In my comedic anime-style worldbuilding project known as: "Highschool Of Hierarchy", there are 4 different power systems.
These 4 power systems are known as: Bloodlust, Vigor, Pataphysics and Faith (or Placebo to be exact). They are abilities that any human can learn and grant their users incredible powers.
Here's how each of them work and then tell me which one suits you the best.
Note: You instantly receive the type of power at its initial level and don't have to work too hard for it.
Bloodlust:
"Think conqueror's haki from one piece but on an acid trip..." -Bart Samson
Bloodlust is the primal ability within all organism that are capable of dominating others with sheer presence through projecting intense spiritual fear.
However, humans are the only ones who are truly able to master it. Specifically, this power is more prominent in the form of traces when it is subconsciously used by serial killers, hardened criminals and expert assassins.
But when one learns to control it, they not only gain the ability to dominate their foes to the point of forcing them to submit or pass out. But advanced practicioners can mold their Bloodlust into unique forms that grant special properties such flames or even the ability to manifest weapons.
The strength of a person's bloodlust is based on aggression such as rage, hate or envy.
But it's ultimate form is realised through a special ritual, where through the usage of special strong hallucinogenic herbs, one can bind a Yokai (or any mythological creature) to their soul and gain a massive boost in power as well as a new ability.
Vigor:
"Bro! Vigor is all about the drive! The rush! Not the power!" -Jack.
Vigor is possibly the most hardest power to obtain as it requires a person to obtain the stamina capacity of an olympic level marathon runner while also holding immense determination in heart.
By itself, Vigor is just literally vast amount stamina condensed into the body in form of an energy. All it can do in it's raw form is just reinforce the body and negate pain. But when it is channelled into a passionate sport, does it's true power shine.
By flowing one's vigor into their beloved sport users can accomplish impossible feats of such as "creating afterimages when playing basketball" or "shattering thick reinforced concrete walls with just a metal bat".
It is necessary for one to possess any kind of sportmanship which they truly enjoy when utilising vigor, in fact, any kind of sport can function including martial arts, exercising or even power walks.
Complex techniques such as creating constructs do exist but they are difficult to find as most sports only lead to physical enhancement and as such rarely produce something esoteric.
Faith/Placebo:
"Have faith in the goddess, Hatsune Miku! And she shall bless you with her voice in battle!" -Eugene McKinley.
[Warning! This information is restricted for any person who is a user of the power "Placebo", caution is advised.]
Placebo, is the psychic phenomena when intense faith and belief generated towards an idea causes the believer to manifest incredible new abilities.
For example: simply believing that today would be a lucky day due to finding a lost coin on the ground would result in the emission of subtle-but-potent psychic energy into the environment which alters the probability to their favour.
The stronger the faith a believer has in towards an idea, the stronger they become. Although their abilities are initially restricted to physical buffs and powerful regenerative abilities.
But some people with absurd beliefs can create illusionary constructs, inflict debuffs and pain onto targets and even use heals or buffs on allies.
It all depends on what they faithfully believe in, without question or wavering. For this reason this is the most easiest power to obtain and strengthen but has fragile versatility.
Pataphysics:
"Just because I don't have a degree doesn't stop me from beating my enemies with the power of SCIENCE!!" -Tom Hutson.
Pataphysics is similar to the Placebo as in they both originate from a psychic phenomena except in the case for the latter, instead of simply believing in what may be false, users of pataphysics create ENTIRE new artificial formula and laws and place them onto the universe.
This strengthens their hold on their powers allowing them to bend science to their will. Skilled users of this power have infinite versatility at the cost of needing strong creativity, open mindedness and exceptional intelligence.
At higher levels, users can build special inventions that harness the powers of their artificial laws of physics and even bind those inventions to their very soul, allowing one to manifest additional special abilities of their own.
Examples for Pataphysics abilities include: a formula that helps an enemy's strength using their height and reflex time. An invention could be created that measures the results more accurately and upon soul binding, they can adapt their own height and reflex time.
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There are multiple reasons why I love this fandom, it is definitely one of the most wholesome ones here. But one reason that particularly stands out to me is the fact that, regardless of who our favorite characters are, regardless of who we root for, we end up giving Oikawa his Olympic win (at least in every single post-canon fic I've read, and trust me I've read many.)
I like that we all decide that Hinata roots for the Grand King in his own way. I like that Iwaizumi trains the whole team to defeat Oikawa, yet stands proud of Tooru's wins. I like that Kageyama and Oikawa have grudging respect for each other. I like that we all know that Oikawa will definitely gloat to Ushiwaka-chan and Tobio-chan. I even like that we all have head cannons on how Atsumu will meet Oikawa and whether they will get along or not.
I love the fact that no matter how well Japan plays, Argentina is slightly better. Japan wins bronze? Argentina wins silver or gold. Japan wins silver? Argentina definitely wins gold. No matter how many Olympics the Monster Generation play against each other, I love that we all, unanimously, decide that the first win is for Oikawa.
This is the first fandom in which I was involved where I felt understood, where I could relate. Oikawa is so fucking relatable to so many people, and I felt so validated when I could see his struggles and I saw the fandom responding with so much love for him. No matter how much pain he goes through, we all decided that he was going to win. That he will win, that not going to Nationals doesn't matter.
Honestly, you all are the best fandom out here. Love you all.

I did an Olympic yesterday. On the bike, a little over halfway, I got sharp pain in the same place as a side stitch would be, but it felt a lot more like GI issues (breathing out made it worse instead of better, and the rest of my stomach was a little tight, although not painful). I started taking breaks on the side of the road, which didn’t really help, then ended up biking down the hills without pedalling and walking most of the flats/ climbs (pretty hilly course) to T2 - the pain from pedalling and not standing perfectly straight was just too sharp. The pain went away less than 5 minutes after I started running - I took a gel halfway though the run which went down fine.
I have done a few tris and countless bike rides before and this had never happened to me. Two things I did differently that may have caused it: - I ate a mix of bars and gels, which is my usual for bike rides, but first time in a triathlon (only used gels before). I also ate the bar on an uphill part, so maybe it didn’t land well or didn’t mix well with the bit of lake water I swallowed on the swim? - On the first half of the bike, I used the drop bars a lot more than I do on regular rides, so maybe that put pressure on my stomach? - My abs are stronger on the side where I got the pain, so maybe that made it worse?
Any guesses or personal experiences on what may have caused it and how to avoid it in the future? I have a 70.3 later this year and would rather not have to walk 30 miles if this happens again…

As a follow on from Noah Lyles' post race interview from Atlanta, where he said he isn't depressed heading in to this Olympics (vs Tokyo where he was dealing with some problems), I'm curious as to the impact of depression on performance. Obviously we have seen stories shared by the likes of Adam Gemili, Matthew Hudson Smith etc.
I myself have been going through a bit of a tough time over the last 6 months, with a bad job situation and social life, though I'm far from a professional athlete. Can't help but notice increased aches and pains, reduced performance, increased tension and fatigue in the body, and just overall poor training tolerance and motivation. It hit me after my first few races of my last season and my performances just got gradually worse as the season progresses (Ran 10.96 early on, regressed to 11.26 later on)
I took a month break after a few minor injuries, but the above issues have not subsided. Half the time I don't really want to train and the sessions have been so poor, but I keep training. I still love the sport, but just feel like all these background problems are tarnishing it for me. Anyone have similar experiences, how did you get yourself back on track?

Hey all,
Hope you're doing well!
I'll be quick. I keep seeing the same mistakes over and over and over again and it's driving me mad.
If I see one more "Five Guys" "Online Transformation Coach" for "Busy professionals", I'm gonna bloody lose it.
I think what started out as a good idea, perhaps inspired by Alex Hormozi's GymLaunch, has now turned to a Madras of sameness and mediocrity.
If everyone is a transformation coach specialising in Busy Mom's/Dad's, frankly no one is. Your message is lost, your engagement will suck - whether it's paid ads, DMs or organic content. And I'm sure you've noticed this and think the above channels for acquisition don't work.
Boulder Dust!
Let's go back to Marketing 101. And actually identify and research a genuine niche. By the way, one thing most people don't realise when they clone GymLaunch marketing is that their niche was also 3 miles from the physical gym location. Not very helpful online!
The best way to shortcut a proper niche relevant for online marketing is to use a method called "Dream 100". It's actually not new, but nothing's golden but oldies.
The idea is to specify and research your Dream 100 clients. NOT CUSTOMER PROFILE. But your exact Dream100 clients in your niche.
Let's think of targeting High Performing Realestate Agents (there's lots of them and they earn good money). Whom are the dream 100 real-estate agents we'd like to sign up?
Identify them and research them. Great - Grant Cardone.... Who else? Make a list of 100.
What do they talk about? How do they talk? What do they care about? What problems do they have? How can we help? Where are they found (platforms etc)? What's similar?
With our dream 100 researched and identified, now you can create a genuinely compelling and unique marketing campaign that goes a bit deeper than "Busy 5 Guys."
Now we can promote our service in the right messaging, speaking about specific problems (on the road much Mr. Realestate Tycoon?), and in specific online locations.
Now we can create an ad that is engaging and relevant.
Now we can target Grant Cardone's followers with our ad.
Now we'll actually have a chance at gathering engaged leads that are more interested in buying from you than the next guy.
Food for thought. I hope this helps!
David from ScaleFit.
Edit:
To add a little more detail on how to do this, I'll take you through the process I use.
First, what niche should you even invest time in researching?
I like to first start with my own interests.
I like video games, I like powerlifting, I like cooking, I like data analysis, I like software engineering, I like cars.
With these interests I then consider what professions can I think of that I could market to related to those interests?
Pro Video Gamer? Powerlifters, strongmen, Olympic weightlifters... Maybe bodybuilders? Chefs? Private chefs? Line cooks? Programmer? Tech startups? Etc...
Then I create a matrix. Ranking my understanding of each of those professions from High, Medium, to Low.
I also ran each profession by how much they likely earn (it's easier to sell to wealthier customers.)
And one final question I ask myself is how valuable would a community be to those individuals as that's a potentially attractive value add to the service, depending on the profession.
So take "Programmers".
My knowledge is High, Their Income is High, and benefit in community would be High to these people.
Chefs? - Knowledge: M - Income: L - Community: L
Do it for everyone you can think of. Clearly, it'd be best to select for the avatar you score as many H's for as possible.
So great. Now I'm gonna select Programmers. Now I need to identify my Dream100. I'm a big fan of YouTube, so I'll start with some simple searches on everything related to Programming. I'm gonna find people with the biggest followings and most engagement and write them all down in a list.
I'll search for blogs on Google, finding bigger ones. Maybe Reddit and Apple podcasts too.
These days I could use ChatGPT for help finding them.
Create your list of identified Dream 100 Programmers clients.
Now it's research time. For each of the 100.

1. Demographic Information
2. What is their age?
3. What is their gender?
4. Where do they live (location, urban/rural)?
5. What is their education level?
6. What is their marital status?
7. Do they have children?
   
8. Professional Information
   
9. What is their current job role or title?
   
10. What industry do they work in?
    
11. How many years of experience do they have?
    
12. What is their career trajectory?
    
13. What professional achievements have they accomplished?
    
14. Business Goals and Challenges
    
15. What are their primary business goals?
    
16. What challenges are they currently facing in their business?
    
17. What solutions have they tried, and what were the results?
    
18. What do they consider success in their business?
    
19. Behavioral Insights
    
20. What are their daily habits and routines?
    
21. How do they prefer to consume information (blogs, videos, podcasts)?
    
22. What social media platforms do they use regularly?
    
23. Who influences their decisions (mentors, influencers, peers)?
    
24. What types of content do they engage with the most?
    
25. Psychographic Information
    
26. What are their core values and beliefs?
    
27. What motivates them (e.g., financial success, personal growth, helping others)?
    
28. What are their biggest fears and pain points?
    
29. What hobbies and interests do they have outside of work?
    
30. Purchasing Behavior
    
31. What types of products or services do they purchase for their business?
    
32. What factors influence their purchasing decisions (e.g., price, quality, brand reputation)?
    
33. How do they prefer to make purchases (online, in-person, via recommendations)?
    
34. Communication Preferences
    
35. How do they prefer to be contacted (email, phone, social media)?
    
36. What tone and style of communication do they respond best to (formal, casual, inspirational)?
    
37. How often do they check and respond to their messages?
    
38. Current Relationships and Networks
    
39. Who are their key professional connections?
    
40. What networks or associations are they a part of?
    
41. Who are their main competitors?
    
42. What events or conferences do they attend?
    
43. Feedback and Pain Points
    
44. What feedback have they given about similar products or services?
    
45. What are their specific pain points that need addressing?
    
46. What gaps do they see in the current market offerings?
    

After I've completed this for everyone on my dream100, I then will pipe all my answers into ChatGPT and ask if to create summaries for each.
I will then ask it to compare for what's similar across the greatest number of them. What's common amongst all these prospects and influencers?
What's common can form the core of my messaging style, etc.

