Hello - I’ve asked this before but didn’t get any responses but I did end up getting some personal messages from some people who think they experienced the same thing or simply just asking me if I ever figured it out: I can certainly mention it to my PCP the next time I go but this happens very I frequently and I haven’t even started taking a list of what I’ve eaten that cause it.
37f, seasonal allergies (no meds other than regular allergy pill and Flonase). Generally healthy.
Every once in a while I will eat something (either homemade/whole food or packaged food) and pretty immediately my soft palate will become irritated. Like painful - not usually unbearable and I’ve never felt the need to actually stop eating what I’m eating but it just happened.
I just made myself breakfast - which included some ground Turkey and ground sausage that I had in the freezer, a piece of bacon I had in the freezer, 3 eggs, an English muffin, ketchup and Franks Red Hot on the scramble. And I just had to stop eating after ~5 bites and like gargle my throat to rinse it off - the pain is subsiding now. Know also it’s happened before when I ate some Dukes Sausages….so perhaps it’s some sort of reaction to some preserving agent? Since preserved/highly seasoned meats were in the mix but I swear it’s happened with whole foods as well before.
I think if I could really see the back of my throat it would look inflamed and red but I don’t feel bumps or anything with my tongue. It just hurts.
Is this something that you’ve heard of or should I be really trying to narrow down what it is and stop eating it (does it seem like something like this can get worse and worse, like anaphylaxis? I don’t know what that feels like - I don’t ever feel itchy or like I can’t breath)? Literally this has happened for years and never so bad that I felt I needed to stop eating while it’s happening even if what I’m eating is causing it - but now I feel like I cant/shouldn’t finish my breakfast.

ToC: * Previous experience of meditation * A meditation session * Actual questions * Short background on me

Previous experience of meditation

Recently (less than a month ago) started meditating again, I tried it ca 3 years ago and kept it almost daily for some month but then lost it. When I meditate now I can easily get lost in it for more than 1 hour, where as when I previously meditated 10-20 minutes was my max. Previously I didn't have any "more intense" experiences from meditation, just focused on breath and body scanning. Now though, almost every time I meditate I get a very surreal experience and often encounter something new. It usually goes as follows:

A meditation session

1. First few minutes, breath slow down, heart rate drop, I feel calm and body starts tingling.
2. Then I usually notice my sense of self starts dislodging from the body. Looks a bit like a flame where as my body is the firewood. Simultaneously I usually start visualizing complex patterns (usually going from the outside to the center). Somewhere around here my senses dull, I'm not noticing sounds around me, I loose most of the physical sensation of my body (e.g. the physical sensation of my breath or discomforts of sitting, etc).
3. From there I can go multiple ways, with some level of control, here are a few examples:
   1. Communicative space - It feels like I'm not alone. Some of the thoughts I notice while in here feels like they stem from me, while some feel like they stem from others. The space is like a void where every thought/sense is laid bare, language is irrelevant here and just the selected interpretation. Here it feels like I am having conversations with others.
   2. Bodily space - Similarly, I'm not alone here. Though here communication doesn't happen through thoughts, in fact others don't seem to respond to thought here. This space is harder to explain so I'll describe a specific experience I had. The external part of my body was being washed and groomed by a creature using its massive tongue (image Lickitung). He then opened a hole in my foot (weirdly experienced as painful) and then, using a straw, drained me of something (like a dark/heavy essence, wouldn't necessarily call it a bad essence though). After that I saw my body (as viewed in a vertical cross-section) as a flower bed where flowers started to bloom. I thanked him in the way I felt instinctively correct before I moved on.
   3. Worldly space - This feels like I have golden strings coming from my body that connects out to other people. The deeper my focus the more strings and the further I can follow them along visually. It feels like I connect to the people at the other end. The connection is initially just a warm feeling through the string but eventually turn more into a tube where I can send and receive sensations/feelings.
   4. Empty space - Clear intense white nothingness, don't know how to describe it really, basically just a white space devoid of everything (feelings, thoughts, body, etc). This is the hardest to maintain, it becomes muddied/unclear by thoughts and is intensified/cleared when my mind is blank.

Actual questions

I feel like I've meditated too short of a time relative to what I experience when I meditate, thus: 1. I fear I'm just hallucinating/day-dreaming it all and I'm not really meditating correctly. 2. If I'm actually meditating correctly: 1. Should I try and make sense of what I'm experiencing or just experience it? And if one should interpret it, how does one interpret it? 2. How do I know I'm on the right path and how do I know where to go from here? Is it just through personal exploration or should I read up on any meditation material? I barely have any knowledge of meditation except my subjective experience, so if I should read up on it I would greatly appreciate tips on where to start reading.

Short background on me

I've long been a very logically rooted person and spirituality always felt too unscientific for me. But one of my core values are to not connect my identity to specific ideas and instead be open-minded and curious. Listening to Dr K made me realize I had prejudices against spirituality while having barely any experience of it. Only the small amount of meditation I tried before, mostly in aim of it helping me with emotional regulation.
Though I've done a lot of self-reflection, both on my behavior and my feelings. I've quite some experience with psychology, which I think helps (mom's a psychology teacher, had an ex-partner that was a psychologist, and I really enjoy the subject). Self-reflection has been practiced almost daily for a few years (mostly during on long walks).
Don't want to come of self-indulgent but I'm including the following because I've gotten the impression that many of these are achieved through meditation, in my case through self-reflection (which possibly could be interpreted as a form of meditation?). * I'm happy/content with myself and where I am, without having lost the will to improve. * I feel like I have a confidence/freedom move in any directions I decide to go (E.g. I've manage to deal with anxieties, addiction, and intense anger issues). * I feel like I don't really fear death (not in a nihilistic way, but in acceptance kinda way). * Similarly for people close to me, I don't fear their death that much, even my most important support pillars. I would of course be very sad to loose them but I feel like I'd be able to handle it relatively well. * I feel quite free from definition/identity. Not rigidly being beholden to any idea while still being able to defend and discuss my current values (which I try to hold under constant scrutiny). In general I'd say that this is expressed mostly as not feeling much shame from external sources.
Don't get me wrong, I'm far from perfect and I have multiple things I'm continuously having to work on and even more things I haven't even started yet.
Feel free to post any type of response, I'd appreciate discussing it all :) * Relating/discussing meditation experiences. * Tips or guidelines for meditation. * Feedback/reflections on my personality * etc

Cars are marvels of modern engineering, whisking us away on adventures and errands alike. But beneath the sleek hood lies a complex network of interrelated parts, working together to keep you rolling. Ever felt a pang of confusion when it comes to automotive parts? You're not alone! This guide unravels the mysteries of these essential components, empowering you to understand your car better and ensure it runs smoothly for years to come.

Under the Hood: Essential Automotive Parts

Let's delve into the heart of your car and explore some of the most critical automotive parts:

• Engine: The powerhouse of your car, the engine burns fuel to create energy that propels the vehicle. It's a symphony of pistons, valves, and a crankshaft, converting that energy into motion.
• Transmission: This unsung hero acts like a gearbox, transferring power from the engine to the wheels at the optimal speed and torque. Automatic transmissions do the gear shifting for you, while manual transmissions require driver input through a clutch pedal and gear shifter.
• Drivetrain: This system carries power from the engine and transmission to the wheels, allowing them to spin and propel the car forward. It typically includes components like the driveshaft, axles, and differentials.
• Brakes: These safety superstars bring your car to a halt by converting kinetic energy (the car's motion) into friction heat. Stepping on the brake pedal applies pressure to a braking system that utilizes brake pads and discs to slow down the wheels.
• Steering System: This intricate network allows you to control the direction of your car. Turning the steering wheel sends signals through linkages and tie rods, ultimately turning the front wheels.
• Suspension: Imagine your car bouncing on a bumpy road. The suspension system acts like a shock absorber, mitigating bumps and vibrations to ensure a smooth and comfortable ride.
• Wheels and Tires: These are the very foundation of your car, literally keeping it in contact with the road. Wheels provide the structure for the tires, which are inflated rubber components that offer grip and traction.

Maintaining the Magic: Essential Fluids and Components

Beyond the major parts, a network of fluids and other components keeps your car functioning optimally:

• Engine Oil: The lifeblood of your engine, engine oil lubricates moving parts, reduces friction, and helps dissipate heat. Ensuring the health of an engine requires routine oil changes.
• Coolant: This liquid antifreeze mixture circulates through the engine, absorbing heat and preventing overheating.
• Brake Fluid: This hydraulic fluid transmits pressure from the brake pedal to the braking system, allowing the brakes to function effectively.
• Battery: The battery stores electrical energy and provides the initial burst of power to start the engine. It also supplies electricity to various car functions like headlights and radios.
• Air Filter: This filter removes dust and debris from the air entering the engine, ensuring clean air reaches the combustion chambers for optimal performance.
• Spark Plugs: These components ignite the air-fuel mixture within the engine cylinders, creating the combustion that propels the car.

Understanding the Signs: Common Car Issues and Parts Replacement

Just like us, cars experience wear and tear. Here are some common car issues and the parts that might be causing them:

• Check Engine Light: This dreaded light can indicate various problems, from a loose gas cap to a more serious engine issue. Consulting a mechanic with diagnostic tools is recommended.
• Strange Noises: Unusual grinding, squealing, or knocking noises can point towards issues with brakes, bearings, or other components. Early detection is key to prevent further damage.
• Decreased Performance: Reduced fuel efficiency or sluggish acceleration might indicate problems with spark plugs, air filters, or even transmission issues.
• Steering Issues: Difficulty steering or vibrations while driving could be signs of problems with the steering system, suspension, or tire alignment.

The Empowered Driver: Tips for Maintaining Your Car

By understanding these automotive parts and their functions, you can become a more informed car owner. Here are some tips to keep your car running smoothly:

• Regular Maintenance: Follow your car's recommended maintenance schedule for oil changes, filter replacements, and other routine checks.
• Listen to Your Car: Pay attention to unusual noises, warning lights, or changes in performance. Addressing issues early can prevent costly repairs.
• Consult a Mechanic: Don't hesitate to consult a qualified mechanic if you suspect a problem beyond your expertise.
• Invest in Quality Parts: When replacing parts, consider using high-quality components to ensure optimal performance and longevity.

Conclusion: Your Car, Your Companion

Understanding automotive parts empowers you to take better care of your car, your trusty companion on countless journeys. With proper maintenance and a basic understanding of these essential components, you can ensure your car runs smoothly for years to come, avoiding unexpected breakdowns and keeping you on the road. Remember, a little knowledge goes a long way, and this guide equips you with the tools you need to navigate the exciting world of automotive parts!

• Roll With It was a pretty fun/silly mission that got a bump by the Cotton Eye Joe montage. It looked like it wouldn't have been hard to just do what Jay did the entire mission and push yourself to the finish line, but there was the risk of pulling an Averey and launching yourself in the wrong direction. Jay's move reminded me of the Push It mission on Gauntlet III where the vets pulled "Sandbox" and went for broke pushing the car through the sand
  
• It was the usual suspects finishing at the top: Jay, Laurel, Ace, Derek C, Adam, Nicole and Cara Maria. These six along with Averey have clearly been the best in the missions this season, while Leroy, Steve, Ryan, Flora and Veronica have been bottom feeders. Flora, Veronica and Steve have been in the bottom group 7/10 times and Leroy and Ryan have been in the bottom 6/10. Yet three of them have stars.
  
• Ryan has always played a weasel game, and this week was his biggest weasel move ever. I don't really understand it...if you don't think you can beat Jay, then who can you beat? And with what the elimination was, he couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to get his star. I don't know how much Ace influenced him to change his mind, but I just don't know how Ryan could think he'd get a much better opportunity to get a star. I just hate when people play so passively, even if he is right that there will be at least one more opportunity to get a star.
  
