Today time of sunrise

I had a dream last night that i met amberlynn. here it goes:
I was riding one of those razor scooter type deals through a random ass neighborhood that i couldn’t recognize, and i got so tired that i stopped at a random house to ask for a ride back to my place. it was like the middle of the night so i just knocked on a random door.
lo and behold, wipey and pookie come waddling to the door and let me in. it was seriously one of the most vidid dreams, like i could describe their house/apartment situation in detail. i asked for a ride home and pookie was being suspiciously nice and said wipey would give me a ride home. and BAM you know who walks out? OUR GORL JADE. and then they took me home, and on the car ride back ALR was in the back seat and was begging me not to expose anything about her gorlfriebd and when they pulled into my driveway i went live and showed everyone that faleeeen is jade after all, which we been knew! BUT the next day or whatever in my dream amberlynn broke her silence and went live and exposed herself and wipester that they had been together all along and she blamed me for it lol.
I don’t know why the fuck i dreamed about hamber and wipe, possibly from the cocktail of antidepressants they have me on, but it was a hell of a time. i’m pretty sure i’m a psychic situation doctor woman and she will break her silence soon 🔮

Hello. I adopted a stray cat i found 6 months ago (she is a sphynx cat, so I knew she isn't meant to be outside). I tried finding her owners but wasn't able to, and then tried looking for something to take care of her permanently because I didn't think I was responsible enough for pet parenthood. However, my family got attached and told me they would help in taking care of her so I agreed that she could stay. Fast forward to now and no one in my family is helping with her care. I'm doing the best I can (emptying her litter box twice a day, bathing her, playing with her) but I am so tired. I'm not an experienced cat owner so I'm not sure if she's is too attached to me, but she doesn't want to play with anyone but me and my family is using that as an excuse to not spend time with her. I really love her, and I'm doing my best, but she has more energy than I do on average.
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tldr, is there any advice on getting family to help pitch in with cat care?

I'm a current ST student I'm inmy third week of a year long program and so my question is, is scoring in low 80s to high 80s on tests tests good enough?
My first lecture exam I scored an 88/100 and instrument exam and a 98/100. That was with a little study time.
My second lecture exam I got an 81/100 and and 80/100 on instrument exam. This was with only looking over the material 10 minutes before the exams started.
Other students in the class are scoring in the low 90s to high 98 range with only one student being the lowest at 54 for the exams(no idea who canvas just gives us the numbers).
Am what I scoring recently good enough to become a CST? I know I need to put more effort into studying but I work full time and can't afford not I don't qualify for fasa or loans.
My class starts at 8 to 1 and I'm at work by 4 to midnight everyday, by the time I get home i go to bed to get up by 6:30 each day. My only free times to study are Friday Saturday and Sunday which is when our school library is closed so I can't even check out instruments. (this is just context on why I don't study as much as I should be)
I just want to know if my scores are enough to keep trying as a cst. I'm just feeling discouraged I guess.

TLDR; my girlfriend has a snap streak with a guy she used to date and did not initially upset me until recently when he reached out to her twice.
Now I know based of the title it may sound like middle school but let me provide more context. So me and my girlfriend have been seeing each other for about 5 months now. Everything has been great. Except this one point of contention. So about a year ago she dated a guy but he didn't want to be official so they broke it off after a few months. Fast forward to today, she still has a snapstreak with him. Now to her credit she has been open about this and asked if it bothered be to which I initially wasn't and said no since they don't have conversations just a simple picture to keep the streak going. She also never hides her phone and even opens his snaps in front of me when she gets one. So initially I was not worried. But recently he has actually Facetimed her once out of nowhere and they spoke very briefly. She told me this. She also told me he invited her to a party one night but we were hanging out. After these two occurrences the streak and communication from him is starting to bother me. She seems to be very open about everything but at this point its really just eating away at me. I think I am going to talk to her in the next day or so but wanted a second opinion if I am seeing things wrong or not. Is this a legitimate grievance? If it is worth talking about what should I say?

I will put you in context. I'm writing a Space Opera, mostly inspired by Dune, Warhammer 40K, to some extent Star Wars (because of some superhuman samurai/janjars/space templar type warriors, the Kerm), Asimov's Foundation, a very good game I had in Stellaris, some random Galimulator gameplays I saw on youtube and Amlet. Also Jojos for some reason, but in the way you think. We are in the far future, in the 13th Galactic Age, where the Galaxy is ruled by a sort of Federation of Empires.
The Creators of the Federation divided the galaxy into several sectors (I don't know how many, just that many), and each one is ruled by a sort of genetically engineered immortal emperor, who is the literal progenitor of all the "Houses" that rule each sector, following a sort of noble hierarchy that is familiar to everyone. In the case of us humans, it conveniently resembles the European nobility. The reason why this was created was because of the fall of a previous empire that left the Milky Way in ruins, submerged in a terrible barbarism that spread during the 12th Galactic Age. The creation of the Federation was a way to impose a new order and put an end to barbarism, which obviously took time.
The space that corresponds to humanity is more or less the Orion Arm, respecting the territory that had dominated emblematically before the times of the Federation (There is more human presence in the galaxy but that is another topic). I am aware of the grotesque amount of stars in the Orion Arm, I think there are about 800 million, and although I do not think that all of them have planets, even if 1/3 of them have them, it is still a lot.
Now, the point. I don't know how to distribute the scales of power in the Orion Arm (and by extension in the rest of the sectors). I am clear that an Immortal Empress rules the Orion Arm. But what comes next? Assuming we use the convenient European nobility nomenclature. I had thought of putting species of fiefdoms/kingdoms, in which each king rules a quadrant between 100 to 800 light years in diameter. Maybe that's a lot of rulers, but since they are begotten by a quasi immortal transhuman goddess by methods we haven't conceived yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem. How would the rest of the scale be? Whatever the case, my goal is to provoke a certain megalophobia sensation by showing the implications and magnitude of a quasi-galactic civilization, and create a kind of uncany valley, especially in the forms of government, that is as familiar as it is strange to us, so we can imagine what kind of power the royalty (and by extension, nobility) of an interstellar civilization would have.
Anyway, I appreciate your time, answers and feedback. Regards!
PS: I know that a Type III civilization would look nothing like this. It's mostly a way to get out of my comfort zone, which is rather hard science fiction and horror.

