Jon and dany archive

So let me preface this by saying I am estranged from my mother and have been for most of my life. She is a paranoid narcissist, a racist, a homophobe, a xenophobe, and just all around terrible person. She abused me growing up so I cut loose in high school, got emancipated and got on with my life. For years I had a happy queer relationship with another woman and we had a son together (I carried with a sperm donor). When my kid was 5 his other mom died and I was alone for 5 years before I met someone. A year later, that someone and I got married. Previous to said wedding my husband’s parents felt it would be important to meet my parents. My father died when I was 19 so that left my mother and her husband. I struggled over the decision to try and reconnect with my mom, knowing how bad this can get for me in these situations (I suffer severe ptsd from the abuse trauma).. but it was a wedding and everyone kept telling me it “was important to have family together.” So fine, let’s do this.
The problems started fast and furious. My mom came to our coast (we live on opposite coasts) to meet my fiancé and my son. Right away she was pulling my husband to the corner to tell him all the “dirt” she could on me, or conversely, telling him he better get me nice cars and plastic surgery. Then she stated calling all of her friends and putting my fiancé on the phone to “prove to them that her daughter was marrying a doctor” (even if he is a goyem (a Yiddish term for non-Jew. Has slightly derogatory tones).
Cut to lunch and my mother is asking how many tables she “gets” at the wedding. I ask “huh?” She explains she needs a least 5 tables at 10 per table for HER guests. I was really confused. I explained that our whole wedding venue seated 50 people total and those seats were spoken for. I had invited several people my mother asked me to have already. She went absolutely bananas demanding we change venue (we’re now 6 weeks from the wedding) to accommodate HER GUESTS. I painfully explained we can’t do that.. it’s not possible.. just no. She then switches gears like she always does and asks about our honeymoon. We were heading to Mexico for 2 weeks and my son would be staying with his donomyBFF. My mom screamed “what??? He needs to be with HIS FAMILY.” I reminded her that he was staying with family. She demanded time with my son so I half heartedly said she could have him half the time. (This will come back to haunt me later.)
Cut to the wedding. Did I mention my mom is a low key alkie? So it’s about 2pm and she’s in the bridal suite in the bathroom. I’m in the dress and the photographer is waiting for my mother to come and use an antique button-holer to button up my gown. I’m nervous and excited and emotional because I’m in the dress and this is my day. This is one of the photos we had pre-planned to take. I asked my mother if she would do the honors. Instead, my mother is in the bathroom half dressed with her fireball and ice screaming into the phone at her husband “you are so stupid, how can you not find it!? I put it on the damn dresser! I can’t f**ing believe I married you…” you get the picture. It’s so loud the guests in the living room can hear it. I finally give up and have my son do the buttonholing for me (the pics were so special). Thank goodness it wasn’t video because you would have her my mother screaming “Can anyone get me another drink?? Does this room even have room service??”
Cut to walking down the aisle. We do the ceremony, it’s perfect, and my delightful friend and officiant announces “Introducing Mr. & Mrs Jon— when suddenly my mom stands up and screams “It’s DOCTOR not MISTER, get it right!”
Now I knew we had a problem on our hands ahead of the big day so I put in some contingency plans in place to buffer her. My wedding planner was under strict instructions to not allow my mother to make a speech (she loves to humiliate me by saying personal things about me to anyone who will listen and then she loves to announce what a terrible daughter I am and how much of a disappointment to her.) Second plan was my SIL faking a heart attack if she got her hands on the mic. About half thru dinner my delightful planner comes to me crying saying she’s so sorry but my mom is demanding to make a speech. That’s right, this tiny demon of a woman made my wedding planner CRY. Right then she stood up (have no idea how she got the mic) and said, “So my daughter didn’t want me to say anything. I guess she gets embarrassed, but I’m her MOTHER, and I get to say whatever I want. I’m here to say that I always knew she was going to marry a doctor, it didn’t surprise me at all. What did surprise me is when I gave birth to her and the nurses told me she was a girl, but I didn’t believe them so I had to take her diaper off and spread her legs and look at her vagina to make sure she was a girl.” She illustrated this by spreading her two fingers open. You could here jaws dropping around the room. She then went on to say “how disappointed she was in me that I don’t see her more often and that she hopes now that I have a doctor husband I’ll be able to see her more frequently”. Sadly my SIL was in the loo and plan 2 failed.
