Hello all. The calculator says I'm a 38H, and I can confirm: Elomi Matilda and Elomi Kintai fit perfectly.
However, I have not been able to find a nude t-shirt bra that works for me. There aren't many options in 38H.
Prefer molded cup, because some of my shirts and dresses are thin enough that ANY seam is visible (not to mention cold nipples). I don't mind a minimizer or fuller coverage cups, but plunge tends to work better for me.
My shape: Even fullness. I lean over and the nipples point straight down with even distribution on top, bottom, and both sides. Like water balloons.
Measurements in inches: Loose Underbust: 39 Snug Underbust: 37 Tight Underbust: 36 Standing Bust: 48 Leaning Bust: 51 Lying Bust: 50
AFAB
Color: I'm very pale, so any light pink or light beige will work. Can't do white or tan or brighter or darker colors, they would be visible under my white shirts and dresses.
I tried several bras in fall of last year (when I measured closer to a 38G), and they did not work. Usually an issue with the gore floating or digging in, the underwire stabbing me in the armpit, or the cups being a weird shape and not sitting well. Some sizes I tried because they were the closest available at the time.

• Pour Moi Viva Luxe 38HH
• Elomi Smoothing Strapless 38HH
• Elomj Bijou Plunge 38H
• Freya Fancies Idol Tshirt 38G and 36GG
• Freya Idol Balcony 38G
• Fantasy Aura 38GG
• Fantasy Smoothing Tshirt 36GG
• Panache Cari 38G
• Panache Elan Convertible Plunge Tshirt 38GG
• Parfait Pearl Seamless Minimizer 38GG

I kept a Fantasy Smoothing Balcony 38G because I was tired of buying and returning bras. The gore floated, underwire sat too low, some quad-boob at the top, and the shape was very weird, leaving space between my nipples and the cup. No amount of scoop and readjustment made it sit better. I have since gotten rid of it because it just didn't work and I hated the shape of these molded cups. My breasts want to be round like a dome, not flat on the bottom with an upturned blunted point at the nipple.
It's getting warmer out, I've unpacked my summer clothes, and I'm ready to try again to find the perfect invisible t-shirt bra.
What are your t-shirt bra recommendations?

Throwaway account and fake names for obvious reasons.
For some background, my wife Jane (24F) and I (26M) have been together for seven years. Her brother Jack was one of my good friends in school, and honestly I thought she was both hot and funny for several years before I finally worked up the courage to ask her out. I'm still in disbelief that she agreed, since I was definitely not the most attractive or most outgoing member of the friend group that she occasionally joined her brother to hang out with. Many a dumb, teenaged comment were made about how Jack's sister was hot, charming, etc. Jack always told us to knock it off, and ask her out if we had the balls. Well, turns out I was the first one the grow a pair, somehow.
And that sort of brings us to the problem. Three months ago, Jane gave birth to our son Jacob. We've been married for three years, and had decided that we wanted kids soon after the wedding. We waited a bit to improve our financial situation, which is now fairly secure. I am a civil engineer, and my salary has increased the point that Jane didn't have to worry about not being able to work for a while to both physically recover from the pregnancy, and focus on raising our son for a while. I don't at all mind her being a SAHM, and I make sure to clean up after myself at home so I'm not just offloading a bunch of chores onto her.
Overall, things are going pretty great. Jacob is healthy (and has a strong set of lungs), all the bills are paid, and Jane and I are both happy with our careers/roles. However, things hit a snag a month ago when Jane indicated that she felt recovered enough to resume having sex again, should I want. Our sex life has always been quite active, and I'll admit, not being able to be intimate with my wife for many months straight sucked, both physically and emotionally. However, I know that her physical condition was a lot more strenuous than mine, so I took care of myself in private and didn't say anything. However, I was quite happy to hear that Jane was feeling better, and that taking care of Jacob hadn't sapped all of her energy.
We had sex for the first time in five months, and immediately I noticed that things weren't quite as "snug" as they used to be. I'm pretty much exactly the average below the belt, and we had never had any problems with satisfying each other before, and I guess I wasn't expecting the difference to be as noticeable as it was. However, due to the fact that this was the first time I'd gotten more than a handjob in almost half a year, I didn't take significantly longer to finish than I normally would. Because of this, I didn't say anything about the difference in sensation, because even thinking about made me feel like an asshole. She'd pushed my son's entire body out of her, so complaining about how it felt to me seemed selfish.
However, the next time we had sex, it took me longer to finish than it did before the pregnancy. The difference was enough that Jane noticed it, and was subtly telling me to hurry up by the end, since she'd already finished and was ready to be done. When it took the same longer-than-normal time after that, she asked me if there was a reason why I couldn't seem to cross the finish line as quickly. I tried to tell her that it was just nerves, I was tired, etc, but she saw through that. She pushed, and I didn't want to lie to her. I told her that it "wasn't quite as taut as it used to be," my exact words.
She immediately became angry with me, saying that it was gross that I thinking about how she'd become looser after giving birth. Of course it wasn't going to be the same, she'd pushed out something way wider than my dick, etc. She said that it was extremely hurtful that I thought less of her based on her tightness, even though I never said that. She asked why it was taking me longer to finish than it took me before, and I answered with the words quoted above. I never said that was all I was thinking about, or that I thought less of her for it.
If anything, I love her more after having our son, because I saw first hand how much pregnancy fucking sucks and how she soldiered through with my help. She is the love of my life, and it felt terrible to be accused of only caring about how tight she was. I reminded her that I had initiated sex two out of the three times we'd had it after the pregnancy, so why would I do that if I was unsatisfied with her? It wasn't like I was unable to finish at all, it was just taking me longer to do so. I tried to sit down and talk with her the next day after she'd cooled off, but when I brought it up she just became angry again and refused to discuss it.
Needless to say, I haven't tried anything remotely sexual since this fight a week ago. She always kisses me on the cheek when I leave for work, but since our argument even that gesture has felt less enthusiastic, like she's only doing it because she's always done it and doesn't want to start another fight. I pray that she doesn't feel that way about sex too, but I don't know at this point.
TL;DR: Had sex with my wife for the first time after she gave birth. She noticed I was taking longer to finish and confronted me. I said that it was because it "wasn't quite as taut as it used to be," and she became angry and is refusing to discuss the subject with me.
AITAH?

Previous chapter
“I hate it.”
Mareus slapped his mouth and bit down on his lips in a futile attempt to capture his half-asleep words. His body tensed while listening for any signs of the stranger, bracing himself for some monster of a person to come rushing from the dark to finish him off.
Though, it didn’t matter in the end if they were paying attention to him or not. They clearly already knew where he was and, for some reason, chose to leave him alone after pulling him from the rubble and treating his injuries.
He clutched at his stomach, his hunger pangs goading him to push aside the anxiety and crawl his way towards the bowl still waiting patiently for him. There were no signs of it being changed or infested by any of the creatures hiding away, in fact, a gentle warmth still radiated from it. A pleasant aroma floated through the still air as if it had a will of its own, enticing him like some carnivorous flower lying in wait.
Mareus ignored his pain and fatigue as he absentmindedly made his way closer to the beckoning meal. What was he so worried about? If the stranger hadn’t done anything yet, then they probably weren’t going to from the start. It wasn’t like he was in any state to resist them anyway.
That’s right. He justified. It’s just sitting there, waiting for me.
The bowl was only a breath away now. Mareus stretched against his bandages enough for the wrappings around his fingers to brush the rim before the markings let out a faint light and constricted his body. He was almost there and wouldn’t give up, one more time he resisted their binding and was able to hook his finger on the inside of the rim.
Putting all the strength he had into the one finger he fought against the rough, uneven ground to reel in his catch. A faint glow lit up the black stone and his heart stopped before his restraints forced his arm back. Spilling his only food in a mocking halo as the bowl rolled on its side.
That was it, his only food mixed in with the wet dirt of the cave floor. He almost dove at it before realizing the intense hunger and drive he had was now fading away. His hunger was still there to some degree, but now it was more like an emptiness scratching at the back of his stomach. The overwhelming desire to eat was almost entirely gone.
A faint breeze brought his attention back to the bowl and he watched as markings like the ones on his bandages let out one last dim breath of light. When they went dark his hunger returned to the back of his mind.
After crawling back into his hole, the cave was filled with the sounds of hundreds of insects rushing over and feasting on the spilled meal. The echoes of chitin tapping on stone and trudging through the mush assaulting his ears. Covering his ears only replaced their frenzy with the sound of his blood flowing through his ears.
Mareus alternated between listening to the rhythmic thumps lulling him to sleep and the chittering that convinced him, more than once, that the insects had crawled in his ears. The minutes drawing into hours, maybe even days, as reason began slipping away.
A gentle clack of wood being placed on stone silenced the world.
He carefully rolled over and saw another bowl, the insects were gone, the mess was cleaned. It was like everything that happened was a dream, only this time he didn’t have this unnatural drive compelling him to reach the bowl.
Whatever the markings were meant to do, this one didn’t seem to have them. He watched as the cave life made their way back to his food. They didn’t attack it right away this time, instead they circled their prey waiting for the right time. Mareus closed his eyes and focused on listening for their movements when he heard a damp thud that must have been one of them falling in the food.
That sound must have been the signal the rest were waiting for because they converged on the meal and devoured with a gluttony he didn’t know they were capable of. Despite the gut churning sounds, he focused on every bit as he counted his heart beat.
Two thousand four hundred and twenty…seven.
The cave had finally settled down again as the insects returned to their hiding places. Mareus kept counting though, he had to stay focused so he could figure out how to tell when the stranger was coming. He had no idea how often they came by but he needed to learn anything he could if he wanted to make it back home.
Twenty-eight thousand seven hundred and ninety-five.
Muffled steps approached the bowl and wordlessly replaced it with another, the gentle clank dancing around the cave walls. Words wanted to leave his mouth, to ask the stranger questions, to make demands. But, what would he say, what could he say?
Mareus’ chest tightened as he tried to find the words, his mind struggling with the growing distraction of the empty feeling in his stomach. They were gone as silently as they arrived.
He started counting again. Using the hunger pangs to fight his body’s cries for sleep he waited out another four or five changes of the bowl. He couldn’t remember exactly anymore as his guard lightened and the exhaustion wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Against his best effort sleep finally took him.
The elders were watching over the younger generations going about their routines. The whole village was in the middle of doing their morning exercises with the sunrise, the bigger clans and families had their yards filled with people flowing from stance to stance, while the smaller families gathered in front of the Elder’s Hall or practiced in their gardens.
Before he knew it, Mareus was running errands and was racing pass villagers tending to fields of medicinal herbs and vegetables while guards kept their eyes on the edge of the forest for any signs of wild beasts.
Then one day a doctor from some big sect visited them and told him that he had the cure to his diverted meridians. The village elders held a big celebration in front of their hall and they had a special ceremony where Granny Hua accepted him as a disciple. When he looked out to the crowd, the sun shone on hundreds of smiling faces.
Tears ran down his face as he smiled and waved at everyone. The salty taste made the world shimmer like a painting being washed away.
Please don’t go. He thought.
The infection of reality found its way into his heart and the dream continued to shimmer before warping and twisting the scene from before.
Mountains of rubble replaced the beautiful homes that stood for generations. One after another the people fell while letting out muted screams. Smoke began to fill the air like some ghostly fog and ash painted the now faceless bodies strewn everywhere. Bodiless cries fought with one another to be helped.
Mareus fell to his knees at the center of the destruction while pleading. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t take them from me again.”
The one eyed man towered over him, tall enough for his hair to brush the clouds. The evil in his clenched grin poured out like a thick miasma that choked him as he watched Sister Mai rushing over.
He tried to scream at her to stay away but his voice was now completely cut off. Mareus now stood over himself watching the helpless child he truly was, he followed his own pleading gaze and turned to watch a young woman he recognized but couldn’t place at the moment.
She picked up a piece of a wooden beam and charged at him, her tears turning to blood as she let out a voiceless scream.
Mareus quickly searched the sky for his enemy, Where are they? Why is it so quiet?
When he looked back down his arm was through the back of the woman and he finally recognized the angry face staring daggers at him as the light left her eyes.
He watched as the giant man turned back to him and let Mai’s lifeless body fall to the ground. The crimson drenching the monster’s hand leaking and painting his own with the blood of the woman he called his big sister.
The one eyed man shot into the air and the force of the impact shook him awake.
It was easier to fight his exhaustion this time as he waited for the stranger to replace the bowl. When they replaced it this time, they lingered as if they wanted to say something. This time the anger and pain he felt didn’t let him hesitate.
“Wh-“ His dry unused voice turned into a breath. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why…”
The effort of forcing that whisper was already difficult, he wanted to say so much more. He couldn’t tell if they were still waiting in the dark, or if they were even willing to listen. His voice was clawing to get out, he was tired of waiting.
His skin buzzed as he waited and moistened his throat. The question was out there now, at least the most important part. ‘Why?’ There was so much more racing through his mind that he could add while the presence remained silent.
Why me? What made you save me? Why didn’t you leave me with them? Why do I have to be alone?
An unseen pressure grew in the dark as his question went unanswered. It was like the chill he would get coming back late at night and he felt like something was watching him from the forest, waiting to pounce. It kept growing sharper until a sudden cool warmth touched the nape of his neck and gingerly ran down the length of his back.
A cold, yet familiar feeling voice finally broke the silence. “It would be a waste. Letting such a potential vanish from this world.”
The stranger brushed the matted hair from his neck. Their simple and straightforward gesture giving off the feeling of a beast playing with its catch knowing it could kill it at anytime.
“I feel for your loss, truly. My heart aches for the ill fate that placed those ‘experts’ in your home. I couldn’t allow your path to end because of a game between mere children.” Their voice danced between compassionate and venomous.
The gentle pressure of them rubbing his back relaxed him and Mareus became even more aware of how tired and sore his body was. Although, as they continued it felt like everything faded away. Not so much as if he was being relieved of everything, it was more like everything was being taken away and swallowed by a void that wouldn’t make him take it back.
Mareus sat up slowly and with a hoarse voice he asked. “What makes me so special?” He inhaled, “Why didn’t you stop them?!” His scream tore into his lungs and filled his throat with the taste of iron.
Water filled his eyes as he faced the disembodied presence.
The stranger gently embraced him, their cool robes enveloping him. “Poor child.”
“You could have saved all of th-em.” His trembling voice couldn’t hide the pain any longer. Still, Mareus stared through blurry eyes and did his best to look them in the face.
A thin hand brushed away his tears. “My sweet boy, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there sooner. Their battle had already moved south, and what they left behind…” They trailed off.
While wrapped in their arms he listened to the grief in their voice. Unsure of what to think anymore. Why did they wait so long? Why did they leave me here in the dark? Were they hurt too? Mareus found himself wondering if he was being selfish.
“Before I could chase after them, I sensed the faint trace of your life clinging on to any shred of hope. After digging you out and applying some emergency medicine I lost track of their energies. Instead of searching for them I made the decision to at least make sure you survived.”
Mareus realized that there was something ethereal in the way they talked. Their tone wasn’t distant, but at the same time it felt like they were a world away from him. The image of a mother apologizing for something she wasn’t responsible for popped in his mind.
His body began to feel lighter than it had been since he woke up in the cave. “Thank you.” He relented.
He gingerly wiped away his tears as if testing if his body would suddenly start listening to him. When he opened them again, the dark world that surrounded him expanded and he could now see all the way to the other wall of the cave.
Am I really not in the afterlife? He thought.
The formless shadow of his savior was replaced with a celestial fairy that stepped out from one of Elder Guo’s stories and descended into this pit to comfort him. She wore a snow white hanfu with a wide sash that hugged tightly against her. The sleeves and hem were far longer than normal like if the seamstress forgot to remove the excess material.
Her otherworldly appearance stood out against the darkness with her iridescent skin illuminating the cave. Her shadow like hair, even darker than the surroundings blackness. She looked like a master craftsman had picked the most exquisite material to craft a lifelike doll that would shatter if you looked at it the wrong way. Only to the fill that doll with the essence of deepest parts of the night sky.
Mareus completely forgot his fatigue as he collapsed into a bow and laid his head to the floor. In an attempt to imitate the older members of his village when speaking to the elders, he said. “I apologize for being so disrespectful. I humbly want to thank the generous immortal for saving this life.”
His body trembled from the effort of supporting his weight, but he continued to wait as sweat formed on the back of his neck and ran down his face. Unsure of what this heaven-like being would do to him if he had disrespected her further.
Next chapter

