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Ceele strolled through the damp grass along the outskirts of the village, a spring in her step and the dwindling scent of dew following behind. It rained yesterday, which had prevented her from going out to gather supplies, but the mild morning air had been accommodating enough for her to get an early start and make the trip. She was glad she did.
One hand clutched her new prize to her chest, while the other held a fraying wicker basket filled with herbs and some edible roots she gathered by exploring the forbidden forest. Despite her reservations regarding where she chose to go, her excitement now lingered like a steady thrum of shifting stones, giving her energy that defied how long she had been walking. She all but pranced beneath the burgeoning night's sky, gleefully toeing the line between the dirt pathways of the settlement’s outskirts and the trees of unclaimed land. Normally, her path back home would never be so close to the village, but she was far too gleeful to mind. She had come back with a sense of fulfillment and a rare object—or if not rare, then hopefully of great value.
It was hard to point to any one specific reason that she came across the orb. There had always been a ‘draw’ during her travels, urging her that there was something missing in her life, yet it was no more than a mild whim to walk in a particular direction more often than not. Once she reached this part of the continent, she was compelled to wander, never quite able to explain why she obliged the sensation besides having nowhere in particular to be. Even when she finally settled somewhere, it stayed in the back of her mind, suggesting that she was close to whatever would make the pit of vacancy go away. She ignored it, purposefully distracting herself with her work and responsibilities, yet that could only last so long. When she awoke this morning with plans to resupply, and all of her newfound spots had been picked clean by wildlife, she turned to the depths of the forest where she was warned not to tread. It was all too easy to follow the subtle tug in her chest through the loose justification.
The urge to be somewhere grew unbearable with every step closer to the forbidden area. That sense of having a direction she needed to go became stronger and stronger, until she was well into land long since forgotten. She came across an overgrown depression in the hillside, and was entranced by the foreboding image. Something about the cave just…beckoned her. She was far too weak to resist.
Horrible tales echoed into her ears as whispers of fearful voices, warning and unending, yet but a dull drone compared to her hammering heart. She navigated the trees and brushed aside unkempt vines, stepping into the cavern with a mix of expectation and trepidation, then laid eyes on the small obsidian stone perched atop a crumbling pillar. The feeling of needing to travel somewhere…stopped.
The pull was absent, which was why she held the orb close instead of placing it into her basket. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she recalled overheard tales of hidden gemstones, deep cavernous expanses, and the untold terrors that lay within. Comparing the scenes of those fables to the cave seemed foolish now; it wasn’t some torturous chamber, but a dusty depression in a small hillside. Besides, anything this pretty was sure to be worth a fair sum, and she needed the coin. Yet the thought of selling the precious-looking stone was a conflicting one. She shook off the thought for the time being, turning her attention back towards where she was going.
Shadows stretched and faded as the moon stole the last of the illumination afforded by the sun, replacing it with a calming glow that caressed the log frames and thatched roofs of various homes. A star-filled sky came into prominence as clouds lazily drifted away, revealing the promise of tomorrow’s fair-weathered arrival. It was too late for anyone to notice her treading on the edge of their town while lost in thought, but she was still careful not to get too close to the houses or livestock pens where people might be finishing the evening’s duties. It was best that they didn’t see her returning from a place she was told not to go. Still, her feet carried her near the dwellings as she took in the noises.
Ceele enjoyed the comforting chatter from a distance. Indistinct words floated freely. Meaningless gossip and warm goodbyes were exchanged between friends and family. Places of various occupations were dark and quiet, only the faint contented mewls and clucks of livestock coming from their pastures as they ate what was recently put out for them. No metal rang throughout the streets as it was struck inside a centralized smithy, no heated bartering came from an overactive trade house, and the crunch of dirt beneath transport or merchant wagons was absent, replaced by the rapid steps and yelps of children rushing to their homes before it got too dark out. It was all just gentle conversation and life drifting through the wind, taking the rustle of leaves along for the ride, just so she could hear it. Tranquil, in a word.
She wondered what it would sound like if she were yet one more voice within that crowd of kindness. Would it be loud like the larger cities? Would she struggle to maintain a thought with so many stray topics floating about? Would she once more yearn for the peace and quiet of solitude that she had grown used to, or would she immerse herself, free of judgment and laughing like the carefree young that scampered about? Did thinking about it even matter?
Her smile fell from its genuine intensity—still worn, but not as fully. She glanced downward as her stride lost its jubilant bounce, her tail losing its sway as her grey eyes examined the dry black scales that adorned her body against her wishes. It was the ugly hue of tarnished oil, unlike the skin of any other kobold she had met. Some had reds or greens, yellows or whites, while most were between a sandy tan or earthen brown. The rainbow of peculiarities was displayed by the lucky few, and she was one of them…
…Yet she was different in the worst of ways.
Even if she would rather any other colour, she supposed it was that way to make sure no one came near without accepting the unspoken risks. That was what her mother always said, anyway, though the woman hardly feared much of anything in her old age, and dedicated herself to giving her offspring all the love she had left to give—a perk of living a full life. She would always help her daughter bathe, complimenting the colour of what most were unnerved by. That was more than a decade ago now, however. Ceele’s parents had passed on while she was still young, and she took to travelling not long after, working at what she could to afford what little she needed. Never for long, though—just enough to get to the next town between where she was and where the urge to go lay. There were certainly moments she looked back on fondly, but the journey had taken its toll.
The crude material of her ‘dress’ was coarse, old, and heavy, but it helped ease the worst of spring's chill—even if it was more of a modified sack than proper attire. Still, it was all she had after the last of her clothing fell apart, and giving the repurposed material a name that reminded her of something else made it less uncomfortable to wear, somehow. It would have to do until she could afford a pitying seamstress or the like. Until then, she would pretend she didn’t look so desperate, even if it only highlighted her status and made finding work difficult.
But it did. The dishevelled garment was a far cry from the wonderful silks or breathtaking designs she had seen some women wear, harshly marking the distinction between herself and those of affluence. The clothing of commoners was also a leap in style and quality, so she couldn't say her attire was up to even modest standards. No matter how hard she squinted, and no matter how much she fantasized otherwise, she seemed every bit like the vagrant she was, down to the soil embedded in the curvature of her claws and the stains throughout her fabrics. She looked like a serf from the more oppressed lands, yet they too wore crude cottons, which said a lot about how she appeared to those who had never lived a life of servitude. It was obvious that she was an outsider. That she didn't belong amongst the rest. It made changing something as simple as her appearance all the more difficult; prospective employment always saw a young woman who seemed more likely to steal or swindle than make an honest day’s living.
There was one good twist of fate in recent memory, however, and she came upon the result of it after leaving the slowing bustle of the village behind. Her steps carried her through a small copse of trees on the outskirts of town, the small shaded path leading to the back of a large, carefully pruned clearing, a scattering of fruit-bearing trees providing even darker shadow than the already dim moonlight. She skirted along the aging fence on the border that kept predatory animals away, carefully hoisting herself over the barrier where a large vegetable garden she was responsible for tending resided. If one were to tell her she would be living in such an area several months ago, she would have smiled politely and walked away, yet here she was.
A modest, warmly lit home occupied the middle of the clearing, sitting front and centre when one approached from the village path. It looked quite cozy, surrounded by berry bushes that were just beginning to bloom as the last dregs of winter slipped away. A front patio displayed a nice table and well-loved chairs, the rustic appearance only adding to its charm as a place where friends and family spent the warm summer afternoons. A smithy to the left of the house functioned as an additional heated building during the colder months, but usually served as a storefront and to muffle the sounds of hammered iron, though that had become less common. An old stable was nearby, close enough to be accessible, but not so close as to disturb the once occupying animals with sounds of iron craft. It hadn't seen a horse in quite some time, apparently, so it was mostly a workshop for whatever tasks didn’t require fire or metal.
There was a long history attached to each little detail—from the scuffs along the wooden siding to the depressions in the ground where daily routine wore into the earth. Every fault suffered throughout the years was matched by a thousand quirks that made it feel welcoming, like the house itself was merely waiting for the next friendly face with one of its own. She knew that the inside of each building would look just as cared for.
Her concern lay outside, however. It was a comparatively miniscule space just barely visible through the sheltering trees, true, yet it was where her efforts turned into tangible results, and where a stranger’s trust was painstakingly repaid. Once overgrown grass had been laboriously trimmed, the weeds plucked and disposed of, and now nothing distracted from what she could claim she had done.
The small plots of rock-bordered soil had little buds of growing vegetables, a sense of pride never failing to bloom in her breast with the knowledge that it would be barren without her touch. When her troubles and concerns grew heavy, and fears of the future or spectres of the past loomed over her head, she could look at where she had brought life where it wouldn't otherwise be. Some days, that was enough. She smiled in appreciation at what was admittedly amateur work, the night’s sky helping to hide any inevitably made mistakes.
She enjoyed the sight for a moment longer, then turned to walk towards a neglected old tool shed that was well out of sight within the trees, far away from whatever warmth and comfort the larger house offered to everyone and anyone. She put a hand on the degrading wood of the entryway, giving one last sad smile at the garden as she dismissed selfish thoughts of taking the eventual harvest for herself. A breath cleared the uncertainty from her voice, and she pushed open the door.
“I'm home!”
= = = = =
It took a while for Altier to adjust to his situation, and even once he accepted that his mana wasn't being siphoned, he was still reeling from confusion. He had spent centuries with every year passing by without his notice, yet now he was painfully aware of each creeping second languidly dragging on with the expediency of growing grass. It was as disorienting as it was painfully nostalgic.
Time was something he was never good with, and it only got worse as a dungeon. He'd get lost in creating rooms, corridors, creatures, and whatever else needed doing, only pausing to watch or listen to the few adventurers he became interested in. There was a stint where he spent what felt like hours agonizing over new abilities or options while he let the system manage things in the background, though he supposed it might have been much longer. So many wasted days, yet he still hadn't managed to try everything he had gained access to. Some abilities were simply too niche, came with concerning titles, or held descriptions that made him wary. Anything with ‘Decay’ in the name was instantly ignored—he didn't need more reasons to fear his affinity, and from the few he took the effort to read through, they were always vile.
But his existence for the moment was no longer like those endless stretches spent pondering the minutiae of what would help his adventurers grow stronger. Now, he could follow the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and steady breathing that set a calming pace. They were someone else's, yes, but they contextualized how easy it was to slip away without the subtle noises of life that he had long since surrendered to help his family. Of course, there were more differences that he noticed since being removed from his crumbling cavern, and his sight was the newest change.
He never gave much thought to how far he could see before. Why would he? As a man, his world extended as far as he could fathom, yet was also confined to the room where he spent his days, and as a dungeon… Well, who was he to consider distance when an event happening miles away could be seen with a flicker of thought? Nothing was too far when it was within his creation. Or his ‘body,’ he supposed. Sadly, his entire perception currently consisted of the small sphere of his obsidian core, and maybe a finger's length beyond it—which is to say, not much. He could make out the fine details in the dirty burlap he was held against, and how pale moonlight slowly took over the blurred reds of sunset, but hardly anything more. It was all just frosted colours after a certain point, and he found it infinitely frustrating. He just wanted to peer beyond the haze and scaly hand holding him to confirm that the sky he remembered was still there. Alas, the sunlight faded at too quick a pace, yet one oh so agonizingly slow.
The ensuing darkness gave him nothing to do but think about where he was, not that he had any ideas. He was too curious about why he wasn't dead to bother much with his blurry surroundings after the soft-spoken kobold abducted him, thus why he only belatedly noticed how limited his worldview had become. There might have been a forest beyond his cave, but the greens and browns were gone, and the sounds of steps through brush was replaced by the distant din of a village. An idle curiosity pondered if he would recognize any descents of his ‘family tradition’ adventurers there, but he was being carried by what most considered a monster, so likely not.
That short musing was short-lived, however, and he brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He supposed he was being taken somewhere specific, but that was an obvious deduction, considering he was taken at all. The why of the matter was less so; for what purpose would someone want a Decay-aligned core? He hadn’t heard of them before…well, before he was made into one, but he couldn’t imagine many uses. Maybe he was being sold? His…kidnapper? His sudden companion seemed rather pleased by their discovery of him, so that might be the case, and it was morbidly amusing to think that a frail, sickly young man might one day become a coveted, highly valuable item. His abduction could also be a part of some cult’s nefarious activities, but he didn't want to think about that too hard. He experienced enough odd ceremonies from the adventurers who took the time to tell him their tales.
Either way, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, and he couldn’t see where he was going. He tried to query his menu to glean an answer, but was met with a scrambled mess he suspected read ‘Synchronizing…’ and little else. It gave him a headache trying to make sense of it—which he didn't know was possible anymore—so he dismissed the text and distracted himself with blurs from whatever diluted senses he still had. There wasn’t much to observe other than the constant footfalls and the flicker of shadows on his companion’s burlap garment. They might have travelled through brush again, but it was too dark to really say for certain.
Eventually, there was something new. He heard an old latch rattle and rusted door hinges groan, then a shuddered clack that confirmed he was now in a building. His kobold acquaintance gently cooed at something before moving about the nearly pitch-black space, finally setting him down on a… He wasn’t sure what it was, besides old and wooden.
[D$#@m$n E@$*ded]
The headache from before became a blinding migraine that suffocated him under a flash-flood of suffering. Seconds passed in abject torture until it blissfully abated, the mental blinks clearing his mind enough to notice a change in his existence. Specifically, he could actually see something besides the rotting wood grain he was placed on top of.
And it wasn’t anything promising…
He was more or less in the centre of a room no bigger than twelve paces by maybe ten. Not a terrible size for a space, but it was clearly never meant to house someone. His resting place looked about as neglected as he surmised; it was an upturned feeding trough, he supposed, since calling it a table seemed too generous. The surface was rife with holes and degraded iron, so it was something that once saw regular use before being replaced and tossed into storage, never to see the light of day again.
Actually, most things in the room seemed to fit that description. The window shutters were installed with metal hinges that had since rusted them closed, the misalignment letting in a draft—and whatever weather was outside as well, most likely. A poorly carved bowl sat on the floor, the stain beneath it hinting that it collected any rainwater that slowly dripped from the leaky roof. The wooden floorboards looked old, splintered, and in need of maintenance or replacement, though an effort had been put into abrading it somewhat smooth lately.
A tiny and decrepit fireplace was to the left of the door upon entry, its brickwork slowly crumbling due to weathering and age. It was sized more for keeping the room warm during mild days than to keep away the frigid chill of night. Its base only held cold ashes, but there was a collection of deadwood and scraps nearby, so that would probably be rectified soon. A small wheel-less cart had been turned into storage against the opposite wall, some herbs and other foraged items stowed away in it for future use. Various things he remembered seeing his father and brothers use in the fields were scattered about, too. It was nostalgic to see, honestly, even if his recollections had blurred over time.
Bundles of tattered blankets formed a pair of nests in the far corner, the smaller of the two had a pile of rough plants nearby. That answered his silent pondering of the room's purpose somewhat, though he was pretty sure the bedding material was salvaged, and there didn’t seem to be any hay or padding underneath whoever was sleeping on it. He didn’t know what to think about the weeds; they were purposefully placed there, and whoever did so had taken the time to wash them, but it was still strange.
He couldn’t see a doorway besides the entrance, yet most of the hallmarks of residency were put where space could be afforded, however crude. All in all, he surmised that it was a gardening shed of sorts, and his new acquaintance apparently lived here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when a creature he had only read about came into his dungeon, but it wasn't being brought to a rundown and decrepit shack for unknown purposes.
Even if he had been raised by parents who made a humble living at the best of times, and they had emptied their coffers for unsuccessful attempts to ease his ailments, his acquaintance's living space made him uncomfortable. His family's house was never anything fancy, true—it shared some of the worn qualities that inevitably gathered over the years—but it was never this bad. His home benefited from a father's touch keeping it robust and a mother’s love keeping it warm, whereas this place had seen neither in quite some time. Oh, there was evidence that such was once the case; a wall was adorned with carefully made and well-spaced hangers for the various gardening tools, though the implements themselves had become a victim of neglect. That being said, he could make out the fresh soil and recent scratches exposing furrows of silver, so they were seeing use again.
A scrape and clack of flint drew his attention to his kobold companion. They were kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically sparking life back into a dead flame with twigs and dried leaves. A slow, steady breath into the reddened base illuminated its face with a dull orange glow, revealing its weary visage and the permanently etched smile that rested beneath its cold grey eyes. The black-scaled kobold looked tired, if he were to guess—much the same as Altier did when he spent countless days watching everyone living a life he could never have through the mossy window of his bedroom. He was probably humanizing it too much. Still, he was surprised by the muted pang of sympathy, and how he would feel much more than blithe curiosity after spending so much time alone in the crumbling crypt of his own making.
A mental breath cycled through him as he looked at the odds and ends yet to be observed. Hardly anything else was of note—everything else was degraded and neglected, too. He did notice a nest of blankets move though, which was as good a distraction as any. The answer to his previous ‘pile of weeds’ inquiry poked a tiny nose from a crease in the fabric, then rapidly pawed at the blankets to dig itself out. Altier stared at the creature in both recognition and confusion.
It was a rabbit…or at least it looked like one, assuming you were to also describe a porcupine and a sea urchin as well. He was pretty sure he didn’t remember any hare that had jagged metal-tipped fur, nor that had said fur arranged into a row of spiked horns that flowed down its spine, terminating at a large fluffy tail, which was equally bizarre to see. The whole of its coat could double as a weapon, with semi-sharp barbs sticking off seemingly at random, yet he remembered an adventurer saying most animals used that sort of thing defensively. He increased his focus as he tried to make sense of the odd creature. Surely he would have heard about—
[Hoppittttttt#%%÷ — Ferro-o-orabbit-it (Ma%$le)
Abil—]
[Null]
[Er0Rrrrrrrr—]
[Und#$f—]
He bit back the pain caused by the sudden intrusion of his menu, blanking out the text and mentally retreating to hide from the source. Did he just inspect something? How? Shouldn’t his entire…‘framework,’ was it…? Yes, that was it. Shouldn’t that have been corrupted? Why could he see the creature’s information when his entire framework was damaged? That was the first ability he lost, so why is it the first to be functional? How was it functional? Was it? It did just spit garbled text at him, but it was something, and that was more than he had gotten from it in a very long time. If it was somehow working—no matter how poorly—then that left the question of why he hadn't heard of anything called a ‘ferrorabbit’ before, assuming he read that correctly.
A soft thud vibrated the tro— table, startling him out of thought. He turned his attention to the button nose wiggling erratically at him, the short, stubby muzzle leading to surprisingly expressive and curious red eyes. Dull brown fur jutted off in random tufts and patches, changing to a darker tint on its paws and the upper half of its ears, while the tips of its spikes were a muted hue of iron. It still seemed just as soft as the less pointed variety he remembered, if a touch dirty. Upright ears twitched this way and that way as its head vigorously shook, eventually settling on pointing in his direction when it calmed down enough.
It was apparent that he had its undivided attention…for all of a few seconds. His scaly companion called something out in their foreign tongue, and whatever conclusion the pointy-furred animal came to, it seemed more interested in the kobold, parting from him after nudging his core with its nose.
[Cre-e-e—]
[Errrrrrr0r: Undefiiiiiiii—]
[Acceeeeep-t-t-t??]
[Yeeee— s s / Nnnnnnn—]
He winced at the intrusion, but the contents detracted from the pain. He couldn’t remember the system ever asking him a question without his explicit intent being involved. It wanted him to…accept something? Was it the system prompting him, or the animal? What was he to accept?
[Creatuuuuu—]
[Acce-e-e-%#@ed!]
…What?
= = = = =
“Hoppit, that's not food!” Ceele admonished half-heartedly, placing a larger branch on the burgeoning flame before she got to her feet. She wasn’t actually that worried; the stone was as big as his head, and she was pretty sure he couldn't bite into it. Hopefully. “Come here, momma has a treat for you!”
The ferrorabbit playfully bumped the gemstone and jumped off the low table, landing with a soft thud that belied how heavy he was for his tiny size. He wiggled in excitement, his ears flailing and releasing a slight clack whenever the two connected. It got even louder when she grabbed her basket and put away the useful herbs, taking out a specific item that she had gathered just for him. The little bun wasted no time in scurrying over and standing tall on his hind legs to judge if the offered plant was to his liking—and it was, based on how he dug in with enthusiasm. She stifled a laugh as she contentedly watched him nibble away on the treat, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing she couldn't afford proper vegetables for him. He had a hard life too, and it tore at her to have so little to give.
She came across Hoppit a year ago, during a storm that worsened while she was travelling between towns. The day had darkened to night in spite of it still being about noon, but the weather didn't care for how bright it was supposed to be. Wind and rain became a typhoon, forcing her to seek shelter in a thankfully abandoned den of what was probably a larger animal. She was fine with waiting out the squall, since the stone roof over her head was more than she usually had back then, but the sounds of dull bangs and thuds near her hideaway was followed by cries of animals yelping in pain. Curiosity won over reason, and she left the safety of her shelter to see what was causing the disturbance. Truthfully, she was hopeful that she'd come across scraps or the like, her hunger driving her forward, and she could always turn back if it seemed dangerous. Yet when she arrived at the source of the commotion, she found herself thinking of anything but food.
Two predators had fought over a small burrow, both trying to dig out a meal and taking offence to the other doing the same. What they didn’t know was that they were assaulting the home of ferrorabbits. Specifically, the home of an angry, protective, and well-fed mother that was keeping her newborns safe from the storm when predators decided to try their luck. From the scene Ceele came across, it was certainly obvious why most people dislike trying to hunt the creatures.
Sadly, the rabbit didn't survive an attack from two predators, but she did make their victory pyrrhic; neither could do much about their hunger with their bodies full of cuts and holes, and it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to blood loss or infection. The mother's sacrifice meant that the babies had avoided the imminent threat, but they were left unattended as a consequence, and it took an opportunistic bird swooping down to shake Ceele out of her shock. Despite her subsequent hurry, she only acted in time to save one of the orphaned young. The warren was new and barely dug out, which meant that it didn’t take much effort for the kits to be found—by both her and hungry maws. All she could do was scoop the ball of fluff into her arms and run back to the cave before anything else tried to eat it.
In retrospect, it was a stupid decision for a number of factors. She barely had the resources to supply herself, and an attempt to raise offspring of any type would only make the inevitable heartbreak worse. But when she saw how quiet and scared he was… How his tiny, shaking body calmed in her arms, those terrified red eyes seeking comfort… She should have just walked away when she knew there wasn’t going to be anything to fill her stomach. She should have put the baby animal down and let nature take its course…yet the preciously furry face stole her heart far too quickly for it to grow so cold. The next day was spent backtracking to the nearest town to get him something suitable to eat, which used most of her meagre savings. Still, it was worth every coin.
Hoppit had been accompanying her ever since. He grew quickly, transitioning from something she saved that stormy night into a presence she had grown to love like a child. The little lagomorph would bounce along beside her during her travels, then ride in her arms as he rested—though the latter happened with worrying frequency as of late. She hadn’t learned much about the springy herbivores, but she knew enough to say that he wasn't as big as he should be, nor was his fur as sharp. No matter how startled he was, his spiky coat never managed to do more than stiffen slightly, which was apparently a side effect of poor diet, according to snippets of conversation she had overheard on the topic. She wanted him to be healthy, but she didn't know what he needed. Not many farmers raised ferrorabbits, and those that did were far away, so she didn’t have anyone to ask what she should be doing. Her best course of action was to give him what little she had.
Ceele was well aware of how he would be better off on his own, but he followed her whenever she tried to set him free. Hoppit just kept launching into her arms and wiggling his ears, ecstatic that he was with her again, uncaring that food was scarce and that they spent most of their days travelling. No amount of cold nights spent bundling up under the tattered blankets she managed to find ever dampened his spirits, and he was content to eat the grass or flowers whenever he felt like it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. He would dig and excitedly drag back oddities that he found, and the one time he found a plant that looked particularly good for him, he insisted that it be shared with her.
A black pit still lingered in her chest when she recalled how pleased he was while he munched on the rare vegetable he discovered, then how distressed he became when she wouldn’t have any as well. He bumped and nipped at her, all but begging her to eat. His ears pinned back against his head, his fur bristled in a way she hadn’t seen since. It was only when she took a small bite and let him inspect the new teeth marks that he seemed to calm down, but perhaps she had been looking too deep into the actions of her tiny friend. All she could say for certain was that he was scared she was going hungry.
A morbid thought wondered if his first mother had refused food shortly before being attacked, and he—as small and simple as he was—had connected the two events in his mind, making him absolutely terrified that something would happen if Ceele didn’t have something too. All of that fear, and desperation overwhelmed him, just because she was happier watching him eat. She was determined to erase that issue. She would find something that needed a worker and earn enough to feed them both. One day, she would be able to smile at how big and healthy her little fluffy boy had become, but until then, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about how she was spending so much time growing vegetables and fruit that he couldn’t have…
Every morning was an exercise in tending to the gardens while actively shoving down images of a pleased ferrorabbit happily eating the results. That never went well; no matter how determined she was to complete her duties without a single selfish thought, most tasks were done while picturing his full belly and delighted bounces. There were a few weeks until the fastest of the crops would be ready for harvest, and Ceele would have to collect them while fighting the urge to bring back just a few for him.
She couldn’t, because she knew exactly how quickly that could escalate. It would start small—A vegetable here, a fruit there—but seeing Hoppit happy was one of the precious few good things she had in her life. Crossing the line would only become easier each time. They couldn’t risk losing their new home over greed, and she was already betraying the trust given to her by housing a wild animal, especially one known to be a pest for crops. She didn't want to know how angry it would make her benefactors if she was caught taking their vegetables for one.
No matter how tame and precious Hoppit was, and no matter how well he listened, they would only see him as the same creature that ruined harvests in droves. Thus was why she had to tell him to stay cooped up by himself while she was working or scavenging. And to her surprise, he did.
Honestly, she had made the initial request with the expectation of needing to carry him back into their home until he understood that she wasn’t leaving him forever. There wasn’t much she could do to stop the ferrorabbit from digging through the old wooden building if he wanted to get out. He wouldn’t need to damage anything either—a rotting board on the door only needed a little push to nudge it out of the way, and his natural curiosity made sure he was aware of it. But no, Hoppit was well-behaved as always, keeping hidden until she walked through the door, where he would leap from the shadows to personally show her how good he was and how he stayed put like she asked him to. It never stopped amazing her that he had such a surprising level of understanding despite being an animal, and that was to say nothing of how young he was.
All that intelligence, joy, and companionship he offered her…and yet the best she could give back to him was the weeds from the garden and the odd plant she found while scavenging…
Soft clacks of flicking ears dragged her from her pondering, her mind returning to the present. Hoppit finished his treat of the small plant, then bounced in place and scurried over to his bowl of water, perfectly happy to have eaten only that. He was so joyful with how little she provided, approaching every day of scarcity with the same enthusiasm she could never muster, as if certain that everything would be alright.
“It’s bedtime, Hoppit,” Ceele announced through a soft sigh, stoking the fire with enough branches to hopefully last the night. The ferrorabbit perked an ear in her direction, then sat on his haunches to extend the rest of himself up, his two little forepaws adorably held to his chest as he inspected the room like he always did. She smiled and made sure everything was stored away, then laid down on her bundle of blankets, covering herself with the warmest one. Hoppit bolted over to snuggle once he decided everything in the shed was up to his standards, throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flop of comfort. Her quiet laughter subsided as they both settled in for the night, her tail completing the rabbit’s encompassing cuddle, but her eyes fell towards the obsidian orb on the table, her thoughts following suit.
It sat there, just as she left it, as benign as anything else ever placed atop the improvised furnishing. Yet there was a sense of ease and purpose as well. The old wooden trough seemed…important with its adornment firmly laid upon its surface, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. She was starting to doubt her earlier excitement.
Should she sell it? Would anyone know where it came from? Would anyone know what it was, or if it was worth anything? If she could get even a modest sum for it, she would be able to buy clothing, food, and new bedding. It would be easier to convince someone to give her work if she was dressed better and wasn’t so thin, and then she would have the income to slowly improve both of their lives. She could pay for a wandering merchant to ask a ferrorabbit rancher about the animal, even if it would take time to get back to her, or maybe she could hire a local if they needed to go near one for some reason. The cost didn’t matter to her as long as it happened.
But there was something else bothering her about the idea of selling the stone. She had travelled so far with a tug in her chest, only for the feeling of wanderlust to dissipate as soon as she held it. Was that a sign? She was never one for things like ‘fate,’ but a niggling doubt in her mind discouraged the idea of making a profit off her discovery. Even if what she could gain was so very tempting, and even if Hoppit would be happier if she did…
She tore her dampened eyes away and closed them, ignoring the burning trails running across her face. It would be another early morning, and she needed to sleep so she could take care of the garden. Decisions like this could wait. Once she had nothing else distracting her, and she had time to properly think about it, she would see how she felt about the stone.
Eventually, she dozed off with Hoppit pressed against her chest, and a longing in her heart.
Next
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A/N: Patreon and Ko-fi will be 1 chap ahead this time around, and I've set it so everything from the lowest tier up can read the newest trashfire! Anything above that is sheer show of love. Hope you enjoyed!

