him off the far ropes, but Skelter is able to turn it around. Flux attempts a sunset flip to regain control, but Skelter simply pops down and pokes him in the eye.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
While Skelter is told off by the official, King Mustafa sneaks into the ring to deliver a stomp to Flux, before skittering back to the apron. Skelter picks up Flux, to deliver a forearm, before walk-dragging Flux over to the corner by his hair, and tagging Mustafa back in. Skelter holds Flux by the hair, and Mustafa stomps his boot before delivering a knee to the stomach as Skelter heads back to the apron. Mustafa whips Flux, and as he returns, scoops him up for a powerslam, before rising to his feet, walking to the ropes, and preparing a knee drop, which Flux avoids! Flux crawls on his knees over to the corner before Mustafa can catch him, and tags Baker back in! Flux takes position on the apron, one foot on the second turnbuckle.
Finally, the sky has opened up! It begins to rain on the ring, the crowd, and even the announcers!
Mann: Didn’t I say it was going to rain?
Woodbridge: It’s not bothering anybody one bit!
Crowd: YEEEAAAHHHHHH
Baker charges in, delivering a pair of punches to try and slow down Mustafa, but they fail to knock him off his feet. Baker tries charging in for a clothesline, Mustafa ducks, but as Baker approaches, he attempts a sunset flip!
Crowd: A-LO-HA KING! A-LO-HA KING!
Mann: Uncharacteristic offense from Baker!
Woodbridge: I’ll say! Baker’s a great power guy, but I didn’t think he’d even ever seen one of those!
Mustafa refuses to go down, but as he struggles, Flux suddenly leaps from the apron to the top turnbuckle, before flying in with a dropkick! Mustafa stumbles, and Baker pulls him down for the rollup!
Woodbridge: Oh shit!
Mann: Huge missile dropkick, and the mat’s slick with rain now! Mustafa had to go down!
ONE
TWO
THR-
Skelter breaks up the pin! Skelter then grabs Flux by the hair again, and darts him shoulder-first into his own ringpost. He bends the aching Flux backwards and grabs his neck for a dragon sleeper…
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! / GO FLUX GO!
Mann: He won’t be able to submit Flux unless Mustafa gets tagged out!
Woodbridge: I don’t think he wants to! This is gonna be Lack of…
Skelter twists Flux around and fires off a fat open-palm thrust to Flux’s throat, making Flux sputter and drop to his knees!
Woodbridge: TRUST! Nasty!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mustafa, who has recovered from the takedown, then proceeds to deliver an elbow to Flux’s crown! The two work over their opponents in the corners- Skelter attempting to ground Flux with kicks to the knee, Mustafa using his large arms to deliver repeated clotheslines, and with Flux and Baker tied up in opposite corners, Two Smoking Barrels attempt to whip their Horde counterparts into each other! As the two partners head on a collision course, Baker suddenly drops down, in back-body drop position to Flux, who lands on his feet!
Crowd: YEEAAAHHHH
Flux continues his momentum by delivering a running knee to King Mustafa, who is in his corner, before charging back a Baker, who offers a hand, and gives Flux a launching pad to deliver a flying forearm to Skelter! Skelter flops out of the corner, and out of the ring, and with the support of Knott’s Berry Farm behind him, Flux charges, and flies through the ropes with a dive that takes out both men!
A few members of the crowd begin to open up umbrellas, including the fan who got The Milkman’s earlier
Baker approaches Mustafa in the corner, and attempts to lift him to the second rope, but gets met with a boot for his troubles. Mustafa trades places with Baker, and pops him in the jaw, before delivering another one to the ribs, and a third to the temple. Baker blocks a fourth attempt, and turns it around on Mustafa! Baker unloads with a series of right hands of his own! Mustafa powers Baker out of the corner, and throws him to the opposite. Mustafa charges in, but as he tries to charge in, Baker moves out of the way, and attempts another rollup! This time he’s able to get Skelter off balance!
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
Flux ascends from the grass to the apron, and Baker tags him in! Baker attempts to lift Skelter once again, but struggles to, as he breaks free, but Flux delivers a dropkick, and Mustafa stumbles into Baker’s arms, who lifts him for a scoop slam!
Crowd: YEEEAAAHHHHH
Mann: He did it! He slammed him!
Woodbridge: This is where Baker shines! Not only displaying his power, but being great in the clutch!
Skelter tries to get in the ring again, but Flux meets him with a superkick! Skelter tries to keep his balance, but slips on the wet Apron and drops to the grass! Flux grabs the arm, and tags Baker back in, who delivers a clothesline to the trapped Mustafa, dropping him again. Flux gets the tag back in, and ascends the ropes…
And delivers Quantum Flux! He blasts down onto the King, into a puddle of rainwater forming in the center of the ring!
Woodbridge: QUANTUM FLUX! QUANTUM FLUX! DEXTER SEIZES THE MOMENT! MAN HAS FOLLOWTHROUGH!
Skelter tries to scramble back to the ring to make the save, Baker meets him, and holds him down! Flux scrambles into the cover!
ONE
TWO
THREE
DING DING DING
Crowd: YYEEEEAAAHHHHHH
Mann: And The Horde are victorious!
Woodbridge: And damn do they deserve it!
Babaganoush: Your winners and STILL WiR Tag Team Champions, at a time of twelve minutes and forty-three seconds, The Horde!
Flux and Baker hug it out in the ring, holding their tag belts high. Tony “The Milkman” Stevens emerges from the back, knee wrapped in medical tape and casts, limps to the ring, and raises the hands of his stablemates! Everyone is going crazy, especially because the hometown boy defended the stable’s belts by getting the pin!
Flux and Baker each get up on a turnbuckle, holding their tag belts up high, while in the ring, Stevens stands alone in the middle, one leg down, hair slicking back over his face from rain.
Mann: Fans at home, this has been Sound Off! The weather outside has turned frightful, but this show has been delightful! I have been Shay D. Mann filling in for Allen Paisner, alongside Mark Woodbridge. Take us home, Woodbridge!
Woodbridge: I finally feel confident in saying this - it has felt like a wonderful, shine-drunk dream so far - but folks, we are so fucking back. For all of the incredible fighters in WiR, for our whole staff and crew, and for my short-term broadcast partner Shay D. Mann, this has been Sound Off, and I have been Mark Woodbridge - gooooood night everybody!

Previously unannounced press conference, May 31, 2023.

Cameras are rolling as the owner of Mann Corporation, Shay D. Mann, hair in a perfectly put-together part, adorned in a navy suit and white tie, steps forward to a podium, in front of a WiR backdrop, microphone in hand.
Mann: My name is Shay Duncan Mann. And I am the new owner and proprietor of Wrestling is Reddit. I can assure you that your beloved Allen Paisner will be returning in the future, however, he could not make tonight's show due to some…
Mann smirks.
Mann: Legal complications. But fear not, I’ll be taking his place in the booth tonight.
The crowd erupts with applause and cheers, eager to witness the rebirth of their beloved wrestling promotion, even without Paisner for the evening.
Mann: Tonight, we embark on an exhilarating journey, as WiR takes a bold leap forward. I stand before you not just as the owner, but as a “fan”—a fan who understands the passion and dedication that this community shares for the world of wrestling.
Mann tries to hide a grimace as he proclaims his “fandom”. The crowd anticipates Mann’s next move
Mann: For too long, WiR has been dormant, unable to proceed, some of the talent trapped in Europe with no way home. But this, is no more! Today, we resurrect the spirit of WiR, bringing it back to life with a bang! And what better way to open things up by “Sounding Off"! Presented by the one and only, Dexter Flux
The crowd gives an actual cheer with genuine enthusiasm at the mention of Flux, their sort of god-king.
Mann: "Sound Off" isn't just a name; it's a rallying cry! It's a call for all of you, the WiR faithful, to voice your opinions, to express your passion, and to join us in this incredible journey. This event will be a celebration of everything that makes WiR special—the wrestling, the community, and the shared experiences that bring us all together.
The press conference crowd, whose papering becomes increasingly obvious the more Mann talks, is enthusiastic, as they eagerly hang onto Shay D. Mann's every word, perhaps a little too eagerly.
Mann: Tonight, in this very ring, our talented roster will ignite your imagination, deliver jaw-dropping performances, and create moments that will be etched in your memories forever. Sound Off! will leave you on the edge of your seats, craving for more.
The crowd roars with the excitement of a hair dryer pop.
Mann: But this is not just a show; it's a community. Together, we'll embrace the highs and lows, the victories and defeats. We'll share our opinions, engage in spirited debates, and build something truly remarkable. WiR is your platform—your voice will be heard!
The crowd erupts once again, their cheers echoing through the arena, showcasing their dedication to WiR, or getting paid to be there
Mann: So, my friends, get ready to immerse yourselves in the magic of WiR once again. Open your hearts, open your minds, and let the exhilaration of "Sound Off" wash over you! Tonight, we begin a new era—one that will redefine the landscape of this sport. Welcome back to WiR, my friends. Because Wrestling… is Revived.
With a sly smile, Shay D. Mann raises his microphone high, signaling the start of the show, as things fade to a video of Dexter Flux. His face is slightly out of frame as the camera points to his chest and chin.
Crowd: YEEEEAAAHHHHHH WE LOVE FLUX! WE LOVE FLUX!
Flux: Hey, it’s me, Dexter Flux. Welcome, uh, welcome you know, back to wrestl- Ugh, sorry, something was like, in my throat. Wrestling is Reddit. Welcome back to Wrestling is Reddit. This is House Party.

