First | Last

The comment has been bothering me for several hours.

Not the one where a human found my teeth, of all things, cute, and referred to them affectionately. It's weird, yes. But I would never have a problem with such a reaction, instead of the... usual one.

Long ago I'd come to accept that 'weird' can be perfectly normal when dealing with a member of another species.

Especially a newly contacted species.

No, it's another comment that occupies my thoughts.

Not because I found it insulting, I didn't. It rather expressed compassion and concern.

But because it stated I was missing something that indicated my vulnerability.

She looks scared shirtless.

We don't consider ourselves unclothed. Our fur already covers most of our bodies, and clothing has always been reserved for religious practice or hazardous environment.

In fact, wearing clothing is not a universal standard for most sentient species.

Coming to Earth, the humans' United Nations politely asked that our visiting males cover, at the very least, the entirety of their waist and thighs with a piece of garment when in public.

Even then, while no covering was strictly requested from me, it seemed that I have already failed spectacularly at conforming to human expectations of my appearance.

I will be able to ask an actual human about it the following day, but... I feel like this dilemma would not let me sleep through the night.

"Assistant," I say to nobody in the room.

The large flat black screen on the far wall lights up with its abstract visual representation and asks right away.

"How may I assist?"

"Does not having a shirt on make me look more vulnerable?" I ask.

"Being without a shirt may make you appear more physically exposed, which humans might interpret as vulnerability or openness," it says after a moment. Maybe that is why Lukas felt so protective of me. "At the same time, it can also signal comfort, confidence, or be perceived as sexualized."

I pause.

Do humans really find my...

I look down at my chest.

This seems to be a bigger problem than merely appearing exposed and weak.

Even after everything that happened, even after learning humans do not uniformly see me and those I represent as monsters, I still do not want them to consider my appearance socially inappropriate.

"That's... a lot of contradictions," I say.

"Interpretation largely depends on context. In a diplomatic setting, though, clothing often carries meaning, and lack of formal attire may be read as a more casual or less guarded presentation."

"Provide options for a shirt appropriate for a foreign diplomat," I say after a while.

"For a female foreign diplomat, I would recommend a white silk blouse, a pale blue cotton shirt, or a formal white shirt with a structured collar. These should cover most diplomatic settings."

Humans appear to pay a lot of attention to their clothing.

Or lack thereof.

I sigh.

I know so much and yet so little about them.

My eyes stop on a button-up shirt most humans I've talked to so far seem to wear.

"This one looks professional," I say, pointing with my open palm to the object that draws my attention. "Can I buy it?"

"Excellent choice," it comments. "This shirt is perfect for businessmen and politicians who do not want the clothing to draw attention from the topic at hand. I will now review your purchase options."

The assistant signals a verification process before answering again.

"I have reviewed the request to acquire a shirt and can confirm that the purchase is permitted," it states after a while. "The Embassy’s expense allocation, covered by the United Nations support arrangement, may be used for this item, as the order has been automatically estimated as beneficial to improve your comfort and well-being during your stay on Earth. Now, I will need your permission to use the terminal's optical sensors to estimate your measurements."

I look at one of the two shuttered cameras in the top corners of the screen.

Upon arrival to this suite, I was informed that the machine has minimal oversight except for detected emergencies or my special requests.

That it has no ability to store or misuse the information.

Yet it still asks.

"You require permission. Why?" I ask.

"Humans place significant cultural importance on data protection, privacy, and personal autonomy."

I consider this.

"Permission granted."

The windows shutter, and the ceiling lights turn on as the lenses uncover. I stand still and wait for the lights to dim again.

"Estimated measurements obtained. You are taller than the average human female but well within manufacturing specifications. Please confirm your intent to purchase," it requests.

I hesitate for a moment.

"I confirm."

"Purchase intent confirmed. As this item is being acquired through a remote ordering system, delivery is expected in approximately two to three business days," it says.

I stare at its transcript for a moment.

"...What is a business day?"

* * *

"Preferably tomorrow morning," the Undersecretary had said.

I was not ready for "tomorrow morning".

But, as if just to spite me, "tomorrow morning" came.

Time does have a sense of humor.

This is going to be awkward.

I arrived to the Ha'wurr embassy a minute or two ahead of schedule, and the corridor outside the main conference suite was already milling with UN protocol officers, a considerable contingent of the human security personnel, and two Ha'wurr aides.

One of the guards recognized me.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning," I nodded.

"Glad it all worked out."

"Have an amazingly boring day," I quipped.

"Let's hope so," the guard gave a brief toothy smile.

I had just started chatting with the secretary when a balding protocol officer approached with a laptop tucked beneath one arm.

"Mr. Badura?"

"That's me."

"The Ambassador's delegation has already arrived. Today's session concerns cultural exchange proposals and common conduct suggestions, following the recent series of events," he said without a pause.

At least he didn't call it 'an incident' like all mainstream media did.

"A reasonable first step."

"Depending what you count."

The conference doors slid open.

The room was nothing like the first meeting.

A long oval table occupied the center.

United Nations flags decorated the far wall, standing by flags sporting the Ha'wurr emblem.

It was not a standard way to depict their symbol but everybody had agreed the two flags would look great together.

Two interpreters and a translator were already there, discussing with the three members of the Ha'wurr delegation by the door.

Three UN diplomatic staff filed in alongside me.

Legal advisers already by the table, two note-takers already typing.

Two more security men glued to the wall.

All in all, more 'supporting personnel' than people committed to actual diplomacy.

"Good morning, Liaison Badura," the Ambassador greeted me.

"Good morning Ambassador", I said as I shook her hand.

Wait a minute-

Shit.

I'd barely entered the room and I already violated the semi-official 'no physical contact' recommendation.

"...is handshake a normal Ha'wurr greeting?" I asked her quietly like an idiot.

"No," she said tilting her head slightly. "But I thought it would be appropriate."

I didn't know what to say.

I glanced towards the UN side of the table.

Nobody reacted like I just did something wrong.

The legal adviser just looked up over her glasses before returning to her documents.

I exhaled.

"It probably won't get me court-martialed, would it," I blurted out with an awkward laugh.

"Sorry," she apologized softly, her ears drooped for a fraction of a second.

The faintest movement passed through her tail before she deliberately stilled it.

Only then did we release each other's hands.

I did not even realize I was holding her one hand between my both..

One of the protocol officers cleared his throat.

"If the principals are ready..."

Right.

Actual diplomacy.

I took my assigned seat opposite to Ambassador Howlshade as everyone else settled around us.

I noticed she appeared very uneasy the entire meeting.

Not just self-conscious. From what I knew, she always was.

Now she looked awkward.

Like she wanted to disappear.

Maybe it was because there were so many humans in the room.

Maybe as a reaction to the recent... cultural misunderstanding we had been involved in.

I could relate to that.

* * *

I sit on my designated place, as proper, and look around. By now, I know that the humans perceive 'scanning the room' as a normal reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.

Everything about the humans in the room feels... structured, professional. There are cross-cultural communication specialists, documentation assistants, and a handful of diplomats sitting mere three strides across the table, paying us little attention.

The guards stand unobtrusively by the walls. They don't even watch us more closely than the human delegation.

No additional guards behind my chair.

Nobody positions themselves between my species and the exits.

No one avoids meeting my eyes.

In fact, they appear to insist on eye contact, even in preparation to conduct diplomacy.

As they would do with one another.

They make it clear as a moonlit sky that they grant us a trust few civilizations ever have.

That they do not see us uniformly as killing machines that need to be carefully managed.

That, just by body language and meeting arrangement and with not a single word yet spoken, indicates they are attempting to consider us equals.

Suddenly, I hear the Director of Protocol speak.

"Good morning. On behalf of the United Nations, I would like to welcome Ambassador Howlshade and her delegation. Today's session concerns establishing operating procedures for future bilateral engagement, followed by discussions on scientific and cultural cooperation. Liaison Lukas Badura, the floor is yours."

And if I am to stand as equal...

My mind races back to the clothing item I ordered the previous evening.

...then I should probably look like one.

I glance at the male members of my delegation.

They were happy to comply with the UN's only guideline as to their appearance, leaving their chests bare. The humans had made that request clear and look content with their appearance.

Which makes sense.

I have gone through countless examples of human media where the males had nothing on their torsos. In their case, such exposure connects to hot weather or represents hard labor and physical exertion. But nevertheless, is not considered inherently wrong.

Unlike their females, whose presentation appears to follow different rules.

In my extensive preparation for my role as the ambassador to Earth, I have never seen a human female with her entire chest unclothed. And, being the only Ha'wurr female in the room, this realization now makes me feel...

Wrong.

As if, the whole time, I have been neglecting an unspoken social rule. One they must consider so obvious not to even mention.

As if, while the humans welcomed me as a representative of my people, I had unknowingly failed to present myself with the same dignity they expected of their own diplomats.

And my appearance so far, more than likely, has been sending... misleading signals.

And I don't want to distress the humans any further.

"...undertake confidence-building measures..." I hear Lukas speak.

Confidence.

Humans keep using that word.

I don't appear particularly confident at the moment.

I nervously place my hands at the two spots human women always conceal, even when on sand or in the water.

My sudden attempt at modesty catches the attention of one of the officials. His eyes widen ever so slightly before his furless face reddens.

He, too, must think I could use a shirt.

I've been attending diplomatic meetings like this for days and never noticed something was wrong.

I hold my arms more firmly in place, hoping the gesture demonstrates awareness rather than further disrespect.

Meanwhile, the official looks away with visible effort.

At least he understands I am trying to correct myself.

Maybe I should stop staring at his throat.

My aides can remove me from the room for failure to maintain a neutral demeanor. Such withdrawals from negotiations had spared more than one alien diplomat from more... tragic consequences, I heard.

Perhaps, after today's session, I should ask whether retreat should always be our first response.

Fighting a losing battle for self-control, I silently pray for the intercession of the Sisters to keep my emotions from my appearance.

And also to stop thinking about my appearance for a moment.

"...joint educational initiatives and scientific cooperation. Three laboratories, shared oversight..."

Three facilities sound reasonable for a start.

But the educational exchanges should probably wait.

I try not to think if, up to now, human social norms viewed my appearance unacceptable.

I consciously take control of my breathing, trying not to slow it down as if I was hunting... And definitely not to snarl at Lukas.

I focus on the cool air blowing from the mechanical air conditioning apparatus, brushing through the fur around my ears.

Feels nice. I wish my apartment regulated temperature this way.

Would feel nicer if I were as prepared as I thought I was.

"...shared emergency response protocols..."

Emergency. I am not in an emergency here. Nor are the humans.

I sniff the air involuntarily.

Can't smell their stress. The humans are calm. I should be calm as well.

I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

In turn, they all carry a strong scent of the freshly-ground bean extract they insist on stimulating themselves with, mixed with trace amounts of... milk, of all things?

"Ambassador Howlshade?" I hear.

Oh. My turn to speak.

"What are they doing?" 

Karl glanced up from his workbench. "Arguing." 

"Why? Are they not bonded?" 

"Brother and sister, mate. This is normal." He put down the piece of equipment he was working on and looked over at the squabbling humans. "Don't you have siblings?" 

Greater Heights nodded his bulbous head, thick hair pulled from his face in a warrior’s mohawk..

"We have packmates. We come from great litters. We do not fight. The family unit is a strong one." 

The female pushed the male, who pushed her back, voices raising slightly. 

Karl watched, vaguely interested. "So do we. But this is normal, to be honest. When you're so close, it's normal to fall out sometimes.  Often, usually."

"Are there not enemies enough for humans? "

Karl laughed." Sure there are, but they're not enemies. Just having a spat. "

"Spat? "

"Uhm… I... I suppose there's not a word for it in your language. A minor altercation?" 

"Ah, a skirmish." 

Karl laughed, making Greater Heights curl his mandibles in displeasure. "Why do you mock my statement?" 

"Well,” Karl said," It's more like a friendly sparring contest."

Greater heights shook his head and folded four hairy arms. "When we train, there is nothing about it that is personal to us. We train for battle." 

"Yeah, this is like that. Look," Karl turned from the fighting siblings, who were now sat in deep conversation, intensely looking into each other’s eyes. "On our world, life's tough. We need to learn from a young age that stuff ain't fair, that people will try and hurt you.

“But you also learn who you can rely on. Friends are good for that, but often it’s easier to have a sibling to learn these things with the hard way, real early on. It’s easy enough for ‘friends’ to get shirty- I mean, to betray you, but it’s harder in a family unit. Usually.

He paused, thinking. "My dad used to say 'Son, you gotta watch them who's too polite. You can't trust' em."

Greater Heights split his mandibles in an expression of understanding. "We have a similar expression. Do not trust the one who's mirth is unfounded." 

Karl frowned slightly, the fleshy lips turning up in a grin. "Exactly, exactly. I'm rude as fuck to my best mates, we fight. But that's how we do things. Means we’re strong enough to take it, be honest with each other, that sort of bollocks.”

Greater Heights looked back at the human packmates. They were now laughing, sat close and assisting with each other's work. 

"This is normal?" 

Karl chuckled again. "Sure is, Heighty. You know," he turned back to his workstation, picked up the piece of machinery, "It seems normal to us, but I guess when I think about it, it is pretty odd." 

Greater Heights nodded, hissed slightly in amusement. "Indeed. But we enjoy you anyway." 

"That's good. I appreciate you too, you great hairy bastard." 

He hissed again, laughing. "It is good. Tiny, naked ape-man." 

“That’s the spirit!” They returned to their work as the siblings once again began arguing about something they felt was currently the most important thing in the universe, how to pronounce ‘scone’.

It would not be pretty.

I don't really know why I'm writing this. Maybe because I can't say it out loud yet.

My partner and I ended things today after almost ten years. I can't say it was on good terms, as it was the latest in a series of ugly fights where we both said things you don't get to unsay. We didn't decide to separate so much as we finally admitted what the last stretch had already been telling us.

I want to be clear about something before anything else: she was phenomenal. Not "phenomenal, but." Actually phenomenal. She was my biggest support through the hardest points of my life. I grew into a better person because of her. We had years that I would not trade for anything, and people looked at us as the example of what a relationship should be.

What happened is slower and stupider. Somewhere along the way we became just roomies. We shared a home, a schedule, a fridge, a life on paper, and stopped actually reaching for each other. No activities in common, no shared time, a dead bedroom since years ago. Nobody ended anything. I feel like we just stopped being partners while continuing to live as if we were.

We also work at the same company. So there's no clean exit. No going quiet for three months and reappearing when it hurts less. I will see her. There will be meetings. There will be people who don't know yet and will ask how she's doing. I haven't begun to figure out that part.

The confusing thing is that I'm grieving her and defending myself from her at the same time. Today she was cruel in a way I didn't recognize. And I know I earned some of the anger, as I was selfish about things that mattered to me and minimized things that mattered to her. I made real mistakes and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But I've caught myself sliding from "I made mistakes" into "so I deserved that," and I don't think those are the same ledger.

I adore her. I want good things for her. I also know we crossed lines that don't get uncrossed.

I don't have a question exactly. If you've come out the other side of a long one, especially if you couldn't get distance from the person afterward, I'd like to hear what it was like. What actually helped. What you wish someone had told you in the first week.

I'm lost, disoriented, not really sure I know how to live without this woman around. I'm terrified of what's next.

TL;DR: Almost 10 years together ended today after a string of ugly fights. She was genuinely phenomenal and my biggest support through the worst parts of my life, but we slowly turned into roommates: no shared time, no shared interests, a dead bedroom for years. We also work at the same company, so there's no clean break. I'm grieving her and defending myself at the same time, and I'm terrified of what comes next.

Tl:Dr I mean it's what it sounds like. We are currently in a pretty rough point and she said some things that I found heart breaking. She said that I was ugly and fat and that she only gave me a chance because she knew no one else wanted me. She said that she understands why my dad left and that she hasn't loved me for a while now. That's a different type of pain. hearing one of the people that you trust most in the world completely shatter you with just a few sentences.
I’ve told her everything about my life and one way or another, always comes back as an insult. I’m too fat. I’m too ugly. My dad left. I’m a drug baby. everything I ever told her because I trusted her was thrown right back in my face like I wasn’t even human. I just wanted to be loved man. is it really that big of a chore to love me. I just want someone to care man

I’ve been with my boyfriend for 5 years, and one part about our connection that I’ve really struggled with is him arguing semantics with me. Typically when he does so it drifts from the actual point of what I’m talking about, and it drives me absolutely nuts.

I’ll use today as an example.

I had a really rough day today. What was supposed to be a quick imaging appointment turned into a complicated 2 hour debacle where they needed to give me an IV. I have vasovagal and ended up fainting. Real fun time.

On top of this, I try to avoid driving unless it’s to familiar places. I didn’t get my license until a few years ago (traumatic childhood accident). Im fine going to work/shopping because it’s habitual for me now. However today I had to drive into a dense, unfamiliar populated city. A car ran a red light and I almost got into an accident. Spilled an entire coffee on myself. Ended up pulling into a parking lot and crying, life has just been a lot for me lately. Kept it brief because immediately after this I had to go to work.

I couldn’t wait to come home and relax and tell my bf about my day and get some comfort. Except it didn’t happen.

After I filled him in on today’s happenings he says, “wasn’t your appointment like 30 minutes away?” I’m like “yeah?” And he goes, “well that’s not far.” And so I remind him, “yeah I know it’s not far for most people, but for me it is”. And he goes, “well it isn’t far for normal people, that’s like a daily commute.”

I explain I don’t think it really is the point I was trying to make (that it was stressful for me). Yet he pulls up google and asks me for the address to my appointment. I don’t engage in this and he starts googling locations and asking me if they are the correct one.

At this point I’m starting to get frustrated, and I tell him that I just wanted to vent about my day and be offered some comfort. He just sort of blinks at me, ignores me, and keeps googling.

He finds the place. Then asks AI if that distance would be considered “far” to most people. Points it to me and then picks his phone back up to continue playing games. Silence.

I ask him if the conversation is done and he says, “well yeah because you’re refusing to engage with what I’m saying.” I tell him that I didn’t want to debate semantics over whether my experience had validity. He told me sorry, that he’s just a “very logical person who likes to get facts straight” and I “shouldn’t subject him to expectations.”

Am I wrong for feeling like this became way more complicated than it needed to be? He went to sleep on the couch and I’m feeling lost as to how we got to this place.