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

"Oh, we'll invoke lush clichés about the lonely heroism of Olympic athletes, the pain and analgesia of football, the early rising and hours of practice and restricted diets, the preflight celibacy, et cetera. But the actual facts of the sacrifices repel us when we see them: basketball geniuses who cannot read, sprinters who dope themselves, defensive tackles who shoot up with bovine hormones until they collapse or explode. We prefer not to consider closely the shockingly vapid and primitive comments uttered by athletes in postcontest interviews or to consider what impoverishments in one's mental life would allow people actually to think the way great athletes seem to think. Note the way "up close and personal" profiles of professional athletes strain so hard to find evidence of a rounded human life–outside interests and activities, values beyond the sport. We ignore what's obvious, that most of this straining is farce. It's farce because the realities of top-level athletics today require an early and total commitment to one area of excellence. An ascetic focus. A subsumption of almost all other features of human life to one chosen talent and pursuit. A consent to live in a world that, like a child's world, is very small. "
​
-from The String Theory

Valeriya Novodvorskaya was born on 17 May 1950 in Baranavichy, Byelorussian SSR to a Jewish engineer, Ilya Burshtyn, and a pediatrician, Nina Novodvorskaya, who came from a noble Russian family. She took her mother's surname because, as Burshtyn noted, because of the ‘poisoning doctors’ case’ and the case of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee, “Jewish surnames were unpopular”.
Novodvorskaya had been active in the Soviet dissident movement since her youth and was first imprisoned by Soviet authorities in 1969, when she was 19, for distributing leaflets criticising the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia .
On 5 December 1969, at an evening dedicated to the Constitution Day of the USSR in the Kremlin Palace of Congresses, before the premiere of Vano Muradeli's opera October, Novodvorskaya scattered handwritten leaflets with an anti-Soviet poem of her own composition about the Soviet Communist Party:
Thank you Party
For all the falsehood and lies,
For all the denunciations and informers,
For the shots in Prague's square,
For all the lies you've yet to tell.
For the paradise of factories and of flats,
All built on crimes in the torture
Chambers of yesterday and today
And for our broken and black world.
Thank you Party
For our bitterness and despair,
For our shameful silence,
Thank you Party.
When she was arrested, investigators didn't believe she acted alone. In Lefortovo prison she behaved defiantly brave, calling the investigator ‘an inquisitor, a sadist and a collaborator with the Gestapo’. Even in prison, she did not stop her activities; she wrote her anti-communist poems on paper and scattered them in the prison yard. She was eventually sent for a psychiatric examination and diagnosed with ‘Sluggish schizophrenia’. This diagnosis was used in the Soviet Union to deprive dissidents of their rights and send them to compulsory psychiatric treatment. Being in compulsory psychiatric treatment was much worse than being in prison, because under the guise of treatment dissidents were subjected to torture and abuse. Novodvorskaya described the torture in Soviet psychiatric hospitals for political activists:

• Beating
  
• Tying the patient to the bed for a few days until numbness sets in.
  
• wrapping the patient in wet towels and sheets. When the cloths dried, they soaked into the body causing terrible pain.
  
• Drilling healthy teeth without anaesthesia until the drill bit goes into the jaw, removing the dental nerve without anaesthesia and then filling.
  
• Injection of sulfazine, medicine was used only in the USSR, and caused terrible pain for a few days, temperature up to 40 degrees and thirst, with almost no water given
  
• Subcutaneous injection of oxygen. A large swelling occurs at the injection site and the prisoner feels as if his skin is being ripped off.
  

Novodvorskaya stayed in this ‘treatment centre’ from June 1970 to February 1972, after which she was released
From 1977 to 1978, she attempted to create an underground political party to fight the CPSU. On 28 October 1978 she became one of the founders of the ‘Free Interprofessional Association of Workers’. She underlined her programme with the regime from the only revolutionary whose books were available to her - Vladimir Lenin. Novodvorskaya and her associates again acted in a demonstratively open manner and even held a congress of the underground party and invited foreign journalists (the congress was held in the flat of one of the participants). The KGB persecuted Novodvorskaya and again sent her to psychiatric hospitals, but to general hospitals where there was no torture. Although sitting in a hospital with seriously mentally ill people for several months for a healthy person is also a form of torture. The congress was eventually dispersed and Novodvorskaya was arrested several more times for throwing leaflets in Moscow. She was again placed under compulsory psychiatric examination and the torture returned, but only for a fortnight. After two weeks, Gorbachev came to power and Valeria was released due to ‘changes in the situation in the country’
On 8 May 1988, she became one of the participants in the creation of the first opposition party in the USSR, Democratic Union. Since 1988 she regularly appeared in the illegal newspaper of the Moscow organisation of the Democratic Union ‘Svobodnoe Slovo’, and in 1990 the newspaper's eponymous publishing house published a collection of her articles. In September 1990, after publishing an article entitled ‘Heil, Gorbachev!’ in the party newspaper Svobodnoe Slovo and speaking at rallies where she tore up portraits of Mikhail Gorbachev, she was accused of publicly insulting the honour and dignity of the USSR president and insulting the state flag
After the collapse of the USSR, she supported Boris Yeltsin, but demanded from him the development of success - a complete ban of the Communist Party. In September 1993, after President Boris Yeltsin issued a decree to dissolve the Congress of People's Deputies and the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation, she was one of the first to support this decree. She organised rallies in support of the president. After the storming of the Supreme Soviet building by troops loyal to Yeltsin, Novodvorskaya drank champagne and treated passers-by in the street in honour of his victory over the Congress and Parliament
In March 2010, she signed the Russian opposition's appeal ‘Putin must go away’
On 12 July 2014, she was hospitalised in intensive care, as reported by a number of media outlets, she died in her 65th year of life from phlegmon of the left foot complicated by sepsis. According to her relatives, she had received the injury on her left foot six months earlier and tried to cure it on her own, because Valeria feared and hated doctors
Novodvorskaya did not marry or start a family, because, according to her, ‘the KGB deprived her of such an opportunity back in 1969’. ‘A person who condemns himself to fight the KGB cannot be responsible for his children, cannot vouch for their fate. He makes them hostages... The mother is in one camp, the father in another. What should a child do in this situation? In my opinion, complete irresponsibility.’ Novodvorskaya has held liberal views all her life. She was a consistent opponent of communism and fascism. From a young age she was convinced that as soon as the Communist Party of the Soviet Union stops ‘raping’ the people, ‘they will immediately start enjoying freedoms and rights with joy, with delight, and will begin to build capitalism’. She also advocated a boycott of the 2008 Summer Olympics in Communist China, explaining that democratic nations had no right to support a totalitarian country. In many ways, her views were close to libertarian, although she called the libertarian party's programme unserious and, if anyone tried to implement it seriously, even dangerous
Some Russian liberals called Novodvorskaya the grandmother of Russian democracy and the eternal oppositionist

Sources: russian-language and English-language wikipedia and memoirs by Novodvorskaya herself

[TLDR: I'm afraid of MIL+partner, and have to choose between attending important event at my own(!) indie art gallery (the same place they previously threw a tantrum at me with people present, which they didn't acknowledge or apologize for) where they plan to be attending, and risk hurting myself..., or do I stay away & keep myself out of this threatening situation, which means hurting people I care for? Both might endanger the work I built and love, but not sure which is more likely]
Let me first of all get my imposter dysphoria out of the way: I self diagnosed ADHD at 32 and now, at 36, finally moving past the gatekeeping trolls of classical autism. Despite (clueless) people laughing at me for wondering whether I might be autistic: Sorry not sorry I'm calling AuDHD. This. Explains. Everything. But I guess my masking skills are on Olympic qualification level.
So I'm still in a deep dive of information gathering, listing everything and making sense of who I actually am, and being so relieved and sad after all these years of not understanding what's wrong with me. So amazing to experience these developments in psychology and social sciences, and the more nuanced views on AuDHD, all made possible through world wide conversation and sharing between marginalised people. A revolution of sorts!
I'm still in some sort of identity crisis and very much traumatized by the millions of hours of therapy I struggled though, trying to work on my depression and personality... Always thinking I'm doing something wrong. So much work. Fun times.
Anyway: now you know where I am: part of the reason I didn't find out sooner, is because I've been living with an amazing & autistic husband for about 17 years: he didn't really know either, so we both thought a lot of Autistic things were super normal haha. My family; yup, same. His family; even deeper in the spectrum-soup. All this didn't become clear until this year, me being the last piece of the puzzle, so to speak. Me; being the extraverted, chronically ill, artistic, tired, depressed, funny, queer, unorganized people pleaser trying to keep everyone together and falling apart. Them: ...
Let me tell you, it's a long story. I'll try and keep it as short as possible.
My husband (M35) and I (NB36) have always been living and moving around in the same art scene, in the same big city as MIL (F63) and her wife (F51) of 12 years. (MIL's wife has never been a mother figure to either of us, they only got together a couple of years after husband and me met. My relationship with her has always been complicated and fragile, but it all went really south when her then-girlfriend moved in with her. I'll save you the joke, but it was quick.)
They're a smart and impressive but explosive couple, always arguing and losing friends and making enemies all around town. They don't seem to notice. Meanwhile they have been projecting all their insecurities and rejection sensitive dysphoria on me, trying to become more close like a proper cool artsy clan, with frequent outbursts of anger, despair, taking offense with things I didn't see coming. Never thinking for a moment about their part in all this, or how they push her son and me away with all the drama and fighting, with a reconciliation of sorts every 2 years, usually in the shape of me sort of apologising or letting things that hurt me slide, to keep the peace. They are not open to feedback or positive criticism; the few times I stood up for myself, asking for the fat shaming or harsh critique of my art to stop, they cried and got angry about being accused of something, and me limiting their free speech as well. Every time I've told them about my low self esteem, depression and struggles with pain and low energy, and every time they see me they say: oh you really look better now, so nice that you're a bit more healthy. Loving and well meaning, I'm sure. But very invalidating, and I try saying tactfully that I have my ups and downs, unfortunately. They have told my husband I'm always defensive. (Well, now I guess I must come across that way, even though to me that seemed unlikely. That's AuDHD for ya!)
Last three appointments I was about 10 minutes- half an hour late (let them know by message but they didn't see the last time) due to severe panic attacks, and they got angry I'm always late, saying it must be because I don't like them, and started screaming and crying right there in the restaurant. When I tried to save the situation by confessing I get anxious about what to wear, not wanting to look fat (which is hard because I am, and even when I wasn't, MIL always made clear she thought I was), and also being afraid about them getting angry. (Irony.) Well that didn't work, shocks, they have been saying I hate them and don't want to be with them (!) and gloriously fulfilled their own prophecy.
To top it all off, they came to our small indie gallery a couple of weeks ago, they started almost immediately crying (MIL) and hissing at me, seemingly out of nowhere (although they told my husband I hurt them by shoving in their faces about how we loved my family more...)
I guess they referred to: me telling them I had to leave, talking enthusiasticly about the trip we were taking to meet my niece for her 16th birthday, and how we had trouble taking time off from work, but my niece really wasn't doing well mentally so my cousin was grateful we could be there, planning the party around our work schedule! You know, me putting on a mask by being all bubbly and agreeable... Honestly forgetting about their RSD! (I understand why, now)
So that's when they started crying and cursing at me right there and then, in the middle of our small art gallery, surrounded by two horrified visitors, one artist and our new employee. I froze, think I said something along the lines of: " this is not something to discuss here" and ran to the storage room, sobbing in some paper towels and feeling like trash. The artist came after me, consoling me and saying that was weird as duck. When I came out, they had left. My husband immediately after I told him sent them a text: "please don't treat my wife like that. We'll talk later, I can't now." That felt good.
Didn't hear from them until after our weekend away, when my husband told me they invited themselves over to celebrate his birthday that weekend and he couldn't really help it. That sucked. I didn't dare calling (so much anxiety) so wrote them an email carefully wording how I was still shaking from our encounter, and how I was sad about our clashing, saying we should meet up and talk about it when we were all ready to do so; but for this birthday celebration, I wouldn't be able to be present without talking about what happened honestly, and would hate for my husbands birthday to be weighed down by that. I suggested to make myself scarce and leave them be, and asked them to name a date and place to talk it all through. Before you ask: I was careful not to include angry or passive-aggressive remarks, I even asked a friend to check for that specifically. (Had to edit a bit haha) I did this for my husband to not ruin his relationship with his mother, and because I feel sad for her. Even though I felt like betraying my self worth a bit, and had to really censure myself. But hey, I'm used to that!
On the one hand; with my -since then- discovered AuDHD, I must admit I am probably less good at reading and interpreting and projecting certain social cues or body language. On the other hand: keep in mind everyone in this story is definitely (undiagnosed) autistic.
It has been exhausting and frankly I'm ready to throw in the towel and bow out of social gatherings. I love my MIL but I'm tired of her, and I'm actually afraid of what her wife is capable of, she can become very angry, not only with me, actually there's always someone she will rant about quite intensely. Actually, my husband and them decided that would be for the best, when I wasn't there, last week.
And now for the twist: there's an opening in our gallery this afternoon (EU), and the girls are coming... Or so they told my husband anyway. It's an important local artist and they really care about being at these events. I want to go. I'm tired but wouldn't want to miss it. The artist is quite a good friend of mine and to top it off, I'm an auntie to her children, who I haven't seen in a while and would be very disappointed if I weren't there. Also: it's MY ducking gallery, MY exhibition, MY friend and her amazing kids who would be so disappointed and possibly hurt... Also also I feel like a jerk leaving all the work to my husband+employee. This is our biggest opening yet!
I can't imagine not going.
To be fair: my husband has offered to ask them not to come, but added that it would make things more difficult between them. He says I could always go for a stroll and avoid them. But I have been anxious for weeks now about them being capable of attacking me in broad daylight, and now it's not just two customers and my friend, but possibly the complete metropolitan art scene.
What do I do? Take the risk? Accept the exhaustion and humiliation and possibly having to recover for days? (Did I mention I have two more gallery days ahead of me, only just having found out how much it takes out of me to be there?) Please help me make a sensible decision, my people! I know there's no one perfect solution for everything (do I?) but it feels like a pivotal moment...