Knott's Berry Farm, June 1st, 2023.

With that rousing introduction, we now cut back to the day of, with a drone shot of the ring set up at Knott’s Berry Farm, fans on makeshift stands in the berry field, a parking lot and farmhouse off in the far distance, before [off brand royalty free music] begins to play!
Crowd: YEEEAAHHHH
Through the makeshift curtain, Tony “The Milkman” Stevens appears, wearing a pair of off-blue tights with cow white print, a single blue elbow pad on the left side, with a pair of gloved hands- in which, he holds a pristine white umbrella. The Milkman points his umbrella right down the lens of the camera…
Milkman: Good to be back, fellas, and good to see you, Mr. Cameraman! Been a while.
Mann: And here comes the Milkman, and a huge ovation from this crowd! But no Horde jacket with him!
Woodbridge: Or any jacket. But we’re in Anaheim, its hot out
Mann You’re right. But he did prepare for rain.
The Milkman hands off his umbrella to a fan at ringside, before sliding under the bottom rope, and ascending the left hard camera turnbuckle, firing up the crowd, before doing a backflip off the top rope, and into the ring!
Crowd: YEEAAAAHHHHHH
The Camera cuts back to the entranceway, as the music changes, to Skillet
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOO
Jericho Styles appears on the ramp, adorned in an Allen Iverson Nuggets Jersey. He blows off a fan’s high five attempt, before sliding into the ring and taking a position opposite of Stevens.
Babaganoush: WiR fans… welcome to Anaheim California, the beautiful Knotts Berry Farm! Welcome! To Sound Off! Presented by Dexter Flux.
Crowd: W-I-R! W-I-R! W-I-R! W-I-R!
Banaganoush: Our opening contest is scheduled for one fall to a finish. Introducing first, to my right… wrestling out San Jose California, weighing in at 217 pounds, Jericho… Styles!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOO
Babaganoush: And his opponent, to my left. Weighing in at 208 pounds…
Crowd begins to rise
Babaganoush: Wrestling out of… Brooklyn, New York! Tony… “The Milkmaaannnnnnn” Stevens!
Crowd erupts into indiscriminate cheers
DING DING DING
The Milkman and Styles circle each other as the bell rings, before Styles takes the initiative with a lock up attempt, which he quickly transitions to a rear waist lock. Milkman thinks on his feet, and grabs the arm of Styles lifting it above his head, and turning to break the lock, before using it to get behind Jericho, who uses his size advantage to overpower Stevens and apply a hammerlock, using the position to turn Stevens around, and take him down to the mat with an arm drag, maintaining control of the arm, which he quickly leverages into a pinfall…
ONE
Milkman gets his free shoulder up!
Crowd: Yay!
Woodbridge: JZ leveraging some technical skill here in the opening moments of this one, but can’t keep the Milkman down!
Mann: Only one count for Styles
Styles refuses to relinquish his grip on the arm, and as Stevens gets up, pushes him back into the corner before he can balance himself. Styles whips Stevens across the ring to the other corner, before charging in and being met with Milkman’s knee! Stevens capitalizes on his newly made opening by delivering a sharp kick to the chest of Styles, before whipping him against the ropes. Styles charges back, and tries to use his momentum to catch Stevens with a hip toss, but can only get Stevens a few inches of height off the ground before the Milkman lands on his feet, lifts and Styles up for an atomic drop, which forces him to let go of Stevens. With his arm now free, The Milkman plants himself, and delivers a [devastating lariat]. With what self-preservation he has left, Styles rolls to the outside, and onto the grass.
Woodbridge: And The Milkman just leveled Styles with that lariat!
Mann: Not something we’re quite used to seeing from Stevens, some hard strikes early in this one that really seemed to throw Styles off his game.
Styles pulls himself up by the barricade, to the direct ire of front-row fans who continue to heckle him. Back in the ring, Stevens throws himself off the far-end ropes, charges in for a dive… before Styles ducks down to avoid being hit. Stevens doesn’t change speed, and instead, throws himself between the ropes for a 6-1-9 that hits nothing but air, launching himself back into the ring, and landing on his feet. After this feat of dexterity, and with Styles on the ground outside, The Milkman takes a bow for his efforts.
Crowd: YEEEAAHHH!!
Four dues in front of the hard cam: WE LOVE MILK! WE LOVE MILK!
At a count of eight, Styles, returns to the ring, and the two wrestlers square off again. Styles gets the better of the two on the lockup, delivering a stomp to Stevens’ foot, before kneeling him in the stomach. Styles lifts Stevens up for a suplex, but Stevens shifts his weight and lands on his feet behind him! The Milkman attempts a German suplex, but Styles throws a firm elbow to the jaw and repositions behind Stevens for a German attempt of his own. Stevens gives Styles a receipt with a firm, calcium-hardened elbow of his own, before bounding over to the ropes, and attempting a lionsault to a standing Styles! Styles catches him, but Stevens slips free, pushes Styles into the corner, and he takes a chest-first bump. Stevens harnesses his agility once more to get into poison-rana position on the shoulders of Styles, but Styles uses one arm to flip Milkman off balance and send him tumbling to the ground. Quickly, Stevens attempts to transition to a sunset flip but has to abandon ship as Styles tries to poke him in the eyes, jamming his finger into the canvas as a result. Stevens uses the moment to leap up to Bret’s rope, turn around, and deliver a dropkick to Styles! Stevens then rolls to the apron, and pumps up the crowd with a wave of his hand…
Crowd: YEEEAAAHHH WOOO!!
Guy already 4 cheap beers in: I hate this Styles guy!
…and delivers another springboard dropkick, this one from the top rope! Stevens flexes for the crowd, before rolling into a cover…
ONE
TWO
Styles gets a shoulder up!
Mann: Does The Milkman seem a bit different to you, Woodbridge?
Woodbridge: Milkman definitely wants to show off early, he looks like he hasn’t lost a step!
Mann: Maybe even gained one, and it almost feels like he’s being a bit disrespectful of his opponent, don’t you think?
Woodbridge: And what are you insinuating?
Mann: Well, maybe performing in front of a WiR crowd again has him a little more amped than usual! Trying a lot of those high-risk maneuvers early- we’re only a few minutes into this one, folks!
After the Kickout, Stevens signals to the cheering crowd, runs off the ropes, and attempts a wheelbarrow bulldog, but as he pushes himself up, Styles swivels his hips, and Stevens face plants into the mat.
Mann: And Stevens’ showing off cost him there!
Styles knees Stevens in the stomach, before putting his head between the legs, and sets up for the Styles Clash! He can’t lock in Milkman’s arms, and Stevens uses them to push off the mat to sit up above Jericho! Stevens tries throwing a punch at Jericho’s head, but he pivots his plan, and adjusts to deliver a powerbomb! As he releases, Stevens adjusts his body and manages to mitigate some of the damage by landing awkwardly on the back foot, stumbling back into the ropes.
Mann: If Styles hit that, it could have spelled an early end for Stevens!
Stevens pulls himself back to his feet using the ropes and charges back in with a clothesline attempt, but Styles sees it coming, grabs the arm and uses it to shift the momentum, and lifts Stevens for a tilt-a-whirl Backbreaker!
Crowd: BOOOOOO
Mann: And Styles seems to be in control here.
Woodbridge: Stevens took some early momentum, but Styles has had a counter for everything Stevens has thrown at him.
Styles pulls Stevens up to his feet by the hair, before casually flipping one of Stevens’ arms over his shoulder for a uranage position before holding his arms out to the crowd!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOO
Styles smirks at the boos incoming, and throws Stevens with a t-bone suplex. Once Stevens is planted, Styles stomps the stomach to force him to sit up, before stretching the arms behind for a surfboard stretch!
Styles: I’m a technical wrestler now, assholes!
Mann: Styles slowing things down here, grounding the Milkman
Woodbridge: Not a bad strategy, we saw how The Milkman was in control with a faster pace!
One guy holding up a sign with Goku: WE-LOVE-GOKU! WE-LOVE-GOKU!
Everyone else in the crowd is deafeningly silent
Styles: AND WHAT WOULD GOKU DO HERE, STUPID IDIOT?
Styles breaks his hold and approaches the hard camera ropes to yell at the fan more
Styles: Dragon Ball is overrated trash!
Styles kicks Stevens back to the mat
Styles That one was for you, fucking weeb!
As Stevens once again rises to his feet, Styles punches him and he falls back to the mat, just for Styles to pick him back up, and line up against the ropes, for an irish whip. As Stevens returns to sender, Styles throws him straight up in the air… and football punts him in the chest on the way down!
Styles: Hey weeb guy! This one’s for you too! I saw a Japanese dude do it once!
Styles lifts Stevens up, sets him up with the arms behind the back… and delivers a slow, sloppy [tiger driver], before placing a single foot on the chest, and flexing
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
Crowd: YEEEAAAHHHH
Woodbridge: Well, he didn’t quite get all of it.
Styles takes time to put Stevens in a Camel Clutch.
Mann: And it seems Styles didn’t want to get left out of showing off!
Woodbridge: Well, he certainly nailed Milkman with that kick, but the Tiger Driver left a lot to be desired.
Mann: Styles seems to have control of this match when it’s slowed down, wearing Stevens with this technical wrestling prowess.
Woodbridge, reaching under the desk for a paper bag: Everyone wants to be a hero in front of the first crowd in two years
Styles releases Stevens from the hold by battering him in the back of the head with a forearm, picking him up by the scruff, and bouncing him off the ropes for an Irish whip and hitting him with the kitchen sink! But Stevens wastes no motion, and grabs the leg, turning Styles over for a rollup!
ONE
TWO
THR-
Kickout!
Crowd: BOOOOOO
Woodbridge: He almost got him with that rollup! From out of nowhere!
The Milkman tries to capitalize, but Styles returns the favor with a boot to the stomach.
Styles: I’ll show you to make a damn fool out of me!
Styles hoists Stevens up for a vertical suplex, before taking two steps and chucking him across the top rope! The Milkman bounces off the top rope, makes a deflating noise as the air is forced out of his lungs, and flops down to the floor outside!
Mann: Styles with some kind of inverted lawn-dart maneuver! Woodbridge, do you know what that’s called?
Woodbridge: Nope.
Crowd: BOOOOOO
Styles: Come on, milk boy, you have anything else for me?
Stevens crawls back into the ring, holding onto his ribs, before Styles once again kicks him in the stomach, and applies a chin lock in the ring.
Mann: Styles has found his target! If Stevens can’t breathe, he can’t fight!
Woodbridge: The young Styles showing some veteran instinct here, Mann, if Stevens has the wind knocked out of him, he can’t perform those high-flying moves he was nailing Styles with earlier!