By Asma Bint Shameem
A woman is NOT “obligated” to give anything of her salary or her own money to her husband or contribute anything to support the household expenses.
A woman’s money is hers. And no one has the right to it except her own self. That’s one of the basic rights that Islaam has given women, along with her right to inherit, own property, run her own business, vote, etc.
And that’s what distinguishes Islaam from others religions.
But if she does decide to contribute to the household expenses or anything else for that matter, out of the goodness of her heart, without any compulsion, then that would count as sadaqah on her behalf and a gesture of goodwill. And a means of rewards for her from Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala.
That’s because it’s the MAN’s responsibility to provide for his wife and family. And NOT the wife’s.
The MEN are supposed to support the wife financially and spend on them in the mahr and on their maintenance, food, shelter, clothing etc.
🍃 Allaah says:
“Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allaah has made one of them to excel the other, and because they spend (to support them) from their means.” [al-Nisa 4:34].
It’s an OBLIGATION placed on the husband by Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala Himself.
🍃 Allaah says:
”the father of the child shall bear the cost of the mothers food and clothing on a reasonable basis. No person shall have a burden laid on him greater than he can bear.” [al-Baqarah 2:233]
🍃 And Allaah says to the MEN:
”And if they are pregnant, then spend on them till they deliver.” [al-Talaaq 65:6]
🍃 The Prophet sal Allaahu Alayhi wa sallam said in his Farewell Sermon:
“Fear Allaah with regard to women, for they are your prisoners. You have taken them as a trust from Allaah, and they have become permissible to you by the word of Allaah, and they have the RIGHT to be FED and CLOTHED reasonably by you.“ (Muslim, 8/183).
Being supported financially by her husband is one of the BASIC RIGHTS of the wife.
🍃 Muaawiyah ibn Haydah radhi Allaahu anhu said:
“I said, O Messenger of Allaah, what is the right of the wife of any one of us over us?
He said: That you should FEED her as you feed yourself and CLOTHE her as you clothe yourself, that you should not say to her May Allaah make your face ugly! and that you should not beat her.” (Abu Dawood, 2/244; Ibn Maajah, 1850; Ahmad, 4/446).
🍃 Shaykh ibn al-‘Uthaymeen said:
“The husband is OBLIGED to spend upon his family, upon his wife and children, on a reasonable basis, even if the wife is rich.
Yet he has NO RIGHT to TAKE ANYTHING from her salary, not half, not more or less.
The salary is HERS, so long as it was stipulated in the marriage contract that he should not prevent her from teaching and he agreed to that.
So he does not have the right to take anything from her salary; it is HERS.“ [Sharh Riyadh as-Saliheen (6/143, 144)]
So if he’s obliged to SPEND on her, how can he take from her money?
🍃 The scholars said:
“The basic principle concerning any wealth the wife owns is that it belongs to HER and not to her husband, whether this wealth came into her possession by means of trade or business, or through inheritance, or as part of her mahr (dowry) or from the state. The husband does not have a share in any of that; rather it is her property and none of it is permissible for him unless she gives it to him willingly. If it were the case that the husband owned his wife’s wealth, then his wife’s entire estate when she died would go to the husband and no one else would have a share in it, and that does not happen according to the laws of Allaah. Based on that, the money that comes to this wife as assistance for her from the state belongs exclusively to her and it is not permissible for her husband to take control of it.
It is not permissible for the husband to take anything from his wife’s wealth except what she allows.
Allaah, may He be exalted, says:
“O you who believe! Eat not up your property among yourselves unjustly except it be a trade amongst you, by mutual consent” [an-Nisa 4:29]
“And give to the women (whom you marry) their Mahr (obligatory bridal money given by the husband to his wife at the time of marriage) with a good heart, but if they, of their own good pleasure, remit any part of it to you, take it, and enjoy it without fear of any harm (as Allah has made it lawful).” [an-Nisa 4:4]. We have discussed the evidence from the Quran and Sunnah and scholarly consensus that proves that the husband is obliged to spend on his wife according to his means; he does not have the right to force her to spend on her own maintenance even if she is rich, unless she agrees to that.” (Islamqa Fatwa # 163541)
And Allaah knows best.