My name is Dr. Smith, not my real name of course, but for purposes of storytelling it will have to suffice. I have been practicing medicine at an Asian country as a general practitioner. I'm relatively new and I practice at a small village, not too far from civilization, half a day's travel by car and a few hours by boat from the country's capital, but very rural nonetheless, complete with superstitious beliefs and customs. I decided to stay here when I first graduated and passed the licensure exam for two reasons: first, I have a place to stay here, my family's ancestral home (although none of my direct relatives have lived there for years), said ancestors being one of the first people to settle in the area and second, because my family had always been the physicians in this small community as far as anyone remembers. Me, my grandfather and his father before him all went to the city to study medicine and went back here to practice it, like there was a pull, a calling, to sacrifice the convenient, fast-paced city life for the quiet and serene. My mother hated the idea, as clingy as she is to me, saying things like she wanted me to always be around where she could protect me, but you can't really help it when purpose calls. To be honest, it feels good providing a wide range of services to the honest people of our small, humble town, no greater feeling than helping the less privelaged, educating them and dispelling preconceived notions and old wives tales which are aplenty in my country, especially here.
I still recall how everything began. I made a makeshift clinic at one of the rooms of my ancestral home, it used to be my grandfather's office, but it felt old, antique, and perhaps too... professional, nothing wrong with that, but I wanted my patients to feel a more homely setting. So, I rearranged a bit, removed the imposing self portrait of my great-grandfather wearing his white coat that hang on the wall and transferred it to a more private area of the house. I changed the dim, barely functioning lights into brighter, more modern ones, removed the exceedingly extravagant chandelier and equipped the room with materials and equipment that I deemed necessary for my practice. I retained the wooden floors, but outfitted the walls with charts and more colorful decorations, in anticipation for the occasional pediatric patient. It was beginning to look less like an old abandoned house where teenagers went for the spooks and more like a place of healing and betterment, a clean place offering a clean mind...or so I hope.
"Your grandfather would have a heart attack if he wasn't dead already, seeing what you've done with his old clinic" quipped Martha, our housekeeper. All I know about Martha is that my grandfather hired her as a young teen and she has been here since then, she babysat and raised my mother as her own, and even took care of me as a toddler. Considering her age, she mostly supervises the younger and more capable help rather than doing tasks herself. None of them stay at the house, but they get called upon when me or any of my relatives were expected. Most of the family consider her as one of our own at this point.
"Well i'm sure great grandpa on the other hand enjoys the change of view" I replied jokingly. "Besides, I bet the patients would appreciate not being treated in such a dark, gloomy room."
"You know how your grandfather was..." she replies, that the idea of a dark, gloomy, old man liking dark, gloomy, old places was a no brainer. "...but everything aside, it is so nice to see you again, have you been feeling better? What did your mother think of you staying here?" she said with what I felt as outmost sincerity, "I used to chase and carry you around this estate and now look at you, about to carry out your family's legacy as a physician yourself" she continued, with a hint of pride from her tone.
I smiled. I myself couldn't think of a reason why a well respected man, revered even, by this town and it's people for everything he has done would act nonchalant and depressed, always with a jaded look in his eyes and stay in an equally dim and depressing part of his house, I've always known him to be like that, but was he always?
"I am better now. It's good to see you too, I'm glad you're staying healthy, and mom sure did not like it but well...she told me to say hi on her behalf" I told Martha. She beams up and smiles on my mother's mention.
"Well...I took the liberty of digging up your grandfather's documents, records and his patient charts, I doubt many of them still live but I thought maybe you'd like to have a look, I placed them around your desk but I can relocate them if you want me to"
"No, that's perfect. That's something I actually intended to do, i'll give it a read, thank you" I replied. I know some of those patients were either old or probably dead to be honest, but seeing data as well as the cases my grandfather had to deal with might help me in the future.
"The villagers already know Dr. Smith's grandson is here, they know you're a doctor, so expect to have a patient one of these days, perhaps as soon as you give the word that your clinic is open" Martha said, as she walks out of the room smiling and slightly waving, signalling a goodbye.
"I'm not even surprised" I think to myself. Places like these, words spreads like wildfire on topics like these, the idea of someone from a known family, coming back from the city, not to mention deciding to stay indefinitely, like the whole village needed notification, like the village demands explanation.
Hours passed and as I was satisfied with my new setup for the clinic, I took a break, sitting down and looking at the mountain of paperwork and folders placed on and around my desk. I picked one, thinking to myself that I might as well have a look now, with nothing else of note to do.
Patient #010438 Name redacted 43/Female
History of present illness: Patient had 3 day history of undocumented fever, dysuria, and bilateral flank pain Did not seek consult, no medications taken
Past Medical History Unremarkable
Personal and Social History Unremarkable
OB history illegible
Physical Examination BP 110/80 HR 102 RR 20
Nonhyperemic tonsils No murmurs Clear breath sounds Nontender abdomen (+) Kidney punch test
Noted a signature of the patient claiming she was not pregnant as a form of waiver
"Jesus grandpa, couldn't your history and physical exam get any lazier?" I thought to myself. Seeing pertinent history not asked and multiple organ systems ignored on physical examination. Given, some of the writing were already faded, the quality of the paper had deteriorated greatly, and plenty of details already illegible, all in all the documents weren't that bad. It sure doesn't help though that he writes like someone in the middle of a warzone practicing heiroglyphs.
I skimmed through more of the documents and patient files, most of the cases are relatively benign, majority are outpatient visits, some are emergency cases and there are the rare ones requiring transfer to a more developed town hours from here with better services and equipment. Time passed and as I lay down the last folder in a pile, I noticed a moderately sized box, probably the size of a briefcase, placed on the floor, dusty but obviously ornate. It piqued my interest although in my mind, I was pretty sure it was nothing but more documents, I decided to give it a look.
I picked a stack up and I started to read:
Patient #00512c Name redacted 32/Female
"Weird" I thought, it was numbered differently, and definitely none of the other documents were lettered. I continued reading:
History of present illness: This is a case of a 32 year old female who came in on date redacted due to a chief complaint of multiple hematomas, abrasions, burn wounds and lacerations on her face, trunk and extremeties..."
"Trauma? An accident? Possible abuse?" I contemplated.
"...patient allegedly noticed easy bruisability 2 weeks prior to consult, followed by alleged spontaneous appearance of abrasions and lacerations 2-3 days from onset of bruising, supposedly waking the patient at night due to the sudden sharp and searing pain, initially small cuts 3-5cm widest on her extremeties and face but eventually progressing to deep cuts measuring approximately 10-50cm on her back, chest, abdomen and lower extremeties. 1 week prior to consult, patient started noticing burning sensations on her skin, causing extreme pain and leaving reddish burn marks on her body, patient also experienced lack of appetite and inability to sleep due to loud voices and..."
"Spontaneous appearance? Easy bruising could be a lot of things, but for it to occur with 'spontaneous' abrasions and lacerations? Not to mention burn marks?" I thought out loud, having doubts about the credibility of the use of the word "spontaneous". Surely it was not an accident, considering it started 2 weeks ago with noted progression. "It could be a hematologic problem with the bruising, but that wouldn't explain the sudden appearance of cuts...maybe accompanied by a dermatologic one, the patient is prone to breaks in the skin? But then again the burn marks...the voices..." I analyzed. I was leaning towards abuse, where the cuts and bruises were inflicted by someone else and the abused, whether in some form of fear or coping, decides that it was "spontaneous" rather than inflicted, but why bother lying to yourself, perhaps the one who did it to her is a partner? Or a loved one? It made sense, someone progressively becoming more aggressive with her as time went by, becoming more and more extreme, from bruises to eventually burning.
It could a combination of illnesses to be honest, one on top of another, perhaps an overly sensitive or extremely dry skin that breaks and peels until it bleeds, an allergic reaction prompting the patient to unconciously scratch till her skin became red and lichenified, voices due to lack of sleep or a mental disorder. But looking at my grandfather's physical examination of her, none of the findings solidifies the possibility of those i've mentioned. Truth be told I also partially allowed myself to tunnel vision on the prospect of an abuse, to the point I've skipped some of the chart's contents that I deemed weren't important and tried to look for information to support my claim, or perhaps to disprove it, rookie mistake, but well, I am a rookie then.
"Patient is widowed, lives alone at a secluded area near redacted, only goes out to buy some necessities from redacted but has very minimal interaction from anyone in the village"
Okay then, either she is hiding the fact someone was with her, who is abusing her like I initially thought of, or it's self harm. "I'm pretty sure grandpa considered everything that went through my mind right now. Let me check his initial impression" I thought, with a tinge of annoyance, considering I felt that the patient lied to my grandfather, and was lying to me, decades after the fact.

1 Trauma, to consider physical abuse versus self harm;

"Alright, now we're getting somewhere" I said to myself, with a bit of pride having the same thought process as a physician with decades more experience than I do.

2 To consider mental disorder, probably psychotic - premature dementia

I chuckled. Premature dementia, didn't think i'd see that term, I thought everyone including those from his time would have used schizophrenia already, then again medicine and medical knowledge isn't as easily passed around as it is now. Psychiatry as a science would be relatively new during his time compared to other disciplines so the fact he considered it based on the patient hearing "voices"? Bravo gramps.
"Well...", I thought to myself, "...plenty of things to consider and rule out, let me check what else is there." A bit of cockiness on picking my grandfather's brain out and feeling good about my train of thought, a practice consult and so far, I'm on my way to a perfect score...

3. To consider possession probably secondary to malevolent spirit

.................
I gave the document a stern look, unmoving, unblinking, emotionless. Time has stopped, and I haven't noticed. My brain trying to digest the information, the same way my stomach would probably digest a block of steel...it's just not possible. I read one of my grandfather's diagnosis again:

3 To consider possession probably secondary to malevolent spirit

I never been one for faith. Evidence is everything. Science is everything. You can replicate it, you can prove it. Most importantly...It. Makes. Sense. I look at beliefs not based on evidence and feel nothing but skepticism if not disdain. Why won't people listen to expert opinion? Why won't people believe in facts? Why explain the unknown in such convoluted ways, requiring submission of oneself when the only thing the truth requires is but comprehension. I looked at that diagnosis feeling disappointment.
Then I felt anger. "Grandpa, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" I thought to myself. Here is a woman, full of bruises, cuts and burns all over her body, claiming that she has been suffering for weeks, barely eats or sleeps, was having auditory hallucinations, in dire need of medical, if not emotional and psychological support and one of the things that comes across your mind is possession.
I tried to calm my mind, these are records of the past anyway, I thought. Maybe it was a resignation born out of incompetence. Maybe grandpa wasn't as good of a doctor as I thought he was, that the shortcomings of his knowledge and limited technology of his time prompted him to adopt a more...liberal viewpoint to medicine. Maybe he was just superstitious himself. Maybe the people of this place had leaked some of their local beliefs into his psyche. Maybe isolation changed the man. Or maybe...just maybe...there's something to it.
I've never been one for faith. That goes for my faith in science as well. To just say that something is stupid because it doesn't align with standard, accepted scientific belief is just as detrimental as its counterpart.
I decided to investigate further when I heard the entrance to the room open with force. One of the maids leaning onto the wall by the entrance, still grasping the doorknob and evidently out of breath.
"Sir...ma'am Martha...calling...for you...says...it's...it's...an emergency..." She says in between breaths.
I quickly stood up, feeling sorry for the woman, she just ran, obviously gasping for air as she arrived at the clinic and now has to lead me back to wherever she came from with the same urgency. At first I was worried something might have happened with Martha, what the maid said didn't really give much clarity, but upon arriving at the main hall I noticed Martha, standing beside a middle aged man and woman, carrying a child, no more than 10 years old. I notice the clear panic and worry on both of their eyes as the man held the boy, who was uncontrollably shaking.
"I know you're not taking any patients yet and I was considering the time, but nobody knows what to do so I..." Martha explains, quite concerned while I ordered the parents to put the child flat on the ground, with me assessing the situation. The first thing I noticed was that the child was burning hot, "possibly febrile seizure? No, too old" I thought. I asked both the parents important details while I ordered the other maid to time the duration of the child's seizure. All the while thinking of possible diseases that may present as such, "Seizure disorder? Epilepsy? Meningitis? Encephalitis?" Eventually the shaking stopped, much to the parents' relief, and I ordered them to carry the boy as we made our way back to the clinic.
"Was this the first time it ever happened?" I inquired, as I put the child on one of the beds in the clinic, securing the corners with additional pillows, noticing the sunken face and apparent exhaustion from the boy, possibly due to the ongoing fever and the recent seizure episode. Once secured, I face the parents and continued my inquiries, I eventually explained everything, elaborating on what I believe happened, I explained that for now, lowering the fever and investigating the source were what we could address, the battery of tests I plan to do (disappointingly, most of them cannot be done here, and I would have to accompany them to a hospital on another town as soon as first light breaks), and the medications and management I plan to give. Everything proceeded as planned and I asked both parents to relax and take a breather, offering them a seat and asking the help to give them water.
Things eventually settled, little Johnny's fever subsided and color came back to him. Nowhere near clear, he can worsen anytime, but that was the best that we could do at that time. The parents were still worried, understandably so, but to an extent reassured, we have a plan after all. Martha, as well as Diane (the help from earlier), now at a calmer state. We discussed the plan, how we would travel, who would accompany us and what we would bring. Eventually, our conversations became relaxed, started to shift to other things, trivial matters, such as were they lived in the village, the date and time of my arrival, recent gossip, where Martha was more than happy to share.
"I was worried the evil spirits might have gotten my baby..." Said the mother nonchalantly, as we talked about the occurrence on a lighter note. "...that's how they got Mrs. Johnson's middle child. That poor boy was never the same after."
I smiled. Not wanting to immediately correct them and sound like an uptight individual. It's part of our culture afterall, old belief systems and a way for people to cope with loss or difficulty, who was I to deny them that. I won't approach these people the hardheaded way, but I will slowly show them the realities and truths of the things they may not understand, well, at least with regards to their health.
"Well, little Johnny is safe here, we'll do what we can" pointing to their son.
Only, their son wasn't where he was supposed to be. I look at the parents, I look at both Martha and Diane, everyone who looked at where I pointed were just as shocked as I was, a split second of silence before panic ensued. Suddenly, everyone stood up on high alert and was looking everywhere. Under covers, under the bed, corners of the room, the desk, behind curtains, hell, I saw Diane look at one of the damn drawers, as if a 10 year old would fit there.
Suddenly I heard loud vomiting, retching, followed by sounds of splashing. I follow where the sounds came from and see a large pool of black, tarry liquid at a corner of my room. I slowly trace where it was coming from and there he was...little Johnny...standing...upside down...on the ceiling.
I hear everyone in the room scream, I was probably screaming too, I couldn't remember. I do remember little Johnny screaming with us though, extremely high pitched and mockingly, with bloodshot eyes, upside down, while black liquid poured from his mouth, covering his face and dripping from his hair. How was that even possible, screaming while liters of unknown fluid dripped from his mouth? I don't know.
Then he laughed, although I was pretty sure that wasn't his voice. It was deep and guttural, it cannot be the boy's voice, it cannot be any boy's voice.
Time seemed to move in slow motion, I was noticing every detail, every expression from everyone's face, I can feel the seconds hand on my wall clock move, the slow dripping of the viscous dark liquid from little Johnny, I can feel every drop of sweat on my body. I could not cope with what i'm experiencing, was it a trick of the mind, an organized prank, have I gone mad...again? So I did the only thing I know how to do...
I tried to diagnose.
"Maybe it was dengue shock all along!" I thought to myself. "Vomiting blood, paleness, fever, an episode of seizure and definitely change in sensorium" I reasoned to myself. I was coping, and I was coping hard. I was ready to drown on my self absorbtion when a booming voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"YOU DUMB FUCK, WILL ANY ILLNESS EXPLAIN WHY YOUR FUCKING PATIENT IS HANGING UPSIDE DOWN ON THE FUCKING CEILING?" Said little Johnny, or at least whoever was speaking on his behalf, because from where I'm standing, I can clearly see that the boy was not mouthing any of the words he said.
"YOU'RE A FUCKING FAILURE, DOCTORS LIKE YOU SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES! HAHAHAHA" he laughed, I never knew laughs could sound like that, as if the words were nails, and his voice box a chalkboard.
"OH WAIT, YOU FAILED AT THAT TOO DOC! FUCKING PATHETIC!"
Of all the things that were happening...a young boy hanging upside down, a mother crying on the floor hysterically, a father staring at his son, eyes wide open and mouth agape, Martha and Diane, both crying while sharing a rosary, in the act of what I assume to be prayer...the thing that snapped me out of my trance was the words that came from little Johnny. Knowledge nobody but the closest to me should know. A secret I planned to leave behind when I left the city, a wound I intended to forget as I started anew.
Visions of my memories came flashing back...medical school...overwhelming duty...familial expectations...failure...depression...my attempt...a bottle of medications...my mother...crying...on my bedside...
"LEAVE MY SON ALONE!" Johnny's father screamed. Starling everyone in the room.
Nothing matters, the past is in the past, I am better now, and that boy needs help, more than anything.
"YOUR SON? WHY DON'T WE ASK THAT CRYING WHORE IF JOHNNY REALLY IS YOUR SON" The voice says, laughing.
At that point the mother stops crying, looks up towards johnny, then towards his husband, in a state of shock. Like what the voice said is crazier than whatever was happening at the moment.
"THE ONLY REASON THAT WHORE STUCK WITH YOU WAS BECAUSE JOHNNY'S REAAAAAAAL FATHER WOULD NOT TAKE HER!" The entity says, continuing the hysteric laughter.
We were being played. It was toying with us. And from the look on the mother's face...it seems like little Johnny did not even need to lie to do it.
Then, to everyone's horror..."It" started to run.
It ran across the ceiling in a rabid frenzy, erratic and forceful, running and jumping, hopping sideways then going on all fours, still attached to the ceiling, splashing bile and blood all over the room, all the while making a "hihihi" sound...childish and terrifying. It ran and ran, repeating the same erratic change in movements, repeating the same eerie giggle until it reached the window, stopping and standing straight, it stared outside for what felt like forever...then all of a sudden...johnny just fell, like whatever was attaching him to the ceiling just gave, headfirst into the floor, giving a very audible cracking sound.
I heard a gasp from johnny's mother. I can at least detect some miniscule chest expansion, but that cracking sound cannot be anything good. As if thinking the same thing, Martha, who was the nearest to where Johnny fell, while still clinging tightly to Diane's rosary, approached the boy.
"Johnny?" She said softly, all the while approaching an inch at a time.
As she was almost at arms length of the boy's body, she gives the mother a knowing look, confirming that he was breathing. Martha suddenly produces a piece of cloth from one of the pockets of her uniform, possibly to pack the bleeding from the head. She intended to put the cloth on top of the boy's head, but looked towards my direction, urging me forward, perhaps for me to place it properly. I walk towards the boy, takes the cloth from Martha and as I fold the cloth to circle Johnny's cranium with Martha's help, the boy immediately sat up, looks at Martha and smiles ear to ear...literally ear to ear.
"GET YOUR WRINKLY HANDS OFF ME YOU DUSTY OLD FUCK!" He barks at her, Martha screams in fear and I was taken aback.
That was all the time Johnny needed to stand and jump towards the window, breaking it and running towards the mountainside. I hear his father scream his name, quickly breaking more glass so he could fit, and immediately giving chase. The mother was still on the floor, wailing towards the direction of her child and husband. Martha, in shock, still holding the cloth she intended to wrap johnny with.
It took me a while to notice Diane shaking me vigorously. "Doctor!" She screams. "Doctor Smith! What should we do!?" She voices out, with obvious desperation.
I ignored her.
I feel scared, but taking all into consideration, I predominantly feel tired. Defeated. Insulted.
I have nothing more to give in the face of whatever that thing that took Johnny was.
I slowly walk towards my desk, I open my drawer, I take a piece of paper and I pull out my pen.
Patient #00001a Name redacted 10/M
I write, giving no thoughts to the people on the same room as me, those left behind by little Johnny and his father. "Did he catch up to him? Was the boy alright now?...is his father alright?" I wonder. I'll find out soon enough, I figured, rumors spread like wildfire around here anyways.
I continued to write with resignment, absorbed in my own little world, consumed by the horror I witnessed, the breaking of my spirit, of my beliefs, the questioning of my knowledge. I want to escape it, deny it, but that's not what should be done to the truth. So I surrendered.