I was born in the UK but haven't stayed there since 2012. Been in and out during holidays but never stayed for more than a month. Now that it's time for me to finalize university, it's causing lots of problems.
I got accepted in UCL, ICL, Uni of Birmingham, Uni of Durham and Uni of Manchester for BSc Computer Science/Computing. But the major problem is the international fees for these universities. I was planning on taking a loan and attending one of these unis but they capped it at 20K per year towards tuition. The best CS program that I found below 20k is at Brunel University, Uxbridge and some similar 20k-15k unis. The program is ranked between 200-250/250-300 globally and it's higher than some RG unis and some good non-RG unis. Brunel's not the best, but it isn't the worst either. It's a good mid-tier university is what I've heard. How true is that?
I can easily afford to study here where I live rn but the bullying I've faced for being a non-resident is disgusting. I definitely can't stay here considering the differences and stuff.
For the people who've heard about this university, how's it ranked in UK and does it matter if I do CS from a non RG uni? CS isn't that hard on theory and facilities. How's the overall performance of Brunel?
Thank you

I like to think of myself as "cyber-adjacent", and have been for a couple of years now. I'm officially an IT Manager, but the nature of my company and the scope of my role includes the following aspects of cybersecurity:
Leading security compliance programs (SOC 2), development of security policies and procedures, vendor risk assessments/reviews, IAM, endpoint security (EDR & MDM), security awareness programs, phishing training, and a few others.
I'm not the most technical person, but I'm very good at project management, distilling technical information into easily accessible concepts, working with vendors, and strategizing with senior leadership. Mainly looking to push more into the realm of a GRC focused role (ie. SOC 2, ISO27001, FedRAMP, risk management, etc), with my sights set on some form of GRC leadership role in the future.
I have ISC2 CC and 2 ITIL 4 certs right now. I'm aiming to have CCSK & COBIT Foundations completed in the next 3 months or so as well.
I'm at a bit of a crossroads now. I got into a highly ranked university for a part-time MS, and I've been thinking about completing the CISSP. My concern is that the MS won't really pay off and will be a waste of $20k, and I'm perhaps getting the CISSP too soon. On the other hand, I've considered going the route of the SANS Undergrad Certificate, which gets you GFACT, GSEC, GCIH, and one additional SANS cert. When all is said and done, both routes would cost me about the same amount of money. For what it's worth, I do already have 2 unrelated degrees (BA & MA).
The former option seems like a better fit for GRC and leadership roles, but at the same time, I'm seeing more and more companies asking for a wide-breadth of skills for GRC roles. They want someone who's technical, but also knows how to handle the complexity of compliance and risk management. If you were in my shoes, and wanted to spend some money over the next 2-years to further your career and education, which makes more sense?
I should add that I'm not from the US or former military, so I don't have access to the GI bill. I'd be paying for everything out of pocket.

From my understanding, the pro-rata rule applies when you have a mix of deductible (pre-tax) contributions and non-deductible (after-tax) contributions.
Here's my scenario: I was attempting to do a Backdoor Roth IRA conversion but earned some dividends during the small amount of time my money was sitting in my Traditional IRA.

1. Deposited $6,500 post-tax money to Traditional IRA into the VMFXX fund (this is the default fund for Vanguard, I did not invest it in any other fund/ETF/stock).
2. Waited a few days for contribution to settle (during this time, I gained $2 in dividends just from the VMFXX performing well. This is where my concern is).
3. Moved all funds ($6,502) from Traditional IRA to Roth IRA.

I think the $2 are considered deductible/pre-tax money since I still have to pay taxes on it according to this: https://investor.vanguard.com/investor-resources-education/article/how-to-set-up-backdoor-ira#:~:text=Any%20money%20earned%20due%20to,establish%20a%20backdoor%20Roth%20IRA. But my question is if the pro-rata rule applies too or not? Based on the wording (the pro-rata rule states "contribution" and not just money in general), I don't think it should apply to me and I should be good with just reporting the additional $2 on my income. Is my understanding correct?

Hello. I am a Xayah otp and in this season I've climbed from Gold 4 to Diamond 3 so far with a 60% winrate on my otp but I can't get the idea of my head that I do not really deserve to climb this high this fast. I duoq with my plat (Now D4) friend every now and then, but I believe most of my games are soloqueue.
I feel this way because while I think I understand the game decently well, my stats don't look as good as I feel they're supposed to be. I tend to have low KP, sometimes damage and I don't really buy control wards either. Here's my opgg for ference: https://www.op.gg/summoners/euw/bobostal
I've invested time into learning my role, watching high elo guides and checking my own replays and I think I've definitely improved since the start of my climb, improving my macro mostly as I feel my mechanics have always been decent. I just can't shake off the feeling I'm getting carried in a lot of games as I tend to have games where, despite feeling I did well, I ended with low KP and damage, prioritizing sieging towers and aiding with objective dps whenever I can get away with it.
Simply put, I don't know if I really deserve this fast climb and if that's true, I'm worried my luck will run out and that I'm going to drop back down to where I was, and that I actually didn't really improve at all. Are the things I'm prioritizing in my games (Tower damage, objective dps, CS, not dying) really worth it when I have low damage and KP?