Cut to the dancing. I am dancing with my husband and my friends. We’re all having a good time when somebody comes up to me and taps me on the shoulder and says “hey, I don’t wanna cause a scene or anything but you might want to look at your mom”. I look over at my mother and she has taken off the jacket to her dress and now she’s peeling off the shoulder straps one by one and waving her head around to the music saying “oh my goodness it’s getting so hot in here!” This b*tch was trying to take her clothes off on the dance floor. Oh, I forgot to mention earlier that she had a three drink maximum, but she was getting around this by asking other people to get drinks for her.
The next morning I of course got to hear alllllll the embarrassing stories from the night before. She asked why my friend married “an Arab,” called another guest “not Jewish enough to attend the wedding” and complained to anyone who would listen that I didn’t even allow her 50 guests, and the party would have been so much more fun if she had done it.
And the pièce derésistance? Right as we were leaving for our honeymoon I got a call from her saying “I know you need me to watch your kid, but not unless you do something for me. You’ll need to call your brother and make nice with him again.” My brother and I are estranged for reasons I can’t get into now. I said no, he’ll go to his real family, the one that cares for him without strings attached. There is so much more she did around my wedding but to would be way to long to include everything!
There you have it! One cluster fuck of a mother story! For anyone interested, we don’t talk anymore and I couldn’t be happier. Good riddance to bad rubbish!

Rewatched a few older seasons recently (Pearl Islands, Vanuatu, Guatemala, and China) and I was just reminded of the old pieces of the show that I’m missing in this new era. Things that stood out to me were:
—the unique theme song/long intro for each season
—the Rites of Passage (it’s nice to get final comments from everyone and to hear what the final group thinks about each of them + the song is eternally stuck in my head)
—the organic progression of the story (as you proceed through the season, each episode feels like it’s building on “storylines” from the previous eps)
—the monotony of camp life: the conversations, the strange/hilarious events that occurred, the fishing, the misery through bad weather, etc
—the fact that everyone felt less seasoned for the most part; the contestants would just progress through the game, repair sheltefish/make fire and let the strategy develop organically, rather than getting to the beach and “gaming” right off the bat like the newer contestants do
—the unique, larger-than-life “characters” who filled certain roles, like the Caveman Southern Gentleman Bobby Jon, the evil villain Russell Hantz, the neurotic city girl student Eliza, the animal/challenge beast Ozzy, etc. The few “characters” that we get nowadays seem so forced, like they’re set up by the producers in episode one or some shit
Anyway, what do y’all think? I’m a big survivor fan but admittedly I don’t browse this subreddit much. I’ve tried to watch the past few seasons but I just lost interest

Hello all, I just completed an undergraduate degree in history at the university of Vermont. I am doing a fellowship at a historic site this summer and I am very interested in the field of HP. Im looking at masters programs in HP that will offer legal and practical education on the subject. Before that I plan to take a year off from school and was wondering what suggestions people might have about useful ways to spend that time in between. Do folks recommend trying to get technical experience by working for a contractor that does historic restoration? What about an internship related to the field? (e.g. archives or museum work)
P.S. I will be in the NYC area and would love to know if there are any HP opportunities specific to that city that people could point me towards. General advice for recent graduate trying to get more involved in the field HP would also be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance for any feedback.

I mean fics that make you go 'Jesus what the fuck am i reading, but its actually really good'
My nomination: Book of the Stranger this fic is like a psychological horror at times. I actually felt dread when Daenerys started slipping into madness in this, Or the Post S8 Wall arc.
The PTSD Jon feels from rising from the dead and the Army of the dead and Sansa from Ramsay feels quite realistic and isnt glossed over.
Its Tags include: i've been told this fic makes people uncomfortable, squirm-inducing even.
And i couldn't agree more, but damn this fic is captivating at times. Especially when the 'Post Show' story begins.

I'm just curious about some other thoughts on the subject...
I don't think it was necessary to introduce Lifeweaver as "our first pan sexual hero!"
This game is rated T for Teen. I can honestly say not once have I ever logged in and just pondered "hmm, I wonder who Baptiste is boning today...?" Literally not once, so why are their sexual preferences being forced upon us? We ask for nerfs/buffs, for ranked to actually work, for more content, and what we get is a bunch of rainbow stuff forced upon us, and backstory about things that literally have no bearing upon the Overwatch universe. I want content, playable content, not your goofy sexual fan fiction nonsense.