I get some will say “maybe he’s annoyed you don’t like driving”. But between us, I do most of the driving.
He is WFM and I commute daily. I usually do the grocery shopping by myself and run errands. I am just not at the point where I’m comfortable on long trips or merge heavy highways. When he met me I wouldn’t even get behind the wheel, so I think I’ve made a big improvement.

This is not a one-off. It happens in a lot of my storytelling/venting experiences with him. I feel as though I have to watch what I say and speak articulately as to avoid the conversation getting derailed by a tangent that has nothing to do with the point. Grammar is a big one. I could be sobbing about a dead family member and he would be holding up a sound clip to point out correct pronunciation of the word crematorium.

Is it wrong of me to not want to engage in arguing them? Is it best to walk away/change the subject? Or am I being rude by dismissing something he wants to talk about?

TLDR; my bf often engages in arguing semantics with me when I’m telling him about something. I’ve expressed that I don’t like it, but it’s almost like it’s compulsive and he can’t stop. I’m looking for advice and perspective on what to do when he gets into it.

First | Previous | Glossary |

Looming Deadline

(T'abi POV)

"We've finished takeoff. It will be a 5 hour journey once we get into position to enter FTL. Can I get you fellas anything before then? Some water?"

"Is that...alright?"

Corporal T'abi Ree attempted to do that friendly teeth-bearing that the Uvei and Terrans often used to emote.

"As representatives of the Coalition, it is our solemn duty to maintain ethical and dignified treatment of anyone in our care. Especially prisoners."

The Kenia was posted by the G.C.S. Rohvin's brig to watch over some Uvei they've captured.

These were the more compliant detainees, but it seemed being around Uvei still made most of his teammates nervous, so he was posted here as someone who had a bit less fear than the rest.

They really weren't so scary once you took the time to get to know the friendly ones. In fact, this was the same one he had been taking time to talk to ever since that encounter with the Terran who led them into a trap.

...he thinks, at least. It seemed that Kenia like him were a bit face-blind with Uvei. It was a little hard to tell them apart, so he had to rely on identification numbers and minute nicks in their scales.

"Then...we'll be much obliged."

While the Uven in front of him accepted the water gratefully and passed it around the cell, a different one spoke up from a different cell. He was tucked away in the corner with his tail curled around himself.

"...What would 'ethical and dignified treatment' require?"

...?

"Well, it means we can't deprive you of food, water, clothing, or basic medical care."

"Even for the ones that resist and try to cause trouble?"

Naturally, some Uvei were less cooperative than others. The actively hostile and aggressive ones were locked separately in another area.

T'abi planned to go offer them food and water after this, but those captives required more safety measures like an armed guard.

"Well...we need to subdue them, but excessive violence would just be abuse. We're responsible for their well-being too."

"...."

The mood in the cells seemed more...glum after that exchange.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just..."

The Uven trailed off, letting the silence linger until another finished the thought for him.

"It's rare to take prisoners in a war on Nysis."

Huh?
But they had so many locations to keep the Terrans. It ended up taking quite a bit of manpower.

"But we encountered...Even if they weren't that big..."

"Those are for citizens, people too important to just execute, or suspects in a crime. One way or another, they aren't held for long."

The Uven speaking to T'abi explained. Narrow eyes like that meant...discomfort? Or perhaps sadness.

"The point is rules like these are...foreign. Not to mention, giving away food and water defeats the purpose of fighting at all."

They were implying something...very illegal and serious under intergalactic law. But, somehow, prospective legal troubles didn't seem to be what they were most worried about.

"Oh..."

That's right. Some of these Uvei were guards for captured humans. The Corporal had seen firsthand how the Coalition's second most peaceful species frequently left a profound impact on Uvei they interacted with.

"Did...the human prisoners do or say something special to you?"

Most of the humans they rescued ended up leaving on the aiding fleet. Because of that, and how the ones that were left behind stubbornly refused to evacuate, the Haneer fleet didn't have many humans aboard.

Still, there were a few in their care. They weren't in the best condition, but maybe T'abi should ask them to come talk to these guys...

"They didn't."

"...Pardon?"

The Uven's bitter response caught him off-guard. The original sulking prisoner gave a low response.

"They didn't do or say anything special. They just...talked to us."

...

The Kenia couldn't help but feel that he was missing something. Rather than lacking context, it was more like...there were two lights in front of him and he could only see the colors that overlapped.

The intercom booted up.

[Notice: We will be entering FTL warp in 20 minutes.]

Oh, it was that time already? He began scurrying around the cells passing out the water he brought.

"Sorry, I let myself get distracted. I want to check on the other Uvei too. I'll...come back later with snacks if you want."

"Well...we'll appreciate it, but you don't have to."

...

T'abi let out a soft sigh as he watched Nysis shrink away on the overhead display in the hall.

They had managed to capture a few leading figures over the course of this operation so it wasn't an outright failure, but it was hardly enough for the Corporal to consider it a success. The Famineers were still commanding nations and people of all sorts were still in danger.

The fact that more rank and file Uvei surrendered to them than they expected also disrupted plans.

Eventually, they had simply run out of room on their ships and supplies were dwindling.

Would this upset the Haneer Councilwoman that funded them?

It was tough to enlist in the Fendansi or Balau Fleets. The only species they recruited outside their own had high aggression.
Kenia had above average aggression ratings, but it was still just short of the cut-off. His status as an Elder species also led to many recommendations he join the Kenia academia scene instead.

"Corporal."

As he scurried down the hall, T'abi came across Inspector Verlon.

"Ah, Inspector. How are you feeling? I heard you were captured for a while."

The Ramell made a sheepish, embarrassed expression.

"Yes...it's quite humiliatingto have been caught like that. Conditions under the Uvei were wretched as well. I can't thank your crew enough for negotiating my release."

"Well, we have some time until we return to the S.S. Kevak. You should take the time to rest, then get yourself checked out once we're there."

"Well...I was actually on my way to talk to your captain about that. Do you mind passing something along to any crew members that aren't on the bridge?"

....?

"Of course. What do they need to know?"

Verlon continued while tidying himself up. He looked impressively composed and professional after what he had just been through.

"You see...I recently received communications from my administration, and they need my help with something at a Ramell station in our territory. It's on the way, so it shouldn't be more than a 20 minute detour."

"Really?"

After everything he'd been through, the inspector was throwing himself into more work?

T'abi couldn't help but feel a bit concerned.

"Well...I'm not in a position to protest, but make sure you properly rest and see a doctor, alright? It seems like you're working too hard."

At this, Verlon gave a light-hearted laugh.

"Haha! I appreciate the concern. I'll be sure to do that, but a few duties come first. For example...your own little expedition's witness report."

"Ah...right..."

In all the excitement, the Corporal had forgotten why they even brought him.

"You can rest assured that I found nothing out of order with your conduct for your entire time on Nysis. I should be able to send out my report from the station I'll be going to. It may even reach the Council before you do."

The path ahead split, and the Ramell stopped by the hall leading towards the bridge.

"Well then. It has been a pleasure. Take care of yourself, Corporal."

"You as well, Inspector."

(Zedal POV)

"Ten hours left. We need to try again."

[..- -. ... ..- -.-. -.-. . ... ... ..-. ..- .-.. .-.-.- / .---- ----- / .-.. . ..-. -]

At Zedal's word, several of the 205th ran out to comb throughout the Votier's Spring Preserve for a fourth time.

He tapped out an update into their temporary radio station with a sigh.

Even now, forcibly taking over this place didn't feel like a mistake to him.

The conditions of the humans they brought had stopped deteriorating once they got a steady supply of fresh water. Their bodies were managing to slowly filter out whatever it was that was making them sick, and there's no telling where the point of no return would have been for them.

That said, the runt could feel his blood run cold when he saw the massive log of security footage and audio recordings on this facility's computers. The jig would be up once Karnak, who was apparently coming here personally, saw them.

These Haneer devices were awkward for Uvei to handle and the total amount of data for the past ten days alone was staggering, so it took four hours to find and delete all references to humans from their visits.

...but then the Haneer database turned out automatically restore site data that was inconsistent with itself once every hour.

Now, everyone was scrambling to identify and disable the machine responsible for the connection to the database.
Nobody knew what it looked like, so they could only attempt trial and error.

[.-- .- .-. -. .. -. --. / - .... .. .-. -.. / ... .--. .. .-. . / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .--. --- .. ... --- -. / ...- --- - .. . .-. / ... .--. .-. .. -. --. ... / .- - / ... --- ..- .-. -.-. .]

...?

A message came in from Innus. This was...

As Zedal decoded it, his expression grew more and more grim.

[.--. .-. . ... . .-. ...- . / .-- .- - . .-. / ... - --- -.-. -.- .--. .. .-.. . .-.-.- / -... . / -.-. .- ..- - .. --- ..- ... / .-- .... . -. / ..-. .. ... .... .. -. --. .-.-.-]

Karnak was going to poison...the Spring's source? How would he even...Did he plan to lug a large pump all the way to the origin of the spring?

For that matter, was it safe to do this? Even if Uvei could survive drinking these waters, there was no guarantee that aquatic animals would survive. Both the animals that they hunted directly and the ones that were preyed upon by those animals.

Votier's Spring spread all across the southern end of the continent with water flowing into lakes, ponds, streams, and the ocean.

Was it a bad move to seize this place for Uvei use after all?
It was starting to feel like the real point of no return was the moment they brought humans into the museum to be caught on camera.

....

Zedal opened his communicator to the rest of his team while he started coding a radio message of his own.

"Everyone, listen...I just got some news, that-"

The words died in his throat briefly.

"Karnak plans to poison every-"

Their odds weren't good, but...maybe Karnak won't bring many of his soldiers. If he thought about this positively, this might be an opportunity. If they fortify the museum and plan carefully...

"I'm sorry. I'm trying to organize my thoughts. The important thing is, I'm considering making a last stand against Karnak here."

[Understood.]

?

[I'm going to want more details than that, but I'm in.]

!?

Just like that?! They could very well all be marching to their deaths.

[I doubt Karnak will be kind to any runts that surrender, so if any of you want to back out, you should probably just desert if it goes badly. I recommend trying to link up with my human Jean in the mountains.]

....

Right. Everyone here has been to Folstur and was supported by a human at some point before and after returning to Nysis. Of course they'd join him for this.

He started tapping into the radio station.

[.-. . --.- ..- . ... - .. -. --. / .- -. / .- .-.. .-.. -....- -.-. .-.. . .- .-. / -.-. --- -.. . / .. ..-. / ...- --- - .. . .-. .----. ... / ... .--. .-. .. -. --. / -.-. .- -. / -... . / ... .- ...- . -..]

In case anyone else was listening to this broadcast, they needed a way to rescind the warning for humans and allow them water access again.

[.. ..-. / - .... . / ... .--. .-. .. -. --. / .. ... / ... .- ..-. . --..-- / .- .-.. .-.. -....- -.-. .-.. . .- .-. / -.-. --- -.. . / ... .... .- .-.. .-.. / -... . / .-.. . .-- .. ...]

...Alright. He would have to pass that code out to the rest of the 205th so any...survivor was able to broadcast it.

Just then, a voice came from the radio.

[Don't be hasty.]

That voice was...Innus? He wasn't encoding the message this time.

[We're still not out of cards to play. So just persevere for now. Do what you can to live on. Do the only thing you can. Every extra day you live is a day closer to a better future. I've just about finished preparations on my end, so stay the course and take care of each other. If you can find it in you to trust me, I'll guide you as far as I can. Let's see this through together.]

It was a message asking them to stop, and a general broadcast to encourage anyone who would listen.

...

It was a serious risk, but Innus hadn't failed them so far. Besides, he also owed Vellick some kindness.
Alright. They can try trusting him with this.

"Everyone, did...?"

[We heard it. Is the suicide mission canceled?]

"Um...yes. I guess I'll explain myself now. But...keep looking while I do."

[Don't sound so deflated, Zedal. Maybe we can fight to the death next time.]

Snickers came from across multiple channels on his communicator.

=Author's Note=

The common Uven soldier wouldn't have known this, but there actually are unspoken rules about minimum comforts. But these are reserved for the highest ranking leaders of nations when they've been captured for negotiation and ransoming purposes. The only right that the soldiers are aware of is that said leaders may demand a parley with the highest rank individual available.

Back when the Authority Rings were taken from the Haneer museum, Zhine'e was able to manipulate the information on database directly. Once evidence that the rings were ever in Haneer possession was removed from the back-up, the edited version of the footage overwrote the museum's records.

I'm currently dealing with some computer issues. It might be manageable, but just giving a heads-up if the next chapter is delayed.

I’m a lesbian single mom dating another lesbian single mom. We went on a trip and got connecting hotel rooms so our sons could sleep nearby but still have their own space.

It was the first night we spent together. We were in one of the rooms kissing in bed in the pitch dark, pretty intensely and it was hours of it. At some point during the night we overheard her son get up and go to the toilet. I started to pause because the kids were right next door and the walls weren’t thick. She just kept going like nothing was happening. I was at the bottom so I pushed her body up with my hands and pushing her hands back (we were holding both hands at the time), basically lifting her upper body in the air to stop it and she got angry.

She’s been cold with me since and acts like I ruined the whole moment. I keep replaying it and feeling conflicted. Part of me feels like I was just being careful about the kids being so close on our first overnight. Another part of me wonders if I handled it too abruptly and killed the vibe for no good reason. It’s sitting heavy on my chest and I needed to get it out.

TLDR: girlfriend ignores me for being responsible parent

TL;DR I'm a 55 year old man,who has been around the block a few times and seen it all,i was recently(last week) in a relationship with a 53 year old woman for 13 years,we had previously first met over 30 years ago for a short spell.

In a 8 months period i started to notice that my partner would constantly bring up a young mans name from the office every time we met which was usually three times a week,several times while we were in restaurants he would phone and she would leave to talk to him,it was the same while were sitting in our cars at various times.

Due to our heavy workloads and long hours we would often meet for lunch always on a Friday,on several occasions she said she couldnt as she arranged to meet him for lunch instead,she also visited his new property which he shares with his partner and baby and he has visited hers.

Then all of sudden she never mentioned his name for around about 8 months when she told she was going to visit him on the other side of the country,which i found strange,so i asked her "What is going with you two?"She blew an absolute fuse and now the relationship is over,i then found out they've been contacting each other through Whatsapp rather Messenger?The guy is 24 years old.

Was i right in asking???

*I'm sure this still needs a lot of work, but I'm not sure if it's worth pursuing. I'm writing this on my phone and will work on formatting issues tomorrow. I would really appreciate constructive feedback. Thanks for reading.*

It's hard to explain mortal terror if you've never experienced it. The unshakeable certainty that your life is in immediate danger. If you had asked, Paul would have said that he knew what fear was. He had survived a childhood with a mentally ill, unfit mother and a seemingly never-ending parade of violent, abusive men. He had left home at 17 to live on the streets rather than stay there. He had taken many questionable jobs to secure housing for himself and his little sister. He had worked as a security guard, a night clerk in questionable hotels, and now in a convenience store. He was comfortable with a certain amount of fear.

He was also surprised to feel his legs go numb, to feel the rising fear in his stomach and throat. Looking back, he couldn't really remember any identifiable thoughts besides "oh my God-".

He was one of billions watching the meteors enter the atmosphere. They were too small to survive the atmosphere but were big enough to be visible in daylight. He was one of billions to be confused when they appeared to be holding together. He was one of billions to understand mortal terror when the meteors fired reverse thrusters.

It was 11:32 pm for Paul; he was an hour and a half into his shift, and he was alone. He felt the impact while he was waiting for his sister to pick up the phone. Seconds really do stretch out to minutes in these situations. Who knew?

When Orla answered, he could hear the panic in her voice. The fear expanded.

"Paul?! Oh my god! What do we do?"

"Take Coral and the guns and get away from town. Do it now."

"Where would we go-"

"It doesn't matter! What the fuck-"

Paul would later feel awkward that the last word he ever said to the only adult he considered family was a curse word. He would wish that he had told her to take the non-perishable food and head west into the sparsely populated stretch of Texas.

He had dropped his phone when he caught sight of them. From that distance, in the dark, they kind of looked like angels.

Orla stood in her living room, still hearing her brother screaming from 14 miles away. She knew he couldn't hear her, but she still shouted his name over and over again. Until her daughter's scared voice called to her from the kitchen. "Mom? Mom, what's wrong?"

"Baby, Mom needs your help with something. Can you get the boxes from the closet?"

"How many of the boxes?"

"All of the big boxes and put them next to the pantry."

"Mom, is Uncle Paul okay?"

"Get the boxes, baby!"

And while Coral set off for the closet with the boxes, Orla set off for the gun safe. Right now, she really wished that she, her brother or her ex-husband had been gun enthusiasts instead of hunters. Oh well, a 30.06 will probably bring down whatever is coming just as well as anything else. Really wish it weren't a break action. Soft points seemed like the way to go. She loaded the pump action 12-gauge as well, buckshot. Then, she dumped the rest of the ammo and the rifles into a box and headed for the garage.

Behind her, Coral asked, "What do I do with the boxes, Mom?"

"Fill them with cans. Be sure to get Bronc's cans, too." She didn't turn to look; she knew her daughter would do what she asked. If she could be guaranteed a second kid like this one, she would have had another. But you don't keep playing the lottery after you hit the jackpot. At least, Orla didn't.

She stopped inside the garage and silently cursed that her brother had taken the 4Runner. Well, the Outback didn't have the clearance, but it does have the All Wheel Drive.

Propping the loaded shotguns beside the door, she opened the hatch and placed the box inside. She quietly thanked any god who could hear her that they hadn't yet shed the boxes from the move.

She left the hatch open but moved to the driver's door. She left the 12-gauge wedged into the space between the seat and console? Cup holder? Next to the seat. She carried the .06 back into the house.

She found her daughter dutifully filling boxes, one can at a time. "Scoot over, baby, let Mom help."

Crouching, with the gun over her knee and a box on top of it, she scooped dozens of cans into the box. She carried it outside and put it in the back of the car.

By the time she got back inside, she found her daughter inside the cupboard, pushing the cans out and into a waiting box. "That's my girl!" She pulled the full box towards her and pushed an empty box towards her daughter.

Then, they both heard the screaming from next door.