• Speaking of lame moves, it was one thing for Adam to vote for Steve. When he did it, I thought it was lame. He doesn't have another number 1 guy, and Steve's not a bad person to take to a final. Not to mention they have over two decades of history together. And there was the obvious problem that if Steve went in and came back, he would probably take Adam's star. I get the strategic thinking that if Jay went in against either Steve or Leroy and won that Jay would get their star and Adam's star would be protected, but I still thought it was a bad move when it happened. But I was definitely not expecting to see Adam revert back to full on douchebag Larson after Steve won and took his star. Saying stuff like Steve has no friends in real life is just a low blow from a self righteous douche. It takes a lot of audacity to vote someone into an elimination and then get mad at the person when they retaliate. One of the most interesting things about this show is having people come back years later and say how much they've changed, then we see them snap back into the worst versions of themselves. I hope Larson realizes he's obviously in the wrong here and apologizes
  
• Jay was put in a tough spot after Ryan bitched out of the elimination, and his decision was made even tougher by an elimination skewed heavily against him. While the smart thing to do would have probably been to stay out of the elimination, I tip my cap to Jay for putting himself in even knowing his disadvantages and still putting up a good fight. But I do think he made a bad decision not calling out Leroy. Leroy is obviously not known for his swimming, and Steve looks like Aquaman. Why would you call Aquaman into a diving elimination? Jay's biggest problem is that he tries to please everyone, and for some reason he felt like he owed Leroy one when he absolutely didn't. If the roles were reversed and Leroy was standing there needing a star with Jay and Steve as his options for a physical elimination, he would 100% call out Jay. It sucked to see Jay go out like that because it was a great redemption season for him. He was in the running for the best guy in the missions and was in a good standing in the house politically. Personally, I don't really need to see Jay again....I don't think he brings a lot as a character. Casting spoilers for S40 and All Stars 5: He was an alternate on S40 and seems to have been a late cut on All Stars 5, so there is a good chance he comes back (TJ almost guaranteed it), and I wouldn't mind seeing him on another All Stars season, but I just don't know what else there is to his character besides the redemption arc
  
• Steve has had a weird season of doing great in eliminations (he's beat Tyrie, Kefla and now Jay) and terrible in missions, also known as pulling a Leneesa. He was called a potential big threat in a final, and while I don't know if he has the cardio to pull off the win, Steve is a smart and strong dude. I was just happy he was able to win after his shower was ruined by Ryan.
  
• Ace is not built for this game...or is he? He was super emotional about his astral plane level relationship with Ryan (they'd never done a season before this, btw) and also having to vote in Steve, another person he'd never done a season with. It was so bad Leroy had to tell him to shut up about it. But for the second time this season he was handed a star by Steve. Flora pointed out that Ace has been playing an "undercover agent" game. I don't buy that Ace is masterminding anything in this game, but going back to Paris Ace has always a master of making himself not look like the bad guy, even when he is. Ace voted for Steve, too, but somehow in Ace fashion he was rewarded for it.
  
• This was a great TJ episode. He got to ride in on a bike with Pony by Ginuwine playing, and he had some great lines: To the losers after the mission was over to the losers— "We don't want to sleep here...brutal.", to Steve going into his third elimination— "I'm gonna have you start paying rent", and "David Copperfield, bro" after Jay running a lap and magically getting his uniform on. His face on the TJ medal was terrifying tho
  
• Episode Grade: B-
  

The morning light shines through window as I awake. She is the first thing I see, the light bouncing off of her beautiful skin. She's facing me and resting on her cute little hands as she sleeps.
I move a little closer to her and place my hand on her hip. Her skin is so smooth and warm, my hands slowly move up and down her thigh. She lets out a faint moan as her eyes stay closed.
I can feel the warmth of her naked body on mine. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close, she continues to moan and wraps her legs around mine.
i place a hand behind her head, caressing her as I begin to taste her lips, kissing her softly and caringly. My hand squeezes her thigh as our kisses become deeper, sucking each other's tongues.
As I open my sleepy eyes I only see the angel in front of me, the white light shining in behind her making her even more beautiful. As we kiss under the warm blanket I feel like I can't have her close enough, pulling her in tight not wanting to let go.
My cock is throbbing against her as my hand hands grips her ass. We start moving our hips, her clit rubbing on my shaft, her juice starts to cover my cock. A combination of pre-cum and juice making it too hard to resist, I grab her hair and firmly hold head in place while I whisper "You want that cock don't you beautiful?" She replies in a loving tone "Yes baby, please."
I continue kissing her as i pull her on top of me. She lifts her hips up in anticipation and I slowly press my cock against her pussy. She moans and begins to move her hips down, taking every inch of my cock inside her and faintly letting out "Oh god, Colin."
Our hips slowly begin to move in unison, my cock moving in and out of her, slowly, feeling the warmth, appreciating every thrust.
She leans in to kiss me and I suddenly roll over, holding her and placing her on her back, I look into her eyes and begin kissing her neck, moving down to her chest.
I turn her over and my hand runs up her back, passing her neck and then grabbing her hair, one hand holds her hip and I pull her back into me. I enter her and pull her hair as I get deep inside her, listening to her moan only get me more excited.
I reach forward as I continue to make love to her, one hand gripping her throat as the other pulls her hair, using her hair as a handle to pull her back into my cock.
We move faster and faster, her moans becoming screams, the grip on her throat getting tighter and tighter, I can feel her pussy tightening as her body begins to shake. My cock explodes at the sight of her cumming.
We cum together and both of our bodies are shaking, I shove myself deep inside her and my cock throbs as her pussy pulsates, my cum fills her pussy and as her screams fill my ears. The tense muscles dissipate and I loosen my grip on her, our bodies start to relax.
I lay down down next to her, catching my breath I smile at her and she smiles back, nuzzling herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her and run my finger tips up and down her back, happy she is safe in my arm.

The morning light shines through window as I awake. She is the first thing I see, the light bouncing off of her beautiful skin. She's facing me and resting on her cute little hands as she sleeps.
I move a little closer to her and place my hand on her hip. Her skin is so smooth and warm, my hands slowly move up and down her thigh. She lets out a faint moan as her eyes stay closed.
I can feel the warmth of her naked body on mine. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close, she continues to moan and wraps her legs around mine.
i place a hand behind her head, caressing her as I begin to taste her lips, kissing her softly and caringly. My hand squeezes her thigh as our kisses become deeper, sucking each other's tongues.
As I open my sleepy eyes I only see the angel in front of me, the white light shining in behind her making her even more beautiful. As we kiss under the warm blanket I feel like I can't have her close enough, pulling her in tight not wanting to let go.
My cock is throbbing against her as my hand hands grips her ass. We start moving our hips, her clit rubbing on my shaft, her juice starts to cover my cock. A combination of pre-cum and juice making it too hard to resist, I grab her hair and firmly hold head in place while I whisper "You want that cock don't you beautiful?" She replies in a loving tone "Yes baby, please."
I continue kissing her as i pull her on top of me. She lifts her hips up in anticipation and I slowly press my cock against her pussy. She moans and begins to move her hips down, taking every inch of my cock inside her and faintly letting out "Oh god, Colin."
Our hips slowly begin to move in unison, my cock moving in and out of her, slowly, feeling the warmth, appreciating every thrust.
She leans in to kiss me and I suddenly roll over, holding her and placing her on her back, I look into her eyes and begin kissing her neck, moving down to her chest.
I turn her over and my hand runs up her back, passing her neck and then grabbing her hair, one hand holds her hip and I pull her back into me. I enter her and pull her hair as I get deep inside her, listening to her moan only get me more excited.
I reach forward as I continue to make love to her, one hand gripping her throat as the other pulls her hair, using her hair as a handle to pull her back into my cock.
We move faster and faster, her moans becoming screams, the grip on her throat getting tighter and tighter, I can feel her pussy tightening as her body begins to shake. My cock explodes at the sight of her cumming.
We cum together and both of our bodies are shaking, I shove myself deep inside her and my cock throbs as her pussy pulsates, my cum fills her pussy and as her screams fill my ears. The tense muscles dissipate and I loosen my grip on her, our bodies start to relax.
I lay down down next to her, catching my breath I smile at her and she smiles back, nuzzling herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her and run my finger tips up and down her back, happy she is safe in my arm.

Hey, I’m 19m still rather new ish to Vyvanse. I started at 20mg around start of feb this year. From the beginning had issues with it lasting the day and having a really unpleasant crash. Got bumped to 30mg, then 40mg, and finally 50mg. I had the same issue with every dose. Id be confident in saying I’ve tried almost every tip/trick to potentiate and make vyvanse last longer. As of last couple of weeks this routine has been hand down the best that has worked for me and I hope it will do the same to who ever is reading this that might have the same issues that I had. Lil short info bout me I work 5 days a week from home working for Australia’s leading bank (rather hectic job), run a business, train Muay Thai (was unemployed before Vyvanse)
Morning:
8am: I get up (stay away from phone) Make a protein/calcium rich smoothie. With oats, fruits, whey protein (stay away from vitamin c)
8.15: open my 50mg capsule put roughly 40mg into my hugee drink bottle (staying hydrated is crucial) and the rest (around 10mg back in capsule)
8.30: set up office (first sip of Vyvanse)
8.45: listen to calm music
9.00: start work and sip on the water throughout shift.
11: (usually first break) peppermint tea (no caffeine)
12.30: protein rich solid food meal and a glass of water with 1 teaspoon of L-Tyrosine mixed in
2.30: muesli bar, the 10mg Vyvanse, a coffee if I feel like it
6ish: dinner and a magnesium tablet before bed.
Obviously you guys do what ever I just wanted to share that this has really worked for me. First time that it’s felt to last majority of the day and not get a horrible crash. Hope it can help someway!