Has Blizzard completely lost sight of everything? They embarrass themselves and every one of us who plays and cares for this game by scraping PVE, and the first thing they do is pander to the LGBTQ-whatever community?!? Seems to be garnering favor with a community who has proven to be the loudest, hoping they would sing their praises for the acknowledgement to shoosh some of the other stuff under the carpet.
We sure as hell didn't see any in game changes for Black History month, no Baptiste backstory (which probably could've been great.) We don't get special fathers/mothers day content. We don't find out that a hero is Jewish around the holidays, or maybe Orisa celebrates Kwanzaa, but hey, Pharah sure does love pussy!
Again, this is a T rated game, targeted for teens/young adults, why is this necessary?
I've played all of the Archives missions/junkenstein, I love them, it's a refreshing change of pace, plus the extra story content to add context as to why we are all standing around the slowest cart known to man day after day is really helpful. However, not once in any of those missions does Baptiste struggle with his apparent desire to suck dicks... not once, nor did sexual orientation play a part in a single mission. The fight is between humans and omnics, that is the struggle, yet this team is so consistently unaware of what it's game is and how to build forward, that we get a new hero as wonky as his sexual identity, a bunch of rainbows and a damn fan fiction, and they actually think that was a job well done?!?!
Am I the only one feeling like there are now multiple universes I'm desperate need of saving right now?

The day seemed like it would be ordinary until the aeronautical community’s most sought after document showed up on my doorstep.
It came wrapped in brown kraft paper tied off with twine, and the exterior packaging had no return address nor any indication of a postage stamp. It was as though it had been simply bundled up and dropped into my wall-mounted mailbox by a random passerby.
No part of me was willing to surrender the strange parcel without opening it first. Regardless of who its contents truly belonged to, my eyes would be the first to see it. I removed the twine and then dug a thumb under a fold in the packaging paper before clawing it away to expose a brown tan notebook circa 1900. It was full grain buffalo leather with a crisscross of cord for the spine and a thick hand cut string keeping it sealed shut.
When I undid the string, the pages that had been gripped tight by the leather fanned out gently then returned to their original position, my eyes landing on the front page. It was without a printer’s mark and read in big handwritten type: “THE DIARY AND RECORD OF HENRY H. HELGELAND.”
I knew in that instant the package was in the hands of who it was rightfully sent out for. Not just because I’d recently lost my job as an associate at our city’s art museum but because of a separate, much deeper connection to the diary’s author.
Perhaps it’s in my best interests to turn it over to the National Archives, or the US Arctic Research Commission, or maybe even the U.S. Capitol Visitor Center, but at the risk of seeing it blue-penciled to death, I’ve elected to instead share it here and now.
The world needs to know what happened.
---
Henry H. Helgeland — my great grandfather — was a severe looking man with a walrus mustache and a bone to pick with anyone who ever doubted him. He was born in Oakland, California in 1871 and was, by all available accounts relayed to me, well-behaved and well-liked. His father worked a lucrative job in the shipping industry, transporting timber between San Francisco and the Central Valley. Two years into Henry’s life, his mother would contract a fatal case of diphtheria and die shortly thereafter; when he was old enough to understand what had happened, Henry “yearn[ed] fervently for a reunion to mend [his] great anguish and sorrow.”
Near the turn of the 20th century, Henry attended Stanford University’s Department of Mechanical Engineering, where he learned everything from thermodynamics to machine design. But it was a lecture about polar transportation that would ultimately kindle his interest in a separate enterprise: arctic exploration. Indeed, the race to the North Pole was well underway, with naval officers, geologists, and aeronauts around the globe vying for the chance to make history. My great grandfather, like many of his peers, propounded the theory that he, and he alone, would be the first to reach the Great White North.
In 1895, Henry graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in mechanical engineering and sought to expand the member list of the so called Ascension Society, a student organization he’d assembled to aid engineering graduates with materials science. Many of its constituents had engaged in research projects and experimental setups to hone their craft of mechanical systems, but in time, however, the venture would instead prove a hotspot for investors and philanthropists. Donations averaging up to $5,000 helped fund and promote the fantastic ambitions of my great grandfather. So long as the Ascension Society was gracing him with their support, he’d be the first to reach the North Pole.