I recently got a urinalysis done and the results came back saying that I had high levels of bacteria in my urine. My physician prescribed me an antibiotic (nitrofurantoin mono-mcr) for a UTI. I was suprised to hear that I had a UTI because I did not have any major discomfort when I go pee or anything like that. I did some research and found that I might have a medical condition called asymptomatic bacteriuria. I was reading online that it is generally not recommended to take antibiotics to fix this and that it could increase the risk of UTIs in the future because of antibiotic resistance that the uropathogenic bacteria could develop. I am not pregnant, nor am I immunocompromsied, nor am I getting a urologic surgery or like that. I am also assigned male at birth. I have been eating some steak that I have cooked rare over the last few months. Maybe I didn’t completely cook the steak (or some other type(s) of meat) properly, and some of the E.coli found on the surfaces of the steak got into my urine; I can’t think of anything else that I have done that could cause it.
Anyways, should I take the antibiotics to treat my asymptomatic bacteriuria? If not, is there a way to treat asymptomatic bacteriuria without antibiotics? Should I even worry about fixing this medical condition? I have them at home just in case but I think my physician is wrong on this one. I didn’t go to the follow up visit (I should have) after the blood tests and urinalysis (they were done at a different location), so my physician probably assumed I have a UTI because she was just going off of the urinalysis results and didn’t ask me about symptoms I was having of a potential UTI.

Systematic treatment of asymptomatic bacteriuria is not recommended and even classic indications such as asymptomatic bacteriuria in pregnant women are controversial. In fact, its treatment is associated with a higher probability of symptomatic UTI and a higher prevalence of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Improving the diagnosis of asymptomatic bacteriuria and optimizing the management of recurrent urinary tract infections, especially through non-antibiotics measures, are needed in order to minimise antimicrobial resistance.

Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8634747/

So I started therapy last week and had previously told them my trauma stemmed from my mother and her misandrous attitude towards me generally amongst other things, they somehow decided that the best therapist for me would be an older woman who is roughly my mother's age bracket.
During my session I would mention "women" in a generalised manner but in terms of women in my life, not women as a whole, which I explained at the beginning of the session to her, she was defensive about this, I explained that I don't feel she's going to be able to relate to much of what I say in the same manner a white person can't understand the daily struggle of a black person or a man can't understand the daily struggles of women, the same applies towards men, she seemed to also take offence to this.
When explaining to her how my mother tried to murder me as a newborn baby for crying her immediate response was to defend her and tell me she likely had post natal depression, whilst I agree, it's not the point, I began talking about experiences of unchecked misandry in my life from various sources and how they've affected me, my confidence and my self esteem and was asked why I was putting so much focus and attention on it and that I should just learn to ignore it, which felt dismissive, this made me wonder if she would tell someone experiencing racism to just ignore it or women experiencing extreme misogyny to just stop giving attention to it.
I left the session feeling defeated, silly and like I was just being over dramatic about the trauma in my life both past and present and now I'm not sure if I'm being unreasonable for wanting to complain about how this woman has approached the situation or if I should say something to them about how uncomfortable her responses made me feel and will it even make a difference, I know that if I do say something and I stop the sessions then I won't get the opportunity for any others since they're so limited on staff but I feel like in the long run she's just going to amplify my feelings on the subject by being continually dismissive and defending the women in my life that have ultimately been the cause in the first place.
Is it even worth calling them to explain the situation or is it just going to be dismissed in another office full of women who are likely going to side with one another, I really feel like I need help with my mental health in order to get my life back on track and this unit is the only option available to me, I don't want to burn bridges with them entirely and leave me without any option moving forward.

This is a paper I wrote for my genre class. Thought you guys might appreciate it.
​
A Soulja Boy interpolation and unabashed, blaring computerized synths drives That Kid’s track “Kiss Me Thru the Phone” where he relies on the nostalgic interpolation singing, “I just wanna kiss you / But I can't right now / So baby kiss me thru the phone.” Lyrics likes these and glitchy, distorted vocals and beats provide a unique listening experience that asks little of the listener in terms of content and expression while asking for contemplation and reflection regarding form. Hyperpop has become a community-based genre, and a space, for independent queer artists to express themselves and develop culture from the sidelines. The genre is attractive because of the tension between its queerly-nostalgic, kitsch lyrical content and avant-garde musical production.
​
What is Hyperpop?
The microgenre has been covered by The New York Times and The Atlantic with the latter’s article title reading, “Noisy, Ugly, and Addictive.” Hyperpop as a genre began as a Spotify playlist whose relatively small following of about 450,000 currently that, according to The New York Times, followers add to their library at a rate rivaling that of some of the biggest playlists on the platform like “RapCaviar.” WXPN, a non-commercial, member-supported radio service of the University of Pennsylvania, describes hyperpop as “…a genre that takes modern mainstream pop concepts, crushes them up, spits them out, ingests them again, and spits them out again. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration. But not an egregious one.” Maximalist and exaggerative, hyperpop takes the conventions of the pop genre and pushes them to its extreme. Resulting in “surrealist lyrics, overblown bass and high pitch vocals” and “Glitches, metallic sound synths and distorted vocals” (Lucas De Lellis da Silva). Hyperpop is a genre that defies the genre label in its transformation of other genres such as hip-hop, trap, rock, and punk. Its punk influence can also be seen with “its alignment with queerness, anti-capitalist and environmentalist beliefs raises questions on our current notions of technology and issues of representation.”
​
The Paradox
Hyperpop music production is where it is most avant-garde. The genre imitates pop music and exaggerates it, pop music being an imitation in itself. In his essay, “Avant-Garde and Kitsch,” Clement Greenberg on the avant-garde says, “[According to] Aristotle, all art and literature are imitation, then what we have here is the imitation of imitating.” Greenberg describes Picasso paintings as avant-garde, where the reflection of the painting, the interpretation and deliberation on part of the audience, “are not immediately or externally present in Picasso's painting but must be projected into it by the spectator sensitive enough to react sufficiently to plastic qualities.” On the other hand, Greenberg (misattributing a painting to Repin) describes Repin as a kitsch artist. Greenberg says “the “reflected” effect having already been included in the picture, ready for the spectator's unreflective enjoyment.” Greenberg summarizes this point when he says, “If the avant-garde imitates the processes of art, kitsch, we now see, imitates its effects.” Both avant-garde and kitsch can be seen in hyperpop where the production is avant-garde, glitchy, distorted and experimental and the lyrics are kitsch, overt, and cliché.
There are class biases regarding high art (e.g. avant-garde) and low art (e.g. kitsch). On the material importance of class and aesthetics, Greenberg claims that

“No culture can develop without a social basis, without a source of stable income. And in the case of the avant-garde, this was provided by an elite among the ruling class of that society from which it assumed itself to be cut off, but to which it has always remained attached by an umbilical cord of gold. The paradox is real. And now this elite is rapidly shrinking” (8).

To Greenberg, and within the context of the time that his essay was published in 1961, the avant-garde belonged to the ruling class because they provided capital that allowed artists to survive and create the art that aligned with the taste of that class. However, because of the ubiquity in technology and specifically the accessibility of Digital Audio Workstations, hyperpop artists defy Greenberg’s expectations by being created and conceptualized by the working class, “a democratized option in the music industry” as Gazelle puts it.
On the effect the ruling class’s funding has on the artist, Greenberg says, “precisely because his content was determined in advance, the artist was free to concentrate on his medium. He needed not to be philosopher, or visionary, but simply artificer” (16). Being an artificer allowed artists to focus on their medium and its form. Because hyperpop music is not determined in advance by the ruling class, hyperpop artists instead must focus on form and content which has resulted in avant-garde production and a reliance on kitsch imagery in their lyrics.
Perhaps the most avant-garde, the acclaimed hyperpop song “ringtone remix [feat. Charli XCX, Rico Nasty, Kero Kero Bonito]” by 100 gecs demonstrates the paradox of being avant-garde and kitsch. The song displays a catchy hook with distorted sound effects and pitched up vocals, a rap passage over a rock instrumentation, an interlude asking Charli XCX to sing the hook again, and finally an outro that features whispers and a sparse electronic drums. The song pushes the boundaries of form. However, once again, the lyrics are kitschy; “spilling champagne” and “my boy’s got his own ringtone” which invokes the tradition of giving specific phone numbers particular ringtones popular in the 2000s.
​
Nostalgic Lyrics
Queer artists in the hyperpop genre have relied on nostalgic lyrics. This queer sensibility is not new or unique to hyperpop. In Time Binds, Elizabeth Freeman posits, “This stubborn lingering of pastness (whether it appears as anachronistic style, as the reappearance of bygone events in the symptom, or as arrested development) is a hallmark of queer affect: a ‘‘revolution’’ in the old sense of the word, as a turning back” (8). Hyperpop follows the queer tradition of expressing pastness in its references to Sidekick phones, Ronald Reagan’s 2004 death, and overall, a Year 2000 aesthetic. Freeman continues,

““Heather Love’s Feeling Backward, for instance, astutely diagnoses the ‘‘backwards’’ emotions elaborated by artists for whom the birth of the modern homosexual identity-form was constraining rather than liberating: shame, passivity, melancholy, and recoil, to name but a few, were ways of refusing the progressive logic by which becoming ever more visible was correlated with achieving ever more freedom” (8).

Hyperpop lyrics largely reminisces the 2000s, which goes against the typical notion of queerness valuing progressiveness and the striving for more freedom. The “backwards” emotions such as shame feel constraining to the modern queer-identifying person; nostalgia allows for them to escape that label to a time where things seem simpler, especially for the Gen-Z artists that make up the genre. In other words, Freeman is saying that “the discipline of ‘‘timing’’ engenders a sense of being and belonging that feels natural” (18). Because queer-identifying people face shame, they rely on a sense of time and timing that mirrors their marginalized lives which is also echoed in the glitchy vocals and musical production.
The genre also does not bend to the musical trends of the moment. A hyperpop artists does not need to constantly update their sound to match the current sonic landscapes because they are creating music that exaggerates a particular decade. Pastness allows for these artists to resist the “commodity-time of speedy manufacture and planned obsolescence,” (Freeman 9) aligning with the anti-capitalist values of the genre.
Nostalgia and kitsch are related. For example, even people that did not experience the 2000s the way Gen Z experienced it can relate and empathize with hyperpop lyrics because they are kitsch. In her essay Stephanie Brown says,

“These [kitsch] objects not only anchor the viewer's memory of a time that is past but also inspire "memories" of an era whose collective Zeitgeist has been so encapsulated as to be readily available, prepackaged, even to those whose individual experiences did not include firsthand knowledge of the phenomena of an earlier decade. The effect—to condense, flatten, and homogenize the discontinuous experiences of a heterogeneous group of people and then to sell these experiences back to them as if they were genuine—is… the inevitable result of the late-capitalist predilection for periodization…” (40).

This analysis reveals that kitsch is context dependent. For example, profile avatars, big computers, the “blue screen of death” are all imagery that one may find in cover art for a hyperpop album that also represent a 2000s aesthetic. One may find this flavor of American 2000s memorabilia nostalgic, and another may find them completely meaningless if they are not aware of the context that those objects existed in, the connotation they carry for the artists, or the effect that these depictions have on its intended audience.
​
Hyperpop’s Attraction
The hyperpop genre has a tension that can be stated as a capitalist predilection for its kitschy lyrics and an anti-capitalist predilection for its musical production. An example of this is Charli XCX’s recent song “Club classics” whose vapid lyrics convey little to nothing making it easy to consume, with a chorus repeating the lines “When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics / Club classics, club, club classics.” However, the production exaggerates the production conventions of traditional pop through minimalist moments of technologic vocals overlaid on a wobbling bass sound effect, a stuttering vocal in the background with orchestral synths at another moment, and shrill harmonies dotting the backend of the track.
Perhaps these lyrics are attractive exactly because they are “beyond the realm of “good taste.”” Paralleling kitsch, camp provides a supplementary set of standards to view art, not as good or bad, but as having meaning or being pure artifice. Brown states, “Camp is a sly celebration of bad taste and vulgarity from a position of privilege” (50). Brown gives an example of a position of privilege as men doing drag; them being men, even if queer, gives them the ability to dress as women and remain men and “enjoy a hegemonic superiority” (50). Perpendicular to camp, kitsch allows a consumer to enjoy art from the position of the underprivileged. Brown also states that enjoying kitsch is like it “is there to entertain us on the basest, most compromised of levels… Junk, like the drunk at the wedding, can get away with doing or saying anything because, by its very appearance, it is already in disgrace.”
The other relational dimension of the attraction to the genre is the rebellion that it provides listeners. Brown writes, “today's consumers look to kitsch consumption as a way of rejecting an aesthetic hierarchy forced upon them by economically determined and class-bound interests.” Listening and enjoying hyperpop for its lyrical content is a kind of revolt from the ruling class’s distinctions of what high and low art are. Hyperpop is both high and low art according to the ruling class. It is preoccupied, plays, and breaks form; in Greenberg’s words, it imitates the processes of art. It also is cliché and overt in its lyrical content, imitating effect. It is through the ambiguation that allows listeners to commit to appreciating it for its high art value, its low art value, or both.
​
The Future of Hyperpop
However, as the genre grows and opportunities befall hyperpop artists, it has been exploited. Greenberg says, “Capitalism in decline finds that whatever of quality is still capable of producing becomes almost invariably a threat to its own existence” (21). This is evident with artists like Camila Cabello (one of the most listened to artists of today with a powerful label backing her) making a genre switch from pop/Latin pop to hyperpop with her first single “I LUV IT” featuring Playboi Carti off her upcoming album. Other than being poorly received and deemed a Charli XCX rip off by hyperpop fans, Camila Cabello capitalizes and therefore, strips the genre of its underground roots, making even the production of the track redundant. “I LUV IT” is an imitation of an imitation of an imitation. If we were to take this song as a sign, an omen, for the genre, hope for hyperpop shall remain elusive.