Bird seed: FLY BABY FLY! Hot sauce: who doesn't want a spicy cheese steak every now and then? Silly string: bunch of clowns, let them have fun! Bottled water: 16 oz or heavier and let them rip- don't want thirsty tourists. It will be difficult for them to hold signs, so we will surely relieve them of that pressure. If you're looking for a place to have a boom party? Meek mill it up please!
Philadelphia is a plural democracy, and if you can't handle free speech, fuck right back off to iowa. it seems the modern public square is the library...how ironically poetic if a mule could read.
(ps- for you asshole cops who fucking lurk this sub reddit- why don't you continue your silent strike like you have the past two years and ride your dumb ass horses in rittenhouse? you're pieces of shit, everyone hates you, and there isn't enough time to call the national guard to save you cowards.)

Hi everyone, I wanted to share some thoughts I've been having recently.
Since I finally finished University, I had a bit of time on my hands and figured I'd try picking up writing again. Once I began, I quite literally couldn't stop, and I'm sure other writers here will know the feeling! It's been so long since I had a hobby I was this engrossed in, and I've come to realise that writing brings me a lot of happiness.
I've always been an avid reader since I was younger, and being able to create a story for others to enjoy is the best feeling. It's like making a movie of your own, except inside your head and minus the million-dollar budget costs!
Today, my first published book hit 1K reads. It may not sound like much, considering how Wattpad handles reads per chapter, but it's a milestone I couldn't help but feel proud of. While I'm fully aware my writing skills aren't top-notch, I'm grateful for such a supportive community and the opportunity to improve as I go.
I wanted to congratulate authors at all levels of exposure, whether your book has 2 reads or 200k, your hard work deserves recognition! For those who are hesitant to share their work or even start writing, just go for it! Even if your stuff doesn't immediately gain traction, keep at it and remember that storytelling is not only for readers but also for authors themselves.
Again, I want to clarify that I am far, far from an expert. In fact, I know nothing, Jon Snow, about the intricacies of being an author. You could say these are the opinions of a metaphorical infant scribbler—simply someone who has rekindled an old hobby and is once again discovering the world of endless creative possibilities. Honestly, I'm just happy to be along for the ride, and I hope you are too :)
Take a moment to be proud of what you've accomplished, and feel free to share your own writing journey.
Kudos to you all!
​
TLDR: Don’t forget about your achievements, big or small. Your hard work deserves to be acknowledged :)