In early 1898, armed with enough capital, Henry used the proceeds to purchase the materials required for the balloon.
---
A notable circus at the forefront of traveling attractions in the early twentieth century was The Fielding Troupe. With its impressive lineup of talent — from fire eaters and aerialists to equestrians and strongmen — the ensemble drew crowds from nearly every town in western America during its historic run. Its wide reach would ultimately reel in many notable faces, including my great grandfather.
Prior to a performance in Oakland, the Fielding Troupe led a procession through the town around Stanford University, announcing their arrival with a parade of wagons, floats, and animals. The strategy, as it were, was to drum up as much publicity and fanfare as possible. Evidently it worked, as a healthy fraction of the faculty and student body at Stanford made the trip over to Oakland in order to see the troupe in action.
Surrounding their arena with two hundred feet of heavy duty tent canvas, the troupe put on a show for the ages the night Henry was in attendance, with extravagant acrobatics, trained animal performances, and a special appearance from Curtis the Clown. Following a skillful display of juggling and good natured audience ribbing, Curtis’s master stroke was an intricate stunt involving balloons and wire flying. Firstly, he would inflate several multi-colored balloons and tie them off with string, securing them firmly in his grip. They served as a flashy distraction from the piece of flexible metal snaking out from the harness he had concealed under his equally flashy costume. Then, with a whisper of strength, a couple stagehands hoisted the balloon-carrying clown thirty feet into the air to make it appear as though he was levitating by virtue of the balloons alone. A separate performer — a marksman — showed off his sharpshooting skills with a Winchester model rifle and gunned down the balloons, exploding each one as the stagehands loosened their hold on Curtis’s harness until he was eased to the ground.
Henry watched the routine with eager delight. Seeing Curtis the Clown float above a hundred or so onlookers helped stir within him a plan. The ceiling of the Big Top Tent where Curtis had concluded his ascent represented more than the centerpiece of a traveling circus.
“Ascendancy,” Henry muttered to his wife Ruth. “This is how we get to the top of the world.”
---
The spherical vessel measured sixty-five feet in diameter, with a capacity of over 200,000 cubic feet. Its construction was overseen by Henry and a couple french engineers who installed in its gondola three berths and ample ballast to keep it stable. The gondola, a carefully constructed assemblage of wicker and chestnut wood, was built as such to bar any interference to the magnetic instruments of the explorers. Keeping it shielded against severe weather conditions was a varnished silk calotte and a vaselined net composed of over four-hundred hemp cords. A bamboo pole was attached bellow the carrying ring to attach the side sails and, perhaps most notably, the balloon was fitted with hemp and cocoa nut fiber guide ropes to help steer and maintain a consistent altitude.
After two years of exhaustive construction, work on the balloon was completed in 1900. Henry named it Ascension, after the society that funded its creation.
---
What follows are several selected passages lifted directly from Henry’s memorandum, transcribed by me. The first entry reads:
“At nine o'clock on the forenoon, May 5, 1900, under the auspices of the Ascension Society, we embarked from the 71st parallel on our quest of the Pole. Our great journey sets off from Point Barrow, Alaska following a grueling adventure aboard the steamer Sursum. I, Henry Helgeland, travel forth, accompanied by Charles Ringvold, esteemed navigator, and Edward Meyer, long celebrated physician, into the arctic wilderness. Together, our efforts will generate a most formidable team and an unwavering spirit. We will ascend.”
Indeed, the SS Sursum disembarked from a port in San Francisco in mid May of that year; it offered easy access to the Pacific Ocean and sailed through the Bering Strait, covering over 3,000 nautical miles before reaching Point Barrow on July 2.
When the balloon took off, carried by a fierce north east wind, it was to a thunderous applause from those that had come to bear witness to the bold endeavor. Among them were crew members of the SS Sursum, high ranking associates of the Ascension Society, and carpenters tasked with helping the balloon reach its initial phase of liftoff.
As it elevated to 300 hundred feet and passed around an onlooking whaler, Henry was reported to have shouted: “To the top of the world, hurrah!”
---
36 hours would elapse before a second entry was made.