LESSON 153. In my defenselessness my safety lies.
You who feel threatened by this changing world, its twists of fortune and its bitter jests, its brief relationships and all the “gifts” it merely lends to take away again; attend this lesson well. The world provides no safety. It is rooted in attack, and all its “gifts” of seeming safety are illusory deceptions. It attacks, and then attacks again. No peace of mind is possible where danger threatens thus. The world gives rise but to defensiveness. For threat brings anger, anger makes attack seem reasonable, honestly provoked, and righteous in the name of self-defense. Yet is defensiveness a double threat. For it attests to weakness, and sets up a system of defense that cannot work. Now are the weak still further undermined, for there is treachery without and still a greater treachery within. The mind is now confused, and knows not where to turn to find escape from its imaginings.
It is as if a circle held it fast, wherein another circle bound it and another one in that, until escape no longer can be hoped for nor obtained. Attack, defense; defense, attack, become the circles of the hours and the days that bind the mind in heavy bands of steel with iron overlaid, returning but to start again. There seems to be no break nor ending in the ever-tightening grip of the imprisonment upon the mind.
Defenses are the costliest of all the prices which the ego would exact. In them lies madness in a form so grim that hope of sanity seems but to be an idle dream, beyond the possible. The sense of threat the world encourages is so much deeper, and so far beyond the frenzy and intensity of which you can conceive, that you have no idea of all the devastation it has wrought.
You are its slave. You know not what you do, in fear of it. You do not understand how much you have been made to sacrifice, who feel its iron grip upon your heart. You do not realize what you have done to sabotage the holy peace of God by your defensiveness. For you behold the Son of God as but a victim to attack by fantasies, by dreams, and by illusions he has made; yet helpless in their presence, needful only of defense by still more fantasies, and dreams by which illusions of his safety comfort him.
Defenselessness is strength. It testifies to recognition of the Christ in you. Perhaps you will recall the text maintains that choice is always made between Christ’s strength and your own weakness, seen apart from Him. Defenselessness can never be attacked, because it recognizes strength so great attack is folly, or a silly game a tired child might play, when he becomes too sleepy to remember what he wants.
Defensiveness is weakness. It proclaims you have denied the Christ and come to fear His Father’s anger. What can save you now from your delusion of an angry god, whose fearful image you believe you see at work in all the evils of the world? What but illusions could defend you now, when it is but illusions that you fight?
We will not play such childish games today. For our true purpose is to save the world, and we would not exchange for foolishness the endless joy our function offers us. We would not let our happiness slip by because a fragment of a senseless dream happened to cross our minds, and we mistook the figures in it for the Son of God; its tiny instant for eternity.
We look past dreams today, and recognize that we need no defense because we are created unassailable, without all thought or wish or dream in which attack has any meaning. Now we cannot fear, for we have left all fearful thoughts behind. And in defenselessness we stand secure, serenely certain of our safety now, sure of salvation; sure we will fulfill our chosen purpose, as our ministry extends its holy blessing through the world.
Be still a moment, and in silence think how holy is your purpose, how secure you rest, untouchable within its light. God’s ministers have chosen that the truth be with them. Who is holier than they? Who could be surer that his happiness is fully guaranteed? And who could be more mightily protected? What defense could possibly be needed by the ones who are among the chosen ones of God, by His election and their own as well?
It is the function of God’s ministers to help their brothers choose as they have done. God has elected all, but few have come to realize His Will is but their own. And while you fail to teach what you have learned, salvation waits and darkness holds the world in grim imprisonment. Nor will you learn that light has come to you, and your escape has been accomplished. For you will not see the light, until you offer it to all your brothers. As they take it from your hands, so will you recognize it as your own.
Salvation can be thought of as a game that happy children play. It was designed by One Who loves His children, and Who would replace their fearful toys with joyous games, which teach them that the game of fear is gone. His game instructs in happiness because there is no loser. Everyone who plays must win, and in his winning is the gain to everyone ensured. The game of fear is gladly laid aside, when children come to see the benefits salvation brings.
You who have played that you are lost to hope, abandoned by your Father, left alone in terror in a fearful world made mad by sin and guilt; be happy now. That game is over. Now a quiet time has come, in which we put away the toys of guilt, and lock our quaint and childish thoughts of sin forever from the pure and holy minds of Heaven’s children and the Son of God.
We pause but for a moment more, to play our final, happy game upon this earth. And then we go to take our rightful place where truth abides and games are meaningless. So is the story ended. Let this day bring the last chapter closer to the world, that everyone may learn the tale he reads of terrifying destiny, defeat of all his hopes, his pitiful defense against a vengeance he can not escape, is but his own deluded fantasy. God’s ministers have come to waken him from the dark dreams this story has evoked in his confused, bewildered memory of this distorted tale. God’s Son can smile at last, on learning that it is not true.
Today we practice in a form we will maintain for quite a while. We will begin each day by giving our attention to the daily thought as long as possible. Five minutes now becomes the least we give to preparation for a day in which salvation is the only goal we have. Ten would be better; fifteen better still. And as distraction ceases to arise to turn us from our purpose, we will find that half an hour is too short a time to spend with God. Nor will we willingly give less at night, in gratitude and joy.
Each hour adds to our increasing peace, as we remember to be faithful to the Will we share with God. At times, perhaps, a minute, even less, will be the most that we can offer as the hour strikes. Sometimes we will forget. At other times the business of the world will close on us, and we will be unable to withdraw a little while, and turn our thoughts to God.
Yet when we can, we will observe our trust as ministers of God, in hourly remembrance of our mission and His Love. And we will quietly sit by and wait on Him and listen to His Voice, and learn what He would have us do the hour that is yet to come; while thanking Him for all the gifts He gave us in the one gone by.
In time, with practice, you will never cease to think of Him, and hear His loving Voice guiding your footsteps into quiet ways, where you will walk in true defenselessness. For you will know that Heaven goes with you. Nor would you keep your mind away from Him a moment, even though your time is spent in offering salvation to the world. Think you He will not make this possible, for you who chose to carry out His plan for the salvation of the world and yours?
Today our theme is our defenselessness. We clothe ourselves in it, as we prepare to meet the day. We rise up strong in Christ, and let our weakness disappear, as we remember that His strength abides in us. We will remind ourselves that He remains beside us through the day, and never leaves our weakness unsupported by His strength. We call upon His strength each time we feel the threat of our defenses undermine our certainty of purpose. We will pause a moment, as He tells us, “I am here.”
Your practicing will now begin to take the earnestness of love, to help you keep your mind from wandering from its intent. Be not afraid nor timid. There can be no doubt that you will reach your final goal. The ministers of God can never fail, because the love and strength and peace that shine from them to all their brothers come from Him. These are His gifts to you. Defenselessness is all you need to give Him in return. You lay aside but what was never real, to look on Christ and see His sinlessness.

By Asma Bint Shameem
A woman is NOT “obligated” to give anything of her salary or her own money to her husband or contribute anything to support the household expenses.
A woman’s money is hers. And no one has the right to it except her own self. That’s one of the basic rights that Islaam has given women, along with her right to inherit, own property, run her own business, vote, etc.
And that’s what distinguishes Islaam from others religions.
But if she does decide to contribute to the household expenses or anything else for that matter, out of the goodness of her heart, without any compulsion, then that would count as sadaqah on her behalf and a gesture of goodwill. And a means of rewards for her from Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala.
That’s because it’s the MAN’s responsibility to provide for his wife and family. And NOT the wife’s.
The MEN are supposed to support the wife financially and spend on them in the mahr and on their maintenance, food, shelter, clothing etc.
🍃 Allaah says:
“Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allaah has made one of them to excel the other, and because they spend (to support them) from their means.” [al-Nisa 4:34].
It’s an OBLIGATION placed on the husband by Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala Himself.
🍃 Allaah says:
”the father of the child shall bear the cost of the mothers food and clothing on a reasonable basis. No person shall have a burden laid on him greater than he can bear.” [al-Baqarah 2:233]
🍃 And Allaah says to the MEN:
”And if they are pregnant, then spend on them till they deliver.” [al-Talaaq 65:6]
🍃 The Prophet sal Allaahu Alayhi wa sallam said in his Farewell Sermon:
“Fear Allaah with regard to women, for they are your prisoners. You have taken them as a trust from Allaah, and they have become permissible to you by the word of Allaah, and they have the RIGHT to be FED and CLOTHED reasonably by you.“ (Muslim, 8/183).
Being supported financially by her husband is one of the BASIC RIGHTS of the wife.
🍃 Muaawiyah ibn Haydah radhi Allaahu anhu said:
“I said, O Messenger of Allaah, what is the right of the wife of any one of us over us?
He said: That you should FEED her as you feed yourself and CLOTHE her as you clothe yourself, that you should not say to her May Allaah make your face ugly! and that you should not beat her.” (Abu Dawood, 2/244; Ibn Maajah, 1850; Ahmad, 4/446).
🍃 Shaykh ibn al-‘Uthaymeen said:
“The husband is OBLIGED to spend upon his family, upon his wife and children, on a reasonable basis, even if the wife is rich.
Yet he has NO RIGHT to TAKE ANYTHING from her salary, not half, not more or less.
The salary is HERS, so long as it was stipulated in the marriage contract that he should not prevent her from teaching and he agreed to that.
So he does not have the right to take anything from her salary; it is HERS.“ [Sharh Riyadh as-Saliheen (6/143, 144)]
So if he’s obliged to SPEND on her, how can he take from her money?
🍃 The scholars said:
“The basic principle concerning any wealth the wife owns is that it belongs to HER and not to her husband, whether this wealth came into her possession by means of trade or business, or through inheritance, or as part of her mahr (dowry) or from the state. The husband does not have a share in any of that; rather it is her property and none of it is permissible for him unless she gives it to him willingly. If it were the case that the husband owned his wife’s wealth, then his wife’s entire estate when she died would go to the husband and no one else would have a share in it, and that does not happen according to the laws of Allaah. Based on that, the money that comes to this wife as assistance for her from the state belongs exclusively to her and it is not permissible for her husband to take control of it.
It is not permissible for the husband to take anything from his wife’s wealth except what she allows.
Allaah, may He be exalted, says:
“O you who believe! Eat not up your property among yourselves unjustly except it be a trade amongst you, by mutual consent” [an-Nisa 4:29]
“And give to the women (whom you marry) their Mahr (obligatory bridal money given by the husband to his wife at the time of marriage) with a good heart, but if they, of their own good pleasure, remit any part of it to you, take it, and enjoy it without fear of any harm (as Allah has made it lawful).” [an-Nisa 4:4]. We have discussed the evidence from the Quran and Sunnah and scholarly consensus that proves that the husband is obliged to spend on his wife according to his means; he does not have the right to force her to spend on her own maintenance even if she is rich, unless she agrees to that.” (Islamqa Fatwa # 163541)
And Allaah knows best.

Four months since the big D-Day, and I continue to experience what I believe to be hysterical bonding. I despise it. I think it would be much easier for me to cope with the betrayal trauma if I responded as most women do, by distancing myself. This is especially torturous for me because it is entirely one-sided. I crave attention, hugs, kisses, touches, and intimacy, yet he remains cold and distant. If I am lucky, he might brush my leg with his foot for a couple of seconds. Despite telling him numerous times that I find comfort in closeness while I’m trying to heal, nothing changes.
We frequently have sex, but it is mostly initiated by me. He allows me to “service” him, barely touching me in return. There is no foreplay, no cuddling afterward. This lack of affection wasn’t present even when he was using pornography. Currently, I have no evidence to suggest he continues watching, nor do I have any reason to believe he has stopped. He hasn’t been touchy for years, but he was at least affectionate. Is this resentment toward me for uncovering his secret life? His ego? Or is this how he is coping with his own trauma, shame, and guilt?
How can I stop disrespecting myself in this way? I've tried distracting myself by spending time with friends, buying new clothes, and changing my hairstyle, but all this is just temporary relief. I've had six or seven therapy sessions with a general therapist, as there are no CSATs available in my area, but I found them unhelpful and felt I could talk to a friend the same way, for free.
As time passes, I had hoped things would become easier, but unfortunately, they have not. I remember the day I gave birth to my daughter. I arrived at the hospital in excruciating pain, tossing and turning on the patient stretcher, desperately begging for an epidural to relieve my agony. That is how I feel now, but the pain is far worse.
I struggle to control my intrusive thoughts; the unknowns and what-ifs constantly creep up on me throughout the day, causing me to spiral downward. I cannot discuss my feelings with him because it always ends with him getting defensive and lashing out at me. My therapist once said that our anxiety worsens when we don't act in accordance with our feelings. I try to appear as if I’m okay, but deep down, I'm screaming in pain every day. Does it ever get better?

