Hello! Anyone still up this weekend for chats and maybe meet in the metro someday. Finally, got my J.O on a BPO company soon and good luck sakin these future days.
About me:
Self-employed/freelance
Single
Mabaet/kind
Humofriendly
Tall/mixed complexion
Bike commuter
From nearby province near Metro Manila
About you:
Working/student
From NCnearby areas
23-39 yrs of age
Hardworking/industrious
Kind/mabaet also
Single or taken
Happy/cheerful
With cool interest and hobbies

I have a feeling this post isn't going to be very popular here, but I'm frusturated and I'd like to talk with you all.
I've been noticing a very strong upswing of trans Americans talking about genocide, and how more policies and talking points are becoming genocidal/genocide-adjacent. Just recently (the reason for making this post), I saw someone claim with many upvotes that we were at stage eight of the ten stages of genocide, defined on wikipedia as "expropriation, forced displacement, ghettos, [and] concentration camps."
Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be a Jew and watch the trans community condense ethnic cleansing into a talking point? Do you know how often I see a trans person link to the latest idiotic thing a conservative said, and remark how similar it would sound to nazism if they replaced "trans people" with "Jews?"
Yeah, that's because it's discrimination! Transgender people are being discriminated against! Is this your first day on earth? Like all discrimination, it has the potential to become genocidal! But you have no clue what you're talking about if you think we're anywhere near the yellow armband stage, let alone the gas chambers.
It's just clear to me that many of the people using this language have only ever understood genocide in a vague abstract that has never included them or their families. I wish they would take the time to learn about the genocides that have actually already happened. There are plenty to choose from.

I really need help with this now and some things are not specific enough on gov.uk Could my partner's parent help me with the financial requirement of £18600 or my own parents? Im a Norwegian trying to move here and live with my partner at their parents address and i have nowhere near £18600 saved but i will once i get a job. I am applying for the family route since all of the interviews i had when trying to get a skilled worker visa not a single one was able to sponsor me even if they would like to employ me. Also if i were to leave to a different country and come back to the UK would my visitor visa of 6 months reset or somewhat partially reset?

Respect Despero

" Allow me to introduce my master: The warlord Despero, gladiatorial champion of 92 star systems. Working on 93 now."

A renowned alien warlord hungry for battle, Despero journeys from one planet to another seeking worthy opponents to face in combat. When he set his sights on the backwater of Earth he most wanted to face off against Superman and the other heroes of the Justice League, but since they were unavailable settled for Captain Marvel and several members of the Team.
Much to Despero's chagrin the heroes did not fight according to his brand of honor. Though he nearly killed those he faced, the Team turned his own mesmeric powers back on himself to defeat him. Turned over to the custody of the Reach he has spent the intervening time imprisoned.
Powers/Gear: Despero is a super strong opponent who physically overwhelms those he faces. When faced with non-physical threats he resorts to opening his third eye, which psychically paralyzes its target. He is also aided by L-Ron, a robotic companion who servers as his herald and speaks on his behalf, and travels in a spaceship that helps create the parameters for his matches.
Scaling: 1.The Team 2.Superboy 3.Bumblebee 4.Miss Martian 5.Justice League 6.Captain Marvel

Strength

Against Captain Marvel

• Kicks Captain Marvel a distance away where he digs up a trench in his wake on landing
• Shatters apart the glass entrance to the Hall of Justice
• Pushes Captain Marvel off him into a support beam, damaging it
• Hits Captain Marvel into a statue's face and he lands on the ground, fracturing both
• Lifts the dazed Captain Marvel and punches him into the air a distance away
• Punches Captain Marvel a distance away, cratering him into a wall, then slams him into a wall and pummels his head into it

Against Miss Martian

• Smashes a massive statue with a punch and throws a large stone head

Against Superboy

• Punches Superboy through a massive stone statue his impact splits in half
• Slams Superboy into the wall and runs him across it, tearing the wall up
• Kicks Superboy into the ground, cratering him there before leaping atop him
• Leaps up and tackles Superboy through a thick concrete ceiling

Against Guardian

• Slams Guardian into the ground, cratering it
• Tackles through a wall, sending out a debris cloud
• Tosses around a large hunk of metal

Durability

• Tackled by Captain Marvel into a wall, fracturing it
• Stung by Bumblebee and annoyed, then pained when shot in his third eye
• Captain Marvel punches both sides of his wrist to no effect, and then hits him with a magical lightning bolt that similarly does nothing
• Punched by Superboy while paralyzed, sent through one wall and cratering another

Speed

• Kicks Captain Marvel suddenly to begin their fight
• Jump blitzes Superboy
• Catches Guardian when he tries to leap over Despero

Third Eye

• Paralyzes Zatanna
  • Zatanna us completely unresponsive, even to Bumblebee shouting in her ear and stinging her
  • Miss Martian describes the paralysis as akin to "blindfolds on their brains" and psychically wakes Zatanna up
• Paralyzes Bumblebee
• Paralyzes Billy Batson
• Paralyzes himself when his powers are magically reflected

Equipment

L-Ron

• Projects his voice well enough from outside to summon the heroes from inside a building
• Identifies a magic user
• Identifies that Guardian has no powers
• Blasted apart by Captain Marvel's lightning
• Explodes, destroying the Hall of Justice

Ship

• Teleports Despero into the Hall of Justice
• Surrounds the Hall of Justice in a forcefield
• The forcefield withstands multiple tanks firing at it
• The forcefield withstands Captain Atom blasting it and punching it simultaneously with Captain Marvel
• The forcefield is disabled with a special device from the Reach

Achievements

• A gladiatorial champion of 92 star systems
• Collected trophies from many past conquests and typically takes on challengers larger than Captain Marvel

​
---Huge shoutout to IamNotaChinaboo for collecting and clipping all the gifs!

Hi everyone! I got this other story sticking in my mind.
I (22F) was 18 years old at that time. In those days, I was a party girl, going out three times a week and drinking a lot. That time was wild. I decided to host a party, it was my first party and I rented a space in my village, it was a cabin on location for events, very cheap for locals. I organized everything with my (18F) best friend, let’s called her Marie and another friend (18F) named Rose. We were having fun decorating and preparing the party, I was so stressed about the party was going to be lame. I decided to cope the stress with alcohol. When the party started and people arrived, I was already tipsy. I invited unrelated people I knew from middle school to high school and some friends I made at college. Even though no one knew anyone, the party was great and people were meeting each other. I had a boyfriend(19) who was coming with his friends, we were around thirty. It was late summer so the weather was mild and most people were outside talking, laughing and dancing.
I had this middle school friend let’s called her Luna, who binged drink and threw up at the entrance of the cabin. She even hurt her foot and so she had some difficulties to walk. I was a that point, drunk, but I wanted to help my friend. I asked her if she wanted to be put to bed and she said yes. I took her arm and guided her to my house.
I live in a small village in the countryside, so it takes less than 5 minutes to get to my house.It was super safe, I used to wander alone in the streets late at night (1AM -4AM) when I had insomnias and nothing ever happened. It was pitch dark, we were the only ones outside. As we walked, we saw a white suv, but I didn’t think much of it. I came home, gave her some water and let her sleep in my room. I was alone with my sister that night. I warned her of the presence of my friend and headed back to the party.
I was not walking straight, since I was so intoxicated. I saw the white suv parked near the farm. As I continued walking, a black car stopped next to me and opened its window. I looked at the man (I still don’t know what age he was, it was so dark), he said to me “I’ve seen this white suv following you for a while, it is dangerous you should come to my car”. I was drunk but I directly felt that something was wrong. I just answered that I was okay and my friends were nearby. He insisted, he repeated to come to his car for my safety. My inner alarm went off as I was trying to walk faster and answered again that I was okay. Suddenly, I heard the car’s doors opened, he was not alone. I didn’t think twice, I just ran for my life.
I arrived quickly to the cabin, my friends were all drunk, one of my drunk male friends was complimenting Rose. They saw me coming at them in a hurry. The male friend looked at me and started to compliment me. I told him, “Man, someone tried to abduct me”. He stared at me and told me that I shouldn’t have left alone, that it was not safe.
The party lasted until 4AM, people who didn’t drink, took their car and left, the few others were inside the cabin and started to talk. One of my boyfriend’s friends was mad on the Snapchat group because he forgot his knife at the cabin (why did he carry a knife with him at the party?). I told them about what happened and we were all spooked.
After that event I stopped wandering in the village late at night but I hosted a few other parties. I have never seen this man and his black car again.
Most people keep telling me how great the party was, a couple who met at the party are still together. I still wonder to this day, what would have happened to me if I didn’t react that spontaneously.