Part 1: I’m a teacher. Tuesday morning, I was approached and partially peer pressured by another teacher into signing up for the staff vs students volleyball game. I used to be great at sports (even had a state record as a teen and qualified for the f-ing Olympic trials) and I am currently still mourning the physically active person that I was, and coming to terms with my diagnosis and my limits. I declined to play, but offered to be there for student behavior management. When she asked why I didn’t want to play, I explained that, while it’s not obvious, I do have a disability that causes my joints to easily dislocate and my dominant shoulder is the worst one, and playing volleyball would basically guarantee that it dislocates. She accepted my offer to sit out.
Part 2: That evening (Tuesday), I had a personal training session at a new gym. My doctor told me that as soon as I can do 15 min of brisk cardio without hurting myself, I’m good to start doing light strength training as I have become very weak the past few years. I was told that my trainer had PT experience and works with people with disabilities. I explained to her that I am very familiar with the sacrifices needed to get stronger and feel better, but also I need her to respect my limits. I explained EDS and how one degree too far can totally mess up my joint. I explained that I experience pain tenfold due to central sensitization. But she wouldn’t stop it with the “no pain, no gain!” mindset and ended up pushing me too far after I told her I physically couldn’t and now, I have a seriously subluxed left hip.
Part 3: To the final portion of my rant, I have been limping because of my hip. The unsteadiness of my hip has also made the other side hurt due to compensation. Other teachers and staff have noticed. And apparently, word on the street is, I magically developed a disability just in time so that I do not have to participate in the volleyball game. And how the timing of my “disability reveal” is quite suspicious.
Thankfully I’m leaving this school due to other serious systemic issues with the administration. But now I feel my reputation is ruined and also I’m still in a ton of pain.
I’d love to get support from other teachers here. At my next school, should I be candid upfront about my disability? I’m thinking about getting a cane to help me on days like this but I’ve never used a mobility aid aside from a special stand that holds my instruments up for me (I teach music). How do you interact with other staff members regarding your mobility? How much should be new administration know?
Thank you 🩵

Hopefully this is the right sort of place to post this, i wasn't really sure where else to go and don't have a whole circle or groupchat of stays to talk to...
so i've been working out an idea for a sort of D&D inspired AU and i need some input/ideas on basically what the major plot line will be... it's pretty much entirely D&D, BUT i'm not being super strict about it because rules and keeping track of a lot of shit can get really confusing, i love D&D and have read a lot about the game in general and watched playthroughs and stuff but i don't have a lot of working/technical knowledge in my brain because i haven't played myself much and it would just become such a pain and messy if i tried to REALLY stick with it y'know? so otherwise just general high-fantasy type story, probably gonna have some lord of the rings inspiration, too. pretty much just gonna be D&D with some creative liberties, which... i guess is kind of just normal D&D in a way LOL but anyway, I've got classes and races assigned for everybody and I'll list those just for funsies later in the post though that's not really the part i need help with, but commentary is still appreciated. where i'm stuck on is what i'm gonna make the main plot/the quest, which is... kind of an important part of a story 😅 What I really wanna do, is have Chan get a magic compass (haven't decided how it was acquired/who gave it to him yet, either, input definitely appreciated on that) that leads him to each of the members (in order of when they joined stray kids lol) first to get them to join him in his adventure, but then i'm not entirely sure what the driving force/motivation behind the compass is or like what it'll lead him to after he gets all the members... honestly, might just have him be gifted it mysteriously or by like a dying family member or something that tells him to follow the broken compass, but i think i'd like there to be a liiiittle more to it than that. i was kind of thinking of doing something with like the sound monsters like in the noeasy trailer, or something similar like a mind flayer that's stealing people's voices? idk, obviously u can see why i'm asking others for input and help because i have this whole world in my head and i have various things i've imagined for them, but it's literally the biggest part of the story that i can't decide on and it's driving me NUTS!!
Anyway, here's their classes, just for funsies:
Chan: Paladin (Guardian/Oath of Protection), Human Minho: Druid (Circle of the Shepherd)/Ranger (Beast Master, of course he will have a panther along with the journey and many cats at home, and he'll be an archer because of the idol olympics), Human (though i've debated making him elf/half-elf) Changbin: Champion Fighter, protection style, human Hyunjin: Sorcerer, Wild Magic, High Elf Jisung: Rogue, Arcane Trickster, Tiefling Felix: Monk, Way of the Sun Soul Seungmin: Wizard, School of Transmutation (I've gone back and forth on subclass/school for him, so input appreciated for that!) Jeongin: Life Domain Cleric, Human
Thank you for any help/input!

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/ThrowRA-3258. She posted in relationship_advice
Trigger Warning: infant death, loss
Mood Spoiler: Sad, but ultimately hopeful
Original Post: 29th April 2024
Last Tuesday evening I (32F) came home from a being out of town for two weeks for work, my boyfriend (35M) Nate was supposed to pick me up from the airport but once I got in, I wasn't able to get ahold of him and he never showed up, I was a little annoyed but no too worried because I figured he had fallen asleep(When I talked to him earlier that morning he said he didn't sleep very well the night before and was going to lay down before he had to come get me)so I called my sister for a ride home.
When I got home Nate was no where to be found, I checked the garage an his car was gone, so I sent him a text asking where he was and headed up stairs to unpack. When I open the closet to put my things away I saw that almost all of his clothes were gone. At this point I'm confused, so I start calling him it just keeps ringing and then going to voicemail. I check his office and everything is still there, everything in the house is still there and in place except his clothes and his car. I'm really starting to freak out at this point, so I call my sister and she comes over and we both try calling and messaging him and still get no answer. his computer and his laptop are both still in his office, I logged on to his computer and my sister his laptop(I know all his passwords) but we didn't find anything out of the ordinary, so I started searching his desk and found his iPad in the top drawer, I logged into it and checked everything I could think of and found nothing out of the ordinary, my sister suggested checking the find my iPhone app on his iPad to see if we find out where his phone was. We logged into the app and see that his phone was pinging in the next state over, I starting calling him again but still got no answers to my calls or text.
I really start to lose it here, my mind starts going all over the place trying to figure out what could be going on, I called the police because I think someone has to have done something to him. The police came out but they said there wasn't much they could do because he hasn't been gone long and his clothes missing was sign the he left on his own violation.
Over the last few days I've done everything I can to contact him, He doesn't have any family except for a brother that he cut ties with before I met him, I found him online and sent him a message but he said he hasn't seen or heard from Nate in years. I keep checking his phones location and since Saturday morning it has been pinging in the same location in the PNW, I took off work for the rest of the week and my sister and I are flying up there to go to the location his phone is pinging.
Has anyone ever dealt with something like this before? How do I even confront him, what if he is with another woman, what if he isn't there or worse? I am so lost and hurt right now, my mind is all over the place, I can’t think straight, I’m so lost right now.
tl;dr my(32F) boyfriend (35M) of six years disappeared while I was out of town, haven't been able to contact him but his phone is pinging in the PNW and I am going to confront him tomorrow.
Edit: Yes I have called or messaged all of his friends, none of them have seen or heard from him, I do have access to his bank account as we have a joint account but not his business account, He last used his debt card Friday night in a town west of Seattle Washington, He owns his own business but has taken a step back over the last year so he doesn't communicate with them regularly, they haven't heard from him since last month.
I am 5 months pregnant and we have known for 3 months, he did become a bit reserved and withdrawn since we found out but its not uncommon for him to do that every so often especially around this time of year. I don't truly believe that he would abandon me and his child, that's just not the type of man he is but I don't know what to think anymore.
small update: first I want say thank you to everyone for suggesting the welfare check epically We called the the department where his phone is pinging and they have sent someone over to see if they can make contact with him.. Its been over an hour and we are still waiting to hear back. I am hopeful but still have a overbearing since of dread. All I want to know right now is that he is ok and I can figure out everything else later, I just need to know he is ok.
UPDATE: The police were able to do a welfare check and although they were unable to make direct contact with him they spoke to the couple who live at the house, they said they were old family friends and that he was there on Friday and Saturday but that he went to the Olympics Sunday morning to go hiking for a couple of days, The officers informed them of what was going on and they told him, they believed he was ok and that they would contact me tonight to try and help explain the situation. What does that even mean? I am even more confused, our flight to Seattle is at 9:45am tomorrow and at this point we are still going, I hope these people do call but its been awhile now and I haven't heard anything.
NEW UPDATE: I think this will be my final update, I have to get ready and get my stuff packed for the flight in the morning, I have just spent the last hour speaking to the couple who house he was at and they against his wishes told me what is going on. They have known Nate since he was 12 years old, he started dating their daughter Ashley when they were in sixth grade and they counited dating all through middle school and high school. Ashley got pregnant toward the end of their senior year and they got engaged. I don't know how to even write this next part, When their son was a 1.5 years old they were involved in an accident with a drunk driver, Nate was ejected from the car and Ashley and his son passed away in the accident, She said that he blames himself for it because according to him they were never supposed to be out that night and it was his fault they were, She said he withdrew from them and everyone else and that up until last Friday that hadn't heard from him since he left. She has offered to come get my sister and I from the airport in the morning and she can try to answer any questions I have while we wait for him to return, She said they know where he is, he is at the spot they spread their ashes, she said he told her that he need be with his son one more time before he let him go... I'm honestly in a total state of shock right now, I don't know what to think but I know he is in pain and I need to get to him and I can figure everything else after.
Thank you to all the kind people who reached out and offered your suggestions, I honestly don't think I would have this information right now if it wasn't for you all, so again thank you!
****************************NEW UPDATE***************************\*
Update recovered with Unddit - 9 May 2024
First I want to say thank you to everyone who reached out and offered your advice and help on the other hand the people who were just mean or all the men who came into my messages, you should be ashamed of yourselves.
We did fly out to Seattle last Tuesday morning. Kathy(the wife of the couple) picked us up from the airport and took us back to their place, on the way there she said her husband was on his way to go find Nate so he could bring him back but it would likely be a few hours before they would arrive back.
As we waited Kathy did her best to answer some of the questions that I had, I knew Nate lost his mom at a young age to breast cancer but she said it had deeply profound effect on him and he became a very troubled child, she said that when him and Ashley met that Nate was in a group home(I did not know this)because he was in a lot of trouble for fighting and drug use(he was 12!) I was kind of taken back by this because I've never know him to do anything besides smoke marijuana from time to time, he doesn't even drink. She said that when they met Ashley immediately took on a role of protector of him, she could feel his pain and she wanted to rescue him from it, when they finally got to know him they decided that they would take Nate in if he wanted that once he was was out of the group home, when he was 16 he finally got out of the group home but was still on probation so he had to live with his dad who was a alcoholic and abusive but he would spend most evenings and weekends at their house, he still got in trouble because he kept failing his U.A. for marijuana but he was no longer getting into fights, he credited Ashley for that and felt like she and her family were the only people besides his mom to ever show him any compassion or love. She asked if I would like to see pictures of them and when she showed me the picture of Nate holding his son for the first time I broke down, because I have never seen him in the six years we have been together with a smile like that, he was so happy, he smiles now from time to time and he is always laughing but I've never seen that smile, that gleam. it just broke me to know that he had been living in that much pain for 15+ years and hid it from everyone. We looked through more pictures and she told more stories. and spoke of how sad she was when he left, we talked for hours and then finally her husband came through the doo but Nate was not with him.
George(Kathy's husband) said that he had found Nate where he was supposed to be and explained that my sister and I were at their house waiting for him. He said when he told him this that Nate laughed and said of course, and that he would head back, he just needed a few more minutes alone.
so we waited for what felt like forever and finally a little over two hours after George arrived back, Nate walked in the front door. He looked at me and the first words out of his mouth were "I should have known my note wouldn't be good enough and that you would come find me, I love you and I am very sorry" I said what note! and he said the one I put in you front seat, he put in my car! I never even thought to check there for anything.
I am going to leave out a lot of this next part because its very personal but I asked him why he would just leave me at the airport and why he wouldn't just call or text me that he was leaving. He said that while I was gone, he wanted to put some of the things that we had gotten for the baby in the nursey and start painting it before I got back and that everything was fine until he started putting together the dresser and the changing station, while he was doing that he was flooded with memories of his son and Ashley and that it actually knocked him off his feet and he broke down, he said every time he closed his eyes he saw them(that's why he couldn't sleep) he said he deiced to take mushrooms to try and help get him out of it(what!) but all that did was make things worse and he realized that he needed to not forget them and not hide them and that he needed to go make peace with them and ask them to forgive him for abandoning their memory. He knew that when I got home that I would obviously know something wasn't right with him and he also didn't know how to tell me he had been hiding a huge part of his past, anyway he expressed how sorry he was and that he understood if all of this was to much and if I didn't want to be with him anymore that he would completely understand. I let him know that as long as he agreed to never hide something from me or disappear again and would agree to go to therapy and couples therapy that I wouldn't be going anywhere. He promised he would do whatever I asked of him. I asked him to fly back with me and my sister called her husband to fly in and they would drive his car back. So we are back home now, he hasn't started therapy yet but has an appointment next week.
Our baby is doing ok and so am I, I just need him to be ok and everything will be good again, anyway thank you again to all the kind hearts who reached out, you gave me a lot of positive vibes in a dark time and I really cant thank you enough for that.

