(See update at the end) Some context before I (32m) get into the situation as I feel it's important to how I reacted. I have been in two situations, one as a 6-year-old and at 28, that involved women and unwanted touching and beyond in both occasions I have been powerless as a child or incapacitated as an adult like unable to control my bowels or bladder kind of incapacitated. Both my wife and my guest are aware of my past. I'm trying to keep this broad stroke so as not to violate any rules, but again I think this context is important.
So on to the current situation. We currently have a (26f) friend who is living out of a tent, and we often invite her over so she can do laundry, shower, and other hygiene tasks. In this instance, I decided to hop onto my computer and play some games while she did her stuff and hung out with the wife while I chatted back and forth with them a bit. As she wrapped up her visit, she approached me from behind and hit me with a hairbrush not hard just to get my attention. It for sure startled me, and I did snap at her telling her to stop. I looked up at her from my chair, and she does it again, and I tell her to stop again while making direct eye contact with her, which she doesn't doing it once more and then demanding I hug her, which I refuse to do, telling her very clearly "fuck no, I don't want to touch you," and I follow that up with if you keep going like this I'm going to kick you out. She gives me a kinda laugh and says whatever, I'm leaving anyway and then touches me again.
I get to my feet now both extremely panicky feeling and angry we have a bit of a scuffle not a fight, and I end up shouting at her to leave and not come back. I felt entirely violated in my own home during all this, but both her and my wife insist it was just a game and she did not mean it despite me telling her no repeatedly and both my wife and the guest hearing it. I'm for sure not saying my behavior was great, and I've been seeking long-term treatment to help with my issues both mainly being PTSD related to my time as an Army MP and the events mentioned in my personal life. Despite that, I 100% should not have acted in anger like I did.
So am I wrong for feeling the way I do? Or is the wife and the guest right and it was just a game and she didn't mean it.
EDIT: to be 100% upfront it escalated and I reacted (badly) physicality was involved but as also pointed out I was near panicked and overwhelmed due to my past.
EDIT 2: EDIT: Gonna try and respond to a few more posts then I've gotta have a break. I do thank everyone that took the time to write out comments or interact with me.
Edit 3?: My husband gave me access to this account, and I told him I wrote down my perspective. When I asked if I should add it, he said "it's up to you." So here it is.
Our friend approached my husband, who was playing an online cooperative action game on his computer, at his desk. I was sitting on the couch about 8 feet behind them, waiting for my friend to be ready for me to drive her home. She was wearing a long night shirt with a loose v-neck. She stood at his left side peripheral for about 2 seconds before she tapped the back of her hairbrush firmly against the side of his left shoulder. I immediately was not comfortable with this, as I don't tend to engage in horseplay unless someone else has repeatedly demonstrated to me that it's a method of expression that they like and want. I do enjoy my husband's frequent physicality with me, including picking me up or tickling me. My friend and husband have engaged in horseplay on many occasions before, tickling, poking at one another's stomach, and playfully throwing soft objects. This often included my friend's fiance, who usually only reciprocated with my friend. I will frequently smack my husband on the butt, but only when I am sure he is in a mood to be okay with it.
My husband said, "Hey, I'm busy," and didn't turn to her at first. She hit him again with the brush in the same spot, and my husband said "stop" in a normal voice, and my friend responded, saying "give me a hug (which we almost always all do at the end of visits). I don't remember if she hit him again, because he said (and I'm going to paraphrase, because at this point I began to get alarmed, and was only listening to the tone of his voice, and less to his words, unfortunately) that if she didn't stop, he'd make her leave. She said lightly that it didn't matter anyway; she was leaving. At this point, I realized by her teasing tone that she didn't understand how upset he was getting, which I did understand, through years of experience with his tone of voice and what it means. He didn't raise his voice, and I could hear that he was attempting to remain casual as he said something else, ending with "my dude" but that she had really pushed him past the point of anger and I didn't think she realized it. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he said "I don't want to fucking touch you now" and he stood up, and grabbed her by the neck of her shirt, pulling her foreward, and then put both hands around her throat, and I saw his hands tense, as he leaned down into her face and told her to leave the house and never come back. He pushed her backwards and she started to cry, and put her head down, hurrying to get pick up her things. My husband sat back down at his desk and didn't say anything else until I told him I was going to take the friend home and I'd be back, and he said "sure." The friend cried during the ride home, and her voice was harsh, but I wasn't sure if it was stress or physical. She did have marks on her throat, but those faded over the next few hours. She asked me repeatedly why he got so upset, and if anything was different, and I did point out to her that he said "stop," and she said that she thought it was part of the play. When I returned home, my husband did not seem upset, and seemed more relaxed than before, although he seemed nervous about my response to the situation. He said that he didn't remember putting his hands around her throat when I told him that he did.
My thoughts about this are that: 1) horseplaying with people with trauma, which all three of us have, to various degrees and in various forms, is potentially dangerous, and I'm frequently uncomfortable when it happens, although I often don't say anything, as I'm usually the odd one out when it comes to initiating social teasing, although I often enjoy receiving it.
2.) Our friend should have stopped at the word stop. I don't know why she didn't, but I don't think it was out of malice, because she genuinely did not seem to see how she was provoking him.
3.) Her actions were inappropriate, in my opinion, but his were potentially life-threatening and the fact that he didn't remember what he did was alarming. I am concerned that this will happen again, and he will have charges pressed in a situation where he is the first physical aggressor. This would be even worse if he inadvertently harms someone, and the escalation of force combined with memory issues in this latest case makes me worry that it might happen.
4.) I possibly could have prevented this from happening by being quicker stopping her or by getting between them, but I know from experience that once he has a grip on someone, I'm not strong enough to break it, and he ignores my presence or physically shakes me off if I try. He ignores my words entirely at these times. I expected her to see that he was upset before he snapped, because it seemed obvious to me, but she didn't, and I have no idea why. She's had lots of trauma of her own (as have I, including SA) in the past (and, like me, has worked in jobs that revolve around dealing with people dealing with trauma).

(See update at the end) Some context before I (32m) get into the situation as I feel it's important to how I reacted. I have been in two situations, one as a 6-year-old and at 28, that involved women and unwanted touching and beyond in both occasions I have been powerless as a child or incapacitated as an adult like unable to control my bowels or bladder kind of incapacitated. Both my wife and my guest are aware of my past. I'm trying to keep this broad stroke so as not to violate any rules, but again I think this context is important.
So on to the current situation. We currently have a (26f) friend who is living out of a tent, and we often invite her over so she can do laundry, shower, and other hygiene tasks. In this instance, I decided to hop onto my computer and play some games while she did her stuff and hung out with the wife while I chatted back and forth with them a bit. As she wrapped up her visit, she approached me from behind and hit me with a hairbrush not hard just to get my attention. It for sure startled me, and I did snap at her telling her to stop. I looked up at her from my chair, and she does it again, and I tell her to stop again while making direct eye contact with her, which she doesn't doing it once more and then demanding I hug her, which I refuse to do, telling her very clearly "fuck no, I don't want to touch you," and I follow that up with if you keep going like this I'm going to kick you out. She gives me a kinda laugh and says whatever, I'm leaving anyway and then touches me again.
I get to my feet now both extremely panicky feeling and angry we have a bit of a scuffle not a fight, and I end up shouting at her to leave and not come back. I felt entirely violated in my own home during all this, but both her and my wife insist it was just a game and she did not mean it despite me telling her no repeatedly and both my wife and the guest hearing it. I'm for sure not saying my behavior was great, and I've been seeking long-term treatment to help with my issues both mainly being PTSD related to my time as an Army MP and the events mentioned in my personal life. Despite that, I 100% should not have acted in anger like I did.
So am I wrong for feeling the way I do? Or is the wife and the guest right and it was just a game and she didn't mean it.
EDIT: to be 100% upfront it escalated and I reacted (badly) physicality was involved but as also pointed out I was near panicked and overwhelmed due to my past.
EDIT 2: EDIT: Gonna try and respond to a few more posts then I've gotta have a break. I do thank everyone that took the time to write out comments or interact with me.
Edit 3?: My husband gave me access to this account, and I told him I wrote down my perspective. When I asked if I should add it, he said "it's up to you." So here it is.
Our friend approached my husband, who was playing an online cooperative action game on his computer, at his desk. I was sitting on the couch about 8 feet behind them, waiting for my friend to be ready for me to drive her home. She was wearing a long night shirt with a loose v-neck. She stood at his left side peripheral for about 2 seconds before she tapped the back of her hairbrush firmly against the side of his left shoulder. I immediately was not comfortable with this, as I don't tend to engage in horseplay unless someone else has repeatedly demonstrated to me that it's a method of expression that they like and want. I do enjoy my husband's frequent physicality with me, including picking me up or tickling me. My friend and husband have engaged in horseplay on many occasions before, tickling, poking at one another's stomach, and playfully throwing soft objects. This often included my friend's fiance, who usually only reciprocated with my friend. I will frequently smack my husband on the butt, but only when I am sure he is in a mood to be okay with it.
My husband said, "Hey, I'm busy," and didn't turn to her at first. She hit him again with the brush in the same spot, and my husband said "stop" in a normal voice, and my friend responded, saying "give me a hug (which we almost always all do at the end of visits). I don't remember if she hit him again, because he said (and I'm going to paraphrase, because at this point I began to get alarmed, and was only listening to the tone of his voice, and less to his words, unfortunately) that if she didn't stop, he'd make her leave. She said lightly that it didn't matter anyway; she was leaving. At this point, I realized by her teasing tone that she didn't understand how upset he was getting, which I did understand, through years of experience with his tone of voice and what it means. He didn't raise his voice, and I could hear that he was attempting to remain casual as he said something else, ending with "my dude" but that she had really pushed him past the point of anger and I didn't think she realized it. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he said "I don't want to fucking touch you now" and he stood up, and grabbed her by the neck of her shirt, pulling her foreward, and then put both hands around her throat, and I saw his hands tense, as he leaned down into her face and told her to leave the house and never come back. He pushed her backwards and she started to cry, and put her head down, hurrying to get pick up her things. My husband sat back down at his desk and didn't say anything else until I told him I was going to take the friend home and I'd be back, and he said "sure." The friend cried during the ride home, and her voice was harsh, but I wasn't sure if it was stress or physical. She did have marks on her throat, but those faded over the next few hours. She asked me repeatedly why he got so upset, and if anything was different, and I did point out to her that he said "stop," and she said that she thought it was part of the play. When I returned home, my husband did not seem upset, and seemed more relaxed than before, although he seemed nervous about my response to the situation. He said that he didn't remember putting his hands around her throat when I told him that he did.
My thoughts about this are that: 1) horseplaying with people with trauma, which all three of us have, to various degrees and in various forms, is potentially dangerous, and I'm frequently uncomfortable when it happens, although I often don't say anything, as I'm usually the odd one out when it comes to initiating social teasing, although I often enjoy receiving it.
2.) Our friend should have stopped at the word stop. I don't know why she didn't, but I don't think it was out of malice, because she genuinely did not seem to see how she was provoking him.
3.) Her actions were inappropriate, in my opinion, but his were potentially life-threatening and the fact that he didn't remember what he did was alarming. I am concerned that this will happen again, and he will have charges pressed in a situation where he is the first physical aggressor. This would be even worse if he inadvertently harms someone, and the escalation of force combined with memory issues in this latest case makes me worry that it might happen.
4.) I possibly could have prevented this from happening by being quicker stopping her or by getting between them, but I know from experience that once he has a grip on someone, I'm not strong enough to break it, and he ignores my presence or physically shakes me off if I try. He ignores my words entirely at these times. I expected her to see that he was upset before he snapped, because it seemed obvious to me, but she didn't, and I have no idea why. She's had lots of trauma of her own (as have I, including SA) in the past (and, like me, has worked in jobs that revolve around dealing with people dealing with trauma).

So I guess I officially have chronic spontaneous urticaria. It started in February - my hands and palms broke out in small hives. Localized to that area, and didn’t subside after 2 weeks. Went to the doctor and received 20mg cetirizine prescription. After a few days, the hives went away, so as instructed I stopped taking the meds. A few weeks went by and nothing.. so I figured it was an isolated event.
Then the end of March it came back, but with a vengeance. It’s every day, constant, covering most of my body. Arms and hands get the worst of it, but it’s also on my chest, stomach, feet, occasionally my face. Doctor ran bloodwork, and other than a very mildly elevated CRP, nothing has come back. I obviously started the cetirizine back up right away, but this time it made no difference.
Fast forward to now, my doctor has me trying Bilastine but so far no change, if anything it’s worse. It’s not absolutely crippling, it does usually wake me once or twice a night. Sometimes it’s itchy and other times it’s not really, which is strange. I’m more so confused as to why it’s happening, and can’t help but feel like there’s some underlying health thing going on because I just generally feel like crap these days anyway.
All along I’ve felt like this is just something that will eventually go away, but it’s starting to feel like it’s here to stay and that’s kind of overwhelming. I’d like to take some positive steps forward in my health to see if I can help heal myself, but I don’t have any idea where to start. What should be the main focus point, changing my diet? And to what? Vitamins? More water? Eliminate certain things?
I am about 8 months postpartum and under a substantial amount of stress, but those things can’t be changed. Any advice would be appreciated!