1 To consider possession probably secondary to malevolent spirit

END

Sionia
Chapter 14
Map First Previous
“Lord Wyatt, you are needed” Called Lars that shook me out of my fascinating reading about dragon neuts.
“Yes.” I said as I pulled back the curtain.
“The city guard requests to speak with you. They are restricting entrance to Avalon given the latest attack by Mardor at Black Gate of Rowan.” Lars explained with a salute and chest bump
With a sigh, I handed my book to Gus and exited the carriage and was very impressed with the massive three story gatehouse and huge stone block readouts connected on each side. I was met by a forty something looking man of average build with black hair and dark eyes flanked by six fully fitted out soldiers.
“I am Rhys Redith captain of the guard here in Avalon. You must be Count Ryan Wyatt.” Rhys introduced himself with the question.
“Yes, I am Ryan Wyatt.” I responded with a frown and knotted brow.
“We have been expecting your arrival. The king has ordered us to assist you and provide hospitality. I am to escort you to the fortress and the rest of your party to Duggan's inn.” Said Rhys with a salute and formal bow.
“That will not do! I have several wards under my care which several are nobility.” I objected to the plan given.
“I was not aware. I will of course take you to the fortress where Lady Ludmilla will address your concerns.” Replied Rhys with a salute and bow then motioned for me to follow.
“Follow him, Jace .” I said to my new driver and climbed into the carriage.
The bridge over the north side of the Paradise River to the island of Avalon was very long at around a quarter mile or so. The readouts of the gatehouse extended a good ways into the river which had several firing positions. I suspected that the river rose and fell with a possible rainy and dry season which was why the readouts could prevent an army from getting behind the gatehouse or access to the bridge from land. The island side gatehouse was flush with the city walls and protruded into the river was equally as impressive with a descent sized recessed portico and draw bridge porch extension.
Thinking back to my travels through Europe, I decided Avalon looked like the city of East Looe, Cornwall in England but not as topographically elevated and with more renaissance style architecture than back on earth. The Roman style arched bridge was very much what we just rode across. The fortress of Avalon itself was at the highest point which was off to the left on the far east side of the island and most up stream point on the islands.
The Fortress keep was decent but still half the size of Duke Boasag's Buanna. I realized that the reason for putting my servants at an inn was because of the lack of space. However, I was determined to stay with my wards no matter the violation of etiquette it might cause. As my carriage pulled up to the entrance with the fortress that had both iron gates and metal reinforced wooden doors that were a good six feet wide and twelve feet tall each. These doors were set into no less than a three foot thick wall.
Passing through the gate was a small bricked paved courtyard that was about forty to fifty feet wide in a more or less oval shape. I saw a host of servants and two well dressed ladies waiting at the main doors to the fortress's central keep.
“Lord Wyatt, welcome to Avalon. I am Viscountess Ludmilla Skafhoggr and this is my mother Baroness Grogda Wode.” Stated a quiet plump pretty faced brown haired woman in a gaudy yellow with purple accented dress with unicorns all over it and a matching unicorn hat whose horn protruded a good foot from her forehead.
“Yes, it is a very deep pleasure to meet you as well.” Stated Lady Grogda a good looking woman who seemed to be in her mid to late thirties with black hair and unusual olive colored eyes. Her lite brown dress was quiet plain compared to her daughter's which was kind of comical in their contrast.
“The pleasure is mine for sure in meeting you ladies.” I said pouring it on a bit thick with a formal bow and sweep of my arm.
“I do not understand. Why are all your people with you?” Lady Ludmilla asked looking toward Captain Rhys but speaking to me.
“I have many wards under my protection. Thus, it is impossible to leave them alone without my presence as there are many who would try and take advantage of helpless young girls.” I stated but that failed miserably when Freya and the other three Asgardians approached fully armed with their swords.
“I would hardly call them helpless!” Spat Lady Grogda with a bit of contempt as the Asgardians were better looking than her.
“Despite appearances, they need my protection. After all, I am their guardian as I freed them from captivity.” I responded with a bit of admonishment in my voice.
“Yes, we have heard the tale. You are quiet the knight in shinning armor.” Lady Ludmilla said with obvious sarcasm.
“It is what it is. The wards will be with me wherever I am. If that is at an inn or camping on the side of the road, so bit it.” I stated with irritation.
“Do not be silly. We can host your wards and personal attendant. However, we must insist that the rest stay in the inn over there.” Lady Ludmilla said pointing to a three story building that was about fifty yards away.
“That is closer than expected. However, I accept. My people can stay at the inn while you host me and my wards.” I stated with another formal bow.
“Good, now come and we will see to your comfort.” Lady Ludmilla said with a bit of a laugh with Lady Grogda giving a small laugh and a wicked grin.
I immediately turned to Lars, Razor and Meowth and ordered that they maintain a watch on the carts and carriage around the clock as I did not want any lapse where someone would try to take advantage. I called to the wolf kin brothers to continue to protect the girls inside the fortress. Pointing to Lars, I told him to take our prisoner Andros to the adventure's guild office and turn him over and letting them know he was caught trying to steal from me. Let them know I will see them on morrow to see if Andros was telling the truth or just lying. Turning with a smile and motioned to Freya and the girls to follow me with Gus right behind me.
The inside of the fortress was decently furnished though it had more of the appearance of a military outpost than a holding of wealth as it looked quiet spartan. I was led to an upper chamber where Lady Grogda had already ordered a bath filled by the time we had arrived.
“I will see to you personally” Lady Grogda stated with that same wicked grin again.
I suddenly felt as though I was a piece of meat put on display before a hungry wolf. I steeled myself to not recoil as I just felt off with this lady.
“See to your master's baggage.” Lady Grogda ordered Gus who was surprised by the command.
Gus gave me a slight shaking of his head and left the chamber. Lady Grogda then proceeded to strip me with efficiency. Once I was naked, she suddenly took her time looking at my nakedness. She even traced my scars on my back with a click of her tongue. Walking over to the tub, I climbed in and sat down.
“Spoil sport” Said Lady Grogda as she grabbed a wash cloth.
“Do not get my wounds wet.” I said warning Lady Groda of what the doctor had told me.
“Why? Your wound is almost well healed. The stitches can be pulled out except here” Stated Grogda and tapped me on my left shoulder blade.
“I have been using a special salve from the high elves. I did not realize it was healing that fast. However, I was warned that getting my wound wet would effect my healing.” I repeated what Doctor Zalzwarth told me.
“Very well.” Groda conceded.
Lady Grogda began washing me where she was absolutely taking her time. It was obvious that she was deliberately feeling me up for her own pleasure. When she grasped my manhood. I stood up and said, “The water is cold and I am tired and hungry!”
“Humph” Pouted Lady Grogda her displeasure but began to rinse me.
Just as I was stepping out of the tub, Gus entered slightly out of breath as he had run to get my clothes with Lukas my footman helping. I sighed with relief as Gus helped me don my dressing gown.
“Old Maude will be here momentarily to apply your salve.” Gus said with a salute.
“Very good.” I replied to Gus then turned to Lady Grogda and said, “I was told you are a Dowager Baroness. Is that not so?” I blatantly asked appearing as innocent as I could.
“I will see you at the dinner bell hour.” Lady Groda said with a sort of half wave salute and stormed out of the chamber in a huff.
“Thank you, Gus. I actually thought I would have to literally fight to save my personal honor.” I remarked with a laugh.
“It was my pleasure, Lord Wyatt.” Gus responded and joined me in laughing.
Old Maude came about twenty minutes later and applied my salve and chatted about how excited she was to be in Avalon and wanting to visit one of the apothecary shops. I gave her permission but have one of the guards accompany her.
About an hour later and I was fully shaven and dressed, I heard a large bell ringing from a bell tower not far away from my chamber. With that, I headed down to the great hall that was just off the main entrance way. I was met by Lady Ludmilla who escorted me to Viscount Skafhoggr chair where she seated herself to my left. Lady Grogda appeared wearing a new pink dress and seated herself to my right. The one missing was the Viscount.
“Where is Lord Skafhoggr?” I asked Lady Ludmilla with a raised eyebrow.
“He is meeting with one of the military commanders. I believe they are deciding on how large a levy they must raise to battle the bastards of Mardor.” Replied Lady Ludmilla as she clapped her hands for servants to begin serving the evening meal.
Four exhausting hours later, I was back in my chamber with my nerves completely shot. The constant fawning and mindless chatter from Lady Ludmilla as well as the constant groping from Lady Grogda under the table had stained me to the max. I was ready for bed and was glad to sink into the lavender scented sheets. Gus grabbed a thin pallet and two blankets. Blowing out the candles he stepped into the hallway closing the door behind him. He would outside my door as custom demands while traveling.
A little over a half an hour later after Gus left, the door opened and closed quickly. I could not see in the darkness but relaxed when Freya spoke softly and slipped into bed with me. Freya did her magic on me as she mounted me taking me to new heights of pleasure. I quickly forgot all about the overly eager pursuit of the Dowager Baroness as I shared the pleasures of being with Freya. After we had sated ourselves completely, we slept peacefully in a loving embrace.
The morning came with a knock on my door that woke both Freya and I. I moaned but Freya nudged me on the chin.
“Time to wake you lazy bones.” Freya said with a laugh.
“I am not a morning person.” I said with a groan.
“Don't I know it! You were quiet the beast were you not?” Freya teased then laughed at me.
The knock on the door was more instant as I rose and put on my dressing gown. Opening the door slightly was Gus and the Dowager Baroness.
“It is early, what is it?” I asked.
“We have prepared a very special meal for you this morning.” Said Lady Grogda with a frown while she tried to look around me into the chamber.
“I see. Well, give me some time to properly dress and I will be down shortly.” I stated and continued to Gus “Have Lukas bring my shaving kit.”
“Right away, Lord Wyatt.” Gus said as he motioned down the hall where I assumed Lukas was.
About forty five minutes later and having snuck Freya out of my chamber, I was fully shaved and dressed in my dark red outfit and black beret hat that actually looked really good on me. Upon entering the great hall, I saw Lady Ludmilla seated. Lady Grogda taking me by the arm led me again to the Viscount's chair where she seated herself next to me.
“Where is Lord Skafhoggr, Lady Ludmilla?” I asked her directly.
Lady Ludmilla was quiet for a moment then said, “I guess he is sleeping. The meetings with the military commanders drag on for hours and hours. I hardly ever see him these days.” Lady Ludmilla said with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Is that so. Very well as it can not be helped. Please send my regards to Lord Skafhoggr for his hospitality. I was informed that the king would have a messages for me that Lord Skafhoggr was to give me. Could you ask Lord Skafhoggr for them?” I asked as I suspected something was just not right.
“Oh. Ah. I will of course ask my Lord Vincent for the king's message once morning meal is finished.” Lady Ludmilla said and looked discombobulated.
“I see. Please do so. The king ordered me to arrive in Camelot immediately. I can not dally and spend extra time as I normally would do. I hope you understand.” I said making extra emphasis on the king's order part.
“Yes. What the king commands we all must obey.” Lady Ludmillas said sourly but not looking at me.
Lady Ludmilla then clapped her hands and the servants brought in the morning meal. What surprised me was my meal was different from everyone else. Looking at both Lady Ludmilla and Lady Grogda something in the back on my head screamed warning warning.
The silver plate before me was a type of stew with a strong overpowering spice scent. I frowned and began to think hard and fast.
“This is a specialty from the High Valley region. I hope you like it.” Lady Grogda said with no expression at all.
My alarm bells went off even stronger this time. A footman came over to fill my cup which I deliberately knocked over and profusely apologized for my clumsiness.
“You know, I am from the High Valley region too. I have never been a fan of overly spiced foods. Lets see how spicy it is.” I stated and took a scoop with a spoon and handed it to the footman to taste.
The footman was surprised but more than happy to taste the food as it was obvious that food for the staff was very plain and simple.
“You should not do that! It is not right!” Lady Grogda said as she stood up showing more alarm than outrage.
The footman had already consumed the sample where he at first looked like he liked it. However, he suddenly started to choke as his face turned bright red and falling to his knees. Lady Ludmilla stood up in horror as the footman was gagging begging for water. I handed him my silver chalice with what I assumed was apple cider where he chugged it down then begged for more.
Finally, after three more cups of water given by another footman, first footman just lay on his back almost in a stupor. It was as if his mind was blank.
“What is this?” I asked as I pointed to my meal looking at both Lady Ludmilla and Lady Grogda.
“I do not know!” Said Lady Ludmilla looking at her mother with a strange look.
“Do not give me that! What did you do?” I demanded with a my voiced raised and now pointing my finger at them.
“It was a love potion. It was to make you like me.” Said Lady Grogda meekly and looking sheepishly at the ground.
“Seriously! That was more than a simple love potion!” I yelled my outrage.
“I swear that is all it was. I had to hide its not so pleasant taste with spice.” Lady Grogda stated her defense but still not able to look me in the eye.
“Lady Ludmilla, I must now ask that you bring me the king's message as I am now leaving Avalon.” I commanded with rage in my countenance.
Lady Ludmilla fled the great hall without replying. Lady Grogda just sat down with her head down looking at the floor saying nothing.
With exasperation, I called out to my people. “House of Wyatt, Ladies and girls we are leaving! Quickly gather your things and be out front within a little span!”
With that, I stormed out of the great hall to the shock of all present. Up in the guest chamber, I changed clothes into my bluejeans, a blue shirt and a tan leather vest. Pulling on my boots and strapping on my weapons belt, I looked over seeing Gus and Lukas already packed up my discarded clothing and was ready to leave as they were staying clear of my angry outbursts.
Down at the carts, I ordered my guards to ready themselves to leave. I sent Lukas to call all the servants in the inn to be ready to leave immediately. Razor and Meowth jumped down from their perch on the first two carriages with questioning looks.
“They tried to poison me! Can you believe it?” I said angrily as I swept my arm to point at the fortress.
“Meow Lord Wyatt, that is clawful. Do you want meow to use them like a scratching post?” Asked Meowth as her tail went straight in what I assumed was either surprise or anger.
Razor just gave a low grumbling growl with teeth bared as he looked at the fortress.
Forty minutes later as my people were loading up, Lady Ludmilla approached with her head down.
“I am sorry Lord Wyatt. It seems you do not have any messages from the king.” Lady Ludmilla said never once looking me in the eye.
“I see. Send a message to the king that I left Avalon today and as commanded traveling as quickly as I can. The king is expecting my update so make sure it is properly sent!” I said with a warning.
I ordered a florse saddled for I needed fresh air as I was still furious. I actually led our people out and toward the main north south road which Nick panicked a bit and settled with riding next to me. As we approached the main crossroads of the city, I saw a large dinning hall and ordered a halt for all of our people to have breakfast. The meal consisted of roasted mutton, eggs, apple pancakes and apple jam. They also had fresh chilled milk and apple cider which really went well with the sweet dishes. Our group apparently cleaned them out and they had to turn away a few customers until mid day.
After breakfast, I went to the adventurer's guild that was a few buildings to the south. It was a four story building of decent size. I allowed Old Maude with a one of the house guards to go to the apothecary shop across the road along with the two Alphardian servants Aura and Sylvia. Inside the adventurer's guild, I asked for Marine as instructed. It was then I learned that Marine was Zack Talley's girl where they were to marry soon as she proudly let me know her good news.
“Zack said to tell you this is a level one escort. Whatever that means.” I repeated what Zack had told me to say.
“Thank you. It simply means Zack thinks there would be no problems and just being present is enough to discourage any potential thieves. The total is two hundred fifty denari for basic escort with an A ranked adventurer.” Marine said with a smile
After paying the fee for the job request, I asked Marine to speak to someone about Andros that was brought in by man guard Lars.
“I am Supervisor Etan Borg and assistant to Guild Master Henry Stewart. It is a pleasure to be at your service Count Wyatt..” Stated Etan with a salute and bow.
“Pleasure is mine.” I replied with a salute and nod of my head.
“We have investigated Andros. His party the Finders of Avalon specialize in retrieving lost items or stolen goods from thieves. It appears his party was specifically requested to recover a lost ventu volpis. We do not have any more details for the job other than this.” Etan stated as he read from a page in his hand.
“Who hired them to steal from me? Make no mistake, they were hired to steal from me!” I said as I was showing my anger and frustration.
“Normally, we would not disclose who posted job requests to those not apart of the contract. However, given the circumstances, I was instructed to tell you it was Viscountess Lady Ludmilla. It seems she contracted and paid a merchant from Xanadu for a ventu volpis. It is our understanding that merchant was placed on a Quenya trade ship where he will go on trial for his many crimes in Svarta. The Finders of Avalon should not have tried to take your ventu volpis. Nor should they have taken on the job given the crimes of the merchant without more information.” Etan explained what the guild knew.
“What will happen to Andros?” I asked frankly.
“The Guild Master will hold a hearing with S and an A ranked members who will advise on the issues. I expect he will be found guilty but will escape the ten year punishment. More like one to two years of labor for the guild doing low ranked jobs that no one wants while being supervised by myself or a C ranked or higher adventurer. His pay will be one third of normal with the rest going to repay the guild or costs associated with his lapse in judgment.” Etan replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I see. The thing that irks me is they attacked my people and wounded one of my guards with a slinger's stone.” I explained my outrage.
“I was not aware of this fact. Master Stewart will compensate you as the law requires. Unfortunately, Master Stewart left for Camelot for meeting with the war counsel on Astria's response to the Empire's latest invasion. I will send a filoxis to let Master Stewart know that there was injury, offense and honor requirements. I understand you will be traveling to Camelot and am certain Master Stewart will seek you out to give you a formal apology and see you are properly compensated.” Etan stated with a salute and bow.
“Good enough. Let me know the outcome of the hearing for Andros. I do not like loose ends and a potential enemy looking for revenge.” I said mater of factually.
“Understood. I will relay your concerns to Master Stewart. Etan replied with another salute and bow.
Leaving the adventure's guild, I decided to visit the tradesman's guild and merchant's storefront while Old Maude was still busy across the street. The girls came with me as they had been requesting things like combs, brushes and scented oils plus a few other special feminine items they needed.
Once all the girls got what they were needing and getting those items stowed with their baggage, Old Maude came back with a small crate filled with items to make medicines. While the baggage was being loaded and sorted, I went to see the information broker's desk and inquired about Chamberlain Robert Duffy. I paid the requested fee of one erythro given his status in the city. I was shown a file which listed the qualities, character and known habits of Robert. There was a section about vices and food preferences. The only vice was seeing a woman who was a widow listed as a paid mistress. Basically, Robert was a straight as an arrow honorable man. I smiled as the report made me feel better about who I was helping.
Finally, with everyone loaded up, we headed out of the city of Avalon over the southern main bridge and gate that was just like the north one but slightly longer with a guard tower protected draw bridge section to let ships pass. After about two hours, I had calmed down enough that I rode in the carriage as was expected of a person of rank. I just looked out seeing nothing but the vast wheat fields of the Capital Region realizing how lucky I had been to escape the evils of the ladies of Fortress Avalon.

