I’m a first year student doubling in math & comp sci. I came in with the full intention of changing my major to just CS, but a lot of amazing things about the math major at UCI made me stay. I’ll list them here for… idk the upcoming math majors? Or just anyone who has a similar experience.
Maybe I’ll do one of these every year. I don’t know. I graduate in 2026.
1.
It’s a great major. Seriously. I do encounter some people who say UCI’s undergraduate math major is not “strong enough”. But… What is “strong”? How does this “strongness” reflect on your own academic journey? If the classes are too easy, then take more challenging classes — the breadth of classes at UCI is quite good. Or do some Math 199 stuff. Or directed reading programs. You can apply for excess units (above 20). If the “opportunities” are not enough, refer to (4). The quality of your education isn’t solely based on ranking, and I think a self-enriched math education at UCI is much better than a vanilla, standard curriculum at a top 10 private university.
“Flexibility” is also a great word to describe what I’ve experienced. I’ll give an example. If you like a class, feel confident that you are ready for it, then you can submit a request to take that class. Of course it’s kinda strategic; should you ask PSSA (don’t)? The math department? The prof (yes)? In person or email? Include some proof of ability? Recommendations? Knowing the right professors, knowing how the admin system works, and being polite and considerate really helps to get into that class. Whether you succeed, however, depends on your passion.
And there are many things like this. If you’re interested in a topic, certain professors would ALWAYS have lecture notes, which are great for self learning. Undergraduate research is a thing, but one needs to dig VERY deep into an area. Fortunately, lots of these lecture notes, books (definitely do NOT download from libgen coz free stuff is bad for you), and talking to certain professors can get you started.
Undergraduate math at UCI will be amazing if you constantly look out for opportunities. I’d like to think we’re paying for UCI’s community and network, not the classes.
2.
If you like math, take upper division classes early (take Math 13 and 3A as early as possible to open these doors). At a public university like UCI, I was expecting the classes to be huge and professors to have very limited office hours. This is not true for upper division classes; each class has about 60 people, but if you like what you’re learning, and you’re constantly asking questions and sitting in the front, it feels more like a 6-people class.
Upper divs are more than just classes; I feel like they really inspired me to look at things from a broader perspective. I often read an extra textbook in conjunction with the class material; Math 130A paired with Feller, Math 121A paired with Halmos and Axler. Really appreciating the specific content and wanting to know beyond the textbook — this makes these classes a lot easier than they seem.
Also, being in an upper division class as a freshie is an exciting experience. I learned a lot from putting myself in an uncomfortable position, learning difficult material and watching it become easier and easier after hard work.
3.
Overload yourself only if you are really confident. Do plan out your time. Lower divisions do hurt if you underestimate them (spoiler: I did). I didn’t enjoy Math 3A and 2D that much, because they felt like spoon-fed formula recital classes. The professors are amazing in their own disciplines and give really good advice, but I just feel like these classes are in an awkward position of “it’s not too easy” and “it’s not hard enough”, so I reacted by refusing to learn, and subsequently obtained not-so-satisfactory midterm scores. To enjoy these classes with proofs meant that I had to put in a lot of extra effort, which I wasn’t able to because I had lots of other coursework to do. In short, know the specific, unique challenges you will face (for me it was the difficulty of accepting things without proof), and estimate how much of a setback it is.
Also, it’s a good strategy to sign up for a bunch of stuff, which you can drop until the end of week 2.