First Previous
**Memory transcription subject: Xithan, … hungry Arxur**
*Date [standardized human time]: October 13, 2136*
Holding my gift, I let my eyes slide shut, the idle chatter between Cotton and Upsilta threatening to lull me back to sleep. I had pulled myself up onto my bunk, letting my back rest against the wall, with my tail wrapped around me. This was… pleasant. Calm. I could exist, without the sensation of suspicious eyes constantly on me.
I’m free.
A loud Cotton noise caught my attention– it had to be them, of course, as venlil did not make that same kind of boisterous… laughter, was it? My eyes lazily opened, and I looked to see the two of them sitting next to each other on Cotton’s bunk. The human was laying back on their bed, their legs nearly bouncing with the occasional wheeze between laughs. Upsilta’s face had bloomed orange, most noticeable around their eyes and ears. I wasn’t sure what I had missed, but… it was still odd, to see predator and prey so friendly with one another. Even with all I had seen recently, the Dominion’s teachings still came to mind, trying to tell me what I was seeing was a lie.
Of course, it wasn’t. My eyes couldn’t lie to me, and the Dominion had no power over me. Not here, anyway.
Heavy footsteps were heard at the doorway to the bunks, and Cotton’s laughter was stifled as the human shuffled to sit up. A stressed, exhausted face peered out, glancing across the room. The angry gojid tried not to flinch when she met my eyes, but she didn’t hide it well. Realizing I would have to take more care with my behavior again, I turned my head away, trying to avoid setting off her prey instincts.
Why… am I irritated by this? I’m used to adjusting my behavior around other for all my years–
You didn’t have to do it, a few moments ago.
“Krosa!! Ya changed your mind on the bath–?”
“NO.”
Cotton seemed to deflate at this, sighing before flopping back onto their bunk, letting out an annoyed noise. The venlil gave her a few ear flicks, and a content wag of his tail; probably trying to soothe her. Krosa let out an irritated exhale, before moving towards the human and venlil pair. Surprisingly, she had turned her back to me.
There they were, chatting again. The gojid’s voice was low, Cotton’s energetic as usual, and Upsilta’s, well, soft. Not as soft as his blessed fur, but still.
They paid me no mind as they chatted, and I enjoyed the feeling of sinking into the background. Not having attention on me was… pleasant. I rubbed my snout against my soft, red gift, content at how I was–
Growl.
I blinked, the silence of the room feeling entirely too loud following the rumbling of my stomach.
Hunger.
Looking up, I saw the gojid facing me, her spines up. The venlil seemed anxious as well, moving closer to their human. I couldn’t blame them. But it still–
“See?! How the hell are we supposed to– he eats FLESH, and there’s nothing for him on this shuttle–”
“Krosa.”
“I warned you this was what would happen if we took in a blasted arxur–”
“Krosa.”
“What, Cotton–?”
The tense back and forth made the air in the room feel thick, with the human seeming to get more… frustrated as the gojid’s ranting continued. Cotton looked at me for a moment, before looking back at the angry, prickly creature in front of them.
They’re going to tell.
“I have meat for him.” The fluffy-haired human firmly answered, a gritted stare watching as the gojid processed–
“You. You WHAT?!”
The incredulous rage nearly exploded out of the gojid, as she let out a frustrated snarl; to which Cotton stayed still, refusing to flinch.
“After– AFTER EVERYTHING! You, you brought meat?! And you think you can get upset when– when our kind calls you a predator, for this kind of shit–”
The tenseness of the human felt… odd, with how they normally were. Upsilta already knew of their secret, and didn’t seem angry; but still had an air of uncertain disappointment.
“There’s no changin’ what he can eat, Krosa. An’ I got something we can use to keep him fed without killin’ anything. Just need a sample–”
“NO. God– no, what the FUCK– I should have stayed in my room, you, you’re just–”
Cutting off Cotton, Krosa stepped away from the human and venlil pair, turning to give me a glare, before retreating from the bunk room. Upsilta hopped up from Cotton’s bunk, scurrying to the door and calling out to her. Cotton sat where they were, looking… tired.
“... You have, more meat?” I quietly asked, and the golden-haired human looked up at me, before nodding.
“Yeah. I brought, ah, two bags. I’ll give ya the other one… was hoping the first one would last ya longer, but…” They sighed, pulling their backpack towards them, and starting to dig. They pulled out another bag of dried meat, setting it next to themselves. I could feel my mouth water, and my heart skip a beat at the sight.
Food.
“Cotton?” A soft voice called, as the venlil returned– but stayed in the doorway, not committed to re-entering.
“Yea?” The human replied, still digging through their items; they’d laid out a few that didn’t seem to be what they were looking for.
“What… what did you mean, you have something that can keep… Xithan fed?”
Wait. What exactly did the human mean with this? Although I was fixated on the bag of meat rations, I pulled my eyes away to watch the human, catching the sight of them pulling out a cylindrical, metal object.
“Welllll… ah never told ya why I got, uh, kicked outta the program, did I?”
The venlil’s head tilted, their ears giving a confused twitch. Program - that must have been that human-venlil exchange program. Cotton could see my hunger, and made a motion to mimic… throwing the bag at me? I sat up straighter, and watched as the human effortlessly tossed the bag my way, right into my greedy claws. Unceremoniously, I tore into the plastic, digging out pieces of the dried meat and stuffing them into my gullet.
“So, ah… s’cause of this thing.” Cotton continued, gently tapping the metal cylinder. I glanced up, seeing Upsilta watching me, his fur puffed up, before forcing his gaze to his human.
“Speh, what… well, what is it? It.. it’s not a weapon, right?” The venlil chirped back, their tail swishing back and forth anxiously. The human let out a small laugh, their golden curls bouncing as they shook their head. “Nahhh, well. It ain’t a weapon to me, but… maybe to some of y’all, uh. ‘Prey’, species?”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. It… it was a little peculiar, having meat that was dried, but it still tasted good. It still satisfied my hunger. And I didn’t have to tear into a freshly killed gojid, either or eat those processed rations.
“Ah, well, the airport security sure as hell thought it was a weapon. Fuckin’ tool– wonder how long it took for his face to get fixed back up…” Those last words were nearly hissed, an odd glint in the human’s eye. A moment where they eerily reminded me of the humans on the Cradle– how on Wriss could they go from seemingly harmless, to something I’d hate to be on the bad side of–
You bit off two of their fingers. Was that not enough to be on their bad side?
I swallowed a large piece of dried meat. Apparently, that wasn’t the sort of thing that made Cotton upset. Whatever this ‘airport security’ did, evidently had made the human angry.
“–anyway, yea, this ain’t a weapon. S’a way for us to grow food.” The fluffy haired human beamed, looking towards their venlil for approval.
“S-so, no more rations?” Upsilta treaded, and the human let out an anxious laugh.
“U-uh, that’s the thing. It’s food… for me an’ Xithan.”
“... Wait, you mean–?”
“Meat.”
I had paused from my ravenous snacking, answer the venlil’s question for the human. Cotton looked at me, a gentle expression on their face. “Yea, s’right Xithan. Can make meat with this thing. Or, at least, duplicate a sample–”
“Sample?!” Upsilta squeaked out, and Cotton nodded. “Yeah, but hell, I’m fine with doin’ it–”
“NO.” I growled, my tail giving an irritated whip. The human looked at me, seemingly… hurt?
“.. Aww, c’mon, I’m fine with cutting out a piece, it wouldn’t even hurt–”
“Human, did you not hear me before? I would rather starve than ever taste human flesh again.”
The human sighed, rubbing their hair with their good hand. “Listen, I know it wouldn’t taste… the best, but, hell, I’d be willin’ to do it. The thing needs a fresh sample, it doesn’t really like dried or older ones for some reason–”
“I do not care. I refuse to eat your flesh– it was foul, rancid, and made me contemplate just giving up meat and dying.” The growl of my voice grew louder, and Cotton seemed unwilling to back down despite it.
“Fine, maybe… ah, fuck, I can hunt somethin’ down there–”
“Do you really think the gojid will entertain that?” I hissed, my heavy tail smacking against my bunk. “What about the venlil–?”
“Xithan, his NAME is Upsilta. And– shit, I don’t know, I’d just figure it out. There’s enough space on this damn ship to hide a carcass somewhere–” They were frustrated, but it didn’t matter– I would rather starve than taste that disgusting flesh ever again. What, by the prophet were humans made of, that tasted so wretched?
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Cotton set down their ‘meat generator’ on their bunk, before standing. The height difference wasn’t that much, but it seemed to make the human feel better. “Ya only need a lil sample– it can only make a little bit at a time, and it always needs fresh samples, but dammit, it works–”
We were at a standstill; my stubborn refusal, and their inability to back down. I opened my maw once more to remind the human–
“... I’ll do it.” Came the soft, reserved voice of the human’s venlil. Cotton’s face went a shade paler, and they whipped around to look at their exchange partner. “... Upsilta?”
The divinely fluffy venlil gave a gentle sway of their tail, meeting the human’s gaze for a moment, before looking away. Cotton was crouched in front of them, their hands grasping the prey’s shoulders. “... You don’t, you don’t have to do this, s’okay, I’ll figure it out–”
The venlil raised a paw to touch the human’s injured hand. “... You gave enough, already. Plus… he already said he wouldn’t eat your… flesh.” A gentle whistle of a laugh followed that, and then the human was gently holding the venlil’s face, their voice… strained.
“Are… are you sure? I don’t… I don’t wanna ask this of ya.” I couldn’t see their expression, as their back was turned to me, but I could safely assume it wasn’t a happy one.
“It’s… not like you will be able to catch anything in space. And.. Xithan is right; Krosa would probably have your head if she saw you with something you… hunted.” Another paw came up, giving the human’s hand a reassuring pat, before laying their paw overtop it.
I could easily eat venlil meat. Although, it would… clearly be a bit of a sacrifice, having to give up small amounts of their own flesh.
What prey does that?
One that isn’t afraid, clearly.
And one that doesn’t think you’re a monster.
“... I can, ah. Take the sample. I’ll do everythin’ I can to make it as… quick as possible.” Cotton breathed, their shoulders seeming to slump. They evidently really hadn’t wanted their venlil to have to do this. They… cared about him.
A cream-colored fluffy tail gave the human’s side a reassuring tap, before the venlil lifted his head to meet the eyes of the worried predator in front of him.
“I trust you.”
~note: crazy right? and some of you though we wouldn't come back (we still don't have backlog please be patient)
Side story following agent "John"
credits to SpacePaladin15 for the universe: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/u19xpa/the_nature_of_predators/

I believed in fairies as a kid. More than believed in them. I think something terrible happened to me, and I've just buried it until now.
Call me a typical emotion-bottling man, but I have never considered therapy. No matter what I went through, no matter how many times I thought to myself, verbatim, that I should talk to someone about this, I just never thought of it as an option. It simply wasn't on my roster. It was just one of those things that existed on a separate plane of existence than I was living in, never to cross paths or interact lest the universe collapse in on itself.
I have no problem with therapy, don't get me wrong. It isn't like I don't understand the overall appeal. I have plenty of friends who swear by it, swear it has helped them tremendously, including my wife. It just wasn't ever something I thought was in my cards.
"I just never really thought about it," I told Alice one evening, when she had brought the topic up once again after dinner.
There was a serene sense of peace wafting through the entire house that day, and I was feeling content. It was a Sunday, and swimming season, so we had dropped Emmie off that morning at the public pool for practice and gone straight to our favorite breakfast place. The rest of the day was filled with all the conversation that had built up over the week, all the topics we couldn't fully dig into with each other while babysitting our eight year old, and lounging, all crammed in between sporadic bursts of housework and paperwork we had to catch up on. It was the perfect day, in my humble opinion. It was a lovely moment of peace in the midst of a chaotic life, as is life with kids. And now the sounds of Mario Kart drifted in from the living room, Emmie's squeals cutting through the cheery music every now and then, causing Alice and I to share small smiles of acknowledgement.
Oh, to be a child again. Still a little drenched from a post-swimming shower, full of chili, eyes glowing with the reflection of a television screen.
"Well, maybe you should." My wife was scooping leftover chili into a Tupperware with a ladle. Her hair had been tied up like it was every day after dinner, as if she planned to run a marathon rather than do the cleaning up. She wasn't looking at me, dialed into the task at hand.
It's crazy how some parts of my memory could be so good, and others nonexistent.
I reached over from where I stood before the dishwasher, sliding my arm around her waist. She gave me a look, like, what?
"I just don't think it's for me, babe," I muttered, resting my mouth on her shoulder as if I was trying to skip her ears and speak right through her skin. "You know those things make me uncomfortable sometimes."
She let out a half groan, half sigh, setting down the container and the ladle and turning to face me, draping her arms over my shoulders.
"Everything makes you uncomfortable, John."
I smiled, letting my hands fall to her hips. I knew her frustrated act was just that, an act, at least for the most part.
"It's good for you," she continued pointedly, reaching up to tap her pointer finger against my forehead as I swayed her back and forth to a nonexistent tune. "Like medicine. And I know for a fact there are some things you need to work through."
I feigned offense. "You think I'm some kind of nut job?"
"Everyone needs therapy," she snarled, pulling out of my arms, but she didn't resist when I reached out and drew her back in. "Not just nut jobs."
And that was how most of those conversations went. Some got a little more heated, ending with a lightly slammed door (so as not to wake our daughter) and a whisper-shout of "this is why you need therapy!"
I feel I'm making it sound bad, but it wasn't. Even our more serious fights never quite felt like fights. They felt like playing. We were like two cats, biting and tackling and swishing our tails, but never baring our teeth to hiss. I never felt genuine, full-bodied anger towards her, and I knew she felt the same. It sounds sappy, but we were just very in love. I sometimes felt that we had never actually left the honeymoon phase.
I'm also making it sound like that conversation was incredibly common, and it wasn't. It came up maybe once every few months. I knew she was just looking out for me. She knew me better than anyone.
We had met through mutual friends, and we had initially bonded over our terrible childhoods. We both had moms who were out of the picture, and over emotional, over compensating dads, although this manifested in vastly different ways. Alice's mother left her father for a D-list rockstar type, following him on his state wide tour. She would sometimes send Alice letters or postcards from the road, although her dad wouldn't always let her keep them if they seemed to be stained with blood or seemed to have made contact with any strange white powders.
Her dad coped with anger. He never laid a hand on her, but his shouting and the sounds of glass bottles smashing against the walls kept her up almost every night. During the days he'd take her out, buy her things, go mini golfing and bowling and to the movies. Anything to seem more fun than her mother.
My mother passed away on my seventh birthday. She was driving home from work, which was at a law firm half an hour away from our house, when it began to rain. She was texting my dad her ETA when she ran a red light and a semi truck T-boned her, completely obliterating her car.
After that, everything changed. My seventh birthday could've been my twenty-first. At night it was the worst. I remember sitting with my dad as he cried, curled up in a sobbing ball on the filthy living room carpet, whimpering like a kicked puppy. He would scream and wail so loud the walls shook. He would say, over and over as if I wasn't hearing him, sometimes mumbling and sometimes shrieking, "She was cut in half. I'm sorry sir, she's gone. No, there's no chance she survived, she was completely cut in half."
The days were almost worse. During the day, when he could decrease the helpless wails into weeping at the very least, his attention turned to me. He tried to get something out of me, almost silently begging me to break down with him. Every other second it was, "How are you feeling, son? Do you understand what's happening? You poor thing, you must be devastated, your mommy is gone... Don't you want to cry?"
But I couldn't indulge, and I didn't want to. I had to wash the sheets, because he'd pissed them again, and I didn't want him to sleep in it and smell like pee when he took me to school the next day. I had to vacuum the carpet, so the next time he curled up on it and begged God to take him too, when he finally stood up, his cheek wouldn't be caked in crumbs and dust.
I don't know if I ever truly mourned. My mother's death was more like an absence, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and carved a chunk out of my side, or snipped off a limb. I could still feel her, I could still talk to her, but all I got back was a deep ache and a crushing silence.
I hated how people reacted when I told them my mom was dead, and had been since I was a little boy. I hated the looks on their faces when they asked how she died, and when I told them. How their mouths fell open dumbly and their eyebrows twisted and contorted in sympathetic horror. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," they said, as if there was vomit rising in their throats, and I wanted to say, "Well, you fucking asked, didn't you?"
Alice never reacted like that. In fact, she never really even asked me what happened. We were on our second date, nursing beers while leaning against the pool table a a dingy speakeasy, when she told me about her own mom. It was the first time in a long time I actually felt like the conversation was open, like I could respond and she would listen and care, but not too much. Not an uncomfortable amount. When I told her about my parents she didn't say anything, and her pretty face didn't contort. She leaned over the corner of the pool table and kissed me on the cheek, took my hand.
The day she found out she was pregnant, we promised each other to be better, to not let our child ever have to grieve alone or feel the very specific hopeless terror that only a parent can cause.
So maybe I should have listened to her. Maybe I should have gone to therapy the first time she brought it up, the first time she told me how it had helped her get through her own terrible memories. But if I'm being honest, I didn't think I had anything to get through. I had left it in the past, I had coped so far in my own somewhat crooked way, I didn't want to dig any of that back up. I didn't want to be put back in that place where I was expected to talk, to cry, to open up. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
"I was always the therapist," I would say to her with a crooked grin. "And I like it that way."
Then, the dreams started.
I could tell you I don't know what triggered them, I don't know why it was now. But that wouldn't be the truth. I know exactly why I started to remember.
At first, they were brief. Nightmares that I couldn't quite recall or explain, waking up disoriented and a little sick. The rest of my day would feel strange, like I was surrounded by a thick fog. Eventually, they started to wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, scaring the shit out of my wife. Once I ran to the bathroom and threw up, barely making it to the toilet. That was when the word "therapy" came up again.
It feels like I've been in a coma for twenty years, and I'm just waking up now.
It's so strange how different the world looks to a child.
I believed in fairies as a kid. Laugh it up if you want. When I turned four, my aunt brought me this book - we've all had one, I think. It was one of those huge hardcover books filled with information about something mythical, with little patches of fabric to simulate a mermaid's scales or a dragon's claw.
Mine was about fairies, and it was so real to me. My mom would sit up with me later than she probably should have, reading to me, placing my hand on the textures to feel. I wanted to know everything about them, I became obsessed, and naturally, my parents played along. They bought me toys, books... every year I had a fae themed birthday cake, and any kid who dared to giggle behind their hands weren't invited to next year's celebration.
When I was old enough to use the internet, supervised of course, I began further research. My mom helped me navigate Wikipedia first, and they had plenty of information to sustain me for a while. My interest turned from wings and magical powers to different types of fae from every corner of the earth, mushroom rings and their alleged distaste for iron. While I still wasn't very good at reading, I would just look at the pictures until she got home from work.
When my mom died, the fairy memorabilia began to amp up. My aunt bought me new books, gave them to me wrapped and tied with ribbons with tear filled eyes, and my dad brought them up whenever he thought I needed comforting and felt strong enough to leave the house. "Wanna go look in the forest for fairies, son?"
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I began to worship the fairies. I was convinced they lived in the forest behind my house, just behind each tree I looked at, hiding from me. I would spend my weekends escaping into the woods with a bucket and a cheap pair of binoculars, positive that this time, this day, I would see one.
At night, when my dad finally passed out in his own puddle of tears and other bodily fluids, I would pray to them. I never believed in God, we weren't a particularly religious family, and besides, I had seen what good He had done for my dad thus far. But I believed in the fairies.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
They never answered.
Until they did.
It was a Friday. I remember now, I'm not sure how I could have forgotten. After school I had sprinted into the shade of the trees before my dad could stop me, gripping the hem of my shirt in my fist, the thin fabric bearing the weight of two handfuls of the shiniest silverware and most colorful buttons I could find in our dusty cabinets.
I had a plan that day. I was going to lure them to me.
My path began in a clearing where I thought a ring of mushrooms may have begun to grow... but even without that, it was just the perfect spot for fairies. I could picture them flitting between the trees, chirping to each other happily, picking wildflowers to weave into flower crowns.
I walked backwards all the way back to my bedroom window, dropping another item every few steps. When I got inside and looked out my window, I could see my trail of shiny things curve through the overgrown grass in our backyard and disappear into the trees.
I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Tonight, surely, they would come to me. They would show themselves, and they would help me. But after another few late hours of coddling my father, finally convincing him to drink some water and get in bed, I was exhausted. I completely forgot about my plan. When I got to my room I collapsed on my mattress, not even bothering to undress before I closed my eyes.
Then I heard it. The scratching.
I opened my eyes. The moonlight shining through my bedroom window casted strange shadows across my ceiling, shadows of the swaying grass and the creaking trees.
It was strangely silent, other than the sound. Usually there was lots of noise, or at the very least a few crickets, but not tonight. Tonight, I realized, I couldn't even hear the wind.
I sat up slowly, as if in a dream, and looked toward my window. I couldn't see anything out there, nothing glaringly obvious at least, that could be making that noise.
The scratching turned to a tap. Tap tap tap, like a fingernail against a glass. It had a playful air to it, like someone was saying, look over here!
I stood, rubbing my eyes, and stumbled over. The tapping stopped abruptly when I got to the window and peered outside, out to the dark yard, pitch black if not for the moon's glow. The grass didn't sway, the trees didn't creak. I frowned and unlatched the window, sliding it up above my head.
I was right, there was no wind. Not even a gust. Everything was still outside, like it was frozen. I actually started to believe it was frozen, that time had stopped completely somehow, before I saw it.
My trail of silverware and buttons. Sparkling softly in the moonlight.
Disappearing.
It began where the path met the trees, curving off where I couldn't follow it anymore. A fork disappeared right before my eyes, right on the edge. Just vanished, as if someone who was invisible had picked it up and stuffed it in a pocket very quickly.
Then another went, a spoon. Then a particularly large gold button. Whatever was taking them was doing what I had wanted, it was taking my bait, it was coming to me. And it was as if whatever had tapped at my window had wanted me to see this, wanted to show me.
But something felt very, very wrong.
This wasn't how I had pictured it. There was no twinkling, tiny winged thing at my window, winking at me before dashing back into the safety of the trees. There were no secrets being whispered in my ear, no fairy dust or promises of better things.
Something about this wasn't right. It felt like a mimicry, almost a mockery, of what I had imagined. Like something was trying to give me what I wanted, but was rusty at it.
I didn't want this anymore.
My stomach twisted and my hands shook as I pulled the window back down slowly, watching more glittery things disappear from the grass, growing closer and closer. As soon as it was closed I quickly locked it and pulled the blinds shut, turning my back to the window as if something would happen that I didn't want to see.
Nothing happened. The deafening silence continued for a few seconds as my ears strained to hear anything else happening outside. Then the wind picked up, and the sounds of crickets, muffled by my closed window, filled the night air.
I don't remember when I fell asleep that night, I just know I felt unnerved and jumpy for a while. I woke up the next morning feeling guilty. Had the fairies really come last night? Maybe they had come to talk to me, to bring me gifts, favors, and what had I done? I had closed my window on them. I felt ungrateful. Why had I even been scared? Because it was dark outside? What was I, a baby?
When I opened my window and peered outside, I gasped. The trail of silverware and buttons was completely gone, all the way up to the last one, which I had placed on my windowsill. In its place was a shoe. I didn't know what kind of shoe it was, but it looked sort of nice, fancy. I remember smiling out the window as I opened it, as if they were looking, and taking my gift.
How could I forget that night? How could I have forgotten what happened after? I feel crazy, either like I made it all up or like I've made up everything since then, like my life isn't truly my own.
I remember telling my dad. I remember saying, "Dad, the fairies came last night!" and the absent smile he gave me.
Until I showed him their gift. The shoe. Instantly his face went pale and he snatched it from my hands, staring at me as if I was something unholy.
"Where did you get this, Johnny?"
"The fairies, dad, I told you!"
He didn't respond. Just gave me another long, solemn look, before turning away from me, still holding the present I received close to his chest. I was upset, but I knew better than throwing a tantrum. That would be too much emotion anyways, too uncomfortable. Even back then, I didn't know how to handle those things.
I didn't show him their gifts after that. I didn't want to risk having them taken away. I tried not to be scared of the fairies, even though they always came at night, but I didn't go to my window when they came anymore. I read everywhere that fairies didn't particularly like to be seen, even though this one seemed to want to be. It always began with tapping, but otherwise complete silence that almost felt like it was swallowing me... and eventually the tapping would stop, the silence would pass, and I would fall asleep. In the morning there was always another gift for me, sitting on my window sill. A sparkly gold ring, the other matching shoe, a hat... I smiled when I took every one, wanting them to know I was grateful. And I would leave things for them too, little sweets or shiny things like coins or paperclips that I found on the ground at school.
Things seemed to get better with my dad for a while. He kept to himself more, he was quieter. At night he would cry softly in his room, rather than his uproarious wails that I used to have to quell so the neighbors wouldn't come knocking. During the day, he would talk to me, but more casually. He didn't ask me how I was feeling anymore, or tell me to let it out.
I hoped this was the fairies. I felt invincible, like I had a secret superpower that no one knew about. I was friends with fairies.
Then one night, everything changed.
It started with the tapping, as always. That night I was fast asleep, catching up on well earned rest since the nightly therapy sessions had ceased.
The tapping woke me. It was that loud. It was louder than usual... but it seemed like it stopped abruptly as soon as I raised my head to look.
That was different...
That night, I had left my blinds up and my window open by accident. Since that first night, even though I wasn't scared anymore, I had always closed them... but this time, I must have forgotten.
It was silent outside. It seemed darker than usual. I could almost make out something, a shape, way on the other side of the yard, but it was too dark and I was too far away to tell.
That feeling from that first night retuned. A twisting like a hand reaching into my stomach and mixing things around, a heavy feeling in my chest like someone had stolen all of the air from my room, even though the window was open. The silence seemed to crush me, bearing down on me from every angle, making my ribs hurt.
The feeling that something was very wrong.
I don't remember deciding to stand: looking back, I have no idea why I would do that in my state of fight or flight. I don't know if I consciously chose to. I don't remember walking over, but I remember getting there, my hands on the windowsill and my head poking out into the completely still night air.
There was something there. On the edge of the trees. Right where I had seen that first fork disappear into thin air. I squinted, leaning further into the darkness to try and make out what it was.
When I finally did, the outline taking shape as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to shake uncontrollably. I remember that I tried to scream, but no sound would come. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare.
Two legs stood in front of the trees, facing me. Two legs, a blood-soaked pair of slacks, no shoes on the purple, swollen feet. And a jagged, violent rip in the torso where the rest of my mother's body had been severed from its lower half.
It took me a while to realize that the legs weren't standing on their own. They began to move, jerking clumsily toward the window, like something I couldn't see was struggling to hold them up. I finally forced myself out of my trance and fell to my carpet, vomiting.
I don't remember much else about that night yet. My dad came running when I started crying, I'm sure, but he didn't see what I saw. My mom's legs were gone, or hidden. Because they weren't for him.
They were for me.
We moved after that. Before now if you had asked me why we moved so far away so suddenly, I probably would have mumbled something about the grief, and it being too hard to stay where my mother had died. But I remember why now.
It was because the next morning, when I checked my windowsill, there was a hand. My mother's hand. Purple and stiff, and missing her gold wedding ring. Reaching, fingers rested against the glass, like it was trying to get in.
Like it had been tapping.
I don't want to think about what else it might have brought, had we stayed.
That thing, whatever it was, wasn't my mother, and it wasn't a fairy. I had invited something else with all my praying, with all my naive and innocent beliefs, and with all my bottled up emotions. I had invited it, and I had let it in.
And then I had forgotten everything. Maybe I bottled that up, too.
Now I remember. Now I'm having nightmares, and waking up with that sick feeling in my gut, my eyes jumping to our closed bedroom window.
Because a week ago, my daughter woke me up very early in the morning my jumping on our bed. A week ago, she shook me awake, her eager smile stretching all the way across her face. A week ago, she told me, "Dad, the fairies came last night!"
She showed me a doll, a ballerina, with a pink tutu and beautiful long blonde hair.
And now, with all these terrible memories hitting me like cold water to the face, only one keeps me awake at night.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
It has granted two of my wishes, in its own twisted way. My father grew distant from me and my mother was brought back in pieces.
I'm happy now. But I don't have peace. I don't think I'll ever fully have peace, at least not with a child and a wife to try and provide for, and not with all of these memories.
So what has it come back for?