Welcome back once more, for our final discussion of Armadale. I apologize again for the discussion being late. Last week, my excuse was that I had to spend time with my sister's family, including a labradoodle. This week, I am dog-sitting my mother's beagle, who has separation anxiety and gas. I am horribly sleep-deprived because this dog insists on sleeping next to my bed every night, snoring loudly and farting. Speaking of people breathing in poison in their sleep, let's get to the recap:
Allan has just set off for the Adriatic, with his cash converted to gold, obviously the result of Manuel's suggestions. Lydia and Ozias have been transferred to Turin by Ozias's employer, and Lydia pretends to have gotten a letter from her mother, asking her to come home, so she has an excuse to go back to London. Once there, she checks the newspaper for any articles or obituaries indicating that Allan has died. She also finds Mother Oldershaw's new address, but decides not to visit her.
After a few days, she finally gets the news she's been hoping for. Allan's yacht sunk off the southern coast of Italy, and everyone on board perished. Her next step is to write to Bashwood:
My dearest Bashwood,
I desire you... I mean, I desire to *meet with you... to apologize for my previous behavior towards you. I have foolishly made the mistake of marrying an immature child. If only I had married a real man (realness not necessarily extending to his teeth and hair)!*
Please, do not show this letter to anyone. Let us meet clandestinely.
Sincerely,
Lydia Armadale (note the last name)
Lydia then considers the marriage certificate, and realizes a glaring flaw in her plan: Ozias's handwriting looks nothing like Allan's. In a panic, she decides that her only option is to get advice from Mother Oldershaw. Unfortunately, Mother Oldershaw appears to have found God, and no longer wants anything to do with Lydia's plans. (Of course, she refuses to give Lydia the signed paper that she was going to use to extort money from Lydia if her plans succeeded.)
While leaving Oldershaw's, Lydia runs into Dr. Downward... excuse me, Dr. Le Doux, totally legitimate sanitarium owner. She realizes that he may be able to advise her, and asks to meet him later at the sanitarium. The sanitarium is basically what you'd expect a 19th-century sanitarium to be: creepy old house with shelves containing jars of preserved "creatures," a "galvanic apparatus" for providing electric shocks, etc. No patients yet, though.
Lydia tells the doctor her story, leaving out the worst details (he doesn't know that she's the reason the yacht sunk, or that her husband goes by the fake name "Ozias Midwinter"). Downward agrees to assist her by claiming to be a witness to the marriage... for a fee of six hundred pounds. Lydia agrees, and he assists her in sending a letter to Thorpe Ambrose, claiming to be Allan's widow.
The next day, Lydia gets a visit from Bashwood, who delivers the news that Neelie is beside herself with grief, and Mr. Darch is handling the matter of the inheritance, which was going to go to Allan's cousin, before Lydia announced her claim.
Bashwood returns a few days later with a shocking letter from Yugoslavia: Allan is alive! This is where I'd normally try to write a funny version of the letter, but nothing I could possibly write would be funnier than the actual letter's opening line: "I have been the victim of a rascally attempt at robbery and murder." Yes, "rascally." Oh, Allan, never change. One of the would-be murderers took pity on Allan and didn't securely board up his cabin, so he was able to escape instead of sinking with the yacht.
Lydia turns to Downward for help.
Downward: What if we trap Allan in the sanitarium?
Lydia: And murder him?
Downward: WTF, no. We get him to agree to not press legal charges against us.
Lydia: And then we murder him?
Downward: I have so many regrets about teaming up with you
Lydia: How do we catch him?
Downward: You could get Bashwood to lurk around the train station and intercept him before anyone else sees him. Have him tell Allan that Miss Milroy was sent here because she was driven insane by her grief for him.
Lydia: Can we murder Allan and Miss Milroy?
Downward: I am running an unlicensed sanitarium under a false name, and even I think you're unhinged.
Lydia: Gwilty as charged
Downward: But wait, what if he doesn't agree immediately, and we have to keep him here for months? What if I have actual patients at the time, and they report us?
Lydia: What if...
Downward: ...please don't say "murder"
Lydia: ...what if he had an accident?
Downward: Oh. Well, if it was an "accident," that would be okay. I don't know how an accident could happen, though, if you aren't an inmate here.
Lydia: I'll think about it
Meanwhile, Bashwood keeps vigil at the train station, until one day he sees... Ozias, who is searching for Lydia because she's stopped writing to him. While they talk to each other, Bashwood can't contain his shock at hearing that Lydia is Ozias's wife, and accidentally calls her "Mrs. Armadale," which understandably makes Ozias suspicious, so he follows Bashwood to see where he goes, which of course leads him straight to Lydia. Lydia pretends she was never married to Ozias, and Ozias faints from the shock.
Lydia heads straight to the sanitarium, tells Downward she's going to be an inmate, and asks for a sleeping draught. Downward prepares the draught, but first places yellow liquid in a purple flask. He then informs Lydia of what he thinks they should say at the inquest after Allan dies: The two of them knew he hadn't drowned, but when he arrived in England, they decided to trap him in the sanitarium because, shortly after his marriage to Lydia, Allan had starting having a delusion that he was engaged to Neelie. Once in the sanitarium, Downward diagnosed Allan with an incurable and fatal brain ailment, and that's what killed him.
Downward has scheduled a "Visitors' Day" so that people will witness Lydia as an inmate in the asylum. The visitors are mostly women, because life as a woman in Victorian England was so boring, they had nothing better to do than go to sanitariums to gawk at the mentally ill people and see where they will eventually live when the hysteria finally drives them mad. (I am only barely paraphrasing. The actual quote is "In the miserable monotony of the lives led by a large section of the middle classes of England, anything is welcome to the women which offers them any sort of harmless refuge from the established tyranny of the principle that all human happiness begins and ends at home.")
Downward shows them around the sanitarium and explains how it will be run, including only allowing novels that make people feel comfortable. (I assumed this was an intentional satire of Wilkie's critics, and the notes in the Oxford World's Classics edition confirmed this.)
But then Downward gave a sales pitch that damn near sold me on his sanitarium. "I throw up impregnable moral intrenchments between Worry and You. ... Will ten minutes’ irritation from a barking dog or a screeching child undo every atom of good done to a nervous sufferer by a month’s medical treatment? There isn’t a competent doctor in England who will venture to deny it!" Considering I almost couldn't post last week's discussion because of a few hours' exposure to two loud children and a labradoodle, I'm about ready to self-diagnose with hysteria and deranged lunacy.
He also explains that while the bedrooms lack fireplaces, they're heated with hot water. This impressed me because I've read about Victorian insane asylums not having fireplaces in the bedrooms (since the inmates might burn themselves), but I always assumed this meant that the inmates were cold in the winter. But wait... the bedroom also has secret controls that let him open, close, and lock the window and door from the outside, and a vent that lets him pump gas into the room. Whaaat? I rescind my diagnosis of hysteria and deranged lunacy. I want nothing to do with this.
After the tour is finished, Downward demonstrates to Lydia how to prepare the poison, and then breaks the bottle so that his assistant (who doesn't know about the purple flask) will think there's no more of that chemical in the house.
Meanwhile, Ozias is stalking Bashwood at the train station. He thinks Lydia is cheating on him, and Bashwood is waiting for Lydia's lover. But then he sees Bashwood with Allan. After confronting the two of them, he learns Bashwood's story about having to take Allan to Neelie in the sanitarium. Realizing that Lydia is probably still behind Bashwood's actions, Ozias insists on going with the two of them. On arriving at the sanitarium, Allan is informed that Neelie cannot see him until the morning, but he and Ozias are welcome to spend the night: Allan in Room Four, and Ozias in Room Three.
Lydia sets Bashwood up to spy on Allan's door from a room with a grate in its door. She tells him to make sure Allan stays in his room all night. Later, watching from the grate, Bashwood observes Ozias leave his room and examine the fumigating apparatus connected to Allan's room. Then Ozias stuffs his handkerchief in the grate, blocking Bashwood's view, before going into Allan's room and convincing Allan to switch rooms with him.
Later that night, Lydia returns and asks Bashwood if anything happened. Too afraid to tell her about the handkerchief, he tells her nothing happened, and she dismisses him to bed. After almost convincing herself to not go through with it, she then starts the process of pouring the poison at five minute intervals. While waiting for one of the intervals to pass, she notices Ozias's handkerchief and realizes that Bashwood lied to her. She checks in Room Three, and finds Allan asleep where Ozias should be.
In a panic, Lydia rushes into Room Four and drags the unconscious Ozias out. She then continues to pour the poison, writes a last letter to Ozias, and locks herself in the room.
We end with an epilogue that rapidly ties up all the random loose ends. Lydia has been buried in a nearly unmarked grave. The doctor is apparently still running his sanitarium. Allan and Neelie will be married in the spring. Mrs. Milroy doesn't have much longer to live, but she's undergone a personality change for some reason and she and the Major are happy for once. Ozias is recovering and living with Allan. Mother Oldershaw is a religious speaker, apparently. Bashwood has gone insane. Manuel drowned.
But wait, one last thing: Wilkie has something to say to us. He wants us to know that he intended the dream to be left up to interpretation. Thanks for handing me a discussion question like that, Wilkie. He also shares a weird-ass story about how, after he'd finished the rough draft and while the story was in the middle of serialization, several people were poisoned in their sleep on a boat called The Armadale. Okay, Wilkie. Thank you for that incredibly weird anecdote.

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, said he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history, then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.
“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”
“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.
“I did,” he said. “But someone had to go first.”
That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understand as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.
“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”
I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.
“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”
I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.
“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”
I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.
---
Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.
After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.
He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.
The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now. That was an eternity during a siege.
The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, burning trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine, should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.
Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.
A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:
Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.
Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s dueterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned through orbit.
The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to kill the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and got burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, traded as the cost of moving the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.
---
The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.
It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.
Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.
“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-
What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry. If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that this bird is going to come down gentle.”
He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.
I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.
But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.
I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.
“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”
“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”
I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough as it was.
---
The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside, and to say it was gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.
“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.
“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.
We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.
“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.
“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”
“Good,” he said.
I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.
It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

I know a lot of people use kings hunting for example. Here is what I found
This is what Valmiki Ramayan says:
तस्मिन्निति सूखे काले धनुष्मानिषुमान रथी व्यायामकृतसंकल्प: सरयूमन्वगान्नदीम
' व्यायामकृतसंकल्प: ' means with the aim of exercise.
He says that it was a good day,hence i went to the banks of Sarayu River to do some exercise.
So one thing is clear,he was there to exercise,and not to hunt or kill any animal.
Now lets see what follows:
अथान्धकारेत्वश्रौष जले कुम्भस्य पूर्यत: अचक्षुर्विषये घोष वारणस्येवनर्दत:
It was dark at that time,i was not able to see clearly. Then i heard a voice of an animal,i thought its an elephant.
Now where is Hunting and Deer written here? Nowhere…its just TV serials show.
Kings used to catch and capture elephants for their army. Dashrath also wanted to capture that elephant,and he shot an arrow which by mistake hit Shravan Kumar. He had poisoned arrows which could make the elephant lose his senses,but it hit a human,who could not bear its poison.
This is what Ayodhyakand,Valmiki Ramayan says:
ततोअहम शरमुध्दत्य दीप्तमाशीविषोपमम शब्द प्रति गजप्रेप्सुरभिलक्ष्यमपातयम
तत्र वागुषसि व्यक्ता प्रादुरासीव्दनौकस: हां हेति पततस्तोये वाणाद्व्यथितमर्मण:
Dashrath says-”Then to get the elephant i shot a poisoned arrow.I heard a crying voice of a human from the direction in which i shot the arrow.”
So please start to read Valmiki Ramayan,don't waste your lives in lies and TV serials.
Thanks.
Next many people say that hinduism doesent allow or disallow meat.
Yes.
The Sanatana Dharma Teaches First That We should not Kill Animals Or Eat Any Type of Meat.
References -
Quotes that disapprove, even denounce, meat-eating
Rig Veda:
“One who partakes of human flesh, the flesh of a horse or of another animal, and deprives others of milk by slaughtering cows, O King, if such a fiend does not desist by other means, then you should not hesitate to cut off his head.”
Rig-veda (10.87.16)
Do the Vedic literature allow meat-eating? Did Hinduism adopt vegetarianism from Buddhism? - The Spiritual Scientist
Manu-Samhita:
“Meat can never be obtained without injury to living creatures, and injury to sentient beings is detrimental to the attainment of heavenly bliss; let him therefore shun the use of meat. Having well considered the disgusting origin of flesh and the cruelty of fettering and slaying corporeal beings, let him entirely abstain from eating flesh.”
(Manu-samhita 5.48-49) “He who permits the slaughter of an animal, he who cuts it up, he who kills it, he who buys or sells meat, he who cooks it, he who serves it up, and he who eats it, must all be considered as the slayers of the animal. There is no greater sinner than that man who though not worshiping the gods or the ancestors, seeks to increase the bulk of his own flesh by the flesh of other beings.” (Manu-samhita 5.51-52)
“If he has a strong desire (for meat) he may make an animal of clarified butter or one of flour (and eat that); but let him never seek to destroy an animal without a (lawful) reason. As many hairs as the slain beast has, so often indeed will he who killed it without a (lawful) reason suffer a violent death in future births.” (Manu-samhita 5.37-38)
“He who injures harmless creatures from a wish to give himself pleasure, never finds happiness in this life or the next.” (Manu-samhita 5.45)
“By subsisting on pure fruits and roots, and by eating food fit for ascetics in the forest, one does not gain so great a reward as by entirely avoiding the use of flesh. Me he [mam sah] will devour in the next world, whose flesh I eat in this life; the wise declare this to be the real meaning of the word ‘flesh’ [mam sah].” (Manu-samhita 5.54-55)
“He who does not seek to cause the sufferings of bonds and death to living creatures, (but) desires the good of all (beings), obtains endless bliss. He who does not injure any (creature) attains without an effort what he thinks of, what he undertakes, and what he fixes his mind on.” (Manu-samhita 5.46-47)
“By not killing any living being, one becomes fit for salvation.” (Manu-samhita 6.60)
Do the Vedic literature allow meat-eating? Did Hinduism adopt vegetarianism from Buddhism? - The Spiritual Scientist
Mahabharata

1. “He who desires to augment his own flesh by eating the flesh of other creatures, lives in misery in whatever species he may take his [next] birth.” (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.47)
   
2. “The purchaser of flesh performs violence by his wealth; he who eats flesh does so by enjoying its taste; the killer does violence by actually tying and killing the animal. Thus, there are three forms of killing. He who brings flesh or sends for it, he who cuts off the limbs of an animal, and he who purchases, sells, or cooks flesh and eats it–all these are to be considered meat-eaters.” (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.40)
   
3. “The sins generated by violence curtail the life of the perpetrator. Therefore, even those who are anxious for their own welfare should abstain from meat-eating.” (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.33)
   
4. Bhishma started, “Numberless discourses took place between the Rishis on this subject, O scion of Kuru’s race. Listen, O Yudhisthira, what their opinion was. (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.7)
   
5. “The highly wise seven celestial Rishis, the Valakshillyas, and those Rishis who drink the rays of the sun, all speak highly of abstention from meat.
   
6. The self-created Manu has said that the man who does not eat meat, or who does not kill living creatures, or who does not cause them to be killed, is a friend of all creatures. Such a man is incapable of being oppressed by any creature. He enjoys the confidence of all living beings. He always enjoys the praise of the pious. The virtuous Narada has said that that man who wishes to multiply his own flesh by eating the flesh of other creatures meets with disaster. (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.9-12)
   
7. “That man, who having eaten meat, gives it up afterwards wins merit by such a deed that is so great that a study of all the Vedas or a performance, O Bharata, of all the sacrifices [Vedic rituals], cannot give its like. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.16)
   
8. “That learned person who gives to all living creatures the gift of complete assurance is forsooth regarded as the giver of lifebreaths in this world. (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.18)
   
9. “Men gifted with intelligence and purified souls should always treat others as they themselves wish to be treated. It is seen that even those men who are endued with learning and who seek to acquire the greatest good in the shape of liberation, are not free of the fear of death. (Mahabharata, Anu. 115.20)
   
10. “What necessity be said of those innocent and healthy creatures gifted with love of life, when they are sought to be killed by sinful wretches living by slaughter? Therefore, O King, know that the discarding of meat is the highest refuge of religion, of the celestial region, and of happiness. Abstention of injury [to others] is the highest religion. It is, again, the highest penance. It is also the highest truth from which all duty emanates. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.21-23)
    
11. “Flesh cannot be had from grass or wood or stone. Unless a living creature is killed it cannot be procured. Hence is the fault of eating flesh. The celestials who live upon Svaha, Svadha, and nectar, are given to truth and sincerity. Those persons, however, who are for satisfying the sensation of taste, should be known as Rakshasas [flesh-eating demons] pervaded by the quality of Darkness. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.24-25)
    
12. “If there were nobody who ate flesh, then there would be nobody to slay living creatures. The man who slays living creatures kills them for the sake of the person who eats flesh. If flesh were not considered as food, there would then be no destruction of living creatures. It is for the sake of the eater that the destruction of living entities is carried on in the world. Since, O you of great splendor, the period of life is shortened by persons who kill living creatures or cause them to be killed, it is clear that the person who seeks his own good should give up meat altogether. Those dreadful persons who are engaged in the destruction of living beings never find protectors when they are in need. Such persons should always be molested and punished even as beast of prey. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.29-32)
    
13. “That man who seeks to multiply his own flesh by (eating) the flesh of others has to live in this world in great anxiety, and after death has to take birth in indifferent races and families. High Rishis given to the observance of vows and self-control have said that abstention from meat is worthy of praise, productive of fame and Heaven, and a great satisfaction itself. This I heard formerly, O son of Kunti, from Markandeya when that Rishi discoursed on the sins of eating flesh. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.34-36)
    
14. “He who purchases flesh, kills living creatures through his money. He who eats flesh, kills living beings through his eating. He who binds or seizes and actually kills living creatures is the slaughterer. These are the three sorts of slaughter through each of these acts. He who does not himself eat flesh but approves of an act of slaughter, becomes stained with the sin of slaughter. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.38-39)
    
15. “That wretched man who kills living creatures for the sake of those who would eat them commits great sin. The eater’s sin is not as great. That wretched man who, following the path of religious rites and sacrifices as laid down in the Vedas, would kill a living creature from a desire to eats its flesh, will certainly go to hell. That man who having eaten flesh abstains from it afterwards acquires great merit on account of such abstention from sin. He who arranges for obtaining flesh, he who approves of those arrangements, he who kills, he who buys or sells, he who cooks, and he who eats it, [acquire the sin of those who] are all considered as eaters of flesh. [Therefore] that man who wishes to avoid disaster should abstain from the meat of every living creature. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.44-48)
    

16 . “Listen to me, O king of kings, as I tell you this, O sinless one, there is absolute happiness in abstaining from meat, O king. He who practices severe austerities for a century, and he who abstains from meat, are both equally meritorious. This is my opinion. (Mahabharata, Anu.115.52-53)

1. “Yudhisthira said: Alas, those cruel men who, not caring for various other sorts of food, want only flesh, are really like great Rakshasas [meat-eating demons]. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.1)
   
2. “Bhishma said: That man who wishes to increase his own flesh by the meat of another living creature is such that there is none meaner and more cruel than he. In this world there is nothing that is dearer to a creature than his life. Hence, one should show mercy to the lives of others as he does to his own life. Forsooth, O son, flesh has its origin in the vital seed. There is great sin attached to its eating, as, indeed, there is merit in abstaining from it. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.11-13)
   
3. “There is nothing, O delighter of the Kurus, that is equal in point of merit, either in this world or in the next, to the practice of mercy to all living creatures. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.19)
   
4. “Hence a person of purified soul should be merciful to all living creatures. That man, O king, who abstains from every kind of meat from his birth forsooth, acquires a large space in the celestial region. They who eat the flesh of animals who are desirous of life, are themselves [later] eaten by the animals they eat. This is my opinion. Since he has eaten me, I shall eat him in return. This, O Bharata, forms the character as Mamsah [meaning flesh] of Mamsah [me he, or “me he” will eat for having eaten him]. The destroyer is always slain. After him the eater meets with the same fate. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.32-35)
   
5. “He who acts with hostility towards another becomes victim of similar deeds done by that other. Whatever acts one does in whatever bodies, he has to suffer the consequences thereof in those bodies. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.36-37)
   
6. “Abstention from cruelty is the highest Religion. Abstention from cruelty is the greatest self-restraint. Abstention from cruelty is the highest gift. Abstention from cruelty is the highest penance. Abstention from cruelty is the highest sacrifice. Abstention from cruelty is the highest power. Abstention from cruelty is the greatest friend. Abstention from cruelty is the greatest happiness. (Mahabharata, Anu.116.38-39)
   
7. “Gifts made in all sacrifices [rituals], ablutions performed in all sacred water, and the merit which one acquires from making all kinds of gifts mentioned in the scriptures, all these do not equal in merit abstention from cruelty.” (Mahabharata, Anu.116.40)
   