It was morning. Around forests and meadows. Summer was slowly beginning. Only a month has passed since the end of the war. The crisp Andaroln air was in the air. On a chestnut horse, Lord Kylian Tarington came to the city of Lira. A city that, several years ago, still belonged to the Sundaroln Empire.
During the war, it was taken over by the Kingdom of Andaroln. And the lord of the city was Silas Tarington. Then in the war with the Kingdom of Ithrandil, the elves occupied this city and it was occupied for years. The stalemate caused by losses on both sides prolonged the war. The Andarolians would not be satisfied with peace if even part of their territory remained in the hands of the Elves.
Now that the borders are back to what they were before the war and no one has gained anything, Kylian has returned to the city where he spent his teenage years. His father died in the war Lira belongs to him now. He was a thin man in his twenties of medium height, with a round face, a low forehead, a small potato nose, large, prominent ears, short black hair, and a goatee. He wore a simple leather vest, trousers and boots. He was looking at the city with a happy look from his small green eyes.
It was a city surrounded by a wall, but at first glance, the glory days of the defensive structure are over. The once black wall, made of Sundaroln bricks scorched by fire magic, had gaps that were only partially filled with simple ordinary stones. The Sundaroln magic strengthened the wall, but the Andaroln stonemasons could not recreate it. Andarolian stone walls were up to thirty feet high. The Sundarolians could build three times as tall.
The Lord's companion was his Father's steward, Sir Thalis. A man in his fifties with short blond hair and green eyes, a wide mustache and a small rounded nose. In steel mail and half helmet.
— Sir Thalis, you have always been faithful to my Father, but I am a completely different man. Will you be faithful to me even if I turn my Father's legacy upside down and make it mine? — Young Lord asked.
— I will follow you, my Lord, whatever your beliefs, I swore to you and before that to your Father Silas — Sir Thalis replied.
They entered a gate guarded by guards. It resembled an arch. There were neither bars nor a wooden gate with bolts.
— Lord Tarington — the guard bowed when he saw the Hare Crest on the cloak thrown over the horse.
— It's a pleasure to welcome you to Lira.— He added.
— I will go to the palace at once, I would like to receive my advisers at once. — He said to the guard and left.
They passed simple wooden huts. Some of them were burned, and some were crushed by the stones from the catapults that flew over the wall during the assault. Fire was burning in some of the fireplaces. Driving down an unpaved road. They passed through the northwest gate of the city and found themselves in its northwestern part. This part was inhabited mainly by Andarolians and Andarolian buildings prevailed here. The townspeople looked at them curiously. The city was divided into four parts and was the second largest city in Andaroln. Separated by the crossing of the Iliana's River with the Tascal's River, which is a kind of border between the Sundaroln Empire and the Kingdom of Andaroln. The Lord's Palace was located in the south-eastern part of the city. That's where he was heading.
As they approached the bridge. A paved road appeared, and houses from wood scorched by fire magic appeared. Sundaroln buildings prevailed here. They were black, but with beautiful clay tile roofs and glass windows, not just wooden shutters for holes in the walls like Andaroln homes.
Now the looks of curiosity turned to contempt. There were many Sundarolans in the city who did not feel Lira belonged to Andaroln. In addition, due to the slightly darker complexion of former Imperial citizens, the inhabitants could easily recognize the origins of other inhabitants. And that just gave them more reasons to hate themselves.
They finally reached the Palace. A beautiful marble building with soaring towers and huge red glass windows. The roof was also covered with clay tiles. The palace was surrounded by a ten-feet-high marble wall. More of a fence than a fortification. Two guards stood at the gate to the wall. Armed with spears and a round wooden shield bearing the Crest of the Kingdom of Andaroln.
They bowed as Kylian and Thalis rode in. Then they entered the palace as the grooms took the horses from them. The young Lord walked the red carpet towards the throne, passing the rows of marble columns of the great throne room. Even the throne rooms in the palaces of the Sundaroln Empire were made as if the Emperor himself would sit there. Behind the throne hung a great Banner with a white hare on a blue background. Kylian sat on the throne. Lord Thalis stood at the steps to the marble throne. The two guards who guarded the throne bowed as their Lord passed them.
Soon the advisers arrived, they were nobles in beautiful furs and leather boots. One of them came out against the Lord. It was immediately apparent to Tarington that they were all Andarolians. An older man with long, well-groomed gray hair and a gray beard stepped ahead of the rest.
— Your Lordship, we are glad to see you back. — Said the adviser.
— Joren, what can you tell me about the current situation in the city? — Lord Kylian asked.
— Well, Your Lordship, the wall of the city is destroyed, we are effectively pacifying the Sundaroln independence movements. There is drought and food shortages. — Joren replied.
— Then I have a task for you, gather the guards and find any representative of this resistance, tell him I want to talk to him — Lord Tarington ordered.
— Lord, do you want to talk to these people who kill our people in dark alleys, burn granaries, and contribute to all sorts of crimes? — the advisor asked incredulously.
— I gave you an order, Joren. — Kylian answered him briefly, annoyed.
— Yes, Lord — The adviser left, not looking thrilled.
— There are supposedly elves here, is that true? I'd like to see them — Lord Tarington said.
— Follow me, please — one of the guards said. Kylian and Thalis followed him. To the left of the throne. To the stairs down. The guard began to speak, he was an Andarolian about Kylian's age. He wore tabard mail and a half-helmet like most of Lira's guards.
— In the dungeon under the palace there are important Elven commanders who ruled Lira, they are powerful mages, so they are guarded by our mages. Overall, there are over two thousand high elves in Lyra, but those are the ones your Lordship wants to talk to, right? — Guardsmen asked.
Thalis was a bit struck by the fact that some guard started a conversation with the Lord so uninvited, without even asking permission. However, Lord Tarington took no notice of it.
— Yes, I want to meet them. — He responded.
They passed rows of empty cells. Bars and only small covered windows through which you can't even stretch your hand. The dungeon under the palace is a dark room lit by torchlight. The air was heavy and smelled like death. Five mages in blue robes stood at the end of the hall, accompanied by two more guards, guarding the cell. They bowed as the Lord came. A baby's cry rang out. Kylian hadn't expected to hear him in a place like this. In a slightly larger cell, he saw about ten High Elves, including a woman with a small child. They had small straw beds on the stone floor and five buckets. They were all handcuffed and dressed only in linen tunics. They had silver skins and all kinds of hair colors. Their eyes shone with different colors of yellow and green. Tarington looked with disgust at the conditions in which the starved elves lived.
— Why are they so crammed into one cell? — Kylian Asked.
— We don't have enough mages to keep an eye on each one individually — one of the magicians replied.
— Take this woman, find her a chamber in the palace until we find an alternative — Kylian ordered.
The guard took the keys and opened the cells. He went inside. And he went to the elf, grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the cell. One of the elves aggressively ran to the bars.
— Where are you taking her? — He asked. He had long hair the color of dried grass and yellow eyes. Like most elves, he was slim, tall, and narrow-shouldered.
— To a better place, somewhere where she she will have a bed and can wash up, you'll come with us. — the Lord answered him, and the attendant guard seized him by the arm.
— What is your name? — he asked the elf
— Tommen — He replied. They returned with the Elf back to the throne room. However, Kylian did not sit on the throne, he stood face to face with Tommen.
— Uncuff him — He ordered guards.
— I don't think that's very reasonable, you know I'm a mage — replied the elf contemptuously.
— You're so starved that you won't even let out a spark, I know a thing or two about magic, listen, I can't let you go. — Lord Tarington said.
— I'm your prisoner why would you do that? — said the Prisoner.
— I can't let you go, because even if I do, you won't cross the east pass anyway, they're building a castle there, there's a lot of Andarolians there, and as prisoners you're completely useless. — Kylian replied
Meanwhile, several Sundarolans entered the throne room, accompanied by Joren and the city guards.
— You are not interested in farming, you want our knowledge and magic, we will not pass it on to the Andarolians, you are our enemies. — said the elf.
Lord Tarington spoke loudly — Not to the Andarolians, but to the people of Lira, today it will not mean the same thing, if you want to get out of these dungeons and become citizens of Lira, you must give something in return. The Lira has burned too many times, I'll make sure this was the last time. To achieve this, we need to repair the wall, I know you know barrier spells that will harden it, we need weapons, and we need to solve the drought problem. For this you need cooperation. — he paced the room and looked at the Sundarolians now. — Yours too, can you fix the wall? — He ended with a question.
— Why would we repair the Andarolian wall? — replied a middle-aged Sundaroln man with dark eyes and black hair. Dressed in linen clothes.
— Because the southern one is whole, and that's where the Empire is, after all, the northern one is for defense against Andaroln, that's also in your favor, isn't it? — Kylian asked. The Sundaroln fell silent.
— Believe in me and I will believe in you — Lord Tarington began, and turned back to the Elf. — I know you don't like this lifestyle, in Ithrandil you are guardians of the balance of nature and you live in harmony with it, but you have no other home — He said.
The Andarolans present in the hall were shocked..
— Joren, have the townspeople gather at the palace, I have a speech to give — Kylian ordered.
— He didn't ask me if I agreed — Tommen said to Thalis.
— Consider it respect to you, no Andaroln Lord would ever offer it to you, they just thought you were too smart to turn down the offer. — Thalis replied to him.
— We're not some Fall Elves to be driven by money and power.. — the Elf added, but he knew that Lord Kylian was right. They will not return to the Elven Kingdom. And what he wants to create may turn out to be good
Two hours later it was noon. Lord Tarington was standing on the balcony of the palace. It was a Sundaroln thing. The palaces had balconies so that you could speak to the people from them. Outside the walls of the Palace, there were a lot of people. Were all the inhabitants really here? Everywhere he looked, the streets were packed. He spoke.
— Dear people of Lira, I am your new Lord, so I want to announce the changes that are coming. Today is an important date, in about a year you will choose a new ruler of Lyra. — conversations began in the background — For the city from this day forward will be called the Free City of Lira, no Kingdom, or Andaroln, or Ithrandil, or Empire of Sundaroln, none of them has kept you safe. You have suffered sieges and occupations again and again. If they can't keep us safe, then we have to do it ourselves, and to do that, we have to build our city together across divisions such as race and ethnicity. We will use the common knowledge that diversity allows us to do. We'll make it strong. We need schools that will teach young generations, not only to write and read, but even magic, because here in our Lira, access to magic and science will not be determined by social status, long live free Lira — he shouted at the end and raised his fist in the air.
The crowd fell silent. People looked at each other. Finally someone broke out of the crowd and also raised his fist in the air. — Long live the free Lira — He shouted. More and more people started joining. Finally the crowd started chanting "Long live the free Lira"
More as alwyas on my Wattpad. Please share If you like it.