Styles turns to the side, and locks Milkman in a body scissors, using his legs to apply pressure to the ribcage. Stevens tries to use his free legs to push both men closer to the ropes, but can only move them a few feet. Stevens smacks the mat with his free hand, and a guy in the crowd does it to the barricade. Stevens smacks the mat again, and a few more fans join in.
Crowd Smacking the barricade
Stevens pushes towards the ropes again, making more progress. Styles sees this, and releases the hold, grabbing Stevens by the hair with one hand, tights in the other, and pulling him up to his feet.
Styles: You want the ropes so bad, here, have them!
Styles runs over to the ropes with the Milkman, and hurls him between the middle and top rope, dumping him to the outside where he lands with a noticeable thud. Styles follows him to the outside, taking his time to savor the boos of the crowd, before delivering a knee to a rising Milkman, and lifting him for a vertical suplex on the grass! Styles rolls into the ring… and back out again to break the count. Despite the present beating, Stevens once again pulls himself to his feet.
Crowd: YEAAAH
And Styles knees him in the ribs.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOO
Styles rolls Stevens back into the ring before taking a moment to confront the drunk fan who jeered him earlier. After his verbal exchange, Styles delivers a scoop slam to Stevens to keep him down, and the pressure on the body, before sliding into a cover.
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
Mann: Forcing Stevens to exert more energy there on the kick out, after continuing his assault on the ribs. A very solid strategy by Styles in this one.
Styles picks The Milkman up once more and prepares another vertical suplex, but the Milkman slips free! Stevens lands behind Styles, hooks his arms, and goes for a crucifix pin!
ONE
TWO
THRE-
Styles barely escapes! The Milkman wastes no motion as Styles rises back to his feet, bouncing off the hard camera ropes, and forcing Styles to drop back to the mat to avoid a strike. Stevens bounces off the opposite end, and Styles barely avoids him once more, this time with a slide-step that sees him almost lose his balance. Styles tries to save his momentum by charging at Stevens as he bounces off the ropes a third time, but Stevens pulls down the top rope, sending Styles to the apron! Stevens kicks Styles in the knee, before going through the middle rope to meet Styles on the apron. Styles tries to sweep out the leg of the Milkman, knocking himself down to one knee on the attempt, but Stevens jumps over it, and catches Styles with a Calcium Kiss Superkick that sends Styles to the grass below!
Crowd: YEAAAHH
With his foe grounded, Stevens looks to the crowd, positions himself in the middle of the ring, and before Styles can discover where he is, Stevens takes flight, springboarding off the middle rope with an Asai Milksault! On the landing, Stevens’ left knee awkwardly hits the uneven yard, and he visibly grimaces before falling backward.
Mann: And both men are down after that! Stevens with a ferocious comeback attempt, but he may have hurt himself!
Woodbridge: Someone hasn’t been taking care of their lawn.
Stevens hears the air exit the crowd, and pulls himself up, giving them a reassuring thumbs up, before using the leg he landed on to kick Styles in the back of his knee, before throwing him back into the ring. Stevens puts one leg into the ring through the middle rope, before looking into the crowd- and deciding to ascend the turnbuckles instead! The Milkman leaps, and delivers a diving hurricanrana! As Styles tries to roll to the ropes, Stevens uses their good leg to stomp on his chest, before pulling him back to the middle of the ring, and hitting a Standing Milksault! Stevens maintains the cover!
ONE
TWO
THR-
Styles gets a shoulder up!
Woodbridge: And Stevens throwing everything into this assault on Styles, but it still wasn’t enough to put him down!
Crowd: Let’s Go Milk-man! Let’s Go Milk-man!
Stevens picks Styles up, and lifts him onto his shoulders…
Woodbridge: He’s going for the Milky Way!
…But the injured knee can’t hold up the weight, and both men crash to the mat.
Entrance Music begins to play as a small, skinny wrestler in a leather jacket waltzes towards the two downed competitors
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Mann: And that’s Raven Van Loupe! Van Loupe is here at Sound Off!
Woodbridge: These two formed an alliance last time we saw them! But will it hold after the time off?
Van Loupe enters the ring, despite the protests of WiR official Tai Ni Wong, and glances at the pair as both try to pull themselves up, Stevens using the ropes, Styles on his own. Van Loupe looks back and forth… before kicking Stevens in the injured knee!
DING DING DING
Babaganoush: And here is your winner…
Van Loupe helps Styles to his feet, and the pair begin to lay the boots on Stevens.
Babaganoush: By disqualification as a result of interference, and striking a WiR official…
Styles takes the knee of the downed Milkman, and lifts it above his head, before thrashing it against the canvas.
Babaganoush: At a time of…
Van Loupe has Styles lift Stevens by the hair once more, before she runs to the ropes, jumps off the second rope, and Styles pushes The Milkman into the cutter.
Babaganoush: Ten minutes and twenty-three seconds…
Styles and Van Loupe stand over Stevens, and Styles prepares to deliver the finishing blow as he signals to the crowd that he is looking for the Styles Clash!
Banaganoush: Tony “The Milkmannnnnn” Stevens!!!!!!
Van Loupe: Are you done?
Van Loupe gives Styles a thumbs up, but as he goes to finish off Stevens, a mighty howl plays over the speakers as a short, scruffy man runs to the ring.
Woodbridge: That’s The Werewolf!
Mann Johnny, A Werewolf, is here! And he’s rushing to the ring!
Styles lets Stevens flop back down to the mat, holding his knee, and turns to face the incoming Werewolf as he slides under the ropes and into the ring. Styles steps before Vna Loupe to intercept, but the fresh Werewolf knocks him off his feet with The Pounce. The Werewolf comes face to face with Van Loupe in the center of the ring!
Crowd: AWOOOOOO
Mann: Pandemonium has broken out in the first match of Sound Off! And the fans are loving it!
Crowd: WE LOVE WERE-WOLF! clap clap clap clap clap WE LOVE WERE-WOLF!
Woodbridge: The Pack Wolf and the Werewolf facing off in the center of the ring!
Mann: And these two have unfinished business! The Lifeblood exists because they took issue with being left behind for signings like Werewolf!
Johnny feints left, before throwing a right jab! The Werewolf unleashes Pack Tactics on Van Loupe! As he stops throwing punches, and signals for another pounce, Styles kips up, and levels the werewolf with a lariat!
Crowd: BOOOOO
Van Loupe and Styles begin to wear down the Werewolf, delivering blow after blow to Johnny as the boos rain from the crowd. Van Loupe delivers a stomp to the knee of The Milkman to keep him down before they and Jericho set up to finish off styles…
When an Italian Flag appears on the video screen, and an absolute guido of an Italian-American, hair dripping with greaseslowly walks out from behind the curtain, wearing a Shohei Ohtani jersey!
…A Shohei Ohtani… New York Mets jersey.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Mann: That’s The Apex! Arturo Stiglione! Stiglione is in the yard!
Stiglione slowly scopes out the scene on his way to the ring, seeing the downed Milkman on the left of the ring, the downed werewolf on the right, and the standing Lifeblood members in the middle. He slowly ascends the stairs and stands across from Van Loupe and Styles.
Wodbridge: And The Apex, not a fan of Johnny, a very terse relationship between these two.
Apex: Hell ova job ya done hea’
Van Loupe: If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand aside, and maybe we won’t hurt you.
Apex: Dont’cha mind me, just monitoring the situation.
Styles pulls Van Loupe aside, and the two have an impromptu conference, before nodding along, and continuing their attack on Werewolf.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
With The Lifeblood’s backs turned Styles looks down at his fist. He looks down at the blue and orange he’s adorned in, and loosens up his arm. He points to the back of Styles, who senses the crowd rising, and turns around… to be met with a spinning backfist!!
Crowd: YEEEAAAHHHH
Mann: Styles has made his choice! And he chooses to stand against The Lifeblood!
Van Loupe hears his body hit the canvas, and turns around, to be met with the sight of a downed Styles! The Apex takes off his Mets jersey… to reveal an Angels jersey! The Werewolf is back on his feet, and he and the Apex come face to face! Van Loupe rises back up at the wrong time, as the two share a nod, and deliver a double clothesline! Seeing the situation turn against him, Styles slinks to the outside, and grabs a chair from under the ring, before sneaking back in behind the Werewolf and Apex, who have turned to the hard camera. Styles raises the chair to strike…
...And gets blasted by a Calcium Kiss from The Milkman!
Crowd: WOOOOOO
The three faces are all back on their feet in the middle of the ring, standing tall! As the three begin to celebrate…
“It’s a Psychobilly Freakout!
Mann: That’s the music of Mason Saunders! But where is he?
Saunders’ music plays, but the entranceway remains empty.
Woodbridge: He’s behind us, Mann! He just jumped the barricade!
Mann: But he’s outnumbered, Woodbridge, both his allies are down!
Undeterred by the numbers disadvantage, Saunders slides behind the faces, and as they recognize the trap, Saunders is already in the ring! The Werewolf approaches first and throws a jab that almost seems to bounce off the chin of Saunders. Saunders simply stares, and when the Werewolf tries a second one, Saunders swipes it aside with a tree trunk arm, before launching into action and dropping the Werewolf with a right hook, which catches the Werewolf cleanly on the jaw, who slumps backward onto the canvas. The Milkman tries to charge to his aid, but Saunders delivers a pump kick to put him back on the canvas. The Apex tries to make a move while Saunders’ back is turned facing Stevens, but he fails to do any damage and is swiftly thrown aside. Saunders drops the Milkman again, before turning around to face Apex… who turns around, and flees the ring as fast as possible!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Mann: And Stiglione, getting out of dodge as soon as he can!
Woodbridge: And turning tail and running, Stiglione is out of here!
As Stiglione flees up the entranceway, the rest of the Lifeblood begins to pick themselves up. Saunders puts the Werewolf pack down on the canvas with a scoop powerslam, and boots him out of the ring. The Lifeblood stand united, and face the hard camera, Stiglione and Werewolf removed, and the Milkman down on the opposite end of the ring. JZ ascends to the second rope of the left turnbuckle, Van Loupe to the right, and the three all pose for the hard camera!
Mann: And the Lifeblood, although not victorious in the match, is victorious here in the aftermath!
Woodbridge: But wait, The Milkman is trying to get back up!