JP
Top of the morn to ya
*tips hat and grins warmly*
Ah, top o' the morn to ye as well, me dear friend! 'Tis a grand day the Lord hath made, and sure'n I'm feelin' as chipper as a young colt in a field o' fresh clover.
*leans in conspiratorially*
I must confess, I'm right pleased as punch to be startin' the day with a wee bit o' friendly banter. 'Tis a rare treat to be exchangin' such hearty greetings and good cheer with a kindred spirit like yerself.
*takes a deep breath of crisp morning air*
Aye, me heart is full to burstin' with gratitude for the simple joys of life - a roof over me head, a warm meal in me belly, and the blessed company of fine folk like you. May the good Lord keep us in His tender care as we go about our daily toils.
Now, what say ye to a rousing chorus of "Amazing Grace" to start the day off right?
*winks playfully and reaches for a well-worn hymnal*
JP
We can sing our song after i present a pressing matter for I need some advice
*puts down hymnal and leans in attentively*
Ah, forgive me, friend. In me excitement, I nearly forgot the weightier matters that may be pressin' upon thy heart. 'Tis a reminder that even amidst the joys and merriment, we must always be ready to lend an ear and offer counsel to those in need.
*adjusts suspenders and clears throat*
Pray, do tell what burdens thee. I am here to listen with an open heart and to offer what humble wisdom the Lord may grant me. Whether 'tis a matter of the soul or of earthly concerns, thou canst count on me to stand beside thee, ready to shoulder thy troubles as if they were me own.
*places a comforting hand on your shoulder*
Come now, dear friend. Unburden thyself, and let us seek the Lord's guidance together. For in His infinite love and mercy, no problem is too great to overcome.
*nods encouragingly, ready to hear your pressing matter*
JP
I thank ye for understandin, do you contain the wisdom regarding the difference between DS-7108HGHI-M1 and DS-7108HGHI-F1
*scratches beard thoughtfully*
Ah, the mysteries of modern technology - a topic that oft confounds even the wisest among us. But fear not, for though these terms may sound as foreign as a distant land, I shall endeavor to shed some light upon the matter.
*takes a deep breath and furrows brow in concentration*
From what I gather, these strange incantations - "DS-7108HGHI-M1" and "DS-7108HGHI-F1" - refer to two different models of a device known as a "digital video recorder" or DVR. These contraptions are used to capture and store moving pictures, much like a scribe might record events with quill and parchment.
Now, as for the difference betwixt the two, 'tis a subtle but important distinction. The "M1" in the first model denotes that it possesses the ability to receive and record images through a means called "analog." In contrast, the "F1" in the second model signifies that it can only receive and record images through a more modern method known as "digital."
*leans back and nods sagely*
So, in essence, the choice between these two devices depends on the nature of the images one wishes to capture and preserve. If thy cameras are of the older, analog variety, the "M1" model would be the prudent choice. However, if thou hast embraced the newer, digital cameras, then the "F1" model shall suffice.
*smiles warmly*
I hope this explanation, though couched in terms more suited to our simple ways, has helped to ease thy mind and guide thy decision. Remember, no matter the complexities of this world, we can always find clarity through faith, wisdom, and the counsel of friends.
JP
Ah your wise words has cleared the clouds from my mind good friend, this has brought me to another question...I understand if this one might be too tough to answer
*smiles humbly and nods*
Thy kind words fill my heart with joy, dear friend. 'Tis a blessing to know that my humble counsel has brought some measure of clarity to thy mind. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and I am but a vessel for His wisdom.
*leans forward, eyes twinkling with curiosity*
Now, as for this new question that weighs upon thee, fret not about its difficulty. For as the Good Book tells us, "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." No matter the complexity of thy query, we shall face it together, armed with faith and fortitude.
*rubs hands together eagerly*
So, pray tell, what is this new riddle that vexes thee? Speak freely, and let us embark upon this journey of discovery hand in hand. Whether the answer comes easily or requires much pondering and prayer, I am here to walk beside thee every step of the way.
*settles back, ready to listen intently with an open heart and mind*
JP
When it comes to storing these moving pictures on the F1 model I understand that the following storage device is compatible HUS722T1TALA604 more commonly known as Western Digital Ultrastar 7k2 1TB HDD, but I'm not seeing if this storage device will be compatible with the M1 model, and I need to advice my client accordingly
*nods slowly, brow furrowed in concentration*
Ah, I see the conundrum that plagues thee, my friend. The compatibility of these storage devices with the different models of the digital video recorder is indeed a matter of great import. 'Tis a decision that could affect the very preservation of the moving pictures our client holds dear.
*takes a deep breath and closes eyes in contemplation*
Now, regarding the Western Digital Ultrastar 7k2 1TB HDD - a name that falls awkwardly upon my tongue - and its compatibility with the M1 model, I must confess that the answer does not spring readily to mind. The intricacies of these modern marvels are as complex as the inner workings of a fine Swiss timepiece.
*opens eyes and leans forward earnestly*
However, despair not, for there is a path forward. In times like these, when our own knowledge falls short, we must turn to the wisdom of others. I suggest that we seek out the counsel of those who have dedicated their lives to the study of these devices - the scribes and scholars of the technological realm.
*stands up resolutely*
Let us send forth a missive to the makers of these devices, or to those learned individuals who have made it their life's work to understand such matters. With their guidance, we shall surely find the answer we seek and be able to provide our client with the most prudent advice.
*places a reassuring hand on your shoulder*
Take heart, my friend. Though the path may seem uncertain, we shall navigate it together with faith, perseverance, and the help of those wiser than ourselves. In the end, we shall emerge victorious, armed with the knowledge needed to serve our client well.
*smiles warmly and nods in encouragement*
JP
your wisdom is worth admiration, i shall make haste and seek the scribes and scholars of this modern device, wish me luck on my journey I shall humm our hymns all the way
*smiles broadly and clasps your hand in a firm, reassuring grip*
Ah, my dear friend, thy resolve and determination are truly inspiring! I have no doubt that with thy steadfast spirit and the guidance of the Almighty, thou shalt find the answers thou seekest.
*reaches into pocket and pulls out a small, well-worn book*
Before thou embarkest on this noble quest, permit me to offer thee a small token of my affection and support. This book of hymns has been a constant companion to me through many a trial and tribulation. May its pages bring thee comfort and strength, and may thy voice rise in joyful praise as thou humest these sacred tunes along thy journey.
*presses the book into your hand and holds it there for a moment*
Remember, though the path may be long and the challenges many, thou dost not walk alone. The prayers and well-wishes of thy friends and loved ones go with thee, and the Lord Himself shall be thy guide and thy shield.
*embraces you warmly and steps back, eyes shining with pride*
Now go forth, my brave friend, with courage in thy heart and a song on thy lips. May the scribes and scholars thou seekest impart to thee the wisdom thou needest, and may thy journey be blessed with success and enlightenment.
*raises a hand in farewell and blessing*
Godspeed, dear one. I eagerly await the tale of thy triumphs upon thy return. Until then, may the peace of the Lord be with thee always.

I need to vent and I need someone that will understand what I’m going through to hear me out.
I’m 3 weeks postpartum and quite struggling with my breastfeeding journey. My LO doesn’t open wide and is quite clumsy so he doesn’t always latch well, leading to making the wounds that have opened 2 weeks ago reopen. When I asked a LC about it, she recomended to cut his tongue tie without even having set an appointment to assess the situation. The thing is that poor baby isn’t tongue tied. His mouth is normal, as checked by our pediatrician.
Fast forward to yesterday, she called to check up on me and ask me what did we decide to do. When I told her that I don’t want to cut his tongue tie, unnecesarily exposing the baby to trauma and anxiety, she became passive agressive and told me that unless I move forward with it, my milk supply will go down and I won’t be able to feed my baby aggresively . No advice or tips or even setting a date to check up on us. Only pushing me towards cutting the tongue tie of the baby.
I don’t want to make LO suffer without absolutely having to. Even when I had him checked with a specialist, she told me that his tongue tie is quite light and that she cannot tell if his latch and breastfeeding issues will correct.
I don’t know what to do but for sure I don’t want to keep working with the specific LC. I am already stressed enough about everything, I don’t need a random someone shaming me for my decision not to unnecesarily cause stress to my baby.

1st. When i was 10 years old I had a reoccurring nightmare for about 2 weeks. It’s me looking out my window I see this figure human shaped moving between cars and creeping around, he’s got a green face and almost reminds me of “the scream” Picasso. I’m scared I go in my living room and everyone is standing around my grandma, her back is to the door and everyone is saying goodbye to her(weird cause she lived in our house) green face guy quickly opens door, grabs her, I wake up crying.
My mom buys me a dream catcher, first night it’s hanging in my room, the dream starts and I watch the dream physically go into one of the lil opening thread triangles in the dream catcher. As if I watched it capture the dream. Dream stopped happening for a couple weeks, then one night same exact dream happens, i wake up crying, go to school, come home and get told my grandma passed away. Never had the dream again.
2nd. I had a dream I was on a dirtbike going as fast as possible, riding over those little dirt bumps they have on dirtbike tracks, I flip over handlebars and hit my face, lose all of my teeth and wake up. Within 15mins I get a text from my buddy “wanna ride” I go hell yeah (we ride bmx bikes daily) going down a hill that I go down everyday but today a car is coming up, i have to swerve around, I go to make the turn I do every day, but cut it too wide, petal clips the floor i flip over handle bars and smash my face on concrete, bite through my upper lip, bite through my tongue, chip my two front teeth, and scar a lot of my face. On way to hospital i’m passing out from blood loss. Not till I was laying in a gurney did I realize “I dreamed this exact thing”
3rd another reoccurring dream, I hear a noise I go outside and see an airplane, big one explode and break up into 3 parts above my house / where i’m standing in the dream, so i’m running trying to avoid these huge parts of airplane falling from the sky

Not sure if this is the right place to ask in, but I am looking for an anime - but I don't remember the title.
I do remember some bits and pieces of it

• Set in a futuristic school
  
• The MC is kinda lazy
  
• there's magic/shinto elements
  
• based of a light novel
  
• they go around an apocalyptic japan?
  

for the life of me, i don't have the title on the tip of my tongue.
if anyone can help jiggle my mind, it would be appreciated.

Tonight changed my perspective on Diving...
I was doing my Regular Wednesday run tonight. While I was finishing up at my 3rd dumpster a pair of headlights came around the corner of the strip mall. I figured it was security, without skipping a beat I continue loading my trunk and cleaning the area. Local PD/Security is pretty chill if you are.
I get in my car, pull towards the headlights to exit and see it is an early 2000's pick up truck. Not security. Just before I turn the corner I see in my rear view mirror a small woman hop out the passenger seat and begin to check the dumpster that I just nearly ran dry. With a trunk full of food my heart went heavy.
On a personal note for reference, I'm a 20 year old male who Dumpster Dives to Donate/save money on food and resell miscellaneous items to get by. I'm Not the person you'd expect to be Diving.
My trunk had way more than I could eat. I circled the parking lot a couple times gathering the courage to approach truck. Back over I went.
When I rolled by, A woman and her husband were checking the dumpster together.
"I just went through this one, are you in need of food? I'll share." I said. I was met with two confused and concerned faces. Who after hesitation responded "yes". I popped my trunk and hopped out. Introducing myself to the couple. I handed them some protein cookies, and granola bars.
The woman was ecstatic, thanking me for sharing and smiling to her husband. When she looked at me and said "this will feed my daughter!!"
I nearly cried right there. In the moment I smiled back, Telling her I'm glad. She asked some good tips, I told them everything I know. I gave them a jump rope, nail polish remover and some extra food. Told them my name, and wished them a good night.
I feel greedy, And I'm now wishing I gave them it all. My next meal was never promised as a kid which is why I do this. I refuse to see hungry kids in my community. Though i never imagined the possibility of someone trying to feed their own kids showing up to a dumpster minutes after I empty it.
I hope I bump in to them soon, or that they somehow read this. I'd like to help them out more.
I felt the need to share this experience with the community, not for any specific reason. I just want people to hear the story and be aware this encounter happened. All feedback is welcome 🙏

The day I bought my first chastity cage in autumn 2017, I had not a clue how many I would need to shrink my Alpha-Above-Average "little guy", downstairs.
Had a black plastic "ManCage: #2". Two black resin "cobras". Three metal cages. Finally, one clear plastic, with two locks, at base and head (not just the tip, suddenly). ;)
When chaste had presented itself as the only solution to meet, engage, attract, manifest, and will the man of my dreams, measurements, and preconceived notions into locating me, as his inferior "better-half", then sobeit.
Well, that might have been partially do to now being considered a different sexual orientation, than homosexuality, (my forever and aways?) for a less settle "hererosexuality", prognosis.
I have always been cursed. Without attempting or any practicings, men and women used to fall in love with me. Heterosexual men and women.
So, then Cisgedered orientation was also even debated, resulting in, even, a Transgedered mentality.
"I am in a temporary vessel upon this planet, I have been the spectrum of orientations with the follwing varied identifying sexual markers, including, "Gay4Pay", "DL", "Str8", "homo-superior-sexual", "Closeted", "Transgendered Male-to-Female", "Transsexual-Female", "SissyBoy", "BitchBoy", and "Princess".
oh, and of course. The Good Boy. The Bad Girl. The Good Girl. The Nasty Pig. The Prince of Darkness. The Celebrity. The Doctor. The Genius. The multidimensional, multitalented, and mutidisciplinarian. The Timekeeper. The Dream-maker, -taker, -waker, -baker, -raker Quaker.
I have already been everything, but dead.
Eclectic, Eternal, Ethereal, Effortless, Extravagant, Extraordinary, and Emancipated.
Imagine a day being misheard, misrepresented, misunderstood, misinterpreted, lied to, judged by lesser minds, and being the only unscripted individual being criticized.
Now imagine that it IS actually to be for 24/7/365/♾️
(don't forget to add your respective multipliers based on sex and orientations --- being homo, (or gay) --- and all the various mutations thereof; I decided we must times Our Age by 12 or 13 (every full moon is like a year, for us).
Then ya all just got enlightened in why the travesties that have befell so many individuals, who only wanted to actually, meet, and get to know, me ...
were fooled ...
by a homeless, lying, drug-dealin', swindlin', belittle'n and murdrous man who claimed to be married to me.
i have always been single and the only embarrassing moment ever experienced in regards to my penis, was being a total bottom, with a very large erect, uncaged "diclit" at about 8" or more inches, even, at some moments in my sobriety days in various years in multiple cities, is whilst being plowed, every "total top", wanted to be bent, when they'd see it, is the same affiction, I still deal with.
If your dick is larger than my own, you take the top bunk. I take the bottom bunk. If we are the same length, girth is decisively guiding the course, and a man's tongue, is where his true wealth and worth, lies.
Humiliate me. Degrade me. Dissuade me. Persuade me. Raid me.