A reminder to not comment on Original Posts. See rule 7.

I’ve auditioned and trained on snare drum for 3 years. I’ve also went through one full and one partial leadership training. I did my best but I was put on an instrument that barely anyone is qualified/wants to do(synthesizer). Due to me being my director’s best candidate for synthesizer I was denied a place in the drumline 3 times. Not because I’m bad at drums. I can play them, even better than some of the rookies who were given the role(I’m not kidding or flexing, I literally have more training and life experience) but when you have multiple people doing something and your best and only worker wants to switch to something that many other people can do, you’re probably not going to allow them to switch and it makes perfect sense. The rookies and first years can be trained into next generation drummers but I’m basically a senior(Junior Marshall becoming a senior in 8 days) so this is my last season and I have no replacement. As for leadership, I went through a whole entire training session over the course of about two months, not getting voted for and someone else who had been in the band Longer than me who was more assertive taking Section leader position, which makes sense also. The second time I actually had a chance, considering that most leaders were leaving, I lost my cool once during the year after being perfectly fine and having a clean record. I didn’t Hurt anyone or destroy any property but I ended up with a week of suspension missing three of my leadership trainings. When I came back, I naturally lost any chance at marching band leadership for the rest of my High school career. It’s crazy how I went above and beyond did everything I was supposed to do came to almost every single rehearsal, when above and beyond, and one moment of weakness ruined it all. It’s crazy how a flick of a finger can send a whole tower down. Anyways, I’m a very persistent person and I will not give up. I consider myself to be a drum line and leadership alternate(the List hasn’t been posted yet and people keep leaving) and I’m not a failure, I’m in training. If you completed years of Olympic training, but you didn’t make the Olympics you might’ve not made the Olympics, but you still have more experience than most people (who never even attempted). I plan to Continue college and attempt to make snare drum and leader ship in college. The opportunity to carry a snare drum for a while today in direct sunlight and it’s not that bad except for the small of my back got sore very fast And I was left leaning backwards because it was the only way that I could prevent it from Falling off or anything. I Have marched before, but I can use training. Do you think putting a backpack on my back facing forward Filling it up with rocks and walking around my neighborhood would help me? How can I prevent pain in the small of my back while marching snare? How can I prepare for college leadership and auditions? Has anyone else been in a similar situation where you didn’t get into leadership or the instrument you were going for it in college?