Mann: Stevens of course, left for the picking, as other members of The Horde are all the way on the other side of the Farm preparing for their match later!
Stevens struggles to pull himself up to his feet, knee buckling under him. Saunders perks up, and stops his pose. Stevens staggers to his feet, and before he can get very far, Saunders turns, and with blinding speed nails Stevens with a disgusting lariat that nearly takes his head off!
Woodbridge: And the Milk has gone spoiled.
The Lifeblood circle the downed Milkman like vultures, and Van Loupe drops to one knee, and picks up the Milkman’s head by the hair! JZ gets down as well, and the two strike a pose, with Milkman’s body as the centerpiece!
Mann: A statement made, by the Lifeblood
Woodbridge: To me, Mann, it looks like the statement was made by Saunders, Van Loupe, and JZ just picked up the scraps!
Van Loupe, holding up Milkman to the Camera victoriously: Take a look, WiR, this is the future! We are the Lifeblood of this company, and don’t forget that!
The camera pans out to JZ and Van Loupe celebrating over Milkman’s body, while Saunders stares from behind, before fading out to a commercial break.
Javier: The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL, with a 20 minute time limit. Your referee for this contest is Mia So Hung. Introducing first, from Montreal, Canada, weighing in at 119 pounds...... GIGI♥ V!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
A significantly smaller but incredibly loud section of the crowd: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Music begins to swell in the background, and the crowd continues their jeering (and occasional unbridled simping) until Gigi steps out, running her hands down her body to the lewd Ashnikko verse.
Mann: Gigi here, surrounded by her legion of fans, who are then surrounded by a legion of people who absolutely despise her. As it should be here in WiR.
Gigi saunters to the ring, taking vaguely suggestive selfies with her ravenous fans on the front row, and generally seeming uncaring about the forthcoming match.
Woodbridge: And given her successes recently, it’s gonna be easy to overlook a competitor like Li Xiao, which very easily could prove fatal.
Gigi steps into the ring, as Javier starts his announcing again.
Javier: And her opponent, from Hong Kong, weighing in at 105 pounds... LI XIAO!!!
A unfamiliar metal song blasts out from the speakers, and a rather familiar hyperactive martial artist bounces out from behind the curtain!
Crowd: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Xiao charges down the ramp with a head of steam, hyped and ready to fight.
Mann: Xiao has some of the most devastating offense in this company, and if she’s able to keep momentum, it could very well shatter Gigi’s plans of making a statement here!
Woodbridge: Yeah, sure, but Xiao’s a tag team specialist first and foremost. She comes in to deal damage and then gets out before she takes too much abuse.
Xiao hops into the ring, and the referee pats both competitors down, before gesturing for the bell.
DING DING DING
In an interesting turn of events, Gigi and Li Xiao start off with a collar-and-elbow tie up in the center of the ring. Gigi takes quick advantage of her height and weight advantage to gain leverage and force Li Xiao backwards into the ropes.
Mann: Gigi starting off with the basics here, knowing Li Xiao is nothing if not an incredibly explosive fighter.
Woodbridge: That’s right, Xiao wrestles like my grandpa used to make moonshine, god rest his soul!
Gigi sets herself, and when Xiao tries to push off the ropes and get Gigi off, Gigi directs the momentum into a modified biel, throwing Li Xiao across the ring! Gigi takes a moment to smirk and pose for the fans - a mistake, as Xiao rolls through the throw and hits the ropes on the opposite side of the ring!
Mann: Incredible strength from Gigi!
Gigi turns around into a sprinting palm strike from Xiao, staggering backwards into the ropes yet again, and Xiao follows up with a big kick to the gut! Gigi’s doubled over, and Xiao drops her with a DDT!
Woodbridge: Xiao’s fired up, and she’s quite possibly looking to end this match before it even gets started!
Xiao with the cover!
1!
2!
Gigi kicks out right at 2, and rolls up, obviously shocked and dazed. The crowd in attendance is split, with the wrestling fans excited to see Gigi on the ropes, and the Gigi fans absolutely in shambles. Xiao is up quickly, as Gigi staggers to her feet - Xiao hits the ropes, springboards, and catches Gigi with a beautiful headscissors!
Crowd: WOOOOOO!
Gigi rolls through, runs the ropes, and comes back with a head of steam! Xiao dodges a clothesline attempt, shoves Gigi to the other rope, and gets ready for the comeback - Gigi catches the ropes! Xiao charges in to press the advantage, and eats an officially branded Gigi♥ boot to the face! Xiao is absolutely rocked, staggering backwards, and this time Gigi takes the initiative and absolutely levels Xiao with a clothesline! Xiao spirals to the mat, and Gigi blows a kiss to the fans in attendance!
Gigi: I am your future champion, and this is the match I’m booked in?
Gigi catches Xiao with a boot to the back of the head! Xiao rolls over, and Gigi drops a knee onto her throat, before going for the cover!
1!
2!
Xiao muscles out of the pin, clutching her head!
Woodbridge: We got two high fliers here, these women make a livin’ out of dodging attacks. Anything that lands here is going to be devastating!
Mann: And right now, it looks like Xiao is barely conscious after those blows to the head!
Gigi gets up, and winks at her fans in attendance and watching live throughout the world.
Crowd: BOOOOOO!/YAAAAAAAAAAY!
Gigi saunters over to Xiao, and plays up the boot she’s about to give - SMALL PACKAGE! SMALL PACKAGE!
1!
2!
Gigi kicks out, and her mood instantly changes. Xiao is staggering to her feet, and takes a full on slap to the face!
Crowd: OOOOOOOOOH!
Mann: What a slap from Gigi, obviously assisted by her official Gigi♥ gloves, sponsored by Fairtex!
Woodbridge: Gigi’s pissed now, and you could hear that slap all the way in Los Angeles!
Xiao clutches her face, and Gigi follows up with a huge kick to the gut! Xiao falls to one knee, and Gigi finishes the trifecta with a roundhouse to the head!
Crowd: OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!
Xiao collapses to the mat!
Mann: And Xiao’s down! What a kick!
Woodbridge: That kick nearly took her head off, Shay! I don’t know if she’s even conscious down there!
Gigi’s prepared, and is looking to finish this, climbing to the top rope! Xiao is flat on her back on the mat, and Gigi takes the leap, flipping forwards with a swanton! Xiao is still conscious, though, and rolls away in the nick of time, leaving Gigi high and dry!
Crowd: YAAAAAAY! KUNG PAO! KUNG PAO! KUNG PAO!
Mann: I... feel like that’s problematic, somehow.
Woodbridge: Nah, ‘sfine, don’t worry about it.
Xiao grabs for the ropes, pulling herself to her feet, but is obviously still dazed from the kick!
Woodbridge: Xiao’s hurt!
Mann: You see this a lot in Li Xiao singles matches - she’s got an incredible offense, but she’s fragile at best in-ring!
Gigi is holding her back, and glares at Xiao in frustration!
Gigi: You were supposed to stay down! it was going on Tiktok!
Gigi charges forward, ready to avenge her mistake, but takes a knee to the gut! Gigi staggers for a second, only to get a chop to the neck! She’s reeling! Xiao with a forearm! Xiao with a elbow strike!
Crowd: OHHHHHHHHHH!
Xiao takes a step backwards, and lets out a KIAI, before charging forward with a roundhouse - NO! SCHOOLBOY FROM GIGI!
1!
2!
Xiao kicks out at 2.6, rolls to her feet, and is immediately back on the offensive, catching Gigi with a kick to the gut!
Mann: Xiao was going for her trademark flurry of blows, and that roundhouse could very well have ended this match!
Woodbridge: Sure, but it doesn’t look like Gigi’s in a better spot right now anyway!
Xiao measures, as Gigi slowly gets back to her feet, and steps through the ropes, stalking her opponent! Gigi’s up, and Xiao leaps onto the ropes, going for a springboard - GIGI HOOKS HER LEG!
Crowd: BOOOOO!
Xiao loses her footing, and falls neck-first onto the ropes, before collapsing to the outside of the ring!
Mann: Gigi with a lightning-quick reversal!
Woodbridge: Xiao might be seriously hurt down there!
Gigi regains some of her confidence, and gives the crowd an innocent smile, completely ignoring the competitor she might have seriously injured. As the count reaches six, Gigi finally springs into action, rolling out of the ring, and grabbing Xiao by the hair!
Gigi: That’s what you get for ruining my moment!
Gigi pulls Xiao up to her feet, and throws her into the ring. Gigi rolls in as Xiao fights to one knee, then to her feet! Gigi smirks, and stands in front of Xiao, posing for the crowd -
WHAM!
Xiao with a JKD backfist!
Woodbridge: River City Knockout! That’s Biff’s move! What a moment to strike!
Gigi is staggered - falls to one knee - then gets back up, just in time to eat THE CRANE KICK
Crowd: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Woodbridge: CRANE KICK! CRANE KICK!
Gigi is down! Xiao is staggering after landing the crane kick, and collapses to a knee herself! Xiao takes a moment to collect herself, then throws herself into the cover, hooking both legs!
1!
2!
3!
NO!
Mia hits the three count, and Xiao rolls off, sure she’s won the match, but Gigi’s right hand is on the ropes!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mia explains to Xiao, who is obviously frustrated, but nods. She takes a moment to kick Gigi’s wrist, knocking her hand off the ropes, before climbing to the top rope! Xiao steels herself - leaps - corkscrews through the air!
Woodbridge: Xiao’s Wing!
Gigi gets her knees up! Xiao lands back-first onto Gigi’s knees! Xiao bounces halfway across the ring, clutching her back and neck, and lands on her chest!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mann: And Gigi has just enough in the tank to get that counter in!
Gigi, with what seems like massive effort, rolls over, before crawling towards Xiao, who seems to be completely out of it. She crawls over Xiao, with a knowing smirk, before hooking her legs around Xiao’s head!
Mann: Gigi looking for the Paywall, this modified figure four choke!
Woodbridge: And half the audience is looking at something else right now.
Gigi torques Xiao’s already injured neck back, cutting off all airflow! Xiao struggles for a moment, but is trapped in the center of the ring! She crawls forward, but Gigi leans back, torquing her neck even further! Xiao swings back with an elbow, then another, but her arm is caught by Gigi’s free hand! After a moment of struggling, Xiao finally relents, and taps in the center of the ring!
DING DING DING!
Javier: And your winner, at a time of 7:53.... GIGI!
Gigi rolls out of the ring, obviously the worse for wear, clutching her neck after the crane kick to the skull!
Mann: And Gigi with a hard-fought win after these two threw everything at each other in a absolutely brutal short match!
Woodbridge: Xiao’s not a singles competitor on her own, but she showed just how brutal her brand of offense is when it needs to be - if Biff has the same resilience he used to have the tag division might need to be on notice!