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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
— Langston Hughes
Catalogue Description
Self-Monitoring Behavioural Management Report: Casimir Szymański, Scazim Institute of Science and Technology - English Translation
Date:
15 Summer-2 3429 (Standard Parimthian Calendar)
November 23rd, 2162 (Gregorian Calendar)
Held by:
The UK National Archives, Kew
Legal status:
Public Record(s)
My father worshipped a fabricated, pagan prophet.
The Senghavi of the Parimthian Empire are principally joined under the ditheistic religion called Siedi, which I do not subscribe to. Of course, the Senghavi's literature, art, and faith flooded the whole of Earth upon their arrival a century ago. From this ocean of civilised culture, my degenerate species drew a sample, claimed it as our own, and polluted it with a distorted, appropriated, dumbed-down doctrine.
The central figure in this corrupt sample of Siedi was a man whom my father called Jesus Christ. He was said to have offered himself as a sacrifice that could be made to a single God. It was a final sacrifice, one beyond lambs or cattle or people. One that would atone for humanity's sins, so that we could have the free choice between the eternal presence of God and the eternal absence of "Him."
My father dressed himself in black, with a standing collar whose white fabric was exposed at the centre. That much, I could recall. He preached to hopeful humans in what was called a church, though I did not know what he was preaching. At the very least, my childhood is fuzzy in that regard.
The pain that throbbed through my skull, after the blonde savage had slammed my head against the ridges of the airlock, faded into the background. I could not focus; perhaps, I thought, one of their improvised explosives had gone off by accident. There was blue Senghavi blood staining my dress shirt. The rush of air escaping into vacuum pierced my ears.
Perhaps it was thirst of water, which binds most sapient beingsthe Sons of Liberty had reached an agreement with the Colonial Defence Force to allow spacecraft delivering food, water, and medical aid, only to unleash the anti-collision lasers of this cursed spaceliner upon those very ships.
Or perhaps it was the explosion, as I initially thought, an inadvertent complication which had wrought injury and death over my countrymen, and which had forced the terrorist savages to attempt to patch up the many hull breaches left by debris.
Or perhaps it was simply the stress of betraying, in my desperate efforts to save everyone from this senseless violence, the greatest secret of the Senghavi Terrans: our antimatter research. Word of it had likely been forwarded already, hundreds of light-years away, to that pink-hued marble which was Parimth itself.
Or perhaps it was all three; thirst, explosion, and stress. In any case, my mind shut it all out, and something lost from my childhood flashed before me:
We're standing on the cracked street of the Vennec Human Reservation. In the distance, the Senghavi's white, glassy spires reach above the clouds, their accents of luminescence dim in the broad daylight.
I hold a ball in my palm. It's wrapped in white leather held together with red stitching. I toss it to Dad.
Instead of his clerical uniform, he wears the normal "T-shirt" and "cargo shorts." Along with the clerical getup, they are just two of the many sorts of clothing which the Senghavi have invented for humanity. I toss the ball to Dad, and he swings a primitive wooden bat.
The ball goes soaring, further than he meant to. He jogs down the road to retrieve it, then gives me the wooden bat. The breeze ruffles his hair just as he ruffles mine with his hand.
"Now, you try," he says. "It's just practice, that's all."
For some reason, he lifts one leg in the air, then pitches the ball to me. I swing. The impact of the ball shakes through the wood, and it goes careening off to the left.
"I did it!" I yell. "But it went out of bounds."
"Heyyyy, that's not bad," Dad says with a reassuring voice. "Good job, just try to go a little more right next time."
Mom comes out onto the front porch, the breeze ruffling her dress as she waves to Dad. "Dinner's ready, and Mom's pie is... almost ready."
I stare blankly at her until I realise that she is talking about her Mom, Grandma, who is the best at making pumpkin pie.
"The pie!" I shout, running and jumping to the front door. "I totally forgot about that!"
I am ready to speed my way through dinner just so I can get to dessert, but Dad stops me before my first bite.
Of course, I think. We need to say grace. Me, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa all hold hands, thanking God for our food, and then dig in. But Mom and Dad just talk about work, and I am too focused on finishing my food quickly to pitch in.
Finally—Grandma's pie!
When you bite into the soft, smooth filling, you can instantly tell it's been made with fresh pumpkins, not the boring canned ones. The taste of cinnamon and spice is balanced out perfectly with the coolness of the whipped cream.
The flavour spreads through my tongue and nostrils, filling my entire brain with a feeling of amazing-ness. If I wrote the Simple-Speak Dictionary for Senghavi Terrans, I'd put Grandma's pie next to the translation of "perfection."
I should save a slice, I think, for the Senghavi kid.
Even though it's only been a week since I met him through the playground fence, we already told each other where we live, and I want to get to know him more. He doesn't live on the Vennec Human Reservation, but his house is just a bike-ride away in Fellye Neighborhood.
I wonder if anyone's ever given pumpkin pie to an alien before. Even though humans only invented it fifty years ago, it makes me feel proud of my species!
When Mom tucks me into bed, kissing my forehead, I tell her what I'm going to do.
"Oh, you wild thing," she coos. "You're so much like your father. And you have his eyes, you know? Just stay safe."
"Don't worry, I'll do my best."
>! "Good night. I love you." !<
>! "I love you, too, Mom," I say. I hug her tightly from my bed, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoms within me. I can hardly fall asleep in my excitement. !<
Luckily, Fellye Neighborhood doesn't take apartheid that seriously, and I don't think anybody cares about an eight year-old human riding his bicycle around the gates.
Next evening, I do just that, peddling out of the Reservation's entrance into the violet dusk. When I get to Mensim's address, I ring the hi-tech front doorbell, and a really tall Senghavi shows up.
"Oh, dear," she says in Parimthian. "A barbarian hatchling—by what name do you go?"
"I'm Casimir," I say nervously. I don't pay that much attention in school, but I know just enough Parimthian to talk to the Senghavi woman. "Are you Mrs. Munghazi? Is Mensim fe Munghazi here? I got two slices of pie. You can have one, too!"
She looks at me suspiciously, antennae twitching. "That would be Teacher Munghazi to you; I know not why you natives invented these odd 'Mister' and 'Missis' honorifics. Hold on—Ghanvati! A native hatchling stands at our doorstep!"
Ghanvati must be Mensim's dad. I wonder where his other moms are; only one has shown up to the door. Ghanvati shows up with two of them—they are both shorter and daintier than Teacher Munghazi, their raptorial forelimbs folded shyly against their bodies. In front of the group of three is Mensim, and I involuntarily gasped with excitement.