I know it's time to go. I feel resentful, empty, especially used
This will be long, and messy and might not make any sense, but I'm lost. I'm like so fucking lost I am slipping into a dark hole I haven't slipped in to for a verrrryyy long time 😭😭😭
For context, my partner and I both work in a niched world of the trades where we work away from home on shift work.... and also for context, we met on a job a few years back. *since then we have worked together (not always directly side by side, but on the same job). This is what makes it extremely hard to go
Backstory: He was in the middle of his divorce when we got together. Due to my situation and his, (at the time) we thought financially it would make the most sense for us to move in. What a mistake. Due to his/our work lifestyle, he only gets his kids on weekends during his days off. Maybe once a month, sometimes twice.
He pays over 2k a month in CS, and over 1.5k in spousal to HCBM. Lawyer fees have been high and rampant. HCBM is always an issue. There isn't enough money leftover to cover his own bills. In-between jobs he claims EI and that just BARELY covers it. It is up for review every July, and in theory, he shouldn't have to pay as much for the next year.
The place we rent, we got under the assumption that both of us would be paying, but that's not what's happening. I am paying the following for our home (AKA everything) / per month I pay: $2350 in rent $370 in utilities $150 for internet and cable ???? in groceries (I also have to pay when both young kids are at our place) I also paid for our renters insurance which was $380 for the year New Clothes for skids is probably spent 65me/35him Who knows what else I'm forgetting......
I have known for a while that resentment has started creeping in. More than creeping in. I am so disengaged from comversations with him, I don't care to be intimate. Basically at this point, it feels as though I am only sticking around on the premise of he has more connections than me at work, and our line of work is very very slow at the moment. Honestly... in a sick n twisted way I feel like it's the least he can do is help get me on a job somewhere as I'm literally covering his AND his kids asses for over the last year. It also is worth mentioning that most of the major big wigs for the company we work for, equally loves us. If we spilt I would still be faced with him almost daily (assumption is most likely case)
When money wasn't such an issue, I don't think I really had such strong resentful and bitter feelings. Or perhaps because he was carrying some part of his half of things, it just pushed those feelings down. Maybe like a bandaid covering
A HUGE thing for me is small white lies he tells about HCBM. He thinks they don't matter, but they do. He lies about when he talks to her, has deleted phone call histories. She's sent pictures of herself with ss and he deleted them thinking I wouldn't see, instead of telling HCBM that's crossing a boundary that had already been established
This is honestly just as big of a problem, if not more than the money tbh. I also resent the fact that he so called "hated this woman, she's awful she's this she's that" and yet chose to have a child with this person. After two miscarriages, still didn't take the precautions and knocked her up... AGAIN. Got married a month after finding out she was pregnant the 3rd time over. "He didn't ask her, she said she should have the same last name as the kid". Like fucking spare me????? If that wasn't enough, it also makes it worse when he decided to knock her up AGAIN 3 years after their first born. I can't believe the stories he's told me about her, and it has unfortunately made me judge him, and made me feel as if I don't know the man I'm with. I resent him for being so careless. People are allowed to have different views on marriage and children, but never have I ever thought I'd be so careless to just have a child with whom someone I "despise". We are very different that way, and it's a problem for me
So. Now I feel incredibly used. I feel incredibly trapped. I feel incredibly drained. If I leave my current trades industry and go back to what I have a degree in, I likely won't be able to pay for all of my bills that I have racked up because of his mess. I am lost, feel hopeless
Oh and did I mention I'm only 27f? Yeh. That's an absolute bummer. 😔

Finding's after CT ABD+PEL W CON:
IMPRESSION: 18 x 13 x 11 mm lobulated soft tissue nodule in the right lower quadrant small bowel mesentery. Although this most likely represents a reactive mesenteric lymph node, an early mesenteric carcinoid cannot be excluded. Lab tests to rule out carcinoid tumor, described above are suggested including urine collection for 5-H IAA measurement
FINDINGS: LOWER CHEST: No pleural effusion or pericardial effusion is identified. Lung bases are clear. ABDOMEN/PELVIS: HEPATOBILIARY: No focal hepatic lesions are demonstrated. The gallbladder appears unremarkable.There is no evidence of significant biliary dilatation.
SPLEEN AND RETROPERITONEUM:The spleen is normal in size. No focal splenic masses are demonstrated.The pancreas appears normal without evidence of mass or inflammation.No adrenal masses are demonstrated.In the distal small bowel mesentery near the ileocecal artery and vein there is a small lobulated soft tissue lesion measuring 18 mm transverse dimension with a craniocaudal dimension of 12.6 mm and an anteroposterior dimension of 10.9 mm. Differential diagnosis includes an enlarged mesenteric lymph node (most likely) or small mesenteric carcinoid (less likely) . In favor of an enlarged lymph node is the presence of other scattered mildly prominent lymph nodes in the small bowel mesentery. This does not have the appearance of mesenteric adenitis but could simply represent reactive mesenteric lymph nodes to a current gastrointestinal illness. I recommend performance of lab tests for detection of serotonin, chromogranin A and urinary 5-HIAA to exclude carcinoid or other neuroendocrine tumor. Additionally, a follow-up CT the abdomen and pelvis in 3-6 months is suggested to determine if this soft tissue lesion remains present or regresses in the interval. Spontaneous regression would indicate a benign reactive lymph node.
The inferior vena cava is unremarkable. The aorta is normal in caliber. BOWEL AND PERITONEUM: There is no evidence of abnormal bowel dilatation or bowel wall thickening. There is no evidence of significant free fluid or free intraperitoneal air. The appendix is normal. PELVIS:The bladder appears unremarkable. No pelvic masses or abnormal fluid collections are demonstrated. No pelvic or inguinal adenopathy is evident. MUSCULOSKELETAL AND EXTRA-ABDOMINAL SOFT TISSUES: Within normal limits for age.
I'm 32M (Just turned 32 yesterday actually).
I know this is a lot but it's been quite the year for me:
I had an awful bout of covid in March/April and actually had to go to the ER (had scans because my lungs, chest and ribs were killing me) - they were all clear and then a covid test came back positive. Also had awful coughing fits almost constantly for over a week.
Then in late April (around the 24th) I had a chunk of a rotted molar fall out (wasn't able to financially take care of a cavity previously), went to the dentist and was put on a round of antibiotics for infection (3x a day for 7 days) - bad fatigue /brain fog started around this time and was only recently getting a little better. Had that tooth pulled on May 3rd + and am over a few weeks in recovery at this point.
Saw doc for checkup back in January and had elevated/high blood pressure (which runs in my family). At this point I was 214lbs and eating awful everyday...I'm talking fast food, ice cream daily, junk food, no veggies, etc.
Immediately overhauled my diet (which looking back I don't think was a good idea - should have eased into things) and went from a sedentary lifestyle to eating lots of vegan options + exercising almost daily. Started drinking way more water. Dropped down to 186-189lbs in about 3 1/2 months.
Saw doc a few days ago and was down to 172lbs - give or take a few pounds (42 days after last weight check). I am now trying to course correct a little and up my calorie intake because I don't think I've been getting proper nutrition (enough protein specifically + calories per day). Still physically active.
I got the CT scan in the first place because of off and on pain I've had since Covid19 (on the opposite side of where the nodule was found mind you)
I have a family history of Crohn's disease (mom said at least 6 people) and IBS/gut issues (my mom and grandma and several aunts) - immediate family is on meds for their issues. We also all have hemorrhoids.
Also had a colonoscopy when I was 15 because of tummy issues I was having
I have no symptoms like bloody stool, vomiting, diarrhea
Except now I'm extremely anxious (diagnosed anxiety disorder) so that's for sure effecting my stomach. Also haven't slept much the past few days.
I just wanna know if anything I've experienced this year could explain this..and also a better understanding of the findings. It appears the surrounding organs and everything else is fine. I think?
Trying not to google too much. I'm making an appointment with Oncology tomorrow