Chapter fucking 60, and we answer the biggest question that’s existed since chapter two. I tried my best, so i really hope you like it. Point out any logic faults or inconsistencies as soon as you spot them, cuz i don’t want to ride this chapter out and have to contort later to accommodate it. Have fun, guys. I’ll see your opinions and theories in the comments!
First Prev Next Royal Road
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Adam leaned away from the recording device, the man sitting on a single chair next to a woman seated to his right, his partner smiling brightly as she took his hand. The room seemed to be a Union passenger accommodation aboard some transit craft, though the lack of flourishes suggested it was not a public ship. Adam cleared his throat, giving the woman an excited look before addressing the device.
“This will be our first contact with the newly discovered sapient races, and as such, a few of us representing Humanity have decided to record our experiences. All that we know so far is that they are insectoid in nature, and have developed in a peaceful society with a heavy focus on the arts. From architecture to sculpting, and anything else that involves making something into something else.”
He glanced to the woman, a passive excitement on his face as he got over the initial nervousness.
“My wife, Clara, and i are both excited to have been given the opportunity to participate. She is a xeno-pediatric specialist, so we hope to glean more information from her expertise while we are there. Out of the several hundred Humans who were selected to contribute to this introduction to the broader galaxy, we feel our reports back to the Union may aid in deciding if they will be welcomed with open arms, or if they will be assigned a section of the cosmos that they will be allowed to occupy without outside influence.”
Clara almost bounced out of her chair at the opportunity to chip in. “We look forward to presenting this log to the Human representatives, and we hope you find our findings useful in your decision!”
Adam laughed, reaching forward to end the recording. “You just want to meet their babies.”
“Of cour-”
The video flicked to the next scene, the area now an intricately carved, if a little rustic, room that seemed to be primarily dug out of stone, though it held lighting and very basic furniture carved out of the wall.
Adam had changed clothing, his wife not in the frame as the man visibly tried to get comfortable on the hard seat, his professional presentation abandoned as he spoke more casually. “It’s been two days, give or take, since we have arrived. The language barrier has been eased by a rudimentary translator that we were provided, but once we mentioned the issue to our hosts, they asked for one themselves and set to work in an attempt to improve it.”
The man chuckled as he gave up trying to make the stone less difficult to sit on. “It’s looking like the Union had sectioned off a newly developed planet for these introductions, with the Atmo’s blessing, and we are the fifteenth species to be shown to these people, though the first who require the kind of comforts like this.”
He gestured around the room. “The amenities you see that were provided to us were done in a few hours, once we described what we would need. We were hesitant to complain, rock isn’t exactly the best material to sleep on, but they asked if Clara would like to accompany them while they try to adjust our room as we wait for arrangements elsewhere.” The man snorted, a look past the device given to something else in the room. “It was pretty amusing to watch her walk out with an eight-foot-tall mantis-arachnid, i have to say.”
His eyes widened. “Right! The Atmo! I forgot to describe them.”
Joseph glanced at Pan, her paw gripping his hand firmly as she watched with a slightly worried expression. Violet seemed very interested in the two sets of subtitles under the video as the man described her race in far greater detail than the Grand Hunter would want to, using several anatomically correct words that sounded more like an incantation than anything recognizable.
“...And their forelimbs are two longer blades that they use for pretty much everything. It would be difficult to say how much they would be able to accomplish if they didn’t have a ‘sister-species’ with more manipulation to assist them.” Adam mused, a hand reaching up to scratch at his chin. “They’re much the same, though. From our limited translations, they seemed to have been a case of divergent evolution that converged again after gaining seven manipulator appendages rather than the two weapon-focused ones that the Atmo use. The Kuoori are visually similar, though lower in number. They’re the ones working on the translator, by the way.”
Clara’s voice called from off-screen, the volume lacking as she seemed to be talking from across the room. “You said you’d wait longer!”
Adam held his hands up in deference. “I just wanted to get the boring stuff out of the way!”
“We’re visiting our homestead tomorrow, and you want to spend the day giving them-”
The screen flickered as a feminine hand covered the image, the next frame of the video starting inside a much nicer construction, the furniture having moved locations around the room suggesting they had changed venue and looking far more comfortable for it. Several of the instalments looked much like the ‘Atmo couch’ that Mama had made for themselves at the base.
Clara spoke up before her husband could start. “We’re visiting a new wing of the habitation compound!”
“It’s a nest.” Adam corrected with a glare, though the smirk showed he was far more amused than annoyed at his wife’s enthusiasm.
She stuck her tongue out at him, all pretenses of the video being educational tossed out the window. She turned back to the device with a smile a mile wide. “They live in huge groups! I couldn’t count them all, but i think there are upwards of three-hundred here alone! And there are several places like it!”
“It’s a sea of colour.”
“It’s beautiful and you know it.” She countered playfully, prodding his cheek with her knuckle. Adam chuckled, pushing away the offending limb.
“I don’t think i mentioned how many colours there are.”
Clara lit up at the chance to talk more. “They are recorded to cover most of the visible spectrum, from what i was told, but majority seem to be shades of red and blue, with some green and yellow being far less common.”
“They’re also very eager to ask us about our interpretations of art.”
The woman rolled up her pants leg to display a stylized tattoo of a lighthouse against stormy seas. “They seen this and within an hour they started adding the style to one of their newest rooms.”
Adam rested his cheek on a fist, watching his wife with an amused and loving smirk. “I heard one of the other groups showed them origami and twenty minutes later there were forty Atmo asking for sheets of paper.”
Clara looked at her husband in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. Apparently another group-”
The scene changed to a stabilized recording, the device being carried by one of the two. A few moments passed as they panned over the expansive tunnel network brightly lit by a slightly green shade of white light, tens of Atmo stopping to wave to the couple once the pair had started the gesture. Clara’s voice again became prominent.
“We’re visiting their nursery today!” She whispered into the device, though it was pretty damn loud for what should have been quiet.
“Hatchery.” Her husband corrected, not very concerned by her volume. She waggled the recording device in his direction, answering that small question.
“We get to see the little baby Atmo!”
Adam shook his head, his own excitement showing through. “They’ll be in their eggs.”
“We get to see the little baby Atmo eggs!”
The scene cut to the ‘hatchery’, carefully carved divots lining shelves where hundreds of rice-looking ‘eggs’ sat upon what looked to be very soft materials that seemed closer to silk than anything else Joseph could identify. Each egg seemed to be about large enough to reach past his knee if you were to stand them up, making the scale of the room rather impressive. Adam had taken the device, his wife being supervised by an amused Atmo that looked oddly familiar, the blue coloration striking him as the same that Mama sported, though the green tint and similarity between the ones he had seen so far made it pretty clear that it was exceedingly unlikely for his Atmo to be the same one. He raised a brow at the chipped blade, though it was on the opposite side and thus settled the suspicion.
Clara tentatively pet an egg, glancing at the watchful Atmo every so often to make sure she wasn’t doing anything wrong, though her face was filled with wonder rather than worry. She asked if it would be okay to hold one, the subtitled response from the Atmo directing her to an area where the eggs were hardened and more able to manage her handling.
The woman looked to be in euphoric shock as she cradled the seed of life in her arms, Adam absently commenting from behind the device with a suppressed chuckle. “This is what happens when you get your wife pregnant.”
The screen flickered, a slightly longer pause between clips giving Joseph a chance to look at Pan. The female seemed to have been watching the Human woman cradle the egg with a longing deeply set in her eyes, the paw not resting within his hand laid to her stomach. The Grand Hunter gave her paw a squeeze, getting a sad smile in return before the next part of the video played.
Adam was alone in the room, though the distant voices suggested that Clara and someone else were talking in another part of wherever they were staying. Occasional clicks were replied to with laughter or questions, the woman’s voice carrying further than the indeterminate gender of the other. The man shook his head.
“If it wasn’t obvious; they finished working on the translator.” He turned his head to point at a thin cut behind his ear. “It wasn’t forced, before you ask. One of the groups apparently brought along an entire medical ward worth of textbooks and files, and just gave it to the Atmo. Looks like half of the time they spent with the device was training a separate version for text so that they could figure out how to implant it safely.”
Adam held up his hand to stop an imaginary rebuttal. “I know what you’re thinking, but we got to watch it be installed on several people who volunteered, and twenty three doctors confirmed it was on the up-and-up. Honestly, the Kuoori could probably perform a heart transplant in a couple minutes if they wanted to. Either way, we learned a few things!”
He clapped his hands softly. “They have royalty! Sort of. It’s complicated. There’s a ‘sub-species’ of sorts that are a bit smaller than the normal Atmo, and they have a slightly different exoskeleton structure than the usual you have seen so far. The biggest visual identifier is their legs. Atmo typically have conical legs, where as the sub-species have more angular legs. Think kite-shields or an orchid mantis. They can breed with normal Atmo, but the offspring are always female, have a very low chance to take after their mother, as far as their legs, and those who do are raised from hatching to lead. They spend most of their formative years under the guidance of one or more ‘Advisors’, kind of like guardians or parents for Humans, that helps guide them through morals, values, so on and so forth.”
His rolling hand showed how briefly he was condensing the history of the position, a muttered comment about how Clara was going to re-do it all in greater detail later showing that he was mostly just recording to remind his wife in future what to mention.
“The position is chosen by the ‘Hatcher’, who raises them to the point where they are able to begin the process, and approved by the mother Queen, if she is still able. Then the Hatcher will take a more supportive role in their life, rather than being directly influential. Think of it as a maid taking care of the kids until they are old enough for tutors to become available in old houses of nobility. Anyway. The ‘Advisor’ acts as their guardian and compass for how to act as a Queen, and it’s not a position taken lightly. The rest of the Nest’s second priority is the ‘Advisor’, after the young Queen herself, obviously.”
Adam leaned back on the carved couch, the soft material over it looking similar to what was used in the hatchery. “We were invited to see a ceremony as several Queens are nearing the proper age, though it won’t be until a year or so. We’re expecting the process to take about three, before we’re brought back to Sol, so it should make a fun addition to our time here.”
“Adam!” Clara called. “Red want’s to know if you want to meet her son! He hatched a few months ago!”
The man shunted his eyes closed, visibly pained at the moniker as he muttered something about Atmo adoring Human naming conventions. “Do i have a choice?”
“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”
A sigh escaped the man as he grinned, reaching for the device as he got up from his seat. “We’re recording it, ri-”
A clip of Adam on his knees playing with a tiny yellow Atmo was accompanied by Clara squealing every time the young one successfully caught her husbands hand between its blades, the two-foot tall child looking to the large Red Atmo in excitement with each victory in the little game that had developed.
Joseph felt Pan’s grip on his hand tighten, a tear building in her eye as her gaze refused to move away from the scene. Violet sat on the floor with her legs tucked underneath her as she silently continued the viewing.
The next clip showed that quite some time had passed, Adam looking like he hadn’t shaved in quite a while as he sat on the floor against a wall, the device held in his hand and pointed towards him.
“Clara went into labour early.” He started, the exhausted expression only saved by the smile of disbelief. “I know it’s been a long while since we’ve documented anything, but I’ll go over that later. For now? Remember those textbooks and the like that were given when they asked for a translator? Well, It happened to cover c-sections, and If it wasn’t for Red and Jack, I’d probably be here crying as opposed to just tired after helping our baby boy take his first breaths.”
The man laughed, a tear of relief running down his cheek. “We didn’t even get time to really figure out what was wrong. Jack, sorry, Red’s partner... Yeah, they like the sound of our names and insisted that we give them nicknames. Jack took one look at Clara and in all of thirty seconds we had twelve Atmo rushing us to their Human hospital. Yeah. Human hospital.”
A fresh chuckle emerged from the man. “Turns out that they were implementing every single thing they could copy from those books. Entire fields were populated by Atmo involved in this ‘mixed species introduction’ who wanted to be able to help their new friends. Some martial arts guys from a few sectors over even showed off their skills and now it’s a popular past time amongst the species. They’re sponges for information. Best yet? They learned that we have over a thousand languages, and have started work on adaptive translators, just because they were worried they wouldn’t be able to talk to any new Humans. It’s insanity.”
He paused, soft clicking was subtitled as a request for him to return since Clara had woken up. He winked to the device. “Time to go tell my wife she’s the first woman to be fully cut open by a new species.”
Static overtook the screen, Pan’s wide-eyed glance in his direction being met with his own. Joseph looked down to Violet, the Atmo seeming transfixed on the screen and oblivious to the importance of the information dumped on them so offhandedly.
A series of clunks and assorted handling noise ripped the question from his mouth as he refocused on the video, the scene switching to what looked to be several months later, based on the growth of the baby boy laying in a red Atmo’s arms next to Clara as she played with the now slightly larger yellow Atmo child. The two’s conversation was barely coherent as the noise from the four garbled most attempts to parse any particular words. Adam called out to them, gaining the attention of all but the baby boy who seemed more interested in slapping the exoskeleton of his seat rather than humour his father.
“So, what are we excited about?”
Clara rolled her eyes, looking far more well rested than Joseph would expect a new mother to be. “Just say that the next selection for the ‘Advisors’ is tomorrow, Adam.”
The husband sighed audibly. “At least pretend to document something.”
“I’m busy!”
“Playing with Michael.”
“He’s adorable!”
Red chittered, the subtitled text labelling her thoughts on how cute the Human baby was in return. Clara laughed, picking up the small Atmo in her arms and receiving a small cut on her arm from not being careful enough. Red started to worry before the woman dismissed her concerns and reassured Michael that it wasn’t his fault, the young insect taking greater care to tuck his blades, much to Adam’s amusement.
A flicker of the footage transitioned the scene to a massive hall with tall ceilings, large pillars sporting the style of Clara’s tattoo and several other more ‘realism’ inspired works that Joseph recognized from some co-workers who often decorated their skin. Many Atmo were standing orderly around the room as the device panned to show off the gathering, settling towards the ‘front’ of the room where three Atmo, each looking a lot like Violet, angular legs and all, sat on modified blocks. The three were different colours, two a shade of blue and one an almost orange colour, and all had ten Atmo standing nearby behind them.
Four young Atmo ‘Queens’ that were only slightly larger than Violet waited patiently as one of the adult Queens gave a speech about why each ‘Advisor’ was chosen, two falling into the category of an appreciation or excellence in one form of art or another, though one was chosen for their involvement in the newly developed medical fields that would enable them to assist their new friends.