“July 4, 1900, Lat. 77° 48' N, Long. 143° 4' W. We are soaring at a height of 600 feet above the Earth's surface, traveling at a speed of approximately seven kilometers per hour. Our morale remains similarly aloft. Charles relayed to me that, God willing, we anticipate reaching the pole in roughly 800 miles. Beyond the drag ropes lending their ballast to our journey, optimism is our guiding force. We will ascend.”
Turbulent air currents had a different plan in mind, however.
“July 5, 1900, Lat. 80° 8' N, Long. 138° 37' W. Alas! Our aerial journey came to an abrupt halt yestereve on the 80th parallel. We voyaged as many as 500 miles before a forceful downdraft spun our vehicle on its vertical axle and compelled it into a sharp descent; we had lost what we estimate to be just over 100 cubic feet of gas.
“Edward suffered severe injuries during the initial impact and claims his vertebrae have been shattered, leaving him immobile. We’re at the mercy of the floe on which we now rest, at the mercy of the Polar Sea. Should we face the specter of death, we shall meet it with unwavering honor. We will ascend.”
---
“July 6, 1900. We find ourselves solitary in the barren expanse, accompanied only by bergs, ice-fields, and majestic glaciers. Our rations encompass a container’s worth of hardtack, enough salted beef for approximately one week, canned stew, dried apricots, some chocolate bars, and seven bottles of ale.
“Edward’s outlook remains grim; he suspects he’ll never walk again. In witness of his current state, I’m beginning to share in such apprehensions. Edward, whom we have reposed on on of our sledges, fears that the opportunity to make known the great love he holds for his mistress Rebecca is one he’ll never be granted. ‘You shall be reunited at once,’ I assured him. ‘Our journey to triumph will not be thwarted by minor inconveniences.’
“We’ve plotted the course to our next destination: that being Herschel Island, located off the coast of Canada in the Beaufort Sea. Charles — who shares in Edward’s dismay — estimates a three month footslog spanning just under one thousand miles is in store for us, perhaps more given Edward’s ailment. I am determined to see this mission to its completion, yet survival remains a paramount desire. Who’s to recount our extraordinary journey should we fail?
“While establishing our encampment and scouting the local flora of the area for additional sources of sustenance, I happened upon a plant of an unknown species. Half a meter tall, bulbous tubers, and thin roots terminating in clusters of white flowers; intuition suggests this is a water hemlock, which precludes it from edibility. Nevertheless, I shall regard this finding as one of great fortune. A portent of divine value. We will ascend.”
---
Two days later, gold prospectors off the Alaskan coast at Nome beach were in the process of emptying their sluice boxes when from the sky flew a carrier pigeon directly to their mining site. It bore a label with the inscription “Helgeland” and contained the following dispatch:
“July 7, 1900. First dog watch. Three southerly traveling carrier-pigeons were sent off at approximately 7 h. 40 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, the following among them. This is Rear Admiral Charles Ringvold of the United States Navy and the Helgeland Balloon Expedition of 1900. Our hopes of reaching the pole have been reduced to naught. Assistance urgently needed. Our destinies have hitherto been unknown, and now my fears have been actualized. GO IN TERROR OF HENRY HELGELAND. He is not who he proclaims to be. I volunteered for a man of honorable stature and venturesome drive. The man before me betrays neither.”
The remainder of the message was a hasty scrawl, decrypted only by the best in linguistics and modern codebreaking.
“UNASSISTED WE WILL PERISH HELPED WE WILL PERSEVERE PLEASE GOD HELP US HENRY WILL KILL US ALL DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT HE PROCLAIMS.”
The communication was immediately passed off to the Smithsonian Institution, where word fell within the earshot of Ascension Society proponents and additional members of the US Navy. A follow-up expedition — a rescue team led by Captain S. P. Matthews — was put together at once with the authorization of the Secretary of War.
Months later, after a congressional bill introduced to secure grant funding for arctic exploration — and thereby a rescue mission for Helgeland’s lost expedition — was successfully passed, the USS Greenwich departed from the San Francisco Naval Shipyard with a crew of thirty boatswains, medics, and deck officers among others.
What they would ultimately uncover puzzled them all.
---
“July 7, 1900. The team has fractured. We are without our provisions and without the morale that has served us thusly.