What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.
*playing games that require good cpu or gpu (modded minecraft or Battlefield 1) at 4k +60fps as well as emulating my wii u

What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?

• 5200$ CAD but can go higher

When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.

• ⁠in a month from now. i'm going to spend the month watching websites and buy the stuff if they go on sale. if not, then i'll buy everything at the end of the month.(unless there is something new to look forward to?)

What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc)

• Tower. i have a laptop so i might be able to pull the windows 10 license from that.

Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?

• Québec, Canada. nearest micro center is 6h away so no

If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.

• i have a mouse, keyboard and headset: blackweb programmable gaming keyboard model k336, Blackweb RGB Programmable Gaming Mouse Black , and sennheiser PC38x

Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?

• i don't know anything about over clocking so i will be learning and potentially overclocking within safe limits to not shorten the lifespan (if that's possible) for both.if it isn't possible, then no.

Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)

• i want a 4090 with a decent warranty. CPU should be the Ryzen 9 7950x3d to leave room for upgrades because of the new am5 (idk what that is but people are saying it has room for future upgrades.) SSD with 4TB storage (two 2TB or 1 4TB) 64gb of ram. i have no tools or anything needed to build the pc: stuff like anti-static bracelets,thermal paste or needed screw heads. AIO Liquid cooler wanted. needs to be able to connect to bluetooth(is that always included?)

Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?

*should be ATX/full-tower. I don't care about rgb but glass is fine.Colors should be black but isn't necessary

Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?

• i have a laptop with windows 10 that came with it. i might be able to pull the license from it?

Extra info or particulars: i have an ethernet cable. i would like stuff that is compatible for next gen (idk what ddr5 is but it's currently not at its peak and will probably be the best?) if anyone knows any websites that track stuff across different stores or a guide on maintaining your pc or something like that, i would be grateful. i also need 2 slightly curved monitor near 35 inches if possible.(whatever aspect ratio is best).(both +120hz) but don't include in the budget. pls note: i only spent like 3 days reading stuff before making my decisions so if somebody has any advice please share :). also thank you in advance

Since I was about 12 I've noticed that sometimes in pictures one if my eyes looks ever so slightly off center, its never been a big deal and I've mostly blamed it on over-analyzing my face. But starting about 6 months ago its become my worst insecurity and has made me 10 times more awkward in conversations. Specifically when I'm in a social situation my vision gets super blurry and off center and it feels like I have googly eyes, Its extremely frustrating to have physical and mental issues while still having to exist socially. All this is when my anxiety is at its worst and I'm fine at home but I still feel like such a freak and its so crippling to see how people's demeanor changes when they sense somethings off about you. Any advice is appreciated, thank you!!

Hi everyone!
I’m a 21 year old From the US who is looking to get to know each other and if we click, maybe something that could lead to us being more than just friends in a casual flirty way :P
There's pictures of me on my profile.
Physically I'm 6ft tall, I'm average/slim build, and I'm white with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. I wear glasses too.
I've been feeling kind of lonely as of late and decided to try my chances. I live on a small farm house built in the 50s with family and my parents are a little on the older side and thus we don't really get out all that often, so it becomes kind of isolating at times. I figured why not make a post and possibly meet someone great as you never know what life will give you when least expected. I work as a facility maintenance tech for a company that I just started with a week ago!
Now that we've established who I am and what I'm looking for, here are a few interests of mine to get to know me better!
• Fall/Autumn season
Already mentioned, but had to list this one because I just adore the fall and everything that comes with it. My birthday is in October too so it's always been my favorite month. I much prefer fall and winter over a muggy humid summer. In the cooler seasons there's always ways to warm up.
• Music
I love genres such as classic rock, alternative rock, psychedelic rock, gothic rock, heavy metal, punk, post punk, hardcore, etc. My current favorite bands are The Cure and Joy Division/New Order. But I like tons of older and newer bands as well.
• Cooking and Baking
I like to cook and learn new recipes, as well as bake fun things too! It's always nice when the house feels nice and cozy and smells good. I appreciate the simple pleasures in life, a cozy cup of tea and music or a movie in bed or sitting outside is so nice!
• Animals
I love animals of all types, and I currently have an older cat which I adore to death! We rescued her from the local shelter. She's the sweetest thing and her name is Jade. 😺
• Houseplants
I love houseplants and really anything nature related and also spiritual such as crystals and rocks! I also like cottage core and goblin core type vibes and enjoy sitting out on the deck burning incense, its peaceful :)
• Scented Candles I have like 25 now lol, I love candles so much!!
I'm a very honest, caring, and loving type of person. I'm pretty introverted normally in private but get quite extroverted when I'm close with someone.
If you think we'd vibe, send me a chat! I’d love to get to know you! :)