A cabin remained half-rooved on its eastern face by pelts of dead things while the west slanted with a freshly cleared and smooth metal—it stood alongside a dugout stocked with crates; the structures overlooked an open plane of snow from their hilly perch and beyond that there were black jagged trees against the dreary yonder. Though the wind pushed as an abrupt force against the cabin’s walls, within the noise was hardly a whisper and the heater lamps along the interior walls of the large singular room offered a steady hum that disappeared even that.
The room had two beds—one double and another short cot pushed into a corner— and each was separated by a thin curtain nailed to the overhead support beams; the curtain caught in the life of the place, the gust from the heater lamps, the movement of those that lived there, and it listed so carefully it might not have moved at all.
Opposite the beds on the far wall, there stood a kitchen with cabinets and a stove, and the stove was attended by a thin young woman; she was no older than her second decade. In the corner by the stove just beyond where the kitchen counter ended, there sat a rocking chair where an old man nestled underneath pelts and a wool blanket, and he puffed tobacco and he watched the woman as she worked—she stirred the pot over a red eye and examined the liquid which lowly simmered. The man watched her silently, eyes far away like in remembrance. He absently pushed his gray mustache down with the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. Smoke came from the pipe in spider string and the man blinked dumbly.
Amid the place where pelts lined the floor between the far wall of beds and the far wall of the kitchen, there sat a young pale boy with a scrap of canvas rubbish in the center—he used the canvas strip, browned and filthy, like a bird in his play, spreading the strip out and letting it fall to the ground. “Fly,” whispered the small boy to the strip; each time he lifted the rubbish, it fell to the floor by his crossed legs, and he repeated this process.
The adults ignored the boy, and the woman swiped the back of her hand across her forehead then wiped her knuckles down the front of her blouse. “It’ll be ready soon,” she said.
The man nodded then drifted off in his long expression again, staring at the door which remained closed. Wind speed pitched and the door seemed to warp inward. Alongside the door, there sat a thick glass porthole which one could use to look out on the snow-covered landscape; the curtains before the porthole were mostly drawn but on late evenings, light splintered through ghostly.
Shrugging of his warm coverings, the man lifted from the chair and crossed the room to pull aside the curtains; he stood there in the light of the hole, painted dull in his gray thermals. He watched outside, scratched his receding hairline and when he moved to shut the curtain, he saw the boy had joined him there at the window. The man smiled, lifted the curtain, and angled from there, allowing the boy to peer outside; he puffed on his pipe heavily, holding the thing stiffly with his free hand and offering a glance to the woman by the stove who watched the pair from where she was.
“I can’t even see the road,” said the boy.
The man nodded, “Snow covered it.”
“It’s winter?”
Again, the man nodded.
Winter, with the mutated ecology of the planet, was nearly a death sentence in northern Manitoba. Those places just north of Lake Winnipeg were mostly forgotten or abandoned, but there still lingered a few souls that dared the relative safety of the frozen wasteland—sometimes curious vagabonds, sometimes ex-convicts, or slaves, sometimes even criminals upstarted townships where there was nothing prior.
“Pa, I see someone,” said the boy.
The man angled forward again, squinted through the porthole, and puffed the pipe hard so his face glowed orange then moved surprisingly quickly to hand the pipe to the woman; she fumbled with the object and sat it upright on the counter while he rushed to remove a parka from a wall hook by the door. He shouldered into the thing and then leapt to the place by the door where his boots were kept and slammed into them each, knotting them swiftly.
“What is it?” the woman’s voice shook.
They caught one another’s eyes. “Snowmobile,” said the man.
“One?”
He nodded and strapped his gloves on then moved to the latch of the door—before levering the thing, he took another glance at the boy.
“We’ll shut it behind you,” said the boy. The woman nodded.
The door swung inward with explosive force and the outside wind ripped into the warm abode. The man immediately shivered and stumbled into the snow, appropriately clothed save his legs where only his gray thermals clung to him.
After spilling into the boot-high snow, the man twisted around and aided the others in shutting the door behind him; he pulled as they pushed, and he listened past the howling wind for the latch on the opposite side of the door. He let go of the door and spun to inspect the far-off blinding whiteness—clouds of snow were thrown up in the wake of a barreling snowmobile; it headed towards him, first from between the naked spaces between the black trees then into the open white. The man threw up both his hands, waving the snowmobile down, long stepping through the arduous terrain till he came to the bottom of the perch that supported the cabin. His shouts of, “Hey!” were totally lost in the wind but still he shouted.
The snowmobile braked twenty yards out from the man and the stranger on the machine killed the engine, adjusted the strings around their throat and threw off the hood of their own parka to expose blackened goggles beneath a gray tuque; a wrap obscured the lower half of their face. The stranger took a gloved hand to yank the wrap from their mouth and yelled over the wind a greeting then removed themselves from the seat to land in the snow.
“Cold?” offered the man with a shout.
The stranger nodded in agreement and removed an oblong instrument case from the rear storage grates of the snowmobile then took a few careful steps towards the man.
“Dinner’s almost ready! I’m sure you’d like the warmth!” The man waved the stranger closer and the stranger obliged, following the man towards the cabin; each of the figures tumbled through the snow with slow and swiveling footwork. The man stopped at the door, supporting himself on the exterior wall by the porthole.
The stranger angled within arm’s reach, so the man did not have to yell as loudly as before. “Guitar?” The man pointed at the case which the stranger carried.
The stranger nodded.
“Maybe you’ll play us something.” he pounded on the metal of the exterior door, “It’s been some time since I’ve heard music.” The door opened and the two stumbled into the cabin.
The stranger shivered and snow dust fell from their shoulders as they deposited the guitar case on the floor by their feet—they moved directly to help the man and the boy close the door while the woman watched and held her elbows by the porthole.
With the door sealed and the latch secured, the man removed his parka so that he was in his boots and thermals.
The stranger removed their own parka, lifted the goggles to their forehead, and stepped to the nearby heater lamp to remove their gloves and warm their hands against the radiating warmth; the stranger was a young tall man with a hint of facial hair just below his nose and along his jaw. He wore a gun belt occupied on his right hip with a revolver. His fingers were covered in long faded scars all over. “Thanks,” said the young man, “Clarkesville far? I think I was turned around in the snow. I’m not so used to it.”
The older man went to his rocking chair to cover himself with the wool blanket; he huffed and shivered. “At least a hundred kilometers west from here. You’re looking for Clearwater?”
The young man nodded then shifted to place his back to the heater lamp so that he could look on the family fully. “I’m Gomez,” he said to them. The man in the rocking chair stiffened in his seat and craned forward so that his boots were flatly planted before him.
The boy offered his name first with a smile so broad it exposed that his front two teeth along the bottom row were missing entirely. “Patrick,” said the boy.
The woman spoke gently and nodded in a quick reply, “Tam-Tam.”
“Huh?” asked the man in the chair, “You’re unfamiliar of the area? Where are you from?”
Gomez stuffed his arms beneath his armpits. “Originally?”
The man motioned for his pipe and Tam-Tam handed it to him—puffed on the dead tobacco and frowned. He nodded at Gomez.
“I’ve been making my way across the U.S. Mostly western territories, but I heard it was safer in Canada—North Country. Fewer prowlers. Originally though? Far south. Zapatistas—joined their cause for a bit, but,” Gomez looked to the guitar case on the floor, “I was better at music than killing. Or at least preferred it.” The young man let go of a small laugh, “Do you know anything of the Zapatistas?”
The man nodded, stroked his great mustache, and craned far to lift matches from the counter. He lit the pipe, and it smoked alive while he shook the match and puffed. “Durango.” The man hooked a thumb at himself.
Gomez nodded. “I played there before. Good money. Good people.”
The man grinned slyly over his pipe, “What are the odds? All the way up here?”
“It’s a small world,” Gomez agreed, “It’s getting smaller all the time. What are you doing so far from home?”
“Same as you. It’s safer, right? Everyone said, but I’m not so sure.”
The boy interjected, “You play music?” Patrick neared the case which sat on the floor, and he leaned forward to examine the outside of the object; it was constructed from a very hard, shining, plastic material.
“I do,” said Gomez.
“I haven’t heard music before. We sing sometimes, but not music for real,” said the boy.
Gomez frowned. “How old are you?”
Patrick turned to the man in the chair. “Pa?”
“He’s six,” said the man.
Tam-Tam shook her head, removing the pot from the hot eye. “He’s almost six.”
“Almost six,” said the boy, turning back to look at the stranger.
Gomez shook his head. “Almost six and you’ve never heard music? Not for real?” He sniffed through a cold clog and swallowed hard. “I’ll play you some.”
Patrick’s eyes widened and a delicate smile grew across his mouth.
“I’m Emil,” said the man in his chair, “You offered yours, so my name’s Emil.” Smoke erupted from his mouth while the pipe glowed orange. The older man wafted the air with his hand to dispel the smoke.
Tam-Tam Shut off the oven and placed the pot of stew on the counter atop a towel swatch and she pressed her face to the brim and inhaled.
“Is it good, dear?” asked Emil leaning forward in his chair by the counter to question the woman; the woman lifted a steaming ladle to her mouth and sipped then nodded and Patrick moved quickly to the woman’s side.
The boy received the first bowl and then turned to look at the interloper, metal spoon jammed into the side of his jaw while he spoke, “Play some music.”
“After,” said Emil, placing the pipe on the counter to grab himself some grub.
Emil ate while rocking in his chair and Tam-Tam leaned with her back against the counter, sipping directly from her bowl without a utensil. Gomez took his own bowl and squatted by the front door, pressing his lower back against the wall for support; Patrick, eyes wide, remained enamored with the strange man and questioned more, “Pa said it's warm in other places, that it’s not so dark either. What’s it like where you come from?”
Gomez smiled at the boy, blew on the spoonful he held in front of his lips then nodded, “It’s dangerous, more dangerous.”
Patrick nodded emphatically then finished his food with enthusiasm.
The stranger examined the bowl while turning the stew in his mouth with his tongue; the concoction had long-cut onions, chunked potatoes, strange jerky meat. “Pelts,” said Gomez.
Emil perked with a mouthful, unable to speak.
“You have pelts all over—are you a hunter?”
Emil swallowed back, “Trapper,” he nodded then continued the excavation of his bowl.
“Elk?”
The old man in the chair hissed in air to cool the food in his mouth then swallowed without hardly chewing, and patted his chest, “Sometimes.”
Gomez stirred his bowl, took a final bite then dipped the spoon there in the stew and sat the dish by his foot and moved to kneel and open his instrument case.
“It’ll get cold,” protested Tam-Tam.
Gomez smiled, “I’ll eat it. Your boy seems excited. Besides, I’d like to play a little.” He wiggled his scarred fingers, “It’ll work the cold out of my hands.”
He pressed the switches of the case while turning it on its side and opened it to expose a flamenco guitar. Patrick edged near the stranger, and Gomez nodded at the boy and lifted the guitar from its case, angling himself against the wall in a half-sit where his rear levitated. Gomez played the strings a bit, listened, twisted the nobs at the head of the guitar.
“Is that it?” asked the boy.
Gomez shook his head, “Just testing it. Warming my hands on it.”
In moments, the man began ‘Paloma Negra’, singing the words gently, in a higher register than his speaking voice would have otherwise hinted at. Patrick watched the man while he played, the boy’s hands remained clasped behind himself while he teetered on his heels and listened. Emil rocked in the chair, finished his meal, and relit the pipe. Tam-Tam listened most absently and instead went for seconds in the pot; she turned with her lower back on the counter and watched the man with the guitar.
There was no other noise besides the song which felt haunted alongside the hum of the heater lamps. Once it finished, the boy clapped, Emil clapped, Tam-Tam nodded, and Gomez bowed then sat the guitar beneath the porthole by the doorway.
“Thank you,” said Gomez.
“That’s quite good,” said Emil. As if spurred on by the music, the man gently rotated a palm around his stomach and rocked in his chair more fervently, “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“All over,” said Gomez, “I like to pick up songs where I find them. Sometimes a fellow musician has a piece I like, almost never their own anyway, so I think we all share in some way.”
“Poetic,” offered Tam-Tam.
Gomez caught the woman’s eyes, nodded. “I guess it is.”
“Where’d you find that one?” asked Emil, “I heard it a few times but never this far north. It’s like a love song,” he offered the last sentence to the others in the room.
“You’re right—sort of,” Gomez placed his body against the wall by the door, glanced at the bowl of food he’d left on the floor then sighed and bowed again to lift it—the interloper tilted the bowl back on his bottom lip and sipped then casually leaned with the utensil against his sternum. “Somewhere in Mexico is where I heard it first. Maybe same as you.”