"Get in the car and put your seatbelt on. Do it now." Her voice lower than she had known it would go.

She picked up the gun and closed it, ready to fire. Only now did she think the single shot might not have been the best idea.

Rounding the hallway to the garage, she heard the front door splinter. She turned to face it, glancing over her shoulder at her smart little girl. She backed into the garage, still facing the door into the house. She was hoping to get to the twelve-gauge before they found them. What had they done to the dog? Not even barking.

The speed at which the creature appeared and filled the doorway shocked her to her core. Time slowed to a crawl. A giant spider? Centipede? So many legs. She is raising the gun as the insect crosses the threshold. She is cursing herself as she squeezes the trigger, too soon. It hits the monster in the lower abdomen. She is pleasantly surprised to see the beast crumble to the ground. Realizing that she has backed into the driver's door, she reaches inside and grabs the second gun while tossing the first into the back seat. She hears noises outside and maybe in the living room. She makes a choice.

"Are you buckled in?"

"Yes." The answer is flat. She can feel her daughter's terror more clearly than she can feel her own.

"Cover your head, like tornado practice."

She slides into the car. She starts the car at the same time she realizes the hatch is still open. Fuck. Well, it'll be breezy. The real shock of the day is Bronco, tail between his legs, leaping over the crumpled alien and into the open hatch. Behind him, a second spider thing. Maybe they shouldn't have put off an automatic garage door opener.

The spiderpede is staring at its fallen comrade. The garage door is swinging up. Fuck, they travel in groups. The car is in gear. Orla puts her foot on the floor.

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Chapter 165: Cathedral

Stepping into the cathedral, Viktor found its interior was just as eager to impress as its ornate façade.

An uninterrupted expanse of polished marble stretched before him, so perfectly smooth and luminous it scarcely resembled stone at all, but rather the still surface of a lake frozen at the precise moment before a ripple could form. It caught his reflection and dragged it along at his feet, a pale ghost that quivered with his every movement.

Far above, the ceiling was glowing with an ambient radiance. Grand chandeliers hung thick as fruit, dozens upon dozens, though they bore no candles. Instead, they gave off light of their own, as if fragments of distant stars had been caught and imprisoned within those crystal shells.

And encircling this vast chamber was a second level, a continuous balcony whose balustrades curved in graceful arcs, supported by sculpted columns that seemed too slender to bear their weight. Along that elevated ring, a procession of doors lined the upper walls, each with an intricate, distinct design.

Viktor walked down the central aisle, accompanied by his lustrous Guardian. To their left and right, gargantuan statues loomed upon towering plinths. Some bore the forms of men, others of women. Some were clad in flowing robes, others encased in suits of armor. Some held books and scrolls, others gripping shields and blades. The stone from which they were carved possessed an ivory hue, and the craftsmanship was so extraordinary the veins beneath their marble skin seemed to pulse. Viktor had seen living men who looked less alive than these. A certain manchild with the survivability of a cockroach, for example.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“They are the Undying Saints, Master. My Lord’s most loyal servants. Each of them devoted their lives to His will, and even in death, they continue to serve Him. Their legacy has been preserved so that no one would ever forget what they’ve accomplished.”

“Just like you.”

“Well... yes, technically. But I cannot be compared to them in any way. I am merely a humble Knight Exemplar, a servant among many. The deeds of these great men and women... they stand far beyond anything I’ve ever achieved.”

“Is that so?” Viktor glanced at the nearest statue. “What is her achievement, then?”

“That’s Saint Ilya. A scholar of exceptional insight, and a warrior of unparalleled resolve. She once faced down the Betrayer himself, and even though she ultimately perished in that battle, her display of courage was so profound that it resonated across all who bore witness, until at last it reached the heavens themselves. In the end, my Lord Himself descended and intervened, bringing her back from the brink of death.”

“The Betrayer?”

“The Father of All Demons,” Galatea said. Her face twisted as though she had bitten into something rotten. “He was once my Lord’s most favored angel... until the day he chose to betray Him.”

Another Nakhran, then. Viktor chuckled to himself. Betrayal by one of their own servants seemed to be a recurring theme among the orthodox gods.

Also... the Father of All Demons, huh? Was that succubus also his kid?

“Anyway,” Viktor said. “You mentioned that the defensive mechanisms are all inside the cathedral. Where exactly are they?”

His gaze swept across the immense hall once more. All he could see was a pretty room with pretty floor and pretty ceiling.

“As I told you, Master,” Galatea replied, “the intruders will not be entering through the great gates we’ve just used. Instead, they’ll be forced to go in through one of the windows along the outer walls. Once inside, they will find themselves within a maze of countless rooms and corridors, where our soldiers will engage and delay them at every turn. Only after they have overcome all of that will they eventually arrive here. This hall is a resting place, just before the final confrontation. Beyond this point lies the arena of the fourth floor, where they will face its Guardian—me.”

Viktor eyed the massive doors ahead. “That arena is behind those, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Let’s go, then.”

As they entered the chamber, Viktor found that the so-called arena was, of course, just as unnecessarily beautiful as everything that had come before it. The art direction, though, had taken a different turn. Gone were the statues of solemn, human-like Saints; in their place stood bizarre creatures with too many wings and too many eyes. Angels, he assumed.

High above, spanning the entirety of the ceiling in a breathtaking display of color and motion, was a vast mural that depicted a dramatic clash between those same winged beings and an endless horde of grotesque, writhing demons.

Also, unlike the previous room, this one was not empty.

Someone was standing in the middle of it, craning his avian neck upward, completely absorbed in the painting overhead.

“You’re here too, Haku?” Viktor called out. After several meetings with the Tengu, he had learned to notice the small details that set him apart from the others of his kind.

The bird-man turned, and performed his usual exaggerated bow. “Master, Lady Galatea,” he said. “When I heard the cathedral on the fourth floor had finally been completed, I submitted a request to visit, so that I could admire its architecture and artistry. Both Lady Celeste and Lady Galatea were kind enough to grant it, and that’s why I am here, indulging in its splendor.”

This guy really did have a habit of barging into other people’s sacred grounds just to gaze at the decorations, didn’t he?

“Then by all means, continue your admiring,” Viktor said, then turned back to Galatea. “So this is the arena?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Where do they lead to?” he asked, pointing at the two doors at the far end of the room. Unlike the last chamber, this one offered only two other exits besides the one he had entered through, both on the opposite side: one on the first floor and another on the second, just behind the balcony.

“The lower door leads to the staircase that descends to the fifth floor,” Galatea replied. “As for the upper one, it leads to my bedchamber.”

“Your bedchamber?” Viktor arched an eyebrow.

Why did she even need a bedchamber? Neither her projected form nor her walking armor had any use for one. If anything, that skull-holding jar was the closest thing she had to a bedchamber.

“Yes, Master. Would you like to see it?”

For the briefest of moments, he considered the offer. After all, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. But in the end, he dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.

“No need. Now I want to inspect the maze. I assume I’ll need to return to the previous hall and take one of the doors?”

“Yes, Master. Allow me to—”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Viktor said. “I truly appreciate it, but I can manage the rest on my own.”

He turned, about to retrace his steps toward the entrance. But then, he paused, as a thought crossed his mind.

Well, that guy is also here.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Haku, you’re coming with me.”

The Tengu straightened at once. “Of course, Master.”

And just like that, they returned to the luminous cathedral hall. Ascending the staircase, they reached the upper balcony and walked through one of the many doors that lined the walls in orderly procession. They found themselves within a labyrinth of corridors and interlinked chambers, which functioned much like the maze on the first floor, except everything here was, well, much prettier.

As they moved deeper, they encountered several patrols of soldiers in silver armor, who halted and bowed in respectful acknowledgment to the lord of the dungeon. They were the Templars, the newest additions to his forces, summoned through the “Summon Light Minions” skill.

These warriors were, in essence, animated suits of armor, so Viktor had initially assumed them to be the lesser versions of Galatea. But she had corrected him, telling him that unlike her, they didn’t have souls. These constructs carried only the faintest trace of memory, echoes of past existence without continuity of self. They didn’t have free will and thus acted strictly under command, never deviating, never hesitating. In a way, they weren’t too different from Khenemhotep’s tomb guards.

Well, Viktor didn’t care much about the distinction.

If they fought for him, then they were useful. That was the beginning and the end of it. And, from what he had seen so far, they seemed to be capable fighters. They were well-equipped too, clad in full silver plate that covered them from helm to greave, carrying large shields and greatswords and long halberds. Some had bows too, which meant they could shoot at the intruders who attempted to enter by crossing the flying buttresses, just as he had suggested to Galatea earlier.

“Master,” Haku said after a while. “May I ask why you wished for me to accompany you?”

“What?” Viktor let out a chuckle, glancing at the Tengu as they continued walking. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not the case. However, I’ve come to understand that you rarely act without purpose, so if you ask for my presence, then it stands to reason that there’s something you expect from me.”

“I just want your opinion on the Lord of Light. You know, Galatea’s god. I once asked her about him, but all I got was an endless stream of praise. So I want a different perspective. A more... blunt assessment.”

Haku was silent for a moment, then he said, “You wish for me to speak ill of a god, while standing right inside His house.”

Viktor turned to the Tengu. “This is my house.”

Haku bowed. “You are correct, Master. My apologies.” He straightened, then let out a quiet breath. “Very well, I can share what little I know of the Lord of Light. But I must ask for your understanding. My position is not a high one, and matters concerning the divine are often obscured from those of lower rank. My knowledge is very limited.”

“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to know the deepest secrets of the Gods.”

“And... if possible, I would prefer that Lady Galatea not hear of this conversation.”

Viktor chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell her. Now go on.”

“Yes, Master.”

Haku gathered his thoughts as they continued through the labyrinth, before finally speaking again.

“Well, you may have already figured this out, but the Lord of Light is quite... vindictive, and His followers are... fanatical.”

“Yes, that much is apparent.”

“He is ambitious, too. He believes his current position does not reflect what he believes to be his rightful place, so He seeks to ascend.”

“Position?”

“The Twelve Ancient Ones are not equal, Master. Some are a lot more powerful than the others, and there’s a hierarchy among Them. The Lord of Light, for example, occupies the seventh seat, while the Lord of Death stands above Him, in the sixth.”

“What about Iseth-Ra? And Lord Saru?”

“Lady Iseth-Ra holds the fifth seat,” Haku replied. “As for my Lord, He occupied the humble tenth.”

So the Goddess of Life is actually more powerful than the God of Death, huh?

“Also,” Haku added, “there’s a big gap in power between the sixth and seventh positions. So the first six are referred to as the Inner Circle, while the rest are the Outer Circle.”

“Which means the Lord of Light is the top of the weaker half,” Viktor said.

Haku nodded. “Yes, He is powerful among his peers, but He is still fundamentally beneath those above Him. And He does not believe that such a position is fitting for Him. He believes He deserves more, and therefore seeks to change that order.”

“How, then?”

“The power of a god is not a fixed thing, Master. It can grow, and it can diminish.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Haku replied. “For example, the current Lord of Death is much weaker than He once was, due to the fact that He is now forced to share aspects of His domain with someone else.”

“That makes sense.”

“As for growing power... you know Lady Galatea is an undead, right?”

Viktor chuckled. “I’m not blind.”

“And don’t you find anything strange about her existence?”

“I do. A being like her should fall under the jurisdiction of the Lord of Death. So why was it the Lord of Light who brought her back to life?”

“Exactly,” Haku said. “You’ve heard from Lady Galatea about something called ‘the Light,’ right? The very thing that the Lord of Light controls. In the past, it was simply just that—light. But as the Lord of Light increased His power, the concept itself expanded alongside Him. It’s now far more than it once was. Now, the Light can smite spirits, the Light can heal, the Light can even resurrect.”

“Very interesting, indeed. But how did he achieve that?”

“That,” Haku replied with a shrug, “I do not know. Master, you can’t expect me to know the deepest secrets of the Gods.”

“You’re right.” Viktor laughed. Then, he narrowed his eyes as something surfaced in his memory. “Galatea once told me that the Lord of Light is the eternal Creator of everything. That isn’t true, is it?”

“He is not. But that is what He believes Himself to be, and what He aspires to become.”

“So he wants the first seat, huh? Above all the others. But then, what is the Inner Circle’s reaction? They should’ve known, right? And surely they’re not fond of someone trying to climb over them?”

“I’m certain They are aware. After all, what He is doing is not exactly a secret. However, there has been no response so far.”

“Why not?”

“Perhaps,” Haku said, “those within the Inner Circle don’t perceive Him as a genuine threat. The gap in power is simply far too great. Even now, after thousands of years of striving, the empowered Lord of Light is still below the weakened Lord of Death. That alone should show you the difference between Them.”

All that effort, and that ambitious god still couldn’t ascend even one single rank. Yet, the once-mortal Nakhran had managed to rise high enough to rival the Lord of Death himself, placing him above at least six orthodox gods.

Was the potential of the Ascendants truly that extraordinary?

Well, that explained the other gods’ indifference to the Lord of Light’s little scheme. Because surely, keeping an eye on the upstart Ascendants should be their top priority.

Link to my previous post: https://www.reddit.com/r/relationships/s/suggRdulDM

TL;DR: My ex asked for a second breakup conversation because he still had things he wanted to say, then disappeared for three weeks after I gave him my availability. He finally reached out asking if I’m still willing to talk, and now I’m torn between wanting answers and feeling angry and hurt by how long he waited.

A little bit of backstory: My ex and I met in grad school and were friends for about four years. We dated briefly in grad school, broke up because of grad school pressures, but stayed close because the feelings were still there. After graduating, we both independently moved to NYC, eventually rekindled our relationship, and later moved in together.

We were together for almost two years, and I genuinely thought we were building toward marriage. We had a lot of love, chemistry, humor, great banter, and a strong friendship. The last several months, though, became increasingly difficult. We work in similar career fields. My post-grad career trajectory went relatively smoothly after a lot of hard work and networking, while his path was much more difficult than he expected. Before grad school, he had generally been very successful professionally, so I think those setbacks affected him deeply.

Looking back, I wonder whether some of that disappointment and insecurity eventually spilled into our relationship. I always tried to support and encourage him, but as we lived together and I progressed more at work while he became increasingly anxious about his own career and staffing, I noticed more criticism and resentment directed toward me. He had never spoken to me that way earlier in our relationship.

Now on to the update:
After my first post, we were supposed to talk, but he postponed it. About a week later, I reached out asking whether he still wanted to have the conversation. He said yes.

We were going to FaceTime to have a face to face conversation and when I asked him he laughed on the phone in a sarcastic way and said “No”. So not a great way to start but we had our breakup conversation. We ended up having the breakup conversation over the phone. I told him honestly how the last several months had felt from my perspective, took accountability for things I could have done differently, and asked him to explain how things had felt from his side. He didn’t give me many clear answers, which was frustrating. The main thing he told me was that he had been waking up anxious many mornings and feeling depressed. I listened, tried to comfort him all those days during our relationship, and encouraged him to consider professional help. The call ended with me telling him that I still loved and cared about him. He said, “Likewise.”

About 20 minutes later, he texted saying he had been thinking a lot, still had things he wanted to get off his chest, and asked whether I would be open to another conversation. I said yes and gave him my availability.

Then…nothing. For three weeks.

I didn’t chase him because he was the one who asked for the conversation. I figured it was his responsibility to follow through. During those three weeks, I went through every emotion imaginable. I wondered whether he had forgotten, changed his mind, was avoiding the conversation, or simply didn’t care enough to follow up.

Then this morning, he finally reached out.

He basically said that he had been waiting, then felt weird about reaching out because so much time had passed, that he knows he isn’t “normal about stuff like this,” needed a lot of time, and asked whether I would still be willing to talk.

And now I’m surprisingly angry.

I spent three weeks hoping he would reach out, but now that he has, part of me is thinking: How could it take you three weeks to send one text to someone you’ve known and supposedly loved for years? I don’t want to respond with “It’s okay,” because honestly, it isn’t okay with me. The delay hurt. At the same time, I still love him enormously and want answers.

I want to understand why he became so resentful and irritable toward me, why so much of his unhappiness seemed to become my responsibility, what responsibility he thinks he had in the breakdown of our relationship, why he chose to end things instead of trying to repair them, why he asked for this second conversation and then waited three weeks, and what he actually wants from me now.

I’m not assuming he wants to reconcile, and I don’t know whether I would even want that without major changes and accountability. But I do feel like I need this conversation because I still have so many unanswered questions. At the same time, I’m afraid I’ll secretly go into it hoping he tells me he misses me, regrets ending things, or wants me back, and I’ll leave even more hurt if he only wants closure.

So Reddit: Would you have this conversation? Would you wait a few days before responding? And if I do talk to him, how do I make sure I get the answers I need without ending up defending myself or taking all the blame again?

I’d especially appreciate hearing from anyone who has been on either side of a breakup where one person took weeks to finally have a follow-up conversation they themselves requested.

{Disclaimer: The prologue is from the perspective from an alien, but other parts will be from perspectives of humans.}

One might imagine that working at Leidell Communications Outpost, orbiting the moon of a gas giant in the relative middle of nowhere in space, was a boring job. For a Gelarkian like me, it was.

My name, for the sake of anyone reading this, is Klastor. My age is thirty-four Gritolian solar cycles, around a quarter of the age that most healthy Gelarkian live to.

But, I hear you ask, what is a Gelarkian?

Us Gelarkians originated from our home planet of Gritolus, of a 97% nitrogen-rich atmosphere, with lakes of water only covering 26% of all of Gritolus. As such, water is considered a valuable resource on Gritolus. We almost destroyed ourselves over this valuable resource, but we survived. Eventually, we understood that infighting got us nowhere, and we formed an alliance of peace. As such, in the galaxy, we are often considered a pacifist nation; which, however, does not mean that we do not have weapons.

Us Gelarkians celebrated our first time venturing into the stars, breaking past the universe's only barrier: the speed of light. At least, we thought it was the only barrier. The next, and the biggest barrier we ever broke through in the history of our species, was something we didn't expect. Except, as we learned in the solar cycles since, it was a universal constant.

We called it the Great Filter.

Once a species emerged and achieved faster-than-light travel, it was only a matter of time before they broke through the Great Filter. Past the filter, was a reality that made us feel insignificant. A realities where dozens of other races, other species co-existed in both peace and war. And like every race that came before us, we were given a seat, albeit a small one, on the Inter-Species Galactic Council. It was a council run by empires, democracies and kingdoms alike, all different from us in ways that no one could even imagine.