So I have the best job I've ever had. My family is living in the biggest house I 've ever had in my adult life. My relationship with my wife is and has improved drastically in the last year. The pay is great, my boss is exceptional, the work is just the right amount of challenging and new. Everything is going really good honestly. I'm into my 3rd year as of now and things only keep improving. Included in my job benefits is "my" house, a workshop and all my utilities paid for. I basically only have to pay for my cell phone, groceries and whatever personal items we need.
The problem lies with my boss, the owner, who just celebrated his 85th birthday. He's had numerous strokes in my 3 years here and keeps falling and breaking bones and his head open. Speech is hard and moving around is harder. Everything hurts from my understanding. Aging is not kind. He's put his full faith and trust in me to take care of most of his business interests. Its incredibly flattering, but also a lot of responsibility. I'm always worried I'm going to make the wrong decision. I the real kicker is, I know his time in this life is running out. That could be tomorrow, a year, or a decade. On so many levels this is true for all of us, but its especially apparent in my situation.
When he dies, it will be my job to sell off everything for the estate and manage that for as long as it takes, which might be a year, it might be less, but then I'm done. I will have no home for my two girls (1 and 3), wife and myself. I will have no reference. I will quite frankly go from a 6 figure, highly specialized job to nothing, over night. All my eggs are in this one basket as this is what the job requires. I am not allowed to get a house off site and I'm not allowed to start any credible business on the side as conditions of my employment.
I can't stop thinking about what might happen to my family. Will I be good enough to get another job that will be anywhere close to our current living standards? Will I be able to get any job at all? We live in the Seattle, WA area and the cost of housing here and in the general region is insane. I'm from a small country town in the Midwest, but my wife is from here and despite my best attempts, seems to be set on remaining in the area, even though there is not much tying her here any more other then its what she's familiar with.
Before I had a family I thrived on the unknown. I lived out of my car, by choice, for years, traveled, was a transient finding great experiences all over the country. But now that I do have a family, the uncertainty of my position and how all encompassing my job is eats at me all day. Makes me feel like I'm just staying in this job because its the easy thing to do. Because I don't think I can do better. I'm saving all the money I can, but still, when its over I'm going to lose everything, but my family. My income, my house, my tool storage, my identity really. How do you get someone to rent to you without a job? How do you get another job, when the only person that can give a reference is dead? Sure he could write a letter, but how do they know I didn't just write it?
My question is how would you deal with this uncertainty hanging over your head? How would you prepare? I had a dad that hopscotched us around the state looking for jobs. I was never able to make any friends for any duration, etc. I don't want that for my girls. I feel like I have to both prepare to be here for the long haul and also never really settle in. My wife badly wants a dog, but how do I say yes to that and then have to potentially find a place to rent next year that may or may not allow dogs? I don't know how to go from "estate/general manager" and transfer that to another job. Do I go back to school for another degree? Is my wife going to hold me to this area, whether it means barely getting by or not? Am I going to get "the phone call" tomorrow, letting me know the end has begun? Am I going to be able to support my family after this? Am I going to have to raise my girls in the city? Do we try to make friends and create relationships or are we going to move out of the area in the next couple of years? There is just so much in the air that it feels hard to breathe some days. I'm in an extremely fortunate situation right now, but the doubts and concerns for my families future drown out the happiness and gratitude I should be feeling... how would you do it? Does anyone have a similar situation?
How do I start living in the present, so that I can be present for my girls and a good dad instead of constantly working on and coming up with contingency plans?

Let me tell you guys, the Structured App has been such a lifesaver. It shows your schedule in a sort of linear way that makes it so easy to check things off as you go. It structures your day by the time, you can have it give you reminders ahead of time, and it makes everything so visually appealing. It also has widgets and whatnot that really help with keeping an eye on your tasks and stuff.
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It can also be linked to your calendar and reminders so it will automatically import them, that way everything is in ONE place. I use it as a reminder to take my medications, get chores done around the house, go to school, get stuff done online, take breaks, etc. I would highly recommend this app. I tried many apps similar to this one but they were so complicated or lacked features in general. This one is perfect for me, and I figure it may be great for people with ADHD (such as myself).
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I don't know if I am allowed to link the app, so I just won't do it.
Let me know if you guys know of any other apps that are similar to this one that seem to help with productivity! I would love some other suggestions!!
Edit: I forgot to mention that this app offers a one-time purchase that gives you more options and features, which is only like $10 and that's it. No subscriptions or anything, which nowadays is kind of unheard of. I have absolutely no problem paying $10 one time for all the features that come with the premium package. I've had no complaints so far!

The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a towering ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, with a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.

From a young age I was never really taught how to manage money or the importance of saving/respecting money. I didn't grow up rich, but comfortable.
My mother has terrible spending habits too (gets her monthly salary and just pays her bills then blows it all and the money just disappears on nothing, has no savings etc despite having a very good job)
I have followed that habit in life and really want/need to get out of it asap, I am in my 20s now and want to start having a 'pot' to fall back on in case of emergencies/nice things holidays/car etc.. instead of just blowing my money everytime I have some.
Any advice or tips for saving? cutting back etc.
I am ashamed to say I have nothing to show for any money I've had in the last 2 years. Since March , I have paid 3 months rent yes 5000 aed per month, but I checked my bank app today and saw my spending habits have exceeded 66k aed since March on nothing, I don't drive, I don't have bills apart from rent, I don't have kids etc so there is no reason to spend that much
I'm talking spending on crap, like thats for taxis, restaurants,bars, talabat deliveries etc. I didn't save a penny.. ..
This feels like a disgusting way of spending/burning money and I need to change..
​
Any advice would be appreciated as it really gave me a scare, I should definitely have a few thousand dollar savings. I was thinking maybe a fixed term saving account that I must give notice to withdraw money etc??
Each month there is around 6-8k usd coming in my bank account and somehow I never have more than 1 or 2 k to play around with. I want to try save a chunk each time to build up a savings pot.
Thanks!