By Asma Bint Shameem
A woman is NOT “obligated” to give anything of her salary or her own money to her husband or contribute anything to support the household expenses.
A woman’s money is hers. And no one has the right to it except her own self. That’s one of the basic rights that Islaam has given women, along with her right to inherit, own property, run her own business, vote, etc.
And that’s what distinguishes Islaam from others religions.
But if she does decide to contribute to the household expenses or anything else for that matter, out of the goodness of her heart, without any compulsion, then that would count as sadaqah on her behalf and a gesture of goodwill. And a means of rewards for her from Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala.
That’s because it’s the MAN’s responsibility to provide for his wife and family. And NOT the wife’s.
The MEN are supposed to support the wife financially and spend on them in the mahr and on their maintenance, food, shelter, clothing etc.
🍃 Allaah says:
“Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allaah has made one of them to excel the other, and because they spend (to support them) from their means.” [al-Nisa 4:34].
It’s an OBLIGATION placed on the husband by Allaah Subhaanahu wa Ta’aala Himself.
🍃 Allaah says:
”the father of the child shall bear the cost of the mothers food and clothing on a reasonable basis. No person shall have a burden laid on him greater than he can bear.” [al-Baqarah 2:233]
🍃 And Allaah says to the MEN:
”And if they are pregnant, then spend on them till they deliver.” [al-Talaaq 65:6]
🍃 The Prophet sal Allaahu Alayhi wa sallam said in his Farewell Sermon:
“Fear Allaah with regard to women, for they are your prisoners. You have taken them as a trust from Allaah, and they have become permissible to you by the word of Allaah, and they have the RIGHT to be FED and CLOTHED reasonably by you.“ (Muslim, 8/183).
Being supported financially by her husband is one of the BASIC RIGHTS of the wife.
🍃 Muaawiyah ibn Haydah radhi Allaahu anhu said:
“I said, O Messenger of Allaah, what is the right of the wife of any one of us over us?
He said: That you should FEED her as you feed yourself and CLOTHE her as you clothe yourself, that you should not say to her May Allaah make your face ugly! and that you should not beat her.” (Abu Dawood, 2/244; Ibn Maajah, 1850; Ahmad, 4/446).
🍃 Shaykh ibn al-‘Uthaymeen said:
“The husband is OBLIGED to spend upon his family, upon his wife and children, on a reasonable basis, even if the wife is rich.
Yet he has NO RIGHT to TAKE ANYTHING from her salary, not half, not more or less.
The salary is HERS, so long as it was stipulated in the marriage contract that he should not prevent her from teaching and he agreed to that.
So he does not have the right to take anything from her salary; it is HERS.“ [Sharh Riyadh as-Saliheen (6/143, 144)]
So if he’s obliged to SPEND on her, how can he take from her money?
🍃 The scholars said:
“The basic principle concerning any wealth the wife owns is that it belongs to HER and not to her husband, whether this wealth came into her possession by means of trade or business, or through inheritance, or as part of her mahr (dowry) or from the state. The husband does not have a share in any of that; rather it is her property and none of it is permissible for him unless she gives it to him willingly. If it were the case that the husband owned his wife’s wealth, then his wife’s entire estate when she died would go to the husband and no one else would have a share in it, and that does not happen according to the laws of Allaah. Based on that, the money that comes to this wife as assistance for her from the state belongs exclusively to her and it is not permissible for her husband to take control of it.
It is not permissible for the husband to take anything from his wife’s wealth except what she allows.
Allaah, may He be exalted, says:
“O you who believe! Eat not up your property among yourselves unjustly except it be a trade amongst you, by mutual consent” [an-Nisa 4:29]
“And give to the women (whom you marry) their Mahr (obligatory bridal money given by the husband to his wife at the time of marriage) with a good heart, but if they, of their own good pleasure, remit any part of it to you, take it, and enjoy it without fear of any harm (as Allah has made it lawful).” [an-Nisa 4:4]. We have discussed the evidence from the Quran and Sunnah and scholarly consensus that proves that the husband is obliged to spend on his wife according to his means; he does not have the right to force her to spend on her own maintenance even if she is rich, unless she agrees to that.” (Islamqa Fatwa # 163541)
And Allaah knows best.

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Check About section
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Fix the resolution and clarity of old photos that have faded. Remini can use AI to turn old or low-resolution photos into better-quality ones. Make hazy images look as clear as glass. After choosing enhance and the picture you want to change, you must now wait a few minutes. Make it easier to understand. With Remini, you can fix blurry videos and watch them on a TV or large screen with clear images. You, Remini, can fix photos and videos, and it has many other features just waiting to be found, like the ability to make images from photos.

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​
---Sample---
​
---Fnurfar’s perspective---
---2710 Terran Calenda3 years BF---
All six of my paws desperately scramble against the slick pavement of the Prosperity back alley as I flee for my life!
Pursuing me… is a monster!
His species aren’t meant to be sprinters!
They said if it came to a chase, I just needed to quickly get out of his line of sight and keep going and he’d not be able to keep up!
I skid around a corner and steal a glance behind me, seeing two furious eyes moving towards me so fast that they seem to leave streaks of emerald green behind them as afterimages!
The Fury is so close on my tail that he’s almost certain to catch me now!
It would be laughable how much my… ‘employers’ had underestimated him if it weren’t so terrifying!
‘You’ve got a Terran with you! There should be no issue!’
Yes, that idiot mercenary they hired almost had me going with his smug, arrogant proclamation that ‘Big=slow! Slow=dead!’ as he idly showed off his little knife tricks!
My confidence lasted up until the very moment I saw the one we were supposed to rob!
[20cm] taller than the skinny mercenary and looking like he could easily weigh twice as much, the man was a Hunt damned beast compared to the one who was meant to protect me from him!
I think Flynn reassessed his cocksure attitude as well because, rather than waiting for me to have an opening like we agreed in the [fucking] plan, he just drew a knife and tried to stab the monster to death!
An extremely poorly calculated risk!
There was no competition!
This juggernaut dealt with Flynn as easily as Flynn could have dealt with me!
It took him a matter of seconds to dispatch my accomplice but that was a matter of seconds where he was distracted enough that I was able to snag what we had been after… not that it makes any difference now!
Just as I hear thundering footfalls coming up on my left, powerful fingers impact the space between the bottom of my neck and the top of my top shoulderblades.
I’m slammed into the ground… but not killed…
I can feel the power contained in the iron grip around my neck…
I know that decapitating me would be as simple as deciding to close his fingers but, as I wait for death to come, it doesn’t…
Instead, the hand slides up my shoulders, gathering the loose skin and lifting me up like a kit in her parent’s mouth…
The first thing I’m able to see is the monster’s flat, booted feet, followed by a pair of long thick legs, then a chest and left arm covered in a loose fitting, buttoned shirt, patterned with vertical and horizontal lines.
The red fabric of his top disguises the bloodstain from the wound he got from Flynn, just below his shoulder. However, the nauseatingly metallic smell of it absolutely fills my nostrils!
The final thing to be revealed, as my feet hang more than [a metre] from the ground, is a face… the scarred skin a pale beige, the white, calcite teeth bared in a furious grimace, copper coloured eyebrows tilted downward in the middle over a nose, wrinkled with anger, and emerald eyes, burning with rage!
His shoulders rise and fall, in time with panted breaths he sucks in and out through his gritted teeth, putting me less in mind of a person (or even an animal) catching their breath after exertion and more in mind of some hulking piece of machinery from the Steam Age venting its pressure!
The Terran extends his pallid skinned, long fingered, furless, pentadactyl left hand to me, stained with the ferrous blood that’s run down his sleeve, and growls “Sample!”
“No…” I breathe, terrified.
“GIRL! I AIN’T fuckin’ PLAYIN’ with you!” he snarls, curling all but his index finger and jabbing it towards my snout “You’re gonna. GIVE. BACK. what you. FUCKIN’. STOLE!”
“You… can take it… from my corpse…” I defy, clutching my exhausted, trembling pawhands to the front of my jumpsuit.
Effortlessly, his free hand comes forward, batting my four aside, before pinching the top of the stasis vial and pulling it free, with there being absolutely nothing I can do to stop him!
He holds up the tube, in which is visible a small plant with a rosette of frilly black leaves and through which can be seen a frozen impression of the room it was in when it was stasised, demanding “You’re really willin’ to die for this!? For corporate espionage?!… Why the fuck’s this matter to you like that?!?!?!”
“I don’t care… about the plant… at all…” I answer, defeated.
His face twists in a sneer as he asks “Then why tell me I had to pry it from your cold. dead. hands!?”
“Because… if I come back… emptyhanded… they’re going to… torture my husband… and son… and make me watch!… If I don’t… come back… at all… maybe they’ll let them go!” I pant in answer.
His face falls blank… but I can tell that is not because he’s no longer angry!
Instead, his redoubled rage has gone from white hot to ice cold as he leans in and demands “Who’s ‘they’?”
---2715 Terran Calenda2 years AF---
“One!?” demands the sceptical, lutrine, Nvar man, one of six listening to my story for the first time (along with the two friends who’ve heard it before), holding up a webbed pawhand and extending a single finger “You’re trying to tell us that one Terran dismantled the entire Giluspri Sisters’ Syndicate, overnight!?… Simply because you told him a sob story about them holding your family hostage!?”
“I did say you wouldn’t believe me(!)” I smirk, lifting my drink to take a sip.
“You’re damn right I don’t believe you!!!” he sneers “It might have been a little more believable if you’d made it a team of a dozen or so Terrans that were guarding this thing but one!?… There’s no way it took a single individual a single night to root out and entirely destroy an enterprise that Prosperity’s government had been hunting for nearly [2 decades], even if that individual was a Terran!”
I place my drink down on the table and turn the palms of all four pawhands to the ceiling as I say “Believe me or don’t… that’s exactly how it happened!”
“Hmmm… Don’t know ’bout ‘exactly’…!” comes a familiar voice from behind my head, in the next booth over.
I freeze and straighten my back.
The friends and audience in my booth are looking past me, curiously, but, from their faces, it doesn’t look like they can see anything.
I stand and slide out through the gap between the table and Nafnarl’s footpaws.
I turn right and am immediately able to see that the booth next to us is occupied by a mixture of Terrans and some much smaller humanoids with green skin.
I keep going, rounding the partition to reveal…
“By the Hunt! Victor?!” I exclaim, seeing the man sat with his back almost exactly to where I was sitting, next to another tall, slim humanoid with blue skin and four arms.
His copper hair is much longer, his face isn’t as scarred and isn’t wearing the disgusted sneer that characterised so much of the time he and I spent together but… there’s no mistaking it!
The man turns his head, smiling, before standing up to nearly twice my height and extending a palm to ruffle the fur between my ears, saying “How’s it goin’, Foxy? You look a lot better ’an you did last time I saw you at least(!)” gesturing with his other hand up and down my less skinny and less visibly scarred body.
“Never mind that, Victor! What are you doing here?! You didn’t tell me you were coming back to Prosperity!”
He smirks “Yeah, sorry Foxy… It’s a loose lips sink ships kinda deal… Just thought I’d show my friends here the bar you brought me to celebrate after everythin’ was done that time… Didn’t think I’d actually run into you here!”
I stare up at the man, agog, for a few moments before reaching up with both my left hands and closing them around his wrist.
He allows me to drag him back to the head of my table.
“Nafnarl! Gfurnaf! This is him! This is the one I’ve been telling you about for the last [5 years]!” I say to my two Graufna friends before turning to the rest of the table to declare “He’s the man who took down the Giluspris! He’s Victor ‘Cuddles’ Taylor!”
With mirthful bemusement, the Terran raises his left palm to the table to smile “Y’alright guys!” before his eyes scan the faces and his expression goes concerned. He turns to me and asks “Your hubby alright, Foxy?”
I bare my teeth (I hope friendlily) and answer “Fnarnulf’s fine, Victor!… Fuffarn too! This is just a girl’s night…” gesturing at my two friends “…or… it was(!)” gesturing over the four men and two women, of four different species, who joined us to hear my story.
“What did you mean by it not being ‘exactly’ right?” queries Lunvo, the same sceptical Nvar who voiced disbelief before, still looking sceptical (not that I can blame him) but at least impressed by the fact that the ‘con’ has a (imposing looking) Terran stooge now(!)
“Weeeeell…” Victor frowns down at me, mirthfully “…the way she described me dodgin’ that knife attack, she made me sound almost psychic(!)… In reality, she and this guy weren’t as smooth as she seems to think(!) The fact that I even got nicked by someone I was payin’ as much attention to as that is a bad reflection on my reaction time!… Also, she kinda made it sound like I went into their headquarters with a gun in one hand and a lit plasmasword in the other(!) As I recall, I gave ’em all a chance to surrender and come quietly and it were only after they, shall we say, indicated a lack of interest in that option that my weapons first cleared leather!… Oh! And what was with all that comparin’ the way I pant to ventin’ steam engines, Foxy(?!)”
“But…” starts Muan, a nervous tolypeutine Wne woman beside her Wno husband, Kmuw “…you don’t deny it was you and you alone who brought down the Giluspris?… Without help?”
The pale skin of the Terran’s flat face performs a complicated scrunch as he considers the question before answering “Don’t know ’bout ‘without help’… I had Foxy here for showin’ me the way, after I’d done a lotta convincin’… and, once I’d taken care of ’em, local law enforcers came to take the survivors away… Aaaaand… I probably didn’t actually manage to kill or capture every last one of ’em… just gutted its power structure enough that the rats fled the sinkin’ ship(!)”
“Why are you calling her ‘Foxy’?” asks Lunvo, four eyes narrowed in suspicion “‘Fnurfar’ is the name she gave us!”
The large man shrugs his shoulders “I didn’t get her name until we came here to celebrate… she didn’t trust me to give it… Had to call her somethin’, so I called her Foxy.”
“Hmmm…” responds Lunvo “…I’m not buying it…”
Victor raises an eyebrow “You ain’t buyin’ me givin’ her a nickname(!?)”
“I don’t believe any of it! The whole story reeks of the fanciful!”
I bare my teeth and slam my paws on the table before snarling “I don’t care if you question my honesty, Lunvo, but this man saved my husband’s life, my son’s life, the lives of dozens of others, freed me from effective slavery and freed this planet from its largest criminal syndicate! I will not have you questioning his integrity!”
Lunvo cowers away from me, despite the table separating us.
I feel a large, strong hand on my shoulder.
I turn to see a smiling face.
“Eeeeasy there, Foxy… ’Preciate the defence but there ain’t no need to get heated over it!… ’Specially not when there’s a really easy way to sort this out…” he looks up at Lunvo and asks “Lunvo, was it? Could I ask you to look up the front page of the Prosperity Chronicle from the 3rd of September, 2710?… I think you’ll see a picture of me shakin’ hands with your governor at the time…”
---
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Discord
Dramatis Personae