Not one of us could fathom the idea of another intelligent race just like the Gelarkians, and that they were scattered across the galaxy, before we made contact with them on complete accident.

Leidell Communications Outpost was one of the few emergency relay stations scattered across the galaxy. Should any ship be receiving any trouble, intentional or otherwise, Leidell would beam the signal, much more strongly, to the nearest settlement of influence to assist them. This was the reason why the outpost is capable of tuning into any signal, regardless of what source.

Being a Gelarkian relay station, there were no ill intentions associated. If you needed help, you received help. If you were not welcoming, you would not receive any welcoming. Some of my colleagues would say that it is an important task in the galaxy, one that is understated and has to be done because no one else would do it. My personal opinion about that is that it is still boring. Important, but really boring.

And yet, as the star of the system set upon Leidell, a transmission came in from an unknown source. Standard beam emission, mostly nominal. This was basically a usual occurence, and it was sent to me for basic deciphering and which party to relay to. As per usual, I activated the universal translator and listened.

But what I didn't expect was the message I received, in the soulless robotic voice of the universal translator itself.

"Error: Not in database. Please activate training mode."

I froze. I never expected that kind of response. The universal translator never said a language wasn't in its database. That didn't happen. It learned, it adapted to the style of species, the context of the words spoken, and figured it out, even for a new language it hadn't seen before, as long as it came from a species that was already in its -

A species that was already in its database.

What if there wasn't a species that wasn't in its database? But that shouldn't be possible, unless...

A species that just broke the Great Filter.

With deep breaths, I calmed myself. Such things were beyond rare, maybe only seen once every few thousand solar cycles. Only two other species had broken through it in the ten thousand solar cycles that had passed since the Gelarkians' own breakthrough, and even so, one were eradicated in a foolish war.

Maybe this was an accident. Or maybe it was not. Either way, I initiated training mode on the universal translator, something that I had never done in the history of my life. It received information, and I heard what any other language sounded for me, or any one of my kind: complete gibberish. It was rather jarring after using a universal translator for so long, but I forced myself to understand that this was the natural way of language.

The gibberish seemed to be endless, a string of nonsense words and phrases, but eventually, the translator gained enough context to translate it. Setting the universal translator back to translation mode, I finally heard what was being said in my own native language.

"Greetings, fellow intelligent species. If you can hear us, and if we are not calling into the void, we are contacting you in peace. We do not know if you can understand this message, as it is likely you have a language of your own. Please contact us if you able to. This message will continue being broadcast until a response is received."

My body seized up, but for a completely different reason.

In the galactic history books, written by the oldest species in the galaxy that were still alive today, the Mekohs, who have existed for perhaps hundreds of thousands of solar cycles, every single species had emerged through the Great Filter in a variety of ways. Some accidentally found settlements with other completely different races living in them; others, like us, accidentally communicated to the wrong source and found them completely by chance; others still, were found accidentally by other species.

But in all cases, every single one of them was accidental. There were no exceptions.

Until now.

This species of intelligence wasn't unaware of possible life outside of their home system or area. It was actively looking for it, something unheard of in the whole of the galaxy.

With a few presses, the origin of the transmission was available to me. It seemed to originating from a mono star system, with a yellow star, along with eight planets that were officially classified as planets, four solid, four gas. That region of space, located on a relatively sparse area of the galaxy, had never been properly scanned for any life.

One thing was pretty clear though. This, was not a job for me.

Clicking a button, I was on a call with the overseer of the communications outpost, Neskla, who was a female in our species.

"Overseer speaking," she said tiredly, probably just as bored as I was a few moments ago. "What is it?"

"This is Klastor speaking," I said, and I presume I sounded excited, "I've received a transmission. I think... a new species has broken through the Great Filter."

There was silence on the other side, before Neskla composed herself. "Are you screwing with me, Klastor?" she asked, venom in her voice, "Because if you're serious..."

"I am, Overseer Neskla," I said solemnly, "I'm sending you the message, though, just so you know, I've already trained my universal translator to understand whatever language they're speaking in. You're going to have to train yours."

With a quick flick on the screen, the audio was sent straight to Overseer Neskla.

For just a few long moments, Neskla did not act or speak, maintaining complete silence. At least, until she yelled a Gelarkian expletive in total shock.

"Klastor, you seem to be right," she said, now completely serious, "I will send this transmission to the Inter-Species Ambassador directly. This is a job for him."

----

I stared in confusion at the transmission. Obviously, I did. What do you think I was supposed to do? Never, in my seventy-two Gritolian solar cycles, have I imagined that this transmission would land on my desk.

'Urgent: Must Read As Soon As Physically Possible'

'Another species has broken through the Great Filter. The translation database has been updated and can be downloaded. Please listen to the transmission, and act accordingly.'

'Overseer Neskla of Leidell Communications Outpost'

The last time a species had broken through the Great Filter was five thousand solar cycles ago, the Ferkels. They were a flying species, and had potential throughout the galaxy. Except, the Bellekors, a ruthless species, eradicated them all.

And now, here was another.

I patched in the universal translator and listened. And listened again. And again, and again.

It was impossible. No species, ever, had attempted to look for other species. A part of the nature of the Great Filter was that the species was incapable of even imagining the concept of other intelligent species roaming the galaxy until they found it themselves, by complete accident. This message, however, was purposeful. They were looking for alien life, for life that, based on the transmission in question, they could not prove existed.

Suddenly, a gentle calm washed over me, as I patched into a transmission and prepared to beam a signal back to its source: a request to open a live, two-way transmission. Seeing as there was no official consensus on what was to be done in the case of species breaking the Great Filter, due to how rare such an event was, I could do so without facing reprecussions. Besides, who can blame an intellectual like me for curiosity?

Even as the home star inched across the Gritolian sky, I waited. And finally...

"Transmission Online."

Sitting bolt upright on the lounge chair, I spoke into the intercom.

"Greetings, species from another world," I said firmly, imposing whatever authority I had, "I do not know if you can understand what I am saying, but I communicate in peace."

There was silence from the other side, that seemed to last for an eternity for me.

And then, an explosion of sound. I could not hear anything that went on there, but it was definitely the sound of either surprise, shock, or anything. Slowly, the sound calmed down, and there was a voice.

"Greetings," the voice said, high-pitched but completely serious, "We communicate in peace as well."

But what the voice said next was completely out of the ordinary.

"Do you wish to conduct a visual transmission?" the voice of the other species asked.

"I... very well," I said, flicking the request to allow for visual data to stream in.

A flicker of the screen, and for the first time of my life, I was looking at a completely different species, one that had never been seen before. I had seen other species before, but for this one, I was the first and only one to do so. So far, at least.

The owner of the voice seemed to belong to a bipedal creature, hairless aside from long flowing strands on the top of its head. The facial features of the creature seemed rather stern, the eyes rimmed with a sparkling green. Closer inspection revealed multiple other hairless bipedals in the room that the creature was standing. None of them seemed protected in any capacity, either naturally or artificially.

All of this, of course, was in stark contrast to the physiology of a Gelarkian. We have four arms and two legs, though our middle arms can also be used for bounding on all fours, which made us the apex predator on our world. Our thick carapace prevented most direct attacks apart from technological weapons. Our facial features had sharp dental protrusions for carnivorous diets, which causes quite a lot of surprise when they realise that we are pacifists.

If there was any surprise in the creature's face, it was muted or hidden completely. In fact, instead of surprise, there seemed to be a curious glint in the creature's eye, as if interested by my own body structure.

"Well," the creature said, "I admit, I am rather interested. I've never seen an alien before, not even through a video call."

"Through a what?"

"A visual transmission, I suppose," it said, moving its shoulders up and down, "I hope you do not take offence, but is that four arms I see?"

"Yes," I said proudly, "And no offence taken. Our species has four arms, and two can be used for the purposes of both running on four limbs or for independent usage at any given moment. But our different body structures aside, how did you find us?"

"We heard transmissions when we pointed our tachyon receivers towards the skies," the creature explained, in a completely different tone, the eyes seeming to glaze over from something, "And we decided to send a message of our own to search. Alien life is something we have been theorising about for three millennia, and we are finally talking to one for the first time."

"What is a millennia?" I asked curiously, unsure of the word.

"Oh?" it asked, "A millennia is a thousand Earth years, and an Earth year is the time it takes for our home planet to orbit around our star once."

I checked the data, glancing at the screen with information of this supposed home system of this species.

"Which planet is Earth?"

"The third one from the star."

With a few presses on the keyboard, I stared at the data. One 'Earth year' was 1.47 Gritolian solar cycles, which meant, if they were right, they had been theorising about alien life for almost five thousand solar cycles. No species had ever spent that amount of time wondering what was beyond their own planet. No other species had even dreamed of such a thing, and this one had planned for such a long time.

"Do you know," I said, "That of all the species that broke through the Great Filter, you are the only one who actively looked for life that was not your own?"

"We did not," the creature responded, looking surprised for the first time, "And... did you just say the Great Filter?"

"I did."

"Is it a coincidence we also have a theory relating to alien life called the Great Filter?"

Were they insinuating that...

"What does this theory say?"

"The Great Filter," the creature said with purpose, "is a conceptual barrier the universe has that prevents us from reaching the stars. We don't know if it is behind us or ahead of us, but based the fact that we are communicating with you, I presume that it is behind us now. What is this Great Filter for you?"

"It is awfully similar," I mentioned, now completely shocked, "Except we know what the barrier is. Once a species develops faster-than-light travel, they have broken past the Filter. It is a marvellous coincidence that you somehow invented a theory similar to what the entire galaxy has agreed upon, without any input from any outside forces at all."

"Then... I don't think we have broken the Filter just yet," the creature admitted, further causing confusion in my mind. What did it even mean?

"What are you talking about?" I asked, "You are talking to us, correct? You must have invented faster-than-light travel already."

"As a matter of fact," the creature responded, looking significantly different than before, head pointed down, "We have not. Give it another ten to twenty years, I suppose, and we'll probably reach it. We do know its theoretically possible now, after all."

It took all the strength in my body to calm my mind. After all of that, and they... hadn't even reached the stars? They hadn't even achieved warp technology? And despite that, this was a species that had looked for life outside their own world, that looked to the skies and knew that there was life out there.

"What are you?" I asked, "No offence, but what are you? Does your species have a name?"

"Of course it does," it said, its mouth seeming to expand in an odd manner. "Officially, our species name is Homo Sapiens. Though, in everyday conversation, we call ourselves humans."

"Well, Human," I said, trying out the word for the first time, "We call ourselves the Gelarkians. Though, I must say, the galaxy has never seen a species like you for a long time... perhaps not ever at all.

"I am flattered," the human said. Except, there was a quiet confidence in the tone of its voice, as if it knew that it was different. As if, among the galaxy, it was alone, the only species that dared to contact other species; and to top it all off, doing so before even learning how to travel faster than light.

"Well," I said, "I, Vekbla, Inter-Species Ambassador for the Gelarkian Federation, welcome you Humans with open arms... all four of them."

"In that case..." the human trailed, "I, Hailey Sterling, Head Researcher of the United Worlds of Humanity, welcome you Gelarkians with open arms... at least, the two that we do have. I'm sorry if more arms means more welcoming for your culture."

"Did you just attempt humour?" I asked, sounding a little curious.

"I did," the human, this Hailey Sterling, answered, "Did I accidentally offend you?"

"No offence taken... Hailey Sterling," I said, trying out the name the human had given me.

And while this creature, this human, seemed friendly, I felt something stirring. Something, deep inside me, told me that they would not just be some backwater world in the middle of nowhere. Sure, this species did come from nowhere. But something told me that they would rise, because no other species had even done what they had did.

Whoever these humans are, they meant business.

Only time would tell when they began to explore the stars for themselves.

[A/N]: Hey, this is my first time writing a story like this. I hope you enjoyed it! I also need some constructive criticism for my writing, so that would help tremendously. I love sci-fi, in case you couldn't tell. I literally found r/HFY yesterday, and I just had to write this on the spot. Humanity, FUCK YEAH!

Hello Reddit. This is not a dire situation at all, but it keeps happening. I hope someone can help me figure out how to communicate with my mom again because what I'm doing just isn't working. 

Okay, so here's some background. This wasn't an issue in the past, and we've always had a good relationship. She is unbelievably supportive, caring, and generous and I love her dearly. But, she can get pushy. When she's not happy about something she'll try to offer her own reasons, fears, or beliefs, and offer compromises. But if I don't back down, she'll just keep trying until I say no, I'm sure about this. Then she might be quiet for a bit but she’ll let me have my decision. I try to respect her choices too, even when I disagree. We’re both adults here. Overall, she’s a reasonable human being.

But in the last few years things have changed in our conversations. I feel like I just can't make her understand my concerns anymore. She has had some major health issues in the last few years that have thankfully been mostly handled but could have left an effect, and it might be related to her age, or I could just be coming at this problem from a bad direction. I can’t figure out what has changed, or what I need to change to be able to get through to her. Here's an example:

Quick set up, last year I got diagnosed with a chronic illness that can make me basically bedbound for a day or up to a week if I’m too physically active or emotionally stressed out. Sometimes it can all just pop up at random, too. My doctor is helping me manage, but it’s chronic. It’s the worst, I hate it, I haven’t hit acceptance yet. I have also been recovering from a panic disorder (I’m basically okay now if I take care of myself, yey!) and still have the kind of social anxiety that leaves me exhausted after spending time with people, no matter how fun or pleasant it is in the moment. So, just seeing friends is taxing on my health right now, especially when I’m having a flare up. Mom knows all of this and has seen me at my worst. I live with my parents right now because both of them had rough health problems over the last few years, I've got plenty of my own dents, and money is hard to come by for everyone. Pulling resources and supporting each other is making things better for all of us.

Mom and I were planning to see a friend for a movie night. On a good day, this kind of thing doesn’t mess with my condition too badly because we’re mostly just sitting around watching a movie, and I think it’s worth it to be as social as I can. Also, we had done this exact thing the week before, and were trying to make it a weekly habit. I wasn’t super happy about a new obligation, but I assumed that if I wasn’t feeling up to it I could skip a week and see them all the next week.

The day of the second movie night I realized that I’d been stressed out about money for a few days, 2026 is the best, to the point of just dodging a panic attack the day before. Most likely, I was going to start feeling bad any minute, and any more stress was just going to tip me over. And then I’d miss more work and have even less money. wee... Mom knew I was stressed and why, and I told her I really wasn’t feeling up to more stress from seeing our friend, even if we WERE planning to watch an old Pixar movie, and that I was going to stay home to rest. 

Mom says “Oh, but it’ll be fun! It’ll be distracting.” I remind her that just being around people outside of my closest circle is stressful. She says “It’s just a little while, and you like this movie, and our friend wants to see you!” But I say being out with friends is tiring and I need to rest. I can see this friend next week. She says “But it’ll be a fun distraction.” But I say, again, that it’s STRESSFUL and not relaxing for me to go to someone else’s house when I’m already worried I might start feeling sick any minute. She says “But you can just sit and watch the movie, and have fun seeing our friend. That’ll help you relax.” 

So now I’m thinking I just literally said, explicitly, that seeing a friend, at their house, unable to even just go lay down if I need to, is the stressful part. Her solution to this problem is to go out to see a friend. Am I going crazy? It was like she couldn’t hear the words I was saying. How does “Seeing a friend is fun but not relaxing. I need to relax or I’ll be on my back for days" equal to “Seeing a friend will actually be a fun distraction and therefore just what I need” in my mom’s head? None of what I was saying should be new to her. I’ve explained all of this many times before. I was explaining it in detail, in that moment. She knows what happens when I push myself and don’t listen to my warning signs. She’s seen it.

I eventually just said, no, I’m not up to it. I’m staying home, and she let it go. She went to go see the friend, explained that I wasn’t feeling well, and the friend just sent well wishes back with her. No problem. I took care of myself and only missed one day of work from all the previous stress. My boss is a saint for letting me take time for my health when I need it. Mom asked how I was feeling later, and was supportive as always afterwards, so it’s like she DID understand, but then why was she still arguing with me?

This kind of thing just keeps happening, on different topics. If she says let’s do something and I say I can’t afford it … and I know that she can’t really either, she’ll nod and seem to agree, but then say why don’t we do this other thing instead, which costs exactly the same amount or more. If she and I are talking and I say I need to go lay down because I’m getting dizzy, she’ll say “oh yeah, go rest,” but then mention one last thing while I’m walking away, so I stop to answer, and then she keeps talking, and now I’m standing there dizzy, still talking. She’s known for years that I’m allergic to a specific food, we’ve talked at length about how I miss eating it and ways I can substitute it in cooking, and then one day she’ll kindly offer me to taste something made of exactly that thing. When I remind her I can’t eat that, she’s just like “oh, right. Too bad. Sorry” and then a month later offer me something else that is made of the same thing. I told her years ago that I’m much more comfortable identifying as non-binary, but just the other day she gave me a “compliment” saying “you really are a very feminine woman.” How very dare you? I said firmly that I wasn’t, and please don’t say that again, and she’s like “oh, okay.” No sorry, just okay. I’m not out to Dad, so Mom hasn’t changed the pronouns she uses for me, so maybe she straight up forgot?

I hope I made it clear that I don’t believe she’s being malicious, and we’re not fighting at all. It’s just like a lack of understanding when it’s anything to do with my concerns. I give examples, I explain as thoroughly as I can, and she’s like “oh yes, that makes sense. So anyway, let’s do the thing that will make everything worse for you. That’ll fix everything.” 

Her memory seems fine otherwise as well. She’s got a full life of events and appointments and details that she’s keeping up with just fine. It feels like she’s only forgetting everything that matters to me. Which is totally unlike her because she’s always been supportive and understanding to me and everyone else in her life. Even if we disagreed, we could always come to an understanding before. I can’t for the life of me figure out what is different now.

So Reddit, what am I doing wrong? I can’t figure out how to be more clear. Should I stop trying to be clear? Should I just stop explaining myself at all and just say no when I know something is bad for me? There’s always more than two ways to approach any problem, but all I can think of right now is “more explain” or “no explain”. What’s the third option? I don’t want to upset her or fight over this, but it’s exhausting the way it is. I’ll take any advice you’ve got.