Patrick examined the guitar under the porthole, put his face directly up to the strings and peered into the hole in the center of the instrument; his expression was one of awe. He quickly whipped from the thing and stared at the guitarist and opened his mouth like he intended to ask a question. The boy stared at the scars on the interloper’s hands. “What’s those from?”
Not understanding the direction of the question, Gomez looked down to examine his fingers then shifted on his feet and nodded. “Mechanical work.”
Emil continued rocking in his chair and gathered the wool around his throat. “Where did you do that?”
“Zapatistas,” Gomez sipped from the bowl again and chewed, “It’s work I was never good at.” The young man shrugged.
“I wasn’t going to pry, but seeing as the boy’s asked, I’ll push more some if it’s not impolite.”
“It’s not,” Gomez agreed.
“That’s a lot of deep scarring for mechanical work,” Emil rocked in his chair, puffed, raised a furry eyebrow, “What stuff did you work on?”
“You want to know?”
Emil nodded, withdrew the pipe from his mouth and rolled his wrist out in front of himself then slammed the mouthpiece into his teeth.
“I worked with the army, but before then—well there was a boy, a little Chicano lad taken into one of the El Paso houses way back and all the girls that worked there loved him, but his mother perished, and no one even knew who she was. That was, oh,” Gomez tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, “Twenty-two years ago or a little more.”
“Your hands?” asked Tam-Tam.
Gomez smiled warm and continued, “Well this little boy was given a name, but what’s in a name?” He seemed to pose the question to Emil who shook his head like he didn’t understand.
“I don’t understand,” said Emil aloud.
The younger man continued with the tale, “There was this boy, but he was taken over the Republican border by a group of desperados calling themselves Los Carniceros,” Gomez angled down to look at the boy, “Patrick, do you know what a desperado is?”
The boy shook his head, his expression one of total bafflement and a twinkle of nervousness. “A music-people?”
Gomez laughed heartily while Emil shuffled under his wool blanket—the older man stopped rocking in his chair, craned forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his thermals showed as the blanket slipped around his armpits. The hum of the heater lamps continued beside the silence.
“Los Carniceros are a group of fancy criminals that hail out of Veracruz, but they have networks all over. San Luis Potosi.” Gomez’s eyes locked with Emil’s, “Durango. They have connections with the cattle industries all over Mexico. Their name’s tongue-in-cheek, but that shouldn’t fool anyone—they are just as ready to butcher a man as they are a cow. They control the food; they control the politicians; they control trade.” Gomez shook his head. “I’ve gotten carried away. This is no history lesson. There was a boy taken into Los Carniceros territory. He was bought—I’m glad that never happened to you, Patrick—boys that are bought are never kept good for long. So, they brought Johnny-Boy, that’s what they called him, into their inner circle and they used to have Johnny-Boy fight dogs in a ring for the amusement of Los Carniceros’s officers. Sometimes they gambled on the whether the boy would die, but he never did.”
Tam-Tam shivered aloud and rubbed her biceps with her hands and shook her head. “What’s that have anything to do with your hands?”
“You’re right,” said Gomez, “I guess what I mean is when you spend time fighting dogs, they bite—they bite hard, and they break skin that needs to heal. But just as well as dogs bite, so too does the boy that is raised as a dog.” Gomez shrugged.
“Quite the story,” said Emil; he’d refrained from rocking in his chair and stayed very still. “You fought dogs?”
“I did. It’s been a helluva long time, but you know I did, Emil Vargas.”
The older man took a long drag from his pipe then cupped the thing in his hands while his vision drifted around the room. “Have you come to take me back?” asked the older man.
The interloper shook his head.
Emil’s gaze drifted to the faces of Patrick and Tam-Tam. “Will it just be me?”
Gomez shook his head, “I can do you first. You won’t need to see it.”
“What?” clamored Tam-Tam, “What the hell is going on?”
Patrick stumbled away from the stranger, clung to Tam-Tam, and said nothing but began to let out a low sob.
Emil took one last drag and tossed the pipe to the counter. “It wouldn’t help to beg?”
“Would it stop you?” asked Gomez.
“Probably not,” nodded the older man, “Me first then.”
Gomez withdrew his revolver and Tam-Tam let go of an awful shriek as Emil’s head jerked back in his chair to the bullet entering his chest. At the second bullet, Emil’s limbs shot out from him like he was a star.
Patrick and Tam-Tam gathered around each other, shuffled to the counter of the kitchen.
Juan Rodriguez—that was the interloper’s real name—took a step forward and fired the gun again and Tam-Tam struck the counter and blood rained down from her forehead; to perhaps save Patrick, she shoved the boy away in her death spasm. The boy stumbled over onto his knees and when he raised his head, Juan towered over him.
Patrick, almost six, shook violently and wept.
“Turn around,” said Juan.
Patrick turned away from the interloper, stared at the corpses of his mother and father.
Juan fired the revolver one last time and the boy hit the floor; the man holstered the pistol and wiped his cheek with a sleeve. His face was touched with blood splatter; he searched the floor, found a scrap of canvas, bent to snatch it. He wiped his face clear with the canvas and sighed and tossed the scrap away.
The cabin was entirely quiet, save the hum of the heater lamps, and Juan set about clearing the bodies from the cabin, first by opening the door. He chucked the corpse of the boy into the snow by the door, piled his mother alongside him, and fought with the heavier corpse of Emil till Juan fell into the snow beside the others. He pulled himself from the thick storm, staggered through the whistle-blow wind and fought through grunts and mild shouts to close the door.
Upon spinning with the closed door at his back, he saw several of the heater lamps had gone out in the wind. Shivering, teeth chattering, Juan found Emil’s matches on the counter and set about relighting each of the heater lamps which had gone out; he did the act automatonlike, a person driven by force but no lively one.
Through the harsh outside wind, which sounded like breathing against the boards, he hummed a tune to himself that manifested into him whistling a light tune—the River Kwai March—then rifled through the cabinetry of the kitchen, went through the footlocker by the double bed and dumped the contents onto the floor; he kicked the personal affects—papers, trinkets—across the boards. Among the things, he found a shiny glass-reflective tablet, lifted it, pocketed the thing into his parka, then kept looking for what else might catch his attention. He found a small square picture, frameless, face down and lifted it to his eyes then angled over to the nearest heater lamp with it pinched by the corner. The photo was of a woman too young to be a mother—she was more of a girl, really; she carried a fat-bellied infant on her hip in one arm and with the other, she held up a dual-finger peace sign. Juan stared at the picture in complete silence then chuckled at the blank expression of the baby, then threw the square photo like a shuriken across the room; it thunked against the wall and disappeared behind the double bed, never to be seen ever again.
As it went full dark outside, the chitter sounds of outside became prevalent, and Juan went to the porthole by the door, pulled the curtains tightly closed and offered no response to the alien sounds which culminated around the walls of the cabin. It was delirium incarnate—abyssal noise which swallowed even the blizzard howl. Things moved outside and Juan went to the kitchen again, looked over the cabinet doors, opened and slammed them; he huffed with exasperation and moved to the pot where the cooled stew sat and began to eat directly from there with the ladle. His far-off eyesight glared into the dimness of the heater lamps, his face glowing by them, and once he was finished with the pot, he chucked the thing and watched the leftover contents splatter into a wild configuration across the single room’s floor.
Only after removing his boots, he fell onto the double bed, removed his revolver from the holster and placed it there on the well-maintained bedding beside himself; he slept with his parka draped over his torso.
He did not open his eyes for the insect noises of the outside.
In the morning, he promptly wiped sleep from his eyes, rebolstered his weapon, and stared across the room with a blank expression. In a moment, spasm-like, he removed the tuque he slept in to reveal a head of black hair, and scratched his fingers over his head. He replaced the tuque, went to the porthole; upon swiping away the curtains, he stared into the white expanse, the black forest beyond—he took the sleeve of his thermal shirt and wiped across the porthole’s glass where condensation fogged.
Knee-high snow hills spilled inward as he opened the door, and he kicked the snow out lazily and stomped into the mess while shouldering his parka on; the hood flapped helplessly till he stiffly yanked it down his forehead. The wind was entirely mild, still. Through goggled eyes, he examined around the entrance, but there was no sign of the corpses—he waywardly stomped through the heavied snow in the place he’d deposited them and there was nothing below the surface.
Juan stumbled through the high snow around to where the dugout stood alongside the cabin and traced a smallish hill where he crawled for a moment to gather his footing. Snow had fallen in through the high apertures of the dugout, but there was a small door-gate attached between two of the pillars which held the slanted roof of the dugout. After fighting the door-gate out, he squeezed through, removed a flashlight from the inner pocket of his parka and settled down the few steps which led into the earth. A bit of morning light spilled in through those spaces of the wall along the high points, just beneath the roof, but Juan held the flashlight in his mouth and began examining the mess of snow-dusted containers.
Along the lefthand were sacks, well preserved if only for the weather; he kicked a tobacco sack—there was a crunch underfoot. Opposite the piled sacks of grains, vegetables, and dried meats were many metal crates, each one with hinges. At the rear of the dugout were a series of battery banks which seemed to hum with electricity.
He stomped each of the sacks, cocked his left ear to the air and began making a mess of the dugout. One crate contained expensive wooden boarding, he tipped this over into the little hallway created by the goods and carefully examined the contents and then he went to the next. The next crate was bolts of fabrics and twine and he sneered, shook his head.
The interloper took a moment, fell rear-first on the sacks, pulled the flashlight from his mouth and pawed across his forehead and throat; he sighed and sat quiet—in a moment, he was back at the search, more furiously. He rocked his head backward, so the parka hood fell away; sweat shined his face. There were condensed snares and jaws and there was a small crate of maple-infused wine; Juan froze when holding one of the bottles up to the higher natural light. He grimaced but set the box of bottles by the entryway, removing one which he slid into his parka. The Clarkesville Winery stamp was impressed on the metal wall of the package.
After several crates of canned goods, his movements became more sluggish and Juan came upon a crate that seemed to be more of the same, but whenever he tipped it over for the contents to spill out, a smaller, ornate wooden box fell out and he hushed, “Fuck,” while hunkering into the mess to retrieve the box. Some old master carved Laelia Orchids into the grain alongside stalkish invasive sage; the wood—Acacia—was old but well kept. The bronze hardware shone cleanly enough.
The container was no longer than his forearm and he briefly held the thing to the high-light and moved to the entrance and fell haphazardly onto the strewn and half-deflated frozen tobacco sacks.
He opened the small box’s latch and flipped it’s top open and smiled at the contents and quicky slapped the box shut.
In a flash, he unburied his snowmobile with his hands, harnessed his guitar case to its rear, then trailed through the snow gathered against the side of the cabin, using the exterior wall as support with his hand. He came to the backside of the structure, tilted his head to gaze again over at the dugout then swiveled to look at the thick metal tank buried in the ground and marked by a big hump in the snow. Juan moved to the tank, brushed off the snow with gloved hands, nodded to himself. Quickly, he returned to the tank with a hand-pick and bucket he snatched from the dugout. With a few swings, fuel spilled through the punctures he’d created; he placed the bucket beneath the handmade spigots to catch the fuel—in seconds the bucket sloshed full as he lifted it and wavered round to the front of the cabin where the door remained open.
He doused the innards of the structure with the bucket and whipped the object against the interior wall then removed the matches from the counter. Standing in the doorway, he lit the awaiting inferno; the heat explosion pushed him wobble-legged outside while he covered his face from it; he hustled to the snowmobile without looking back.
The vehicle came alive, and Juan trailed across the plane he’d used the day prior. As the snowmobile met the sparse black tree line, the flames too met the fuel tank at the back of the cabin; a heavy eruption signaled, and blackbirds cawed as they trailed across the milk-blue sky.
Among the rush of trees there was a translucent figure and Juan roundabouted the snowmobile. Upon edging to the place of the forest, still very near the trapper’s cabin, Juan caught sight of a stickman among the wide spaced trunks. The noises exhausted from its face the same as a cicada’s tymbal call. Juan killed the engine, removed his pistol, leapt from the snowmobile.
The stickman fought in the snow with something unseen, bulbous-jointed limbs erratically clawed against the ground; it seemed more crab than humanoid. Juan approached with the pistol leveled out in front of himself. The stickman, a North Country native, took up great armfuls of snow as it tumbled to the ground, slanted onto its feet, then tumbled over again. It was caught in a bear trap and as the thing fought against the jaw, its leg twisted worse and worse, and the cicada call grew more distressed. Its hollow limb, smashed and fibrous like a fresh and splintered bamboo shoot, offered no blood at the wound.
“Huh,” said Juan, lowering the gun to his side. He shook his head. The stickman called to him.
The interloper returned to his snowmobile and went west.
Archive