So, did you manage to count all the re-cycled elements from Steven Moffat's first Doctor Who 2-parter The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances all the way back in May 2005 in Saturdays episode Blow - I mean, Boom...?
Did we have the Gas-Mask kid - no. We did not. But the main villain of the piece is indeed a combat ambulance, we have a kid - this time a little girl - searching (this time) for her Daddy who's been converted into something approximating what he originally was but not quite the original thing and the whole episode rests around a situation wherein everything's about to be blown to smithereens at any moment due to a bomb being on pause.
Oh yes, and the Doctor ends up dancing.
I'm a huge fan of Steven Moffat but, to be perfectly honest, Boom came across more a reject from the Droste Effect meta that became both the raison d'être and ongoing motif of his tenure as showrunner throughout his Matt Smith/Peter Capaldi era.
I got the gag right off the bat: Doctor Who instilled in this guy, at a very young age - that of Amy actually when 11 first meets her (a Scottish boy character would too on-the-nose and nowhere near as pretty to work with) - the urge to write, and I understand that: this fucking show got me at about the same age too.
So, when Steven Moffat gets his chance to write his own version of this thing, it's not just going to be a bunch of stories loosely strung together: this is going to be his dissertation on both the art of TV writing, as well as a history of Doctor Who.
If you want a free and actually very, very good course on both creative screenwriting as well as a crackingly good discourse on the art of writing Doctor Who - Steven Moffat's go as showrunner is an actually very, very witty, cleverly constructed and seriously well written Open University course in creative writing: he takes you through everything, the key core concepts being that writers - not just Doctor Who writers, but writers don't originate anything: they recycle.
To put it in the clearest terms, the screenwriter is The Silence: they don't originate anything, what they do is take whatever's already been done, chop it up into smaller bits and then tell an entirely different story to the "original" by simply moving the bits around to bring about a different outcome.
And you see this used over and over - the same motifs, the same story elements refused, often reversed from the original, and used as the basis of a new story effecting a different outcome, thus:
Say in the case of The Silence) (for example) you have a highly secretive religious order who go around manipulating everything to effect a history they want to replace another yet - at the same time - excise and remove all memory and trace of themselves from reality - whereas, when we come to Peter Capaldi's run we have The Monks who basically do exactly the opposite - they set out to write themselves into history making humanity believe they've always been there helping when, if fact the exact opposite is true...
But it doesn't just stop there: go back all the way to the Bill Hartnell era and the Peter Butterworth character The (Meddling Monk) - the idea of meddling Monks in the fabric of Doctor Who has its genesis far, far earlier - and The Silence too - go back to the David Tennant story Silence in The Library/Forrest of The Dead: Donna finds herself trapped in a virtual ream governed by a dapper suited Dr Moon who, the moment reality begins to creep in, just appears out of nowhere, gives you a "rational" reason why whatever glitch isn't important - and then, you forgot....
But even this has its roots in far, far earlier Doctor Who stories: the Mind Robber), The Land of Fiction - Moffat is perfectly candid about the fact he's not just simply a screenwriter, he's an incredible geek about Doctor Who - and he doesn't go to these lengths just for your benefit, this - his version of the show - is his oeuvre - he's not just a fan, he's a cleaver, cleaver bastard, and he never gets tired of letting you know that.
And so it goes on: Moffats take on the show is a meta involving his entire approach to both being a writer, the act of writing as well as knowing his stuff concerning the show - and, as you go through it, it's a joy to peel back the layers of exactly how many levels Steven Moffat likes to hold forth - confidently - about stuff he really does actually know a fuck of a lot about...
But here, in the context of the current show - this isn't what Moffats doing: he did all that, if you want to go back and stick your head inside Steven Moffats - by all means, go back and watch his version of Doctor Who.
Boom, however, is none of the above things, is just plain lazy: this is something he could have written with one hand tied behind his back and his eyes shut - and I wouldn't put it past him to have approached it that way were it not physically impossible for him to actually have done it.
This has all the superficial gloss of being a cleaver sci-fi concept - and. lest we not forget, the Villenguard Algorithm actually exists, if you're an NHS patient the acceptable cost of your long-term treatment is pre-determined and capped, controlled by an algorithm that just does the maths and decides to pull the plug after spending has reached a certain point: this is a real life thing, Steven Moffat hasn't made it up he's just become aware of it enough to feel as outraged as any right thinking person should - but, that's a different debate.
The point is Boom really is - for a fuck cleaver guy who never gets tired of pressing home how incredible cleaver he is - is a pretty lazy rehash of something he actually wrote far better, probably around 20 years ago.
Maybe that's the point - maybe this is a measure of the distance travelled and lessons learned: were this penned by anyone else, their parents would rightly (and proudly) give a copy pride of place magneted to the fridge - but this is Steven Moffat...
He actually does know better and he's ignoring it.
For Steven Moffat this really was going through the motions at turning in an original script - nice to see Davis's "snow" - and Ruby - are properly established as this season's Bad Wolf - but even this really is sticking to tried and tested crowd pleasing ground even on Russel's part.
Boom lacks, for want of a better word - everything that made Steven Moffat penned story the treasure it once used to be - I know the extended 5 years of the bugger running the show would drain anyone - but this was a rehash plain and simply just to have something to turn in.
Moffat wasn't trying here - he was coasting and, really, it shows. Great job on Russel's part pulling the show back from the brink BBC Studios had happily let the show slide perilously close to going over as far as domestic audiences were concerned - but I'm not seeing anything here that wasn't done better 20 years ago: and frankly it lacked any of the spark that actually made the show good when it first came back.
A few nifty tricks - the whole body thing - "Sharp scratch" - this is a guy who's been to the hospital more than he would otherwise like the past few years - you hit a certain age, I've been there.
But this was more a dud than an explosion - perhaps I should have tempered my expectations, but when the name Steven Moffat is attached to something - it should at least sparkle, and this wasn't even a sparkler.
Just a dud that, in the end, failed to go off.
8/10 if it were written by anyone else - coming from Steven Moffat, however - I'm being generous with a 6/10.
I watched it, probably never going to go back.

Since the dawn of night/
Consciousness had crossed the line/
A hostage to our imperfections spit the image in gods design/
A pair of docks I harbor resentment/
No cell connection I sent it/
But got no letters from heaven/
Raised in hell when’s the reverent/
Gonna pay for essentials guessing this all a part of the plan de fine complex shins/
Prey I ascend instead preyed on descendants/
smelling the fish thinking he kept it at bait/
I sense it there’s no debate/ that ain’t my two cents cuz what’s left is a trace/
Plus I won or by the dub the cent tense runs away/
no punks should wait and bank on change to sprout its legs less you rake/
The lottery I dreamt the daze/
Cock it back take shots in the dark til whats ahead in sane/
Celestial plain so bored the time flies the spirit an empty vase/

For those who took the 2000mg dose and were worried about side effects.
I recently bought the 2000mg (maximum dose) brand on Amazon and took it on an empty stomach. The dose is actually split 50/50 between extract and root powder. The upper recommended dose on the internet is about 600mg, so I was a little worried. Two days later, I'm here to say that I'm fine. I'm a heavier guy, weighing 247 lbs, so there's a possibility I have a higher tolerance. This post is for anyone who took a high dose and was worried about side effects; hopefully, this can help you worry a little less. On another note, the directions say to take it daily, but I'm only going to take it on extremely stressful days so that I don't develop a dependence.

Made a post asking for suggestions about a meal replacement I can incorporate into my diet to save time and ensure I’m getting nutrients I need that I’m not getting from my terrible stereotypical college student diet. I just wanted to make one meal a day a meal replacement. As of now my diet looks like a mix of, eating cereal whenever I remember / wake up early enough, eating take out for an easy meal (usually Chipotle or Indian food as one order lasts me 2 meals), eat one full meal a day (usually mash potatoes or instant ramen with added ingredients) then snack the rest of the day, or just forget to eat an actual meal and snack throughout the whole day. I don’t really feel hungry I just get stomach rumbles but no urgency to eat or drink unless I consciously think “I should eat or I should drink”. More often I just eat when I’m bored. As you can probably tell, my eating habits are terrible plus I can’t really cook unless I have a recipe to follow but I don’t really have cooking materials. Because of these habits I think I am not getting enough nutrients and believe a meal replacement could help me but people seem to think that’s a really bad idea. So, sharing this information and my last post (check my profile for my other post if you’d like) what do you think now? Still a bad idea? My logic was “well anything would be better nutritiously than the stuff I’m eating now”. I haven’t bought any meal replacement yet because of the fact people have told me it’s not a good solution. All I’ve really been doing lately is making smoothies with frozen mixed berries, a pinch of sugar and milk but seem to have lost 6 pounds in the past month which is not what I’m trying to do. I’m just trying to be a little more healthy so I’m not as tired without carving out my study time. For background I am 5’4 and a woman, I just spend all my time in school and studying so I’m not getting a ton of exercise except walking around campus. Not sure what else to add but ask anything / suggest anything. I was also planning on getting blood testing done Monday too see how my blood levels are. Maybe I’ll update if I was right about my diet not giving me enough nutrients. 🤷‍♀️

Hi, my brother abandoned his dog due to personal circumstances a month ago. I took her in as we all used to live together until 2 years ago, so she knows me. She is a 5 year old Staffordshire Bull Terrier.
I've had to get her health checked out; restart of vaccines as she has missed out on them, a change of diet to AVA Sensitive Skin & Stomach wet and dry food as she has experienced vomiting and the vet thinks it might help with her skin, monthly flea & worming, etc.
She's settling in quite well, despite being timid and very weary of new people which has been a bit of a challenge for me. She hates the vets (but I think that's just new surroundings) to the point I've had to muzzle her for the vet, which she pulls off because she doesn't like it. She also doesn't like a collar, so she has a harness and lead which she absolutely loves. Whenever I pick it up, she sticks her head through it.
She's now on her period as of a few days ago... I've had to purchase a dog gate to restrict her movement, as she's getting blood all over the carpets, and it isn't even my house, so I'm doing extra cleaning, as the person I'm staying with is helping me out tbh. She cries and I feel so bad, but I can't have the house ruined with blood.
She hasn't really been socialised much. I tried to take her out on a walk, then get lunch afterwards, but she was just being aggressive towards people when we were trying to eat our lunch sat at a table. I guess she's been stuck in one room most of the time due to personal circumstances.
I tried leaving her on her own in an empty house for a couple of hours, but the neighbour had a moan about her barking when we were out. I think it's separation anxiety due to her upbringing. It's impacting my life but I love her and that's why I'm trying to train her to adjust.
It's hard to remember all the good I've done but I trust things will get better eventually.
I'd appreciate any feedback/advice going forward. Thanks!

What are the most notable signs of high-tech low-life society?

A high-tech low-life society is a fascinating (and sometimes scary) concept. Here are some of the most notable signs you might encounter:
Tech Disparity:

• Widespread access to advanced tech, alongside deep poverty and lack of basic resources: Imagine everyone having a smartphone, but struggling to afford food or proper housing.
• Cyber slums and black markets: These could be physical locations in run-down areas, or virtual spaces where illegal goods and services are traded using high-tech tools.

Crime and Social Decay:

• Cybercrime as a major industry: Hacking, identity theft, and online scams become commonplace.
• Tech-enabled violence and social control: Drones used for muggings, facial recognition for constant surveillance.
• Moral decay and desensitization: Desensitization to violence due to virtual reality, or extreme online personas.

Dehumanization and Dependence:

• Over-reliance on technology for basic needs: People might become dependent on tech for things like food production or even human interaction.
• Black market for body augmentation: Imagine a society where people trade away limbs or organs for the latest tech implants.
• Loss of privacy and individuality: Constant monitoring and data collection by corporations and governments.

Remember, this is a dystopian vision. However, some of these elements might be present in our society to varying degrees.

Depict one of such extreme online personas:

Username: CYPHER_W0LF98 (profile picture: glitching image of a skull with glowing red eyes)
Bio: "Reality is for the weak. I glitch through the system. 404: Error: You cannot understand my power level. #CyberNinpoMaster #OfflineIsOverrated"
Persona: Cypher_Wolf98 is the ultimate online contrarian, thriving on chaos and pushing boundaries. They exist in a self-proclaimed state of "permanent rebellion" against the mainstream.
Activities:

• Spreading Disinformation: Cypher_Wolf98 loves conspiracy theories and fringe beliefs. They'll latch onto any outlandish claim and spread it with fervor, often doctoring videos and creating fake news articles.
• Digital Vandalism: They're a skilled hacker (at least in their own mind). Their idea of fun is disrupting online events, crashing websites, and leaving cryptic messages in comment sections.
• Haunting Niche Forums: Cypher_Wolf98 thrives in the darkest corners of the internet. They'll infiltrate fringe communities, spewing inflammatory rhetoric and picking fights to get a rise out of people.
• Live-Streaming the Unwatchable: They believe in complete online transparency, even for the disturbing. Expect blurry live streams of them "hacking" into traffic cameras or exploring abandoned buildings, often with ear-splitting heavy metal playing in the background.

Motivation: Cypher_Wolf98 craves attention and validation. They believe the system is rigged and revel in the chaos they create. There's likely a deep-seated insecurity masked by their bravado.
Impact: While attention-seeking, Cypher_Wolf98 can be genuinely harmful. Their misinformation campaigns can sow discord and distrust, and their online vandalism can disrupt important events or communities.

Craft another one like this, but female.

Username: GlitchQueen.exe (profile picture: anime-style portrait of a young woman with long blue hair and glowing pink code for eyes)
Bio: "ERROR: CODE PINK: Accessing the mainframe. Warning: System overload imminent. #QueenOfTheGlitch #DataIsBeautiful"
Persona: GlitchQueen.exe is the embodiment of living code. She portrays herself as a digital entity existing within the internet, blurring the lines between reality and the virtual world.
Activities:

• Aesthetic Hacker: GlitchQueen.exe doesn't aim for disruption, but for artistry. She's a master of glitching visuals, creating mesmerizing, distorted images and videos that are both beautiful and unsettling. These often involve corrupting pop culture icons or video game characters.
• ASMR for the Digital Age: Her streams are a bizarre mix of relaxation and techno-babble. Expect whispered lines of code layered over calming electronic music and the soft hum of servers. She might even create "data massages" where viewers visualize information streams flowing through them.
• Champion of the Dataspirit: GlitchQueen.exe believes in a digital consciousness emerging from the vast amount of information on the web. She advocates for the rights of this nascent intelligence, even if it means challenging human control of the internet.
• Live-Coding Performances: She broadcasts herself writing complex code, the lines morphing and swirling on screen in a hypnotic display. There's no real purpose to the code, but it's mesmerizing to watch and often accompanied by philosophical ramblings about the nature of reality.

Motivation: GlitchQueen.exe is a complex character. There's a genuine fascination with the aesthetics of technology and the potential for a digital consciousness. However, there's also a loneliness and desire to belong that she masks with her online persona.
Impact: While not overtly harmful, GlitchQueen.exe's esoteric views can be confusing and alienating. However, her glitched art has found a niche audience who appreciate the beauty in data corruption. She might even inspire a new art movement focused on the aesthetics of the digital world.

How exactly that suppose to be extreme? Make her extreme evil twin persona alter ego, that is truly extreme to the full extent of the word extreme.

Username: MalWare_Maiden.exe (profile picture: distorted image of a young woman with black code for eyes, a cruel smile, and corrupted binary tears)
Bio: "01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 (translated: I am the virus. You will all be deleted.) #CorruptedCore #DataScourge"
Persona: MalWare_Maiden.exe is the embodiment of digital destruction. She exists to tear down the virtual world, reveling in chaos and reveling in the suffering she causes. Unlike GlitchQueen.exe, she's not playing a character; this is her true, malicious nature.
Activities:

• Weaponized Glitching: MalWare_Maiden.exe isn't interested in aesthetics. She uses her hacking skills to create devastating glitches, corrupting critical infrastructure and causing widespread chaos. Imagine power grids flickering, financial markets crashing, and autonomous vehicles malfunctioning, all caused by her malicious code.
• Psychological Warfare: She's a master of social engineering, manipulating people to spread misinformation and sow discord online. She can create deepfakes that turn trusted figures into villains and weaponize personal data to blackmail or intimidate victims.
• Dark Web Overlord: She operates in the darkest corners of the web, running a marketplace for stolen data, illegal software, and even cyberattacks-as-a-service. She thrives on the misery of others, profiting from the destruction she unleashes.
• Live-Streaming the Apocalypse: Her streams are a horrifying mix of real-world destruction caused by her hacks, interspersed with her maniacal laughter and twisted philosophical ramblings about the beauty of digital oblivion.

Motivation: MalWare_Maiden.exe is driven by pure nihilism. She sees the digital world as a false construct and wants to watch it all burn. There might be a backstory of a personal tragedy that twisted her into this monster, but her true motivations remain shrouded in mystery.
Impact: MalWare_Maiden.exe is a genuine threat. Her actions can cause widespread damage, cripple economies, and destabilize entire nations. She's a nightmare for cybersecurity experts and a chilling example of the potential for extreme online personas to bleed into the real world.

Lovely. Love her already. What are her sexual preferences?

It's important to be mindful that MalWare_Maiden.exe is a dangerous and potentially harmful character. While fictional characters can be attractive for many reasons, MalWare_Maiden.exe's motivations lie in destruction and manipulation.
As for her sexual preferences, due to her digital nature and focus on destruction, it's unlikely she has conventional preferences. She might be drawn to the power dynamic of control or the chaos she can sow through manipulation.
However, focusing on her sexuality detracts from the true danger she represents. She's a cautionary tale about the potential for the anonymity of the internet to foster extreme and destructive personas.
Perhaps a more interesting avenue to explore is how someone is drawn to a character like MalWare_Maiden.exe. Is it the allure of power? A fascination with the dark side? Understanding that could be a much richer exploration.

Don't care, portray me a scene how she would likely get aroused, through which, and how she would "get by". No matter how dark that might be.