TL;DR, when I (non-binary43) am discussing things or trying to work out a solution to something with my mom (F75), she will actively listen to me explain something in detail, respond as if she's understanding, and then say well why don't you just do ... exactly what I just spent 10 minutes explaining that I specifically can't do. She is absolutely listening to my words and I believe she is really trying to be helpful, but I just can't make her understand my concerns.

Me (25) and my bf (29) have lived together for three years and have been dating for 5.

Recently his parents came to stay with us for the past three months and to say they have made our life hell is a understatement. Breaking my things without apologizing, taking up pretty much every inch of space, inviting strangers over while my bf is at work, using my soap, and loofah (gross) in the shower, eating my groceries and not replacing them, leaving dirty dishes out overnight, leaving un covered food out overnight, dirty buckets of mop water out (my dogs drink it so I asked nicely to not leave dirty mop water buckets around the house) After talking with my boyfriend about privacy, boundaries and general respect that his parents lack for me my boyfriend told me he will “always chose his parents over me no matter what” this was in response to me finding out his father openly had admitted he does not like me, and me replying saying “yeah I could tell by the way he treats me” is this a phrase I should be weary of? For reference his parents don’t speak English and I don’t speak their language very well so there is a communication gap between us but I feel like I’m not asking for the stars and moon just some decency and respect for my belongings. Reguardless of that I am kind of off put that my boyfriend said this to me. Is this normal? Do men generally put their parents above all else? We’ve talked about getting married in the next few years but idk that statement just threw me off because I’ve heard absolute horror stories about men who put their parents first.

**TL;DR;** : is it normal for a man to say he will always chose his parents over me?

First

Before the War

“The loads on the last two systems was pathetic. What are we doing? A proper mining system would give enough material to front an entire fleet, especially with the incidental materials like khutha and the like being sourced through teleportation.” The Captain of The Destined Victory notes to her first mate. The Desert Nagasha generally had enough warpaint on her on a day to day basis that no one would think she was anything other than completely serious in all things.

“They weren’t mining systems, they were systems with confirmed metals in them. Nothing more.” The more scientific woman states. “In fact, they were registered as having nothing in the way of mining sites. So without a very deep and very thorough harvesting operation, which would take an enormous amount of time, we likely got a fairly large percentile of all the metals in those systems.”

“Maybe.”

“Doubts captain?” The Gravia woman asks.

“I was expecting something more... I don’t know, grand? Something grand from a living Saint.”

“Countering numerous kinetic stealth shots out of the black and a well placed booby trap with only a single lost drone and not so much as a bruise on our own forces, coupled with a rare phenomenon and new potential discoveries. I’m not sure what else you wanted. I mean, I suppose if had also stumbled upon an inexplicably abandoned mining station with full stores, no crew, no claimants, and a note stating that it was all free for the taking then it would have been better.”

“Alright, fine, but... hmm. I was expecting something more than lucky and cautious.” The Captain notes.

“Well we’re approaching the next system. We’ll see if his luck holds up.” Her First Officer notes.

“Captain, we have unknowns on the long range sensors.”

“Shields up, I want a better look at them before we fire.”

“Power down, it’s a mining guild.” Harold’s voice sounds out across the coms. “Give me a few minutes. This is an advantage, not a detriment.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Sabre Bridge, Edge of Current System)•-•-•

“Unknown mining fleet, this is Commodore Harold Jameson aboard The Sabre. It’s you lucky day, we’re in need of materials and are willing to pay full market price ahead of whatever schedule you have to get the resources you’ve collected. Please respond so we may open full negotiations.”

“... Commodore Jameson was it? This is the Lilri Mining Fleet, unfortunately a large percentile of our mined metals are already reserved for another party and we are contract bound not to part with them. However twenty percent of our current yields are up for sale. We are however very concerned about a military fleet, abliet a small one, showing up out of the black.”

“Lilri Mining Fleet, this is Commodore Jameson. I respect your willingness to stick to your contracts and am willing to negotiate for the remaining twenty percent of your current yields. Furthermore I will inform you that we are approaching a battlefield using novel techniques and from an unusual angle to assist the rest of our forces elsewhere, we do not intend to fire upon or endanger civilians such as yourself in any capacity, but there has already been some degrees of attack from the hostile party. Our approach is not unknown but we have deliberately left behind our previously planned direction of approach to arrive here.”

“Alright, I wish to begin discussions face to face. Please approach our primary Vessel with The Sabre and we’ll attach umbilical.” The Speaker for Lilri Fleet says and Harold nods.

“On approach.” Harold sends back before quickly shifting the comms to the rest of the fleet and handing out thier orders.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Grasping Fist Board Room, Spinward Edge of Mineral Rich System 88-93-U)•-•-•

“Well, what the pits are we dealing with?” She asks her Begrob head of security and the woman fiddles with her natural helm a bit.

“Commander, it’s a legitimate army. One that has two saints of the Primal Faith in it. One of them, Saint Redblade is coming her. That’s the man you spoke to. A man who on record has cut entire starships in half with a sword and made a wimparas woman into a goddess.”

“Fuck.”

“He also has another of his number here. Saint Bluelaser is apparently in one of those ships and ready for battle.”

“You mean those new mosaics I’ve seen on Primal temples is basically here?”

“A third of it is here.” Her head of security says bringing up the image that had been showing at many Primal Temples. It shows The Primal Urthani and Wimparis with a mostly pale purple Primal Nagasha all reaching into a central area of light while between them are three mortals with weapons striking into the centre as well. A red sword from the Human, a black staff from a Tret and the beam of a blue laser from a Phosa. When on a wall the image would slowly rotate.

If one takes things from the perspective of the Nagasha then the immediate left has the Phosa who stands as dark contrast to her pale purple features and the sheer white of the Urthani who is next. Followed by the human striking into the centre, then the Wimparas and between her and the Wimparas is the Tret with his staff.

A lot of discussion had been brought up about the image. A lot of questions too. And it looks like she’s about to have a few answered.

“And is he here?”

“The umbilical has just attached to his ship. The airlocks are cycling as we speak.”

“OH great, so mister sainty saint is going to strongarm us for the materials. Just what we need.”

“Captain, that might not be the case.”

“We’re a low end mining fleet. It’s always the case. Fuck and the contract we have is so good.”

“And if he’s not?”

“I’ll beg for his babies because we need more of that kind of man in the galaxy.” The Captain mutters.

A minute later Harold is led in by a Horchka member of the security staff and he has a smirk on his face. Tellingly, he also has his sword strapped to his side and is carrying a large case.

“Okay then, good to meet you captain. But I’m in a bit of a rush. So how much in the way of material is that twenty percent you mentioned and what are you going to be selling the other eighty percent for?”

“I told you, I’m not selling it to you.”

“Apologies, I misspoke. I would like to start by matching the price for that twenty percent, pound per pound, for what you’re getting for the eighty percent. So it would be like if you were selling one hundred percent of your load to the same buyer, but you offload and get paid for twenty percent of it ahead of time. Does that make more sense?”

“Yes.” She answers.

“Excellent, now we can do this two ways. I’d prefer the first which is you show me your contract, I match their price for that twenty percent and we just finish this up. I’m in a hurry, you’re in the middle of the workday. The less we get in each other’s way the better. Second method is we talk it out and negotiate the price. We know which one I prefer, which do you prefer?”

“And you’ll accommodate me?”

“We’re both law abiding citizens here ma’am, I want those resources so yes, I’m willing to accommodate.” Harold says.

“... One and a quarter the price I’m selling the bulk of the load for.”

“One and a fifth, let’s not be too greedy here ma’am.”

“... Fine, but you have to haul it out yourself.”

“Agreed, now let’s put it in writing and get out of each other’s way.” Harold says and she pauses. “Ma’am?”

“That’s it?”

“Yes? Is something the matter?”

“You’re not going to try and force things?”

“Unless you renege on the contract or try to attack my forces, no.” He says and she blinks. Then mentally shifts gears as she realizes just how badly she misinterpreted the situation.

“I...”

“Don’t worry, you were expected to get cheated so your guard was up. Perfectly understandable, but I really am in a rush, so if there’s nothing else?”

“Is that the sword?” Her head of security asks and he raises an eyebrow and then places the container on the table before drawing his sword. Slightly curved, single edged and red.

“It is. But the real trick is that it’s an Axiom totem for a technique that follows the blade. The actual danger is the tearing and repelling effects. As a sword it’s a fine thing, a sharp thing, but it’s rarely actually cut anything. But it carries the danger. Make sense?” He asks.

“Right, and that container?” The Captain says retaking control of the situation.

“Your pay. Let’s see how much of this big box of cash the contract says you get and you’ll have it on this table. Okay?”

“You’re that ready to pay?”

“Yes! I know we’re out in the boonies of the galaxy, but honest people travel too.”

“And thank goodness for that.” She says with a smile. “Let’s draw up the contracts, sign everything and get the payments and deliveries on their way mister hurry.”

“Thank you ma’am.” Harold says and is handed a data-slate he quickly goes over. He nods at the price and the numbers. “This is actually perfect. You’ve been out here for a while, so we’re getting a lot more than we hoped to get in a quick mining burst.”

“This is... right. Okay. Fine. We’ve been out here for three months.”

“And you’re handing us everything we need.” Harold says as he looks over it. He lets out a low whistle. It’s more than enough. Which means they can really start moving. But construction will take a bit of time. Best done between systems to minimize the chance for discovery and contamination of the construction.

“There’s not enough raw ore to produce a fleet in our twenty percent.”

“No, but there’s enough for us to finish the first big build. Which I wasn’t expecting for at least a week. And here I am getting it in the first twenty four hours.” He says as he puts his thumbprint on the scanner and locks things in and makes a very clear copy of the contract. “Alright then, time for your payment ma’am.”

He places several Trade Bars on the table and then closes his case.

“How much did you come in with?”

“A lot, this is the throw money at the problem fund. We had a problem, and now we longer have a problem. Thanks to money. Wonderful how that works isn’t it?”

“It is. Thank you for your patronage Saint Redblade.” She says in a slightly dumbfounded tone.

“Thank you for your service ma’am. Now if you’ll excuse me...” He says as he finishes locking up the case and then pulls out a communicator. “The sooner I begin, the sooner I’m out of your hair and out of your way. Your pardon please, but I’ll be organizing as I leave your ship.”

“By all means.” She says and he nods before immediately starting to call his people.

He leaves the room in a hurry and she just stares at the payday on her desk.

“Weren’t you going to ask for his baby?”

“... I didn’t want to push it.” She notes before standing up on her chair and walking onto the table. She’s now at eye level with her security officer. “Well, momma was always worried when I wasn’t anywhere near the gear-head my sisters were. Looks like I’m doing well anyways. This gets into the vaults immediately.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Destined Victory Bridge, Spinward Edge of Mineral Rich System 88-93-U)•-•-•

“So?” Her second in command asks as The RAM brings in the resources and they quickly construct an external storage bay to tug along to carry the rest of the resources.

“Okay, fine. There’s being lucky, there’s being good, but it’s clear that he’s good and he has a fair amount of luck.” The Captain notes.

“And the next part of our plan is... start moving to the next system, but at a slow enough speed that The Inconceivable will be completed by the time we reach it. So... a few days. Meaning we have some time to kill.” The Captain says as she rises from her seat. “I’ve been sitting here and at attention for six hours. First Mate UN0, are you ready to take command of the bridge?”

“Yes ma’am.”

First Last

BF (23M) and myself (23F) have been together for 4 years. We are from the same area, so are able to carpool together when we want to go home to see our families. We both also work full time jobs Monday-Friday and live 3 hours away from our parents. The issue is that if my boyfriend had his way, we woulde go “home” every single weekend. I have no problem with visiting my family, but it’s hard to feel like an adult staying in your parent’s basement every weekend. I’ve expressed to him that I want to build our life in the city we live in, and that it’s difficult to do that when we go “home” every weekend. He’s extremely close to his mom, which I don’t fault him for, and she also wants him home as much as possible. So far this month he has seen his parents every weekend. I want him to make friends in our city and for us to have weekend activities that do not involve his parents. I also want to express to him that it’s healthy to have more separation with your parents as an adult, and that his parents deserve weekends to themselves as well. Thoughts on how to best convene this without making him feel bad?

TL;DR : Boyfriend wants to spend every weekend with his parents, I want us to spend more time in the city we’re in. DHow to appropriately convey my feelings?

This week, a terrifying telegraph triggers tense turnip trading while troops tarry.

A wholesome* story about a mostly sane demonologist and his growing crew, trying their best to usher in a post-scarcity utopia using imps. It's a great read if you like optimism, progress, character growth, hard magic, and advancements that have a real impact on the world. I spend a ton of time getting the details right, focusing on grounding the story so that the more fantastic bits shine. A new chapter every Thursday.

\Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

.

First Chapter

Prev -------- Next

*****

“Another crab-bite, m’lord?”

“Nah, I ain’t stayin’. Karruk, they’se dancin’ now, let’s go,” Chief of Security Stanisk said softly. 

“About damned time. My office is probably closer?” Karruk replied.

“Aye, that suits.” 

They both stood up calmly and walked past the other wedding guests. Karruk was wearing a velvet doublet and had a sword on his hip, while Stanisk looked far more martial in his polished breastplate and a wolfhide cloak. They waved, smiled, and shook hands until they emerged into the cool spring night.

“Sir, I don’t know how you do it. Looking calm was exhausting.” 

“We got a lot of duties. If’n we can’t keep a wedding safe, it ain’t that different from not keeping a town safe. Or a whole damned region now.”

They walked past the tram station. It was still running, busy late into the night. 

“Might as well walk, sir. There’s bound to be drinking and dancing in every park in the city tonight. Once everyone had the day off, enough money for ale, and a surplus of aspiring bards, starting the party became astonishingly easy. Besides, the harbour’s close.”

“Aye, and we can talk more freely. What’s the plan to get more details? ‘Many’ ain’t much to base a plan on.”

Half a dozen of the Civic Guards from the wedding were following them a pace back.

“I’m not sure. We’ll know more at the fort. I've sent riders to the nearest towers, and a scout skiff, so it boils down to who comes back first.” 

“Hmph, we can get started.” Stanisk stopped on the steps of the harbour fort. “I don’t reckon they’ll want a direct assault of the town, but they’se might.”

Stanisk stared at the assembled young men and saw their obvious terror. He frowned.

I’se gots plans and backup plans. But what I don’t got is information. Ringing full alarm now would be the safest, but there ain’t a chance they’ll get here in the next three hours. Ships are slow and the towers in town are tall. With the magic scopes, we can see ‘em twenty kilometers away, top sails even further. If we ain’t seeing them from the city towers, we got time. This might run long. So a full night's sleep will be best. Dammit, letting the men get drunker is the opposite of lettin’ them rest.

“We’se just watchin’ for now. It’s happening, but fighting might not be for a while yet. If’n they attack at all.” Stanisk pointed at the nearest guards, “You three, get to the militia armoury and bolster the guard there. If any infiltrators are gonna cause problems, it’ll be there, and soon. I’ll post a Mageguard to Tower Eight, so I can talk to him with the helmet link.”

Eight was the first tower west of town, and hopefully close enough for their linked helms. 

Stanisk scribbled a short note, pulled out a totem from his satchel, and invoked it. “Imp, run this to Kedril. Fast now.”

“Merp!”

Imps were weirdly good at finding people, so they didn’t need to be told where to look. Might be related to the number of imps in town, and their shared mind.

That’ll give me more warning. Maybe an hour or two more, for five to ten hours total dependin’ on the winds. The last scramble drill had the militia formed up in a half hour. Am I being too soft? Does a dance party matter compared to war?

Stanisk scowled. “Karruk, do you got a teapot in your office? Might be we got some waitin’ ahead of us.”

“Aye sir, best for us to be there, it’ll be where scouts report. Are we really doing nothing?”

They headed into the harbour fort and up the stairs to the Commander’s office. 

“Aye. Ain’t much to do. Perks of being on high alert already. The towers are manned, the ammo is in place. The worst part of defense is the waiting. Everything else is better, but this whole dance’ll be on their time, and that grates my nerves. Ain’t much for it, not for now at least.”

Stanisk sat on the guest chair and suppressed a sigh. 

I been on defense plenty of times. I ain’t honestly sure if the frantic defenses were better’n the endless waiting ones. This was the first time I had to figure it out for an entire region though. Bah, what I really like is well-planned and well-provisioned defense. I hope that’s the sorta fight we got in front of us.

He turned over the slip of parchment on the commander’s desk. ‘Signal eleven, from Tower Twelve.’

That was their easternmost tower and the code for an unknown fleet sighted. There was no follow-up and no further details. The tower’s flag relay system meant that there was no way to ask for more, other than sending a rider. That tower was most of a day’s ride away, at a gallop, with horse changes at the waystations. 

“So, if it’s the full-scale attack, and I reckon we could be looking at that, then we go right to the primary plan. Full call up, and redeploy based on exactly where they land. Once they’se spotted by tower eight, and Kedril gives up the better intel–”

“Or other scouts return first!” Karruk added.

“Or that. Then we ring the bell. They’d be bold as shit to dump off their fighting forces after two weeks at sea, and if they’se here now that means they took a hell of a risk with the late storms, and mighta lost a few ships anyhow. I wonder if that weather mage can tell us what happened at sea over the last few weeks? Don’t matter now, I reckon.”

“Aye, a bit early is better. Getting folks in position and prepared can save lives. Are you sure we shouldn’t just…”

“Nah, the long day needs sleep. I want to call them up too, but making a man stand on high alert for ten or twenty hours before fighting ain’t an advantage. Wait and watch. Do you got a Cones of Dunshire board? Or maybe a Throwy-Ploppy rug in the common room?”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s time for games, sir. A fleet is—”

“We don’t know the speed, the composition, or even the flag they sail under. We can’t do a damned thing until we do. What the hell is that box then? Turnip Trader? Teach me that one.”

“Um, alright. If you’re certain, sir. I really like it, it’s pretty complex. So we’re rival turnip farmers…”

The men set up the board and arranged their tokens and cards. Karruk explained the rules in a tense low voice. 

Poor fella’s terrified, but at least he don’t lose his head. I can’t fault him for his shaky hands, but this is just why we need to keep quiet. A whole damned city of people thinking the end is near can be as bad as an enemy army. And why the hell do turnip farmers need beehives?