“Charles and I set upon the pursuit and capture of a walrus, a most strenuous task in the Arctic Circle. Furnished with a Winchester model .40-82, the sport skews in our favor but we are in no short supply of peril. These are one ton beasts with the strength of a hundred strongmen as they stave the ice, and yet it is not them I should have feared.
“’I can’t allow you to proceed further.’ I heard the click clack racket of the Winchester as Charles chambered a round and raised the rifle, training its twenty inch barrel toward my back after I had volunteered — quite ignorantly — to take the vanguard.
“’Charles?’ I managed between clattering teeth.
“’You’re a man of bold stature. An honorable man at that. But not honorable enough to die for. And that’s it, Henry. I will not die for you.’
“’You speak out of distress, not rationality.’
“’I’m as rational as one permits when I say we won’t all make it to Canada. You can’t expect us to sledge Edward for the next month and retain our strength. Our sanities.” I could hear him gulp, ‘our lives.’
“’You’re not who you say you are.’ I realized in that moment. ‘Not even an ensign would renounce his own crew. Who are you really, Charles?’
“His credentials were a farce; a clever scheme to scrape through the expedition’s vetting process. He was no navy-man nor expert nor navigator and if you piled his life’s accomplishments on top of one another, they’d be equal to that of a cretin.
“’Doesn’t matter any more, Henry.’
“’Then why haven’t you shot me?’
“I sensed beyond his terror a hint of reluctance and felt within him the trepidation of an amateur. The man had never wielded a firearm in his life and wouldn’t start hence.
“’In Your infinite mercy, hear my prayer. In Your boundless grace, grant me Your forgiveness,’ he muttered below his breath. I could’ve believed he’d have squeezed the trigger if not for the unexpected convulsion that suddenly brought him to his knees. Befallen by the strange attack, Charles unhanded the Winchester and collapsed to the ice in the midst of a crippling seizure. And in a matter of moments, he had succumbed to death.
“With some activated charcoal or perhaps an emetic, he could have eluded such a painful demise. I stepped over to look upon his body, his pupils dilated to the size of dimes. Reviewing the immediate symptoms, intuition tells me he’s become the latest victim of hemlock poisoning, the kind of amateur mistake I’d expect from someone such as Charles. Ideal timing, if I may speak candidly.
“Hope remains alive. I will ascend.”
---
Investigators with the crew of S. P. Matthews found everything except answers.
It took them all of three months to zero in on the campsite left behind by Helgeland’s expedition. Any prospect of finding the balloon itself was dropped by the wayside to preserve manpower and time.
The camp was discovered on the 79th parallel, not in any particular state of disarray but with enough evidence to suggest conflict had broken out between the members. Edward was discovered in a tent with the rest of the rations and a bullet hole stamped in the side of his head. There was no telling how long he’d been dead for.
Forty-five meters away from the camp, buried under a stalagmitic gathering of ice and snow, was the body of Charles Ringvold. A followup inquiry would prove my great grandfather’s claims that he was a fraud, but like Charles himself, the truth is buried deep under the surface. Edward and Charles are commemorated for their failed — albeit honorable — efforts in the face of great opposition.
The body of my great grandfather, however, was never found. Theories thus abound in the saga of Henry H. Helgeland and we are no more the wiser now than we were a century ago. He is remembered for murdering his men in cold blood, deserting them, and then yielding to the elements somewhere in the frozen hell of the arctic. The carrier-pigeon message sent by Charles corroborated the apparent facts.
But I know the truth. Because only I have the answers.
“July 8, 1900. All that remains is me, for everyone else has vanished. Edward and I regaled each other with stories of our mistresses as night fell upon our place in the arctic wasteland. Rebecca, Edward’s beloved, works as an expert seamstress in San Francisco and will no doubt be devastated when news of his fate reaches her. But the great memories they shared together, I assured him, will serve her well in the years to come.
“‘You shall be reunited at once,’ I whispered to him once more before executing the dying man with the Winchester. It is my turn to face whatever awaits me on the ice.
“My great anguish and sorrow have been mended.
“Ruth is calling to me now. Our son promptly requires our presence.
“I shall go to them."
The fruitless search for my great grandfather peaked at last with the unearthing of a path of footprints snaking away from the tent where Edward’s body lay. Investigators followed them for approximately ten meters before they abruptly ceased. Captain Matthews is quoted as saying: “it was as though the walker had simply floated away.”