Sir David
Far across the Capital city from the impromptu Sarkin wedding feast Sir David and Ariane were walking around the Imperial district, hand in hand, lazily enjoying the light breeze and the warm sun as they played tourist.
Sir David couldn't help but glance over at Ariane constantly, both to enjoy her, and to listen to her next piece of interesting information.
One place he had some mutual hobbies with Ariane was in history, and Ariane had devoured human history and mythology by the truck load once she'd gotten access to the Tear's internal comm net. Her reading speed and retention rate was truly something you had to see to believe.
She'd also proved she was quite crafty in the arts and crafts sense. After she'd found out about the minotaur of Greek myth, she'd set herself to work designing some new outfits that mixes ancient Greek and traditional Agela fashion, then partnered with Mama-san the Pavorus tailor aboard the Tear to produce them.
The result in this particular case was a stunning white dress that was just sheer enough in some places to be more than a little distracting, while not being at all lewd or erotic. Or anything but conservative by galactic standards.
Sure, with a slit in the skirt to her upper mid thigh, and some actual cleavage, she was showing off more skin than an Apuk girl might on average, but anything more than a micro bikini could be considered 'conservative' by galactic standards. Paired with her usual concealed shifter belt which showed off her waist and the sheer intensity of her curves in a delightfully subtle way, she'd then left her bountiful golden hair curly and put it up with a pair of pins.
The total effect between the colors of her body, her rich caramel skin, the blue of her eyes, her shining golden hair, and the various whites and creams of her not quite toga made her look the part of an actual goddess of Greek myth. Ari was an absolute gem of a woman, and was just as beautiful in sweat pants as she was all done up... but Sir David certainly appreciated the results when Ariane took the time to get all gussied up.
It was only due to David's sheer force of will and decades of self discipline that he wasn't all over her like a teenage boy on his prom date to use an American idiom. The temptation alone was... intense. The desire was strong.
Yet.
Sir David wanted to hold back. For his own sake. For Ariane's sake. He wanted to build a bond in more than mutual physical desire... and he had to remember what being... touched... was like. How to touch. How to accomplish the physical parts of being a lover.
He could hear Mary scolding him for ignoring her when she'd told him to seek out someone else to help keep his life fulfilled and happy... letting what were once well developed skills in how to be a partner, how to be a lover, how to be a friend in a context outside the military, atrophy deeply. Then again, could Mary have known just how badly her death was going to hurt him? She'd have likely scolded him for that too, but still. He just couldn't give the old girl up... and with Ariane around to stand next to the ghostly love of his life, and not in place of... well. Maybe Mary would forgive him for waiting just a little bit longer to find the right woman.
That more women could quite easily follow was... something that was becoming somewhat intriguing to David. There was, after all, near limitless potential in the galaxy.
Perhaps he was talking to Jerry too much about such things in the Ward Room after the female officers had mostly left for the evening, but the man made a persuasive, if somewhat self-serving argument in the name of plural marriage in the galaxy. Sir David himself didn't have a religious or moral objection to such things, and considering he already had more or less agreed with his... girlfriend for lack of a better term. Fiancée perhaps. That she would be his second wife per galactic terms, to respect the mother of his first children made the question of a third or fourth wife seem... much easier than simply considering a second. If the right woman showed up... why not?
"Oh! David! Look!"
Before David can be completely shaken from his thoughts he's been dragged through an ornate gate set into a stone wall into a garden. David's eyes wander the place and automatically map out the details. They're just passed through a stone wall onto a platform resting on what appeared to mostly be a natural hill, with a small set of steps leading down to the actual ground level and the stone path that ran through the grass.
The garden itself is quite large, and beautifully crafted with paths, not just of stone but within the plants themselves winding naturally through the stunning blooms and leading towards what appeared to be an altar at one end of the garden and a large set of stairs at the other.
The stairs lead up to a balcony, over which loomed a fortified building some distance behind it. David recognized it as an old fort, in a style endemic to older Apuk architecture that David had seen a few times with Ariane so far this morning while touring the Imperial district.
David makes his second sweep of the area, now looking for even more fine details this time around. Looking up a bit higher finds ten statues lining the area, each paying homage to a larger statue of a woman in armor behind the altar.
She was posed with a warblade that was nearly as long as she was tall, and she appeared to have been very tall in life, regardless of how the sculptor had scaled her up. Still, the detail in the sculpture was remarkable. The warrior woman's smile warmed the garden that was clearly a memorial like she was standing there with them that moment, no matter how long it had been since her death.
Ariane sighs with pleasure at both the exquisite sculptures around them, but also the skillful display of horticulture, taking a brief moment to sniff a vibrant blue bloom before pulling up her guide book.
"Let's see... Yes, this is the Memorial Garden of the First Battle Princess. Hmm. Some warning in the Apuk language I can't read, where's the... ah! Here we are!"
Ariane grins at her success at finding what she was looking for and starts to read the contents of the page to David.
"Princess Mira'Tok Crownborn was the title that she ended her life under many thousands of Centris standard years ago at the dawn of pre-space flight modern Apuk history. Mira'Tok was the first to receive a crown directly from the hand of the woman who would become the first Empress of Serbow, and is the predecessor of every battle princess to ever wear a crown."
The Agela woman's eyes glimmer as she continues to read, clearly excited by both the history and the craftsmanship around them.
"The statues displayed around her are her ten companions, her battle sisters... and there's a twelfth statue behind her, of the Sorcerer Dus'Kvun, her husband. Not to deemphasize him, but rather their display rotates with the Princess being displayed forward by day, and her husband by night when bioluminescent plants from the dark forest naturally light the garden up! Seems the statues automatically rotate into their different positions after sunset and at dawn. The guide suggests this was a commentary on the two halves of martial supremacy on Serbow... and a more traditional depiction of both male and female."
David arches an eyebrow and leans over to read over Ariane's shoulder a bit. "Really, she was the first? Interesting... How old is the statue then? It's incredible. Almost like she's about to start laughing and tell us a story about her adventures."
Ariane nods. "She was famous for doing just that. This garden is a few thousand years old, commissioned early in the current Imperial family's reign. Mira'Tok was named a... it's hard to pronounce it, so I'll just translate, a sword saint. So like the kensei from Japan on Earth that we discussed the other day. So Mira'Tok is a religious figure as well as a historical and martial figure. So this memorial garden was dedicated as an official war shrine of the Apuk Imperial military. What's the mean though?"