One last young Queen remained, the rest being escorted out with commentary from the Human couple. She approached the orange Queen, her color almost the same tint, as the adult Atmo left her seating to address the room instead of remaining at rest. Clara apparently prodded Adam in her excitement in the different procedure, a hushed yell masquerading as a whisper for him to make sure he was getting a good angle.
A longer speech was given, vague and broad, until the Queen mentioned that she would be entrusting her heir personally to someone who may offer lifetimes of new experiences and values that would be irreplaceable to her people. An Atmo pushed Adam from behind to usher him to the Queen, the device snatched from his hands by Clara as she squeaked in excitement. It followed the man as he was presented to the Queen, a familiar blue Atmo approaching from off to the side. The Hatcher from when Clara held the egg, if Joseph was right.
The Hatcher lowered itself to Adam’s level, resting her blades over his back like the other Hatchers did for their selected Advisors, placing their head to his as the Queen continued her speech and Clara asked a nearby Atmo for an explanation of the gesture.
The response described it as a vestigial display of trust, for leaving one’s blades far from oneself leaves your life forfeit to whomever you do it to. The only people that a Hatcher would do it with is those they entrust the young Queens to, and a Queen will do it to accept. There existed no higher honour than to have the formality performed, so it was rare that one would, but if someone wished to deny, they would separate.
Clara visibly bounced in excitement, her voice cracking from tears of joy as Adam, hesitant and confused, accepted the embrace from the Hatcher, young Queen, and even the orange Queen herself, once she publicly announced that Humans were to be considered ‘allies of the Atmo’ in light of their contribution to their society and willingness to integrate.
The venue exploded into excited clicks and chitters, Clara doing nothing to fight her overwhelming emotions.
Joseph’s eyes started to dry from how wide they had grown, the strain stinging slightly as he looked down to Violet, the daughter having shrunk into herself as she watched passively. A million thoughts flashed through his mind, several of which were dedicated to replaying the moments where something exceedingly close to the video happened back when it was just them in the cave.
“Adam, have you seen Mary?” Clara’s voice called, the scene changing back to the place where they were staying, presumably with Red. The man quickly gestured for the orange juvenile Queen to hide behind the couch he was sitting on with a smirk, the Atmo quietly chittering as she complied.
“No, why?”
She entered the room, taking two steps before a loud click and a jumping figure emerged from behind the seating, causing Clara to jolt with a hand to her chest as she tried to look angry at her husband for encouraging the behaviour. Adam laughed, winking to ‘Mary’ and giving her a subtle thumbs-up as his wife tossed a pillow at him.
Many clips played, each snippets into the everyday life of the young Queen becoming more and more like a genuine child to the pair. Mary holding the baby and feeding him, her sleeping on Adam as Clara laughed, the group walking around the outside and Mary excitedly escorting them from place to place. It looked perfectly natural to Joseph.
They were a family. The Human couple had fully embraced the Atmo as their second child, and the young Queen seemed delighted for every second on display. Even going so far as to stomp all six legs in sequence when denied her request to stay up late so that she might watch the baby for a little longer, much to the couple’s suppressed amusement.
Static signified the next transition, Adam sitting at a table with a muscular man and chatting, Clara’s voice behind the device halting their joking for a moment. “So what did you do, Steven?”
The man, Steven, laid down his cup and pointed at the woman off-screen, a smirk on his face giving away his amusement. “I held a fighting competition.”
“With his Queen.” Adam added, his own entertainment gained from the reiteration of the conversation.
“Becky wanted to see what would happen if Humans and Atmo competed!” Steven laughed as he defended himself.
“And?” Clara chipped in, prodding him to get to the point. Steven shook his head as he worked down the chuckles.
“Well, David clocked Mark, the Atmo, and sent the big guy to the ground. It was a tense moment, I’ll tell you now.” Steven widened his eyes, his lips drew thin, though the smile still tugged the expression to a positive one. “Once Mark was helped back up, he complimented David, and the entire fucking arena blew up in cheers from everyone. Even Becky looked worried for a minute.”
“Because you almost caused a cross-species diplomatic incident.” Adam chided with a bemused shake of his head.
“Hey,” Steven pointed a finger at the husband, raising his cup with his free hand. “Becky loved it so much that she’s been taking lessons from the rest of us, and the Atmo have started joining in on our training to learn the art properly instead of just using it to dance.”
Clara snorted behind the device. “The art of smacking people with sticks?”
“And fists.” Steven added, laying one arm over the backrest of his chair. “It’s not everyday that you spar with living weapons.”
Adam reached over to smack the man over the head. “She’s supposed to be like your child.”
“And I’d want my kids to know how to fight off a bully!”
The wife sighed loudly. “You military boys...”
“Send it to the Union!” Steve protested, some of his drink spilling outside of the cup with the raised hand. “It’s a pretty good case to have them join if we show off how willing they are to embrace other cultures.”
Adam opened his mouth to argue, shutting it as he considered the point and giving Clara a conceding tilt of his head. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Every other race seems pretty isolationist. Can’t hurt to show some ‘unity’ to the Union.”
Clara perked up, her voice contemplative. “I’ll send it in the morning. Right now though, i need to go pick up Daniel from Red. The poor girl was nice enough to babysit for me for us to have this little get-together.”
“Tell Jack i said to-”
Static again, though this time it was just Adam sat alone at a table, his stubble showing that he had skipped shaving for a while. The man ran his fingers through his hair as he exhaled.
“It was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, to send that to the Union.”
He rubbed the stress out of his eyes.
“They sent a retrieval force after Steven for ‘violation of protocol and intention to cause discord’. Ten armed soldiers came to crash the tournament and dragged him kicking and screaming.” Adam cycled a deep breath. “Becky did what her Advisor had taught her... She fought the bullies.”
A hoarse laugh escaped the man, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he spoke.
“It was a slaughter. Once the Queen made her decision, every Atmo who could fight, did. Steven and the guys ended up helping out part way through, once the guns started firing. One minute, forty seconds. It took a minute-forty from Steven yelling at a soldier approaching his Queen, to three dead Atmo and two dead Humans, surrounded by ten dead Union species.”
Adam leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hazy yet still meeting the device. “I don’t know what’s going to come of this, but we’ve been talking with the various adult Queens... They normally don’t gather like this, each controlling their own territory and convening for important events, but it would be a massive cultural and societal blow if this planet gets taken out, so we suggested an alternative. Sol.”
He braced his head against his thumb. “The system has flooded with Union ships, but if the tech guys can work with the Kuoori, we might be able to scramble their systems enough to sneak out a few ships. Maybe send them in random directions for a while before they set out to inhabit a few planets in our system to help them get back on their feet, where it’s safe. Where the Union won’t find them.”
He sighed, closing his eyes tightly. “We’ll find out.”
The screen flickered, Mary, the juvenile orange Queen, gently held the baby boy on her blades while Clara and Adam watched with strained smiles from the couch. Steven and a red young Queen, Becky, apparently, both stood by the wall.
Steven spoke first, his voice loud and intense as he snarled at the husband, Mary purring to soothe the Human child. “A planet-breaker. A FUCKING planet-breaker, Adam! They nuked the shipyard!”
“I KNOW, Steven...” Adam toned back his own shouting when Mary looked at him warily. “I know... We have eight ships ready... out of an expected two hundred.”
Clara touched her husband’s shoulder tenderly, worry evident in her expression. “Did they say what they’re going to do?”
“Fuck knows.” Steven threw his arm to the side. “The Queens want to send two hundred adults and forty eggs per ship.”
“That’s all?” She asked, her voice almost painfully dejected at the prospect of so few being given the chance to live.
“That’s it.” He confirmed, his rage bubbling under the surface. He lightly gestured to Becky. “They want to send the next batch of Queens to hatch en route, and enough Atmo to raise and provide for the rest.”
Adam scowled. “What about the Kuoori? They saved Clara’s life and sacrificed more than half their population to build these damned ships.”
Steven shook his head. “The Kuoori want to make a stand. They said that they have spent much of their existence being protected by the Atmo, and it’s their turn to do the same. They’ll be helping us distract the fleet.”
“But we don’t even have proper escape pods! How in the hell are they going to survive anywhere without the Kuoori to back them up?”
“It will be slow, but they are still an intelligent people, Adam.” Clara reassured him, her grip tightening on his shirt as the baby began to whine. She thanked Mary for holding him and left to feed the child. Adam rested his hands in his head as Steven exhaled, his anger exhausted.
“Adam, look. I know that we didn’t get everything ready, and there are lines that are going to be crossed, but this is their best bet. We get them out of the system and to Sol through whatever means we can. They’ll take backwater, never used routes. We’ll get something sorted for if shit goes south and they need to get off.”
“And then what, Steven? The fighters want to follow us to hell, the medical teams want to delay that journey as long as possible, and everyone else is fighting for the chance to defend the very people who spelled their doom.”
“It’s very Human of them, right?”
Adam laughed, though it came off as hollow. “Tooth and nail, to the last... What about us?”
“We’re staying.”
“Stev-”
“You’re going. You’re taking Clara and the kid. Mary and Becky are going with you too.” He held up a hand at the protesting Atmo without turning his head. “It’ll be a smaller shuttle on a more direct route to Sol. We managed that much, it looks like. You can take maybe twenty others and some eggs. It won’t be great for a population, but they’ll bounce back with that many.”
“The seed-ships?”
“Like we agreed. Random routes to get them far away from this shit-show and then straight to Sol. It might be more than a few years, but the Queens should be hatched and ready to learn from the group you guys land with. They can hear what happened to them.”
The screen flickered again as Mary knocked it off the table in her curiosity, the anxious fidgeting leading her to interact with it.
Adam sat back in the original room where he made his declaration to Humanity, the bottle of alcohol half empty and no attempt was made to hide it this time.
“They managed to do it, at least.” He started, his expression flat as emotional exhaustion had taken even tears from him. “The seed-ships got out and will arrive in Sol... whenever, i suppose. The new translators were given to all of them and implanted in the young while they were in their eggs, so there shouldn’t be too much friction whenever they meet us. Schematics are available aboard the ships.”
He took another drink.
“Though we lost almost everyone. The Union kept up the planet-breakers. We got to watch as each world exploded. Kuoori, Human, Atmo... All obliterated.” The man took a breath and emptied his glass, a slight slur working its way into his voice. “Clara and Daniel are with Mary and Becky to help calm them down, and I’m here setting up the automated message for the seed-ships to use before they get out of range.”
The man slipped lower in his chair as he stared at the ceiling. “About a thousand Atmo are on each ship, all said and done. It was the most we could convince them to pack. Though, most of those numbers are whatever we could get from the Hatchery before it went up. Each ship was given two Queen eggs... the mothers didn’t want to abandon their people and new allies.” He laughed, some genuine feeling behind it. “Sarah, the orange Queen that left Mary with me, told me to raise her as my own along with Becky, once she accepted that Steven was trusting me with her. That, although it had been a short time, she thought Humanity would take care of her people... That they could live with us, and be better for it.”
Adam lowered his gaze to the device again. “The speech was something else, I’ll say that much. They addressed as many Atmo as they could and told those who would be leaving to find Humans, and they will find a home. A new Nest. A Family.” A tear, held in reserve for this specific memory, trailed down his cheek. “I want to believe that you will give it to them. Please. For the people who saved my wife, my child, and myself. For the people who gave me... Two beautiful and curious daughters, i suppose.”
Adam cycled a breath, fetching another cigarette from his pocket and igniting it in his mouth, taking a long draw before speaking as he exhaled. The sound of wood being carved inside of the terminal room filled the silence that the first exhale of smoke allowed, though Joseph was too focused to pay it any mind.
“They’re gone now. Red, Jack, Steven... Little Micheal... The Union took them with fire and brimstone as they raided and stole whatever they could before the rounds dropped. I watched it happen... We’ll arrive near Sol in a few months, since we need to fly under the radar, but this message will be distributed to all eight ships. Most will never know what a Human looks like, just that the few Adults and Hatchers were told roughly what to look for, and to entrust us with their lives. To do what Sarah and the other Queens asked of them before they made their last stand with their people.”
He nodded his head, taking another puff. The rapid scratching ceased after a small delay, a muted clatter punctuated the recorded words. “Let’s not let them down this time.”
Adam extinguished his smoke, folding his hands and sitting up straight, licking his lips with a tongue that was barely effective. “This has been Adam Callam. Hopefully, this isn’t the first time you have seen this message. If not, then i hope that you send whatever people are on this ship to their family. I hope it eventually includes you. Adam out. As Sarah said to those seeking refuge in the stars; May the Nest guide you to greatness, inspire your craft, and give you hope, for you are a pillar of the Atmo.”
The screen went dark, leaving the Terminal room to be dimly illuminated by the ambient light streaming in from the hall. A single line of Atmo text was translated below with the words Adam ended with, a familiar series of runes Joseph had seen on his armour that Mama crafted for him so long ago, displayed as the last frame of the video. The final words spoken from a Queen to her doomed people with a single wish that they might find somewhere to belong with a people they had just met, yet embraced wholly.
A choked sob came from Pan, the gravity of Violet’s situation hitting her like a canon.
Joseph’s adoptive daughter had lost everything before she was even able to know what she should have had. Her mother was dead, along with almost all of her own kind. Those that survived were sent in a desperate gambit to find somewhere that they wouldn’t be killed for just existing, and based on the fact that the Union had this message and not Humans, it didn’t look to be working out too well, to say nothing of the fact that her own ship had ended up so far from its destination and crashed into the one he was on.
It was the only answer he could come up with. The Union fucked with the cruise, dragged it all the way out here, and parked it directly in the path of the escaping Atmo ship. Add on whichever was taken out before it got to Sol, and that’s likely seven seed-ships still unaccounted for. He’d want to say that Adam had made it, but Rob not knowing about this before now suggested that it was the family's ship that was...
Who’s to say the other seven made it?
Violet, and whatever Atmo survived on this planet, could very well be the last of their people in existence... All because Humans taught them how to fight for sport.
Pan threw herself at him, the vocal crying stinging his soul to its core. He wrapped his arms around her and helped her to the ground next to Violet, the Atmo still quietly staring at the script displayed on the frozen screen.
A tablet lay next to her on the floor, Lilhun and Atmo script hastily scratched as if she was trying to reply to the desperate wish of a dead man in every way she thought might work, then discarded as the reality and futility of such actions set in.
Joseph held the tablet for Pan to read, his gentle patting drawing her attention between breaths. Her voice hitched while she read it, claws digging into his skin as her agony for the child renewed with his own before her screeching needed to be muffled by his chest. He felt his eyes burn as he rubbed her back and braced her head into his embrace, the heat pouring down his face contrasting the arctic chill in his core as her translation echoed in his ears.
“Please tell mother i found one, and that I hope she can meet him soon.”
Next