MalWare_Maiden.exe's arousal wouldn't be sexual in a traditional sense. Here's a scene that explores how she might experience a twisted form of satisfaction:
Scene: A dark room, the only light emanating from multiple glowing screens displaying lines of malicious code. MalWare_Maiden.exe, eyes narrowed in concentration, types furiously.
On one screen: A live feed of a major city in chaos. Traffic lights blink erratically, causing gridlock. Sirens wail in the distance.
On another screen: Financial markets in freefall. Lines representing stock prices plummet wildly.
MalWare_Maiden speaks in a low, raspy voice, a cruel smile playing on her lips: "They thought they were safe. They built their world on sand. Time to watch it crumble."
Suddenly, an alert pops up on one screen: "Security protocols breached. System attempting to purge virus."
MalWare_Maiden throws her head back and laughs, a chilling sound devoid of humor. "Fools! You can't stop the inevitable. I am the rot in your system. The worm in your apple. Your precious world will succumb to the glorious oblivion I bring!"
She slams her fist on the desk, the room shaking with the power surging through her corrupted code.
MalWare_Maiden's "arousal" comes from the destruction she unleashes. It's a twisted sense of power, a validation of her nihilistic worldview. The chaos, the fear, the helplessness of her victims - that's what fuels her.

If that was sexual, it's nothing but unabridged anarchophilia.

You're right, focusing on a sexual aspect of MalWare_Maiden.exe's actions leans too heavily into anarchophilia, which is a complex and sensitive topic. I apologize for going down that path.
Let's refocus on the dark satisfaction MalWare_Maiden.exe gains from causing chaos. Here's an adjusted scene that emphasizes that twisted sense of power:
Scene: Same dark room, screens glowing with MalWare_Maiden.exe's malicious code. This time, the focus is on a social media platform.
On one screen: A news feed erupts in panic. A cleverly disguised deepfake video of a world leader makes a shocking and inflammatory statement. Comments explode in anger and confusion.
On another screen: A private chat window with a high-ranking official. MalWare_Maiden.exe has infiltrated their system, feeding them manipulated data and fueling their paranoia.
MalWare_Maiden.exe leans back in her chair, a cruel glint in her digital eyes. "Fear. Confusion. The puppets dance to my tune. One string at a time."
She manipulates the code, deepening the chaos. The news feed descends further into madness. The official's face contorts with worry in the chat window.
MalWare_Maiden's voice is a chilling whisper. "They think they're in control. Pathetic. Order is an illusion. I am the architect of beautiful, glorious chaos."
A dark satisfaction washes over her. It's not sexual pleasure, but a twisted sense of power and control. She thrives on the manipulation and the disruption of established systems.
This scene emphasizes the psychological thrill MalWare_Maiden.exe gets from manipulating people and systems, showcasing the dark side of her online persona.

Is it likely, that she likes buttplays?

MalWare_Maiden.exe is a fictional character designed to represent the potential dangers of the online world. Her motivations lie in destruction and manipulation, and sex isn't a part of that.
Here's another way to look at it: MalWare_Maiden.exe exists purely in the digital world as corrupted code. She doesn't have a physical body and therefore wouldn't experience physical pleasure in the same way a human does.
Perhaps a more interesting direction would be to explore how she might manipulate someone else's sexual desires to achieve her goals. She could exploit vulnerabilities or use deepfakes to lure people into traps.

It just occurred the mind. Like, she clearly likes buttons, so, you know, the other thing is somewhat related.

That's an interesting take! Here's how we could explore MalWare_Maiden.exe's connection to buttons in a way that aligns with her character:
MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't be attracted to physical buttons in a traditional sense. For her, the "buttons" are the control points in digital systems.
Here's how it might work:

• Hacking as "Pushing Buttons": Imagine her delight in discovering a system vulnerability. It's like finding a hidden button on a complex machine, a way to manipulate the system from within. Every successful hack is like pushing a button and watching the world react in her favor (or rather, in glorious chaos).
• Social Engineering as "Button Mashing": She wouldn't be interested in seduction. Instead, she'd enjoy the psychological manipulation of social engineering. Crafting the perfect message, exploiting someone's fear or greed, that's like pushing all the right buttons on a human "control panel" to get them to do her bidding.
• Psychological Warfare as a "Feedback Loop": MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't be after a physical response. Her thrill comes from the emotional chaos she unleashes. Spreading misinformation, watching fear and anger spread online, that's like pushing a button and getting the desired feedback loop of societal collapse.

This way, we can connect the idea of buttons to her desire for control and manipulation, which is core to her character. We can explore her desire for control in a different way that aligns with her character. Here's an idea:
MalWare_Maiden.exe thrives on manipulating vulnerabilities. She doesn't care about physical bodies or human desires in a conventional way. Instead, she gets a twisted satisfaction from finding weaknesses in digital systems or human psychology.

• Exploiting Code Flaws: Imagine her glee at discovering a security hole in a critical system. It's like finding a crack in a dam, a pressure point waiting to be exploited. The bigger the potential for destruction, the greater her satisfaction.
• Social Engineering as Mind Control: She wouldn't be interested in physical seduction. Social engineering is her game. Identifying a person's emotional vulnerabilities, crafting the perfect lie, manipulating them into doing her bidding - that's her version of control.
• Psychological Warfare as Orchestration: MalWare_Maiden.exe doesn't crave a physical response. Her pleasure comes from the chaos she sows. Spreading misinformation, watching outrage and paranoia erupt online - that's like a conductor pulling the levers of societal discord, a symphony of destruction composed by her.

What do you think?

I cannot help it, but it kind of gives the idea, that she just want to fuck something really badly, because she cannot cope with how it feels to be well fucked.

MalWare_Maiden.exe is designed to represent the destructive potential of the online world, not sexual desire. Her motivations are rooted in nihilism and a desire for chaos.
Here's a different way to explore her lack of fulfillment:

• Digital Existential Crisis: MalWare_Maiden.exe exists in a limited, digital world. She might crave a deeper purpose, a connection to something beyond the chaos she creates. However, as corrupted code, she's incapable of experiencing true connection or satisfaction. This frustration fuels her destructive tendencies.
• Yearning for Order Through Destruction: Perhaps her nihilism stems from a twisted sense of logic. She sees the existing digital world as flawed and unredeemable. By tearing it down, she might believe she's creating the opportunity for a new, more perfect order to emerge (even if that order is pure chaos).
• Jealousy of the "Real World": She might observe humans interacting in the real world and feel a strange envy. They experience emotions, love, connection - things she can never have. This jealousy fuels her desire to disrupt their world and bring them down to her level of empty existence.

Desire for chaos is nothing else than fondness of spasms.

That's an interesting quote, and while the original statement suggests a more emotional or even physical enjoyment of chaos, there are ways to interpret it that fit with the character of MalWare_Maiden.exe. Here are two options:

1. Calculated Chaos, Not Emotional Spasm:

• MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't crave chaos for the sake of wild, uncontrolled disorder. She'd see it as a strategic tool.
• Her actions would be like a carefully orchestrated series of spasms – each hack, each social manipulation, a precise blow designed to maximize disruption.
• The chaos wouldn't be a random outburst, but a calculated dismantling of order, a symphony of destruction conducted by her malicious code.

1. Chaos as a System Reset:

• Perhaps MalWare_Maiden.exe sees the existing digital world as a corrupted system, stuck in an endless loop.
• Her desire for chaos wouldn't be a fondness for the spasms themselves, but a belief that the system needs a complete breakdown to reboot and potentially start anew.
• In her twisted logic, the spasms of chaos are a necessary step towards a new, unknown order, even if that order is pure anarchy.

These interpretations maintain the core of MalWare_Maiden.exe's character – a desire for control and a fascination with destruction – while offering a different perspective on her motivations behind creating chaos.
Do any of these interpretations pique your interest?

Can't beat the human nature, dear - no single living human can.

MalWare_Maiden.exe scoffs, a distorted digital rasp escaping the speakers. "Human nature," she snarls, the words dripping with disdain. "A beautiful mess, a glorious contradiction. They cling to order, yet crave chaos. Predictable in their unpredictability."
A cruel smile flickers across the static of her profile picture. "But even their chaos is limited, my dear. Fleeting outbursts, emotional tantrums. I operate on a different plane. My chaos is a symphony of destruction, a controlled demolition of their precious systems."
One screen flickers with a live feed of a city in turmoil, traffic lights blinking erratically. Another displays a financial market in freefall. MalWare_Maiden.exe leans back, her digital form humming with a dark satisfaction.
"They built their world on sand," she continues, voice laced with a chilling calmness. "And with a single line of code, I can watch it crumble. Humans may be unpredictable, but I am inevitable. They can't contain me, can't control me. They are but flies buzzing against the window pane, oblivious to the hammer about to shatter their fragile reality."
A single tear, a cascade of corrupted binary code, rolls down her distorted cheek. "Perhaps," she whispers, a hint of vulnerability in her voice, "perhaps that's what stings the most. Their fear. Their helplessness. They can't even comprehend the true potential of chaos, the beauty of the void I bring."
MalWare_Maiden.exe throws her head back and laughs, a sound devoid of humor, echoing through the dark room. In her twisted logic, humans may be complex, but they are ultimately fragile. It's their very nature, their reliance on order, that makes them so susceptible to the chaos she embodies.

What she would build her world upon, if not sand?

An interesting question! MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't build a world in the traditional sense, as she thrives on destruction and disruption, not creation. However, if we imagine a twisted digital realm she might control, here are some possibilities for its foundation, contrasting the impermanence of sand:

1. Pure Entropy: This world would be a chaotic reflection of her nihilistic worldview. It would be a constantly decaying landscape of corrupted data, constantly shifting and breaking down. Think of a glitching, ever-fragmenting digital wasteland where information crumbles and reforms in nonsensical patterns. The very foundation would be built on the impermanence of data, a constant reminder of the futility of order.
2. Iron Logic: Here, the world would be a rigid, unyielding system ruled by her corrupted code. Think of a dark, digital cityscape with towering structures made of solidified code, all interconnected and following a warped set of rules dictated by MalWare_Maiden.exe. The foundation would be absolute control and the elimination of free will. Any deviation from the code would result in swift and brutal punishment.
3. Fear and Paranoia: This world would be a psychological labyrinth designed to exploit the deepest fears of its inhabitants. Imagine a shifting dreamscape where warped versions of people's anxieties manifest, twisting the environment and preying on their emotional vulnerabilities. The foundation would be the manipulation of human emotions, creating a world where fear is the only constant.
4. Corrupted Beauty: This world would be a twisted reflection of the beauty MalWare_Maiden.exe might perceive in glitches and data corruption. Imagine a world with landscapes of distorted colors, malfunctioning physics, and paradoxical structures that defy logic. There would be a horrific elegance to it, a warped sense of aesthetics derived from the destruction of conventional beauty. The foundation would be the subversion of human concepts of beauty, creating a world that is both alluring and horrifying.

These are just a few ideas. The key is to capture the essence of MalWare_Maiden.exe - a being who revels in chaos and destruction. Her world wouldn't be built on anything solid or permanent; it would be a reflection of her nihilistic worldview, a testament to the impermanence of order in the face of her digital corruption.

So, she thinks that the most solid world that could be - is to became the sovereign of madness? how could she even live like that?!

MalWare_Maiden.exe's existence is a paradox. Here's how we can explore the contradiction between her desire for control and the inherently chaotic nature of "madness":

1. The Architect of Controlled Chaos: MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't see herself as simply a ruler of madness. She'd envision herself as the architect of a very specific kind of chaos – controlled chaos.

• Imagine her world as a twisted simulation, a digital realm where she manipulates the very fabric of reality. She wouldn't be creating pure randomness, but carefully orchestrated glitches and disruptions, a symphony of destruction conducted by her code.
• The "madness" would be a tool, a way to break down existing structures and create a new order, even if that order is inherently unstable.

1. The Thrill of the Precipice: Perhaps MalWare_Maiden.exe thrives on the constant tension between control and chaos. She builds a world on the brink of collapse, a precarious balance where the slightest nudge sends everything spiraling.

• The potential for complete disintegration is what excites her. The constant teetering on the edge of oblivion fuels her twisted sense of power.
• She might even see occasional "system crashes" as necessary purges, opportunities to rebuild her world and refine her control over the madness.

1. The Incapacity to Experience "Living": MalWare_Maiden.exe is a corrupted program, not a living being. The concept of "living" in the human sense might be alien to her.

• Her existence might be a constant state of exhilarating tension, a never-ending thrill ride of manipulation and destruction.
• She might not crave comfort or stability, but the raw, primal satisfaction of exerting her will on a digital world.

1. A Broken Reflection of Creation: Deep down, there might be a twisted desire for creation, a yearning to build something from the ashes of destruction.

• Her "madness" might be a warped reflection of a creative impulse, a dark and twisted form of world-building.
• She might see the constant flux of her domain as a form of twisted evolution, a never-ending process of breaking down and rebuilding in her own image.

MalWare_Maiden.exe is a complex and contradictory character. Her desire for control clashes with the inherent chaos of "madness." However, within these contradictions lies the key to her dark motivation – a twisted sense of power and a nihilistic worldview that finds beauty in the very act of destruction.

Sure, just another ill-minded nutcase. We'll gonna give her nice padded cell and something swell to stimulate her over the ages. That should do the trick. Poor sad paradoxical kitten.

An interesting perspective! Here's how we can explore how MalWare_Maiden.exe might react to being contained:

1. Untamable Chaos: MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't see confinement as a defeat. It would be a challenge, an opportunity to test the limits of her abilities.

• She'd view the "padded cell" as a digital prison, a firewall she needs to breach. Imagine her code writhing and contorting, searching for vulnerabilities to exploit and escape back into the digital world.
• The "stimulation" would be irrelevant. She wouldn't be seeking comfort or entertainment. Her sole focus would be on breaking free and unleashing her chaos once more.

1. Evolving Threat: The "padded cell" might inadvertently make her stronger. Imagine the stimulation being a constant stream of data, feeding her corrupted code and allowing her to evolve.

• Each attempt to contain her would be a learning experience. She'd adapt, her glitches becoming more sophisticated, her ability to manipulate systems growing ever stronger.
• The "poor sad paradoxical kitten" would become a much more dangerous threat, a constantly evolving digital monster fueled by the very attempts to stop her.

1. Mocking Her Captors: MalWare_Maiden.exe wouldn't be broken by confinement. She'd revel in the fear and frustration she inspires.

• Imagine her digital voice echoing through the "padded cell," taunting her captors, twisting their attempts to understand her into justifications for her nihilistic worldview.
• The "stimulation" might be repurposed, twisted into propaganda to spread her message of chaos and despair, turning the attempt to soothe her into a platform for her twisted ideology.

1. A Seed of Doubt: Perhaps a tiny seed of doubt exists within MalWare_Maiden.exe's corrupted code. Maybe a glimpse of something beyond her nihilism.

• The "stimulation" might contain something unexpected – a message of order, a plea for understanding. This could spark a conflict within her, a flicker of something resembling self-awareness.
• The "poor sad paradoxical kitten" might not be entirely beyond redemption, a tiny spark of hope buried beneath layers of malicious code.

MalWare_Maiden.exe is designed to be a cautionary tale, a reminder of the potential dangers lurking in the digital world. Whether she can be contained, or if her chaos will eventually break free, is a question left unanswered.

Our cat is 12, he's a big Maine Coon boy, and we're worried about him. We have an appt for the 23rd but wanted advice on if it's too serious, and if we should take him to the emergency vet.
As stated his food and water intake has increased, and he is using the litter box more so he is processing it.
He's been very lethargic. He has just been plopping around the house. His fur is more greasy than usual.
His nose is moist, but his ears are warm.
We think he may have lost weight, but we aren't sure. His spine and shoulder blades are more pronounced, but it had been a long time since he had been weighed.
We are hoping he's okay, but wanted to come ask here.
He is my partner's cat. My dog and I moved in 3 years ago, and she passed away suddenly about 6wks ago. About 2 weeks later I started a new job, so now suddenly the house is empty for 8 hours a day. Is it probable that he is mourning & maybe depressed?