Ariane flicks through a few more screens, focused entirely on learning something new about the place they'd found themselves in.
"Here we go! As an Imperial War Shrine, the garden of the mausoleum plays host to a variety of ceremonies annually including the Empress praying for the Imperial military, officers being commissioned or promoted, and senior enlisted swearing fresh oaths of enlistment. To be offered or granted permission to swear your oaths in the garden is a significant honor and marks out either a highly distinguished, or extremely loyal individual with many years or service... or the type of fresh face who's on the fast track to bigger and better things. It's not automatic even for battle princesses who take up Imperial military service."
Ariane pushes her communicator towards David, pointing to a specific paragraph. "Ooh, look! Apparently it's not uncommon for the Empress to turn up unannounced and receive the oaths of those permitted to make their oaths in Mira'Tok's mausoleum personally."
Sir David raises an eyebrow at that. "Dear God, I don't think her majesty ever surprised anyone to take their oaths of service personally... though she did knight me and award me my Victoria cross personally, as was the standard of the age. To take an oath of service personally like that from her warriors. That's truly special for those Imperial officers and enlisted who are privileged to offer their oaths like that I'm sure. To make oaths of loyalty and service personally to your liege. Ye gods and little fishes, it's right out of a fairy tale!"
"I know! Isn't it great?" Ariane clearly suppresses a squeal, doing her best to remain respectfully calm in this sacred space.
Suddenly however, a concerning thought struck Sir David.
"Say, Ari, are there any issues with us being here as outsiders? This is, as you say, sacred ground."
Ariane puts her nose back in her communicator and reads through a few pages quickly.
"Well it says this shrine isn't considered super popular to visit because it's small and somewhat out of the way, though many warriors make pilgrimage here to entreat Mira'Tok's blessing and invoke her courage, so this part of the war shrine is proudly open to the public. Though offworld visitors are of course asked to be respectful to the gardens and the spirits of the Princess, her husband and her shield sisters. In fact... as a warrior yourself you should be able to access the inner shrine if you'd like. There's apparently some rare artifacts related to Mira'Tok, and there's usually a few Wardens, retired senior members of the Apuk Imperial forces, around who are always happy to chat with a fellow warrior. While they nominally guard the shrine, apparently they also give regular discussions and talks about the history of this place, the Imperial military, and Mira'Tok. It's by appointment only, but they also only need like thirty minutes notice."
David nods, looking around again and admiring some more of the sheer effort that had gone into this beautiful little slice of serenity in the capital.
"Sounds like we should register for one of their talks if they wouldn't mind an audience of two. Heh, registering for a tour from wardens of a tower in the capital city of an Empire. It's so familiar it's almost a touch nostalgic."
David gestures upwards at the tower that was clearly the inner shrine.
"It's just like the Tower of London back home in some ways, right down to the wardens. The Yeoman Warders of the Tower back on Earth are all retired senior enlisted military personnel. Next you'll tell me they keep a local species of black bird here. Still, this other part of the shrine, the inner shrine, I can gain access to it? But you made it sound like you couldn't? Why's that?"
David gazes over at the now blushing Ariane.
"No such luck on the black birds. As to the inner shrine... It. Ah. Access to the inner shrine is limited to warriors and their... well. It says husbands but considering you're the warrior I'm sure they'd make exception for your spouse but we aren't married and I-"
Sir David leans over, cups Ariane's cheek and chastely kisses her on the lips, a mark of affection Ariane eagerly returns with a loving sigh.
"Ooh..."
"Maybe I'm not so worried about that any more. Forgive an old man his foibles my dear... besides. I'd say you're at least my fiancée, and I. Well I don't want to presume, but I'd be. It."
David feels his tongue tangle a bit as he remembers he hadn't expressed a lot of his feelings on this subject to Ariane yet.
"I... Ari. I'd be a fool not to marry you. I think I might have done you a great disservice in not being more clear about that. I ah. Yes. It's. You're to be my wife. If you'll have me of course... Bollocks that came out wrong."
Ari looks back at David, her long lashes fluttering as she gives him a coy smile.
"You're impossible sometimes you know that?"
"I'm unfortunately aware."
"I love that about you. I suspect Mary did too. Yes David. I'm going to be your wife. You're going to be my husband. There's no need to ask, it's set in the stars and has been from the moment we first made eye contact when you came to rescue me. Because for all your desire to take it slow, I've utterly failed to honor your desires and I fall more and more in love with you with every passing minute of every passing day. How can I not? I'm a girl who loves fairy tales after all, and here at last is my gallant knight to carry me away. I do prefer the human style role swap honestly. Much more fun to be carried off on horseback by you instead of carrying you off. Makes me feel all delicate."
The first kiss was nice. The second kiss was like nothing else David had ever experienced in his life apart from kisses with Mary, and in that second kiss he wasn't worried about having to remember how to be a lover to someone anymore.
Ari's lips warmed him from the tips of his ears down to his toes, making him melt just slightly as they embrace among the flowers, which seem to bloom all the more brightly in the face of such a passionate act of mutual affection, turning up to the couple ever so slightly as if they were the sun itself.
Then the spell is broken by a sharp wolf whistle and a leering cackle from nearby.
"Hey sister, care to share some sugar?"
Three well dressed Apuk, with what David recognized as gang markings peeking over their collars or out of their sleeves saunter through the gate, slowly spreading out.
"Told you girls I smelled a man. Cute too... So what's the slice sister, you the first wife?"
"S-Second. I'm his second wife." Ariane stutters for a second but quickly gets more confident in her tone, her powerful body tensing.
One of the toughs, a woman with poorly maintained reddish purple locks, looks at the senior tough, a woman with vibrant green hair that's clearly much better taken care of.
"...Why are you asking? We just want to have a little fun right? Make this trip up to the Imperial district worth it?"
"Yep, and all the better if sister here is willing to share. Might even make some easy credits girlie."
Ariane tenses a bit more, as her cheeks color with what David recognizes as anger. Then he notices Ariane's hand subtly going towards the controls for her shifter belt.
"Did you seriously just ask me to whore my husband out to you dirtbags?"
"Hey now, dirt bag's a mean way to put it!" The gang leader's tone takes on an oily, play acting hurt tone as the three women begin to spread out a bit more. "Might just hurt my feelings, and you know girls, when my feelings are hurt there's just about only one thing that'll really quench the fire it starts in me."
"...Bout a liter of this bitch's blood boss?" Says the redhead again, leering at Ariane as she speaks.
The gang leader's smile gets extra toothy, making her look like she was part Cannidor for a moment.
"Yep, and a couple rounds with old boy over there while she bleeds out on the stone. Hey. Call some more of the girls over, I think this might end up being a grand old time."
First Last