And indeed, it was our family that won in the end, for my great grandfather received exactly what he wanted. The final, undated entry of his diary is comprised of but three simple words:
“I have ascended.”

Hello everyone, I had my Q1 knob V2 for about a year and was about to sell it. I once flash the firmware to the one that have light controls (LED turn on when you press caps lock), etc one. Was wondering if anyone here have the original file so that I can flash it back to its normal condition before selling it?
Thank you!
*edit : https://www.keychron.com/blogs/archived/how-to-factory-reset-or-flash-your-qmk-via-enabled-keychron-q1-pro-keyboard
is this it?

My father-in-law was trying to get his driver’s license renewed a couple of years ago, and he was denied because the birth certificate he has a letter missing that his driver’s license has. For an example, his birth certificate has Scot while his driver’s license has Scott. It’s been that way for years, and no one had questioned it until that point. He has had jobs, filed taxes, married, and had children with the name Scott.
He has tried to get a delayed birth certificate from the state he was born in with the correct information since his original was handwritten.
Unfortunately, he has not had much luck there since other documentation from his childhood has different spellings of his name and he went under legal guardianship with his older sister when he was around 8. The department of vital records of the state he was born in has requested additional documentation that my father-in-law is unable to obtain due these archive records being destroyed due to age or time that has passed since my father-in-law is in his 70s.
I have tried to contact family attorneys, but no one seems to know what to do about the situation.
I am wondering at this point if he needs an attorney to go with him to the DMV to get this straightened out since it literally is a one letter difference between the two documents.
Does anyone know what can be done or what type of attorney could be useful in this situation?

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Archive
"It’s pretty impressive/dirty that there’s such an effective campaign waged to conflate Zionism with Judaism...It’s pure cowardice to hide behind some completely disingenuous cry of antisemitism when someone criticizes a government’s policy and their subsequent military actions." [+338]
"Zionism as it at its core is a supremacist ideology" [+5]
"You can criticize the US, Republicans and Democrats, Federal Government and Local officials, Bush, Trump, Obama and Biden, but if you criticize ISRAEL you're an anti-semite." [+10]
"Lawmakers once again let their Israel kink cloud their judgment" [+12]

I'm (27F) doubtful about a surprise trip for my SO (33M) birthday
Hi, I need some advice concerning a trip for my long term bf (Jon, 8 years together). Jon and his friend Ben talked about a 4 days trip to Amsterdam a few weeks ago. Nothing came of it since we were all busy.
Four of Ben friend would have come and they'd rent an Airbnb. I throught it'd be nice to plan it as a surprise for his birthday (amost to the day). Ben told Jay the trip was cancelled (by message) as I was next time to Jon, we live together.
But what Jon said made me rethink a few things. He doesn't know Ben's friend (fair).
He doesn't like sleeping away from home and didn't know how the airbnb would be. That's on me, I need to work out the details and take a look at the rooms (private or not).
I'd be left alone at house while he's having fun. To be honest we're kind of hermits. We don't get out often and without each other's. I'm pretty sure it will do him good. It doesn't bother me at all.
Admittedly I spoke to Ben in a rush and omitted some important details. What happens if his social battery ran out? Wouldn't four day be too long? If the airbnb is that great will this stress him too much?
I think I should compromise and join them the third day, book an hotel room for us two for the last. It'd be half half. I've never made him such a surprise. Not gonna lie, it's stressing to keep a poker face and not being able to talk to him at the risk of revealing the surprise.
Or let him go and offer to buy his train ticket when he wants go back home if four days is too long that it becomes stressful.
Cancelling is always possible but it'd be sad, Ben not often available and we are planning a trip for the two of us soon.
TLDR: Bf and I are hermits and I plan him a surprise vacation. Worried it might be a bad idea and bad planning, I'm looking for advice

In tha MHA fandom it’s Shinso. He only appears for a few episodes in the sports festival, yet he is most written characters in the fandom. If you read a MHA story expect him to appear more often than the canon characters in certain storylines.
In Danny Phantom, it’s Dani. She appears for 2 episodes yet appears in nearly every single fic that I’ve read, it’s gotten to a point that people are questioning why people wouldn’t write her.