I need advice regarding my relationship and decision that I’ve made. I want to know if I made the right decision. I (21f) met my (25m) bf at a tobacconist. He approached me and was very polite and asked for my number and if he could take me out. I asked him about his age and if he works because these are important things for me to know before even giving out my number. He answered and said he wasn’t working at the moment because he just got out of house arrest and I asking him if he’s not working, how will he take me out? He told me money isn’t an issue he’s just not employed. I got what he was trying to say. He took me out on a date and it was perfect. He was polite, sweet and a gentleman. It felt like love at first sight for me. We began dating and then he got arrested near my street when he came to drop off a motorcycle to someone and then came to see me. At this point, I knew him for 5 weeks in total and we spoke about a lot of things and I told him hypotheticallly if he was to be locked up again I would hold it down for him. I don’t think he believed me at the time I told him but when the situation arised, it wasn’t even a question for me and I did hold him down. It took a few weeks for him to get processed and call me. I wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be with me anymore. Right after his arrest, I tried to track him down to which jail he was at and sent him letters with words of encouragement and reassurance that I am here for him as promised. In those three weeks of no contact, I also got his BPAY details to put money in his account and have been this whole time. Around $30-$50 per week. He usually spends that money to call me twice a day for 15 minutes per call. Sometimes he calls me 3 times a day. In the weeks where I couldn’t send him money, he never asked for money but I realised the calls were only once a day as he was trying to space out the calls for the week as he was low on money. Still, he never asked me for anything. He’s always given me reassurance during the 6 months he’s been inside and speaks to me kindly and gently. When we do have issues, usually on the first call he will say something that’s not quite right and upset me but always fix it by the second call when he’s had time to think about it. I’ve felt lucky af to have him because he’s been the most sweetest and romantic person I’ve been with yet. All of his friends know bout me and message me when it comes to important information regarding his trial. His mum has also confided in me for the last 6 months and has told me that I’m like a daughter to her (although in the last 1 month she’s ghosted me). I had a face to face visit with him last month because his mum took me with her and it felt amazing to be able to see him and hold him. He has lied to me about a few things starting off with his ethnicity. When I met him he told me he was two different ethnicities but I later came to find out drop his mum that he’s actually 100% Indian and doesn’t have any roots of those other two ethnicities. His mum showed me her entire family as proof and his dad’s family. His mum has also warned me numerous times to break up with him because he’s been in and out of prison since he was 20 and every time he says he will change but he doesn’t. He’s also gotten expelled from school so he never finished school either. He has never had a normal job but has been making money in other ways so money isn’t an issue. I also think he might be addicted to drugs but I am not sure. He has gotten people to transfer different amounts of money into my account and for me to transfer them to other accounts. I did become suspicious of what’s going on but I kind of turned a blind eye to it and told him he better not be making me do something I shouldn’t be doing. He’s always told me if i don’t want to do it it’s totally fine and he can get someone else to do this for him. I am confident I am the only girl he’s talking to as I can book visits every week and I can tell other people are not really visiting him except his sister and mum sometimes and his mum’s also given me reassurance that he is talking to me only me and that when it comes to relationships he is soft hearted. I also do think he is soft hearted. I have experienced a lot of adversity from people and people definitely have looked down on me and have told me all sorts of negative things but I tried to stay strong and stay in the relationship. I have always brought up with issues and we have fixed them. Anyways, he gets out in 10 days and last week I went on to reddit to read peoples posts about dating someone that’s in prison and it scared tf out of me when I saw that all this sweet romantic talk is just “prison talk” and that they will switch up once they come out. I have sent him lots of pics of me too and I saw other people talking about how they sell and trade photos of women and I think I know him enough to know he respects me to not do that to me but all of these things just freaked me out. I am really scared of getting hurt so I tend to withdraw from relationships because the other person can leave me or hurt me to leave him. I know it’s something I struggle with but I have held it down for 6 months even though I only knew him for 5 weeks prior. I have tried to support him in every way I can and I have never missed a call from him. I am not strong enough to break things off over the phone because the calls are timed and I am afraid that if he does give me reassurance over the phone rn it’s probably “prison talk.” I would never ghost him or not give closure so I sent a message to be passed to him to his friend. In the message I basically talked about the reason why I’m leaving is because i don’t think he loves me and probably only feels so strongly about me because he’s in jail and all he’s got is time so now he’s infatuated with me but when he comes out that may change. I don’t want to hold him to promises he’s made while being in there and I don’t want to subconsciously force him to be with me I did write all that in a panic state. Anyway, I think he got the message. He did try to call me a few times after he got the message and I didn’t pick up. I love him a lot so deep down I do want him to try and prove me wrong and give me reassurance that it’s not just prison talk and that he does love me and want to be with me. He’s always made it clear he loves me over the phone. Do you guys think I made the right choice and that if he truly does love me, he will understand how I have been feeling on my end? It’s very difficult to be a loved one of someone that is incarcerated. You feel lonely and always in an emotional roller coaster. I stuck through and didn’t abandon him during his sentence but now that he’s coming out, I’ve kind of just set him free so he doesn’t feel guilty about treating me differently when he comes out if he realises his feelings are not as strong as they were once he was locked up.

My girlfriend (F19) and I (M18) have been together for almost a year and a half, and she has made continuous mistakes that have crossed boundaries and make me question if our relationship is even real.
I don't know if this has any relevance, but my girlfriend has BPD, and has been screwed over in her past relationships. And the first two or three months throughout our relationship, she was extremely cold towards me. Like it seemed like she hated my guts, but around 5-6 months in, she got obsessed with me, needed to know my every move, always talking about how handsome I am, and saying how she'd probably kill herself if we broke up. The issues in our relationship start here:
It started around the first month or two in our relationship, when she pulls up her phone to text her mum, I see in her recent messages her ex is there. She loved this ex so much, and when she found out he cheated on her (which led to their breakup), she was placed under heavy medication, and sent to a psych ward. I confronted her over the situation a few hours later over iMessages, telling her that I found how she didn't tell me that her ex and her were talking, and how it was disrespectful to our relationship. She tells me that she thought I wouldn't want to know, and that it would've ruined the mood. She began to tell me what the messages said, NOT SHOW ME, tell me. She said that the ex had her on a sort of blackmail leash, threatening to leak her private pictures (she never told me what the terms of the blackmail was), and also that the ex was going through a lot, as he and his current girlfriend are taking heavy drugs, and he needed someone to spit out his problems to. She never showed me the actual messages, only telling me what the messages supposedly said.
I don't know if she was lying to me or not, but she deleted the messages, blocked him, and from what I know never talked to him again. But this was the beginning of this distrust, the only way I could believe her, was by taking her word. There were no messages for me to read and verify with my own eyes, I just had to take her word that nothing was happening. I was immature and unable to stand up for myself, so I let the conversation just go her way, and it was shut down within 15 text messages.
Around two months into our relationship, she is moving schools as she has more friends at the other school in her local area, and to finish year 12 in a more professional environment. She goes to one more party that her old school is throwing, to say goodbye to everyone. I wasn't able to attend this party, but I told her to just go on her own. She meets a guy there, and they hit it off. She's texting me and calling me throughout this whole party, and gets me to say hi to this person. I don't mind it, because I just figured she made a new friend. This guy likes all the same things as her, and likes the same music she does. (She's huge into metal / numetal bands.) Suddenly, she stops responding to my messages, calls etc, for around two hours.
When she gets home from the party, she tells me that her phone died, and I ask her how the party went. She tells me that a different girl really liked the guy she was hitting it off with, and how the guy was trying to make the girl jealous, by talking to my girlfriend. My girlfriend tells the guy that she's gonna go on a walk, and the guy follows her. They apparently go to a secluded cliffside, and just talk. She tells me that she had to clear up the air to some people that they did not do the deed, and they were just talking. I tell her how wrong that was of her, and how he most likely had other intentions, especially if hes trying to make another girl jealous. I tell her that boundaries were crossed, and she just tells me to do whatever I want (breakup or stay together). I stay, and she tells me the boundary was set, and if I don't believe her, I can ask the guy himself, or I can ask her girl bestfriend.
I thought the girl bestfriend thing was bizarre, as she said it was just my girlfriend and the guy at the cliffside. There is no way that her girl bestfriend wouldve known, unless my girlfriend specifically told her what happened. Could be a stretch, I dunno.
Once again, another thing that I just have to take her word for. There's nothing I can do to get her to prove to me that nothing happened at that cliffside,
This is where things get a bit murky. Around 9 months into our relationship, my girlfriend meets a guy at her new school, lets call him Fred. Her and Fred become good close friends. This was about the stage in me and my girlfriends relationship where she becomes obsessive with me. She asks me if her and Fred can go over to Fred's house, to smoke some weed. I didn't really mind, so I said sure. This became a daily thing. Her and Fred would go to Freds house almost every day, or at least 4 times a week to smoke weed. Fred would start sending her reels, but she wouldn't send any back. The reels started becoming a bit more weird, or lovey dovey, stuff like "You're either frolicking in this field with or without me".
She'd start sending me voice messages of them having a good time, sending photos of them hanging out, and then when she'd come home from school, she'd tell me all about how Fred said the funniest thing today, how funny he is, how they have inside jokes etc. Fred begins to start asking her to play Minecraft with her. At this point, I talk to her about this. I tell her that I understand that I said it was okay for her to go over to Fred's house, but I'm asking that her and Fred stop hanging out together alone. She tells me that I should've told her sooner, and we both apologised to one another.
I apologised for my miscommunication or lack of communication, and she apologised for crossing another boundary. Things were good between us, she'd stopped hanging out with Fred completely, and our relationship was more intimate then ever. A few weeks after Fred's silence, he asks my girlfriend to go to his party, and my girlfriend is wanting to go. I tell her that I'm uncomfortable with it, and I'd rather she not went, and then she got furious with me, and everyone around her. She was at work during this conversation, but then she locked herself in the staff bathroom, and cried in there for the remainder of her shift. Her friend, who also works at the same place she does, told me about the whole situation with her locking herself in the bathroom, and just checking up on if shes okay, and if anything happened between us. It was clear to me my girlfriend was growing attached to Fred.
She gives in, and tells Fred that she can't go to his party, in which Fred says: "OK, I'll change the party to next week so you can come." This bothered me so much, it's clear to me that Fred's only intentions of this party was to have some more time my girlfriend, and if anyone else was to of cancelled, no way would he of changed the day of the party for them.
I told my girlfriend there was no way she's going to that party, and it turns into a yelling match. She begins to cry, saying how she's sorry that she made me anxious about Fred, and then she goes into her room to self harm, either as a form of manipulation, or because of her BPD. This self harm leads to me having to apologise to her, and comforting her, instantly ending the conversation we were having because I had to go check on her, and sympathise with her.
A few months pass, and Fred and her are talking again. They're not talking outside of texts, so it's whatever, I'm fine with it, and the texts are always one sided, meaning my girlfriend leaving Fred on seen.
Fred asks my girlfriend if she wants to come over to his, in which she explains the situation, and how shes respecting our boundaries.
I go through her and Fred's messages, and find countless somewhat intimate messages between them, as well as Fred disrespecting me and my girlfriends boundaries. My girlfriend and Fred talk to eachother about what they dreamt about, and my girlfriend knows every little detail about Fred. She offers to find him some clothes that Fred was looking for. Then I see the text of my girlfriend asking Fred for some weed, in which Fred tells her to just come over to his, and they can smoke weed. My girlfriend comes up with some shitty excuse explaining why she can't go, and the conversation ends there. I believe that Fred was disrespecting our relationship immensely there, especially after being told that I was uncomfortable with them two hanging out, he proceeds to ask her to go over to his.
I tell her about this, and how it isn't okay, and how he was so clearly disrespecting our boundaries. She tells me that she understands now, and she didn't see it that way throughout their text messages.
I genuinely don't know what to do. I want to marry this girl, but I just can't trust her enough. Are these reasons to break up with her? I'm trying so hard to get them out of my mind, but I just can't. Too many major things have happened, in which she is constantly telling me to just trust her, and that nothing bad happened. I don't know that for sure, and that's whats making me so anxious. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with a girl who I can't trust, but I also love her so much. I want to marry her, but I know for my own peace of mind it's probably not the best thing to do, considering I can't trust her.
Please give any advice.
TLDR; I'm worried my girlfriend has cheated on me a few times, but I have no proof, as she is constantly deleting it, or being in situations where I can't get any proof. I love her and want to marry her, but I'm worried our marriage will fail if I can't trust her enough.