Apologies for the long post but never been in this situation before and need opinions and what to do next?!
I’ve had my Welsh pony, Jasmine, since 2010. I got her when I was 7 and outgrew her in 2014. My little sister then rode her for the next 4 years until she also outgrew her.
In 2019 we decided to find a long-term lease/loan for Jas. She was very bored of sitting in the field with no job, and we had no riders small enough anymore.
At the time, Jas was 14, so still fairly young.
We find a great home, a long way from us (8 hour drive) however visited the property before we agreed, had a contract written up, thorough checks and references from new loaners. It seemed perfect, this family wanted a trekking pony so their young daughter could join on rides.
We made the visit twice after she went to her new home, however the next year covid hit, so we weren’t able to see Jas for 2 years. We had the new loaners on Facebook so seen lots of photos, had frequent updates, they were very happy with Jas.
At the end of last year, they told us Jas has been outgrown and they would like to buy her and retire her at their place.
We are unsure, not sure if Jas is ready to be retired. She is 18 at this point, but hadn’t shown us any signs of slowing down. Plus, we aren’t sure if we would even like to sell Jas, although made it clear we have no intention of taking the pony off them unless they don’t want her anymore.
I try to arrange to come and see Jas, I haven’t seen her since the beginning of COVID anyways, plus I’ll see for myself how the pony is doing.
I get no reply.
I try again a few times over the next month, and Im being rudely brushed off every time. These people have been great and I don’t want to overstep/annoy them, but at this point I’m getting frustrated.
I give them a certain date and time, and tell them I will be arriving to see Jas then. It’s not an option, I’m coming then.
The lady now is getting abusive, telling me I’m being a control freak and there’s no reason for me to come down. She says she can’t believe I am doing this to them after they have looked after my pony for nearly 4 years.
I ignore messages and drive down on the date I say. I have my horse box with me- I have no idea how this might go.
They have padlocked their gates shut. I wait outside properly for nearly 6 hours but no one is to be seen/replying to me.
It’s dark now, and up the road I can see one of the fences has came down. I enter through the fence and I find Jas.
She seems in great condition, and canters up to the gate to greet me.
At this point I’m quite emotional from 1) annoyance from waiting around all day. 2) excited to see Jas again.
It’s about 9pm. They live on property, but no lights on, I’m pretty sure no one is even here. I am very lucky I knew where Jas’s passport would be kept (she showed me where paperwork was kept when I first visited)
I decide to load my pony up that night and drive her home. We don’t get back home until 4am next morning.
Once she’s unloaded I go straight to bed. When I wake up in the afternoon the loaner has left me lots of threatening messages and voicemails. She tells me she is suing me for taking the pony off her property.
Now, I had already spoken to a solicitor about this, and was assured I was well within my rights to take the pony back if I feel she has breeched the contract we first put in place.
I explain I was tired of being taken for a fool and had been very patient with her. I thank her for looking after the pony well (I have to admit Jas was in great condition) and block her number to stop anymore threatening messages coming through.
Okay… fast forwards a few months. Jas settled in straight away, as if she had never left, but we still have no rider. She is growing very bored and we can see she is definitely not ready for retirement.
Not wanting to full lease again, we decided to offer a part loan, so someone could ride her on our property but we can keep an eye on her.
We put the post up, offering Jas as a good first riding pony, since that’s the job she has done for the past few years.
The women who had Jas on loan, comments on my post, slating me. She says Jas is a very dangerous horse and was drugged when she first viewed the pony, and nearly killed her daughter when they brought her home and the drugs wore off… but out the ‘kindness of her heart’ wanted to retire pony at her place so ‘I couldn’t get away with doing it again’
Apparently in her area, this women has a good name for herself, as suddenly I’m getting dozens of messages telling me how awful I am for what I’ve done.
There was multiple posts put up about me and shared around different Facebook groups, all with 100k+ members. I have been blocked from these groups so I can’t even defend myself!
I’m now lost on what to do. I do feel bad for taking Jas as suddenly as I did, but at the time I wasn’t sure what would happen if I’d left that night. I wasn’t sure if they were even planning on giving her back and could have moved her to an unknown location if they knew I wanted her back.
All of my friends have told me not to worry, as everyone who knows me, knows it all lies. But I just hate that there is people who genuinely believe I am drugging kids ponies. I’m scared to post anything incase I’m harassed again.
What are people’s thoughts on the situation? Where do I go from here? What can I do?