In Harry Potter, it’s Luna. Started appearing in book 5. She is a good friend to Harry and the gang, while giving insight to the Ravenclaw house in better detail.

I just want to watch the finals in peace but noOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
​
Black Man KENTA Arc
The Reign of KENTA has begun. No injuries are gonna stop him now, and it shows. For the rest of the year, KENTA runs through 2017 SmackDown Live, killing everybody who steps in his way. Sami Zayn things he has a chance over Battleground in July, but nope, KENTA time. Fat fuck Kevin Owens thinks shit is sweet at SummerSlam, dumbass you get kneed. Shinsuke Nakamura wants to step up at Hell in a Cell as if he has a chance at ending the run? Get the FUCK out of here go back to New Japan. It seems like KENTA’s on top of the world, but things go awry for the Black Sun when he gets not one, not two, but three people all vying for a shot at ending the reign. Sami Zayn, Kevin Owens, and Shinsuke Nakamura all want the boy KENTA at Clash of Champions, a match that could easily main event the entire show. All four men bring their A-Game, but much like Battleground in 2016, too many men to focus on makes KENTA slip up, and Zayn is able to pin Nakamura to win his first ever singles title on the main roster, ending the reign of the Black Sun.
​
Royal Rumble ‘18
For the first time since KENTA joined the company, he’s around in January for the Royal Rumble, but what kind of man do you think KENTA is? He doesn’t want the Royal Rumble match itself, no no no. NO NONONO NONO WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT KENTA ONCE AGAIN WANTS THE BIGGEST FISH IN THE POND, THE WWE CHAMPION HIMSELF, AJ STYLES! The year of KENTA seems to be ramping up, and he wants to start 2018 with a Jon Bernthal Bang. But is it too soon? We’ve seen KENTA slip up after a big loss and overcompensate before with Brock Lesnar, could he be getting himself into something he just isn’t ready for? The champ truly believes so, and at the Royal Rumble he’s able to bring the Hero of Pain to a near thirty minute back and forth clinic, the two top guys on the blue brand duking it out and just wrasslin for wrasslin’s sake. We don’t get enough wrasslin for wrasslin’s sake anymore. All wrestling fans should want this. Unfortunately for KENTA, it just isn’t his night as Styles is able to catch a Busaiku Knee into a Styles Clash, allowing him to score a quick cover which gives him the whole thang. KENTA is mad again.
​
WrestleMania 34
Oh no oh no oh no. He’s going off again. KENTA wrecks absolutely everything he can see backstage as he wants another chance at AJ Styles, and with a potential six-pack challenge being set for Fastlane, he wants to know what he can do to get in. The answer? A smug vegan seems to believe there’s nothing that can be done. The future is set, and Daniel Bryan doesn’t see KENTA in it. How does KENTA react to being told that? Well, it isn’t nice at all. IT’S A HEADBUTT STRAIGHT TO THE CONCUSSION-PRONE BRYAN DANIELSON!!!
A suspension seems to be in order, though it’s only a 30-day which means he’ll miss Fastlane, but once his suspension is up we see KENTA return to form with a quick squash match on TV, one where he goes way overboard on the jobber. This prompts Daniel Bryan to answer KENTA, telling the Hero of Pain that if he wants to keep the WWE career that he gave him, he’d better fall in line. KENTA laughs, raising his hand only to feel the thread on Bryan’s suit, the corporate slave. KENTA laughs, before delivering a sharp two word stinger… “you’re fake.” These words cut through Bryan like a hot knife through the heart of the Yakubian. He’s so done. He’s so done. He’s so done. Air horns are sounding throughout the Allstate Arena. Call the police, Daniel Bryan is dead. Being called a coward sits with Bryan for weeks on end, meanwhile KENTA keeps on racking up bodies throughout the same weeks… BUT FINALLY DANIEL BRYAN CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Storming out after a KENTA squash, Bryan rips off his suit, tearing the fabric clean off his body TO REVEAL HIS RING GEAR!!! BRYAN WANTS KENTA AT WRESTLEMANIA the nba finals are on BRYAN WANTS KENTA AT WRESTLEMANIA, AND HE GETS IT!!! Big match is on, Bryan returns and goes boom, match lasts 59:58 seconds, BRYAN MAKES KENTA TAP OUT TO THE YES LOCK!!! owd you lose