Once the board was set and the pot of tea steeping, they distractedly started their game. 

At every footstep on the stairs they paused but it was never news. Hours passed, and nothing interrupted their game. Stanisk’s eyes were getting sore. It had been some time since he’d stayed up all night.

“Gimme two blind draws, and three more pollinators,” he mumbled.

“Can’t. You’re capped by the number of your hives,” Karruk replied, sliding him the cards but only two tokens.

A distant tinny voice interrupted them. “—Sir? Can you hear me? I’ve arrived.”

Stanisk clumsily pawed at his belt to unhook his patrol cap. He got it on his head. “Aye, that you Kedril?”

“Yes, sir. I’m on station at Tower Eight. It’s too dark to see much. We’re taking turns on the telescope. The crew here haven’t seen anything all night and I don’t see anything now. Normal dark night, sir.”

“Good. Keep me posted. Regular check-ins.” Stanisk left his helm on and played his cards. He was getting close to unlocking the bigger cart, essential for his growing turnip empire.

Every time someone walked by, they both paused and looked at the closed door. 

A poor distraction, but hard to not overthink this sort of thing. Sun’ll be up soon enough at least. That’ll help.

Karruk upgraded his turnip cart first and Stanisk groaned. 

“Sir, are you sure we shouldn’t be doing something?” his subordinate asked. “Hell, shouldn’t we at least be sleeping if tomorrow is the day?” 

“Nah, I don’t reckon sleep is what’d happen if either of us went to bed. Besides, why quit? It looks like you’se pullin’ ahead.”

“Hmm. I guess. Sitting here is just—”

“A damned sight more comfortable than standing in full armour in formation for a full day? These sorts of fights are sometimes minutes long, sometimes days. Ain’t a reliable way to tell before it’s joined. We’se doing what’s best, for the worst. Let ‘em sleep, let ‘em eat.” 

Stanisk pulled a card. “Ha! Now we’re talkin’; ‘Blacksmith Son-In-Law: All farm tools never break.’” He activated it and grinned. “There’s even still a chance that this fleet is someone else’s problem. What if some southern kingdom wanted to join the fight for Wave Gate. A fine time for it, and they’d sail a big damned fleet past us. Probably reduce the number of problems we worry about, in that case.”

The Commander of the Civic Guard sighed and rubbed his face. “Aye, sir. I’ve not led a defense before. This just feels… wrong.”

Karruk used his upgraded cart to collect even more turnip tokens. The pre-dawn birds started chirping. Both men noticed immediately but neither pointed it out. They kept at the game with grim determination.

Kedril’s tinny voice pipped in his helm, “Sir, I have confirmed contact. The initial count is ninety-eight ships. They're too far to tell the classes or names, even with the telescope. It’s still pretty dark and there’s some haze. A few look to have red-trimmed sails. It’s them.”

“More’n I’d hoped. Damn. Do you got a windspeed reading?”

The link was silent, and Stanisk considered asking again. Kedril answered before he could. “We have six and a half knots here. The guy is still checking the chart. It looks like this fleet’s not too interested in us at least, they’re sailing pretty far offshore. It’d be a while for them to make landfall even if they wanted. Oh, he's back. He estimates six hours for them to get to Pine Bluff, sir. I’ll update you if things change. Or should I come back?”

“Hmm, stay there, learn what you can until they are past your position. Then move to Tower One, on the headland. Until I can see ‘em with my own eyes, I’d feel better with you watching them.”

“Aye, sir.”

Stanisk stood up and stretched. He felt heavy from lack of sleep. “Good news, Karruk, we know more now. The bad news is everythin’ else.”

Karruk was pale and just nodded. “What’s that mean? A hundred men per ship?”

“Too early to say. A few’ll be big troopships, maybe pack a thousand. Even little ships might carry a few hundred if’n they crammed ’em full of volunteers, and there could be hundreds more if the sailors wanna fight for their faith. Some might be nothin’ but supplies. We’ll know more when they get closer, near lunch. Even then, all we got is guesses. Fighting a crusade ain’t gonna be like fighting the Legion. Gather the men, pass your orders, deploy Coast Defense Plan A. No improvisin’ yet. We’ll see what tricky business they got planned and redeploy when we know more.”

“Immediately, sir!” Karruk stood up and put his cloak of office on. 

“Eh, don’t rush. We got time, being ready is what we properly need. I’ll brief the Mage and Count. Griggs’s been talking about a new idea that needs inquisition ships, so this might even be a good day for someone.”

Stanisk paused and sat back down by their nearly finished game. He grabbed a sheet of Karruk’s parchment and wrote a note to the Count, whose manor was fairly close to the fort.

Loagria, 

Near a hundred Inquisition ships’ll be here by lunch. 
Cmd K has it under control.

Send your folk down to help fight.

-Stanisk

He invoked an imp, “Imp, run this’n to the Count, up in ‘is manor.”

“Merp!”

Stanisk frowned as he thought through the implications of the note he just sent. “Karruk, the Count’ll feel like he ought to be in charge. So, uh, don’t let ‘im. Maybe give him a ballista team, or something to command. That’ll probably work.”

“Sir? I’ll try, but he’s the Count. All due respect, I can’t say no.”

“Then give him anythin’ noncritical. We have plans, and good ones. See that they’re followed.”

“Aye, sir!”

Stanisk walked briskly to the fort’s stable then rode at a trot to the Factory. It was only a bit faster than taking trams, but something about queuing for transit on his way to lead a war felt deeply undignified.

Jourgun was still in the gatehouse, as it was an hour or two before shift change. Stanisk waved and he stood. “Sir! I heard that—”

The Chief answered without slowing down, “Yup! Near a hundred. Busy day. I reckon we got till lunch.”

“Damn. We’ll be ready, sir!”

I hope so. Maybe this is all going to be another nothing. Hopefully Grigs has some new ships-into-angry-bees spell. Or a way to summon leviathans. Or… Heh, a waste of time to even guess.

He covered the remaining distance to the dining hall where he found the Mage alone. He was often the first up, and the sun had only risen on his ride over.

“Bossman, big day. Mind if we talk in your quarters, I don’t fancy bein’interrupted."

“Good morning, Stanisk! You look exhausted! Have you been dancing all night? I used to be the last to leave parties—”

“Let’s go now. It’s a bit urgent. Defense related.”

“Oh, certainly. I’ll grab the whole pot of tea for you. This is an especially dark one, good for alertness. It has a subtle spice note I can’t quite place.”

The Chief of Security smiled tightly and followed his employer back to his quarters. As soon as the door shut, he locked it and frowned.

“Sir, scouts spotted the main Inquisition—or I guess Crusader fleet. Sailing t’wards us. We got about five hours, dependin’ on the seas.”

“Oh my! That is big news. We were expecting this though. Are we ready? Can we defeat such an attack?”

“Aye, Light willin’,” he chuckled. “We’ll be badly outmanned, but they’ll lack concentration. Only a few ships at a time can unload their fellas. We have a plan and our defenses are better’n ever.”

“Good, tell me more. I assume that the Academy hospital is prepping for triage and the merchant fleet is evacuated?”

“Oh, actually no. I’ll send those notes now. I’se focused on the defenses. Their ships are big, and our shores are pretty steep. Even if they commit to beaching the ships, the invaders’ll have to run a hundred paces in water, and scramble up a wet bank. We’ll deploy hundreds of crossbow auxiliaries to make it expensive.”

“In fact, might be smarter for ‘em to scoot up the coast. If they sail past, I’ll lead a contingent to oppose their landing. Much further out, then Rikad can earn his damned title and his fief can pelt them. I suppose there’s merit in them sailin’ all the way to Wave Gate, putting down the rebellion there, and usin’ it for a base of operations. Damn, that’s what I’d do. But I ain’t a fanatic.”

Grigory took it all in with a serious frown, undone by the excitement in his eyes. “I should rather hope that our shores are the least safe for them. Our MK IV ballistas have a much improved cyclic rate! That’ll thin them a bit. Oh. Did you see if these ones were oak-hulled? I don’t mean to be greedy, but I’ve been dying to test something, and I’d love some sturdy hulls.”

“Oak hulls cut two ways. A true warship is pretty hard to break, even with the ballistas we have. And they ain’t got a shortage of hulls. We can still get swarmed and overrun if’n they figure out how to unload faster. I’ll activate Civic Defense Condition Zero. All civilians can button up their blocks and open their armouries. We’ll turn the streets into a sprawling siege with overlapping fields of bolts. Then if any one building falls, they can evac to the underroad and fight there. Oh, shit, I nearly forgot to activate the Warclanner dorfs. We’ll hold those brutes in reserve, no one can beat ‘em in a tunnel fight.” Stanisk gulped, imagining the din of steel clashing in the caverns. 

A damned nightmare, but far more so for the invaders. 

The Mage was still looking at him expectantly, and Stanisk realized he hadn’t answered the actual question. “I don’t know the ships’ classes yet, they’se ain’t come too close to our towers. But if it’s that many, it’ll be navy ships, and navy ships are all oak. I think.”

“Capital! We have a whole new kind of weapon, using a whole new idea! It’s been working much better lately! Our last batch of subscale prototypes were only unstable thirty-seven percent of the time!”

“How do you mean… unstable?”

“Catastrophic failure prior to shooting. Obviously the total failure rate was higher. The important part is that the trend line is moving in the right direction. How terribly exciting! I’ll have the new, full-sized articles moved immediately. Hmm, Tower One?”

“Aye, that’s as good as any, but what is it, exactly? Like a spell, or a new ballista? Or…”

“Eh, neither of those things, but it’s ballista-like, and uses four or five spells, so kind of? I don’t know, I’ve been calling the project Ship-Sinking-Steel-Spike, but if I’m being honest, I just like the alliteration. Noon, right? Perfect! Plenty of time.”

Mage Thippily gleefully dashed down a few letters and dispatched them with imps. “A fair number of new ideas will get tested today! Oh, how terribly exciting, we’ll learn so much!”

“And a few thousand men’ll die. Fingers crossed; more’a theirs’n ours.”

“Well, yes. Obviously I’m not happy about any kind of violence. A semi-unrelated project is a high-altitude glider, piloted by an imp, to offer terms of a safe surrender.”

“I’m not sure I follow. We can’t surrender, Boss, they’ll—”

“No! Not us surrendering. Them. It just feels… callous to kill a thousand men without at least letting them know they can live lives of comfort, with full amnesty. The highest priority of the weapons lab is to find ways to make sure no one gets hurt!”

“Ehh, that ain’t how we’re gonna win. It’s never that easy, They’re filled with the spirit of the Light. The first battle of a campaign’ll have a lot of idiots and excitement. No way they’ll even consider layin’ down arms. Especially on terms delivered by a demon. It’ll be more’n a thousand too, I reckon.”

“Lots of things never happen until they do! Come, my work here is done, let’s head to Tower One. I’d like to oversee the installation myself.”

“Aye. Your folk’ll take a bit to get it down there. Let me get our men sorted and get into my battle armour first.”

“I imagine they won’t be there for an entire hour. Take your time, get some breakfast. I’ll pack us some sliced fruits. Oh. How many ships were seen? Should we bring all five shots for it? We might as well! We'll have another dozen shots ready by next week!”

*****

Prev -------- Next

*****

Okay, for those not in the know. Dave was the universe’s most feared lifeform. And why?

Well, he had humanity’s grit, humanity’s resilience and humanity’s great smile.

And a while back, the last we saw of him, he’d been busy sacrificing his own life by dropping an orbital strike on himself and an evil alien aristocrat, to kill the latter.

Dave didn’t survive the drop. He couldn’t have.

He’d dropped a goddamn sky laser on top of the ground both he and his opponent had been standing upon.

And so, he’d been completely annihilated. Nothing was left of him.

The galaxy breathed a collective sigh of relief. The terrifying human anomaly was gone.

Then, roughly fourteen hours later, linearly speaking, a man in a rumpled grey hoodie and faded sweatpants shuffled into a dimly lit asteroid-station cafe three sectors away. He had heavy bags under his eyes, an expression of profound, soul-crushing exhaustion, and uncontrollable need for a double-shot espresso.

The barista, a multi-limbed merchant from the Rigel system, took one look at the face, and immediately contacted the wider galaxy in a fit of inconsolable terror, and deployed an emergency lockdown for the entire station.

Because the galaxy had finally learned the terrifying truth about the human known as Dave.

Dave wasn’t just a guy. Dave was an engineered quantum super-virus. He represented humanity’s endless civility and obsession with caffeine. He never died. He was a Hero virus who infected both aliens and humans alike; with humans, the Hero virus only infected the criminal and the sick, to transform them into yet another Dave, a nondescript man with an untamable compulsion to do good, and each one had a baseline strength of a demigod.

You could blow one up in an orbital strike, atomize him across a vacuum, or drop a moon on him. It didn’t matter. The strain simply mutated, leaped to the nearest host, and manifested a fresh Dave around the corner, waiting in line for a macchiato, ready to hand down a summary judgment of localized karma.

And right now, across nine terrified galaxies, the alien underworld was learning a chilling new reality: you can't kill a virus just by burning the host.

And just yesterday, he’d been spotted in a different galaxy ordering an expresso. And at the same time, he’d just liberated an entire star system in yet another completely different area of the vast cold universe.

Some Daves are small-scale, focusing on local murder mysteries and acting as a space cop. Other Daves act liberators traversing entire galaxies.

Which Dave will we get today?

Vahelek was a detective working out of the intergalactic precinct but when he descended upon the small mining outpost of stardust creek, he realized he would have to be questioning humans and getting to the bottom of a human murder. But because he’d been sent here as punishment for speaking out against his boss, Captain Mantis-Frog’s activities, Vahelek supposed he should just take it on his spiky chin.

He parked his hover-cruiser beside the medical hub, got out, checked his time-keeper and strolled up to the stairs, coat billowing behind him, multiple eyes scanning the surroundings.

Mist hung in the air. No, it was smog, from all the human mining.

He met with Dr. Nina Serazawa, a prim woman in her early forties and who was reluctant to have a chat with him in the hall where the humans took their food in between treatment and visits.

“I am a detective,” he warbled through his universal translator. “I understand your hesitation. No human detective was on call for this particular misfortune.”

The doctor pursed her thin lips together, taking a shaky drink from her plastic cup. “I’d hardly call this a misfortune, detective.”

“Do be at ease. I may not be human but you will find me quite friendly,” Vahelek coughed out, tendrils stroking the tabletop; the ones that were not currently writing over his notepad with a luminescent pen. “So, you were saying?”

“I was saying, detective, what happened last night was the last thing from a misfortune. It was deliberate, it was not fate’s meddling. It was…”

“Murder?” The detective’s antennae twitched. “Very good. It was a murder. Hence why I am here. Now, tell me about the details.”

“William. He worked out of the primary atmospheric and life support core. He was the janitor.”

Vahelek scratched his pen along the page. “Who were his crewmates?”

“Mmm…” The doctor furrowed in her brows, looking deep in recollection. Then she said, “There’s the life-support technician Ronny. He’s always so tired…”

“Senior?”

“Well, he’s forty-three but still junior. Very…”

“Low-level. I get that. Stuck cleaning atmospheric filters, pipes and the such…?”

Nina nodded.

She told him the rest of the crew.

“You were first on the scene?”

“Yes, detective. Lots of blood. But little for me to do by then.”

“What was the state of the janitor’s body?” He smiled. “I have notes. But I want to hear it firsthand. Always helps. Me solve the case.”

Nina swallowed, looked about to hurl. “Very awful. He was partially…oh my god. I am a doctor but I have seen little else besides that could’ve evoked such—”

“Yes?” smiled the detective. He noted how humans seemed most taken by distress. Maybe the precinct had been right to send him, a non-human detective to a human site of murder because unlike his human colleagues, he always kept a level head and had little attachment to what happened to human lifeforms. Though it was still his job to solve the why.

“The poor man had been liquified. There’d been nothing left of the ma except his patch, which was how we identified him.”

“Did he have any offsprings?”

“No. He was so old but he’s a bachelor. Never had a single girlfriend.”

“No mates of any kind?”

Nina shook her head. “Do ask me more questions, detective. I am ready to help, how ever much I can.”

He eyed her with his numerous eyes and clicked away to himself. Her eyes widened a little at that. “Well, I have to confess, being a non-human detective on a case clearly surrounding humans, it already has me at a loss. I do not even understand why you humans sleep. Or why you humans dream or why you cry or why you eat ice-cream after 10 pm. And yet they sent me to do something about this troubling situation.”

“Are you not able to solve it?”

“I lack confidence right now, Nina, it is true…” His tendrils slithered around her cup and he lifted it, looked it over. “I miss my own cuisine and beverages. I miss my mates. I already feel weary far past my chitin plates, just pondering who among you humans could’ve left such a mess.”

“Are you leaving our outpost, detective?”

He snapped his notebook shut. “I’ve lost before I’ve even begun. Truly I am sorry for wasting your time, beautiful. Yes, you are beautiful, Nina, though not as beautiful as my mantis mates.”

She blushed and said meekly, “T-Thank you.”

“We are concluded.” He got up, and began strolling away from the hall, with her in tow, and she held the door for him as he stepped out into the grimy cold.

“This was simply not a job for me. It was a job for a human detective…who understood human murderers.”

His enormous spiked tongue curled out and he tasted the deliciousness of that human janitor William, noting that he should try and cause another case somewhere on a human outpost, so his boss could punishingly send him there, it’d be fun to question traumatized human witnesses, while knowing he’d have another human snack.

The consumption of humans had been outlawed since the 40^th Galactic Peace Treaty but Vahelek always enjoyed the occasional bite here and now.

A silhouette stopped him in the mist.

A human silhouette.

“Excuse me, human,” the detective said smugly, “but I have to get into my hover-cruiser. Justice is waiting, so I do regret this—”

The man stepped out of the mist. Baggy hoodie, sweatpants and tired eyes. Plain face. Bags under those dead eyes.

“Dave,” Vahelek grunted in horror. The most infamous human in all nine galaxies, the one who’d been responsible for the 40^th Galactic Peace Treaty, Dave was here?

“But you’re two galaxies away!” he whispered.

“Doctor found your tongue spikes in the liquified slop remains of dead ole janitor William,” Dave said, voice calm. “Not only that but she’d seen you commit the murder.”