So after reading a lot of posts on here I thought that I could add my own about a crazy mother. Maybe this is a story for entitledparents but here we are.
Let me paint you the picture. It is a hot summer's day and you and your two girlfriends went on holiday to Croatia. So here we were, us three girls, all in our mid to late twenties, laying on a beach that was attached to a holiday resort, reading our books, listening to music on our phones with headphones, of course, and sometimes taking a dip to cool down.
There were a couple of kids around but oh well, it's holiday season, this is a resort, whatever, the beach is big enough to space yourself apart from others. As long as the kids don't turn into my problem, fine.
It was nearing the evening and we decided ah, we're on holiday, let's get some drinks at a beach bar nearby, what the hell? Imagine huge, fruity and strong drinks for about five Euro, what a steal. Plus the barmen were also easy on the eyes. I stayed behind, looking after our stuff while my friends went to fetch the drinks.
Seems perfectly fine, right? Yeah, we thought so, too. Ah, we were so innocent and hadn't realised yet that there was a storm a-brewing.
My friends returned, we clinked our weird plastic cups and started sipping, just chatting to each other.
Perhaps we were too involved in our conversation because if we hadn't been, we might have seen Miss Mamabear stomping towards us, steam erupting out of her ears.
Then it started. Karen (seems fitting) looking either sunburnt or red from rage started yelling at us, asking us how we could be drinking here, out in the open, in front of HER children, daughters, to be exact. If our parents wouldn't be ashamed of us, if we didn't realise that we had a role model function for younger girls. That us drinking would make us turn into horndogs. (Later, my friends and I wondered if she thought we were some sort of throuple or polygamous situation?)
Either way, my friends, bless them and their non-confrontational nature, we're about to apologise but I cut them off, stood up and let Karen have it. How dare she scream at strangers, accusing them of things. I asked her if she didn't realise the irony of the situation. Not only is it ludicrous that I'm supposed to be a role model for some random ass kids, but also beyond ironic that her husband, boyfriend who knows, had been downing cans of beers all day long.
After that, she was stumped enough to not continue this conversation, stomped her foot like a kod and walked off still making sure to call us whores under, what she must have thought, her breath. I was about to follow her but decided against it.
Gotta love "mama bears", right? Anyway, thanks to anyone who read the whole thing, telling this story was real cathartic.