"Mensim!"
"This is your new companion?" Ghanvati asks Mensim.
Mensim's papery forewings flicker with affirmation. "I met him at school."
"What, pray tell, is the point of apartheid if it does not actually keep natives away from Senghavi?" whines one of Ghanvati's wives.
Ghanvati's antennae droop as if to say "I don't know," while Mensim lifts my arms, inspecting me like I am a test animal in a mad scientist's laboratory.
"How do you guys not get cut all the time?" he asks, tracing his tarsal hairs over my bare skin. "You're so fleshy!"
"I do get cut all the time," I giggled. "We just use band-aids. Oh, do you wanna eat a pumpkin pie?"
It turned out that pumpkin pie is bad for alien stomachs. Mensim had to go to the bathroom for a long time, and three of his moms got mad at me.
When I got back, Dad and Mom were arguing. I snuck close to the back porch, making sure they couldn't hear me.
"Yes, they leave some people alone," Dad said. "Obviously, they can't spy on every single human who believes in human religions. But Katarzyna, they still need people to make an example out of, and I don't want to be that person!"
"Casimir is a responsible kid," Mom retorts. "I told him he can't tell anyone what you do, and he listens to me."
"He's eight years old. You can't just let him wander around aliens with a secret that could have me killed! Or have *you *killed!"
Mom cups Dad's cheek and looks him in the eye. She's a lot shorter than him. "Look, love. You're a great father, and I think it's amazing that you spend time with him. But you're the only person he talks to. You know just as well as I do that he needs to talk to other kids! It's not healthy; even Teacher Perevvoxath agreed. And now he finally has a friend."
Dad sighs, running his hands through his black hair. My hair. "You really think aliens are a substitute for human interaction?"
>! "I think every human needs a person they can talk to, and Casimir found one. If you really care about him, stop preaching for a while! Your church isn't gonna die without you. It'll be okay." !<
The next day, I visit Mensim's house after school again. And the next day after that, and the next after that. His dad Ghanvati is formally named Engineer Munghazi. I am to call his moms Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Accountant Munghazi, Priestess Munghazi, Doctor Munghazi, and Maidservant Munghazi.
A couple weeks later, Mensim and I are lounging together on his couch, watching a Parimthian war movie. The main characters are fighting against the evil forces of the Imperium of Orion. Under his head capsule, Mensim is munching something called Synth-Fruit, which is imported from a faraway planet called Mryi. I eat Pop-Tarts, which I'm pretty sure are toxic to him.
"Come on, just give me one," Mensim exclaims, reaching over to steal the sweet snacks from me. "It can't be that bad!"
I lift the Pop-Tarts away from him, laughing. "Stoppit, you're attacking me! Pay attention to the movie, or I'm gonna shoot you!"
"But I just want one..."
"It's gonna poison you, and you're gonna get your weird alien throw-up all over me!"
Priestess Munghazi, the oldest of his moms, bursts into the living room, her jewellery clinking over her clerical cape.
"Your sister conveyed to me quite the disturbing piece of news, Mensim," Priestess Munghazi cries. "The father of Casimir is a priest of a most barbarous and evil perversion of the Siedi faith. Ghanvati and I spoke, and we agreed that you are not to consort with this primitive, pagan savage any longer."
I drop my crumbly Pop-Tart on the couch, confused at the sudden order.
"But Priestess Munghazi, I'm not dangerous or evil. I'm just a kid."
"Nonsense! You are dangerous; your father is a barbarian worshipper of this evil, primate paganism that is called Christianity, and a most woeful effect is begot that even self-respecting Senghavi have 'gone native,' as they say. Mensim, if you continue to consort with this native spawn, I will be impelled to inform the Siedi Court, and they may by chance see to it that he is executed!"
"W-Wait!" Mensim says, holding up the remote to pause our movie. He gets off of me, suddenly losing interest in my Pop-Tart, his vestigial forewings rising with concern. "Please, Mother. I promise he won't be any trouble."
My blood runs cold. Dad, executed? Just because what he believes in isn't "civilised" enough? Actually, I thought that Mom told him to stop preaching for a while.
Mensim scrambles to *his *father's sleeping quarters, and I trail frantically after him.
"Father," Mensim says. "Is Casimir's father's job so ghastly that he should be executed by the Siedi Court?"
"We can't just let the natives spread the same barbarous religions that they used to kill each other," Ghanvati replies, his secondary arms clasped together. "It's a threat to safe, moral society. Priestess Munghazi told me his father spreads evil and paganism. I have no reason not to trust the oldest of your mothers."
"But Casimir's my best friend! If you tell the Siedi Court about his father, I'll... I'll run away! I'll hate you!"
Distressed vibrations emanate through the floor beneath my feet; Mensim's antennae and papery forewings and hindwings go limp. Something like lilies and the earthy scent of rain fills the air.
"My dearest Mensim," Ghanvati says softly, dipping his head capsule with compassion. "I will hold off, just this once. It would be apt of you not to cause me to reconsider."
"T-thank you, Engineer Munghazi," I say, wiping my own tears. "My dad's not a bad person, I promise."
*After confronting his dad, Mensim and I keep on watching movies and playing digital games. He always wins when we wrestle, but I still haven't given up (even though Priestess Munghazi always tells us to stop roughhousing). *
I even bring my Lego pieces to his house. He doesn't know what Legos are, but later, in his sleeping quarters, we build together. He makes a cool-looking spaceship that he calls a "negative energy generator."
"Hey, you took all the cool black and grey pieces," I complain. "Now I can't finish my army base!"
"This is cooler than your army base," Mensim says proudly. "Father used to work in one. It uses the superposition of squeezed vacuum states to produce a field of negative energy density."
"I have no idea what that means, but that sounds really smart."
*"No kidding! It's how people make wormholes and fly all the way to other stars." *
"Well, my army guys could beat your negative energy-thingy. They have machine guns."
"My guys could just fly a [~million billion trillion kilometres] away, and yours can't do anything about it!"
"Then your guys are wimps. But my guys aren't. Because they're the Army!"
>! *We also explore the pine forest in his backyard. Within just two more weeks, we have uncovered all sorts of interesting things, like a piece of a real human skull. One time, we found a human foot sculpted and smoothed out of stone—who would make such a thing?—and a dead metal device with the icon of a bitten-out-of apple printed on it. *!<
There were also other human body parts made out of ancient stone, too: the cracked half of a man's face buried a foot deep, a muscly arm sticking out of the soil. Even a private part, which I snickered at, though Mensim seemed unfazed.
There is something else we start to do. My parents have given me "the talk," and Mensim told me that his parents gave him the Senghavi version of it. And so even as we talk and play in the woods, we experiment—because we are curious, and why should we not be?