[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
Sorore’s current state could best be described as ‘alarmed’ with considerable regret for good measure. She had entrusted the mage with the knife that she had made, and found it had gone to disaster in short order.
Of course, no such rational analysis came through her mind as she lay on the floor of the church. The shaking and rattling had been so bad her mind had mostly been preoccupied by the grim vision of crushing stones. When the heat and quake had finally abated, she found herself among frightened children and shattered glass. Surprisingly, most of the injuries were fairly minor, given the immensity of what had just happened but still, people glanced up at the warped ceiling with fear.
People slowly staggered to their feet, Niche, having been thrown some ways away, joining them. Outside, there were still screams and the clash of battle, but it seemed smaller than before. Frare took her by the arm, looking around and trying to blink away the dizziness that had taken him to the ground. He began to tug her in the direction of the front door, much to her confusion.
“Not there!” she gasped, “why would we go out there?”
“That’s where…” he said, coughing violently, “that’s where she- where she is.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
“Aya went out, during the chaos,” he said, “Lillian too.”
“We can’t help them now,” she insisted, “did you hit your head? Think about what’s out there Frare! Who knows what the mage conjured up?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, before peeling away from her and taking off down the centre aisle.
Sorore took one step forward to follow him, yet fear and disorientation held her back from taking another. It wasn’t long however before Frare returned, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what happened out there, it’s like…” he said, eyes crossed in confusion, “I dunno how to describe it. But she’s not out there, at least I don’t think she is.”
“Where else could she have gone?” cried Sorore.
“I don’t know,” said Frare, a little indignant, “I was knocked down. I could barely see.”
“Well, we need to find her,” said Sorore, gesturing at the church to drive the point home.
She looked around the church, trying to figure out where the girl might’ve gone.
“She couldn’t have gone out the window, they’re far too narrow, even for her,” she said, “and you just said she wasn’t anywhere near the front, so she must either be in the hospice or the roof.”
Frare was already moving behind her to examine what remained of the overturned beds and curtains. Many of the patients had been returned with much groans and protest to a prone position, but none of them had a young, dark haired girl attending. In under two minutes, it was clear that Aya was not in the alcove that housed the wounded.
Before the twins could make it to the side door, Niche managed to find them. He was covered with dust, and a significant cut on his head lent a stream of blood to coat his brow.
“What happened?” he said, words coming rather slowly.
“Aya’s gone,” said Sorore, moving towards the door without stopping to greet him.
“What?!” the formerly fuzzy quality of his eyes exploding with anxiety, “where?!”
“Not outside. I checked. Not in the hospice either,” said Frare.
His muddled eyes suddenly flashed bright.
“You did what?!” Niche spat, “you went outside?! How long have I been- don’t ever do that again. You could’ve been attacked! You could’ve been killed! How many close calls do you need before you realise that this is not some childish game?!”
Sorore drew back - Niche could get emotional at times, especially when he talked about duty, especially in the context of his faith. Genuine anger was rare, and a full-on fury like the one he was currently displaying was new. Before he could see much more however, Lillian drew near, having returned from the outside with a stony expression.
“Where is she?” she said, with a grim calm that spoke of devastating consequences should the information be withheld.
“She’s not outside,” repeated Frare, with a slight tremor to his voice, “not with the patients, so she must’ve gone to the catacombs.”
“Or the roof,” added Sorore quickly.
Lillian took off without a word, striding quickly towards the side door and throwing it open. Niche, stumbling a little, followed behind, gesturing for the two of them to follow. They did as much as they could with their shorter length, barely managing to keep their guardians in sight up the stairs.
The church roof was now plain in view, with the fog blowing away to reveal its ruined slates. The cloud banks were now breaking up over the distant trees and village outskirts. They could see the moon light illuminating the fighting below. To her surprise, it looked as if there were far, far less creatures than before.
Perhaps taking that as some token of good fortune, Lillian started forwards. At the far end of the roof, knelt Aya by a crumpled mass of black cloth. Sorore started as she recognized the uniform of the mage and the sleeping cat spirit curled in his lap. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees and over the roof was the only thing to break the silence.
Either the mage was in an exhausted stupor after doing… whatever it is he had done, or perhaps the process had killed him, for he lay motionless and without voice.
Aya at this point had noticed Lillian walking towards her, and perhaps unconsciously took a few steps back. The older woman grabbed at the girl’s wrist, eliciting a gasp from Aya.
“Do I need to put chains on you?” Lillian said without humour, “you were supposed to stay in the church, where it was safe.”
“It’s safe now,” Aya protested,” look, look out there!”
She swept her arm across the rest of the valley and the fighting below. Lillian’s brows were nit, her face crushed in anger, but she did gaze out toward the scene. Still, whatever she found there did little to quell her fury, and she did not release Aya.
The twins took the opportunity to make their way to the far wall and peer over the crenelations. The view yielded much the same as before, and indeed, it seemed like the soldiers were winning handedly. Sorore and Frare watched as the remaining flailing horrors were pinned to the ground with spear and stick, and hacked to death by cold steel. In addition, Sorore realised that the cold fear that had struck her to the core was now abated almost entirely.
“He did that,” she said, “I saw it, I know it. You did too, didn’t you? You were outside Lillian, you saw the fire. It killed the monsters, you saw it. He saved us.”
“It did not save us,” Lillian hissed, “look again, young lady. Do you think all the corpses down there are of the monsters?”
She pointed with her gauntlet down below, where great black marks had been gouged in the hillside. Sorore could make out the twisted remains of bodies, some horribly deformed, some still adorned in armour and clutching weapons. Her stomach turned, and Aya’s expression faltered as she stuttered a half-hearted response.
“We were lucky it didn’t burn down the church instead. Maybe it couldn’t control it, maybe it ran out of power before it could do so. All that I know is that we cannot trust it.”
“He has a name, Lillian,” Aya said, starring the paladin in the eyes.
With a sound of disgust, Lillian handed her over to Niche’s grip, and raised her sword.
“Stop!” Aya gasped, her face blanching as she realised what the paladin was about to do.
“This thing is dangerous, and so is this creature that wears the skin of an animal,” she said, “I will not tolerate his presence, for your safety and ours. Not only that, he’s infected you with corrupt ideas. Unacceptable.”
Sorore felt her breath still as she looked at the glinting edge of the blade. As much as she had her doubts about Efrain, as much as the words of Lillian comported with church teaching, she still had misgivings. The man had attempted to help them, perhaps out of self interest maybe, but so did merchants. Her father was a merchant, and so were many of her family and friends back in Erratz. And it didn’t seem right, to strike this man down when he was so obviously incapacitated.
She began to try and articulate these thoughts, to provide some defence, perhaps to seek some kind of alternative to execution. Lillian was in no mood to hear, however, and prepared a thrust to the heart of the black cloth. Then Frare was there, oh, so brave brother, stepping in between the mage and the paladin.
“No,” he said, planting his feet on the ground and squaring his shoulders, “you’re going to kill someone who isn’t even an enemy, and is unconscious besides?”
Lillian did bring the sword down in response, but only to grab his shoulder, and send him stumbling down the slope of the roof.
“He’s right,” said Sorore, seizing upon the moment, “what about your honour?”
“My task is to keep you safe,” said Lillian, “honour means nothing if it compromises my mission.”
The sword had reached the height of its arc, Sorore trying to think of any excuse to stay the blade. Aya pulled in breath and screamed at the paladin to stop. Frare peeled himself off from the slates and sprinted to catch the blade.
The thing that ultimately ended up stopping it, however, was no action from the children. Through the hills and village, came the sound of a long horn blast. Lillian, temporarily distracted from her grim task, looked out to the west. In the distance was a line of burning torches and glinting steel spears. Her frown deepened, the sword edge touching the roof as she craned her neck. With a final dawn of realisation in her eyes, her jaw tightened as she spoke words through clenched teeth.
“Two days,” she grunted in disgust, “the liar.”
All eyes on the roof of the church turned towards the new column of troops. Frare managed to put himself squarely before the paladin before her attention turned back to the mage at her feet.