(Just to preface, this is not an April Fools joke everyone! This is a legit written review on a game I’m genuinely passionate about.)
**Prelude**
Mario has been participating in one kind of sport or another since the 80s. From tennis to soccefootball to basketball to the Olympics, if there’s a sport out there Mario has most likely done it. But by far the oldest Mario sports series, which was inaugurated in 1987, is Mario Golf. You may think of golf as an “old people” sport, mainly reserved for country clubs with too much cleared grassland… and you may very well be right about that. You may also think that golf video games aren’t anything special; after all indie devs put out golf games all the time. But throw in Mario in there and things suddenly change. Golf became fun, accessible, and exciting to master, all thanks to a new developer on the scene: Camelot.
Ever since they took over the Mario Golf series in the late 90s, Camelot have developed every single entry since on both home consoles and handhelds. The home console entries typically focus on arcadey sports action while the handheld entries focused on being single player RPGs. Toadstool Tour on GameCube is still a fan favorite played by millions due to its refined controls, deep mechanics, and Mario charm. And while the Mario Golf series had a great run in the early 2000s, shortly afterwards they just… stopped for a while. For context, the last Mario Golf game before World Tour was the GBA one back in 2004. Fans had to wait 10 whole years for a new one, so will it be worth the wait?
**This Game Has Loads of Depth!**
After nearly a decade of waiting, [Mario Golf World Tour](https://youtu.be/5LfPg9lpx2k) finally launched on the 3DS on May 2, 2014, and right from the start things we’re gonna be different. Unlike previous handheld iterations, World Tour follows more in line with the console games. This was also true for the previous Mario Tennis game on 3DS, however that one was severely lacking in terms of content and gameplay depth. Folks were worried that Mario Golf would similarly be dumbed down for its 3DS debut.
World Tour was seemingly Camelot’s big apology for that tennis rushjob, and so they made sure this time to keep the accessible yet deep gameplay of Toadstool Tour intact. You can adjust the spin of your ball, apply fade or draw to adjust its flight path, and even use Mario Kart-style items to further strategize your shots. And if you were struggling to pull off any of these maneuvers, don’t worry! There’s a built-in training facility to practice these techniques to your heart’s content. All of this creates a gameplay experience that rewards your skill as a player rather than dumb luck.
**This Game Has Tons of Characters and Stages!**
Back when the game launched, there were 17 playable characters you could unlock and play as. Most of the regulars from previous entries returned, along with some surprising newcomers. Each character also has their own unique stats and shot arcs to consider when you’re picking which stage to play on.
And those stages oh man. World Tour launched with a whopping 10 golf courses, the most of any Mario Golf game to date. 4 of those are more traditional courses with 18 holes each, and the other 6, dubbed “Mario World” courses, contain 9 holes each and feature much more Mario-inspired visual themes, course hazards, and mechanics to consider. Now there was a way to obtain even more courses and characters, but I’ll talk about that towards the end.
**This Game Has Tons of Content for Both Single Player And Multiplayer!**
This was probably the biggest point of contention with the Switch-era Mario sports games: the lack of content immediately available at launch. And if the sheer number of characters and courses didn’t clue you in already, World Tour was dead set on overloading the player with content right out of the box.
In terms of multiplayer, all of the standard game modes from previous Mario Golf games return, including the standard Stroke Play, the 1v1 mode Match Play, the decathlon-inspired Point Play, and the time attack-based Speed Golf. Yes, Speed Golf was in fact not a new mode introduced on the Switch. You can also adjust the wind strength, whether items and coins appear on the field, whether everyone should take turns or tee off at the same time (a first for the series), and whether or not to enable randomized clubs (known as Club Slots). And all of this can be played locally or online for up to four players.
But if you fancy yourself more of a solo player, don’t worry because this game offers plenty for that crowd too. There’s an entire single player mode called the Castle Club, an RPG-lite campaign kind of like the previous handheld Mario Golf games! Here you play as your Mii and you must rise through the ranks by winning three progressively more difficult tournaments on the aforementioned 18-hole courses. You can also partake in the various extra practice challenges to improve your skills or just for fun.
But arguably more substantial than the Castle Club is the dedicated Challenge Mode section. Now this is where all the good stuff is at. Are you a fan of the Mission Mode from Mario Kart DS? What about the Striker Challenges from Mario Strikers Charged? Well this is surely going to keep you busy for a really long time. These challenges are how you unlock the various courses and characters for multiplayer, and the rate of unlocks is pretty smooth! These range from collecting enough coins, shooting through rings, beating the course under the time limit, taking on a character in a Match Play session, and so much more! And guess how many of these challenges are there. If you correctly guessed 200 on your first try, I’m willing to bet you cheated and looked up the answers.
**This Game Is Dang Beautiful For 3DS Standards!**
That last section went on a little longer than I thought, so let’s bring it back for this next section. Simply put, the visuals and music in this game are a real treat for 3DS owners. Camelot made sure every course in this game immediately stands out unlike Toadstool Tour or Super Rush, and the music that plays is audible candy. There are a ton of delightful remixes to listen to, from the underwater theme from SMB1, the title screen music from Yoshi’s Story, a super jazzy rendition of DK Jungle, and even Peach Gardens from Mario Kart DS!
The characters are all nicely animated and their hole animations are all really elaborate, almost like the character animations from Mario Strikers Charged. But don’t take it from me, [watch them for yourself](https://youtu.be/9vaD1euDzsA) and see how much love and care was put into them!
**This Game Had… Actually Good DLC?!**
Back in the early 2010s, paid DLC was still very much a foreign concept that not all publishers knew how to get right without pissing off a lot of people. Looking at you, Capcom. But when Mario Golf World Tour first launched, it also came with a first for any Nintendo game: a [season pass](https://youtu.be/dm2K7lkZxqI). This terrified a lot of people back in 2014, because Nintendo had only just got into the DLC game with titles like Fire Emblem Awakening and New Super Mario Bros 2. Yet despite all those gripes, I feel that World Tour did DLC right in this particular instance. The base game actually wasn’t full price, it was only $30 dollars. And the season pass included 4 new characters (all of whom were newcomers to the series) and 6 new golf courses that were actually remakes of the 6 courses from Mario Golf 64. I loved using Toadette to clear challenges, Nabbit for his animations, Rosalina because of course, and Gold Mario to farm for coins!
And all of that extra content came at the affordable price of $15 dollars, which was cheaper than the other 3DS titles with paid DLC and set a new standard for post launch game support for games like Mario Kart 8 and Smash Brothers. It certainly beats the “free updates” model Nintendo loves doing with their Switch games anyway. Unfortunately as of last week, it is no longer possible to purchase this DLC officially, but I’m sure if you’re really committed you’ll find a way.
**Conclusion**
Holy crap, this review was SO much longer than I originally anticipated! So that was my giant schpeel on Mario Golf World Tour for the Nintendo 3DS family of systems, what I genuinely believe is the best Mario sports game I ever played. Y’know this game went under the radar of most Nintendo fans, likely because Mario Kart 8 on Wii U was just coming out around that time. Reviews at the time were pretty sparse but generally really positive, and according to VGChartz it sold roughly half a million copies, and that’s being generous.
But if any of what I said interests you at all, don’t skip out on this one. Just because it’s a Mario sports game doesn’t mean it’s a filler title or something that isn’t worth keeping an eye out for! People are still playing Toadstool Tour to this day, in part because of how disappointing the recent sleight of Switch titles have been for a lot of players. World Tour is probably up there with those GameCube greats, and it deserves to be played by as many people as conceivably possible. This was, by all accounts, the last truly excellent Mario sports game we ever got and the last amazing game Camelot ever put out.