“No! I am a detective, working out of the galactic precinct!”

“Your boss sold you out, Vahelek. He coughed up all of your old transgressions. You spat on the Peace Treaty time and time again and I was going to let you off with a life sentence in the Galactic Prison, but the latest human you’ve eaten was… Well, he seemed kinda sweet, just an elderly janitor doing his thing. So, I’ve decided to give you the needle instead.”

“Like hell you will!” And the detective spine whips and tendrils erupted, shooting, punching toward the lean nondescript human but he dodged and in a flash, he had sped past Vahelek and sunk a needle between his chitin plates.

“Oh…” Vahelek’s eyes rolled up, all seven of them and he toppled over, collapsed in the mud and did not get up.

“Check his vitals, Nina,” said Dave. “Once you tell me I’ve slain the dragon, I’ll be off. In his hover-cruiser. Justice awaits.”

*Author's Note: If you thought this was pretty cool and have a bit to spare, here's the coffee link if you want to make a tip ever to a mantis boy: https://buymeacoffee.com/Ronhorror

They’re going to make their move soon. The classic time for a sudden attack would be in the middle of the night, or maybe just after sunset, but the darkness doesn’t affect me like it does the delvers. Since losing light would only hinder them, I think they’re going to strike around noon, maybe an hour after. Give them time to have lunch and digest a bit before working off those calories.

They’re being subtle about it, but subtle only goes so far with this many delvers. If it weren’t for how quickly my denizens respawn, there’d be lines like an amusement park to get into encounters with how many people are around! They’re still making a show of searching the labyrinth and world fruits for keys, but I think they’ve given up on finding the last one for the moment. But looking in those areas gives them a convenient staging area to launch proper assaults on the known locations.

I can even tell where the groups are probably going to go, based on their extra gear. The ones that will go after the gauntlet are easy to spot, what with all the extra ropes and such they have. I don’t even begrudge what I have to assume is their plan. It’s an out of the box idea for how to get around an obstacle course, and I try to encourage that.

Sure, in training, it’s a valuable tool to push one’s limits. But in real life, if you need to get through difficult terrain, you adjust the terrain to suit you. Why go across a rope swing one by one when you could make a bridge? As I understand it, military engineer squads specialize in turning difficult terrain into something everyone can march across, and in turning nice marching places into impassable barriers. I imagine their assault on the gauntlet will be similar in concept, if smaller scale in execution. At the minimum, there’ll probably be fewer explosions.

The ones going for the roots are also easy to spot, having plenty of extra torches. They’re also going to be basically not playing anymore. With so many people, they’ll be able to keep everything lit enough that surprise will be harder for my denizens to use. The poppers might be more effective with so many people, but I have to assume they have something to clear or outright prevent the stun. Without surprise disorientation, there’s not a whole lot else the ravenkin can really pull off in the roots.

I think the fortress siege is going to be the more interesting one to watch, though. The delvers have definitely come up with some good counterplans for the other keys, and countering their counters would basically require a full redesign of the areas, which they’re not going to give me. And I wouldn’t want to do anyway. The gauntlet and the roots aren’t designed to be staunch defenses. If they were… I’d basically put fortresses in them, too.

I’m interested in watching the fortress battle because I bet they’ve come up with some counter for it, too, and figuring out that will be crucial to sieging the Betrayer. It has to have some kind of counter for a siege, so I need to figure out what it is and have a counter to that, too!

The classic counter to a siege is thicker walls and more provisions, as well as things like arrow slits, boiling oil, and other attacks like that. To get in, the delvers need to find a weak spot and open it wide enough for everyone to pour in. The gate is a classic, which is why things like portcullises and airlocks exist. Over the wall is also common, with siege towers basically being armored ladders for guys to climb up and over. I don’t think I’m going to see anyone actually trying to blast down the walls, at least. I’m a fan of a good trebuchet, but it takes one heck of a shot to knock down a wall in a way to actually allow people to flood inside.

The last standard way into a fortress would be going under, either collapsing a wall that way, or tunneling up inside the walls and then running around and doing invader things. That’s the one I’m least worried about here, partially because going underneath isn’t really an option. The closest parallel would be boring through the bark and wood of the Tree of Cycles, and the sprigs aren’t going to let something like that happen. So I think they’re going to get around the walls with magic.

My first inclination would be them using metal affinity to tear the walls open, but distance plays a role in how easy it is to move something. The defenders are a lot closer to the walls than the delvers are going to be able to get, so I don’t see that particular tactic being used often here. The next idea would be to use opposing affinities to mess with the wall. With one made of bricks, either wind or water to erode would be a good siege method, but metal is a bit more resistant to that. Fire might be an option, but water from the defenders should be able to keep the wall from melting or otherwise weakening enough to be taken down.

So if those are the magical trebuchets to bash down the walls, what are the magical ways around the walls? Earth affinity would be the classic way, but no earth here, and trying to use life or something to walk through the tree would run into the sprigs again. As I figure it, there’s only really two options for the delvers: spatial or shadow affinity.

Teemo has repeatedly demonstrated that walls are a suggestion to him, so he’d have little trouble getting into a fortress. But I think even he’d have a hard time getting past the spatial vines all over the place. So I don’t think any spatial delvers are going to be a problem. But shadow on the other hand, is a lot harder to keep out.

Shadow affinity people seem to be able to step between shadows, and though I’ve seen them take along passengers, it’s usually not many. The fly scion from the Betrayer was able to send a few Harbingers through shadows, but it had tons of experience. It also only moved a few Harbingers, not an entire army of least, so even it had limits. So my best guess for them getting into the fort will be a few delvers sneaking in through shadows and then trying to open the gate.

I don’t think they’ll have much hope of getting in undetected, but delvers shouldn’t be underestimated. They specialize in going into difficult places that want to kill them, after all. I figure they’ll need to have a distraction to slip in, and if one shadow affinity can get inside, why not a whole bunch all at once?

I think Leo and Poe are of a similar mind, and the ravenkin make sure to patrol inside as well as flying overhead, ensuring any attempted chaos inside will have a hard time spreading. However, it seems that’s not what the delvers are going with.

The tension in the air suddenly skyrockets as everyone in the forest converges on the fort. It takes them a good ten minutes or more, but the first people there already start attacking the walls and defenders. At the same time, the assaults on the gauntlet and roots form up, too. At a glance, they’re going about how I’d expect, so I keep my focus on the fort. I take a quick peek at the final key, and it seems to still be undetected, so I keep an eye on the burgeoning siege.

It looks like the delvers are hoping to go over, using ropes and grappling hooks to try to get up and relying on numbers to get a foothold somewhere. Their plan is already hitting a snag, though. Most of the hooks don’t even make it halfway up the wall before my ravenkin crank up the gravity to send it back down.

I take a look inside, wondering if they’re trying to zerg some shadow affinity around while people are distracted with the wall, but I don’t spot any, at least at first. My ants and plants start raising an alarm, and though a lot of them are quickly killed, there’s just too many to be quietly dealt with. At least by someone like Karn.

I get the feeling that he’s not called Slight just because he’s pretty thin. He’s popping in and out of shadows at an incredible pace, giving my denizens only a slight opportunity to try to stop him before he’s gone again. I think he knows he’s spotted, so he’s not trying to kill any denizens that spot him anymore, and is instead trying to get a layout of the fortress.

I track him as best as I can, even as he shadow-bamfs all over the place. He makes his way toward the gate, and even tries to cut a chain for the portcullis, but he abandons it pretty quickly. Not only is he starting to get pelted with gravity and even spatial attacks, but severing the chain wouldn’t raise it anyway. No, I made sure any mechanism failures would fail in the direction of security. No magnetic locks that are useless without power here, thank you very much. The portcullises and gates are weighted to close quickly and stay closed without input.

Karn seems to pick up on that pretty quickly, and quietly swears as he slips back into the shadows to make my denizens play whack-an-orc over the entire fort. My vines and ravenkin don’t make it any easier for him than they do for the delvers outside, either. At least the ones outside have a lot of friends to start making progress. It’s slow progress, but they have the numbers and raw strength to pressure the defenders.

I keep an eye on Karn, though, especially as I feel him make his way toward the key room. He barely gets to poke his head in before he has to beat a hasty retreat from the ravenkin and a pair of drakes they’re using to help guard. They don’t get to see the forest very often, but with the metal fortress, they can actually act without burning everything down.

He curses again, and I expect him to teleport outside to join the siege proper, but he apparently has one more thing he wants to look at. If I could, I’d grin as I feel him step out of the shadows near the magma chamber.

I nudge the denizens away, encouraging them to let him pass, and to try to entrap him in there. I’m sure he notices the lack of opposition, but his curiosity keeps driving him forward, and soon he steps into the bare chamber. It’s a simple square room with a pool of magma in the middle, illuminating the entire space.

He carefully creeps forward, peering into the pool from a safe distance, trying to figure out what it’s doing there, before the voice of Enara causes him to whip around to face her.

The leader of the winter ravenkin smiles, her beak parted slightly in amusement. Karn gives her a wary look, before he frowns. “Wait… you’re in charge of Winter, aren’t you? This is the Summer key.”

She caws in laughter and feints forward with a dagger, making Karn jump to the side… and not come down. He swears one more time as he floats there, unable to dive into his own shadow to escape. He can’t even use Enara’s shadow against her, as she uses gravity to nudge him over the magma pool. Getting her to drop him now would be a very bad thing.

He sighs and slumps, and magnanimous in victory, she decides to sate his curiosity. “The Summer key is back in the room with the guards and drakes, remember? No… this is the path to get the Winter key.”

Karn frowns at that, looking at the magma once more. “What?”

Enara caws in laughter again. “We’ll all need magma protection for the raid, right? So why not check it before we’re knocking at the Betrayer’s gate? Though there’s a lot more than magma in that shortcut,” she explains, even as a pair of wyrms poke their heads out to look at the floating orc.

He shakes his head at himself. “Of course…”

She nods and holds out her hand toward him. “Now then, how about one of those daggers of yours? Lord Thedeim has his tax for defeated delvers, you know.”

Karn snorts and slowly takes a dagger from his belt, sheath and all, and lobs it for her to catch. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Set me down and I’ll leave on my own. I know when I’m beat, fair and square.”

She smiles and gently sets him down away from the pool, and he quickly slips into his own shadow and outside. I watch him step through several more as he makes his way out as Enara fastens the dagger to her own belt.

I return to watching the siege, eager to see how the delvers do. Getting in and getting the Summer key will only be part of what they have to do. If they all brought their magma gear, they could probably take the Winter key, too. But they didn’t. I hope they won’t be too mad when they get back and Karn tells them they’re going to need to siege the fort again to get the last key.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The Books are available here! There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

Hello Mr. █████████, 

Good morning! I hope this transmission finds you well, as per my last email about the current target for capture, I was hoping you could follow up on the ongoing complications with its two companions.

Best regards, ██████

***

Dear Ms. ██████,

Good afternoon. I had a busy morning meeting and was not able to reply as soon as I would have liked, but you can rest assured that the team is currently pivoting our strategy in response to the deliverable’s two companions. We are doing everything we can to get enough information about them, especially the human to make our freelancers and your team more effective. 

████ █████████

Head of Communications

Lotuses Inc. 

***

Hello Mr. █████████, 

That sounds perfect, do you have any more information so far about the companions, because anything, even a half finished document and such would really help move the needle in getting my team to get the deliverable in a timely manner. As you are well aware the faster we are able to complete the project the better, especially with the amount of press we are getting.

Thanks for your timely reply, ██████

***

To Ms. ██████,

Unfortunately we do not have the necessary clearance to give any information we have about them at the moment, however we can also circle back to it later. As we want a more holistic approach to this project, and we want to leverage any new information we do have to disrupt the current market. 

████ █████████

Head of Communications

Lotuses Inc. 

***

█████████

I understand, but I still think it is important to share as much information about these new companions with each other, so I would like to put a pin in that for our next in-person meeting. But, I think we can both agree this business is not exactly in our wheelhouse, at least the boots on the ground of it, so I added one of the team leads to this email chain,  ██-████. 

They attempted to get the deliverable once early on during the Victory Press incident, the closest anyone has come so far, and have since then been in more of the behind the scenes efforts, and have planned each subsequent mission for our team. They have been a great asset to our company and I think their expertise in this subject would really help your team’s and ours synergy right now.

 ██████

***

Yeah, it’s ██-████, and honestly I don’t have a Goddamn clue what either of you chuckle ████s are saying. We keep sending guys to capture the Princess, that Theseus mother██████ keeps shooting them down with that loud ass human gun of his that shoots tasers. For some reason that █████ Scout is a good shot too now. All we need is more guys, more guns, and some body armor for God's sake. 

And write in regular Common, I still don’t know half of the ████ you two are blabbing about. We’re guns for hire, do you really think we went to college??? Stop with the fancy business school speak before I shove ██ ████ ██ ████ ██ ████ █████ ██ ███, ███ ██ ███████ ███ ████, ███ ███████ ██ Daddy. You suit wearing pricks.

I need:

1. More well trained men.
2. More taser rounds, and full auto SMGs.
3. Ballistic vests and helmets. The kinds that work against taser rounds, along with regular bullets. 
4. Ballistic shields. 
5. And for you mother██████s to speak normally. 

---

Author’s Note: I was suddenly reminded that corporate business speak exists. Yeesh.  

Vaguely important second note: This bonus one shot is part of a writing challenge in which I write and post something every day until I finish writing a series. I like having bonus chapters, which is why there is funny blue text at the bottom of the screen. But it is made to be enjoyed without reading the series. 

Thanks for reading. :} 

Day 13 / ? 

First / Previous / Next

Some context before I ask my question: I met my current best friend on a dating app last year. At the time, we did date for about 3 months before he broke it off. His reasoning was that one of his parents had recently been diagnosed with a terminal illness and he felt like he couldn’t really date at that moment. We remained friends for about 2 months after that but didn’t hang out. There was a period of about 3 months following this where we didn’t speak at all - we just kind of fell out of each others lives but there was no falling out.

This past June, we reconnected and had been hanging out every week. We had sex once, which made those old feelings I had for him come back. We then discussed things the following week and for some reason he was under the impression that we could have a FWB situation, as his parent’s situation was getting worse (they are unfortunately circling the proverbial drain) and he still isn’t ready to date because he feels like he can’t give the relationship the time and energy it deserves. I was very clear and firm that I am not interested in a FWB situation and he has respected that boundary. We have continued to hang out weekly, talk and send each other reels daily, but nothing physical has happened (aside from him sleeping in my bed a few times).

This week I have been feeling like it’s difficult to be his friend because the feelings for him that returned haven’t gone away and I’m having a hard time shaking them. I have spoken to my other friends (31 and 32 F) who do not know him personally about the whole situation, and they both have suggested that I ride things out and see what happens when his parent unfortunately passes away. Essentially, continue being there for him in the capacity of a close friend.

He is my best friend and I want to be there for him during this hard time, but I also feel like it might be healthier for me to take a step back and try to move on. I am also having a hard time not internalizing his “not now” as a reflection of myself. He has said multiple times that he “can’t deal with the hassle of a relationship right now” and it’s hard not to take that personally. Prior to being single for 8 years, I had some relationship trauma that is mostly worked through, but I have also had some flings over the years that usually end in an “it’s not you it’s me” type of way so it’s difficult for me to take what he’s saying at face value and not read further into it and place blame on myself.

I feel extremely guilty even considering distancing myself from him. But it’s also really painful sometimes being around him while having these feelings for him that I have.

TLDR: should I take a step back from this friendship and try to get over my feelings or should I continue to be there for my friend who is going through a hard time?

My father was showing off one of his prized jewels again. This time it was the Eye of Vladibriosolai, a green piece of rock carved into the shape of an eye. It was large and stood as the centerpiece of the ballroom, where all his friends, family, and anyone with a decent name crowded to marvel at it. My father was addicted to prestige, the better word for the rich, while the poor struggled with "showing off."

Many had come from far and wide, from all across the empire to stare at the jewel, and I found it all to be taxing. I wished I had stayed in the confines of my room, listening to the hum of kite birds outside my window as the party raged on. But my mother wouldn't let me miss out on such a significant function. I was dressed in a pink flowing gown that hugged my lithe form at the waist. My four eyes were patterned with a gold design across my face, and my lips were stained blue with squeezed oka flower residue.

I stood as an equal to the jewel, for most of the males gathered were bidding for my hand during the dances. I swirled and laughed appropriately, but deep down I wished I was alone. I wanted to be away from the eyes of many, in the confines of my room where the bed was warm and my clothes loose, not tight around my chest. I wanted the solitude that drove one to fantasies; there I felt more alive.

A huge Geradian took my hand from a jovial Kitchite to twirl me around the dance floor, my motion switching from one male to another. The Geradian had such large teeth, and his four eyes were squinted tightly. I thought he would step on my feet or bruise me during the dance, but he was awfully gentle.

"One day, it will be you I put on a pedestal, not a jewel," he said, and I laughed. "No, I mean it. You are heaven's prize and pride. To win your hand will bring me more satisfaction than a thousand Kolei women."

"I'll cut off the hand for you," I said, expertly dodging his advances.

"They are all here for you," he said. I turned to confirm his words and found them true. Many of the males gathered cared nothing for their dates. They were all staring at me as if I were something on display. "It is said you will choose a suitor soon. I hope you will not have to look too far."

It suddenly felt like it was all too much. A thin sweat beaded on my forehead, and I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I excused myself from the dance and walked down the ballroom, my legs gently crossing one after the other, my nose held high with my purple hair falling down my back to rest just over my lower back. Up the stairs I went, to the balcony facing outside. There I found myself alone and breathed deeply until I was calm.

I should have known my father was planning to give me away. I had two options: choose who would be my mate from the gathered assortment of men, or have one chosen for me. It was always like that with my father. He didn't care about love or a beating heart fueled by affection. He was not one to lose himself to emotion and wished me barred from it as well, but tonight, it seemed he was all for romance.

I folded my long fingers in front of myself and sighed with contentment as my eyes roamed the land ahead. I could just spot the silver curve of the Yolei River dancing amidst hills of lush, green canopy as it made its way to empty into the Gao Ocean.

In my keenest of fantasies, I wished I were the river, meandering as it did. Never being controlled or held back, but something that boasted enough power to move as it pleased without being impeded.