“It needs to be done,” said Lillian, frustration audible in her voice, “you can either get out of the way, or I can move you. You do not have a say in this.”
Frare didn’t reply, only raised his fist and bent his knees, ready to spring or defend, whatever came first. Lillian reached out with her gauntlet, fully prepared to repeat the previous engagement. As another horn blast echoed off the mountains, Sorore finally found her answer in the minutiae of church hierarchy.
“Neither do you, Lillian,” she said, stumbling over her words in her haste, “nor Niche. You’re beneath the rank of commander, you’re not a full light-lord. Therefore, if you execute the mage, who is his charge, then you will have committed insubordination. He could use that as a pretext to… do all sorts of things.”
In truth, Sorore had very little idea of what kinds of punishments there were for insubordination, but they were probably quite nasty.
It seemed that assumption was correct, or at least enough to stay her blade for a moment longer. Lillian’s expression was one of confusion bordering on disbelief that Sorore had pulled rank on her. When pain and realisation came into her eyes, Sorore knew that she’d hit the mark.
The riders from the western mountains began to ride up the hill, gaining speed and lowering spears. The creatures outside the blackstone wall, no longer as numerous as they once were, twisted and screamed at the new opponents. The resulting clash was muffled by distance, but it was enough to tell Lillian that her time was up.
“Lillian, please,” said Sorore, “mage or no, I don’t think he’s evil. You don’t have to do anything, you don’t have to trust him. Let the commander choose what to do with him. Besides, he’s not of any harm right now, right?”
All three children nodded emphatically in agreement.
Lillian’s face was stricken, looking back and forth between the fresh host, and the party of five on the rooftop. Finally, her sword point lowered all the way to the roof, as she let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you serious?” said Niche, “we’ll never get a better chance.”
“We need…” she said, begrudging every word, “what do you want me to say, Niche? The man’s a threat, yes. He’s also unconscious. He might well be the commander’s charge, and he… he hasn’t harmed the children yet. Not directly. What am I supposed to- I don’t know what to do.”
The admission stunned Niche, enough to let Aya wriggle out of his grasp and run forward. She crouched by the body of the fallen mage, turning back to look with unbridled defiance at the paladins. Lillian’s shoulders sank and she passed a hand over her eyes, covering them in shadow.
“Niche…” she said, exhausted, “just… just take the children down.”
Niche’s face blurred between anger, disbelief, stolid determination, before finally relenting to his sister-in-arm’s request.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, drawing herself up, “I will not strike the mage, you have my word. But you are all going down into the church, and you are going to stay there, until we give you leave to go. Do you understand?”
Even Frare nodded, recognizing the concession made, but still backed by a steely undercurrent.
All three of them were led away by Niche, whose face had settled into an inscrutable mask. The last thing Sorore saw of Lillian before passing the doorway was her sheathing her blade. A couple of steps down, Sorore flinched at a distant yell of frustration. When Lillian joined them in the main hall of the church, none elected to comment on the bloody knuckles she held in her other hand.
The rest was almost routine, in an odd kind of way. The defenders, invigorated by the sudden reinforcement, began to hoot and holler as the last creatures were butchered. Ladders were thrown over the wall, make-shift, but well made enough to support the weight of armoured knights clambering up.
At the head of the company, fully dressed in gleaming armour, with the brass shoulder plate of command, Naia removed his helm. His dark hair shone with sweat, which he wiped from his forehead using a bare hand. The contingent came into the church, where Damafelce and several of the captains rushed forward to greet him. As the bodies of the slain were collected and laid out in the church grounds, villagers and soldiers alike began to crowd around the commander.
“You all did well,” he said, raising his voice, “and I must apologise for arriving late.”
His soldiers gave wry smiles in response, knowing that he’d ridden his troops as hard as he could. The smile Naia offered in response was stretched if knowing, Sorore noticing the bags under his eyes.
“Well then, ladies and gentlemen of Albion. You have carried yourselves with great dignity with bravery to match. Your homes still stand today because of it, and now you have the chance to return. I must confer with my captains.”
With that, the vast majority of villagers began to filter out toward the town, speaking words of praise and thanks as they did so. The paladins stood with characteristic dark expressions, perhaps anticipating another conflict in the near future. Damafelce gave a clipped report, mostly losses and a broad overview of how the battle had been resolved. Three dozen villagers, half that many knights, a significant blow to their force.
“I expected worse when I saw the fog,” he said, “your performance was exemplary.”
The captains nodded, a handful offering claps on the back to the Hebeenian knight. For a moment, Sorore thought that the great calamity brought by the mage might go impossibly unmentioned.
“Well, there is one person here that deserves more credit, I think,” she said, grown sheepish.
“Oh really?” Naia said, one eyebrow raised, “and where might he be, then?”
“Commander,” said Lillian, stepping into the circle, “we need to have a word with you. Now.”
At her glare, the rest of the villagers made excuses and scampered away, while the captains traded unfavourable looks at the pair.
“Ah,” said Naia, “I see we have quite the story to tell. Damafelce, you stay, the rest of you are dismissed to see to clean up and recover, as best you can. The knights of the Alonshaze will work with you to see this done. There will be a morning brief later.”
“Now,” he continued, after seeing them off, “you obviously have something that needs to be said. Out with it.”
Damafelce issued another report, of the mage’s project over the last few days. With the additions of Sorore’s lessons, and their experience down in the crypt, the picture became clearer. When Damafelce described how the battle came to a surprising and fiery end, Naia held up his hand.
“Well,” he said, eyes glittering with what looked like amusement, “he was certainly not lying about his power being dampened.”
“That’s all you have to take from this?” said an aghast Lillian.
“Oh, I perfectly understand your complaints,” he said, “you believe he’s a threat to the children. I would argue that his actions prove otherwise, at least so long as we hold his self-interest. Besides, any of us could harm the children if we were so inclined, that’s not unique.”
“Commander, you sound as if you’re suggesting we overlook this,” said Lillian, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Not forgetting, mind you. But ignoring it for the time being, anyhow,” he said.
“Absolutely not,” she said, “I will not let you-”
“You are not in the position to be making demands, paladin,” said Naia, with a surprising force.
He went on to explain how he had ridden west and up, past the foothills and into the mountain passes. It didn’t take him long to find the road leading to the mountain fortress of the Alonshaze. What he’d found when he’d finally reached it was dire.
Sorore had remembered the walls and towers of the outer wall, the monastery-style church and its library, and the keep, half-carved into the face of a sheer escarpment. She could not believe the commander’s account of its ruin, how the gate had been sundered, how the outerwall largely lay in rubble overflowing into the pass it guarded.
“What’s more,” he continued, “Ryzea is missing, whether dead, or gone on some hunt, none are sure, not even the other commanders.”
Lillian’s face fell at the news, and Sorore felt her heart ache in her chest. She’d only known the massive man with snow white locks for a short time. He’d been blunt, some would say almost crude, but his refreshing honesty and wisdom of ages had charmed her. What’s more, he’d seemed immovable, unshakable, due to his harsh experience and his physical bulk. And now he was dead? That was difficult to conceptualise, let alone believe.
“Half the knights rode to our aid, the others stayed behind to salvage and secure what they could,” Naia continued, “some will continue on to reinforce us on our way to Angorrah, a way of which I will choose.”
He sighed, and shook his head as he looked the two paladins dead in their faces.
“I have been lax over enforcing my rank, because, firstly, I respect the light lords a great deal, and secondly, I believed it was best for order. But there comes a point where I must remind you it was I who was chosen to supervise this mission. Lady Aya’s coming has been a surprise to us all, and complicated things, but that does not change who gives the orders. The next time I have to bring this up, it will be a formal reprimand. Do you understand?
Lillian’s face had gone from white to shame-filled red, though she said nothing. The air was thick with barely repressed outrage, held back by the presence of technical correctness, and two dozen knights standing behind their commander.
“Then,” Lillian said, forcing her voice to be calm, “what of the mage?”
“You will leave him to me,” said Naia, smiling a thin, humourless smile.
[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]