So about 8 months i met my ex, not gonna say her name so let’s call her (tif) she was this beautiful girl, we were both in high school, still are, i was a good guy, strong, independent junior teenager, i had goals and my life was pretty much on a good direction, she, on the other hand, she wasn’t doing good, but i couldn’t notice that because i had just met her and didnt know how she actually was. fast forward 2 months into talking, i get to know her pretty well and i realize she isnt okay, i try talking to her about her personal issues but she is pretty closed when it comes to that, at the time, i was having issues with getting over the stuff my ex (girl before tif) had done to me, so i was unsure of whether i wanted a relationship or not, so i kept dropping the situationship down, which brought her down also, because she was really into me, and so was i, but i was scared, and not ready. on December 7th, i see her crying in school, and i asked her what was wrong and that she could talk to me, she finally opened up and told me that family passed, and her dog passed. i felt genuinely sorry for her, i wanted to be there for her regardless of my feelings, but she stopped answering, the last text she sent me was that she hated her life, fast forward 2 days, still no answer, i get home from dinner with some family, and i get a reply from her telling me she’s sorry for worrying me and that she didnt mean to, but that she’s done with her life and that she doesn’t want to live anymore, i desperately tried to find ways to calm her down or make her feel better and that she has so much more to live for, but the only thing she would tell me is “I love you, and im sorry, but nothing is gonna change my mind” this drove me insane, the day after i got in touch with my wrestling coach, gave him screen shots of our chats and made sure he reported it to her family to prevent anything. at this point i was ignoring how i was feeling, so much that i forgot what i was actually feeling, and i only had one thing on mind, “save this girl” time went by, and i was there for her every day for months to give her emotional support, and romance to make her feel safe and loved, i started falling in love without noticing, fast forward, around february, i received a message from a guy from our school, telling me that she’s cheating on me and that they’ve been messing around with eachother for a while now. at this point i didnt believe him and i was 100% confident that she wouldnt do if, but then i remembered how my ex did that to me and how a guy also texted me saying he had been fucking my ex girlfriend, and thats when i found out i had been getting cheated on on my past relationship before tif, so when i received the message from the guy from our school, i started getting flashbacks and started getting anxious thinking whether i should trust tif or not, my anxiety took the best of me and she would beg me to believe her, and i wanted to believe her so bad, but something in me was telling me to not trust anyone and to take care of myself first, tif suffered while trying to make me believe her and i would tell her i wanted to believe her but i just couldnt until i made sure, fast forward, i confront the guy, and he tells me it was just a joke, that he wasnt serious, i was pissed at him, i wanted to beat him up, but i didnt, i look back at tif and she was sitting there crying and i felt a huge wave of guilt and regret, and i spent the day tormenting myself how could i do that, after that, i calmed down, things were back to normal, but i couldnt get the thought of her cheating on me out of my mind, so i started being more cautious and started paying more attention to everything, fast forward to april, she breaks up with me because of the hell i had given her, and i take full accountability for it, i understand i may have been too scared and too unsure because of my trust issues, i wasnt insecure, i wasnt jealous of any guy at all, i was just scared, i was devastated after she broke up with me, i had completely lost myself because i made her my 1st priority, i put her on top of anything on my life, specially because she tried to commit suicide, after that i started putting more attention to her than myself, i lost myself, i losr weight, i wouldnt sleep or eat, i wouldnt exercise or train, i wouldnt do anything, at this period of time we tried fixing our relationship for a couple months but nothing worked. after a while, during the month of may, she becomes really rude to me, really aggresive, starts calling me names and cursing at me every day, i would tell her to stop but she would call me controlling and how i destroyed her our entire relationship, and that whole time it would just bring me down, so much that i wouldnt want to do anything with my life. i would try explaining to her that i didnt want anything romantic again, but i just wanted to be there for her in case she needed a shoulder to cry on, she would tell me she doesnt need me or she doesnt want any part of me ever again, those words would shatter me and make me feel like a shit human being, i just wanted to be there for her but i wasnt allowed, i was so scared that she might try to hurt her self again, i was so traumatized from what had happened last year, i would get huge waves on anxiety on a daily basis, and hyperventilate in public and go out of control, May 31st comes, she tells me how she wants to cut me out of her life because she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore and i begged her not do it because i was so afraid of losing her, or more like, i was scared of being alone, i just wanted to be there for her, i just wanted her to be happy, but the choice had come to mind, and i did it out of impulse, i decided to block her in the middle of me freaking out and begging her not do block me, i just did it without remorse, and now i cant look back, i just wanted her to be happy and i hope me being away from her life was a good choice, if she ever needs me, she’ll know how to contact me, i’ll always be here for her, always, i still cant get over her, and i dont think i will for a long time, im pretty hurt, and im scared to fall in love again. if you ever read this (K) i love you my love, i hope you live a great life with lots of love. im sorry i didnt get to say goodbye, and that injust blocked you, but i couldnt do that to myself, i miss you, and i will always and forever love you, keep chasing ducks my love. goodbye.