Do the Vedic literature allow meat-eating? Did Hinduism adopt vegetarianism from Buddhism? - The Spiritual Scientist
Bhagavata Purana:
“Those who are ignorant of real dharma and, though wicked and haughty, account themselves virtuous, kill animals without any feeling of remorse or fear of punishment. Further, in their next lives, such sinful persons will be eaten by the same creatures they have killed in this world.” (Bhagavata Purana 11.5.14)
The real purpose of a sacrifice was not to replace a slaughterhouse but to test a Vedic mantra by giving an animal new life. Animals were used to test the power of Vedic mantras, not for meat. - Srimad Bhagavatam 4.4.6 purport
Do the Vedic literature allow meat-eating? Did Hinduism adopt vegetarianism from Buddhism? - The Spiritual Scientist
Cow Sacrifice ? Not At All :
Besides References,Here’s What Supreme Lord Saying About Sacrifice -
CC Ādi 17.158 — As a learned scholar, the Kazi challenged Caitanya Mahāprabhu, “In Your Vedic scriptures there is an injunction for killing a cow. On the strength of this injunction, great sages performed sacrifices involving cow-killing.”
CC Ādi 17.159 — Refuting the Kazi’s statement, the Lord immediately replied, “The Vedas clearly enjoin that cows should not be killed. Therefore every Hindu, whoever he may be, avoids indulging in cow-killing.
CC Ādi 17.160 — “In the Vedas and Purāṇas there are injunctions declaring that if one can revive a living being, one can kill it for experimental purposes.
CC Ādi 17.161 — “Therefore the great sages sometimes killed old cows, and by chanting Vedic hymns they brought them back to life for perfection.
CC Ādi 17.162 — “The killing and rejuvenation of such old and invalid cows was not truly killing but an act of great benefit.
CC Ādi 17.163 — “Formerly there were powerful brāhmaṇas who could make such experiments using Vedic hymns, but now, because of the Kali-yuga, brāhmaṇas are not so powerful. Therefore the killing of cows and bulls for rejuvenation is forbidden.
—Ādi 17: The Pastimes of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu in His Youth
Srila Prabhupada Says - So killing, killing is very bad, but killing for the sake of right cause of fighting, or killing in the sacrifice, they are not sinful. Sometimes in the Vedas killing is recommended, just like in the fight or in the sacrifice, but that is not sinful. Sometimes a brāhmaṇa is sacrificing, offering, performing great sacrifice, and the animal is put into the fire just to give him renovated, new life, not for killing, just to test how Vedic mantras are being properly pronounced. That will be test. When sacrifice is done, the fire is there, and old animal is put into the sacrifice, and he comes out with a new body. That means the Vedic mantras are being pronounced very properly, and it is being carried out. This is the experiment, not for killing. Although in the Vedas there are recommendation that paśu-vadha system... Just like in the modern age also, when some experiment is made, it is made on the life of the animal. But they are killed. But when there is recommendation of putting an animal in the fire, that is not for killing; that is to see that this animal has got a new body.
Lecture on BG 2.14 -- London, August 20, 1973
Pradyumna: Aśvamedha-yajñas or gomedha-yajñas, or the sacrifices in which a horse or a bull is sacrificed, were not, of course, for the purpose of killing the animals. Lord Caitanya said that such animalssacrificed on the altar of yajña were rejuvenated and a new life was given to them. It was just to prove the efficacy of the hymns of the Vedas. By recitation of the hymns of the Vedas in the proper way, certainly the performer gets relief from the reactions of sins. But in case of such sacrifices not properly done under expert management, certainly one has to become responsible for animal sacrifice."
Prabhupāda: This is a long subject matter. But the sacrifice in yajña, recommended, that is not for killing the animal, but it is a testing, how the Vedic mantras are being properly chanted. Because an oldanimal put into the fire, by Vedic mantras he would come out again with young life. That is sacrifice of animals in the yajña. Therefore in this age there is no such expert brāhmaṇa who can chant the mantras properly or he can behave because the life is very abominable. Therefore, because there is no expert brāhmaṇa, so these sacrifices are forbidden in this age. Kalau pañca vivarjayet aśvamedhaṁ gavālambhaṁ devareṇa sutotpattiṁ sannyāsam (CC Adi 17.164). These things are forbidden in this age, because there is no proper men to conduct.
Lecture on SB 1.8.52 -- Los Angeles, May 14, 1973
The purpose of the Vedas is to establish such principles under the order of the Supreme Lord, and the Lord directly orders, at the end of the Gītā, that the highest principle of religion is to surrender unto Him only, and nothing more. The Vedic principles push one towards complete surrender unto Him; and whenever such principles are disturbed by the demoniac, the Lord appears. From the Bhāgavatam we understand that Lord Buddha is the incarnation of Kṛṣṇa who appeared when materialism was rampant and materialists were using the pretext of the authority of the Vedas. Although there are certain restrictive rules and regulations regarding animal sacrifice for particular purposes in the Vedas, people of demonic tendency still took to animal sacrifice without reference to the Vedic principles. Lord Buddha appeared to stop this nonsense and to establish the Vedic principles of nonviolence.
BG 4.7, Purport
Lord Buddha, a powerful incarnation of the Personality of Godhead, appeared in the province of Gayā (Bihar) as the son of Añjanā, and he preached his own conception of nonviolence and deprecated even the animal sacrifices sanctioned in the Vedas. At the time when Lord Buddha appeared, the people in general were atheistic and preferred animal flesh to anything else. On the plea of Vedic sacrifice, every place was practically turned into a slaughterhouse, and animal-killing was indulged in unrestrictedly. Lord Buddha preached nonviolence, taking pity on the poor animals. He preached that he did not believe in the tenets of the Vedas and stressed the adverse psychological effects incurred by animal-killing. Less intelligent men of the age of Kali, who had no faith in God, followed his principle, and for the time being they were trained in moral discipline and nonviolence, the preliminary steps for proceeding further on the path of God realization. He deluded the atheists because such atheists who followed his principles did not believe in God, but they kept their absolute faith in Lord Buddha, who himself was the incarnation of God. Thus the faithless people were made to believe in God in the form of Lord Buddha. That was the mercy of Lord Buddha: he made the faithless faithful to him.
SB 1.3.24, Purport
The horse sacrifice yajña or cow sacrifice yajña performed by the Vedic regulations shouldn't be misunderstood as a process of killing animals. On the contrary, animals offered for the yajña were rejuvenated to a new span of life by the transcendental power of chanting the Vedic hymns, which, if properly chanted, are different from what is understood by the common layman. The Veda-mantras are all practical, and the proof is rejuvenation of the sacrificed animal.
SB 1.12.34, Purport
According to sacrificial rituals, animals are sometimes sacrificed in the yajña arena. Such animals are sacrificed not to kill them but to give them new life. Such action was an experiment to observe whether the Vedic mantras were being properly pronounced. Sometimes small animals are killed in a medical laboratory to investigate therapeutic effects. In a medical clinic, the animals are not revived, but in the yajña arena, when animals were sacrificed, they were again given life by the potency of Vedic mantras. The word śipi-viṣṭāya appears in this verse. Śipi means "the flames of the sacrifice." In the sacrificial fire if the oblations are offered into the flames, then Lord Viṣṇu is situated there in the form of the flames. Therefore Lord Viṣṇu is known as Śipiviṣṭa.
SB 4.13.35, Purport
You can read more about the same:
Do the Vedic literature allow meat-eating? Did Hinduism adopt vegetarianism from Buddhism? - The Spiritual Scientist
Thank you.

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/

Someone posted this on Reddit as a response to a person who was struggling. I liked it a lot and I tried to google it but I wasn’t able to find anything, google just spammed me with mental health resources bc of the quotes context.
“So, you’re experiencing a crisis. I understand. I’ve been there, many times. And I want you to understand no matter how dire the situation may seem, no matter how slim the odds, there is hope. There is a way through this. But, I also won’t lie to you. If you genuinely want out, you’re going to have to fight your way out. The hard truth is that in all likelihood, no one is coming to save you. So, if you won’t work the problem, no one will. It’s important therefore that you approach this crisis with the proper mindset. A mindset of acceptance. You’re here. The problem is real. It’s happening to you, right now and it’s not going away. You don’t have to like it or pretend that it doesn’t upset you, but you must accept it. Because when you accept your circumstances and assume ownership over the state you’re in, something crucial happens. Your perspective begins to shift. Instead of viewing the situation through the lens of the luckless victim, you approach the problem with the mind of an appraiser. You begin to see the situation for what it is. The variables begin to emerge and with them, a more complete understanding of the problem comes into view. Through acceptance consequences, constraints and root causes all become clear. Armed with this knowledge, you’re ready to make the next mental shift to move from the mind of an appraiser to one who is focused on solutions. And with this mind you’re ready to work. A solution oriented mindset focuses on identifying pathways rather than dwelling on obstacles. It enables you to approach life’s challenges with a proactive attitude. Instead of becoming overwhelmed or stuck, you actively seek out answers, think creatively and explore options. By focusing on solutions, you avoid getting caught up in negativity or unproductive thought patterns. Above all, adopting a solution-oriented mind helps you stay focused on what is most important during any crisis. And that is taking action. Without action, there is no movement and without movement problems remain what they are. If you’ve calibrated your mind to seek out solutions, you must pair this mindset with a bias toward action. When the pressure is on and the crisis is real, staying put is never a winning strategy. You need to move and move with a purpose. If you’re feeling fear, anxiety or despair as a result of your present circumstances, you cannot allow these feelings to paralyze you. Instead, use your emotions to fuel your efforts to meaningfully execute upon the solutions you’ve already identified. When things get hard, you shouldn’t go at it alone. Sometimes, the problems we face are genuinely bigger than ourselves. To make progress toward addressing such problems, it’s ideal to seek out help from family, friends and colleagues who can compliment your strengths and supplement the areas where you’re struggling. Remember that many hands can make light work of weighty problems. Don’t neglect the resources available to you out of a mistaken notion that only you can carry your present burden. While others likely aren’t coming to save you, they may be willing to assist you if you’re humble enough to ask for help when it’s needed. Just remember to show the proper gratitude when aid is rendered and always pay it forward. I know the challenges before you are difficult and the long climb to a better outcome will be tough. But this isn’t the end for you. Not yet. You still have some fight left in you. Your strength isn’t spent. If you’ve accepted where you are and have identified where you need to be, the only thing left for you is to put boot to ground and take one determined step after the other. In time, and with the help of those around you who care, you’ll walk your way out of this mess. And perhaps someday, teach others to do likewise. Hang tough and know that whatever happens I’m rooting for you.”

I wake up, and instantly feel overwhelmed, and hopeless. It's just "Oh my God, No , not another day like this, I can not do this anymore". In that moment, there is no reasoning with me. All I hear in my mind is "give me one good reason, why I should continue like this, in this absolute emotional mental hell?" It takes me a good 20 minutes to reason myself back from the brink of suicidal ideation, into a better frame of mind. I have to convince myself, that my brain is playing tricks on me somehow. Something like 'it's okay, get some coffee, maybe you'll feel better".
So, do I basically feel like this, subconsciously, and I lie to myself all day, telling myself "things will get better", but then in the morning, when I'm not expecting it, not guarded, is when my true feelings are there? LIke, "Oh, okay, I really do hate my life....everything isn't "fine" , good to know". .....?
I"ve often wondered if some of my depression is a chemical thing? Or , the result of living so far away from my authenticity-for so long, my core values, beliefs, and lying to myself constantly, that for some reason its in the morning when it hits me? OR, working my way back to authenticity is just so damn hard, having completely , utterly , and entirely neglected,, abandoned, and needlessly shamed myself for so god damn long, that every day is another way that I'm desperately trying not to hate myself for having wasted my life, trying to be something I'm not, being "different" , or having CPTSD , trying to love myself through the failures, give validation to my life, but holy cow.
I read a quote in a Melody Beattie's book-Journey of the Heart, about how our emotions lie to us, but , wow it's scary because it's so powerful, that impulse to Judge everything as entirely hopeless, it's not even a Judgement, it's this , Idk, it's just there....that's all I can say. This shocking awareness that you haven't' been living your life, as yourself, out of fear, out of shame, out of terror. Imagine how many people, on a whim, because the chemistry in their brain went haywire, where like "Nope, no more". It's alarming-to feel the depth of that much despair-when you first wakeup, before you even have a chance to tell yourself not to give up, to ward off hopelessness, "it'll get better, don't give up, be patient, things take time", while things feel worse and more hopeless, and my CPTSD gets more , idk, complicated and confusing? That's a thing right, not being aware of all the nuances of CPTSD , just cruising along then suddenly it's everywhere, WHAM-awareness and clarity. I'm like Holy-crap , it's literally all around me, all the time , in every single thing I think and do. Oh, what are your issues?.....What are my issues?!!! ..Issue's plural? EVERYTHING, everything is an issue, sometimes trying to give myself the will to live is an issue. (talking to myself-so what else is new) . IT's just a lot. The depression, the lack of healthy relationships, the inability to communicate in a way that resonates with your soul, the confusion and dysfunction around attachment/boundaries/a healthy identity/fear and insecurity about absolutely everything. The Shame. IT's fine you know, that it's hard, I get it-but it's A LOT! . This crushing awareness of the enormity of the task before you to sort it all out, when it's everywhere all the time.....every thought, every emotion, every belief. Literally e-v-e-r- y-t-h-i-n-g I do, think, feel and believe , is affected by my fucking horrendous upbringing. My cousin forgot to call me back, it took longer than usual, I wanted to throw myself off a cliff, that's not normal, you know? I kept saying to my partner, "she hasnt' texted me yet, should I text her again?" Like I cant figure this out. "NO, don't text her again". Oh, okay......despair and shame hits, "she hates me". OMG.
I guess I owe it to myself to include Melody Beatties' quote from Journey of the Heart, which showed up for me when I was skimming through books today. That's something, that serendipity.
April 20-Loving yourself will make it better
" Are you feeling powerless, are circumstances taken a turn you don't' like? Do you feel like there's nothing you can do to make today better? One power that's always available to you, is the power to love yourself.
Sometimes we feel powerless. We have circumstances on our lives , we cannot change, no matter what we do to create something different, to move the situation along. We can't get another person to behave differently. We cant' seem to change something at work. We can't do something about our money situation, at least not at the moment. Nothing in life seems to be going our way. It's not that were' doing something wrong. We aren't off our path or neglecting a particular lesson. The energy of that particular time in our lives is frustrating,. There is no action we can take to change our circumstances. All we can do is surrender to the circumstances, and accept whats happening, and stay in the moment. During those times, there is no action we can take that will help. We can love ourselves. When we cant' do anything about the world around us, when we cant' even seem to do much about ourselves, we can always, always love ourselves. When all our other powers seem stripped away, we can practice the power of self-love. It's the one power no one can take away . "
It helped to read this. I'm still not happy about the absolute ridiculously steep learning curve of addressing CPTSD, but the idea that I have the option to love myself along the way.................helps.
I will scream a silent scream inside if anyone mentions Radical acceptance. And btw, I subscribe to radical acceptance, had a long discussion about that at some point, a bunch of us decided it's a bad description ("Radical Acceptance") essentially self love sounding like "beat yourself with reality no matter what", when that's not what that is. So.
....waits for backlash.

All the rich people I know, in my family and out, are some of the most entitled people I've ever seen in my life. It's not even jealousy. The last thing I want is luxury items and having millions of dollars in my bank account that I'll never touch. If I ever got close to a million, I'd just donate good chunks of it to charity. The rest would be for me to live a comfortable life and to help my future children get full rides to college. When it comes to 'luxuries' I'd want to spend it on an RV or at least one trip out of the country.
With my family, I have a mentally ill aunt. Throughout my life, I have heard about her issues and her lashing out. My parents did try to help her, though she did mooch off of them to hell and back until she flew back to her home state. They have not had any contact with her in many years after my nonna died. She could've been dead. Yet recently, my cousin found her while grocery shopping and they seem to mock her because she asked for money and lives in what seems like a mental hospital. They don't have to take her in, understandably, because she didn't do good when she did WAS getting helped and they're not obligated to help her. But mocking her for being broke and schizophrenic really isn't it. It's depressing too because my mom emphasizes the importance of family but she doesn't seem to care about her sister potentially dying. Not only depressing, but also embarrassing. If my dad didn't make so much and if he wasn't getting money from being a disabled veteran, my mom would never be able to retire. Mom wouldn't be able to constantly spend money on luxury items like constant Disney trips and Louis Vuitton bags either. Why laugh over that when you would be struggling to make ends met too, especially when he dies?
With my partner, his sister really gets on my nerves. She's one of those people who talks about the 'grind' and crypto and NFTS. That kind of shit. She brags about how she's a millionaire too basically and on her social media acts like she's the shit while denouncing people who work at jobs, calling them 'wagecucks' and whining because a neighbor dare try to talk to her (some can be persistent but just say you're not interested? not that hard). She also brags about how she cut off everyone in her life off that 'didn't help her succeed'.
She's always got on my nerves due to personal issues from my partner I had to hear, but recently she's been really getting on my nerves because she's taking credit for the content on a Youtube channel SHE made my partner work on. She didn't make anything on that channel. The most she does is repost memes on Twitter and on the Youtube 'community' side that have been posted to hell and back and those Pixar AI memes and AI art that nobody even likes. She has gotten literal backlash on the channel for posting AI art, AI without credit, and so on. She has gotten quote rts bashing her because she posted an outdated Pixar AI meme. But she doesn't give a shit.
She thinks because she pays my partner about $1k a month = the content is all hers. She doesn't write the scripts. She doesn't edit the videos. Yet it's HER side grind. Not her and my partner's, no. HER'S.
If the channel wasn't even a 'collaboration between siblings' like it says in the description (aka a lie), I'm sure her content will flop. Because even though she acts like she's so intelligent and she knows alll about marketing, she really doesn't. She only watches like, a few videos about marketing Youtube channels and that's it. She's made other channels but they barely gained any traction. The most she has done is advertised [certain obvious niche] which involves posting pictures. Her content isn't related to what the channel covers at all.
She just acts like she's an intellectual that's so hard for normal people to understand. But really, if she didn't invest and when her site suddenly closes payments or closes down in general, she would be screwed. She would be broke like she was in the past. She also seems to hurt the people in her life, especially her family.
People may think "but you don't know either!". Part of my degree I'm working on is focused on marketing and advertising and it teaches you to see what the people you're trying to market towards want. It also teaches you how to fix issues when you screw up. What she is doing is literally just 'I do what I want' and 'I'm going to make someone else do it for me' 'I'll only just suggest some video ideas and make then make them research it'. It's not going to make bank.
I honestly wish my partner would just make his own channel and dissociate from this 'job' his sister puts him through, especially when she's just using him as a means to fuel her sense of entitlement and ego. He wants us to get a mobile home, but I don't think he ever is with the unpredictability of Youtube and his sister only promising to pay him more once they 'get big'.
I'm more than glad I haven't barely even spoken to her and don't want to move into her house because I know I'm going to lash out at her for being such a horrible person at some point. Hell, I'm scared for the future family events I may have to go to with her as well for the same reason."
It's saddening too because like I mentioned before, his sister used to be poor. My dad also grew up poor. While I didn't mention him much, he seems the same way as every other rich people but horribly racist. He mocks black people who have to get Section 8 housing and how they 'act ghetto'.
...Just. I don't think I want to be rich. It sounds like a nightmare to become the most entitled people on Earth just because you make a lot of money.