As far back as I can remember, I had always been passionate about the great outdoors. My love for the wilderness began when I joined the scouts, exploring the diverse landscapes of Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. I was never a huge fan of the dry, barren landscapes, but camping provided a much-needed escape from the monotony of Orange County suburbia.
The first time I visited the Pacific Northwest, I was enchanted. The scenery was breathtaking—majestic mountains, lush fields, and meandering rivers. It was clear that anyone who praised the desert's beauty had never laid eyes on the Cascades. Seeing grass and wildflowers growing without irrigation was practically a revelation.
When I was old enough, I moved to Washington state, immersing myself in nature every weekend. My adventures took me hiking through dense forests, camping by serene lakes, and occasionally taking mushrooms under peaceful waterfalls.
I joined several online forums dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. One community that particularly fascinated me was the Northwest Tomb Raiders. This group of history buffs and thrill-seekers was dedicated to uncovering artifacts, whether Native American relics or treasures hidden in modern ruins. Many members were collectors, fencing their finds to museums and archaeologists, which made it a rather profitable side gig, should you be lucky enough.
In the fall of 2009, an intriguing post appeared on the forum. A user named Lokk claimed to have discovered a cache of artifacts with Scandinavian origins. He couldn't carry everything back due to the treacherous terrain and his age, so he shared the coordinates, hoping someone else could retrieve the items. I scrolled down to see a few posts of people planning to loot it in the Spring, when the paths have reopened. One user, Patagooner, planned on going as early as possible.
Excited by the prospect, I gathered my two friends, Carl and Noah, for the expedition. They weren't as enthusiastic about camping as I was, but after I told them how much a single arrowhead goes for on the black market, they were on board. It was the start of winter now, which had its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, the rangers would have a harder time spotting us. On the downside, the harsh conditions posed a serious challenge for two inexperienced hikers.
I must’ve blown about four grand at REI on gear for them, justifying it with the knowledge of how much more I would make with two extra packs. That is of course assuming there really were as many artifacts as Lokk had said, and Patagooner hadn’t beaten me there.
The journey began like any other. We met in the pre-dawn darkness and went over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we needed. By mid-morning, we were on our way, my pickup truck winding up the mountain paths. The roads of Olympic National Park were the epitome of the raw, untamed beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
They snake through ancient forests, where towering Douglas firs and Western hemlocks create a verdant canopy overhead. Mist clings to the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal quality. Occasionally, the forest would open up to reveal breathtaking vistas of snow-capped peaks and deep, shadowy valleys.
As we climbed higher, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The dense forest thinned out, replaced by rugged terrain and jagged rock formations. The air grew colder, and the first flurries of snow began to fall, dusting the ground in a thin, white layer. The road became narrower and more treacherous, winding precariously along the edge of steep cliffs.
Finally, a road closure blockade signaled the end of our journey in the truck. We unloaded three dirt bikes—one mine, two rentals—and continued up the trail. The bikes roared to life, carrying us several more miles into the wilderness. The trail twisted and turned, cutting through dense underbrush and over fallen logs. The snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the forest floor and muffling the sound of our engines. The world around us grew quieter, more isolated.
Eventually, the snow became too deep to traverse by bike. We dismounted and prepared to continue on foot. The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind. I checked my modern GPS, its screen displaying the coordinates and a relief map of our destination.
The cold air bit into our cheeks as we trudged through the snow-laden forest. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional call of distant wildlife. The GPS indicated we were close to our destination, but the dense underbrush and uneven terrain made progress slow.
Suddenly, Carl's excited whisper cut through the stillness. "Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to a small, furry creature ambling through the trees. It took a moment to realize what it was—a bear cub, innocently exploring its surroundings.
My heart sank. "Carl, get back," I hissed, my voice low but urgent. "Where there's a cub, there's a..."
Before I could finish, a massive shape exploded from the trees. The mother bear, easily three times the size of the cub, charged at Carl with a ferocity. She was a blur of dark fur and powerful muscles, her roar echoing through the forest.
"Run!" I yelled, but it was too late. The bear was upon Carl, swiping at him with her massive paws. He screamed as he fell to the ground, the bear towering over him. Desperation and adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the nearest heavy branch and swung it at the bear, hoping to distract her.
Noah joined in, shouting and waving his arms. We had to be careful; one wrong move and she would turn on us. The bear snarled, turning her attention away from Carl for just a moment. It was enough for him to scramble backwards, clutching his bleeding arm.
"We have to get him out of here," I shouted to Noah, who nodded, fear etched on his face. The bear, still enraged, seemed torn between attacking us and protecting her cub.
Using the brief respite, we hauled Carl to his feet. His face was white, and he was clearly in shock. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the snow. "There's a ranger station about two miles from here," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to get him there. Now."
We half-carried, half-dragged Carl through the forest, every shadow and sound heightening our paranoia.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the small, wooden structure of the ranger station came into view. We had been avoiding the rangers to keep our expedition secret, but now it was our only hope.
Pounding on the door, I prayed for a quick response. The door creaked open, and a weathered face appeared. "What happened?" the ranger demanded, taking in the sight of Carl's bloodied form.
"Bear attack," I gasped. "We need help."
The ranger's expression shifted from suspicion to urgency. "Get him inside. We've got a first aid kit and a radio."
As we eased Carl onto a makeshift bed, the ranger inspected his wounds. "You're lucky," he said after a moment. "The cuts are deep, but they missed any major arteries. He'll need stitches, but we can handle that here. No need for an airlift."
The ranger's face darkened as he turned to me. "What the hell are you boys doing out here?”
I hesitated, "We... we were just exploring."
The ranger's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable. "Exploring? In a restricted area? In the middle of winter? Are you out of your minds?"
He worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and stitching Carl's wounds. Carl winced but stayed silent, his eyes closed in pain.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?" the ranger continued, his voice rising. "The storm, the wildlife... This area is off-limits for a reason! You should have known better." he said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"We'll stay here for the night," he continued, "The storm's getting worse, and it's too dangerous to move him now. We'll reassess in the morning. And count yourself lucky I don't arrest your asses."
Night fell quickly, the storm outside growing more ferocious with each passing minute. The howling wind battered the small ranger station, and the walls creaked under the pressure. We huddled in the main room, the tension thick in the air.
The ranger looked at us sternly. "I need to check the perimeter and make sure everything is secure. There are things out there you don’t want to encounter, especially in this storm."
"Things? What do you mean?" Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ranger's expression hardened. "Just stay put. No matter what you see or hear, do not leave this cabin. Understood?"
We nodded, the seriousness in his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll stay put," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
The ranger grabbed his coat and shotgun. "I'll be back in an hour. Do not leave this cabin." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the raging storm, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to Noah. "We need to go. Now."
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? He said to stay put."
"If we wait until morning, we'll be escorted out of here and lose our chance. This might be our only opportunity to find those artifacts."
Noah hesitated with uncertainty "But... what about Carl?"
"He'll be fine here. The ranger can take care of him. We have to do this now."
Reluctantly, Noah nodded. "Alright. Let's take what we can and go."
We quickly looted extra gear from the cabin. I checked the GPS one last time before we slipped out into the storm, the cold wind battering us.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring our vision as we slogged through the forest. The ranger was nowhere in sight as we made our way towards the our destination, each step filled with trepidatious excitement.
The storm began to die down as we approached the coordinates. We stepped into a clearing where the undisturbed snow lay like a pristine white blanket. In the center stood an ancient, weathered stone altar, encircled by intricate wooden carvings, delicate metalwork, and beautifully crafted statues. The sight was breathtaking, a treasure trove, a veritable museum of paganism.
Noah and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide with amazement. "Do you see this?" I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement.
"We're going to be rich," Noah replied, his voice trembling with awe. "These must be worth a fortune!"
We approached cautiously, as if the vision before us might disappear. The craftsmanship was stunning. I reached out to touch a carved wooden idol, marveling at the detail. "This is incredible," I said, my voice barely audible.
We began to load our packs with as many artifacts as we could carry, each one more exquisite than the last. It was beyond our wildest dreams. We were so engrossed in our task that we didn't notice the small figure watching us from the ridge.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that I saw her. A young girl, maybe eight years old, stood there, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was dressed in simple, rustic clothing, her blonde straight hair blowing gently in the wind. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Noah," I whispered urgently, nudging him. "Look."
He turned, his eyes following my gaze. "What the...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.
The girl took a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on the items in our hands. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She tilted her head slightly. "My name is Sigyn."
"What are you doing out here, Sigyn?" Noah asked, his voice shaky.
"I live here,"
"You live here?" I echoed, incredulous. "Is there anyone else around?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where?" Noah demanded, looking around nervously.
"Everywhere," she said with a giggle.
The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, bothered me deeply. Noah and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to figure out what to do next.
"We can't take her back to the ranger," Noah started, "We'll lose everything."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Sigyn," I said slowly, "we need to know who else is here. Can you help us?"
She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, then said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Noah asked.
"For what's going to happen to you," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.
"You need to tell us what's going on," Noah said, grabbing her arm roughly. "Why are you out here alone?"
She looked up at him, unperturbed. "I am not alone," she said softly.
Before we could press her further, a loud, guttural mooing sound echoed through the clearing. We turned towards the direction the girl had come from, and there, emerging from the shadows, was the silhouette of an elk. As it approached, my stomach dropped. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of life and decay. Its skull was fully exposed, the eye sockets dark and empty. Large patches of its ribs were visible, the flesh around them rotted away.
The elk's movements were slow and deliberate, its head swaying as if in a trance. It walked directly towards us, its hollow eyes fixed on Sigyn. The closer it got, the more the stench of death filled the air—a nauseating mix of decay and earth. I fought the urge to retch.
Sigyn stood up, her expression calm. The monster sniffed her gently, its nostrils flaring. Without a word, she climbed onto its back, mounting it like a horse. It was a surreal and horrifying scene ripped straight from a nightmare.
As she settled onto the elk, she looked back at us, "A thief in the night shall reap what he sows," she said, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo. "Beware the price of stolen dreams."
With that, the beast turned and began to walk away, Sigyn riding it into the shadows of the forest. We stood there, frozen in place. The realization that we were in far over our heads began to sink in. This started to feel like a trap.
We need to get out of here," My voice trembling. "Now."
We turned to leave, our packs heavy with the pilfered goods. But as we took our first steps, the forest around us seemed to come alive. Shadows moved among the trees, and whispers floated on the wind. I quickened my pace, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
"Did you hear that?" Noah asked sharply,
"Just keep moving," I commanded.
A figure emerged from the shadows, blocking our path. It was a man, tall and gaunt, his eyes burning with an intense light. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing.
"We're leaving," I stammered. "We didn't mean any harm."
The man smirked, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand. More figures appeared, closing in on us from all sides. We were surrounded.
"Run!" I shouted, shoving Noah forward.
We sprinted through the forest, branches whipping at our faces and legs. The figures pursued us, their footsteps silent and relentless.
Noah stumbled and fell, his pack spilling open. Statues scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight. "Help!" he cried, scrambling to gather the items.
"Leave them!" I shouted, pulling him to his feet. "We have to keep moving!"
But it was too late, their hands seizing us. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grips were too strong. They forced us to the ground, binding our hands with rough, coarse ropes.
"Please," I begged, "Don't hurt us."
The man who had first appeared stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thief in the night," he mocked.
They dragged us through the forest, the trees closing in around us like a cage. We were at their mercy.
In the distance, I could see the elk standing at the edge of the clearing, Sigyn still astride its back. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But then they turned away, disappearing into the shadows once more.
We were dragged into the heart of the forest, our struggles futile against the unyielding grip of our captors. As we broke through the treeline, a massive bonfire came into view, its flames licking the night sky. Shadows danced around the clearing, cast by the flickering light. A woman stood at the forefront, her presence commanding.
Her eyes were milk white, devoid of pupils, and her long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back. She was completely naked, her skin pale and marked with intricate symbols. Atop her head, she wore an elk skull, its antlers extending like eerie, skeletal fingers. She beat a drum emblazoned with more of the same cryptic symbols, each thud resonating deep within my chest.
Around the fire, about two dozen people stood, all drinking from crude, horned cups. Their faces were solemn, eyes fixed on the woman as she led them in a haunting chant. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of reverence and intoxication.
We were forced to our knees before the woman, who paused her drumming to look down at us. Her gaze was haunting, as if she could see into the very depths of our souls.
"Who are you?" Noah demanded, his voice trembling.
The woman ignored him, raising her arms to the sky. The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drum faster and more frenzied. The air around us seemed to vibrate with energy, the flames of the bonfire growing higher and more intense.
I glanced at Noah, fear mirrored in his eyes. The woman began to speak, her voice low and melodic, but filled with power, in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly, she stopped, lowering her arms. The chanting ceased, and an silence fell over the clearing. She looked directly at me, her white eyes unblinking.
En tjuv i natten skördar vad han sår, akta dig för drömmar som du stjäl och får.
Hans skratt bevakar lundens gömda stig, där skuggor sveper över skogens liv.
För varje stulet andetag och svek, måste en tjuv möta sitt smärtsamma ödelek.
Tricksterns vilja, vår ande här, så i hans nåd, våra liv bär.
I was terrified and confused. She started again, softer, in a way I could understand.
A thief in the night shall reap what he sows, beware the price of stolen dreams.
His laughter guards our hidden groves, where shadows cloak the forest's seams.
For every stolen breath and lie, a thief must meet his painful end.
The tricksters will, our spirits tie, so in his grace, our lives suspend.
The crowd surged forward, grabbing Noah first. He screamed, his terror echoing through the trees as they pulled him towards a makeshift altar beside the bonfire. The woman chanted louder, her voice rising in a hypnotic rhythm as they began their gruesome work.
They stripped him of his shirt and bound his arms to a wooden frame. I tried to move, to help him, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, pinning me to the ground.
The woman approached Noah, holding a knife with a blade that gleamed in the firelight. She started to slice into his back, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Noah's screams pierced the night as she methodically carved the shape of wings into his flesh.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. The crowd's chant grew louder, almost drowning out his cries. I watched in horror as the woman reached into the incisions, breaking the ribs and pulling them outward, creating a parody of wings.
Noah's agony was unbearable to witness. His screams turned to whimpers, his body convulsing in pain. The woman didn't stop until the work was complete, his lungs exposed and hanging grotesquely from his back.
They lifted Noah's broken body and placed him over the fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making me gag. His life ebbed away as the flames consumed him, the once vibrant light in his eyes fading to nothing.
The woman turned to me, her expression devoid of mercy. "You will meet the same fate," she said, "He demands it."
The smell of burning flesh and the sight of his broken body over the fire was seared into my mind. Despair settled over me as I closed my eyes.
A deafening blast shattered the night. My eyes flew open to see the shaman stumbling backward, a gaping wound in her chest. She collapsed to the ground, her white eyes staring lifelessly into the void.
The villagers turned in shock as another shot rang out, this time hitting one of the men holding me. I twisted free from their grasp and saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He fired again, the sound echoing through the forest, before one of them tackled him to the ground.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "Get the hell out of here!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted into the darkness, the chaos of the clearing fading behind me. Branches whipped at my face, and the snow underfoot made every step a struggle. I could hear the sounds of fighting and gunshots, but I forced myself to keep moving.
The cold air burned in my lungs, but adrenaline pushed me forward. I didn't stop until I reached the station, my legs threatening to give out from under me. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me.
Inside, Carl lay where we had left him, his face pale and twisted in pain. I stumbled to the radio, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the controls.
"Mayday, mayday!" I yelled into the microphone. "This is an emergency! We need help! Please, someone, come quickly!"
Static filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breaths. I repeated the call, my voice growing more frantic with each passing second. Finally, a voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Ranger Station Bravo. What's your location? Over."
I could barely form the words. "Olympic National Park! The ranger station near mount Christie! We're under attack! Please, send help!"
"Copy that. Help is on the way. Stay put and stay safe. Over."
I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Carl moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. "What… What happened? Where's Noah?”
Tears streamed down my face and I found myself choked up. “He’s gone, man. Help is coming.”
The minutes stretched into an eternity as we waited. The wind howled around the station, and every creak and groan of the structure set my nerves on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the forest itself was closing in on us.
The radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Helicopter en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Prepare for extraction."
I glanced at Carl, his eyes filled with confusion. "Hang on. We're getting out of here."
As the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but think about the ranger. He had saved my life, but he hadn't made it back. My mind conjured up images of what might have happened to him, the cultists overwhelming him in the darkness. A sense of guilt gnawed at me, knowing he had sacrificed himself for us.
The sound of rotors cut through the night, growing louder as the helicopter approached. I ran to the window and saw its searchlight piercing the treetops, scanning for the station.
I helped Carl to his feet, supporting his weight as we made our way to the hatch. The helicopter hovered above, lowering a rescue basket. The wind from the rotors whipped the snow into a frenzy, but I didn't care. Salvation was finally here.
We secured Carl in the basket first, and I watched as he was hoisted up, disappearing into the safety of the helicopter. My turn was next. I realized that I was now alone and exposed. Fear coursing through me as I scanned around the edge of the forest, expecting to be grabbed and taken seconds before my rescue. But the moment never came. As I gripped the rope, I took one last look at the forest below. The flames of the bonfire still flickered in the distance.
I was lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath me. The helicopter's crew pulled me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor still holding onto my pack, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The doors closed, and the helicopter banked away, leaving the horrors of the park behind.
Weeks had passed since the harrowing events, but the memories clung to me like the bitter cold. I had returned to civilization, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the city. I found a wealthy collector through a network of contacts. The artifacts fetched a price tenfold the cost of gear. The money was substantial, but as I held the cash, it felt like a hollow victory.
Noah's absence weighed heavily on me. His disappearance was chalked up as a missing persons case, and despite my best efforts to explain what had happened, no one believed me. The authorities conducted a search of the area, but they found no trace of the cult, the artifacts, or the clearing. It was as if the forest had swallowed up all the evidence.
I returned to the site where we had parked the truck. The dirt bikes were gone, stolen by opportunistic thieves, but the truck remained. I drove back in silence, the road winding through the dense forest. For a moment, I thought I saw the girl watching me from atop a ridge until I realized it was just paranoia. I stepped on the gas a little harder.
Back home, I checked the Tomb Raiders forum again. The post that had led us into the forest was gone, deleted without a trace. I messaged the mods, but apparently, they don’t keep records to maintain confidentiality. I wrote about our experience, detailing every terrifying moment, but the responses were skeptical at best. Most dismissed it as a work of fiction or a desperate cry for attention.
Time passed, and I tried to return to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the wilderness called to me stronger than ever. It was my sanctuary, the only place where I could find peace amidst the turmoil. I spent more and more time outdoors than ever before, but now it always felt like I was just running from something.
Determined to prove what had happened, I returned to the forest with a camera and recording equipment. This time, I documented every step, capturing footage of the trees, the snow, and the eerie silence that hung in the air. I retraced our path, hoping to find the clearing again. But each night, as I reviewed the footage, something strange would happen. The files would be corrupted or entire segments missing.
I pressed on. I found the site where Noah had fallen, the ground still bearing faint traces of what had happened. I set up the camera and began to speak, recounting the events in detail. As I spoke, a cold wind swept through the clearing, and the camera's screen flickered. I finished my account and turned to check the recording, only to find the file corrupted once again, the footage replaced by static and a faint, mocking laughter.
I returned home, defeated and exhausted. My attempts to share what I had experienced were met with disbelief and ridicule. The files I managed to save were corrupted beyond recognition. It was as if the forest itself was conspiring against me.
Almost exactly one year later, as I browsed the forums, a new post caught my eye. It was cryptic, eerily similar to the one that had led us into the nightmare. It spoke of another trove of artifacts, hidden deep within the wilderness, waiting to be claimed.
The post was signed with a new name: Skygge. Different handle, same style. Another trap. They had taken so much from me, left scars that would never heal. I opened my drawer, my fingers brushing over the cold metal of my weapons. This was the moment I had been waiting for. This time, I'll be ready.
The forest’s secrets won't remain hidden forever.