Is it better to pay EVERYTHING via C/C?
All of my vendors accept credit card, but they all charge 2.5% fees. My C/C has 2% cashback. Early payment to Vendor A gives me 1% off. Vendor B gives me 2% back. If I were to use C/C I would be losing a bit of the discount.
Vendor A I average 110k. I would lose about $1150. Vendor B I average 30k. I would lose $450
So easy way to see it is... No for Vendor A. Yes, maybe for Vendor B?
Is it important to put EVERYTHING on C/C? Doing it that way would increase my Business Credit Score I'm guessing but is it that important?

I am really thinking of starting a cotton candy machine rental business. My equipment would be an automatic cotton candy machine.
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3. Variety of Flavors: (my business name) offers a range of classic flavors like strawberry, blue raspberry, and vanilla, ensuring there's something to satisfy every palate. The burst of flavors adds an extra element of excitement to your event.
   
4. Engaging Entertainment: Watching the cotton candy being spun is an interactive and mesmerizing sight. It provides entertainment for your guests as they marvel at the transformation of sugar into delightful, colorful confections.
   
5. Versatile for Different Events: From birthday parties and weddings to corporate functions and fundraisers, an automatic cotton candy machine adds a touch of whimsy and sweetness to any event, creating an atmosphere of fun and enjoyment.
   
6. Professional Service: At (my business name), we pride ourselves on providing top-notch service. Our friendly and skilled staff will be on hand to assist with machine setup, operation, and any other needs you may have, ensuring a seamless and stress-free experience.
   
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My main question to reddit users is what would you be willing to pay for something like this?
I would/could have multiple rental options such as: Full Day: Overnight: Weekend: Etc. I just need some feedback to understand what someone would be willing to pay for something like this. Thank you for your help!

I am really thinking of starting a cotton candy machine rental business. My equipment would be an automatic cotton candy machine.
Here are some details:
Memorable Experience: Cotton candy is a timeless treat that brings joy and nostalgia to people of all ages. Having an automatic cotton candy machine at your event creates a memorable experience that your guests will cherish.

1. Crowd Pleaser: Cotton candy is a crowd favorite that never fails to put smiles on faces. It's a sweet indulgence that appeals to both kids and adults, making it a surefire hit at any gathering.
   