I just finished the RBC Brooklyn Half yesterday, after a 12-week training program. I’d built up a lot of expectations for the race, for a whole host of interrelated reason (that I’ll unpack in the body of this thing); all those expectations, unfortunately, caused me to get carried away, and made my experience of the race overall 1) unenjoyable while I was running and 2) disappointing after I finished.
I’m a teacher, and I frequently relay this paraphrasing of a Confucius quote to my kids: “We can either learn how to act by imagining consequences and reflecting, which is best; or by watching others make mistakes, which is hard (though not for us). The most difficult way to learn is through experience, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.” One of my top-upvoted comments of all time is in this sub, telling people to not ruin a race for themselves by over-fixating on time-goals at the expense of enjoying their race.
And yet—

Race Information

• Name: RBC Brooklyn Half
• Date: May 18, 2024
• Distance: 13.1 mi
• Location: Brooklyn, NY
• Time: 1:38:2X

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	Sub or Equal 1:32	No
B	Sub 1:35	No
C	Finally Pace Myself Properly	No

Splits

Split	Pace	Time
5k	7:04	21:55
10k	7:20	44:42
15k	7:12	1:07:03
20k	8:23	1:33:03
Finish	7:55	1:38:2X

Background Context

I started running in Oct of ‘22, and caught the bug. I ran a half in April of ‘23 in 1:47, and loved the distance. I built base over the summer to ~30-35 mpw, and then trained for the Philly Half in Nov of ‘23. Ended up getting a 1:38:0X in that race, which was really exciting. More exciting was that I approximately even-split that race — my second half took ~30 seconds longer than the first. I left that race feeling exactly how I wanted to — like a washcloth wrung out completely. I felt like that race & time represented the absolute best of my ability, given my current level of fitness; and I felt like I tried my best the whole way through.
Last important piece of context re: diagnosing this race’s disappointment: between Oct of ‘22 and Nov ‘23 I went from ~240 lbs avg to ~195 lbs average. My lowest weight dipped to the high 180s, but I stabilized around 190 pretty quickly.

Training

I used Runna to train for Philly and really enjoyed the experience. My organizational skills are pretty lacking, and I spend 100% of them in other areas of my life — so I enjoy using an app that offloads some of that cognitive lift for me, fully worth the sub during training blocks.
As far as milage, I managed:

Week	Miles (Ran / Goal)
1	25 / 33 mi mi (missed 2 runs from travel)
2	32 / 36 mi (missed 1 run b/c travel)
3	38 /38 mi
4	12 / 20 mi (deload, missed 2 runs from illness)
5	28 / 38 mi (missed 2 runs from illness carried over from previous week)
6	40 / 40 mi
7	43 / 43 mi
8	23 / 23 mi
9	50 / 43 mi (extended 2 easy runs by ~3 miles apiece)
10	43 / 40 mi
11	29 / 35 mi (missed 1 run due to illness)
12	23 / 23 mi (including race).

As I’m sure you can already see, I missed a meaningful amount of runs due to illness/other life interruption. Concurrent with all this is the fact that my wife is due with our 2nd child in, well, like a week and a half from now; so a lot of the missed runs in weeks 1-5 also reflect a dramatic net increase in my responsibilities b/c of my wife feeling out of it / not being able to get as much done as normal (no shade at all; she’s literally building a new human that wasn’t there before). Overall I got ~92% of all milage done, running 388 miles during these 12 weeks. Mistake #1: I didn’t adjust my time goals in light of missing workouts; I figured if I just worked harder to “catch up,” I would be fine.
The plan included 2 quality sessions a week — 1 tempo run and 1 interval session, and the weekend long run frequently had pace thrown in. I vastly prefer tempo to interval running — personally, I cite being ~200 lbs as the reason. Once I get going, it’s easy to keep going, but frequent stops & starts just burn energy that I can’t afford to lose. Mistake #2: as I trained, my weight went from the high 190s to the high 200s, and I raced at ~207 lbs. I wasn’t consistent w/ nutrition during training, and the associated stress of my job, as well as parenting & chores usually handled by 2 people being done mostly by me — I often used lil’ snacks as a quick dopamine fix (adhd heads out there, you know what I’m talking about.)

Pre-Race

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to run the race in the first place — my first daughter (now 7) was born at 36 weeks, and I anticipated my second needing the same (choleostasis enjoyers, rise up). Instead, though, this baby seems primed to go the distance — so I got equal parts excited and nervous to be able to deliver on all my training.
I’d cut my time by 9 minutes from my first to the second half, and tried to be conservative in aiming to cut ~5 minutes between these cycles — so I aimed to run 7:00-7:05 for the race, dipping into the 6:55s if I felt good at the end of the race, and set my A goal for 1:32, and my B goal for 1:35. Mistake #3: I didn’t have any serious qualitative goals, and my quant goals were made too far in advance to be realistic. I also wasn’t proactive in adjusting my goals based on how training was going — despite advocating for that same thing in posts on this sub.
Man, it’s so easy to say smart things, and so hard to actually do them.
About 10 days before my race, I came down with a cough thing that sapped a bit of my energy. Kept me up at night, and sapped ~10-15% of my energy on a given day. The Wednesday before my race I asked my wife, “Do you think 3 days is enough for me to be back at 100%?” And I want to say to other runners out there: if you’re having to ask that question, go ahead and adjust your goals. We’ll tag that as Mistake #4.

The Race

Gorgeous morning. I live ~1.5 miles from the race start, so I walked over to Franklin and then jogged the remaining ~1 mile to the start as a warmup. Skipped bag dropoff for the same reason I don’t like checking bags while flying, did a quick pee (quick pee, long portapotty wait time), and went over to the corral.
My whole “thing” as a runner is that I’m deceptively fast — that is, that I’m most commonly the least-fit looking person out of the people running equivalent paces to myself. When I started running, that gave me a bit of imposter syndrome; any more, I draw on it for motivation. So as I was waiting in Corral C to start, I realized I felt a lot of pressure — to be able to deliver on being fast, to prove that I’m actually fit, whatever. No one outside of myself cares, obviously. But that’s now how this stuff works.

The First 10k — Would’ve Been Great If This Was a 10k

My pacing plan was as follows: don’t exceed 7:00 pace at any point in the first 7 miles; aim for ~7:30-7:45 going up Prospect Park’s big hill; use the downhill at 10k to catch my breath; and use the last 7 miles down Ocean Ave to winch down on speed if I was feeling good, or just hold around 7:05 if I was spent.
I was able to hit the first half of this plan pretty well, as my splits up top suggest. But I could tell, starting as I ran around GAP and into the park, that I was working too hard — the effort I was expending was too much. As I reflect on it now, I realize I was probably in ~1:35 shape (~7:15 splits); but I stubbornly refused to drop down in pace. I noticed my heart rate was in the high 170s as I ran through Prospect Park, where my HM pace usually puts me at 165 on the dot. I tried to tell myself it was race excitement + caffeine. [Arrested Development Narrator Voice: It wasn’t.]
I hit the 10k mark at 45 minutes pretty much on the dot. My 10k PR is 44:0-something. This is when I realized my pacing was probably a bit on the screwed side. I’m fairly capable with distance, and am better at medium-exertion-long-distance than I am at hard-exertion-short-distance (my 10k predicts a slightly better 5k time than I currently race). I thought to myself: “Well, you can always just drop down a bit and hold. What’s the worst that can happen?”

The Worst That Can Happen: AKA You’ll Feel Pretty Silly When You Try to Tell Your 38.5 Week Pregnant Wife That Your Last 6 Miles Were Quote “Unimaginable Suffering” And It “Felt Like It Would Never End”

I had been under the impression that Ocean Ave would be a “gentle downhill,” but had never run it prior to the race. This, dear reader, is a lie. Somehow, the last 6 miles of the race are entirely uphill; or at least, that is what it’ll feel like if you go out 5% over your current level of fitness.
The sun really started to get to me; and while I’d had water & nutrition, my gut wasn’t enjoying it, and I didn’t feel energized or like any second wind was coming. I specifically remember that Mile 9 felt like it took 20 minutes to finish; the last 5k of the race simply wouldn’t arrive.
I pulled off to the side to slow down; first to 7:30, then 7:45, then 8:00, with no respite. My legs were heavy despite feeling fueled — I was just dyin’ out there. My wife had been texting encouragement during the race, and I managed to send her back from my watch at mile 9 “all goals are now out the window,” and it was just about finishing — first, to finish without walking. But I took 2 30-second walk breaks when the fatigue felt unendurable — pulling off to the side and counting down from 30, while getting passed.
That was another feature of the race that made it so challenging — that same dynamic of “being deceptively fast” that I mentioned above came back to bite me, as I got passed continuously by people who’d raced their fitness, rather than their goals, in the first half of the race. That demoralized feeling was incredibly difficult to handle. I hadn’t, before today, understood why someone would quit a race; and now, even though I didn’t quit, I get it.
As I passed mile 11, I realized that, while my initial goal was fully out the window, I could still PB the race, even though my pace between miles 9 and 11 was more than a minute off my goal pace; I’d just need to hold approximately 8:00 pace, and I’d be right up against my prior PB. That didn’t make anything any easier, but it did make me feel like the suffering had a point.
Got an encouraging text from my wife, found some other folks at ~8:00 pace, and tried to lock into that pace next to them. And then I just sort of suffered to the finish line. I don’t know what the views looked like; I’m not sure what the race atmosphere was like. I wish I’d paced myself better so I could have experienced that fully.

Post-Race: Why Don’t They Tell You That You Have to Walk Up Stairs To Get Out of Cyclone Stadium BEFORE You Go Into the Stadium?

Got medal, got water. Drank about 5 consecutive cups of water, and then exited the boardwalk. Texted my wife that it’d been really hard but I finished, and right as I did, a critical mass of finishers arrived such that cell service got knocked out for everyone. Thus began the Long Night of The Soul for me at Cyclone stadium.
I walked in, walked around, realized there wasn’t anything I wanted to do in there, and then tried to go back out; at which point I was told “Exit is out that way,” and I said, “I can’t just go back out? I gotta go upstairs to leave, after running a race? That’s the rule?” The guy who told me didn’t deserve my sass; and I deserved to not go up stairs. Oh well.
I managed to get up the stairs without cramping up (though it was close). I went and looked out over Surf Ave, at everyone walking to and from the race, and just got to sit with my thoughts for a bit. I got myself a bit choked up & had a very dignified little cry at this realization, which I think does fully distill my feelings about the race: “I feel like I tried my hardest, but I don’t feel like I did my best.” I think that we often treat those two statements like they’re interchangeable, but there’s actually a bit of space between those ideas, and my race fell into the gap between them. I both tried very hard the entire time, but also, I could have done a better job pacing myself and picking target times. That disappointment is rough.

To Do Better Next Time

So to conclude this whole long sad love letter to learning: some takeaways, ranked from Most Transferrable (re: life skills) to Most Specific.

1. Actively listen to ya dang body, fool

Self-explanatory: by setting a goat at the outset of training, and then sort of driving toward it without respect for a lot of recently-added stressors in my life, I didn’t end up running any faster — I just made the running I did do kind of miserable. Next time I intend to use HR & Effort (together!) as a better indication of the pace my body feels comfortable running during the race. We say so much “Trust the taper,” and I think here I’d benefit from reminding myself, “… buuuut the taper doesn’t make impossible things possible.”

1. Don’t invest so heavily in the quant goal

I got very invested in how proud I would be if I managed to achieve the goal, and that forward-projecting is part of what caused me to overshoot the goal in the first place. Next time around I want to have a process goal to the tune of “Enjoy the race while trying to wring out your body like a washcloth.” Or something; I have time to plan.

1. Lose 15-20 pounds.

I’m 5’9; I’m strong and I’m heavy. My running has kind of been those two vectors pointing against each other the whole time. But I think I’m at the point where, if I want to be able to sustain 7:00 speeds for more than a 10k, I need to lose some of the excess weight I’m holding onto. I could also do strength training, but I’ve got a baby on the way; heart tells me that getting 7-10% lighter will be a lot easier than getting 7-10% stronger.
So that was training, goals, and next steps. Hopefully, by seeing my mistakes, you’ll be able to avoid them yourself in the future. Hopefully!
Made with a new race report generator created by herumph.

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.

I know it is not probably not legal what my boss (a woman) is doing, but it was a temporary assignment for 6 weeks. I had been there for four weeks and today she came to me, upset and frustrated because obviously I had done something wrong again, and she told me, she wants me to go as soon as possible and she will pay for my ticket. Just out of nowhere as I was doing my job. I managed to to remain calm and polite but it had been so hard with her: One time she told me she was disappointed that she had hired me, because she overestimated my capabilities. I felt so bad and terrible, and talked to my boyfriend who was my support and told me I had not lied nor said anything wrong and that I can offer to resign as soon as possible because obviously, who would want to work with someone who doesnt appreciate your work? And she never apologised but just told me to stay, and that she should have asked more questions before she hired me to see whether I was suitable or not. She gets tired and frustrated when she has to explain me things and although we are working together, she puts all the responsibility on me (there is no such thing as ´working together´or teamwork) when things go wrong, she openly shows me her disapproval, that things had gone wrong because of my fault. I kept getting demotivated and honestly, in a way, I am glad she sacked me because I already suffered and started doing things worse because I was scared of doing things wrong and stressed out. I am trying my best not to cry, at least while I am here. It is only thanks to my boyfriends reassurance that her attitude does not affect me as much, feeding into my already existing doubts that I am never enough, not good enough. Without his support, I would have felt terribly about myself. I want to say I hate her, but maybe thats too strong of a negative feeling towards someone. I am glad I am leaving. I will have to stay strong and professional until I am gone, and then I will cry because it hurts how she has been treating me, never telling me Ive done anything well or appreciating my effort, only looking at the negative things. I dont think I was such a bad person at this job and if I had done mistakes, I could see that it was also due to the stress and demotivation I tried to fight against and because she never explained to me things (because according to her, I should know these things already - even if I am new to this job!). Right now, I am hurt an1d I will do some self-care and a small love letter to myself. I am proud of myself that I have not end up in tears in front of her or anyone in her family. I am proud that I dont believe in her belief that I am worthless. I will leave with my head high and without any shame or guilt, which would only confirm to her that I have done wrong and she has done right. I would like a hug because I am trying so hard right now not to let her constant negativity let me down...

The barbarian tribes colloquially referred to as the “Bloodtoil Pack” are not recognized by the Elder Council as a legitimate nation-state or political body. Their ways are bloody and primitive; intentionally so, as they believe civilization a corrupting influence. You will find no embassy or consulate from the Potentate there. The only trade they do is with the Mother Navigators, who still command respect from the Khajiit of that region, and the Minotaur colonists who have brought their Colovian values with them. Nevertheless, since the Treaty of Xylo in 4E 344, they have been recognized by their northern neighbors in the Imperium of Sunnamora and thus remain both politically and economically relevant. Therefore this section of the Guide has been compiled from the letters of diplomats, missionaries, merchants, mercenaries, and anthropologists who have risked life and limb among these peoples.
The capital “city” of Bloodtoil Valley is where representatives of the tribes, known as the Chorus, gather to confer with the High Prophet of the Green about matters both political and spiritual. Lest this hint of civilization fool you, dear reader, may we clarify that this tribal council rarely passes anything resembling “legislation,” and instead exists merely to maintain peace between the ever-violent tribes and discuss dealings with foreigners. The Temple of Bloodtoil itself is an eclectic structure converted from an old Wood Orc stronghold, and the High Prophet of the Green spends much of their time inside “meditating upon the Now.” Once a season (the locals count time in rainy seasons and dry seasons, not years), the High Prophet makes a pilgrimage to Deepwoods to confer with the Green Lady, who is supposedly the “true” spiritual leader of Bloodtoil, though no one except the High Prophet and their inner council has seen her in over a century.
The other spiritual center of Bloodtoil is Elden Root to the south. The Bosmer have regrown the ancient Graht-Oak city since the great calamities of the Second Great War, but how it has already reached the size of the old Elden Root is anyone’s guess. The Bosmer here are bizarre and inbred; some covered in fur with jutting boar tusks, others wearing beards of moss, others still with insectoid eyes and antenna, and more variation than can be described. The natives claim their appearance is a “gift” from the Green. The more logical explanation is that their isolation from the rest of the world and their mating with Beastfolk have brought about such deformities.
Moonmont on the eastern border with Pelletine is the primary Khajiiti settlement. Built up by the comings-and-goings of the Mother Navigators, a visitor could almost forget they are in Bloodtoil and not one of the former Elsweyr states. The Green Prophecy does have some purchase there, namely in the “part of the Green that chooses to be Khenarthi.” The clan mother of the settlement sends a representative to Bloodtoil Valley, but her true power lies in the moon sugar. Many Greenists believe the sugar can be used to make contact with the Spirit of the Now, and her economic power is dominant.
Verrant Morass is the closest thing the Imga have to a settlement. Made up of tree houses and stone huts, they are led directly by a Green Prophet. Indeed, the Imga are the most enthusiastic supporters of the Green Prophecy, and make up the plurality of Green Prophets. Some may see connections to the Prophet Marukh, but that particular Saint is largely despised by his own people. To the Imga of Bloodtoil he represents the obsession with civilization which had kept the Imga subservient to the Aldmeri for so long. Now they despise all things civilized, fixed religious codes most of all. They insist the Green cannot be understood with words or thoughts, only by some mystical “contact with the Now.”
Other peoples also populate Bloodtoil. Barkbite remains a Wood Orc stronghold, and Harpies nest among the trees across the region. The river banks and shorelines are populated with Lamiae, while centaurs and faun roam the Tarlain Heights.
The most recent addition to the Pack are the most controversial. Tired of the constant Bjoulsean raids in Colovia, a few Minotaur clans immigrated to Bloodtoil and rebuilt the city of Marbruk. They brought the Cyrodiilic values of free trade and enterprise with them, practice an elective monarchy in the Cyro-Nordic style, and most horrifyingly of all - especially to the Bosmer and Imga - was their choice to chop down trees and irrigate farms. This resulted in a month of tribal skirmishes in the central jungle until the High Prophet intervened. Part of the truce involved the Minotaurs recognizing the Heavanly Bull, the Storm, and Shezarr as aspects of the Green. Alessia worship, associated as it is with hated Marukh, is heavily discouraged. More economically relevant, the Minotaurs were heavily limited in their lumber and agricultural practices. At the moment, the East Empire Company’s friends in the Tamrielic Bank of Z’en are offering generous loans to help the Minotaurs develop their colony.
In times of war, their armies are generally a motley affair, albeit a terrifying one. Imga “Green Knights” welding bone-lances charge atop their Senche friend-mounts, backed by centaurs and satyrs. Harpies and Goblins riding hippogriffs act as the “army of the air.” Bosmer Stags of Z’en act as spies and assassins. Lamiae drag foes beneath the watery depths, as spriggan mothers turn the trees and soil against invaders. Needless to say, reader, travel in this wildland at your own peril.
_____
I was only in Bloodtoil for a short time. Met some Wood Orcs and Lamias at Haven. They were suspicious of outsiders, and made it clear our ship would be moving along soon. I don't think they were the violent brutes the Company would have you believe, but it is true that they prefer to be left alone. And hopefully it goes without saying those "loans" are anything but generous.