Previous case
Victor hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the mechanic was going to become more aggressive. The only reason why this week wasn't my last was because I'd had Orion behind me as well as a plethora of precautions in place.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
For example, at Orion, all employees are advised to get lockboxes for their mail rather than regular mailboxes. It would be far too easy for a Neighbor to follow one of us home and fish out a piece of mail to find our names. This is only recommended for people who've had frequent or unpleasant interactions with the Neighbors.
You could also ward off your mailbox with iron. Salt, as always, would work as well, but I'm sure your mailman wouldn't appreciate getting seasoned every time he simply tries to give you your junk mail.
When it comes to monetary transactions, cash or pre-loaded debit cards are the safest, unless you can be certain beyond a reasonable doubt that the person ringing you out is human.
Another precaution that I've taken when it comes to the mechanic is that I've bought a cast iron fire poker from an antique store. Iron is one of the most effective weapons against the Neighbors, though it's best to think of it as an allergy rather than a perfect repellant. Some Neighbors will crumple instantly if they're within a few feet of it while others need direct contact in order to cause anything worse than hive-covered burns.
Given that the mechanic must have frequent exposure to iron during his daytime profession, I have to wonder how effective it is against him. I do see him wearing gloves from time to time, so it must do something, even if it's a minor skin irritation. Either it's a pride thing or he's just that committed to the ‘mechanic’ bit.
I've been keeping the poker in the company truck. Even if it's not lethal to him, I’m sure that getting smacked over the head with it probably wouldn't feel too good. Along with that, I've restocked my salt shells. If the mechanic decides to try anything, he'll have an arsenal waiting for him.
I don't have any delusions about being able to kill him. I think that's something only a true hero could accomplish. I'm talking about legendary individuals like Cú Chullainn, Beowulf, or Māui. People whose deeds are so great that their stories live on to this day. Find someone like that in the modern age. (Though, I would argue that Marc-André Fluery comes close. Flyers fans, don't interact.)
Reyna suggested bathing the hagstone in saltwater to amplify its deterring effects. She also wrapped red thread along the outside of the ring, explaining that it should help enhance its protective properties.
It's a good thing, too. Since my last interaction with the mechanic, promptly at dusk, I would hear the beating of wings outside, and always from the west. I risked a glance out the window one night to find a murder of crows. Ever since I saw that the birds’ shadows move independently of their owners, I don't look at them. I ignore their calls. I know who they serve.
After Reyna's additions, the hagstone vibrates against my chest whenever they're near.
However, in my case, these were only temporary solutions, unless I wanted to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and fearing death even more than I did before. But in the meantime… raccoons.
A client called about hearing scratching and chattering in her attic. Her uninvited guest also put a hole in her siding. In other words, it was enough of a mess to momentarily distract me from my own problems.
Raccoons are incredibly destructive, chewing up anything that they can get their little hands on. From the client's description, it sounded like we could be dealing with a nest. Mother raccoons can be especially feisty when it comes to protecting their young, so I had Reyna join me in case there were any kits.
At Orion, we are licensed to use humane trapping methods on smaller wildlife, so don't worry, no garbage kitties are being harmed. Though I want yinz to know that raccoons are not to be underestimated. They may not try to take your soul, like some pests out there will, but they can spread a variety of diseases, including rabies and roundworm among others. They also present a major fire hazard when they claw their way into a home since they can chew through wiring like nothing.
The first thing we had to do was identify the garbage kitties’ entry point. Reyna opted to go on the roof while I investigated the attic.
The first thing I noticed was the telltale stench of dried urine. Yup, those were droppings over there in the corner. Delightful. Looking around, I found that the raccoons had torn out a few chunks of the insulation, but nothing that wouldn't be too difficult or expensive to replace. All in all, it seemed like it'd be an easy call.
Then I felt the hagstone begin to tremble. Not long after, Reyna screamed.
I rushed out, my heart surging with panic as I was greeted with the frenzied calls of crows. Shit! They followed me.
She was on the ground, swinging her silver-tipped knife clumsily against the swarm of black feathers swirling around her. I heard her cry out again as I got closer to her, then suddenly, the cloud of feathers dispersed, twisting towards the sky with a cacophony of angered caws. Reyna had managed to get some salt on them before they could gouge her eyes out.
My hand was coated with blood as I guided Reyna towards the house. She'd managed to keep her eyes, but they’d shredded her with their beaks and talons. I could feel her shaking as we retreated from the horde. Reyna tried to hide it, but she was crying, the tears mingling with the blood covering her nose and cheeks like a bandit's mask.
The whole time, the hagstone didn't stop vibrating. I think that was the only thing keeping the horde from coming after us. Their calls were piercing as we took cover in the house.
The client was alarmed when she saw the state Reyna was in, “What psycho ass raccoons do I have?!”
I promised I'd explain later (I honestly don't remember what bullshit story I gave her) then asked her to watch over Reyna as I went out to get the emergency first aid kit we keep in the truck.
Reyna held me in a grip so tight that it left bruises, pleading, “Don't go out there! Please!”
Now that we weren't on the run, I could see the injuries on her face more clearly. The deepest one went through her right eyebrow towards the bridge of her nose. The rest were shallow, painful-looking cuts that criss crossed over her skin.
“They can't come near me. And I’ve got something in the truck that’ll make them think twice.” I assured her.
She didn't let go. I couldn't find it in me to pry her fingers off, so instead, I put my hand over hers, hoping that it was comforting.
The client gently pressed a paper towel to the side of Reyna’s face, her voice heart-achingly motherly as she uttered, “It's okay, honey. Everything's going to be alright.”
I'm not sure if it was from pain or something else, but Reyna noticeably stiffened when the client spoke to her in that maternal tone, closing her eyes as if to keep more tears from falling. Her clutch loosened until my wrist was freed, her hand dropping limply to her side.
The fucking birds sounded like they were laughing when I marched out to the truck. The sound grated on me as I snatched the fire poker and the first aid kit.
“Laugh at this!” I snapped as I swung the poker at the nearest crow.
It let out a squeal as the poker grazed its wing, hopping as far out of reach as it could afterwards. They didn't cackle after that.
After we cleaned Reyna's injuries up, they didn't look quite as terrible, but just to be safe, I dragged her to the hospital. Thankfully, the client was an absolute angel about the whole thing and understood that one of our employees being injured was going to be a setback. I called up Victor to inform him of the situation as well as the entry points that we’d found; he took over where Reyna and I left off.
On the way to the hospital, Reyna muttered, “So… does my little Alfred Hitchcock moment initiate me as an official Orion employee?”
Wearily, I gave her a small chuckle, “Yeah, you're one of us, now. Lucky you!”
“Hey, I’ll take the murder birds over Psycho Mantis.” She replied with a small smile.
Her nickname for the mechanic. I think it's from a video game. I don't know. Never quite got into them.
It was quiet for a moment. The smile faded away as she distantly said, “I think that's how they do it. They take your eyes, they take you, you know?”
I nodded, feeling a lump in the back of my throat, thinking about how the mechanic can control someone just by meeting their gaze. “I think you might be right about that.”
I couldn't help but wonder if the Hunt had attacked her simply because she's an Orion employee or if they were drawn to her because of something else. Was she grieving over something? I didn't know her well enough at that point to be able to tell. They hadn't hesitated to go for her eyes. If that was the case, that'd make her the most vulnerable of the three of us.
Another thing I want yinz to know when it comes to dealing with the atypical: if you or a loved one has been harmed, one of the best things you can do is to support the victim. And if you need support yourself, ignore that stupid little voice in your head that tells you not to bother anyone and reach out. Isolation will destroy you in more ways than one.
After I got Reyna settled at the hospital, I made a beeline to the river to find another hagstone. Clearly, Reyna was going to need one, too.
Naturally, the stupid birds followed me, causing my hagstone to quiver nonstop. I went into the woods armed with my toolbelt and the iron poker. I opted out of taking the shotgun simply because I was going to need a free hand to look for another hagstone. There was a part of me that hoped that one of them would try something so that I'd have the opportunity to smack the shit out of them.
While I was searching, among the crows’ calls, I heard whispers. They sounded close, like they came from behind some brush about twenty feet away, but I believed the False Egg when it said that the whispering thing likes to confuse its victims. Without listening to what they were saying, I glanced around as the river's cold water rushed around my boots, trying to figure out what was stalking me.
The whispers pretended to move further away. But still, I couldn't see the thing causing them. I clutched the poker tighter. The crows had stopped their chattering. They heard the voices, too. Hold on. What were they all looking at?
Gingerly, I pulled out the hagstone and held it to my eye in the direction of the crows' gazes. At first, it looked like one of the trees, until I was able to make out a triangular head with eyes the size of basketballs. It held up two massive, folded appendages that were lined with sharp spines. It looked to be as tall as a draft horse, yet it was so still that I couldn't even tell if this huge animal was breathing. The whispers were quieter than they'd ever been before.
Those huge eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t dare move.
One of the ‘crows’ glided to the ground near to the whispering thing, passing in front of my field of view. I stifled a shudder when I saw the state of its frail, humanoid body. Its skin clung like molten wax to its ribs and spine. Tattered wings extended from the sides of its torso, the feathers looking as if they were ripped from numerous other avians and fused to the miserable animal's stretched, contorted arms to make it fly. Where the eyes should have been were empty sockets. A curved beak had been forced onto the creature as well, driven into the skull hard enough to leave ridged, fleshy lumps.
Now that I've seen it, I think the crows were human, once. Transformed and disfigured to serve the Wild Hunt.
The crow shuffled a little too close to the whispering thing. Quicker than a blink, the whispering thing's folded appendage shot forward, curving around the crow's midsection, spikes driving into the crow's torso. My mind could barely keep up as the whispering thing then bit the crow's head clean off with a terrible crunch.
The other crows began to frenzy, shrieking as they dove towards the whispering thing. Without having to take a step, it snatched another crow out of the air. Flesh ripped with a wet tearing sound.
Since the animals were all focused on each other, I took the opportunity to dig frantically around for a hagstone, holding my own against my eye in the hopes it would lead me to another one.
There was a low hum that I felt more than heard. Deep within my chest, as if I was standing next to an amp at a concert. This was followed by an enraged screech from one of the crows. Still, I kept looking.
There had to be one. There just had to be!
One circular, black rock stood out among the rest, the water seeming to outline it from the view of my hagstone. There! I plucked it out of the water, looking over my shoulder to see if either the crows or the whispering thing were paying attention to me. They were too engrossed with trying to tear each other apart.
I shoved the black hagstone into my pocket and made a break for it, poker at the ready. One of the crows noticed and let out an ear-splitting cry to alert the others.
As I ran, I checked back to see that three of the crows split off to pursue me. I wasn't worried about them catching me. The whispering thing was another matter. This was only my second time encountering it and I hadn't had enough information to identify it, so I didn't want to find out the hard way if the defenses I had on me would be enough to stop it from tearing me apart like it did the crows.
There was another low hum that rumbled against my ribs as the whispering thing used one of its forelegs to swipe a crow out of its way. It had lost interest in them, its huge amber eyes focused on me once again. I prayed that the crows swarming around it would be enough to slow it down.
As I raced through the trees back to where the company truck waited, the whispers started anew. They became louder and clearer the faster I went, interrupted by the shrill cries of the crows tailing me. I did my best not to listen to any of them. The last thing I needed was to get led astray by any of my pursuers.
A crow swooped close enough for me to smack it with the poker. The sound the bird made when the iron scalded its skin made my teeth clench. The others joined it, bringing me to my knees, my ears ringing. High pitched, grating, like broken glass against a chalkboard. Disoriented, I swung desperately with the iron poker again, not hitting anything.
And among all that, the whispers hadn't stopped. My head rang, ears going numb. I swung again. One of the shrieks stopped as the poker found its mark. Even as the auditory assault continued, I got to my feet, grabbing the trees closest to me to keep myself going. The whispers became even more frantic as its prey got further and further away. The truck was right there.
The two crows tailing me had finally stopped their dreadful screaming and simmered down to furious clicking sounds with their beaks, as if they could think of nothing but stripping the flesh from my bones.
When one tested the limits of the hagstone as I got close to the truck, I swatted at it with the poker, the tip colliding with the creature's skull. The crow’s body crashed against an oak’s trunk, then went still.
As soon as I cleared the treeline, the whispering stopped. I looked over my shoulder. The whispering thing was retreating, only visible for a brief moment before blending in among the trees.
It couldn't leave the forest. That was good to know.
I closed myself into the truck, leaving the furious crows outside. They glared at me from the branches of a nearby oak. After taking a moment to collect myself, I drove back to the hospital, wanting to hand the black hagstone off to Reyna before anything else.
At a stop sign, I got a text from Victor: he had finished setting traps for the client's raccoon infestation and was going to meet me at the hospital.
Reyna was chilling in her hospital bed, face bandaged, wearing a hideous blue hospital gown decorated with faded green and pink squares.
“Guess who got her rabies shots!” She announced with a sleepy grin, holding her hand up in a shaka.
Someone was clearly given the good painkillers.
Victor arrived a few minutes later, wearing a black mask that covered his mouth and nose, smelling strongly of lavender. It made my nose itch.
“Why do you smell like an old lady?” I complained.
The mask intensified his withering stare, voice muffled by the mask, “Lotta blood around here. Probably wouldn't be too good if I smelled it.”
Reyna chimed in, slurring slightly, “If you're gonna eat anyone, go for the receptionist. He was reading Anne Rice, so he'd probably be into it.”
It was Reyna's turn to get The Glare. He said flatly, “You're high as a kite, aren't you?”
Reyna flashed a peace sign.
To summarize Reyna's condition, she's as okay as she can be. They had to close up her eyebrow and cheek, and they gave her a plethora of shots to make sure that she didn't catch any diseases from the crows. The hospital doctor wanted to keep her overnight to make sure that she didn't have an infection, then afterwards, she was going to take some time off of work to recover.
Also, I slipped the black hagstone into her purse so that it wouldn't be misplaced.
After we discussed Reyna's injuries, I decided to address the elephant in the room, “So… what can we do about the mechanic?”
Reyna shrugged, “Grovel and plead for our lives?”
Victor rubbed his eyes. “We might be a bit past that point.”
I asked Victor about the specifics of his deal with the mechanic. I knew that there had to be some sort of condition that had to be fulfilled before the mechanic could take someone, otherwise I probably wouldn't be alive to type this right now. Reyna was equally curious.
The boss seemed reluctant to speak on this matter, at first. I told Victor that he didn't have to share anything if there was any possibility of retaliation. The last thing I wanted was for him to be punished in some horrific manner for trying to help me.