So I'm M29 started swimming back in 2003 non stop till 2012 then got back in 2018/19, I had to stop for many reasons mainly logistical and financial, Today i had my 1st session since 2019 in a local semi-olympic pool and I'm feeling indestructible, i forgot how much i loved swimming and how much it's been a core part of my childhood, i felt like i was finally home. I was too excited and forced myself a bit (didn't do any physical workout since 2021), i was just happy to be swimming again and soon i learned my athletic limits lol and I'm okay with them, now i know relatively what my goals will be. I swam a total of 650m: 200m freestyle, 100 backstroke, 150m breaststroke and the rest with a swimming board between my legs and swam only with my hands back and freestyle (the last two were to release back pain). I'm gonna do 2 sessions of 1h30 a week and i can't wait for the next session even tho the subscription makes 10% of my salary. I'm so happy till the point I'm sharing this with you guys even tho I'm a passive scroller, I'm open to all advices and tips from you guys about what to eat and stuff like this. Sorry for the long post.
TL;DR: I'M BACK TO SWIMMING AFTER 5 YEARS AND I'M SO HAPPY ABOUT IT.

I have,had painful severe treatment resistant depression.after along trial journey in now on a maoi for three years that's performing miracles I still enjoy discussing reading learning substances how they affect the bran and basically pharmacology
I think back and remember the time frustrated I went the all natural route and the tons of stuff I tried
I rember how almost everything has a great amazing profile but never really lived up to it most had subtle effects if any.there were exceptions like kava for example,one exception though unlike kava was definatly strong but unlike kava for me was horrible I rember DMG if get the main brand can't rember the name but like a green and white box? Anyeay I rember it was made to be sublingual and after putting DMG under my tongue like a prescription med the effect was robust fast and potent I kept using it for a while because A it was something that actually worked B wasn't quite sure how I felt about it effects then I learned just how strong it was,the INSOMNIA.the insombia from dmg was so intense i mean i coulf not sleep a wink upon taking just a singular sublingual tab.iknew it wasn't just me as I tricked my brother into taking one and he immediately came and yelled at me ,what the hell did you give me I haven't slept in days ? Not sleeping allowede time to really evaluate DMG and. I was finally certain I hated hated it's effects they were extreme potent and depressing!
I. Also know it wasn't me because I'm not positive but I believe it in fact is named from the Olympics and almost in general altogether.
I'm just curious if anyone else messed with sublingual DMG . A had insomnia B noticed it had potent robust fast acting effects C felt it's effects were not pleasant At all ? Ty for reading and in advance for any reply !

14M, I don't really remember my height and weight, White.
After being outside for 4 hours during Special Olympics track meet, I developed a red rash on my legs. I thought that this rash was a sunburn. The rash had a stinging sensation, no unbearable pain. I had a good deal of sun exposure during the event.
Don't take medications, and don't drink, smoke, or use recreational drugs at all.

This is taken from and is copyright protected by globalsoup.net, a website that promotes flash Fiction with annual writing contests.
I am reprinting these Flash Fiction Prompts because they are outstanding ways to freewrite and offer plenty to work with for those who want to learn how to write Flash Fiction.
So check out these prompts and the article and work some of them into your journal! Post the best responses!
100 Awesome Flash Fiction Prompts - Plus Bonus Prompts!
We’ve put together 100 flash fiction prompts, each one designed for a very short story. These prompts will probably be best suited to a story of between 300-1,000 words. If you want to write a longer story using these prompts, you can easily expand these ideas to fit a story of any length.
What is flash fiction?
Flash Fiction is defined as a very short story that can be anywhere from just a couple of words to about a thousand in length. The beauty (and difficulty) of writing flash fiction lies in trying to tell a complete story in so few words. Great flash fiction is succinct, emotive, thought-provoking, and impactful.
What’s the difference between flash fiction and a short story?
The only difference between flash fiction and a typical short story is the word count. However, this scarcity of words means that writing flash fiction can feel like a completely new skill. Just like the short story is a different animal to the novel or novella; flash fiction is kind of unique.
When writing flash, you’ll need to use fewer characters, a simpler plot, and you’ll have to make each word count. This is why editing is so important. You have to be brutal. Cut out everything superfluous and really make sure each and every word is performing an important function in the story. If you’re interested in writing very short fiction, why not check out drabbles? Drabbles are stories of exactly 100 words in length, and they can be a great way to practice keeping your stories very, very short.
How to plot a flash fiction story
When you sit down to write flash fiction, you must begin by choosing an appropriate plot. You cannot simply use a short story plot and tell it using fewer words. A typical flash fiction plot is like looking at one part of a story under a microscope.
For example, let’s look at prompt #21 in our list of 100 Flash Fiction Prompts:

1. Two people on a sinking ship must decide who should take the last seat in the last lifeboat. If you were writing a novel about a sinking ship, you’d probably want the actual sinking to be the climax of the story. Of course, there are infinite ways to write a novel about a sinking ship, but this would structurally be the most obvious. You’d use the first part of the novel to introduce your characters and describe the voyage leading up to the sinking and the sinking of the ship would be the dramatic climax, leaving the last part of the book as the resolution.

The golden rule of writing short stories is to begin as close to end as you can. So, to turn the same story from novel to short story, you’d probably want to begin with the ship sinking. You haven’t got time to introduce the characters before the action begins, so you’d need to feed in exposition and backstory here and there during the events.
All stories need a good climax. So, you would find the most dramatic moment in the story and build up to it. Perhaps your climax would be the two main characters having to decide who will take the remaining seat on the last lifeboat.
Finally, you need a resolution. In a longer short story you do have time to bring in some kind of satisfying resolution at the end.
But, if you’re writing flash fiction and your story is only a few hundred words, you really need to zoom in on one tiny moment in that story.
You don’t have time to tell the entire story of a sinking ship, but you can turn one moment into a story.
We’ve chosen the lifeboat situation as the key moment in this hypothetical story. Two characters must decide which one of them will take the last seat on the last lifeboat. This is an appropriate plot for flash fiction because it’s simple, high-stakes, dramatic, and thought provoking.
Not all flash fiction will have a plot quite this dramatic, but all great flash fiction will have a plot that can be expressed in just one or two sentences.
If you have a plot in mind, but it seems more suitable for a longer story, you can sometimes find several flash fiction plots hidden within it. Just look for little stories within the story, like the lifeboat moment in our hypothetical tale of the sinking ship.
This brings us to our top tip for coming up with ideas for flash fiction stories:
if you’re ever stuck for ideas, you can find little stories within the story in books, movies, and TV shows. A full length feature film might have as many as 20 little incidents in it that could easily be flash fiction.
Don’t directly write a story based on the film, though. Just carefully pick out those little moments, write down what’s happening as a one or two sentence plot, and then use it to inspire your own, completely original flash fiction story.
One of our 100 Flash Fiction Prompts was actually taken from the movie Pulp Fiction!
How to write very short flash fiction
There are several reasons writers might start writing flash fiction. Of course, it could be that they just love and enjoy the form, but sometimes they’ll be a more strategic and practical reason at play.
Perhaps they want to practise the process of writing stories within the confines of a certain word limit. Maybe they are trying to develop a daily writing routine and they don’t have a lot of free time. It could be that they’re trying to break a habit of not finishing writing projects, or perhaps they are entering a flash fiction competition.
Whatever the reason, very often when we sit down to write flash, we must work under an imposed or self-imposed word restraint. We’ve set ourselves (or been set) the task of keeping the story under a particular number of words.
So, how do you plot a flash fiction story when you have to keep your story very, very short.
We’re not going to discuss stories of 100 words or fewer here. Technically, those stories are still flash, however, we prefer to categorise 100 word stories as drabbles and anything under 100 words as micro fiction.
But what if you have to keep your flash fiction story under, let’s say, 300 words? How do you write a flash fiction story that short?
The answer is: get your microscope out again. Remember earlier when we said writing flash fiction is like looking at part of a story under a microscope? If you have to write very short flash fiction, you’ll need to zoom in even further.
Let’s look at a couple of examples from our 100 Flash Fiction Prompts:

1. During a match, a young boxer must decide whether to throw the fight.

If you had 1,000 words to devote to the story, you could have time to tell the story of the entire fight. With only 300 words, it might be better to zoom in on the very moment when the boxer must choose whether or not to go down.
In a longer flash fiction story you might have time to go into detail about why he’s in this situation and why he’s so conflicted. In a 300 word story, you might only devote one or two sentences to his gambling debt and the large sum of money waiting for him if he goes down in the third round, as instructed.