For context I was born and raised in the continental West-Europe, 27M, ex-Muslim atheist since around 21-22 (though questioning for years before), gay, of Arab descent, all of my friends are Muslims with varying degrees of faith/practice, family's obviously Muslim, not financially dependent on family (live alone on social security)
I'll try to keep this short cause my life's complicated even beyond this issue for a variety of complex intertwined reasons. A medical/psychiatric/psycho-social/economic/cultural/academic mess. I'll focus on the issue of the title for this post to keep things simple.
Anyway, my friends and family say they love me and are there for me. My brain can't help but go "would they be there for me if they knew I was an atheist gay man? Ofc they wouldn't. They don't love the real me, they only love the fake version they see".
The solution seems easy, I don't depend on them, so I should just tell them to fuck off and live my life as my "authentic" self !
But I genuinely love them. I can't imagine a life where they hate me. On some level I'd rather them love the fake me than hate the real me.
I can't imagine a life where I never again get to hug my dear mother. I have tears in my eyes just writing this. It'd hurt me like nothing else. I'd rather be unhappy in her arms than unhappy alone. I can't just give up on her. I don't want her to live in pain because of what her religion has taught her to fear and hate about the real me. I can't expect her to understand. It's too late for that.
I'm afraid of being alone overnight. No social support network. Nothing. They're all my only connexion to the outside world really.
But at the same time, how long can I keep up this charade ? How long can I be expected to live in fear, shame, guilt, self-hate etc. ? How long will I be able to lie ? How long can I be a spectator in my own life living in fear of everyone else's judgment falling on me one day? How can I imagine a future in these conditions ?
I hate that these are the cards I've been dealt. I've never asked to be born yet here I am.
I feel so lonely and vulnerable rn.
Sometimes I'll be with friends or family and I get this inner urge to scream the Truth just to get it over with, but then I'm reminded of what might happen and I just cower in fear.
I wish I could be as brave as the public ex-Muslims all over the world and "live in my truth", but I can't. I'd lose everyone I love and hold dear.
I'm tired of this. I wish I could find my tribe , I wish we could find each other more easily instead of having to hide. At least I'd know I have people I could safe being myself around. That'd be a nice break from my reality. I don't think it'll ever happen.
All of this hurts so much.
Thanks for reading if you did.
Btw I'm sorry to ex-Muslims and LGBT folks in Muslim countries. I know my post must sound so privileged. I don't mean to diminish your struggles, at all.

When you wanted me to go on one last camping trip to try to change my mind, I didn’t go. Sometimes I feel torn about not going. Part of me was afraid at the time I’d fall back on my decision to leave. Part of me now just wishes I went. But when I think about the last camping trip we had, I think it’s for the best.
.......
I left work early that Friday so we could take off camping with your friends that weekend. We had to stop by and get some supplies at Walmart on the way. We were walking through walmart and I was having so much fun just being present and enjoying the moment because we were about to have a great weekend trip camping and I was so excited. In my bubbly excitement, I started lightheartedly making jokes and pointing at random objects, saying how this hatchet would make a great addition to our home, etc. You were distracted, with your mind elsewhere, thinking about what we actually needed. You half ignored me/half acknowledged me, in short responses “Oh that’s nice” “Yea that’s cool. Can we get back on track” And when I asked if we could get a veggie burger you told me no harshly and scolded me because you were trying to shop on a budget. The instant dismissal and tone in which you snapped hurt. In my defiance, I said “ Fine I’ll just get it myself so you don’t have to pay for it,” and You said “Fine whatever.” as you turned to keep walking with the cart. Several minutes later, we were in another aisle. I don’t remember what it was that I had pointed at again or asked if we could get. I just remember, you finally lost it with me. You lashed out at me, clearly fed up and pissed, raising your voice to berate me. “Can you SHUT UP and stop pointing at every little fucking thing in the store? Are you trying to annoy me?! I’m in a fucking rush here and I am trying to stay on track so we can get out to the camping site. Just. fucking. Stop.” you couldn’t deal with me. Me, who was just being myself. But to you, it felt like everything I was doing, everything I was saying was on purpose just to annoy you, just to get in your way.
The way you scolded me in public and told me to stop talking entirely just put an instant damper on my cheery mood. In that moment, for me, I was stunned. And I think that’s part of what hurt so much. Just the fact that you could lash out at me in that way, out of the blue. The fact that me being myself, just speaking my mind could make you so angry. The fact that you could, in an instant, be so cruel and uncaring, and speak to me with that tone. That tone that said you hated me, couldn’t stand me, like I was just a buzzing fly you could smack down at any given moment. Wondering why you even invited me if I annoy you so much. Wondering why you’re even with me if me just being myself makes you so angry. Wondering if I should have just been silent the whole time, so as not to trigger you because I didn’t know how to speak without enraging you.. It was just so clear to me in that moment, how little you respected me. And that hurt. Because the whole time, I just wanted your attention, I was trying to connect with you in my own way, trying to have fun and enjoy the moment because I loved you. But you didn’t even want to see me. And just me making attempts at light hearted banter was enough to send you into rage. Because that’s how little you wanted to do with me, that’s how little I meant to you. And I wasn’t even thinking these thoughts, it was an understanding that came to me in a feeling of hurt in a split second. It was understood through the tone of your voice, that threatening contemptuous tone. It was understood through the look in your eyes, warning me.
Immediately, I got quiet standing there with a feeling of whiplash, stunned by how suddenly you snapped and in an instant, I started crying. Tears welled up in my eyes of their own volition before I could even fully process. They say tears are often an unconscious defense mechanism, to let our caregivers know that this person needs to be cared for because they are hurt. But for some reason, whenever I cried, it always had the opposite impact on you.
When you noticed the tears forming, you looked at me with such intense disbelief and rage. With one look, a look I was well familiar with, you sent me into a terrified panic because I knew with that look that I was in trouble for daring to cry, that I had fucked up by showing my hurt, and that you were angrier for it. You rolled your eyes in such exasperation, like you really couldn’t deal with my audacity to dare tear up, and you exclaimed “ Oh my GAWWWD” while simultaneously turning away from me. I quickly tried to apologize and wipe my eyes “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to” You had already just walked off. I stood there a moment, trying to compose myself, before following after you. I looked around, expecting you to be close by but you had walked way across the store and were standing in the checkout line. You were silent when I came up, you didn’t even acknowledge me, and I looked up at you, watching you quietly seethe. Everything about your demeanor said that I had fucked up. Without looking at me, you leaned in close and said in a hushed warning voice “You better stop fucking crying right now,” like I was a child throwing a tantrum in the store. I responded emotionally, “I’m sorry” once more, as I wiped my eyes. I kept my head down, and made myself quiet and small, embarrassed that people could see. Red eyed, barely holding back tears, willing myself not to cry, we checked out one by one. Numb, I started silently scanning the veggie burgers you had tried to stop me from buying earlier, along with half of everything else. An older female Walmart employee walked by, and I ducked my head down to avoid eye contact, embarrassed she might be able to tell. I paid, and you silently checked out as well.
Later in the car, You went off on me, saying I shouldn't ever cry in public because someone might think you hit me and call the cops. You were more concerned with the way I made you look in public (which is why you walked away from me), then the fact that I was hurt, crying, and clearly upset. There was no apology, no admittance of being in the wrong. And I was just thinking that if you had shown any kind of empathy and acted like you gave a shit, asked me what's wrong or if i'm okay, put a hand on my shoulder, then no one would think you beat me. I said as much, and you said “Okay.” There was no “I’m sorry.” no “I was wrong.” Just okay, and silence.
As soon as we arrived at the site, and we unloaded our stuff, I went to grab a drink from the cooler, one that had been in the freezer at our house frozen solid, which had been sitting in the car for last couple hours In a bag of ice in The cooler, and I asked you as I grabbed it “Do you think it's thawed now?” thinking out loud.
And you just looked at me all incredulously as if you were amazed that I could say something so patently ridiculous and said “Thats the dumbest fucking question, why would you even ask that or think that it would still be frozen? Of course it's thawed. Are you an idiot?” You shook your head like you were disappointed I’d be so stupid. like it was so obvious and I was just this huge idiot for even having that passing thought let alone daring to share. You said it loud enough that I worried some of the other couples around us heard and I just remember feeling so hurt, so small, and stupid, on top of being embarrassed and ashamed. I felt so small, so disrespected, so dismissed, so ridiculed, and it hurt because it was coming from the one person I cared about. Instantly, I just got quiet, and sad. The way you could belittle me so easily and at a whim at any given moment, no matter what I said. Wondering why I even bother to speak with you at all. To ever ask you anything. To ever even speak out loud. I did my best to shove down my hurt feelings, to not let it show, and to carry on socializing with your friends. Because you had trained me well not to show that in front of other people, and I figured it wouldn’t go well having a meltdown in front of your friends.
And I remember during the evening by the campfire, I stayed up and listened to you and Joey speak. I was in the background, not saying anything, Just listening. And I remember having a lot of thoughts about the topics you were speaking about. But I didn’t say a word. The whole time. Because I just figured that was what you wanted from me. To be quiet. To not say anything stupid. To not piss you off. Because it was so clear to me how stupid and uninteresting my thoughts were to you. And I knew it was not safe to have a dissenting opinion during banter with you. It wasn’t like you ever even made an effort to include me in the conversation, to ask me what I thought anyway. And I figured it wasn’t even worth the risk to say the wrong thing. After Joey eventually went to bed, you tried to talk to me. And I was just kind of quiet, defeated, tired, unresponsive. You asked me “Why don’t you say anything.” I told you I was just tired. But the truth was I was upset, I was doing my best to bury my feelings, to not talk about it, because I knew you didn’t like it when I showed that I was upset. It’s hard to want to have a conversation with someone who will randomly punish you for saying the wrong thing. And I was terrified of doing that again. Like the way you punished me was infrequent, but frequent enough, where I never knew if I was going to trigger a bad response again.And I had no idea how to not say something you would find stupid, because everytime I triggered you, I was just being myself. So then I was left feeling like I couldn’t speak my mind or say anything at all because I could step on a land mine at any given moment.
Later that night as I drifted to sleep, I started wondering if you got that new air mattress and tent from your camping trip with Josie. The one you lied to me about. And I wondered if she slept on this mattress with you back then, in the same tent.
Throughout the weekend, this dynamic continued and colored the rest of the trip, which for that reason ended up being not as great as I had thought it would be. Any fun and casual conversation I was having would be immediately ruined by you calling me an idiot who didn't know what I was talking about. It really hurt every time and it was like you didn't even realize you were doing it. That cruelty, that belittling, that contempt, it just came so naturally to you.
And then there was the whole incident with the cave conversation. When I finally decided to join in the conversation between you and Joey’s kid nephew talking about the cave system. And I asked apparently a stupid question. And the way that you belittled me so callously and cruelly right infront of that kid. That shit hurt. And he was just watching us, looking back and forth. And I remember turning away and discontinuing engaging in the conversation because I couldn’t get into it with you then. I just sat there, in the lawn chair, willing myself not to cry, while I thought about how depressed and lonely I was. I started talking to Joey’s sweet little niece who came up and started showing me pictures, and I just nodded and smiled, talking to her while half out of it, just trying to hold back my tears. And honestly, I had a better conversation with her than I had with you the entire trip. They say kids can be cruel because they are socially inept, but those kids were so much nicer than you..
Later you were so convinced you were in the right you said “Even the kid was looking at you like you were stupid because you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about because you weren’t in the cave” And Im just thinking this has nothing to do with me not understanding caves and everything to do with your cruelty and the way you constantly put me down like its second fucking nature. But you couldn’t understand that. You were so convinced you were right, and I was wrong.
And towards the end I stopped engaging in conversation all together if you were present because I didn't want to be punished for saying the wrong thing. And I just remember thinking how sad it was that your friends spoke to me with more respect than my own boyfriend and I started wondering why I ever even agreed to go on this trip in the first place.
And you wonder why i didn’t want to go camping with you again after the last time.

anyone who attempted recovery/recovered before reaching their ugw? i’m trying to make the decision to recover. (20F) i hate how awful and negative of a person my ED has made me, and how much it amplifies my mental health struggles. not to mention the GI issues that i’m convinced i’ve given myself. i really want to make friends and start living life, one that isn’t controlled by an eating disorder. i hate how much ive missed out on. i’m so tired of being sick and isolating and lying to the people i love about it. but the ED voice in my head is saying “you’re so close to your ugw, why would you stop now? if you recover now then all the suffering was for nothing.” this specific thought is the one really stopping me from allowing myself to recover, even though in my heart i want to be happy so badly. i genuinely hate living my life this way but i feel so ashamed and invalid to recover before even feeling “sick enough”. im scared that i wont be able to make a full recovery because i will always mourn the body i never got to have. has anyone else had a similar experience that they would be open to sharing? or advice to give? i would appreciate it so much 🩷🩷🩷🩷🫶