2. Easy and Convenient: Our automatic cotton candy machines take the hassle out of preparation. With just a press of a button, you can effortlessly create fluffy clouds of sugary delight, allowing you to focus on enjoying the event.
   
3. Variety of Flavors: (my business name) offers a range of classic flavors like strawberry, blue raspberry, and vanilla, ensuring there's something to satisfy every palate. The burst of flavors adds an extra element of excitement to your event.
   
4. Engaging Entertainment: Watching the cotton candy being spun is an interactive and mesmerizing sight. It provides entertainment for your guests as they marvel at the transformation of sugar into delightful, colorful confections.
   
5. Versatile for Different Events: From birthday parties and weddings to corporate functions and fundraisers, an automatic cotton candy machine adds a touch of whimsy and sweetness to any event, creating an atmosphere of fun and enjoyment.
   
6. Professional Service: At (my business name), we pride ourselves on providing top-notch service. Our friendly and skilled staff will be on hand to assist with machine setup, operation, and any other needs you may have, ensuring a seamless and stress-free experience.
   
7. Customization Options: With a variety of fancy shapes like flowers, hearts, and butterflies, you will have various options of cotton candy for your event, adding an extra touch of personalization.
   
8. Affordable Fun: Renting an automatic cotton candy machine is a cost-effective way to add a fun and unique element to your event without breaking the bank. It offers a high-value entertainment option that won't strain your budget.
   
9. Support Local Business: By choosing (my business name), you support a local business that is passionate about bringing sweetness and joy to your community. Renting from us means you're investing in a reliable and dedicated service.
   

Experience the magic of automatic cotton candy at your next event with (my business name). Contact us today to book your rental and sweeten up your celebration!
My main question to reddit users is what would you be willing to pay for something like this?
I would/could have multiple rental options such as: Full Day: Overnight: Weekend: Etc. I just need some feedback to understand what someone would be willing to pay for something like this. Thank you for your help!

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I just have some confusion regarding this. Hypothetically I want to buy something that costs 10k and I only have let's say 2 k in my debit card. Would installments work or are they limited to what my current balance is ?
And I also read that the full cost of the item bought will be withheld in my account. As in I cannot use it but it is there ? I was so confused about this because it made it seem redundant.
Or maybe it's as simple as tabby ? I'd appreciate any help from people who know about it.

I found out that he was cheating on me over three years ago. It came like a shock to me. This just couldn’t happen. It didn’t make any sense. I never saw the signs or never had the suspicions or gut feelings that something was wrong. I felt like I was deprived of going through the process of suspicion, realization then coming to terms with the fact that I have lost him. That he wasn’t truly mine. Our children were 1&3 at the time and I thought we couldn’t be happier, until his best friend called me to say that he didn’t want to cover for him anymore and where to find him. I knocked on her apartment door and they didn’t want to open at first. I wasn’t even worth opening the door for. “Open the door K, I know you’re in there” I was shocked and a little bit terrified of how calm I was when he opened the door, he looked disheveled, like he had put on his clothes in a hurry. He was already crying and apologizing “Let me explain, I love you. I have been low and not myself lately please let me explain” I just remember asking him not to follow me, I wanted to see for myself and now that I did I just turned and went back to my car.
I remember thinking all the way back to our place, how could I have missed the signs? How could I have been so blind and so stupid believing that he loved me? But how could I not believe him when he’d been the best husband and father? So attentive and caring. Telling me he loved me every day, several times a day. Letting me fall asleep in his arms and waking me up with his kisses every morning. Always telling me how happy and grateful he was for having us. I felt like the ground beneath me just dropped and all I knew about love, loyalty and happiness was a big lie. Just an illusion.
We separated that day and for the longest time I couldn’t even look him in the face. He did every thing to try to explain and beg and ask for forgiveness but all I wanted from him was a dignified divorce and a promise not to hurt our babies in the process. He fulfilled that promise. The divorce was finalized last summer.
We slept together for the first time since everything last Christmas. He was dropping our daughters off and asked if he could stay for dinner. I was surprised that it was so easy talking to him after all that happened. For the longest time I thought I could never not feel resentment around him but I was wrong. It was the best sex of my life and I didn’t know why or what had changed. Maybe it was because I was yearning for a touch and intimacy after 3 years without or maybe because now I didn’t feel anything towards him I could finally let loose and lower my guards or maybe, she had taught him things? It didn’t matter either way. Now every time I wanted sex I just texted him.
I find myself not caring that he is under the illusion that there’s a chance for reconciliation. I have never given him any hope but I don’t go out of my way to contradict him either. I also don’t care to rectify her when she is making future wedding plans like he is proposing to her now they’re living together. It really doesn’t make any difference to me. Let him wake her up with kisses, make her believe that she’s so special and loved. That horrid false happiness, let her have it. I don’t know why I don’t care but her face that day, when they opened the door. Her involuntary smile that haunted me for years, like she just won a prize. Like she cured cancer, and not just slept with a husband and a father of 2 small children whose home she so easily helped break. Yeah, it doesn’t help with remorse.
I just wanted this off my chest, I know some morality police will come here with the “You are not any better than them” and “Two wrongs don’t make a right” I just want to tell you this: Spare me! I’m a 43 y/o woman. With two small children that I love beyond anything else. What are my prospects? I don’t want to introduce a new father figure into my daughters’ lives and I don’t want a blended family. I wouldn’t even know how if I wanted to. I don’t know if I’m able to trust anyone with my heart now it’s finally mended and whole again. It is safe with me. I have all the love and support I need from my family and friends and great sex one text away. I finally feel content.
So spare me!