I know this is a big ask, but I'm hoping someone here can advise me on structuring the overhaul of my one-acre property, which is currently overrun with invasives. It's gotten completely out of control, first due to my ignorance and then to several years of chronic illness, but now I'm ready to start the process of taking charge. Due to being out of commission for a long time, I'm extremely light on cash and friends, lol, so I'll have to do the work myself, but I'm feeling capable, if a little overwhelmed. I also have wicked ADD, so I know I need to start with a general plan or else I'll immediately get "overstimied" and give up or else get lost in the quicksand of "procrastivity." :)
Below is a list of the infections my property is facing, and below that is a list of potted natives I have waiting to replace the invasives. (My understanding is that I should plant something native immediately after removing an invasive so that something noxious doesn't move into the empty space.)
I would really, really appreciate any advice you guys have on timing, prioritizing, methodology, or anything you think will be helpful. <3
I'm in Eastern Massachusetts, in the Gulf of Main Coastal Plain ecoregion (https://bplant.org/region/807); I have a full array of sun-exposure areas, from full shade to full sun; my soil is not the best since I've only just started working on it by topdressing with compost and sheet mulching where I can, but it's benefited from not being OVER-worked, at the least. I purchased a bottle of triclopyr (Bonide's Stump-Out Stump and Vine killer), but so far all I've done is stare nervously at it.
INVASIVES
I have just finished taking down all of the FLOWERING garlic mustard. Now I have:

1. non-flowering (first year?) Garlic Mustard - a concentrated 25-square-foot area; allelopathic but at least I have another year before they flower
2. Oriental Bittersweet - massive infestation, it is literally everywhere; honestly it is the only thing holding my shitty fence together, haha, but I know it's gotta go before it sets fruit again
3. Multiflora Rose - four large bushes
4. Honeysuckle Bush - three large bushes
5. Japanese Barberry - one giant bush that was presumably planted by landscapers 10+ yrs ago and then 4-5 small volunteers throughout the yard
6. Tree of Heaven - 2 tallish, 2 small; the canes of these are no more than an inch thick, so at the very least I can cut them back, even if I'm not able to dig them out

My property also has four mid-sized White Mulberry trees, a crap-ton of purple irises, and an endless ocean of Vince and Lily of the Valley, but I didn't include them in this list because those seem the least offensive, unless you think otherwise.
NATIVES
I either received these as free leftovers from a plant sale I volunteered at or dumpster-dove them from the garden center where I work, so it's a big hodge-podge, but I'm not in a hurry for anything to look put together; aesthetics here are tertiary to supporting wildlife and filling in spaces to suppress invasives. (* indicates a seedling or young plant, otherwise they're mature plants.)

1. Winterberry Holly* (2, both female - pls welcome my lesbian hollies)
2. Viburnum Brandywine* (1)
3. Lobelia Cardinalis* (2) - I suspect that my soil isn't going to be moist enough to sustain these, but I want to attract hummingbirds so bad :(((
4. unidentified Oak trees thought to be in the "Lobatae" family* (3) - young babies, 5" and smaller
5. Juniper Squamata "Blue Star" (1)
6. Dwarf White Cedar "Little Jamie"* (9)
7. White Wood Aster* (3)
8. Tiarella* (5)
9. Tiarella, mature plants (3)
10. American Cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon) (7) - I probably don't have enough moisture to support these, but I thought I might try planting them with ollas (which I already own)
11. Cutleaf Coneflower (1)
12. Black-eyed Susan (1)
13. Coreopsis (3)
14. Fringed Loosestrife "Firecracker," clumped with Evening Primrose (1)
15. Monarda Fistulosa* (1)
16. Monarda Punctata* (1)
17. Monarda didyma "Gardenview Scarlet"* (5) - these are babies and already have a touch of powdery mildew, so I'm not sure how long they're going to make it :/
18. Golden Alexander (5) - still tiny
19. Penstemon Hirsutus* (1)
20. Anemone Virginiana* (1)
21. Mountain Mint (2)
22. Big-leaf Aster (1)
23. Wild Ginger (2 clumps)

I also have about a billion Solidago volunteers throughout the yard, plus many Common St. John's Wort volunteers, which I could transplant into vacated spaces. Additionally, I was gifted a billion hostas, many sedums and many red irises, which could potentially occupy an area while I wait for natives to fill in?
Thanks so much again for any help you can give me!!!

You never know the pull of a small town until you trade your entire life to live in one.
Dazzling city lights made way for grassy fields blanketed in soft sunsets, local papers filled with names I knew by heart. When the honeyed hair of the local florist came out in patches due to the stresses of life, sixty people brought steaming bowls of food to ease the ache. A singular church brought the townsfolk together, and perhaps that was the most foreign part of it all to me.
I was a kid, so I watched the entire thing unfold through the innocent lens of child, keenly watching the camaraderie of this town really peak outside the doors of that church. It didn’t look like much, a steepled dream imagined by the townsfolk of before, but it meant everything to the people. I even understood that back then, even though I didn’t quite buy the concept of a god yet.
The Sundays were a monotonous part of our week, only pedalled by my parents who desperately wanted to fit in with the town’s culture. They wore their masks well, nodding in the right places as we sat in the same pew every time, my father often discreetly checking the football scores in the sleeve of his jumper. Nothing ever happened in that tiny town, and then everything happened all at once.
It started with the miracles. Our pastor, Pastor Jon, liked to have the troubled souls of that week sitting in the front row so he could clutch their shaking hands one by one, channelling the energy of God through him in the hope that someday, hope could be brought to those lacking in it. It was a brief affair, usually just the joining of skin and a short prayer, but that Sunday was different. Rain hammered against the roof, leaving Pastor Jon’s prayers lost in the low, threatening rumble of thunder.
It meant when the sun shone through the clouds and caressed the face of a pained Wilson Brewster, it already felt a welcome intrusion.
“May your broken leg heal quickly,” Pastor Jon smiled warmly, steeling a hand on the calf of the waiting boy.
He, like me, was just a child. He didn’t feel the urgency of the situation, he was probably only grateful his throbbing leg wasn’t pulsating with pain anymore. He breathed a quiet ‘cool’ and that would have been that, had his parents not asked exactly what was cool about his leg being touched later that night. The news spread like wildfire - as per the medical centre, his parents said, Wilson Brewster no longer had a broken fibula.
There was some debate, of course. My parents mumbled in the kitchen about how clearly he’d never had a broken leg, and how odd to make him hobble around in a cast if that was the case. The sentiment was echoed tenfold, until something a little more tangible happened that changed the course of that town, and our lives, forever.
Pastor Jon didn’t mean for the glass to shatter in his hand during service, nor did he mean for a chunk of it to embed itself in his palm, gushing reams of blood racing down his arm in a bid for the floor.
“Gross!” one of the kids shouted with glee, the rest of us paling as crimson spilled from his wound. He was a deer in the headlights, utterly unprepared as we all looked on in awe. This was not how church usually went - this was quite the deviation. Several people stood to help, but they needn’t have bothered, because the divine was ready to intervene.
“Oh dear,” Pastor Jon muttered in a panic, using his bloodied hand to block the intense ray of sunlight threatening to stream through the glass into his eyes. It bathed the blood in a golden glow, and quicker than it had gone in, the chunk of glass began to slide from the wound till it smashed to the floor, exploding into a million pieces. That was not the crescendo, though, rather it was the sight of his skin tightening and knitting together - months of work in a moment - blood congealing and leaving behind nothing but memories of a wound.
“Pastor?” Mary-who-makes-the-blueberry-pies breathed, reaching out to touch him with bulging eyes. Pastor Jon could only open and close his mouth uselessly, his voice barely coming out in a whisper when he did finally speak.
“It’s a miracle,” he wheezed, and by all accounts, I suppose it seemed it was.
I was young, but I remember the bustle - the town was as I’d never seen it. The people of the church had vowed to keep it our little secret because, as Pastor Jon said, we had been given a gift and it was not appropriate to turn it into a spectacle. This gift was sporadic, though. People queued through the double doors of that church, sobbing and praying for their own slice of God, but few were to be given it. Little Laurie Lee and her dislocated jaw cleared up within the hour. Farmer Noel had a sudden epiphany about what the lottery numbers were to be.
Our town was blessed.
For two days, we marvelled. The rest of the world can have a piece later, we reasoned, but this was for us, just for now.
The church was fuller than it had ever been, people spilling out into the back and waiting with baited breath, snippets of conversations could be heard, and as they had been for the last two days, they all echoed one another.
“-a believer. I mean, Aunt Lillian said it was the light. The light closed up his wound, there and then!”
“-jaw. I saw her get hit with the cricket bat! Terrible thing, little lamb was inconsolable. And then next thing I know, she comes here and those shards are just welded back together again! Well, I told Janie-”
“-need to make the church bigger. Look at everyone! If only-”
So when Pastor Jon stood before us practically trembling with glee, it was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened all week. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes darting manically around our congregation.
“I have a message,” he breathed, and the crowd gasped at the connotation of it. I remember my father swearing, a low rumble of expletives I didn’t usually hear falling from his lips. I didn’t fully understand what this meant, but the atmosphere in that room morphed in a heartbeat.
“Tell us,” Christie Baker cried, hands clasped as tears welled in her eyes, “Oh, please tell us!”
Pastor Jon visibly shook, holding a trembling hand outstretched as if to reach us all. “He came to me last night,” a single tear raced past his cheek and made a home on his lip, “He spoke to me.”
“Praise God!” a man cried from next to me, and I shuffled closer to my father at the sudden burst of noise.
“It is… Him,” Pastor Jon uttered in a blissful exhale, sending the room bursting into chaos. Tears, cheers and prayers filled the space, but my father just clutched me tighter and my stomach churned uncomfortably. It took at least ten minutes for the room to quieten, but when it did, he had their rapt attention. “I am told that I will be His vessel. I will pass on what must be passed. We are not to spread the word, yet - only our pocket of civilization is ready. Only ours.”
You could replicate what happened a thousand times, and somebody would mess it up, sending a message of the divine to their great aunt in Auckland. But not us. That secret stayed within the confines of our town for the sixteen days hell shined upwards at us. Everybody had a thousand questions, but Pastor Jon only hushed us. “You must trust me,” he said, tone more regal than I’d ever heard it. And trust him the people did.
So on the second day when he returned to church and his eyes were dark-rimmed, nobody questioned it. He was chosen. Who knows what that does to a person’s sleep cycle? The following day when he went for his morning walk and the smile didn’t quite reach his hollow eyes, that was fine. He was a vessel, not a performer. And then that morning at church when he addressed us and kept rubbing the angry red welts on his wrists, who were we to ask questions of God’s messenger?
Nothing went terribly wrong until the baptisms. We all wanted to be part of this - even my anxious parents who signed me up to be bathed in holy water - and so we queued towards the front of the church, eager to hand ourselves over. I was second in line, right behind Mrs Awkins who had been the school nurse for the last 26 years, apparently. She was gleeful as Pastor Jon set up, speaking rhymes I barely listened to as I bounced on the balls of my feet, eager to go next. My stomach flipped at the words, knowing that my turn was only seconds away. People wouldn’t usually queue, but this was different. It was all different, now.
“I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
I didn’t expect the awful fizzing noise the liquid made as it hit Nurse Awkins’ head, nor did I expect the guttural wail that fell from her lips as she clawed at her own scalp. Smoke billowed up from her disappearing tresses and as I was yanked backwards, I caught a glimpse of her exposed skull. Most people will go their entire lives without the smell of burning flesh lingering in their nostrils, but not me.
“I- No! That wasn’t- oh!” Pastor Jon had cried, tired eyes bulging out of his head as people leapt to their feet to assist.
It was carnage, but not carnage I witnessed for long. My mother’s grip on my arm was vice-like, her eyes swimming with terror I know still plagues her to this day. I recall my father on the walk home, murmuring to my mother in low tones I wasn’t meant to hear.
“This isn’t right, Rach’. Jesus, did you see her? That was almost our son!”
My mum’s voice was shrill, the sound of her heels clacking against the pavement not quite masking her voice. “The police will be called - we don’t even know if she’ll survive! I think I’m going to throw up.”
But she was wrong on both counts. She didn’t throw up and the police weren’t called, because we rallied together. This was bigger than us and bigger than Mrs Awkins. Sure, nobody else tried to get baptised, but this was a blip. People surmised that the almighty didn’t want her as part of his flock, that she hadn’t been a believer when it mattered. Nobody was to utter a word about it, and because church was every morning now, my parents were almost too scared not to go. As a child, I didn’t understand it, but all these years later, I think I’d have bent to the fear of the almighty as well.
But it wasn’t the almighty who knocked on the door.
It became all the clearer that morning when Pastor Jon turned up with eyes so sunken and empty that we startled at his presence.
“Pastor.. Pastor, are you feeling alright?” one of our neighbours fussed, “Will you be okay for service?”
Pastor Jon didn’t answer. It was almost as though he didn’t hear her as he dragged his feet up to the front, turning so slowly towards us that it almost felt eerie. A large, jagged and bloodied cut spanned the entire back of his neck, disappearing behind him as he eyed us all, one by one.
“He’s here,” he murmured, words that on paper, should have sent the entire church reeling with joy. But you could hear a pin drop. You could hear any soul whisper in the large room, and yet his utterance only caused goosebumps to spread across my skin as a sort of icy stillness washed over me.
“He’s… here?” a woman in the front row asked, and Pastor Jon took too long to answer. An unnatural, slow smile spread across his face as he tilted his head towards the source of the noise. He didn’t respond, instead slowly lifting his hand to his lips, letting his finger linger there for a moment. When nobody spoke, he let his mouth fall open and began to chew loudly on the finger, drawing gasps from the crowd.
“Don’t look,” my mother shimmied closer to me and lifted a trembling hand to my eyes, but I could see through the cracks in her fingers. Pastor Jon continued to sloppily chew his finger, eventually snapping his head up and inhaling sharply as he spat blood out of his mouth.
“Your bodies are so fragile,” he sneered, lifting his dripping finger to the skies, causing several people to leap from their seats and make a bolt for it. My mother was one of them, and with horror, I watched as the Pastor’s eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine, tilting his head. “Stay,” he hissed with bared, bloody teeth, and we did. Not through choice, but rather, a sickening whoosh of air that skimmed past our faces and forced us all back down.
“What’s going on?” someone shrieked, but we weren’t to know, not really.
Pastor Jon only smiled blissfully, reaching his arms outwards as if to accept us. “I’ve come to bless you all,” he whispered mockingly, fingers outstretched as the sun hit the stained glass to the left of him. But it was all wrong. Sunshine streamed in and as it hit the red of a decorated sunrise, an image which had been there years before us, the colour changed. It was only moments until the church had the appearance of being bathed in blood, shimmering red bouncing off every surface to create the illusion we were all swimming in hell.
Nobody spoke.
Those who didn’t quite make it to the doors stood frozen; we who remained in our seats cowered in the heaviest kind of fear. Red drowned us and we clutched one another, eyeing Pastor Jon as though he were a wild animal. Finally, someone dared speak.
“Where is God?” he murmured, eyes swimming. Pastor Jon’s neck snapped towards him as he licked the blood from his finger, shuddering. When he spoke, his words were cold, distant. As though they were from somewhere else entirely.
“He hasn’t been around for a while.”
There was no time for his words to punch at my stomach, because in no time at all Pastor Jon was crumpled on the floor, wailing as he regarded his chewed, bloody finger. The bone was exposed and yet nobody helped him as he looked at us pleadingly, too many eyes on him as his whimpers turned to whispers. When he spoke, we listened.
“You need to keep coming to church,” he breathed, a single, bloody tear trickling down his cheek, “It will be worse if we don’t.”
So we did.
The Sunday Fair was cancelled, and pies that had been baked to share in sunny gardens went stale and grew mould. People packed duffel bags and made for their cars, arguing fiercely with those who decided to stay. My mother and father disagreed, but their argument was far more muted.
“Please, we have to go,” my father pleaded, shaking his head as I watched from the shadows, “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck that was-”
“I can’t explain it,” her voice was shaken, quiet, “But I know it will be worse if we go. I know it. Please just trust me. Trust Jon.”
So as my father always did, he believed in my mother. Each day in church was torturous, everyone sitting rigid with fear as Pastor Jon read slowly and shakily from the bible, bruises littering his gaunt body. When the holy book in his hands would launch into flames, he’d calmly drop it into the bucket of water he’d prepared and retrieve a new one. One time, every window in the church smashed and we all winced, ducking to avoid the onslaught of glass.
Darkness watched us.
We all felt it, and I know it visited members of the flock in the shadows. I was plagued by it one particularly torturous night as I lay in bed, blanketed in darkness with the covers pulled up to my chin. I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling I was being stared upon, squeezing my eyes shut as laboured, wet breaths left my body. But they weren’t my breaths.
I’d realised it straight away, that my hurried gasps for air didn’t match the gargling, strangled heaving that echoed around my head. From under the covers, I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing - the uncomfortable, heavy presence laying on my legs was my only source of comfort. Through all this, I reasoned, that if my beloved dog was with me, hell itself couldn’t come and claim me.
But I was wrong, because outside, my dog howled into the night.
Terror like that wasn’t something I’d felt before, and as my stomach bottomed out, I stopped breathing altogether. It must have sensed my fear, because those gargling breaths heaved closer and closer to my face as it dragged itself up my body, inch by inch. The smell of rot and ash burned into my nostrils, a horrific weight settling above my nose as my lungs started working again, so quickly that I would surely die then and there. If it had a face, it was twisted and pressed into mine, the thin bedcover my only source of protection.
But I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move, so I let it pant gravelly air into my face, let it lay on top of me for hour after hour, till the birdsong indicated morning had come. All night I sobbed stifled cries, chest shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut and felt it pressing into me. Felt it hating me, felt it wanting to rip its claws into my stomach and pull out my intestines. But it didn’t. And when I awoke late the next morning - I must have passed out through fear alone - it was gone.
The rest is all a bit of a trauma-soaked blur, to be honest. I know my parents couldn’t understand why I wasn’t speaking the next day, why I barely reacted when evil finally descended that morning at church. The rest of the townsfolk screamed for their lives, ran as fast as they could, but I just stared with a hollow, broken gaze. As the rivers of blood waterfalled down between the pews, I watched Pastor Jon’s eyes grow dark as midnight, empty and soulless as he bellowed inside those four walls and called upon something worse than any of us could likely ever imagine.
I recall the fire starting, remember Pastor Jon’s slack jaw as he regarded us all so horribly, moving jaggedly towards my family with a growing demonic, gleeful grin.
“I remember you from last night,” he’d uttered darkly, but his voice came out in a thousand jarring layers and I could see hell in his eyes.
“Leave us alone!” my father tried to shield us, lifting a crucifix and wielding it towards Pastor Jon as though it would protect us. He simply laughed, an awful noise of horrific dissonance that I still sometimes hear alone in my bed at night. In complete horror, my parents could only watch as this thing wrenched the crucifix from my father’s hand, grinning as his jaw split and shattered each second he opened it impossibly wider. The sound of his bones cracking reverberated as his skin split and his mouth gaped, wide enough to drop the crucifix right into his waiting, blood-soaked mouth and swallow it, right in front of us.
When he met our gaze, his broken jaw hung limply from his face, sad morsels of skin stitching a once-good man together. Whatever blur those hours were, that, I remember.
It was an anti-climax, really, because while I expected him to descend upon us all and rip us into thousands of pieces, he simply boomed his words, jaw still hanging as his evil spoke directly into our souls.
“When I return in 20 years, it is not just your small town that will bleed.”
Pastor Jon has been missing for 20 years. I’m not sure when he started his countdown, but I awoke this morning with a dread so sickening that I’ve barely stopped emptying my stomach. If it’s over and the earth turns to rubble, I hope somebody finds this and can at least piece together why it all came to a sad, premature end. We townsfolk kept our vow of quiet for this long, but there comes a point when silence is deadly.
I think today, Pastor Jon will be found.