11/20/2017
Log book of Det. Ryan Snow
Case #2798: The Appalachian Murders
The past couple of days are events I pray no one else ever has to go through what Kate and I had. I had her and Mr. Raines cleared of all charges, having found the proof we all needed to end this case and find the true killer. Kate no longer has to go into witness protection and I had given the police a good enough lie to keep myself from looking insane in the eyes of my co-workers. I know no one will ever know the true story or believe it, but I’m writing it out here. It at least needs to be known written somewhere. Even if my and Kate’s eyes are the only ones that will ever read it written out and forever imprinted in our memories.
The morning Kate had run off to the mountains on her own, I had made my way to the Blackwell home where I was immediately met with Mr. Blackwell charging at me and wrapping his large hands around my neck. He was shaking me and blaming me for getting his daughter killed and not doing more to keep her safe. The police who had been called to examine the scene and read Kate’s letter had to sedate Mr. Blackwell to get him off of me, lying him down on the couch, his head resting on Mrs. Blackwell’s legs. Though the woman was distraught and begging the police to bring her daughter back, she still took the time to shoot that cold, death glare my way. The ice in my chest growing. I couldn’t tell these people that this thing had come after me to get to Kate. I knew it wouldn’t change anything. If anything they’d hate me even more for keeping it to myself.
The sheriff was there and he pulled me away from eye sight of the Blackwells, trying to tell me that this wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t help but blame myself. I should have done everything I could to keep Kate as far from those mountains as possible.
There were no signs of a struggle in Kate’s room and the letter was definitely written in her hand writing. Her father’s rifle missing from the study, a backpack and some food and supplies gone as well. She had only grabbed one set of clothes from her drawers, showing she did indeed have plans on returning after only one night in the mountains to confront whoever or whatever the killer was.
I told the sheriff to keep any police from going up to the mountains without first allowing me to go up there first to find Kate. He of course argued, telling me that he couldn’t break protocol based on any hunches I may have had. However, I told him that I could get Kate back without her putting up much of a fight, whereas she may struggle with a group of cops who didn’t understand the situation she was in. I was close enough to this case to have built a trust with her after all. I was mentioned in her letter about ending this case for me.
It took a good hour to get the sheriff to eye the Blackwells, Mr. Blackwell beginning to stir from his sleep, and allow me to go to the mountains to find Kate. He didn’t bother to call off the search to the police that had already begun making their way to the mountains, but did radio to tell them to not try getting Kate home without first allowing me to speak to her. He then gave me twenty-four hours to find her to which I told him I’d only need at most ten.
Without telling him about the disturbing scratches on my car, I sped to the mountains, taking the same path Kate had that day she took her friends on their trip. The route, as the sun began to rise was scenic. A drive that may have been a sign of a bright future ahead with a beautiful week in the mountains of nothing but nature, was now a reddening sky of horror. I couldn’t understand how Kate felt, going down the same roads that led to her only friends’ fates to avenge them, but the feeling of guilt did weigh heavy on my chest as I saw the signs of the Appalachian Mountain trails grow bigger on the horizon. Guilt for not doing more to prove Kate was innocent, for allowing Mrs. Mayfield for getting killed right before my very eyes, and for Liam for not being lucky enough to save him.
When I finally arrived to the cabin, there didn’t seem to be any change since the first day I was called to the crime scene, the only thing out of place being Mr. Blackwell’s truck parked precariously near the cabin. The police tape was still up, the cars of Kate and Mr. Woolfe still left where they were, the tires still slashed, the door wide open from when Kate, Ms. Greymoore, and Mr. Woolfe ran out of the cabin upon Mr. Billings was killed by an unknown force. All the bodies had been found and were now being prepared by their families to be buried or cremated. Only one body of the five still roaming around to avenge each and every one of their deaths.
I called out for Kate as I made my way into the cabin. The Ouija board was still on the coffee table, the white line of where Mr. Billings had been found lying face first on the floor with his head bashed open remained on the spot. The planchette was still missing. I kept calling out for Kate as I made my way up to the attic, the door left unlocked, using my flashlight to shine down on the white outline where Mr. Steele had been found completely torn apart. To think Kate had done such a thing, I now realize made me look like a complete dumb ass for believing it.
When I couldn’t find Kate in the cabin, I made my way out the cabin, still calling for her. I called out to her, promising that she just needed to come back home with me and we could solve the murders together. I knew it was a lie and that the sheriff would immediately have her take away to some secluded place where the killer couldn’t find her, but it was all I could think of to try luring her out to meet me. Still, she never appeared.
The sun was soon beginning to set as I tried retracing the very steps Kate and Ms. Greymoore had taken to outrun the killer. I had passed the small shrine of flowers and the pictures of Mr. Woolfe where the boy had been found, his face permanently remaining nineteen forever in the photos of him with Kate and their friends. I kept going, trying my best to follow the same path to the cliff where Ms. Greymoore was found, calling for Kate along the way.
It wasn’t until I found the place Kate had buried her best friend that I found Kate. She was on her knees before the rock where she left her bloody handprint, sniffing as her head was lowered, her dad’s rifle in her hands.
“Ms. Blackwell-“ I began as I took a step toward her. I was immediately cut off as Kate jumped to her feet, raising her father’s rifle at my head. I jolted back, raising my hands up to show her I meant no harm to her. “Ms. Blackwell, it’s me, Det. Snow!”
“Detective…?” She gasped, slightly lowering the rifle, but keeping it on me. “P-Prove it!”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I… I thought I saw Sonja…” Kate breathed between tears, the rifle shaking in her hands, “it… It was wearing her face… It had her voice… How… H-How do I know you’re really Det. Snow?”
“You… Saw Sonja?” I asked as gently as I could with a terrified woman pointing a gun my way. “She spoke to you?”
“Prove you’re Det. Snow!” Kate demanded as she stilled her arms, readying the rifle as she pointed straight between my eyes.
“Alright! Alright!” I kept my hands up, backing up slightly as I tried thinking of how I could prove to her I was really me. “I… I, ah… I have… Had a brother… We went to get ice cream together once and… I dropped a dime and went to grab it… I was five… I followed it out to the road and despite how trafficked it was, I didn’t get hit. I grabbed the dime just as a truck was speeding my way and it swerved just before hitting me… Seeing how close I was to death, I dropped the dime and it rolled into the sewer. My brother called me Lucky Dime since then… Saying the dime was lost to me because it did its job in protecting me… I haven’t seen my brother since I was seven and I haven’t spoken to my parents in…” I looked at my watch. “Five years… No one else calls me Lucky Dime… Not even the people at the station know that was my nickname.”
With this, Kate lowered the rifle, her eyes softening from her furious fear to a more melancholy terror. She looked to Ms. Greymoore’s grave marker, her hand print just barely visible In the approaching darkness.
“It… It looked just… Like her…” She sniffed, “it had her voice… Why did it have her voice… Why did it look like her…?”
“Ms. Blackwell,” I soothed, relaxing now that there was no weapon in my face, “we need to head back, your parents are worried about you and the police are looking for-“
“I can’t go back yet!” She snapped at me as she spun to look at me, tears in her eyes. “That thing is still out there and will kill again unless I end it!” She held up her dad’s rifle as if to show me how she meant to “end it.” “I’m not leaving until I end that… Thing that had the balls to wear Sonja’s face and have her voice!”
“Ms. Blackwell, we will catch the killer, I promise, but right now, we need to get you home before your dad ends up killing a police officer for keeping him from looking for you.”
“I told him in my letter I’d be back tomorrow! I’m twenty-years-old, he can’t force me back home if I don’t want to! I just want to stop this thing before it-“
A howling in the distance cut Kate off. Coyote from what I could hear. If I couldn’t get Kate home, I’d have to get her somewhere safe. I turned to begin talking her down and taking her to one of the other two cabins for shelter. However, when I looked back at her, her face had turned to a bone chilling terror I’d never seen on a person before. She looked like hunted prey that had been found by its predator. She gripped her dad’s rifle to her chest tightly, her hand reaching for the trigger.
“Ms. Blackwell, it’s just a pack of coyote,” I tried telling her calmly, “let’s get to one of the other cabins and-“
“No, no, no,” She stopped me as she stepped back, looking around for where the howling was coming from, “I… Heard that same howling just before I saw Sonja! I thought it was far away, but she… She was right in front of me… She… Something was off, but it looked just like her!”
“Ms. Blackwell, you didn’t see Sonja,” I assured her, “I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t-“
“Lucky… Dime…”
I froze. My blood turned to ice. The fear on Kate’s face grew as she began backing away, her back hitting the grave marker. I spun around to see a figure in the darkness limp toward us, a scratched and garbled familiar voice coming from it.
“Lucky… Dime…” It wheezed, “You brought her… Back… Give her… To me…”
I whipped out my gun, pointing it at this thing that had his voice. I stepped back to stand directly between this thing and Kate.
“Stay back!” I demanded. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Lucky… Di-“
“Shut up! Stop calling me that! Who are you? Not another step or I’ll shoot!”
The thing stopped limping toward us, its body shuddering in place as it stared us down. I took the safety off of my Glock, ready to blow this thing’s head off if it got any closer or even dared using that voice on me again.
“Kate…” It turned its attention to Kate, a completely different voice coming from it, another male’s voice. “Kate… I’m cold…”
“J-Jasper…” Kate began to sob, “Please, stop using their voices… Please stop!”
“Kate… Kate why did… Did you leave me…?” Another male voice asked. “I… I was in so much… Pain…”
“Shut up!” Kate cried out.
“I thought we… Were friends… Kate…” A female voice. “You said you… Loved me… Why won’t… You let me have… Your warmth…?”
“I said shut up!” Kate screamed as she pointed her rifle and shooting at the creature. She had missed, but the thing still let out an ear piercing shriek as it dodged out of the way of the bullets Kate was shooting. It ran off into the darkness, but Kate kept pulling the trigger of her rifle.
“Stop!” I shouted as I snatched the barrel of her rifle, shoving it to the ground before us. “It’s gone, you scared it off, get to the cabins, I’m right here with you!”
I began shoving Kate back toward where the cabins were, the sounds of that thing screaming out in a symphony of different voices ringing out throughout the woods. I shoved Kate into the first cabin we had arrived to, Cabin #1 I could only assume as I slammed the door shut behind us. It smelled God awful, like the smell of the corpse I found on my first murder case, and it was getting darker as the sun began to sink behind the trees outside.
“Detective, it smell terrible in here!” Kate cried out, covering her mouth and nose, but the tears still falling from her eyes were still visible as they rolled down her cheeks.
I pulled her close and kept her behind me as I took my gun and flashlight out. “Stay close to me,” I ordered, leading the way through the cabin, “do not run off or use that rifle without may say so, understood?”
Kate didn’t answer, but I could feel the heat from her body following after me as I made my toward the smell. It was getting worse as we inched closer to a closet door in a hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen. The door was locked, but after a couple of kicks I was able to get the door to swing open, the smell blasting us in our faces making us gag and nearly throw up on the floor. I fumbled around the sides inside the room to find a light switch that I was able to find to the side of the entryway. A yellow light flickered on, revealing the door led to a staircase. I led the way down the creaking steps, Kate close by as she kept her mouth covered with her shirt.
Once we had made our way to the bottom, Kate dropped her dad’s rifle and let out a scream as we stared at what was waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. In a large pile at the corner of this basement room were nothing but skin and bones of humans and animals covered in maggots and flies. Some of the human bodies being small and child-like in size. The missing people who were never found after vanishing when they came to Cabin #2.
I grabbed Kate’s rifle off the floor and began pushing her back up the stairs, her screaming and sobbing all the way back up to the cabin. I slammed the door shut behind us and pushed Kate to the front door.
“We need to leave,” I had told her, trying to calm her down as we made it outside, “we need to get you home and away from here as soon as possible.”
“N-No… No!” She began fighting me, trying to escape my grasp on her. “No! That… That thing is still out there! You saw it! You can’t say you don’t believe me now! It even called you Lucky Dime! It said you brought me back!”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you!” I shot back. “I do, I saw exactly what you saw, but it’s way too dangerous for you to be out here while you’re the one it’s after!”
“I escaped it once, I can do it again!” Kate pointed out as she struggled against me while I tried getting her into my car. “I’m not running away this time, I want to kill it!”
“God damn it, Blackwell, we’ll let the police handle it! Just because you have a weapon doesn’t make you safe or ready to handle something like… Like that… That thing!”
“It killed my friends! It wants me! I’m going straight to it so I can blow its head off! It’ll come right for me!”
“I came here to bring you back home, not let you accomplish some stupid ass revenge plot! Get in the fucking car, unless you want to end up like those bodies down that-“
“D… De… Detect… Detective…”
A scratched and moaning voice cut me off. Kate and I both froze at the sound of something approaching. I turned to see a police officer stagger toward us from the tree line. I could barely tell who he was or who he used to be, his head held low and blue uniform covered in blood.
“H… Hel… Hel… Help… Help me…" It croaked as it stumbled closer.
I held up Kate's rifle. "Stay back!" I barked. "Not another step!"
The thing that stood before us wearing the cop like a full-bodied suit stopped in place. It swayed where it stood, blood water falling from its head and down to its chest.
"It… It… It's inside… Inside me…" It breathed painfully. "I… I can't… Help… Me…" Its voice then changed to that familiar voice that made my skin crawl. "Lucky… Dime… I… I'm so… Hungry… Give her… To… Me…"
I pulled the trigger of the rifle, hitting the creature in the head, the rest of it staggering backward from the blow. Still though, it remained on its feet, turning itself to look toward us once again.
"Give… Her… To… Me…" It wheeze, blood and brain pouring from where I had shot it, it beginning to stumble toward us once again. I continued shooting, hitting it in the shoulder, the arm, the leg, the head again, but it just kept coming toward us faster, demanding I give Kate to it.
I was about ready to ram it with the rifle, having run out of bullets, when a voice off in the distance made the creature freeze just an inch before us.
"I'm here! I'm here!" It called out in an almost sing-songy way, using the voice of a little girl. "I'm here! I'm here!"
"I'm… Here…" The creature repeated as it jerked its body to look to where the voice was coming from. "I'm here… I'm here… I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!" It began shrieking in a high pitch wail. It sounded like a mixture of different voices ranging from child, to woman, to man. Keeping flat on its feet, its upper body fell forward onto its hands before speedily crawling off like a spider.
We stood in shaking silence for a moment, Kate digging her fingers into my arm while I was too numb from shock to care about the pain she was unknowingly inflicting. It wasn’t until the radio from my car buzzed to life that jolted us back to whatever reality was at this point. I scrambled to the driver’s side, swinging the door open as I fell inside to grab the intercom to respond to the voice yelling for me over the receiver.
“Det. Snow, what the hell is going on up there?” The sheriff’s scratched voice called out over the receiver when I could barely get my name out of my mouth.
“Sh-Sh-Sheriff…?” Was all I could respond with, still trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen.
“Y-Y-Yeah,” he responded in mock shudder, “what the hell is going on up there? I’ve tried radioing every man I’ve got up there and am constantly being left on red! Do I need to send back-up?”
“No!” Immediately, I returned to full reality, finally understanding the severity of the moment and putting that knowledge into my tone. “Landon, do not send any more men up here, call everyone back immediately! I don’t know what this thing is, but it’s too dangerous! Call everyone back, we’re heading back to the Blackwell house now!”
“We?” The sheriff questioned, skepticism in his voice.
“I found Ms. Blackwell, she’s here with me.”
I was met with statice before the voice of Mr. Blackwell blasted over the intercom.
“Bring my daughter home, right now, you son of a bitch!” Mr. Blackwell demanded. “You bring her home this instant before I decide to kick your teeth in!”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the radio was snatched from my hand from Kate. “I’m not coming home until I kill this thing!” She snapped into the radio. “I don’t know what it is, but I at least know I’m not crazy and that it needs to die before it kills anyone else!”
I grabbed the radio from Kate’s hand, beginning to tell her off when a agonized scream erupted from the intercom. I dropped the radio to cover my ears as Kate did, the scream piercing from my car to throughout the forest around us. The voice screaming and crying for help sounded male and it seemed to echo all around us.
“GIVE HER TO ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” A mix of the screaming voice and Mr. Blackwell’s hissed out after a good five minutes of screaming before the radio short-circuited and puffs of smoke flowed out.
After allowing my ears to adjust to the sudden silence, I grabbed the radio once again and tried calling for the sheriff, for the cops with us in the mountains, for anyone. When I was met with more silence, I slammed the radio back down on the holder and cursed loudly, hitting the wheel as if it were the source of all my problems.
After a moment to take some deep breaths, I told Kate to get in the car as I placed her rifle in the back seat.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she shot back. “I’m not-“
“Damn it, Blackwell, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, it can mimic peoples’ voices, and it just ran off like a fucking black widow!” I snapped, stepping out of the driver’s seat to glare down at her. “The last thing I’m doing to leaving you here alone and I’m not staying here another second until I can wrap my head around what the fuck I just saw! So, you either get yourself killed out here while I try talking you down this hero complex high, or you’re going to do what I say and get in the damn car!”
We stood in heated silence, glaring each other down before Kate huffed and stormed over to the passenger side of my car and slamming the door shut as she climbed in. I jumped in after her and began driving away from this nutty nightmare I had found myself in.
We drove down the trail back to civilization in silence, Kate staring out the window and trying to keep her tearful sniffs quiet. I had finally begun calming down and was starting to feel bad for snapping at her. She had only gone there to avenge her friends by killing that thing that had most likely killed a whole bunch of cops to find her. However, I still couldn’t just let her stay to hunt it and I didn’t want to stay out in those mountains with some kind of creature that could take the form and voice of someone I knew. I still couldn’t understand what is was I had even seen.
“Wendigo,” Kate whispered, breaking the silence in the car first. She had said it as if she had just remembered something important.
“What?”
“A Wendigo,” She repeated, turning to look to me with wide scared eyes, “that’s what that thing is! It’s a Wendigo!”
“Slow down, what’s a Wendigo?”
“It’s… Oh, just forget it! You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Ms. Blackwell, I just saw a cop being used as a puppet and then run off at inhuman speed on all fours; I doubt I’m not going to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth now. What’s a Wendigo?”
Kate eyed me for a moment before releasing some of the tension from her face as she took a deep breath and began explaining to me. “They’re a Native American myth; it’s believed they’re the spirits of people who would lose themselves in the woods and would end up eating other people to satiate their hunger. I think that’s what that thing is. They can mimic the voices of people who died and use it to lure people to them, they can take the form of that person too.”
“Why does it want female hearts?” I asked, not realizing I had yet told her what my mysterious caller kept asking for when they called me.
“It… It wants my heart?” she asked shakily.
I cursed to myself before letting out a frustrated sigh. “I think this thing wants hearts, but it only wants female hearts. Why? I don’t know yet. But the only other person to be found after killing someone in those cabins was found with his partner’s heart missing to which he was blamed for taking out of her. Recently, I’ve been getting calls from some… Thing wanting me to bring you back here so it could take something from you. It would have taken Ms. Greymoore’s, but you hid her well enough that only the police could find her in time. Now, I’ve been getting calls asking for you and to get something from you.”
Kate looked to me in shock before a wave of guilt twisted her face in pain. “I… I’m so, so… So sorry, Detective!” She cried out. “I… I had… I had no idea you were being… Harassed by it! Had I known it wanted me back and was demanding you brought me here, I never… I didn’t… That’s why it said you brought me back! Oh, I’m such an idiot!” She pressed her hands to her face, grabbing at her hair between her fingers and tightening them around her eyes.
“No, no, no, stop, stop that!” I ordered, screeching the car to a halt, having to bring it to a crooked stop so I could stop her from hurting herself. I snatched her arms from her head and pinned them to her lap, tears flooding her face. “It’s my fault for not telling you sooner! I was too focused on trying to solve this case with the most efficient evidence I could, but that just kept me looking to you as a suspect. I should have stopped thinking you were the killer the moment I got that first call. There’s no way any of us could have seen… This coming… Except people who probably already believe in that kind of stuff or don’t stop to assume a more rational explanation like a cult… I’m… I’m sorry. But, I won’t let it take anything from you, not anymore. I’m going to get you home and then I’ll deal with this with the rest of the police department. You don’t have to deal with this thing anymore, it’ll be my burden from now on. You need time to finally get some rest and mourn your friends with your and their families. It’s already fucked your life up enough, I won’t let it go on making it worse.”
I stopped her before she could argue with me with a wave of my hand. “Your friends’ deaths shouldn’t be your burden to handle. I know you want to be the one who kills that thing and do right by them, but that’s not what they would want. They’d want you to remember them and continue living. They know you didn’t do it, so stop blaming yourself and stop acting like you’re the one who has to make it up to them. I will put an end to this die trying, but you need to go home and be with people who are happy you still get to live.”
Kate looked down at her hands that I kept down on her lap before nodding weakly and letting out a broken “okay.”
“Good, now let’s get you home before-“
My words were cut off when the honk of a car barreling toward us echoed through the woods. The headlights were fast approaching and I barely had time to grab the gear shift to put us back in drive as the other vehicle hit us, forcing us back and forth in one violent motion. It took me a moment to check myself to be sure I hadn’t hit my head on anything or got whiplash from the crash before I immediately returned my full attention to Kate who was kneeling over holding her head. I gently grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up to examine her head. It didn’t appear to have been busted and bleeding, but she was holding the front side of her forehead.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, prying her hand away from the spot on her forehead, seeing that it was beginning to bruise. “Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can understand me!”
“I… I’m f-fine…” she mumbled as she looked to her hand to check if there was blood on her palm, “I… I think I just… Hit… Hit the w-window…” She then blinked twice in my direction before looking to the car that had rammed us.
I turned my attention as well to the car to see it was a police van, it’s front crushed into the left of my front. I quickly jumped out my vehicle and stormed to the van, yelling at who ever was driving the van to come out and explain what the hell they were doing.
The driver’s side of the van swung open once I was near enough and a man in an orange jumpsuit climbed out, staring familiar daggers at me. The moment realization set in, my mixed emotions of confusion, frustration, and fear turned to fury.
It was Leighton Raines.
“Jesus, you really are a shitty detective.” Was all he said to me before reaching into the can and retrieving a rifle out from the passenger seat.
[END OF PART 1]
Part 6

F in mid 20's
tl;dr cuddly moment with a very handsome stranger on an overnight bus and it's hard to stop thinking about him!! Even though I realize how superficial it is. He's handsome and comes off very personable yet respectful, I think part of why it's so on my mind is because I wonder if this was a completely normal experience for him, one that he didn't even bat an eye at cause he's used to things like this.
No dm's please unless it's specifically in response to the following. Moving my thoughts/questions to the top so they can be read first: - how common is this, personal experiences of stories from others? - when someone next to you says, you can lean on me if you're comfortable with it/if you want... how often do you think it's an invitation for something more? and that taking up that offer means something more?
So I was recently on a 6 hr overnight bus in Europe. We boarded around 10:30 pm, so it's late and people are tired. I boarded at the frist stop and i'm like sweeeet, the bus is only half full and i'll probably have both seats to myself (window/aisle). i make kind of an asshole move and sit in the window seat (always my preference) even though i think my assigned seat is actually aisle, thinking that I'll just swap if i do have a seat mate who wants window. so i'm trying to rest, and at the next stop, this tall apparation appears next to the aisle i'm in and says he's here. i don't take a good look at him and at first am wary that this is just a guy trying to sit next to a girl when there are so many other seats open, not cause i think i'm hot shit but because my recent luck on flights convinced me that i'd have the aisle to myself hahaha. so he sits down in the aisle seat and we don't say antything to each other. we're both trying to sleep but also very restless, moving around, changing positions etc.
I notice he's restless too and feel bad that he's actually supposed ot have window seat, thinking he could lean his head against the window and also realizing i have a little rolled puffer jacket that i could place between my shoulder and head for neck suppport. so i offer to switch seats with him. he's like, sure. now more often than not, our thighs aren't touching, but occasionally and with increasing frequency there are moments where they do touch and neither of us move away. personally it feels good, the warmth. a little bit later, i'm moving around and he's like, you can rest your head on my shoulder if you want. so i'm like, oh thank you. I try not to but eventually i lean a little bit on him and at one point I put my firm rolled jacket onto his shouler and lean on that lol.
suddenly (it probably wasn't sudden but i was in and out of sleep) I realize that his hand is ever so slightly touching my lower, left thigh. i'm like :0 again, it feels good. I nuzzle my leg towards him so that his hand covers more of it. it's like this for a while and gets a little frisky for a few seconds where i'm pushing towards him with a little more intensity and i can feel it returned through his hand on my thigh. It never moves up but he does try to feel my breasts under my top. but i'm wearing an athletic tank with a sports bra so in his sleepy low effort state he doesnt and I'm also kind of relieved cause I feel like that would've broken the substantial physical boundaries we still had, given how i was already feeling.
we're both still not reaching any kind of deep sleep, we'll occasionally muster "did you fall asleep?" to each other when either of us wakes up a little. it was cute. i'm also changing positions and at one point, i try lying in his lap with my knees bent over the side of the seat next to the aisle. I notice that his flannel jacket thing smells good and it's reassuring that this stranger man is hygenic lol. now this part fucking getsss me. for some reason, his hand is by my neck and he gently grazes it. i probably lean into that and he moves his hand near my mouth, like i was so close to kissing his fingers but the fact they're proabbly germy af despite his fresh smelling clothing is enough to stop me in this sleepy daze that i'm in. i try to not make conversation cause i don't wanna open more doors.
after that I sit up again cause i'm like... hm i want to re establish some physical boundaries for myself cause i'm a hair away from losing it. his hand is on my leg again and i interlace my fingers on his, and sometimes the gems and silver on my fingers glitter in the moonlight. i would pull myself away though cause i was like, hm this is too much.
ANYWAY, we reach our destination very early, before the city metro lines are running. our accomodations are somewhat close so we split a rideshare car there. at this point, i learn his name, basic info about what he does for work etc. we trade contact info and we text each other a, hope you get to your spot safely/maybe we can hang out, etc but never meet up during my 2 days in that city (for the better), then text each other that it was nice to meet you, wish you the best on your travels.