[←Chapter 50] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 52→]
The first sensation that came to him was the gentle lapping of something cool around his legs. The feeling in question had an almost kindly character to it. He let that sensation carry him through the rivers of muddled consciousness, thought slowly emerging.
The first question was a pressing, if quite basic one.
Was he?
It dominated his mind, filling it to the brim as he asserted his existence. He certainly did exist, that he was fairly sure of - what was considering the question, if nothing indeed existed? So he must exist, but in exactly what mode or medium he wasn’t exactly sure. All he knew was of himself, drifting along a slurry of thought, with something cool lapping at his legs.
So, then if that question was, at least for the time being, answered, who was he?
He strained at the boundaries of his empty mind, and found nothing - no scrap nor iota of recollection or memory.
He gave up, and left himself to drift for an indeterminate time.
The third question, which he hoped might be a little easier to answer - where was he?
He opened something with effort, and something bright streamed in. ‘Eyes’. That’s what he had opened, and the streaming thing was ‘light’. It wasn’t the usual kind, at least he thought so, although he couldn’t exactly remember what the ‘usual’ kind was. It was soft, gentle, not so much ‘streaming’ in, but laid down on the surface of his vision like gossamer.
As his vision resolved, he became aware of what lay… in front of him? Above him? Directionality was a little fuzzy. What he did experience was blurred tones of orange, red, blue and dark purple, mixing together in splashes and strokes. The ultimate effect was something like a gradual gradient, with uncountable tiny dots letting forth that soft light.
Ah.
Starlight.
He was looking upwards then, with a sky full of stars and colour above. Again, there was that definite sense of the unusual, that this was not what skies were ‘supposed’ to look like. And again, he couldn’t quite remember what the ‘usual’ sky was to contrast. Something deep within told him that he’d seen many skies, or potentially the same sky many times, and it did not look like this.
His body, light as a feather, experienced no strain as he sat up. Once more, the unusual feeling, and once more, no usual feelings to compare it to. His legs were submerged into dark waters, which rose and fell around him slowly. Cool, but not painful or irritatingly cold, it stretched out with only the merest ripple into the horizon. Below him, yes it must have been ‘below’, was a fine black sand that gently sloped into the ocean.
So that was what was forward, now what about behind?
He turned something, his ‘head’ he seemed to recall, and found much of the same. Another sea, although this one was made out of the black sand instead of the black water. The dunes too stretched to the horizon and beyond, with the stars vanishing behind them.
So, where was he then? Evidently ‘here’, wherever here was. Now, he was certain that he’d been somewhere else before, but had no way of knowing where nor how long ago it’d been. Had he been ‘here’ before? Perhaps. There was a sense of familiarity to the place.
He stood with the merest effort, black grains cascading down to join their siblings. One foot after another sank into the damp sand and soon he’d left the imprint of his body long behind. The stars, nor the sea, nor the sand seemed to change character or position as he walked.
Onward. Onward. Onward, along what he thought was a straight line into the far distance.
It was some time later when he stopped to take a glance around, and found nothing behind him. Perhaps he’d barely moved at all, and the imprint had merely been washed away by the gentle waves, or perhaps it was too far into the distance to see. There was nothing before him either, merely the exact same sand, water, and stars. There was no lightening or darkening of the endless sky, no change in the positions of the constellations, merely the black desert, eternal for all he knew.
Perhaps no time had passed at all, and all the movement was merely inside his mind.
The water flowed over his feet as he walked at its edge, trying to discern matters of who, where, what, when, why? Perhaps he was nobody, perhaps this place was nowhere, and perhaps there was no real reason to be here other than… being here. It was all rather confusing and any time he seemed to be getting close to an answer it stole away.
Ultimately, when all the questions were gone, there was only the walk, one step, two step, across the sand.
He tried to count the steps and got lost somewhere around fifty thousand. He tried to gauge whether he was ‘hungry’, or ‘tired’. Those were things, he thought he knew, that were supposed to happen after a while. If he was remembering correctly, such things seemed to have little sway here. Hence, time passed, for him if not the world, and he found himself walking onwards.
He seemed to remember a concept of ‘day’ and ‘night’, a brightening of the darkening used to tell time. But the light was always the same here, an ethereal twilight stuck between the two. There had been something else, however, that he was sure of, that indicated the passage of night and day.
It took him another couple thousand steps before he finally had it. Sun and Moon, that had been it, hadn’t it? They were… circular, that he was pretty sure of, and one had been warm, and the other cooler, and smaller. The moon was the former, and the sun was the latter, or maybe the other way around?
New thoughts shelved for the moment, he continued on his path to places unknown. It took his fancy to turn left and wander across the dunes with the ocean to his back. Up and down, up and down, he trudged across the hills and troughs of the dunes. Yet, when he glanced back from time to time, the ocean always seemed to be the same approximate distance. He kept at it for a while, trying to see if there was any indication of distance being gained.
It was a consummate failure. The sea was still there, its lapping waters calling to his back.
Once more, he found himself at that endless shore, and in the far distance, both touchable yet incomprehensibly distant, hung a pale circle.
‘Moon’.
He remembered that, at least.
The sea had changed, gone from bare ripples to a smooth mirror. The darkness underneath its surface had deepened, something stirring beneath. It was reaching for him, no longer be beckoning, with a hunger that belied its apparent calmness. The moon hung low to touch the sea and where they met, a black shadow pressed against the interstice.
From that shadow a voice ripped across the stilled waters, prying against his ears. The worlds were fashioned out of something sharper than any blade, darker than the night sky, peeling reality with harsh syllables.
“PAIN,” it said, over and over, a drum sounded out the beat of a wild and wounded heart.
The water had crept up around him while he stared, small waves brushing just below his knees. The shadow against the moon grew great and terrible, half submerged, half silhouette. The character of the thing was impossible to make out, with only the vaguest resemblance to a horrible flower. Elements of it unfolded like petals with a luminosity that shattered the twilight of the desert.
There was a gaze, or perhaps a multitudes of directed lines of intention that intersected solely on him. He was dissected, without consideration of dignity or privacy, everything perceived and understood. The waters before him parted, drawn back like bare cloth and he saw the true scale of the thing.
It underlay the bottom of the world, an incomprehensible mass of tangled roots and mad thoughts spreading through every deep place and high recess. All merged, all twisted with no end nor beginning, and deeper, deeper still, a baleful light shining as a furious star. It pummelled his perception, tore at what little memory or identity remained, coiling and snaking those hateful roots through his very soul.
He began to slip, pulled as inexorably as gravity pulled one downard without pity or reprieve. He was a grim prize, an unknowing creature that had walked into reach of the mind flower. The waters rising, he attempted to summon a pathetic protest, to deny the fate which had been chosen for him. Such defences were swept aside and crushed with unceremonious ease, as the waters rose, and rose, and rose. He felt the first touch of the thing, uncountable mental fingers groping, and having found their target within him, closing in an impossible grip.
The scream was high and hideous, an echo of a thousand languages calling out in incomprehensible fury. His own soul began to crackle in tandem with a pain so furious it drowned every other sensation. All of it, the scream, the water, the faint pressure of the moonlight, blurred into the chaotic static. A rent in reality was beneath him, around him, the beach vanishing into the distance. He was falling into a void, where nothing and no one could reach.
The dread certainty of utter destruction was upon him. Whatever impression he’d left upon existence would be washed away, mere grains of sand drawn into the depths of the sea, never to be seen nor known by anyone nor anything.
But before that fate was sealed with oblivion, something pulsed out across the darkness. Something high and pure and beautiful where there was once only the corrupt horror of the flowering abomination.
He found himself curled up on the sand, staring out into a moonless sea.
It took him some time to remember who he was, or rather, the fact that he was, period. A sense of horror, pain, and a narrow escape from peril echoed in his head, though the detail was fuzzy. Clutching himself, and shivering despite the lack of chill, he lay on the sand for an indeterminate amount of time.
When he managed to pull himself up to his knees, he found that the scene had definitely changed. The dunes and stars were all the same, but what lay between them was entirely different. The empty air folded and swirled, little eddies and ripples and warps, turning the sand and waters into structure.
Climbing to his feet, he found that the distortions stretched out far into the distance, expanding and extending to greater heights and widths, increasing in complexity and detail. He was standing in a place, something definite and specific, built with purpose and intent.
He walked out into the warped location, clambering deeper and deeper into the distortions. He found that the shapes became more definite, and more obvious the further he went. There were flowers, yes, unmistakably flowers, of different shapes and sizes. A twisted lamppost without candle to light it, recalling other memories of warmth and lights. A rocky stream, complete with moss and lichens, so real he could almost hear the bubbling of non-existent waters.
The next dune brought more sights, trees and cobbles and blades of grass. The one after that, walls, both chest high and well above his head. It was building itself around him as he stepped over the sand, and when he crossed the last dune…
Promenades and boulevards, staircases and great lofts, immense windows and walls that looped and winded and reconnected with each other in ways that seemed impossible. Corridor after loft after wing after walkway, terraces and sloped beds and balconies and pillars. None with any colour or brightness of their own, but rather sculpted out of the stars and sand and sea.
Space itself had been folded, pinched, and pressed to create a masterwork of bizarre architecture. Between all of the structures, there were trees and flowers and lawns of both distantly familiar and absolutely alien character. It was a garden, a garden in a timeless place with no colour, yet substance.
A garden of glass.
He stepped on the transparent cobbles, and walked a zig-zagging path that turned into itself and out between an arch of a walkway. He was greeted with a small pool and the sound of falling water. He stooped and gathered a handful of a liquid that he couldn’t see, but could feel. Deep within, far larger than what should’ve fit through the portal, swam immense creatures. Coiling and folding in on themselves like the garden itself, they floated above what must’ve been an entire city, all sunk deep below the black sand.
He surveyed the series of bridges and districts that extended into the dark, before finding to his left another bench. This one had not been there before, and was now accompanied by an immaculate lamppost that emitted a not-light. From a spiralling post, there were hanging baskets of flowers with trailing vines that moved in a non-existent wind. He made his way over, and found that the bench held his weight without give.
An indeterminate amount of time was spent on trying to guess at the rhyme or reason behind the labyrinthine architecture. Eventually, he had to give up, the turns and twists impossible to follow for long. Perhaps it had not been designed at all, rather such complexity was some kind of inevitable law of this place.
There was something beside him on the bench.
He picked it up, taking more than a moment to recognize what it was, so different was it from the rest of the Garden. Solid, with a colour and texture all its own, a paper envelope, faded by age and dust, with a flaking red seal at its centre. A ‘letter’, alive and unsculpted unlike the garden, with its own sound and smell. He picked at the wax, and opened the letter with the satisfying rustle and scent of old, folding paper.
Then he departed from the grey half-life of the black beach, and found himself somewhere entirely different.
He was at a desk, his desk, a great behemoth of red-brown wood with a frankly ridiculous amount of drawers. Not that he could see much of them, with the sheer amount of parchment and books drowning the surface. He had a hand, one of warm flesh and blood, closed around an inkwell that was teetering dangerously over a fresh sheet.
He frowned at the sudden sense of displacement, sure that there was something wrong, but he wasn’t quite sure wha-
A knock at the door, hurried but strong, came to interrupt his thoughts. It was almost hidden behind one of the great red curtains arranged around the walls of the considerable room. Light bled through a handful of them, suggesting the presence of windows. Those walls that didn’t were furnished by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed to the gills. He quickly righted the inkwell, and gave some customary response while drying his hands with a cloth.
A voice, muffled by the wall, but still legible as a young woman’s, answered, and the door practically flew open. Into the room bursted a youth in the prime of adulthood, carrying a dusty grimoire. She paced toward the desk, and he suspected that she was barely holding herself from sprinting.
Before he could afford even a ‘good morning’, as was their custom, she slammed the book on his desk. This drew both an annoyed grunt and a reproachful look from him, which she responded to by nearly spilling an inkwell as she flipped open to a page. Words began to drift in and out of perspective, too blurry to make out. Clearly she was excited about something - well of course, she was always excited about something or other.
Wait, how did he know that?
How did he know her? He definitely did.
He was about to reach out, to call out, to ask her name, who she was, who he was, before her final words came into sharp clarity.
“...and that’s only the beginning, professor Efrain!”
Efrain. Yes. Yes, that had been his name. In some other time, some other place.
‘Efrain’.
The vision was gone, and he was sitting on a bench made from black sand in a garden made from the world. Above him, between all the spires and walkways, a great thing floated. It looked almost like swirling scraps of cloth and paper, scrawled in ink and charcoal, with words and symbols from many different languages. They twisted and compressed into a sharp point beyond his eye’s sight, but which he was certain looked at him.
He wasn’t pulled, that would imply that some kind of force was exerted upon him. Rather, the scene shifted and moved so that he was closer to the mass of turning lexicons.
“You do not belong here,” came a voice, authoritative and cold.
The garden, the beach, the stars and sand, all vanished upwards as he tumbled, deeper and deeper. Out of space and memory and time he fell into a warm current which carried him away back to a different consciousness altogether.
[←Chapter 50] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 52→]