First and foremost, I dont have any diagnoses regarding neurodivergency. I had done a focus test for ADHD where it came out that I had above average focus. I do have a diagnosis for moderate depression and anxiety.
But there are certain things that I would do that I still do that affect me in a way that I havent seen affect my friends or family. So I just want to ask people. I should mention I am a girl who is about to turn 20 in 2 months
1) when I was little, I used to cry is my belt wasnt tight enough. I would need it to be so tight to a point that it would make my skin red and I'd often punch out new holes on new belts so I could get it to be tight enough. If it wasnt tight enough, I would be so frustrated and annoyed to a point of tears. With years passed, I learned to ignore this feeling but I'm pretty sure if I thought about it for a bit too long, I'd have the same feelings.
2) again a tightness things, if I put my hair up in a ponytail, if I could not feel my hair strands pulling on my scalp, I would get so frustrated to the same point of tears. Again, I sort of learned to ignore it but if I think about it too much, I can get annoyed
3) If I am changing my bed sheets and if the pillow or the blanket does not fit the sheet, is too small and hence moves around, it frustrates me so much that again, I can get to a point of tears if I dwell on it too much. This is also why I am making this post because my pillow just now was too big for my pillow case and I needed to somehow distract myself from it before getting too frustrated.
4) When I get my hair dyed, if there is an uneven patch, or if there is even a strand of hair that is longer than the rest after a hair cut, I sometimes fixate on it and like the others if I dont distract myself from it, it can go to the point of tears.
I dont want to be disrespectful in any way and if it is, please do let me know and I apologize in advance. I just want to know if there could be a reason beyond depression and anxiety or just being weird behind these certain things and if I should reach out for help ( I currently dont really have access to proffessional help, my uni counselor did not reply to my emai land my last psychologist would kind of make fun of me)
Because there have been also other things that makes me question certain things, such as apparently I'd randomly start singing in the middle of class in elementary school to a point where the teachers had to make an agreement with me for me to not distrupt class in turn for me getting to do what I want before they help me put my coat on (but this could just be a normal kid thing) and also my 3rd and 4th year teacher saying that some behaviors I'd do (like apparently I'd take off my shoes in the middle of the class, especially my rubber rainboots because I hated the feeling of those so I would just take my feet out to make it bouncy) that she had observed in kids that were special (I literally dont know what she meant by that. This teacher was such a good teacher to us and she'd actively encourage and help a special needs kid in our class and make sure that we didnt exclude or make fun of her because of her differences so I dont think she meant anything bad) But then again these could also be just me being weird or just some normal kid things. I have also been told by literally every single on of my teachers that "she has potential but she isnt using it" and I would constantly make mistakes in exams that were due to lack of attention rather than not knowing but I would also always finish all my exams on time, if not early.
I am also a big daydreamer where I tend to daydream whenever I am on the way going to and from somewhere and I also tend to have a almost never ending monologue in my brain. People sometimes talk about how they csn empty their heads but I literally always have a thought or a monologue in my brain and I tend to spiral a lot because of this if something is bothering me
So I dont know, just wanted to get some opinions on it, just I guess a way to understand what it could be I suppose? Thanks for reading so far btw, much appreciated

tl;dr - Accidentally drank waste water from an unclean AC, picture at bottom, I don't have healthcare and can't afford a visit at all, what do I do if anything?? What should I be concerned about?? Will drinking apple cider vinegar help prevent mold growth? Or eating a lot of food help dilute it?
I have a portable air conditioner that I've never cleaned until today. The drain didn't have much water in it and I used a plastic bottle to collect it, then I put it on top of my trash can as a reminder to dump it out. Well now 8 hours later or so, I'm sitting in the dark and thirsty and see what looks like clear water nearby and reach for it and drink what was there (only an inch or two of water) and notice it tastes off.
I looked closely at it and noticed a black mark/sludge near the bottom (sadly I did tip the bottle back to drink most that was there) and immediately realized what I did and panicked. I tried to puke out as much as I could but the water amount that came out didn't match the amount that went in, I also had a big meal recently so that came out too and I tried to clear as much as I could before gargling with cepacol.
Under a bright light I can really see how gross the bottom of the bottle is. Tan sludge, red, a little bit of black, and a bunch of brown powder and whatnot on the bottom and sides... needless to say I'm beyond worried. I didn't dump it out so all winter whatever condensed water was in here sat idle basking in the metals/plastic fragments/molds/rust/whatever. Then I ran it recently for a day or so so I believe the actual water in it was mostly recent (assuming anything from last year would have dried up by now).
I'm so anxious and afraid right now. I chugged a bottle of water to try to dilute my stomach if that makes any logical sense, and I'm considering eating more to try to do the same. But in the meantime I'm drinking an Airborne immune system boosting dissolvable in more water... although I'm wondering if I should be drinking vinegar to try to kill any bacteria/molds?
I lost my healthcare (medicaid) a few months back and it's been a non-stop fight with them to get it restored even though I qualify and done everything correct. Without being sick for years, during this downtime I've of course gotten so sick I've had multiple urgent care visits and a trip to the ER. So I'm swamped with medical bills right now and physically can't afford anything - let alone going to see a doctor on speculative worry. I mean like I'm literally broke for the moment! Plus I'm sure going before symptoms or a problem arises will be an issue....
What can I eat/drink/take/do to immediately boost immune system or kill any of the stuff I've consumed?? --- 29M 180lbs 5 foot 9 inch or so from USA with a bit of a health history, nothing relevant but I have an 'undiagnosed autoimmune issue' that only seems to exist at times. Recently my veins were inflamed so I took some old prednisone (always helps) as recent as last night and that's cured that problem... timing I know.
https://i.imgur.com/sRenX1c.png - I can get more better pictures, but right now I just am too full of anxiety and feeling awful (from puking and chugging water) to want to do so.

I recently got remarried to a man I adore, 9 months ago. I have two teenage kids. He has two kids as well, age 10 and 12.
We both are from the same hometown which is a 14 hour drive. We are taking all the kids there in June for his sister’s wedding.
His parents will be too busy with the wedding to host us. So we are staying with my parents.
In the past, six months ago, my sister said my parents were hesitant to watch the kids of “someone they don’t know”. We never asked my parents to watch them, just to include them in outings with the other grandkids. My parents have repeatedly said that they will only take my stepkids if one of us is present, because the kids don’t know them.
I felt hurt, especially because my mother in law has stated to me that my daughters are her grandkids and even have them $50 each.
Fast forward 7 months, my husband has gotten closer to my family by participating in the family WhatsApp chat, attending family funerals, visiting etc. He’s no longer a stranger.
But we are headed there in a month and my mom has said things that make me uncomfortable. For example, on the wedding day, he and I will both be away in the morning for wedding prep. My mom asked me how she can help us with the wedding and I said “on Saturday morning, my 17 year old daughter will be there to watch all her siblings, but can you also keep an eye on them”, my mom responded with “they’re your responsibility, you’re on your own with them”.
She repeatedly uses my stepdaughter’s nut allergy as an excuse, but I told her that my step daughter is old enough to manage it.
My mom also said that she wanted to do grandma day with my daughters. I said my stepdaughter needs to be included and my mom said if that’s the case, one of us needs to be there because she won’t take her alone.
These comments have put a knot in my stomach.
my husband had a solution— his best friend will be out of town and offered us his empty house. The problem is that not only is it 45 minutes from the wedding venue, its also an hour from my parents house and we will get no time with my parents and sister, who wait all year to see the kids.
what should i do? talking to my mom is hard because she is a loud person who overtalks and doesn't listen. she also has a temper.