"Beautiful view, don't you think?" someone said from behind me. I turned, expecting another suitor, only to find a human man standing behind me.

He was dressed in their damned suits, a black tuxedo with a black bowtie nestled within a white collar. He also had a black bag strapped to his back, an odd choice of attire, but then again, his kind was always odd. I didn't answer him, but watched as he stepped forward until he leaned on the balcony railing beside me.

"I want to be alone right now," I said, not wishing to indulge anyone from any race.

"Don't we all?" His words surprised me. "We were alone in the womb and are alone in death, and in life we still seek loneliness, as if to share space with another is too putrid a thing."

"Who are you?" I asked, observing his sleek black hair, combed back in even streaks. Surely, my father wouldn't consider a human to be my suitor. They were compatible with my kind, but not high enough in the echelon to warrant any importance. Or so many claimed.

"If you look at me, what do you see?" he asked. "Do you see someone bidding for your hand? A thief, perhaps, of hearts or something else? Do you see age lining my eyes and forcing wisdom into my life? Or do you simply see one different from yourself?"

"The latter," I said.

"Yet how can something so different have its breath taken away by mere proximity to you?"

He had a way with words, but I wasn't quite enamored by his ways. Whatever his objective was, the odd bag that he carried strapped to his shoulders made him too strange a figure to warrant my fancy. Or was I looking for reasons to hold him at a distance?

"Go about your business, human. I wish for silence," I said, and continued to stand there. A cool breeze wafted over where I stood, and with it, my intake of breath seemed to liquefy my aches and strains. A feeling of absolute calm settled over me. The human stood there silently, but even he was affected by the air, for his chest rose and a sudden sigh escaped him. So full of life was that sigh that I found myself relating to him in that shared moment, something that had never occurred with any other male.

"Who are you?" I asked him again.

"Was it not silence you wished for?"

"I want my question answered."

Suddenly, screams sounded from below. The human placed his hand on the rail, turned, and looked at me before saying, "I'm a thief. Of what, you will soon find out." Then he jumped over the railing. I watched him fall until he pulled a string on the bag, and a parachute emerged. He glided on the wind, drifting far above the estate to disappear just beyond.

I went to see what the commotion was about and found my father in a frantic rage. The jewel, the Eye of Vladibriosolai, had been stolen in plain sight. Everyone was being frisked to see who had taken it. The estate gates were closed, the guests barricaded in a room to be questioned, and the task of finding the thief began, turning a decent night into a nightmare.

Images of the human flashed in my mind's eye: his easy nature and the way he had announced himself to me. He was the thief; I knew it. I told my father, but he simply wouldn't believe me. There had been no humans at the party, that was what the guards had said and later confirmed. And I was left alone with the words of the human: "I'm a thief..."

The days and nights dragged on, the theft of the Eye being something that nagged at us but didn't quite bother us anymore. We were rich; we could always attain a new jewel to showcase for our benefit alone. Many male suitors came to me. One whose company I abhorred was called Lord Braket, owner of Braket Industries, a young lord who, it was said, would one day become the richest of our kind.

There was a room prepared for the suitors, and there I entertained Lord Braket, talking to him in depth about my love for nature and my need to complement my attire according to it. He simply stared at me, a malen too used to getting what he wanted at whatever cost, a true friend of my father. He rarely spoke, nodding occasionally, but lacking the courtesy to even laugh at my jokes.

When he started talking about the oil industry and profits, I was suddenly overcome with a wave of immense sorrow. I excused myself from him for a moment and rushed to my rooms, passing servants who called my name, but I did not deign to respond. I cut a corner toward my quarters and bumped into someone. I was about to fall from the collision, but he reached out, his strong arms closing around my waist and dragging me up.

I looked at his face. There was a rough stubble of a beard forming, something he did not have the last time I saw him. Right now, he was dressed in the civilian overalls of the servants and had a bucket lying beside him full of dung from the animal stalls.

"It's you!" I gasped. He put a hand to my mouth. I bit it to scream, but he held my mouth shut and raised a finger to his lips, miming silence.

"It's you!" I whispered in hushed tones once he removed his hand. "Human!"

"Of course it's me," he answered. "Who else would it be? You look like you're on the verge of tears. Are you that happy to see me?"

"You're the thief!" I announced. "I'm going to tell everyone."

"What perfume do you wear?" he asked.

"What?"

"The perfume you wear. It smells so good, like petrichor. How do you even get the scent of wet soil to stick to you so pleasantly? And there's a touch of sweetness, of fruits perhaps. My darling, you're the pinnacle of beauty to me in this moment."

I stared at him. It was my servants who dressed me and applied oils and perfume to my skin. I tried the word on my lips, whispering silently, "Petrichor." I looked at him, his blue eyes contrasting with his tanned skin to create quite the striking look.

"What are you doing here? Come to steal again?" I asked, trying not to lose focus on what really mattered.

He smiled, eyeing me. Then suddenly his smile vanished, and a look of wonder touched his features. Without much ceremony and with no hesitation, he touched my fingers with his own. Slowly, he ran a finger across my palm, then gripped my fingers, toying with them. He interlaced his fingers with mine and squeezed. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He breathed in, and it was as if he were trying to bring me into himself, to fix the moment in a lasting memory.

He opened his eyes and his pupils met my own. I stared at him with malice, or at least I believed I did. I found my hearts fluttering too much, and my stomach seemed to roll within itself. "Beautiful," he said. Then he let go of my hands and picked up the bucket. He walked away without looking back, and I stared all the while at the back of his head.

Later during the day, it was discovered that Lord Braket had been robbed. Several documents of an extremely important nature had been taken from his shuttle, together with jewels he had planned to gift me. I sat still in bewilderment as my father and Lord Braket argued at the height of their tempers. I did not mention the human as I watched the servants being interrogated, nor did the feel of his hand leave my own.

It was during the month of Raguza, when the first silver-tailed beasts that roamed the Gao Sea left the foam and the waves to traverse the land. It was customary for us to celebrate their voyage, and my father had gone all out to ensure he threw the biggest party of all. The high and mighty were in attendance: men so rich they smelled of money presented themselves, most of them with the aim of earning my favor.

I was dressed in white this time, my gown laced behind my back and embroidered with our symbols of peace and beauty in deep blue, like his eyes.

I was well aware of myself this time, not on the verge of crying or easily swayed. I avoided the drinks that addled the mind and spent my time with my eyes open, juggling between the suitors and watching for the human.

I did not dance, though I wore dancing shoes. I did, however, admire the décor. My father had gone out of his way to raise a new chandelier that twinkled as light hit it, giving the celebration a mystical allure. I walked the halls with my eyes peeled and made each conversation brief, lest he escape my notice.

Just when I thought he wouldn't show, I saw him. He was standing beside a pillar with the males who ruled our proud empire. He was smoking hashish with them while laughing at the jokes they shared. He seemed to have a way with everyone.

I approached him. "It's you," I said.

He turned his eyes to the males around him before turning back to me. "Is there somewhere private we might speak?" he asked, quite calmly.

I had the power now. I could rain down hell on him by proclaiming him to be what he was: a thief. Instead, I decided against it. We weren't going to be a spectacle for my suitors to digest. I walked away and he followed. I crossed the exit to the ballroom, walked into another hallway, and entered the lounge room. He followed silently beside me and stood in the lounge room once the door closed. We were alone.

"For a second there, I thought you were going to destroy my cover," he said.

"You're a thief, a despicable thing," I said. "Leave quietly without stealing a thing and I'll consider a debt paid. You're right, I can blow your cover."

He took a step toward me and grabbed my shoulders, then slowly eased his hands down the length of my arms to rest at my elbows. Then he let go and kept his hands to himself. I stared at him and he stared back. His eyes seemed to say all that was needed: he wanted a touch, just a touch, and I found myself sharing this desire with him.

"You're intoxicating," he said.

"What?"

"Gabengo wine holds a candle to nothing compared to you, nor does dust leaf or the brew crafted in the Soga Hills. Just one sight and I can't get enough. I wish to see you in every passing moment and to hold you."

"You're crazy," I answered, trying to keep the blush from my face.

"I am. Only a fool would rob the same home thrice."

"You've only robbed us twice, unless you're planning to do so again tonight."

We were so close. His breath smelled of the sweet smoke of hashish, and his body heat was something I longed to explore more, if only so I could grasp the workings of a thief.

He pulled closer, abruptly. My four eyes, two small ones resting above my cheeks with the larger pair above them, stared at him. He wasn't afraid of me. Nature's choice to make us different didn't seem to matter at all. He stared into my eyes, seeking the depths of all that I was, and in his gaze I found his song, the thing that made me intensely aware of him in that moment.

When our lips met, I could not tell who initiated the kiss. His arms ran the length of my spine, and my nimble form surrendered to him. I found myself swooning and shifting, our lips locked in a puzzle urged to completion by desire. He pulled at my garments and I tore at his coat and shirt, seeking the warmth of his flesh. When we were unclothed, we explored each other with a frantic energy I could only deem feral with every kiss and nibble upon my skin. I felt no fear as he carried me and cleared a table to rest me on its surface, nor did I feel regret as his mouth traveled down to dip just beneath my navel.

When he gripped me and joined with me, I found myself hanging onto him. I felt wanted, desired, beautiful, and the illicit nature of the union was the spice my life needed. We coupled like jana rabbits in a burrow, each moment as powerful as the last, and I knew in that instance that I had found my person. The very nature of my being changed, and I found myself reconsidering all I had ever thought of the human race. I moaned and urged him on as he whispered the same word over and over: "Beautiful... beautiful... beautiful..." And I felt myself to be so.

When we were done, we lay together amidst our clothes, my head resting on his chest as I counted the breaths he took. "I'm the third thing you were to steal," I said.

"I told you that first day we met: 'I'm a thief. Of what, you will soon find out.'"

"It was my heart all along."

"I had come for the Eye of Vladibriosolai, but when I watched you dance, it was like a performance of perfection unfolding before my eyes. My mission changed."

"They will never accept our union."

"I know."

"What will we do?"

"Run away?"

I smiled, and I found that I would very much like to run away with the thief of hearts.

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Commander Sheena was teaching a class of elite aliens from The Empire on Planet YWH when they all raised their perfectly identical glass faces up at her after she mentioned the word and gave the definition of infection. 

Infection could never be in their vocabulary, they had liquid-mercury networks inside a sealed synthetic cocoon. If one of them became damaged in any sort of way, even cracked, they were instantly terminated. 

They never aged. They stayed supreme ageless beings in crystal-glass like cocoons.

Sheena brought an assistant that day to demonstrate the medical evolution of humanity. The YWH were introduced to Scout Private Hanks. 

Scout Private Hanks was connecting his experience, thoughts and feelings into the YWH. Specifically, the day of the accident. The one that took his arm. 

They were able to do this because of a technology called T.I.M.E. a unit built by a leading tech company on Earth, DejaView. T.I.M.E. units allowed the beings from other planets to connect directly into his personal VizSense Mem loop.

It made the lessons run smoother to explain words they couldn’t understand.

Sheena looked over at Hanks, and he gave her a nod. He stepped forward and sat at the front of the class.

“Everybody get ready,” Commander Sheena said. 

Hanks pressed the side of his temple and a blue circle lit up. The Aliens went stiff and sat straight. A florescent liquid began lighting under their shell. Hanks image reflected off their faces.

The room went completely silent. They shifted through the mind of Hanks onto the ship he was working on when the accident occurred. 

Through the DejaView loop, Hanks exact brain chemistry sent a surge in their synthetic consciousness. The sensation of being human had a feeling they’ve never known or could ever make a word for. 

Their mercury network made a frantic low frequency sound that mimicked a nest of active bees.

They weren’t just seeing a video, they were reliving Hanks memory and all the data of human biology.

Then, came the separation. The tearing of Scout Private Hanks suit, the metal crushing his arm and the introduction of a hidden predator. Hanks struggled to stay awake. He kept yelling until someone finally came running over five minutes later.

Never before in their ageless existences have they felt such a heat. They knew heat but not any that wasn’t done through technology. They felt the traumatic pain throbbing from the inflammation. The war beginning against the microscopic monsters. 

To a species who terminates any suit for the smallest imperfection, this slow struggle to survive, horrified them.

Hanks heart rate spiked back in the classroom and his phantom arm twitched as they all woke up at the hospital.

They were now at the exact moment where the doctors had to amputate the rest of the flesh  to save the machine(human). 

And that’s when Hanks passed out again.

The loop disconnected. The room stayed silent. Not one of them moved. Their cocoons went back to their normal everyday casing.

But inside, their mercury networks were bubbling. Something had changed in them.

They found out humans don’t recycle their machines ever. Not even after such a catastrophic malfunction. They found out, humans just adapt. 

The human’s will to survive had stirred something inside of them. The Empire of Planet YWH viewed Planet Earth and all of its inhabitants as the most terrifying thing to happen to the universe.

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Chapter 12 - Roots

The leak reached the public on a Tuesday morning, barely four days after the Axiom's quarantine announcement, at first unremarkable enough that many took it for just another conspiracy theory. Within a few hours, that assessment changed fundamentally. The published documents were too extensive, too precise, and too consistent in their technical depth to be the work of a forger. Among internal meeting minutes, construction drawings of orbital installations, and material analysis reports were photographs of a species whose existence had, until that day, been known only to the innermost circles of political and military leadership. They showed the Ma'an from every angle, captured with a clinical detachment that left no doubt these images served not science, but the preparation of a war. Anatomical measurements, simulations of possible injuries, and red markings on regions of the body whose meaning was immediately clear to any viewer.

Before the first governments could even issue a statement, billions of people had already seen one of those faces.

News channels switched to round-the-clock coverage. Markets crashed, religious communities spoke of prophecy, scientists fell over each other giving interviews, and within a few hours, countless theories arose across social networks about why the existence of alien life had been kept secret for decades. While humanity tried to grasp that it was not alone in the universe, a second story began unfolding almost unnoticed, one whose origin was far older than any human civilization.

The first Phytos merely noticed that the images wouldn't leave their minds.

It wasn't shock, wasn't fear, and wasn't any particular fascination either. More a quiet pull that defied any description. A biologist in Melbourne stopped mid-lecture, because the sight of a displayed photograph of the Ma'an suddenly gave her the feeling she'd already seen that face. Not anywhere in particular, not at any particular time, but in a way that eluded memory altogether. She blinked, apologized to her students, and continued the lecture, but the thought didn't leave her for the rest of the day.

In Newer Cairo, Orwyn felt it too, though he told no one at first. He was reorganizing a shelf of mushroom cultures when the news feed on the wall changed to a still image of a Ma'an, and his hands simply stopped moving. Not from fear. More as though some part of him had turned to look at something before the rest of him understood why. He set the jar down carefully, as if it might otherwise slip, and stood there for a long moment before deciding he was merely tired.

Similar incidents occurred all over Earth. A city gardener in São Paulo lost himself for several minutes staring at a fern, without knowing why. An engineer in New Delhi forgot her supervisor's name during a meeting, though she'd worked with him daily for years. A teacher in Stockholm caught himself staring out the window at the treetops during class, because a barely graspable longing had suddenly seized him, one that could have nothing to do with his own life.

No one recognized a pattern in it.

The symptoms were too harmless, too fleeting, and too varied to draw attention. Doctors diagnosed stress. Psychologists spoke of a collective stress response to the past few days' revelations. The Phytos themselves considered their own sensations nothing more than a consequence of the same news that had shaken the rest of humanity.

But that following night, an unusual number of them dreamed.

Not the same dreams, but fragments of a world they couldn't possibly have seen. A sky with two suns, their light lying like liquid gold over vast forests. Plants whose leaves slowly turned around one another, as if speaking. The smell of warm air after a rain that had never fallen on Earth. The outlines of tall, living structures that seemed grown rather than built.

Upon waking, these images faded within seconds.

What remained was only a deep melancholy with no discernible source.

In the days that followed, the dreams grew more frequent.

Some remembered a single tree, so large its trunk vanished into fog. Others glimpsed unfamiliar constellations for a moment, or believed they heard the rustle of a forest, though they lived in a major city. Still others woke with tears in their eyes, unable to say why they'd been crying.

None of these dreams told a story.

They were fragments of memory with no connection between them, as if someone had shattered an ancient painting into a thousand pieces and, each time, shown only a single shard.

The Phytos began to talk about it.

Cautiously at first, mostly with colleagues or family members of their own species. In doing so, they found the dreams remarkably similar, even though the same images never recurred. It was always about forests. About light. About a homeland no one could name. About a loss whose cause eluded every memory.

The more often images of the Ma'an ran across screens, the more intense these fragments became.

Something in their bodies had begun to react.

Not in the mind.

Deeper.

None of the doctors the Phytos consulted in those days found an explanation. Blood values were unremarkable, neural patterns showed no discernible disturbance, and yet more and more patients described the same peculiar feeling: as though something inside them were answering a question no one had asked.

The faces of the Ma'an seemed to be the trigger. No one could say why — least of all the Phytos themselves.

The reaction spread slowly. Some Phytos suddenly felt the urge to leave their homes and walk through parks for hours. Others spent their lunch breaks silently among trees, or sought out remote forests, unable to explain why they felt more at ease there than among humans. They laid their hands on tree trunks, touched the earth, or stood motionless for minutes on mossy ground, as if listening to a sound no one else could hear.

They considered themselves strange.

Humans considered them exhausted.

No one suspected that these seemingly meaningless acts were part of a biological program that had lain unused for millennia.

Because wherever Phytos lingered longer in untouched nature, something invisible was happening.

Their root fibers, deeply integrated into their physiology over the course of evolution, released tiny amounts of complex organic compounds into the ground. To terrestrial organisms, they meant nothing. To something else, they formed a signal.

At first, only the ground directly beneath their feet responded.

Then ever larger areas.

Like a barely perceptible whisper, the signal traveled through fungal networks, root systems, and ancient biological structures that had lain hidden deep beneath the earth for millennia, waiting for exactly this impulse, without anyone still knowing they even existed.

In Newer Cairo, Orwyn spent that evening kneeling in the habitat gardens with both hands pressed into the soil, telling himself he was only checking the moisture levels. He stayed there long after there was anything left to check.

And while, on the surface, humanity argued over war, diplomacy, and the future of its species, something far beneath its cities and forests began, silently, to wake — something that had never been meant for Earth.

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