Hello Readers
We’ll be starting our reading of ‘The Iliad’ by Homer on 11/06/23. The Iliad tells the story of the final few months of the Trojan War. It focuses mainly on the fallout of a disagreement between Achilles and Agamemnon. I don’t want to give many spoilers away, but I will say that there are a lot of fight scenes, and the story ends a few weeks before the actual fall of Troy (so we don’t see the Trojan Horse). There are twenty-five books (aka chapters) within the Iliad and we plan to read it over twelve weeks. Each week we will read and discuss two or three books, with discussion posts going live at the weekends.
I’m going to attempt to give a quick guide to translations in this post. If you want to see a more in-depth analysis of the translations currently available, click here. There are also websites (like this one) you can check out if you want additional thoughts on the different translations.
Please note that some of the links below go to the Amazon site - which isn't ideal but it was the easiest way for me to track down reviews for individual translations (Goodreads is a bit glitchy on that front).
Quick Translation Guide:
​

• Lattimore (1951) - Verse - This is an older translation and was the go-to version for most of the last centaury. This translation is available in most formats (including audio and eBook versions). This is still the go-to version for scholars and students.
• Fitzgerald (1974) Oxford World Classics - Verse - Not 100% faithful but written in a poetic style that is pleasant to read. There is a modern audiobook version, read by the actor Dan Stevens.
• Hammond (1987) - Prose - Highly recommended
• Fagles (1990) - Verse - One of the big staples, not 100% faithful to the original Greek but reviews suggest that it is accessible and a good introduction for beginners.
• E.V Rieu (2003, written in 1950s) -Penguin - Prose - this is a modern staple with lots of audiobook versions available. Some reviews comment that some of the prose is dry.
• Merrill (2007) - Verse - Modern and reasonably faithful to original but a bit flowery in parts. Merrill uses an unusual meter, English hexameter, to shape the verse as close to the ancient Greek version as possible. Reviews are mixed on this but overall positive.
• Kline (2009) Poetry in Translation - Prose - Good translation and available for free online on the Poetry in Translation website, complete with index links and context notes.
• Verity (2010) Oxford World Classics - Verse - This is really highly recommended by the classics poster. Reviews claim that it is readable and an excellent overall translation.
• Peter Green (2015) - Verse - Highly recommended. I personally enjoyed it and found it accessible. Sadly there is no audiobook version. The names use the older, archaic variations for a lot of characters though, which can be confusing.
• Caroline Alexander (2015) Vintage Classics - Verse - Another favourite of the classics poster. Reviews say that this version captures a lot of the rhythm of the original verse. The language is modern.
• Note - Emily Wilson's translation comes out late September 2023 - which is a little late for us but if you are a later reader or looking for a good translation in general, this is probably going to be very good. Her version of the Odyssey was popular on our subreddit, was easy to read and has a great audiobook so hopefully her Iliad will follow suit.

Currently, I'm going with the E.V. Rieu translation. The audiobook sounds good and want to see what a prose version of the Iliad is like. If that doesn't work out I think I'll try the Verity translation.
Free Online Versions:
​

• Kline translation, Poetry in Translation
• Project Gutenberg
• William Cullen Bryant translation
• LibriVox - audiobook version

​
Reading Schedule:
Start Date - 11/06/23
Week 1 - Books 1 and 2 - 17/06/23
Week 2 - Books 3 and 4 - 24/06/23
Week 3 - Books 5 and 6 - 01/07/23
Week 4 - Books 7, 8 and 9 - 08/07/23
Week 5 - Books 10 and 11 - 15/07/23
Week 6 - Books 12 and 13 - 22/07/23
Week 7 - Books 14 and 15 - 29/07/23
Week 8 - Books 16 and 17 - 05/08/23
Week 9 - Books 18 and 19 - 12/08/23
Week 10 - Books 20 and 21 - 19/08/23
Week 11 - Books 22 and 23 - 26/08/23
Week 12 - Books 24 and 25 - 02/09/23
​
If you want to see the reading schedule for the full year, please click here. I’ll also be updating our reddit sidebar soon to show the new schedule.
After we finish the Iliad in September our next read will be The Aeneid by Virgil, which is an Iliad sequel written centuries later by a Roman writer. It is directly connected to a character we meet in the Iliad and was an important foundational myth for the Roman Empire.