A fragment of a memory in the forest; Mensim's raptorial forelimbs are set on my shoulders as his compound eyes look into my primate eyes, and he says, "You cannot tell anyone about this. Anyone. Absolutely no one."
I don't know how, but Priestess Munghazi learned of what we were doing, and now she expresses anger and disgust alike, her wings and antennae wild and rigid. Ghanvati is the same. Mensim and I... We're actually making them reconsider their decision not to tell the Siedi Court about my dad.
A fragment of a memory... I feel like I am in space, stranded aboard a spaceliner that has been hijacked by terrorists, its atmosphere venting amid a backdrop of violence... But I am not, I am in the forest that Mensim and I talked and played in; I am in Mensim's home, terrified as I am yelled at by Ghanvati, whose compassion no longer shines through, accompanied by Priestess Munghazi.
"By the names of the Gods, it's those false, pagan corruptions which humans have named as their religions, that are spouted by your father," Priestess Munghazi spits. I am teary-eyed and snot-nosed from guilt and embarrassment. "How horrid is the link between the state of barbarism and a most revolting and shameful propensity for bizarre and perverted behaviour!"
Then I am in my own family's living room, and the mom I love so dearly yells at me, too, but my father is quieter and only seems disappointed. This must be the first time in my life that I have felt true shame, I think; the kind that leaves you with an emptiness inside. Like the whole point of existing just vanished inside of me.
*The worst part is that I cannot even lean on Mom's shoulder, because she is distressed—because she knows what will happen— *
"This is all on you, Casimir!" she screeches, tears in her eyes. "All on you!"
I remember telling Priestess Munghazi that 'I'm not dangerous or evil; I'm just a kid,' but now I can't be sure anymore. I can tell I am different in the eyes of my family. They are disgusted by me.
After Priestess Munghazi tells the Siedi Court of my father's evil, barbaric Christian teachings, the Parimthian soldiers bring my father to the gallows. Their snow-white exoskeletons gleam under a burning sun. They have dressed him in his clerical uniform, and the camera is close enough that I can see his cross necklace.
I have been grounded in my room; still, I have a television to see the live broadcast.
Hanging works for primates and mantids alike. It happens in the Forum of Movvaeti, the venue for public events in our area, where my father is a lesser criminal compared to the native leaders and Senghavi malcontents who have dissented from Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth.
He is joined with seven other convicts, three humans and four Senghavi, and their crimes are read to the crowd—blasphemy, paganism, monogamy, witchcraft, seditious libel, insulting the Parimthian Crown, treason against the Parimthian Crown, and refusal to quarter Parimthian soldiers.
Why? None of this feels right. Why should my father be killed because of what he says and believes? Why can't these people be judged with fairness, rather than at the whim of some distant space emperor?
Not only have I been grounded, but I grow cold without my mother's touch. I want to hold someone's hand while watching Dad lose his life, but nobody is there. Mom brings me food, but she doesn't even look at me. Why can't she look at me? Why can't she speak to me? I just want things to be the way they used to be, when Dad would help me practise hitting a ball with a bat on the street.
I watch him turn down a caped, bejewelled priestess of the Siedi faith, who thought she could make my dad accept their Gods before his death. Before a modest crowd of humans and Senghavi alike, all eight of the convicts have their arms and legs bound with rope.
I am begging myself to turn the TV off, but I can't bring myself to. The Senghavi executioner uses some kind of hi-tech display to remove the supports from beneath the convicts' feet. My stomach flips over inside of me, a nausea of shame filling my body.
I can't deny it any longer. This is my fault—this is why my family avoids me—this is why they are disgusted by me—and Dad falls and his head jerks when the noose goes taut.
As he hangs there, I cannot tell for how long he remains alive. My insides are cold. After the broadcast ends, after night falls and I sit in the moonlight spilling faintly through my windows, that is when it all comes out. I sob alone. I scream for Mom to help me and be there for me, but she does not come. Her harsh voice resonates through my memory; this is all on me. I am a disgrace to everyone I love, and that is why they have left me here. Why they avoid me as if I am a disease.
The only thing I want is to see Dad again, but he is gone forever. I curl up on my room floor. What is this? What is this loneliness? This stinging hatred I feel against myself?
No one, human or mantid, will be there for me. I cry until my throat cannot ache any more harshly, until my eyes cannot sting any more painfully, and then I go cold inside, my body shivering in the moonlight. I retreat into my happy memories with Dad until it is too painful to bear.
I wish so dearly I could end it all, to take my own life and join Dad in the heaven that he believed in. There is a belt in my closet that I can use on myself in the way the Siedi Court killed Dad.
But beneath the sickly well of shame, the nausea and crushing humiliation at the stupid antics of Mensim and I, with which Mom's brief gaze pierces me—beneath the weight of knowing that I will never fill the torturous vacuum Dad left, knowing that I am a foul and disgusting son to the mother I so desperately need, that I see no end to the infinite river of anxiety and guilt pouring through the hole left in my heart—beneath my isolation and my longing for human touch—something breaks inside of me.
An emptiness of purpose. There is no point in going on, and I feel nothing, not even the desire to stop living. There is one exception: A hatred of myself, and of the humans I loved as family.
One day, Mom appears in my doorway, and she just stands there. Before, I would've welcomed being offered interaction with her beyond just receiving food, but now I am numb, my eyes all out of tears to cry.
"Pack your things," she says, her voice flat. She still doesn't look at me; the eyes she once said I inherited from Dad, she now shuns. "You're going to a residential school."
Indigenous Residential Schools; that is what Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth calls them, I think. They're for human kids who have trouble letting go of their "savage" roots; kids that the normal schools aren't enough to civilise. Schools that show you how to act Senghavi, to think Senghavi, to... be Senghavi.
There was a human kid in normal school whose sister went there, but they said that something had happened to her there; something in that residential school had changed her before she finally returned.
But I feel no fear as I pack my clothes into my bags. Every time I look in my bedroom mirror, a violent feeling rushes to my chest, only to dissipate into the hatred-tinged numbness I have grown so used to.
Finally, the time comes to depart. In the early morning, I am already aboard the autonomous public transport. It pulls out of the cracked street I once played with Dad in, passing by the entrance of Fellye Neighborhood, driving off into the fiery, violet Terran dawn. I see my faded reflection in the window, and my chest jumps with revulsion.