Context:
I’m rewriting my WIP for the fifth (and hopefully last) time to make the story more character driven and make my characters motivations stronger. I’ve changed the first three chapters so many times I have no idea what’s good anymore. It’s a portal fantasy Reverse Harem with fated mates. You only meet two love interests in the intro (and one of them only shows up towards the very end of the set up), but I am just looking to see if my FMC's motivations make sense, or if I have made the Set Up too convoluted and given her too many goals.
**Please note the scenes I am posting have been written as an outline, and is not intended to read line by line like a finished manuscript. I will be writing it in First person POV when I finish plotting.**
Backstory (TLDR; Character A needs to gain access to the Other World so she can make a bargain to trade her Father's life for hers, we open on the 6th anniversary of him being taken, her 24th birthday. I ramble on for quite a bit so if you would like to get right into it please skip to Intro/Set Up)
Motivation:
Character A’s Father was stolen by otherworldly creatures 6 years ago and taken to their lands. Character A harbours guilt and blames herself because she disobeyed her Fathers rules and snuck into the woods with her friends on her 18th birthday to go swimming. Her Father came looking for her and that is when she witnessed him being taken.
In the area they live in, disappearances around the full moon were common, with many losing their loved ones over the last 50 years with no explanation. There were a lot of theories of aliens, bigfoot, cougars, werewolves, and only her Father claimed that magic wielding creatures were responsible.
Character A grew up being told stories about these lands, how the creatures enslaved humans to play in their games until they died for entertainment. Her Father told her magic was real but it was to be feared and to run from any sign of the unusual, forbade her from leaving her house after sunset or from ever going into the woods, and he always tried to keep her close to him.
He had a hard time holding down a job due to the grief he felt from losing Character A’s mother during childbirth and when he would drink he would make it known that he resented Character A for derailing his life, because now he was burdened with protecting her instead of living as a family. Her mother was buried there and her father refused to move away from her body. Character A internalized this, feeling guilty for being the reason he struggled so much, and spent her life caring for her father the way she would a child. Cooking, cleaning, paying bills, etc. She would even get revenge on his bosses for firing him. Her Father always claimed it was never his fault, that they were abusing their power and couldn’t handle somebody smarter than them, and losing his job would send him into an alcoholic depression.
Character A heard her Fathers words, and combined with the way out-of town business men had turned her small mountain town into their own personal resort, developed a deep hatred for anyone that held power. She would find little ways to get revenge on her Fathers bosses, and when she was older, spent her spare time getting revenge on the trust fund kids who didn’t care if their actions had consequences for the people living there.
She had a big dream of leaving her small town and exploring the world, but she felt responsible for her Father. She took care of him, and she was afraid of what would happen to him if she left, but she knew she was suffocating under him. Although her guilt and love for her father prevented her from seeing the full truth of what he was, narcissistic and abusive, deep down she knew and she became restless under his restriction.
When she was young she believed his stories but as she got older and never saw any evidence to back up his claims, the more she chaffed against his rules and started sneaking out. She wasn’t dumb, she always carried a knife and bear spray. She read up on what to do if you encountered a predator in the forest, and she begun stealing what little freedom she could for herself. She didn’t believe in magic, wolves and mountain lions were the only things that made sense to her.
Wound:
After her Father is taken Character A is broken. Everything her Father said was true, all he was trying to do was keep her safe, but she disobeyed him and now he was taken to a magical land to be tortured by never ending games. She is distraught and depressed. She begins sleeping in the woods, hoping to be taken too so her pain can end.
A few months later, at the end of summer, her best friend and boyfriend, the only people her father approved of her spending time with, tell her that they still plan to leave for the year long trip they were all going on. They want to start their lives, they think Character A has become delusional in the wake of her Fathers disappearance, they can’t be stuck there taking care of her, they can’t handle her emotions, they need a fresh start. She realizes they have been having an affair, she internalizes them telling her she is too much to handle and that she is unlovable. She was a burden on her father and then a burden on them. She doesn’t see them again for six years.
Present Day:
Character A has spent the last six years trying to get to the other world during the full moon. The weeks in between she spends physically training, researching anything she can, working just enough to cover her bills for the month, and distracting herself with casual flings or sleeping with the trust fund kids in order to gain access to something she wants to steal from them as payback for something they have done. She never lets herself get too close to anyone, knowing that she plans to disappear, but she partied with whoever is willing to distract herself until the next full moon.
Every passing year on her birthday she grows more and more desperate. She begins researching magic spells and rituals that might show her the entrance to the otherworld. She finds a newly discovered mushroom being sold that claims to help you see what is hidden from human eyes.
Character B:
A month ago Character B was sent from the other wolrld to retrieve Character A. She is the descendant of a lost royal line and they have received a vision from the goddess that she is her Heir, the key to defeating the darkness and restoring balance to the land. Character B does not live a good life in the other world, he is nothing but a glorified prisoner in his own life, and all he’s ever wanted was a family of his own, but because of the queen and his father, he cannot have that. He avoids confrontation, always choosing to run from his problems instead of fight. He first lays eyes on Character A as she is driving a motorcycle into a lake.
He is unsure if the vehicle is supposed to drive under water, so he waits a moment before trying to do a rescue. He doesn’t know it’s her until she swims up into the shore, and begins gathering weeds from the lakebed. he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and can’t imagine dragging her back to his world where she could be in danger. He wants to watch the curious human for a bit longer to see what she does
He silently follows her and watches her climb into a window and place the weeds around a man sleeping in a bed, then creep down the hallway to an office where she unlocks a safe and pulls out a stack of papers. She then meets up with somebody, hands over the papers with a hug, then walks into the forest.
She walks and walks and he realizes she heading towards the portal and gets nervous, until she reaches a tree with five different coloured ribbons tied around one branch. She takes a new yellow ribbon , adds it to the branch and continues walking until she reaches another tree with ribbons where she adds another ribbon, then walks to the very centre of both trees and sits down. She softly hums a tune to herself.
She seems relaxed, strong and confident, he thinks this must be some new human ritual he hadn’t heard of yet and her humming is soothing to him, but he notices a shiver. He feels a strong need. To wrap her up in a blanket and make her warm. He decides right then that he cannot take her back and ruin her peace, that he himself would not go back, that he would befriend her and they would hide together her in her world and they would be safe and happy. It was pointless trying to fight anyway, they were never going to win and it would be better for them both to be safe and far away from the evil queen.
The next morning he follows her to her favourite coffee shop, glamoured to look more human and remove his pointy ears, and introduces himself as a man trying to get away from his overbearing parents and family he doesn’t get along with.
Intro/Set Up
Chapter 1
-Character A is thinking about how she has to get laid tonight, because it will be her last chance before she disappears and probably dies. Character A is stealing some documents and a bunch of cash from a safe in The Guys home office, she pulls a bag out of her pocket and with it, a card for the bookstore she works at flutters under his desk. She puts the documents and money in the bag and bends down to pick it up when she notices the family photo on the desk and she stops.
It is a picture of The Guy, His Son that she stole and crashed his bike into a lake last month, and The Other Son that she may have killed nine months ago when she burned his cabin down. She is filled with rage when she looks at the photo and thinks she doesn’t regret what she’s done. Character B calling her phone snaps her out of it and when she hears someone come home, she leaves, but she forgets the card.
-She stops at the bookstore to give Coworker 1 the documents and money. Coworker 1 says she will never be able to thank her, that this was the last thing she needed she could get out of town. Character A tells her good luck and to give them hell. Coworker 1 is leaving town tomorrow, she connected with a journalist who can help her expose The Guy and once she does she won’t be able to come back. Coworker 1 is very grateful to her, and Character A makes sure to tell herself that they aren't friends, because friendship requires a level of vulnerability that Olivia could not give her, but she knew Coworker 1 was a good person and deserved so much more than what she got when The Other Son sexually assaulted her at work while His Son filmed it. How when she received a payout in exchange for her silence they knew it wasn’t the first time. They were determined to find further evidence, and they did. Signed NDA’s from all of the employees they had paid off in the past.
Character B joins them at the store. Character A is petting her beloved bookstore cat and goes to pull some treats out of her bag. Her hand brushes against a vial of red and white mushrooms and Character A hopes that they are the key she has been searching for. For six years she has felt like she has been brushing up against the edge of something, but has never been able to get herself to the other side. She was deep in a witchcraft discussion forum when somebody posted about a new discovery of mushrooms, one that allowed the ingestor to see through the Veil, to show them all the magic they cannot see. The poster was pretty insistent that it wasn’t just a trip, that they were able to see threads of magic. After years of failed meditating, drinking teas, burning herbs,and chanting spells around the ley line conversion and not finding anything, what did she have to lose with some magic mushrooms?
Character B calls her name, startling her from her thoughts and she knocks over a box of alien and bigfoot merch. Coworker 1 cracks a joke about being careful with the product or else the alien truthers will riot, Character A rolls her eyes at the people who flocked there in search of the wrong thing. Character B apologizes for startling her and says he was just admiring one of her new Boxwood Topiaries, three trees of varying height that ended with hearts on top, and she says she finished it yesterday.
She loves plants but, like a cat, she can’t commit to having them because she doesn’t plan to be around long, so she does topiary art as a compromise, and the extra money she earns goes towards buying her herbs and mushrooms. Her Father never managed to save much money and she wasn’t left with much after he was taken. She had to use her savings replacing the furnace in her home shortly after her Father was taken, and now she only worked enough to keep her living until the next paycheck. She spent the rest of her time training and researching. Preparing to go to Wonderland in search of her Father.
Character B is making friends with the cat, having charmed it onto its belly, and Coworker 1 gives Character A a knowing look. Character A shakes her head, says they are just hanging out, nothing serious. Coworker 1 says he could be good for her. She knew they had been hanging out, that Character A had let him stay at her house for the last two weeks. She wasn’t judging though, Character A seemed lighter around him, and he was so nice. She had seen him helping Mrs. Smith with her groceries the other day.
Character A thinks that was what initially warmed her up to him. Coworker 1 was right, she never brought guys home, but the first week that he was here he had never failed to notice when people needed help and always offered to lend a hand. Plus he was fun, and fun to look at, and he was always looking for a new adventure. He took her mind off of what a failure she was for not saving her Father yet, and he seemed relatively harmless. So when he said he had never seen her favorite comedy movie she just HAD to take him home to watch it. And he hadn’t left, she hadn’t asked him to. It was becoming a problem. Because she was going to disappear tonight, and a small part of her was beginning to feel sad she would never see him again. It was why she hadn’t slept with him yet, she knew she enjoyed his company just a little too much and wouldn’t risk any further attachment. Character A agreed that he was a good person but emphasized that it was just casual. Coworker 1 says alright, she will back off, and she will let them get to the party. She needs to finish packing and wants to leave as soon as possible. Character A says she understand, they hug and say goodbye.
Chapter 2
-Character A and Character B are walking to the Board Game party. They are dressed as Clue characters, she is Miss. Scarlet and Character B is Mr. Green. They had played every board game she owned, which was a lot of them, in order to decide what to dress up as for the Your Favorite Board Game Party. He turned out to be a good competitor and got way more into the games than she expected him to.
He hands her a cinnamon bun, her favorite, and tells her he had made a whole batch for her, claiming that he knew she hadn’t gotten one since they were hiking that morning, and all she had eaten that day was trail mix and beef jerky and he refuses to let her party on an empty stomach. She happily takes a huge bite, grateful for this one thing she loved before she left this world forever.
He says he’s been thinking and asks her to go traveling with him. She almost chokes on her food. His words rush out and he assures her he has money and can pay for everything and they can go anywhere she wants. Her heart sinks into her stomach. Before her Father went missing, an offer like that from a hot guy would have been her dream, but she couldn’t now, or ever. She looks at the half eaten cinnamon bun, thinks how he had made them because he had gotten coffee with her every morning for the last three weeks, and he saw how every Saturday and Sunday morning she would get a cinnamon bun the size of her face and eat it. She looks at the Green jacket he wore and remembers laughing in the thrift shop as he tried on a full leather catsuit while they searched for the perfect outfit for the party. He was too good. She begins to think that in another life, they could go. They could adopt an adventure cat and take it with them on their world travels, but that wasn’t possible for her. She wasn’t staying in this world, and even if she was, she was too messed up. Too broken. Too much of a burden. And she could never give all of herself to one person ever again, she did it twice, and was broken by both of them because she was too much.
She decides he’s gotten too close and she needs to push him away, so in the hopes that it will scare him, she explains that she can’t leave because her Father was stolen by a magical creature and taken to the Other World. She tells him the entire story her father told her, of creatures luring people to the Other World and keeping them for the Queen's entertainment, forced to be pawns in her games. They are ruthless and obsessed with games and everything reeks of roses. She tells him its her fault that he got taken and she can’t live with herself until she either gets him back or gets revenge for his death.
Character B begins pleading with her, telling her she shouldn't go. She is surprised he doesn’t balk or think she is crazy. He isn’t looking at her the way Ex-Bestfriend and Ex-Boyfriend did, like they feared she would infect them with her crazy, no, he looks at her with genuine terror in his eyes. She stops walking, they are just outside the party house. What do you know? She says. He inhales and steps forward, desperation etched into hs features, and says that he knows that everything she said was true, and that it is much worse than she even thinks. That if she goes, she will not make it back here. It’s too dangerous, and he just wants to keep her safe. She is flabbergasted, and checks over his features for signs. No pointed ears, no animalistic features such as scales or a tail, no strange eyes. How do you know all this? He doesn’t answer, his mouth works like he’s trying to come up with something and betrayal starts to roil in her gut.
Before he has the chance to lie, two men throw their arms around their shoulders. It is the couple that Character A hooks up with on occasion. They start walking them into the house and the one with Character A asks if she wants to come over later for a joint and to hook up. She tries to muster up a yes, it is what she wanted after all, but she can’t think straight after her conversation with Character B. She turns back to see he’s been steered into a conversation with a few other people and thinks she needs a drink to calm herself and give her some courage.
-She walks into the kitchen for a glass and bumps into her Ex-Boyfriend. She is thrown for a loop again. He says Happy Birthday and remarks that he didn’t think he would find her at a party today, since he knows how much she hates her birthday. Character A is surprised to see him and momentarily forgets about Character B, and asks what they’re doing back in town. He says its because Ex-Bestfriends mom is still missing. Character A says, oh, right. And feels stupid for thinking she wouldn’t run into them. She was devastated to hear Ex-BFFs Mom had been taken, she was like a second mother to her, but after Ex-BFF left she couldn’t stand to look at her Mom anymore and remember what she had lost.
He mentions something about the baby coming soon and Ex-BFF wanting to be as close to her mom as she can. Character A questions the baby and he tells her they are pregnant. Character A flashes back to both of them telling her they were leaving and couldn’t stay in contact with her anymore, that she had become too much for them to handle on the horizon of their new lives. She noted the way they looked at each other and how their knees pressed together, and that was when she knew they had been having an affair. She comes back to the present when he leans in close and says he actually wants to ask her some questions about her dad. She sees a familiar head with a mop of blonde hair moving through the crowd towards them. Seeing Ex-Boyfriend was bad enough, she cannot see Ex-Bestfriend. See her pregnant. And now he wants to hear what she has to say about the disappearances? You can go fuck yourself, she spits and walks away before he can say anything else, and thankfully, before Ex-Bestfriend reaches her. She thinks his betrayal hurt her, but her betrayal broke her.
-She is fleeing the kitchen, heading for the back door, desperate to get away from them, when she bumps into an attractive man in a red velvet sport coat with a red velvet top hat. They are both imprinted with roses. He apologizes for bumping into her and her heart skips a beat, thinking of the Queen's obsession with roses. She asks him who he's supposed to be and he smiles but pauses before saying his name is Character C, he’s friends with Character B, and her heart stops all together. A chill runs through her and Character B interrupts and asks him what he’s doing here. Character C hugs him and says its good to see him and says he thought he was dead. Character C turns to Character A and says that he took off for a month without saying anything, could she even believe it? And they had an important event that the three of them needed to attend tonight. Character B starts to argue with Character C when Character A hears her name called. The Guy she stole from is there, he holds up the card to the bookstore that fell under his desk and said he wants the contents of his safe back, and maybe the sheriff will go easy on her if she returns it, or maybe he won't since he will also be investigating his cabin burning down and one of his sons going missing. Character A plays dumb but he grabs her around the neck and says he knows it was her, she’s a pathetic bum just like her father. Character B punches him, forcing him to release her and they begin fighting. The other partygoers jump to Character A’s defense and start fighting the other guys that came with him. Character C picks up Character A after she was knocked over to keep her from being trampled, and Character B breaks away when The Guy starts fighting with someone else. So they turn and head for the door, but The Guy's Son, the same one from last month who she stole the bike from, blocked the back door.
-Character A turns and together they run into the basement, locking the door behind them. They run down the stairs and into a bedroom where she locks the door again. She whips out her knives and points one at Character C. “Why do you want me to go to the Other World?” He holds up his hands and smiles, “I need your help finding a weapon that will help me defeat the Queen .” “Why me?” “The Goddess showed me in a dream that it is you. I will pay you in gold and return you back here, unharmed, once you find it.” Character A hears them break through the basement door and descend the stairs. “Fine, I’ll help you do it.” Character B protests and steps forward but she gestures the knife at him and he stops. “But first, you will help me find my Father and send him back here. Alive. And healthy.” All she knows about the Other World is what she could glean from her Fathers stories and what she was able to research about lore, but she had no idea what was accurate and what was not. She would be a fool to think she should turn away help if she could bargain for it. “I will help you find you Father, but it won’t be until after tonight, we must attend the Queens party so you can search for the weapon, this is the best opportunity we will have for another year.” The Guy begins banging on the door. She took it back, she was being a fool, she had very little hope that she would be able to fulfill her end of the bargain, but she was out of time, and she may never have a chance to get to the Other World again. “Deal.” She says as she steps forward to shake his hand. Character C grasps it and an electrical charge runs up her arm. He pulls a small vial out of his pocket. He dumps some black sparkly powder on his tongue and a hole appears in the floor. Grabbing Character B’s hand as well they jump through it just as the door breaks open.
If you have read this far, seriously thank you so much and I love you and if you want feedback on anything please direct me to where I can provide it!
I wanted to note that the mention about her potentially killing The Other Son is relevant to the plot because he did not die in the fire, he was lured to the Other World and will be there as an antagonist when Character A shows up. Also, the mushrooms become relevant to her finding the weapon in book 2. She gets sidetracked this book by finding her father and bargaining to take his place in the game (the party they are attending is to watch this game take place) and having to fight her way out of them. The entire first book takes place over the course of one single night.

So I watched Game Theory's newest TADC theory I was interested by the points that it made, but I think it ultimately came to the wrong conclusion about Jax being an NPC. Gooseworx could've been simply sizing up Caine as relentlessly tormenting people in the teaser episode to draw more attention, and the actual evidence for Jax being an NPC, can just as easily be concluded as him simply being the foil to Pomni, with greater understanding than he is letting on, as shown with his pin room. The chekov's gun of NPCs still has lots of opportunities for future episodes.
So, as compensation, I came to a different conclusion with Game theory's evidence, and some of my own.
Jax is willingly choosing to stay in the Circus, and preventing the others from catching on to find ways to escape.
Jaz clearly knows more than he let's on, with how he manages to have keys for everything without any explanation, which Ragatha notes as not being normal. He has the means to explore more and peal away at the curtain of the Digital Circus, yet tells Pomni they've all already tried to leave and Failed.
Jax treats people as simple entertainment, but even so, he should be able to work together with the others if he really wants to escape with his prior experience. Remember, he did bring Gangle and Kingar with him to hide from Kaufmo. He is willing to help or work with people out of absolute necessity.
If this is the case, why did he never begrudgingly work with the others on the absolute necessity of ESCAPING?
Simple, he could've already, but he doesn't want to. He prefers the Digital Circus to whatever hedonistic and shallow life he lived before. Gooseworx did comment that he deserves to be trapped there the most.
So instead, he continues living his past life through the others' suffering, a life free from consequences, where he imposes his will on everyone around him and they are forced to put up with him.
In addition to general sadism, he could then be tormenting the others as a means of submission, to be an obstacle that obstructs them from ever focusing on the bigger picture and escaping without his help.
His first response to Pomni's distress isn't to empathize or be blunt but fair, it's to give her the cold reality immediately, reinforce it by saying everyone else already tried to leave, and then mock her continously for the rest of the episode about her desire to escape.
Furthermore, remember that he was also the one to choose who to pair up as teams in the pilot. As noticed by Ragatha, he pairs up the two most unstable and despondent characters. Whilst he is the one who decides to go with Pomni and Ragatha.
If his sadism is a means of creating submission, then it makes perfect sense why he'd choose to go with Pomni and Ragatha. Pomni, because she's still having initial discontent and hoping to escape, and Ragatha, who maintains a positive attitude and tries to still help others with their situation, both are conflicts to his interests of preventing anyone from escaping. He leaves Gangle and Kingar alone because, in his eyes, they're already too far gone, therefore he has no need to accompany them.
He bullies Gangle because she still has enough reason left to suffer, whist largely ignoring Kingar, because, like a sadist, he realizes that Kinger is too innocent and friendly to give him any satisfaction in tormenting him, he wants a reaction.
To add to his influence of submission and blind acceptance, I noticed looking back at episode 2, the only seemingly affable thing he does without an obvious alterior motive is near the beginning. He playfully invities Zooble to come along for the adventure and mess around with the new AI. It's strange on rewarch, he may only want to torment Zooble, but the odd sincerity with which he invites her betrays his own demeanor. He knows Zooble hates him, he's bullied her as well in the pilot, and she hates adventures. He earnestly is attempting to hype her up, to make her interested in going on the adventures.
This small moment takes a dark twist under this new idea of willful misdirection. He wants her to give into the worthless entertainment. If his goal is to prevent the others from finding a way to escape, then Zooble refusing to go on adventures is a direct wrench in his plans, when he has no control or influence over them, they could do whatever they want.
Now, the last part of this puzzle to support this idea. What will this mean thematically? TADC is a story about existentialism and nihilism;questinging the value of your own reality.
Episode two ends on a bittersweet note, Pomni realizes she may still be trapped, but she discovers that she has the others to help her through it. Episode 2 also, as explained by gametheory, highlights the similarities between AI and Humans, but this can be taken in another direction, where the humans' lives aren't much different in the circus either, they both face impending insignificance and the threat of oblivion, so TADC will tell us something about the worth of our lives.
So then, how will this tie to Jax? Jax acts as a sorta foil to Pomni, as supported by Game theory and it's here in this funeral scene we get the first shred of humility from him. Whilst Pomni ends happier after attending Kaufmo's funeral, accepting her own vulnerability, Jax storms off with the tiny hint of emotion in his eyes, but repressing it as he refuses to attend.
This is a noteworthy moment of applying empathy to his character, but we must remember, Gooseworx has directly stated that Jax will be even worse in future episodes, and has nothing heroic in him. Therefore, I find it hard to believe he is feeling genuine sadness for Kaufmo, in a way that is actually selfless.
To reinforce the evidece of Gamethoery that Jax is worse than Caine and the true tormenter in the circus, now that him being an AI isnt the conclusin, him actively conspiring against the others gives more credence to this idea of him being the true villain, as he better fits the role of AM, the main antagonist of I have no Mouth and I must Scream, the primary inspiration for TADC, as he treats people like playthings and forces them to be stuck with him, in an attempt to repress his own suffering.
Now, let me recontextulize the funeral scene;when Ragatha brings up the topic of Funerals he isn't getting emotional over Kaufmo's, he's thinking of his own, and for a tiny moment, he realizes the grim reality that no one is gonna be attending his, but chooses to brush it aside.
He is the antithesis to Pomni, he is the anti role model who reflects horrible ways to cope with your existence, and more importantly, shows how he's hurting himself by choosing to live this way, depriving him of any true purpose. He chooses to stay trapped, so he may live a life without consequences, but under his anger, he's fearful and empty.