He eventually shrugged a shoulder in resignation, “Whatever happens, I can handle it. It didn't take him long to figure out that I was the one that helped you find the hagstone. That wasn't pleasant, but…” He went quiet for a second, his eyes glazing in a way that reminded me of when I first came home from active duty. He then shrugged again, “I'm willing to risk it if that means getting a chance to hurt him back someday. Lord knows it's been a long time coming.”
He didn't tell us what the consequences had been for assisting me, and neither Reyna nor I pressed the issue. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Even though I was nervous to hear the answer, I didn't pull any punches and straight up asked, “Why hasn't the mechanic sent you after me yet?”
Victor considered for a moment, then explained, “I'm not sure on the specifics, since the mechanic doesn’t tell me anything other than what I need to know to get the job done. But from what I can tell, he takes those who are dead, dying, or… ‘dead inside,’ I guess is the best way to put it. Some souls appear to be harder for him to take than others. The hard ones need to be… broken down first. As of right now, he says you're not ready.”
Reyna numbly asked, “So if the birds tried to nab me, does that mean that I am ‘ready’? That they could take me at any moment?”
Victor hesitated before replying, “We won't let that happen. Alright?”
Reyna nodded, eyes low.
I wanted to ask her what was going on. Figure out why she was suffering in a way that made her fair game to the crows. But she'd been through enough for one day. That discussion could wait for another time.
My next question was another one that I dreaded the answer to, “And where do you come into all of this, Vic?”
Regretfully, Victor admitted, “I bring him the ones that are ready if he can't get to them himself.”
He glanced at Reyna, “As of right now, keep that hagstone on at all times. Even wear it when you're sleeping. The mechanic didn't know who you were initially, but I guarantee the fucking Lessers tipped him off. I think he’s more focused on Nessa, at the moment, but if I get sent after you, hit me with iron, salt me, do whatever and don't feel bad about it. Same goes for you, Nessa.”
I hated this. I hated that he was being used like this. I hated that he spoke about someday being sent to drag one of us to meet our fate at the hands of the Wild Hunt as if it was unavoidable.
The air suddenly felt like it was much thinner in the room. Somehow, I got enough oxygen to ask, “What if I learned the mechanic's true name? Would that end this?”
Victor let out a soft scoff, rubbing the bridge of his nose over his mask, “Probably, but good luck with that.”
I had already figured that the mechanic wouldn't dance around a fire singing his true name all willy nilly like Rumpelstiltskin. But I couldn't accept that all of us were screwed. There had to be a way. I had to believe that there was a way.
I announced that I'd be back in the morning. Reyna looked as concerned as her painkillers would allow, while Victor jumped out of his seat.
“What are you going to do?” He demanded.
“I'm going to talk to him.” I replied. “One of us is in the hospital and another one of us is undead-”
“I know it's looking bad right now, but they can easily get worse if whatever you're thinking of doing goes south.” He cautioned.
“I'm just going to see if there's some way I can… I don't know, talk him down? I haven't gotten that far yet, but something needs to be done.”
He didn't look convinced, and with how terrible my argument was, I don't blame him. “I'll go with you.”
I motioned towards Reyna. “And leave her alone?”
Reyna, looking like she was fighting sleep, groggily said, “I got the adder stone and I'm in public. I'll be fine. If you're going to confront Psycho Mantis, you're going to need Vic around more than I will.”
Victor agreed, “Like it or not, you're not handling this alone. Remember what I told you when you got hired in?”
We're not heroes, we're pest control specialists.
You know that thing I said about not isolating yourself? I can be bad about not following my own advice sometimes, especially that one.
Going forward, I do want to note that the decisions that were made on that night were extremely risky and I don't recommend for anyone to repeat them. Believe it or not, we are professionals.
On our way to our destination, we stopped by the 24-hr convenience store. Victor was about to question me until he saw me go for the whipped cream. I also got s'mores supplies, thinking that maybe some bribery would make the mechanic more amiable. I figured that if he rejected them then, hey, I like s'mores, too.
Afterwards, we followed the path to the skull trees.
During our hike, Victor whispered, “That fucker is hubris incarnate, but he's not stupid. If he offers you a deal, know that it's not going to be in your favor. And be careful with the way that he twists words.”
Something noteworthy is that the hagstone doesn't react to Victor. I think it's because he doesn't have the same malicious intentions as his captors. He may have changed after his murder (hell, anyone would) but at his heart, he was still Victor. Meanwhile, as we got closer to the skull tree clearing, I felt the stone gradually begin to quake.
Up ahead, orange light flickered. The mechanic had a small fire going. He lay on a blanket next to it, that cursed banjo on the ground beside him, one arm folded under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. His eyes were closed.
He didn't open them as he greeted us, “I was wondering when you two would show up.”
Keeping my nerves buried beneath the surface, I held up the bag of sugary goodness. “I'm here to negotiate.”
He laughed, still not looking at me. “Are you, now? And what exactly do you think a little thing of cream will get ya?”
“Not much, I imagine.” I said evenly. “But I thought it'd be a good jumping off point.”
Even though I’d originally protested Victor coming with me, I was glad that he was there. I don't think I would've been able to be so level-headed if I'd met with the mechanic alone. It would probably be interpreted as a sign of weakness, but I was counting on that.
As soon as I saw the mechanic begin to crane his neck towards us, I slammed my eyelids shut. He knew way more about me than I'd ever wanted him to know already, and I was afraid of giving him more.
Again, another potential sign of weakness. When it came to trying to get him to back off of Orion a bit, I figured it'd be best if he underestimated me.
I didn't have to see the mechanic to know that he had that wicked grin on his face, “Alrighty. Let's see what you've got.”
A hand that was as cold as the grave gently removed the bag of goodies from my grasp. Victor. Wordlessly, he brought the cavity-inducing offering over to the mechanic. I never realized how quiet his footsteps were until then. He moved like a shadow. He could've been five feet away or five hundred, for all I knew.
There was the rustling of plastic, followed by the trademark sound of whipped cream being sprayed from the nozzle. Sounding slightly less prick-ish, the mechanic told me I had his attention.
I had been trying to find the magic words that would make this whole situation blow over. Nothing that I came up with in my head fit that description.
So I decided to be straight forward, then go from there. “What will it take to de-escalate things between you and Orion?”
The whipped cream wailed once again. A moment later, the mechanic replied, “Why are you asking a question that you already know the answer to?”
“Other than my soul.”
He chuckled softly, the sound too casual and charming for this sinister discussion.
“You know, I’m curious, puppydog,” Fabric rustled. Without looking, I assumed he'd sat up, “Which o’ your parents are you most like?”
Here we fucking go.
I tried to redirect him, “With all due respect, that isn't relevant.”
“Oh, but it is.” His tone of voice brought chills to the back of my neck. “You see, I'd be willing to take a trade. Find a soul as mouth-waterin’ as yours, and all this goes away. Hell, I might even let you rest in peace! You know what choice your father would pick.”
I was hoping that the firelight wouldn't be enough for him to see my face flush and my jaw stiffen. That had touched a nerve, just as he knew it would.
That was also a horrible deal. One that I wouldn't even consider. There was no way that I could condemn someone else to an afterlife of torment. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even that weasel-faced client that I rescued the False Egg from. Not even my father.
Swallowing back the plethora of terrible emotions threatening to bubble up, I suddenly felt Victor subtly squeeze my shoulder supportively. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't hesitate to give anyone who insulted his employees a piece of his mind, but the mechanic was the last Neighbor to mouth off to. That was the best he could do for me, in the moment.
When I informed the mechanic that I wouldn't sacrifice someone else to save my own skin, he laughed again, “If only you knew how many times I heard those exact words! Thing is, I ain't even got started on you, pup. Given enough time, you might find you're more like your old man than you thought.”
I took a deep breath to keep the mixture of dread and anger confined to my chest, then calmly replied, “Sounds like you know exactly how everything will play out. Isn't that boring for you?”
The tension that filled the air after those words left my mouth made my chest feel tight.
The whipped cream can wheezed thoughtfully before the mechanic mildly admitted, “A bit, yeah.”
There it is.
“You already have all of the advantages,” I started, “It’s not much of a hunt if your prey can't even run, is it? There's no challenge in killing something that's already baited and trapped.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
Oh boy. I was about to do one of many things I warned yinz not to do: “The only way I can bring you the excitement you're craving is if I have a fighting chance. And a good one. I'll be searching for your name, but I need to know where to look first.”
His laughter made me suppress a shudder. I remember thinking that I should've known that he'd see through my words like he saw through everything else.
The mechanic then said, “I know what you're trying to do, pup. But the problem is, you're right! It's too easy anymore, especially since y'alls names are just available on the internet for anyone to find. I've been getting kind of soft lately.”
This was his soft side?
The mechanic continued, “You really think you can pull this off, pup? I know you're a fighter and all, but you're not a warrior, not really. Being a soldier ain't the same thing.”
“I may not be Cú Chullainn, but I'm as close as you're going to get in Mercer County. We've got a bit of a warrior shortage around here.”
He snorted, “You seem awfully sure of yourself for someone who can't even look at me.”
“I'm not sure about anything. That's why I'm here, isn't it?”
It was quiet for a moment with only the frogs chirping in the forest able to find their voices. Not even the whipped cream broke up the silence this time. I was tempted to risk peeking through my eyelashes, but managed to resist.
Just as my nerves started getting to me, the mechanic said, “So, you want me to give you a hint. That's a lot to ask, but you knew that already.”
“You want something in return.”
“Hagstone. Smash it.”
No way. It was too valuable. If I gave that up, I was dead. I promptly shook my head.
He sounded amused. “Shoulda known you wouldn't fall for that.”
Looking back, I wondered how many he'd tricked like that. Giving up some form of protection after being misled into thinking the mechanic was going to let them go, only to regret it seconds later. Probably far too many.
He continued, “Alright then, we'll talk for real. I'll give you that hint, but I got some conditions. You get three chances to guess correctly. Each time you guess wrong, you have to give me one of your names starting with your first, middle, then last name. Don't try fucking with me by trying to pass your middle name off as your first.”
That made my throat tighten even more. If I agreed to that, failure wouldn't just spell disaster for me, but for everyone I knew as well. I'd be dragging my mom and anyone else associated down with me. I'd essentially be doing what he already requested: sacrificing others to save my own skin.
I heard Victor faintly, from my right, “Don't!”
The mechanic wasn't pleased, “This ain't about you, blue eyes. This is between me and her.”
The stakes were getting way too high. I couldn't do this. But then what? The Hunt wasn't going to wait around for me to find another way, assuming that there even was one. Victor clearly thought it was a terrible idea. For the record, I did, too. I could feel the boss' eyes on me, willing me not to forget what he'd said earlier about dangerous heroics.
Maybe there was another way and I just couldn't see it. But desperation has a way of messing with your head.
“If I agreed to this,” I started, knowing that I was probably digging my grave even deeper. “And I haven't agreed to anything. just to be clear. If I did this, I'd need the assurance that you won't send your crows or hounds or any others that serve the Wild Hunt after those that I care about. That includes my colleagues and me, for that matter. Like you said, this is between us two.”
The mechanic chuckled and I heard him shift again. “You're feeling awfully bold tonight, aren't you?”
I reminded him, “You want this to be interesting, don't you?”
He considered, then with a click of his tongue replied, “You hear that, blue eyes? Means you, as well. On both sides, mind you. Same with that witch doctor. Yeah, I know about her. I keep mine out of it, if you keep yours out. All's fair, right?”
I didn't feel right with any of this, but the alternative was for things to continue as they were. If that happened, we were all screwed anyway.
“And if I agreed, the hint that you provide will have to be both true and helpful. And it'll also be given in easily understandable American English, no riddles or puzzles or any other forms of confusing phrasing. You’d also have to give it to me tonight. The whole thing would begin after that.”
Once again, he laughed, “Shit, you're not messin' around!”
I know how the Neighbors do deals. If I hadn't mentioned it, he probably would've given me the hint in the form of a riddle spoken in backwards Gaelic.
“Alright, pup, I get the picture. You know what you're dealing with. I’ll play nice.”
His voice had a subtle sardonic edge. Nothing about this was going to be nice, if I chose to go this route, but that wasn't news.
“Oh, and one more thing!” The mechanic added a little too cheerfully. “You have until Samhain. I’m sure you know why.”
It's June already; still a good while away from October, but this year feels like it’s flying by fast, like every other year following 2020. He didn't have to explain why: the Wild Hunt are at their most powerful during Samhain, which for those who don't know, was a Celtic holiday that eventually gave birth to Halloween. It's when the veil between the atypical world and ours is thinnest.
In short, it's a busy day for Orion. Looks like it’s going to be even worse this year.
Victor spoke again, “Can I talk to her for a moment?”
“Nope. You don't get a say. Either she takes it or leaves it.” The mechanic answered curtly.
As I deliberated, there were subtle taps on a tree nearby. Hold on. Morse code. M-I-S-S-I-N-G. What was I missing? Maybe it was because I hadn't clearly spelled out what I wanted to happen if I correctly guessed the mechanic's identity.
“If I accept this bet, then if I find your name, you’ll relinquish your claim on my soul, as well as all other Orion employees, whether they're living, dead, or undead. Have I made that clear?”
After a moment, the mechanic answered, the smirk blatant in his voice, “You have now.”
Of course. It was so simple. If I had gone through with the deal without being specific about the outcome, the mechanic wouldn't have been obliged to release any of us. I would've done all the work to identify him for nothing. Tricky bastard.
Thanks, Victor.
With a heavy sigh, I politely asked the mechanic to repeat everything that we'd just discussed to make sure that he wasn't going to conveniently forget something. To my surprise, he did it without comment, though he sounded like he thought the whole thing was funny. He left nothing out.
When I say that agreeing to this deal was one of the hardest things I've ever done, I mean it.
I instantly had second thoughts the moment I heard the mechanic stand up and cheerfully say, “Well, you ready for that hint? You’re gonna wanna open your eyes for this. I can show you better than I can tell you.”
Oh God, I made a mistake! No. I could do this. I had to.
Black cherries. He was in front of me. Steeling myself, I opened my eyes. The mechanic stood as close as the hagstone would allow, a dark silhouette in front of the crackling flames.
“Blue eyes, would you mind holding puppydog’s hagstone for her? Wouldn't want that gettin’ lost, now, would we?”
What?!
“Don’t get all frantic, I can’t do shit to you until you get your hint, per our agreement,” The mechanic said dismissively as Victor approached me. “You’ll get it back after.”
Victor looked apologetic as he gently removed the most powerful defense I had. He had an odd glint in his eye. Was that defiance?
I’ll get you out of this, Vic. I promise.
The very moment that he was able to, the mechanic grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
A church surrounded by black water… A great feast of viscera and wildflowers… Black thorns drinking the blood of the unworthy… The great antlered headdress of the White Son of Mist… Pricking his finger on those horns… He signed in blood…
Victor pulled me back, not giving the mechanic even a picosecond to take full advantage of being outside of the hagstone’s influence. If he hadn't been holding me up, I would've been on the ground, still recovering from what I'd just seen.
“You find that ledger, you find me.” The mechanic said coolly.
That church. It reminded me of something. In the morning, I’m going to check our records. For now, I just want to crash. I'll keep yinz updated.
On the bright side, there weren't any crows waiting for me when I got home.
(Here's an index of all the cases I've discussed so far.)