So I look down, fidgeting with my touchpad—then the numbness abruptly leaves, and my tears fall once again.
Forgive me for all the redaction, Doctor Morgthax. While I will not disclose what I wrote, you are correct, as always, about the act of writing. There is some semblance of psychological relief in typing one's sullen inner thoughts onto a touchpad. As if one can be heard without being heard.
By the time I drifted back to reality, my mouth and lips dry from dehydration, the hijackers had patched up the holes punched through the hull by the accidental explosion. Plenty of Senghavi passengers were spilling cerulean blood from beneath their exoskeletal coverings; though they were all alive, they needed medical attention.
Two hundred-something Senghavi civilians aboard this luxury spaceliner, and none had yet died. That stroke of luck offered me a glimmer of hope.
Pavok, the child, was emitting vibrations through the floor in his despair, the smell of rain and lilies becoming evident to me. It is starkly fascinating, the evolutionary dissimilarity between how native Terrans and Senghavi Terrans cry.
Those ships were delivering medical aid and critical provisions to the passengers, Commander Lokprel barked, the neutrino signals that encoded his gruff voice coming out from the intercom. Why did you laser them?
"Stop playing games," Jake snapped wearily into his radio. I recalled that his full name was Jacob Weaver, as Commander Lokprel had mentioned. A drop of blood streaked down his face. "We know what you're up to."
Paranoia will get you nowhere, Jacob. If we don't work with each other, you won't survive. We have detected an explosion aboard the spaceliner. Is anyone dead?
"Not yet," Jake growled. "But Fenni Svim will be if your forces keep approaching!"
Fenni Svim—the Senghavi from the Vellir Veneti Physics Lab, against whose skull Jake had pressed his pistol to halt the CDF's initial approach, hours ago—stiffened in her seat. I had never known the nuclear researcher very well before this barbarous event, but I prayed to the Gods of Siedi (whom I do not really believe in) that she would be okay.
Many of the passengers were still being kept by the windows to deter snipers. They included Pavok, behind whom Khadija stood guard.
"Sorry for attacking you," Jake suddenly said to me, his voice worn-out. "It's like Khadija said. The bugs know that humans are strong when they're united. It's why they try to play us against ourselves, to ally with just some of us, to try to make us hate each other; to hate ourselves. It's how they tore the United States apart. Everything they do... It's to make us ashamed of our species, our own culture, to lose hope in the future. If we were united, Casimir... they'd be terrified of us. And make no mistake—we're uniting again."
"E-even if what you say about mankind is true," I croaked, "Our species would not have settled anywhere but Earth. Our culture and history would still have been negligible and primitive, the richness and complexity of the Senghavi, still greater by many orders of magnitude."
"Casimir, did you go to one of the Indigenous Residential Schools?" Khadija asked.
"Y-yes," I managed, dusting off my formal wear and cleaning my glasses. "I was sent to one as a child. They are for those of us savage natives which conventional education could not sufficiently civilise."
Khadija's eyes softened with compassion, and she gestured to my wrist. "I asked because of that code on your wrist. I've heard about some of the things that happen in those places. The cruelty; the abuse."
I glanced at the abstract identification code tattooed onto my skin, faded with time. I hadn't thought about it in ages; it was but a remnant of my childhood, and I never paid it any attention.
"Residential schooling is necessary and proper," I tell her. "It is similar to human-mantid apartheid in its purpose; it keeps the public safe from savagery. "
"If we get out of this alive, I'm gonna take you with me to Russia," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Specifically, Moscow. It's where I lived after the fall of Türkiye. Man controls it, not the Senghavi."
I was already aware that a vast, untamed region named Zvorriu-Sai, located in Earth's northeastern quarter-sphere, is called Russia in simple-speak. A decade ago, Nieve fe Skellth had tried to civilise the hunter-gatherers who lived there, but his troops starved and froze in the snow.
It was with the multitude of planetary habitat fabricators that his army had been using that the native primates of Zvorriu-Sai constructed such cities as Moscow or Saint Petersburg.
"Russian civilization goes back over a millennium," Khadija explained. "I don't give a fuck about what the Senghavi have built on this planet; Russian architecture is my favourite, hands down. Anyway, it's the most stable and self-sufficient of the ten countries we've got left. Hard to invade, you know? It's seen better days, but the cities are nice, the economy is good. I think you'll find it's a hell of a lot less 'savage' than whatever the fuck the Parimthian Empire is doing."
To corroborate her claims, she showed me a photo from the gallery of her cracked, dusty touchpad. Before a busy canal, the waters tinted orange by a rising sun, a more relaxed version of her smiled into the camera alongside some human of the phenotype I had seen in the video of Tokyo. Looming over them was an intricate, palatial structure topped with colourful, onion-shaped domes.
"How... quaint," I replied, unsure of what to say, though it ignited dry laughter in Khadija.
"Looks like we got a communiqué from the UN," another hijacker announced, his mask still covering his face. I couldn't place his accent at all. He held up his own touchpad, displaying photos of the Colonial Governor herself—Perellanth fe Sumur—flanked by armed UN military personnel. They were clad in urban camouflage that was marred with blood. The black, plant-like extraterrestrial gazed defeatedly in the sterile lighting.
The UN had captured her! The Crown's decision to appoint a Vire as the leader of a Senghavi colony had been no small event. I was certain that after all the talk of Senghavi Terran independence, then followed by the Colonial Governor's capture, His Imperial Majesty regretted his progressivist decision.
"We... We did it!" Jake exclaimed, his voice disbelieving. "We took down Perellanth!"
You achieved nothing, Commander Lokprel retorted over the intercom. Not beyond the promotion of Benghoviu fe Prim to Acting Colonial Governor. If you kill Governor Sumur, Governor Benghoviu will become the permanent Colonial Governor as per the chain of command, and he will carry on the fine work of his predecessor.
Jake seemed to consider that situation a fair one, and he nodded to himself subtly. "Okay, sure. But if you do nothing, we'll still kill our first hostage."
What I can promise you is that Delegate Essintsya fe Baryn will submit an Act to the Forum of Delegates to recognize the sovereignty of the UN. It will be deliberated over for months, but it is your only realistic option. In return, we demand that you allow the passengers injured by one of your explosives to board CDF medical ships.
I recalled that the Forum of Delegates had voted Benghoviu fe Prim as Vice Colonial Governor just a year ago. And before even that, the Senghavi who lived on Vennec—my home continent on Earth—had popularly elected the ever-prudent Essintsya fe Baryn to the Forum. She was quite the economic liberal, as her sort was called.