1. A family must decide what to take and what to leave behind as a wildfire approaches their home.

If you had 1,000 words to devote to this story, you might be able to write about the whole process of choosing what to take and what to leave behind. You might be able to mention many different choices and have the whole family participate in the story. You’d be able to go into some details about certain choices and the stories behind individual objects or mementos, as well as the implications of choosing certain things over others.
With only 300 words, it would be advisable to zoom in on one member of the family and to focus on one profound and important choice.
How to write a flash fiction story
Now you have your mini plot, you still need to make sure your flash fiction feels like a complete story. It should still have a beginning, middle, and an end.
Just like a short story, you may need to bring in a little exposition here and there to give texture, context, backstory, and to bring some depth to the characters. But, unlike a short story, you won’t necessarily need to end with a full, detailed resolution. It’s quite common for a flash fiction story to end with a quick twist or plenty of ambiguity.
Flash Fiction is much more about eliciting emotions and provoking thought, than setting up and resolving a complex story.
100 Awesome Flash Fiction Prompts
A young ballet dancer chooses not to tell the other dancers in her troop about a loose paving stone outside their dance studio.
Two sisters realise they’ve both been on a perfect first date … with the same man.
On the car journey home, two parents realise they’ve left their child’s favourite teddy on a park bench several hours away.
A writer suffering from writers’ block looks for inspiration in a strange place.
Set 200 years in the future, a young man realises he’s too emotionally dependent on his robot assistant.
A young woman discovers she’s taken the wrong suitcase home from the airport. The contents of the case make her question her own life choices.
A murderer realises he has only 10 minutes to dispose of a body.
A child decides to walk home by themselves after their parent forgets to pick them up from school … again.
Your protagonist manages to talk the grim reaper out of collecting their soul.
Your protagonist suddenly realises they’ve been living in a simulation.
A young couple has chosen to spend the night in a haunted house to fix their marriage. Your story starts just as things get very weird.
Your protagonist finds a letter they wrote to themselves when they were a teenager.
Your protagonist must decide whether or not to drink from a fountain that erases all painful memories from the mind.
Your protagonist comes across a street called ‘Memory Lane’. They quickly realise the name is eerily apt.
A bride finds out something startling about her future husband an hour before the wedding.
Your protagonist finds an advertisement for a company that promises everlasting youth.
A youngest sibling shows up at a family reunion they weren’t actually invited to.
Your protagonist finds a piece of paper with a spell on it. If they say the words out loud they aren't sure if something terrible or wonderful will happen.
Your protagonist is watching a jazz band play when they realise they know the drummer from somewhere — but where? It takes a whole song for them to figure it out.
Your protagonist must meet their ex for lunch to tell them they’re now engaged. It’s been just a few weeks since they split up.
Two people on a sinking ship must decide who should take the last seat in the last lifeboat.
During a match, a young boxer must decide whether to throw the fight.
Your protagonist must pack their belongings before moving to a new colony on mars.
A pilot realises they have lost control of their aircraft.
Your protagonist doesn’t want to attend their 100th birthday party — and for good reason!
Your protagonist gets stuck in a lift with their ex … 5 minutes after breaking up with them.
A child says goodbye to the fairies in his garden before moving to a new home.
Your protagonist saves someone’s life … and then wishes they hadn’t.
Your protagonist arrives at a blind date. They’ve been set up with someone they actually know a little too well.
Set in a dystopian future in which public displays of affection are banned, your protagonist faces an agonising choice.
An agoraphobic must face their fear in order to save something important.
Your protagonist must make her partner fall out of love with them. Both their lives depend on it.
Your protagonist is hiking with her small children, they come face to face with a grizzly bear and her cubs.
Cinderella and Prince Charming realise they got married too quickly.
A message written in graffiti on a bathroom wall has serious implications for your protagonist.
Your protagonist finds a bag, looks inside, and realises the owner might just be their soulmate.
Your protagonist has been seeing the same stranger everywhere they go for months. They finally decide to confront them.
A couple realise their relationship is over during the trip of a lifetime. They’ve been saving up for the trip for years.
A public debate sees two previously married people letting their private grievances come into their arguments.
Your protagonist plans their escape from a retirement home.
A couple realise their fundamental beliefs are at odds with each other.
An artist develops an obsession with drawing a next-door neighbour.
Your protagonist finds themselves trapped in a cabin with a group of hikers during a heavy snowfall.
An ice skater must face going back on the ice after a dangerous fall.
A couple must decide their plan for New Year’ Eve. They both have secret reasons for their choice.
A family must decide what to take and what to leave behind as a wildfire approaches their home.
Your protagonist is waiting for someone important at the airport. They begin to think that person isn’t going to show up … and then they realise why.
Your protagonist must find their way through a maze. What they find in the middle of the maze is the last thing they were expecting.
An actor waiting in the wings has forgotten his first line.
Your protagonist is wrongly identified as a hero. Do they come clean?
Your protagonist realises their past is catching up with them.
Your protagonist overhears something that has serious implications for them while trying on clothes in a changing room.
Your protagonist is in a costume shop trying to decide what to dress up as for Halloween.
Your protagonist realises they’ve slipped into an alternate dimension.
A surgeon must make an impossible choice on the operating table.
A pregnant journalist interviews the mother of a missing child.
Your protagonist must ask his girlfriend’s father for his blessing, only to discover the father knows his deepest secret.
Your protagonist sees something on social media that will change their life forever.
Two work colleagues realise they’ve been dreaming the same dreams for weeks.
A reluctant daughter comes to terms with having to carry on the family business.
Your protagonist realises she must go on the run.
Two bank robbers disagree on their plan to rob a bank. This leads to a disastrous consequence.
A strange case of deja vous leaves your protagonist convinced of supernatural interference.
A sceptic begins to question their beliefs during a psychic reading.
Your protagonist uncovers a scandal at their workplace.
A hapless cook tries to recreate her late father’s favourite recipes in an effort to feel connected to him.
Your protagonist has a premonition that makes them certain they can’t visit their mother-in-law for Christmas. Now he must convince his husband.
A young backpacker discovers something unexpected in a cave.
An impulsive character and an indecisive character are brought together by chance. They must make an important choice.
Two characters cleaning up after a party discover an object that sheds light on something strange that happened earlier.
Two strangers are trapped together during a blackout.
Your protagonist must take a leap of faith in order to save something important to them.
Your protagonist discovers a huge part of their life has been a lie.
Your protagonist has set up an elaborate way to propose. Inexplicably, everything goes wrong.
Your protagonist must buy a dress for her mother’s funeral.
Your protagonist goes back to her favourite city in the world, only to find it has completely changed.
While stargazing, your protagonist realises the stars are forming secret messages in the sky.
Your protagonist hears a news story on the radio that will mean the world changes forever. However, she seems to be the only person who heard it.
Your protagonist is crossing a frozen lake. They see something under the ice that definitely shouldn’t be there.
A workaholic must come to terms with retirement.
An Olympic athlete must decide whether or not to report their teammate for doping.
A young mother feels isolated from her childless friends.
Your protagonist is about to realise their greatest ambition. Will it be everything they were hoping for?
Onboard a spaceship, a couple prepare to go into stasis for hundreds of years.
Your protagonist has an obsession with thinking about the past.
Set in a post-apocalyptic future, your protagonist meets an unlikely love interest.
Your protagonist visits a place from their childhood and realises their memories of that time might not be accurate at all.
A small child has decided to run away from home. Her parents watch on with amusement as she decides what to put in her backpack.
On a whim, a bus driver decides to radically change his route, much to the chagrin of his passengers.
Dystopian. A couple in love are only allowed to spend time with each other one day a year.
A shapeshifter begins to realise their powers are fading. They must decide what form will be the last one they take before they cannot change again.
The devil visits your protagonist with an offer on her soul.
Your protagonist suddenly has the ability to read minds. There’s only one place they want to go now!
Your very wealthy protagonist has designed a simple test to see who will inherit her estate.
An archaeologist discovers something that will change how we see the history of the world. It could be dangerous. Does he keep it to himself?
Your protagonist must clear out their late mother’s house. She discovers an incredible family secret.
Your protagonist is meeting his brother. They haven’t seen each other for 20 years.
Your protagonist develops the ability to see the world literally through someone else’s eyes.
Your protagonist starts to believe their partner might be a spy.
Your protagonist discovers a hidden camera in their living room.
Looking for a flash fiction competition? Check out our ‘Big List of International Writing Competitions!’ Looking for inspiration? Why not check out our list of the 20 Greatest Short Story Writers of All Time! Just received another short story rejection? Here’s our post about ‘How to Deal With Story Rejections’ Bonus Prompts! Two characters waiting by the side of the road realise they are both meeting the same person.
A woman loses her young niece in a busy shopping mall.
Three strangers must solve a riddle in order to gain entry to a secret club.
A poor woman must borrow ingredients from her neighbours to bake her husband a birthday cake.
A waiter finally finds out why an old man has been coming to the restaurant where he works every day at exactly the same time.
Two work colleagues must decide which of them is to take the blame for a terrible mistake at work.
Your disgruntled protagonist goes to confront the couple next door about the strange noises they’ve been hearing at night.
A family dinner party sees three characters make three very surprising announcements.
Two women argue over who should get to buy the last dress available in a store. How do they decide who should get it?
A young couple find out they knew (and disliked) each other vehemently as children.
Love writing stories? Register now for our free 7 Day Story Writing Challenges. Write a short story in a week, get extensive feedback on your entry, and compete for a prize of £500 in each round of the challenge. Register today!
Mastered the art of flash fiction? Now you can try submitting your stories to literary magazines! We’ve compiled a list of the best literary magazines that don’t charge a reading fee! Check out our Big List of No-Fee Literary Magazines.

I may have missed some more recent (late 2023-24) declarations, so let me know if I should add anything I've missed.
Stugotz personal record book. Sorry if the links are expired on some things. They're old.
[Time Stamps] Started to use them in late 2019. They may not be exact based on what podcast app or service you use. But they'll be close.
I DIDN'T ASK FOR ANY OF THIS:

FOOTBALL

(1) UCF is the 2017-2018 national champion.
(2) If Kirk Cousins goes to the Jaguars and not the Jets, no championship he wins will count in the personal record book.
Note (2)(a): Still pending sort of since Kirk is with the Vikings now – possible in future he could go to Jags.
(3) Eli manning has 1 ring. He doesnt get one for throwing a ball into David Tyree's face / Tyree getting a football stuck in his helmet.
(4) Carson Wentz has a Super Bowl 52 ring.
Note (4)(a): Foles does not have a Super Bowl 52 ring.
(5) The Raiders defeated the Patriots in their divisional playoff matchup in 2002 (Tuck Rule game), and then would defeat the Rams in Super Bowl 36.
Note (5)(a): In this scenario also, Bill Belichick was also "fired and looking for a job" after the Tuck Rule game and has 0 rings.
(6) If the 2017 Patriots won Super Bowl 52, James Harrison would not have a ring (Patriots lost to Eagles).
(7) Peyton Manning has one ring (Broncos ring does not count).
(8) Peyton Manning must give such ring he lost (above) to Von Miller, who thus has 2 rings.
(9) Aaron Rodgers can have all the rings he wants for keeping all of central Wisconsin employed.
(10) Brian Billick has 0 rings (2000 Ravens Super Bowl) because that defense carried him.
(11) Tony Boselli is a Hall of Famer.
(12) Tarik Cohen is an honorary Jew.
(13) JuJu Smith-Schuster is also an honorary Jew. L'Chaim.
(14) Drew brees has three rings for winning the super bowl for the city of New Orleans.
Note (14)(a): There was discussion on this where the number started at three, went up to five, came down to two, but it ended up at three.
(15) Mike McCarthy has no Super Bowl rings.
Note(15)(a): Dan also has this in his record book, and it is the first entry into the Le Batard Personal Record Book.
Note 15(b): In fact, McCarthy has -3 (Negative three) rings.
(16) Any Super Bowl rings Antonio Brown gets with the Patriots will not count in the Stugotz personal record book (9/9 Weekend Observations National Hour 2).
(17) Ohio State's 76 to 5 victory over Miami (Ohio) on 9/21/19 does not count.
(18) Due to Bill Belichick's 219 wins with Tom Brady, Bill's week 7 2023 victory over the Bills was actually his 81st victory and not his 300th victory.
(19) The 2002-03 Miami Hurricanes actually won the Fiesta Bowl/BCS National Championship game against Ohio State.
(20) If JJ Watt joins the Texans for the 2024 season or later on, none of the Super Bowl rings will count in Stugotz's personal record book