I need advice regarding my relationship and decision that I’ve made. I want to know if I made the right decision.
I (21f) met my (25m) bf at a tobacconist. He approached me and was very polite and asked for my number and if he could take me out. I asked him about his age and if he works because these are important things for me to know before even giving out my number. He answered and said he wasn’t working at the moment because he just got out of house arrest and I asking him if he’s not working, how will he take me out? He told me money isn’t an issue he’s just not employed. I got what he was trying to say.
He took me out on a date and it was perfect. He was polite, sweet and a gentleman. It felt like love at first sight for me. We began dating and then he got arrested near my street when he came to drop off a motorcycle to someone and then came to see me. At this point, I knew him for 5 weeks in total and we spoke about a lot of things and I told him hypotheticallly if he was to be locked up again I would hold it down for him. I don’t think he believed me at the time I told him but when the situation arised, it wasn’t even a question for me and I did hold him down.
It took a few weeks for him to get processed and call me. I wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be with me anymore. Right after his arrest, I tried to track him down to which jail he was at and sent him letters with words of encouragement and reassurance that I am here for him as promised. In those three weeks of no contact, I also got his BPAY details to put money in his account and have been this whole time. Around $30-$50 per week. He usually spends that money to call me twice a day for 15 minutes per call. Sometimes he calls me 3 times a day. In the weeks where I couldn’t send him money, he never asked for money but I realised the calls were only once a day as he was trying to space out the calls for the week as he was low on money. Still, he never asked me for anything. He’s always given me reassurance during the 6 months he’s been inside and speaks to me kindly and gently. When we do have issues, usually on the first call he will say something that’s not quite right and upset me but always fix it by the second call when he’s had time to think about it. I’ve felt lucky af to have him because he’s been the most sweetest and romantic person I’ve been with yet. All of his friends know bout me and message me when it comes to important information regarding his trial. His mum has also confided in me for the last 6 months and has told me that I’m like a daughter to her (although in the last 1 month she’s ghosted me).
I had a face to face visit with him last month because his mum took me with her and it felt amazing to be able to see him and hold him. He has lied to me about a few things starting off with his ethnicity. When I met him he told me he was two different ethnicities but I later came to find out drop his mum that he’s actually 100% Indian and doesn’t have any roots of those other two ethnicities. His mum showed me her entire family as proof and his dad’s family. His mum has also warned me numerous times to break up with him because he’s been in and out of prison since he was 20 and every time he says he will change but he doesn’t.
He’s also gotten expelled from school so he never finished school either. He has never had a normal job but has been making money in other ways so money isn’t an issue. I also think he might be addicted to drugs but I am not sure. He has gotten people to transfer different amounts of money into my account and for me to transfer them to other accounts. I did become suspicious of what’s going on but I kind of turned a blind eye to it and told him he better not be making me do something I shouldn’t be doing. He’s always told me if i don’t want to do it it’s totally fine and he can get someone else to do this for him. I am confident I am the only girl he’s talking to as I can book visits every week and I can tell other people are not really visiting him except his sister and mum sometimes and his mum’s also given me reassurance that he is talking to me only me and that when it comes to relationships he is soft hearted.
I also do think he is soft hearted. I have experienced a lot of adversity from people and people definitely have looked down on me and have told me all sorts of negative things but I tried to stay strong and stay in the relationship. I have always brought up with issues and we have fixed them.
Anyways, he gets out in 10 days and last week I went on to reddit to read peoples posts about dating someone that’s in prison and it scared tf out of me when I saw that all this sweet romantic talk is just “prison talk” and that they will switch up once they come out. I have sent him lots of pics of me too and I saw other people talking about how they sell and trade photos of women and I think I know him enough to know he respects me to not do that to me but all of these things just freaked me out. I am really scared of getting hurt so I tend to withdraw from relationships because the other person can leave me or hurt me to leave him. I know it’s something I struggle with but I have held it down for 6 months even though I only knew him for 5 weeks prior. I have tried to support him in every way I can and I have never missed a call from him.
I am not strong enough to break things off over the phone because the calls are timed and I am afraid that if he does give me reassurance over the phone rn it’s probably “prison talk.” I would never ghost him or not give closure so I sent a message to be passed to him to his friend. In the message I basically talked about the reason why I’m leaving is because i don’t think he loves me and probably only feels so strongly about me because he’s in jail and all he’s got is time so now he’s infatuated with me but when he comes out that may change. I don’t want to hold him to promises he’s made while being in there and I don’t want to subconsciously force him to be with me
I did write all that in a panic state. Anyway, I think he got the message. He did try to call me a few times after he got the message and I didn’t pick up. I love him a lot so deep down I do want him to try and prove me wrong and give me reassurance that it’s not just prison talk and that he does love me and want to be with me.
He’s always made it clear he loves me over the phone. Do you guys think I made the right choice and that if he truly does love me, he will understand how I have been feeling on my end? It’s very difficult to be a loved one of someone that is incarcerated. You feel lonely and always in an emotional roller coaster. I stuck through and didn’t abandon him during his sentence but now that he’s coming out, I’ve kind of just set him free so he doesn’t feel guilty about treating me differently when he comes out if he realises his feelings are not as strong as they were once he was locked up.

Hi everyone,
I'm reaching out because I've been struggling with a specific trigger related to gym culture. I've had bulimia for ten years and have been hospitalized multiple times. While I'm on a journey of recovery and using journaling as a coping mechanism, I find that the culture surrounding gyms and fitness can be particularly triggering for me.
The constant focus on body image, weight loss, and intense exercise regimes brings back a lot of negative feelings and thoughts. I know that staying physically active is important for my overall health, but navigating these environments feels overwhelming and counterproductive to my mental health progress. I also look at these women with jealousy because my body could never look that good without sacrificing my mental health and falling back into my ED. It also makes me feel weak because I cannot do what they did and look as good as they do.
Has anyone else experienced something similar? How do you manage these triggers while still maintaining a healthy lifestyle? Any advice on finding a balance or creating a more supportive exercise environment would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you in advance for your support and understanding.

Allah designed men to provide for and protect women, but that doesn't make men superior to women
Of all the factors that have made masculinity — the biological essence of males — perhaps none is as consequential and underappreciated as this: wombs are more valuable than sperm. A man can impregnate multiple women at a time, but a womb can only hold one baby (occasionally two or three) at once; thus twelve women and three men can re-populate a society to a far greater extent than three women and twelve men.
This makes men more expendable than women.
The most obvious example of this occurs in times of war when there are inevitably large numbers of widows and girls whose fiances and husbands have been killed in the fighting. One has only to recall the figures of the dead in the first and second world wars to be aware that literally millions of women and girls lost their husbands and fiances and were left alone without any income or care or protection for themselves or their children. If it is still maintained that under these circumstances a man may marry only one wife, what options are left to the millions of other women who have no hope of getting a husband? Their choice, bluntly stated, is between a chaste and childless old maidenhood, or becoming somebody's mistress; that is, an unofficial second wife with no legal rights for herself or for her children. Most women would not welcome either of these since most women have always wanted and still do want the security of a legal husband and family....
Hence, Islam proposes polygamy as a solution in a time of crisis. Instead of abandoning large numbers of families, widows, and orphans, in the hope of holding on to some notion of “equality” and monogamous marriage under all circumstances, Islam offers a practical solution keeping in mind the long-term health and spiritual condition of individuals and the society at large.

I’m talking Uber Driver, Food Delivery Person, Security Personnel etc … those micro interactions that we all have day to day in our lives where the default is usually a man. Yet when unexpectedly a woman appears in that role, you just feel … safer? calmer? less wary?
I noticed this last night when I went out to the street to accept a food delivery. It was rainy and wet and my house is set back from a main street down a dodgy little lane way with barely any light (one of the reasons I go out to the street to accept a delivery - as a courtesy to save them the trouble from trying to find my front door, but also I feel safer transacting on the street rather than at my door) - I hadn’t bothered to look at the delivery persons details until the very last moment and it was such a pleasant surprise to see it was a woman delivering. I just instantly felt safer and less of a need to be wary.
Similarly, an Uber I took the other day was a female driver and I just was like “…. Phew” without even really actively thinking about it.
It got me thinking how much men will never fully be able to empathise the “soft” state of fear that we, as women, are in almost all the time. And I say that as a woman who is lucky enough to have a brilliant and kind male partner, a dad who is my best friend and greatest champion and brothers who are the best also. I’ve never been seriously sexually assaulted, beyond being randomly groped in nightclubs and having one or two “blurred consent” interactions when I was younger (gosh how crazy and perverse is it to deem it “lucky” that I’ve never been “seriously assaulted” … sigh).
Any of you chickybabes know what I mean here?