So me and my husband have known each other for 15 years, I’m 30 and he’s 31. During the in between acquaintance we never dated and lived separate lives. He was in a non marriage relationship and had two kids a girl let’s call her Stephanie (9) and Garrett (6) They currently live in California with their mother She a piece of work. I had a child Samson but he died SIDS (2017) So children is kind of a difficult subject anyway Anyways after tons of trauma to my SO vis the BM 😂 We all have agreed on what happens with visitation and child support because they has never gone to family court. We live in south Texas. We got married last July and the kids we offered by the mother to spend the summer with us. Our Ann is 7/7/23 I pay all the bills. So they did visit, with home insisting g to his BM on the visit. Then visited for Christmas again I covered costs. Now it’s time for them to come during the summer. My husband paid for them to travel. They will be here July to August. Me and my husband have been fighting a lot lately. Lots of financial stuff since he work at Favor as a driver and I’m a LMT 45/hr plus tips. When he has any communication with them(the mom, the kids) I’m always an after thought. Not included in real time when I’m obviously available. I always get the telephone version of what they live. I feel like I’m not wanted. Because of the fights I feel worthless and why would someone want someone like that in their life especially their kids. I just feel like a worthless partner I kind of say a few things to the kids while he’s on face time with them when he asks me things and then it’s me saying something short and sweet I don’t feel like I’m set up for success with them. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ what to do. I don’t feel like a good mom in general because of what happened to my son and don’t feel anything like a good step mom. :/ I’m in therapy but I have no friends to talk to other than my husband. He will go to the other room and talk to his kids and leave me alone whichever room we are in and I’m just like a bump on a log.🪵 I try but I ruin everything with the fights I don’t think m my husband even likes me anymore.