BASKETBALL

Kevin Durant
(1) If Westbrook wins a championship and beats Kevin Durant along the way in the playoffs, Westbrook will have won 2 championship rings.
(2) "STRAP IT ON BOYS, GONNA TAKE YA FOR A RIDE:"
Kevin Durant has 0 rings (Zero rings)
Kevin Durant has -1 rings (Negative 1 rings).
Kevin Durant has -4 rings (Negative 4) (As of 4/11/18)
Note (2)(a): This number is subject to change based on Stugotz altering rings to the "-4" current total. Specifically as seen recently when Stugotz adjusted the number from (i) 0 rings to (ii) -1 rings to (iii) -4 rings.
Note (2)(b): Here is a tweet transcript of the conversation where this was discovered.
Archive link
(3) If Kevin Durant wins an NBA title for the NY Knicks, he will gain 11 rings.
Note (3)(a): As seen above in "(2)," Kevin Durant has -4 rings.
Note (3)(b): [Math] If Durant were to remain at -4 rings, and subsequently win an NBA title for the Knicks, he will have 7 rings total. This was specifically stated (-4 + 11 = 7), and a question about a non-specifically stated Personal Record Book entry is posed below in "Note (3)(c)(i)."
Note (3)(c): If the Golden State Warriors had won a championship playing 3 on 5 with Kevin Durant, Kevin Durant would have 1 ring.
Note (3)(c)(i): [Confusion] I am unsure if "Note(3)(c)" means he would gain +1 ring, and therefore be "up" to -3 rings total. Possibly, Stugotz means if the Golden State Warriors had won a championship 3 on 5 with Durant, Kevin Durant would be at +1 rings total (Positive 1 rings).
(4) Kevin Durant's dagger in Game 3 did not count, because according to Stugotz, none of Durant's stats count. KD's official statline last night was 0/0/0 and the Cavs blew the Warriors out by 40.
(5) Anything Kevin Durant has done with the Warriors so far is not in Stugotz' personal record scroll.
Note (5)(a): Stugotz did not take his feathered pen and write anything in his scroll (King Roy approves).
(6) Westbrook has ALL of KD's rings.
(7) For every time KD says he doesn't give a BLEEP, Stugotz adds 2 "I do give a BLEEPS" in the personal record book.
(8) Per Dan, speaking on Stugotz' behalf, Kevin Durant has no Olympic Gold Medals (9/18/19 National Hour 1 @ 00:07:50).
Michael Jordan
(1) Jordan has 9 rings because:
(a) The Rockets have to give their 2 rings from 1994 and 1995 to Jordan (+2); and
(b) The Bulls would have won the 1999 Finals over the Spurs if Jordan didn't retire (+1; 9 total).
Note (1)(a-b)(i): Put LeBron's rings in a box and put Jordan's rings in a box. Jordan is +6 by the way over LeBron box-minus, despite box-minus sounding like a dumb stat.
(2) Michael Jordan was suspended for 2 years for gambling (Said 4/25/18 Hour 2, 14:30 in podcast).
Note 2(a): HOWEVER, MJ still has 9 rings as see above in (1)(a) and (1)(b).
(3) Any game Michael Jordan played wearing the uniform #45 does not count.
LeBron James
(1) If LeBron James goes to the Golden State Warriors, every Championship he wins will result in a deduction of 2 previously won championships.
(2) The Miami Heat LeBron teams were the GREATEST teams in the history of sports (5/7/18 Local Hour).
(3) The Miami Heat LeBron teams were also the MOST INTERESTING teams in the history of sports.
(4) If, after the 2018 NBA Playoffs:
(a) LeBron does not make it to the finals and the Celtics do; and
(b) The Houston Rockets do not make it to the finals and the Warriors do; and
(c) LeBron goes to the Houston Rockets for the next season, THEN
LeBron is allowed to win rings that count in Stu's personal record book.
Note (4)(a-c)(i): HOWEVER, Harden & Chris Paul - if they remain on the Rockets with LeBron on the team - are not allowed to have any of the rings won with LeBron count in Stu's personal record book.
Note 4(a-c)(ii): To quote the big man Stu (with Dan agreeing of course), "Do it on your own” (Dan agrees here).
(5) If LeBron wins an NBA Championship with the 2018 Lakers roster (as of 7/23/18), then that wins counts for 6 rings.
Note (5)(a): Thus LeBron would have 9 rings.
Kyrie Irving
(1) Kyrie Irving hit one of the biggest shots in NBA Finals History, but was only in that position because of LeBron James. Kyrie Irving, did hit one of the biggest shots in NBA Finals history that won everyone on that team a Ring, except for you (Kyrie). (3/9/20 Hour #3; Google Podcast @ 07:00).
Note (1)(a): Stugotz: "A little revision to the uhhh Stugotz Personal Record Book that I'll come around to writing...or Mike will." I'M WRITING IT YOU IDIOT MORON JACKAL
Misc. Basketball
(1) The Houston Rockets have 0 (Zero) NBA Championship victories.
Note (1)(a): See "Michael Jordan (1)(a)" for reasoning.
Note (1)(a)(i): [Restated Reasoning] Michael Jordan is actually in possession of those 1994 and 1995 Rockets rings because Michael Jordan would have won those championships if he stayed in Chicago.
Note(1)(b): [CONFLICTING HOT TAKE] Stugotz has also said Jordan didn't get the Rockets' rings because he was actually suspended for gambling.
Note (1)(b)(i) NEEDS CLARIFICATION PLEASE. Stugotz keeps going back and forth. In "Michael Jordan Note 1(a)," the opposite of "Miscellaneous Basketball Note (1)(b) is stated because he has gone back and forth on this issue.
(2) Steve Kerr has no rings as a coach. In fact, he has never even coached a game.
(3) Mychal Thompson (Klay's dad) has no rings. (Said on Zach Harper podcast).
(4) Clyde Drexler no rings (Said on Zach Harper podcast).
(5) Giannis Antetekoumpo is pronounced Yani Adababoombo.
(6) As long as James Harden has his beard, he cannot win any championships.
Note (6)(a): If the Rockets win a ring, then the ring goes to the beard.
(7) Lamarcus Aldridge cost the Spurs game 2 of the 2017 Western Conference Semifinals, even though they won.
(8) If the Sixers happen to win a championship, Sam Hinkie gets a ring.
(9) Chris Paul has NOT made a Western Conference Final since he had to join the Rockets to do so.
(10) Michael Jordan winning the NBA Finals in 1999 also means that Tim Duncan only has 4 rings instead of 5 rings.
(11) The Warriors only have 1 ring
Note (11)(a): Durant still has -4.
(12) Boogie Cousins cannot win a NBA Championship and have it count if he does so with the Warriors.
(13) Billy Donovan was the NBA Coach of the Year in 2017 (12/13/17 @ 28:10 Hour 1).
Note (13)(a): The Thunder blowing the 3-1 lead to the Warriors that year had nothing to do with Donovan. It was Durant's fault.
(14) The OKC Thunder actually did win the WCF against the Warriors in 2017 when up 3-1.
Note (14)(a): This does not apply to Durant though.
Note (14)(b): The Thunder also beat whoever they would have played in the Finals. Durant still no ring.
(15) Embiid has his 2023 MVP taken away and given to Jimmy Butler.
(16) Caitlin Clark's NCAA all-time scoring record still belongs to Pistol Pete because unlike Pistol Pete, Caitlin didn't do it in 3 years and she did it with a 3 point line.

BASEBALL

Babe Ruth
(1) Babe Ruth is black.
(2) Babe Ruth never hit a baseball. Not once.
(3) Babe Ruth is the number two black baseball player of all time behind Barry Larkin.
(4) Babe Ruth is NOT a top 20 Baseball player of all time. He's a pitcher.
Note (4)(a): However This is somewhat confusing/interesting because:
(i) Stugotz has said "Babe Ruth is the number two black baseball player of all time behind Barry Larkin; and"
(ii) This MUST mean Stugotz can only have 1 black player in his top 20 Baseball players of all time Barry Larkin; because
(iii) The only way this can work logically is if in the list of greatest players #1 through #20, only Barry Larkin is on the latter top #1 through #20 list. I would like some clarification on if he wishes to change this take/record.
(5) Babe Ruth is also not a top 20 pitcher of all time.
Misc. Baseball
(1) Stugotz has declared that in his personal record book, Baseball no longer allows pitchers to hit (Stated on 05/03/2018 @ 12:38:52 P.M).
Note (1)(a): Excludes Bartolo Colon, and Shohei Ohtani.
Note (1)(b): You are either a pitcher or a hitter. Not both.
(2) If the Dodgers won the 2017 World Series Clayton Kershaw would not have had a ring.
(3) Wade Boggs DOES have a ring because he rode around on a horse with a beer afterward.
(4) Clayton Kershaw did not win an MVP award because the award for pitchers was already given, the CY Young award.
(5) Miami beat LSU in the 1996 College Baseball World Series.
(6) The 1986 NY Mets did not win the World Series against the Boston Red Sox.
Note (6)(a): This "pains" Stugotz.
(7) The Red Sox retroactively winning the 1986 World Series may result in taking a ring away from the Mets.
Note (7)(a): Stugotz has to think about it though, he's not sure yet.
(8) Bryce Harper did not win the 2018 home run derby because he cheated.
(9) Kershaw's Earned Ring Average (ERA) is 0.00.
(10) Mike Minor (Rangers Pitcher) does not have 200 strikeouts in 2019. He's at 199 (National Hour 2, 10 mins 40 seconds in).
Note (10)(a): Chris agrees too. And who really cares (15% on poll do care).
(11) The 2020-2021 Mets, during the Coronavirus outbreak, are 0-3 and Jacob deGrom is somehow 0-1 with a 0.00 ERA and 1 complete game. The deGrominator. (Google Podcast 3/30 Hour #3 @ 19:20)

HOCKEY

(1) Ray Bourque doesn't have a ring.
(2) Alex Ovechkin may or may not have won the Stanley Cup against the Vegas Golden Knights.
Note (2)(a): "I mean he beat an expansion team . . . bunch of players nobody wanted" (We get the sense that Dan agrees).

TENNIS

(1) If anyone wins a major in Female Tennis without Serena Williams playing, it does not count and they have 0 rings.
(2) If Maria Sharapova wins a grand slam in which Serena isnt competing it doesnt count.

GOLF

(1) If Jason Day wins the 2018 Masters, it counts as an American winning (as far as bets are concerned).
(2) Vijay Singh did not play in the 2018 Masters.
(3) Steph Curry did not win the 2023 American Century Celebrity Golf Championship Tournament . Mardy Fish was the real winner.

SOCCER

(1) Lionel Messi is stripped of all his achievements for using HGH. He never played soccer. He is still 5'1". "Fraud."
(2) Soccer is dead.

NCAA DIVISION 1 WOMEN'S LACROSSE

(1) Rachel has more rings than Kevin Durant

MISCELLANEOUS

(1) Aqua?
(2) Rings plus-minus is the only way to measure greatness.
(3) The HBO Andre the Giant film was good, not great, and Stugotz didn’t learn anything.
(4) Benoit Lecomte (guy they interviewed) can not and will not swim from San Francisco to Tokyo in the personal record book because he is most likely taking a dip for a few minutes then coming back on the boat and enjoying some filet mignon by the pool.
Note (4)(a): "Do it without a yacht. And how about ya do it without the little magnetic field around you that keeps sharks away. How bout that. Allows dolphins through though? Anyway.."
(5) Justify (the Horse) only has a double crown.
Note (5)(a): This is the first ever double crown.
(6) Tango and Cash is in the action movie Hall of Fame. and Cliffhanger has the greatest 5 minute intro of any movie of all time.
(7) Maximum Security (a Horse) won the 2019 Kentucky Derby.
(8) Fruit Stripes Gum is NOT a 1st Ballot Hall of Famer in Stu's "Gum Hall of Fame." (08/12/2019 Hour 2 @ 15:25).
Note (8)(a): "It loses it's flavor so quickly"
Note (8)(b): Also, "[...] Bazooka...1st Ballot Hall of Famer." Also, "Big League Chew..1st Ballot."
(9) Chris Cote owns all intellectual property rights to the "Friends" (TV Show) Movie with a misleading preview that eventually has a climax leading to an intense murder mystery. (10/29/19 Hour #2 @ 03:15).
Note (9)(a): "If they make this without crediting Cote, they're stealing it."
(10) That guy killed the pigeon (12/10 Hour 3 @ 08:20).
(11) Billy owns the record for world's longest Plank (2/25, Hour #3; Google Podcast @ 30:55).
Note (11)(a): Possibly in just the Non-Marine edition.
(12) Zach Buchanan won a Pulitzer Prize for his story on the Madison Bumgarner / Mason Saunders rodeo fiasco (2/28/20 Hour #2; Google Podcasts @ 21:35).
(13) Findlay the Golden retriever holds the Stu Gotz Personal Record Book record for most tennis balls held in a mouth at one time by a dog at 6 (2/11/2020)
(14) Ace Davis (The kid who "proved" Tom Brady was cheating with science) and his fathefamily are heroes (4/1 Hour #3; Google Podcast @ 18:50).
(15) Dan did NOT do more push-ups than Domonique Foxworth (Dan did push-ups on a non-linear platform) (4/28/2020 Hour # 1).

SPORTS MEDIA DREAM TEAM™

Sourced from Google Podcast; 05/06/2020, Hour 2 @ 09:00
(Head Coach) Ernie Johnson - "When you look over to the bench, what you need is someone to stand tall, someone who is confident, someone who is competent, someone who has all the credibility -soaked in credibility - when you have the Head Coach of the Sports Media Dream Team."
(1; Point Guard) Mike Greenberg - "Doesn't really want to answer the big questions, but has no problem distributing those questions to other people who are happy to answer them."
(2; Shooting Guard) Stephen A. Smith - "Never met a topic he doesn't like. Short memory, doesn't care, Greeny could throw him anything and Stephen A. is gonna run with it even if he knows nothing about the topic. That is how it works. Stephen A. is the greatest of all time."
(3; Small Forward) Chris Fowler - "A do it all guy. Studio show? Great. Play by Play? Even better. Can do everything."
(4; Small Forward Replacement) Maria Taylor) - "Need Play by Play, need Sideline, need Studio Host - she can do it all"
(5; Power Forward) Dianna Russini - "You need some crazy, some don't mess with us, someone to tear someone's head off in the event that they come after one of us."
(6; Power Forward Replacement) PFT Commenter - "He just comes in and acts crazy, throws his arms and hair around, and give ya 5 to 10 really crazy minutes."
(7; In honor of the Chicago Bulls, Stugotz needed a Wennington, a Purdue) Scott Van Pelt - Dan debated whether or not SVP should be on the Sports Media Dream Team™. That's what he's doing.
(8; Bench Player w/ No Position Specified) Doris Burke
(9) Teased...