Delegate Baryn's statements on the social contract between a people and their government, as well as her rejection that the Parimthian Crown ruled by divine right, had resonated deeply with me.
Jake's eyes hardened, and he turned his radio back on. "I said no games!"
There are no games here, Jacob! We only aim to preserve as much sapient life as possible. And you are out of options.
The hijacker who had shown Colonial Governor Sumur's prison photo gave Jake a withering look. "We're dragging this on, man. I don't want anyone to die."
"Don't talk to me about death, Ramiro. Not after what happened in the US."
The so-called United States of America... called Gholo Vieda in Parimthian. That region was Nieve fe Skellth's last successful conquest before he attempted to take on the vast, snowy expanses of Zvorriu-Sai. I wondered if, like Khadija's experience in Türkiye in the Niethvahi region, Jake had witnessed firsthand the cultural assimilation and political integration of Gholo Vieda into the rest of Parimthian Earth.
The conquest of Gholo Vieda and Niethvahi were the great accomplishments of Perellanth's predecessor, of course; but, in my opinion, the devotion of the (now captured) Perellanth to the causes of liberty, reason, equality, and sapientism far outshadowed anything that Nieve had done. I am certain, however, that the Parimthian Crown disagrees.
In any case, my faith in CDF Commander Lokprel loth Fonvie had not risen. Perhaps that was a good thing; otherwise, I might have regretted betraying the knowledge of antimatter research in order to elicit a more competent Parimthian intervention.
More security forces took up positions around the spaceliner, each ship split sharply into sunlight and shadow amid the black of space. The hijacker called Ramiro pointed to a series of smaller craft, which seemed to be pulling away from the luxury spaceliner. Escape pods!
"Hostages are falling through our fingers," Ramiro said. "We need to do something."
"Go to the rear," Khadija ordered. "Stop anyone else from sneaking out!"
Jake's radio crackled with the voice of someone in the cockpit. We've intercepted a neutrino transmission from the new guy, Benghoviu fe Prim. He's calling for some kind of emergency council at the highest levels in the Parimthian Empire.
I scoffed internally. The Crown would intervene for the sake of investigating all this talk of antimatter, whose alluring utility had hitherto been confined to theory and fiction. But it was doubtful that His Imperial Majesty would agree to an emergency council for the sake of his colonists' security and well-being. As (relatively) progressivist as he was in policy, he was still very much a punitive emperor, not a rewarding one.
"I told the commander to stop advancing—dammit!" Jake spat. "We're only letting medical craft get any closer. Fire at the corvettes!"
Affirmative, his radio crackled. Targets in sight.
The spaceliner's anti-collision lasers flashed against several faraway spacecraft. A succession of oxygen-fueled fires, each lasting for a [~split-second] against the vacuum of space, flared in the distance. Even so, the growing array of naval craft began to close in upon us again, surrounding the spaceliner in every dimension.
Switching again to the neutrino-connected channel, Jake gave a disgusted scowl. "Are you deaf, Commander? If your people keep getting closer, the deal is off!"
The more you fire, the closer we will get, *Lokprel said. *We are just making sure it is safe for the medical craft. As long as you refrain from harming them, we will not hurt you.
The hijacker in the cockpit radioed to Jake again, her voice sounding more alarmed.
We're picking up a massive object on our scanners. It's headed our way.
"How massive are we talking?" Jake asked.
It's... some kind of warship, I think. Over a hundred times our size.
"You're joking, right?"
"A Parimthian spacecraft carrier," murmured a soft, whimpery voice.
It was Fenni Svim again, her praying raptorial forelimbs tucked close in fear.
"The Imperial Parimthian Navy?" I asked. "They're really here?"
"Y-you shouldn't act surprised," Fenni said. "I know you were speaking to someone on the P-Parimthian side. You leaked our greatest secret, Casimir."
"R-right."
"What's she talking about, dude?" Khadija asked. Suspicion of betrayal lingered in her dark eyes. She had believed the lie that I was only calling a loved one when I contacted Mensim, >! who is at present an agent of Parimth!<; she had trusted me, and defended me against Jake's wrath.
I didn't answer. The very reason we needed antimatter was that the colonists' outerspace spanned but a meagre few millionths of the Parimthian Empire's total volume. I did not know what exactly a spacecraft carrier one hundred times the size of our spaceliner could do for the hostages, but it would be far more competent than the comparatively flimsy Colonial Defence Force.
Finally, after so many years of strategic modesty in the administration of the Crown's distant colony, of his Earth, as His Imperial Majesty suffered expense upon expense in countering the Imperium of Orion... Parimth had sent a warship of the Imperial Parimthian Navy, here in full force!
There was no need to inquire as to its distance; I could see it through my window. It was far enough that I could view the whole of its great form. Senghavi architecture, of course, is usually round, white, and glassy, traced with glowing accents; however, the imperial warship was boxy and shadowy black, visible only by the silhouette that it carved into the beaming sun.
Already, dozens of smaller craft—operated by some of the finest Senghavi pilots in the Milky Way—began spilling out from the spacecraft carrier, moving in the shadow of their gargantuan mothership. As even the hostage passengers became aware of its presence, the muted chatter and whimpering, which had been ambient across the aisles of the spaceliner, finally ceased.
Because of me, all of us—colonists and savages alike—were, for the first time in a decade, going to face a military intervention by Parimth itself.

Did they change how the tiles work with the find my phone? I thought you could use your tile to call your phone at any time, but now it seems like you can only do it if the app is open or the phone is unlocked.
After testing my mom’s I can ring the iPhone if:

• the phone is unlocked and the app is open
• the phone is locked and the app is open
• the phone is unlocked and the app is closed

But I cannot ring the phone if:

• the phone is locked and the app is closed

Is that the intended functionality? I’ve had tiles for years now and don’t remember it being that way. That feels like it defeats the purpose of the find my phone feature, no?

I am currently 9 weeks along after having my son 6 months ago. They did a C-section with my son because I developed preeclampsia, and the Dr said there was a tear or something in my uterus so I'd definitely have to have another C-section with a subsequent pregnancy.
I didn't mind the C-section or the recovery, but I wish I'd been out cold for it, to be honest. I spent most of the time during the operation begging the doctors to knock me out because I was barfing, the blood pressure cuff was too tight, and the feeling of rummaging around in my body was unbearable even though I wasn't in pain.
Can I ask the doctors in advance to knock me out this time around? Is that even done anymore?