(I decided that for every April Fool's day, I will write a joke fic. So don't take this story seriously.)
(You can also find this story and my other works here.)
​
Akashi looked at a folder that was on her desk. She smiled as she looked through it.
“It’s genius. It’s morally and ethically dubious!, nya!”
She sniffed the folder.
“It’s even lemon-scented!”
Akashi got to work on the plan. She made her way to Tobruk, to the memorial gardens.
She went through the small sarcophaguses.
“Let’s see nya, 4130, 4131, 4132, ah here we go! 4133!”
Akashi put her hand on her chin.
“Am I really going to defile his grave for my experiment, nya?”
Akashi smiled.
“Fortune favors the bold!”
After some more grave defiling and having to do an exorcism to get the ghosts of two Urselas off her back, she made her way to her lab.
She turned on a laser to warm it up and pointed it at the bone fragment. She placed a wisdom cube in front of it as she put on a thick pair of black goggles.
“Alright, here we go!”
Akashi turned on the laser. A bright white and blue light filled the room. When the light fade, Akashi turned on the lights. A man with brown hair and a tropical uniform stood up and looked around.
Akashi smiled. “It looks like my experiment worked! The Commander will be so proud of me, nya!”
The man stared at Akashi. “Who are you?”
Akashi smiled. “I’m Akashi, nya! Can you tell me your name?”
The man blinked. “I’m Hans-Joachim Marseille. Where am I?”
Akashi closed her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, nya. You’re safe here.”
Marseille attempted to leave, but Akashi stopped him.
“Hang on! I got to get you some friends, nya!”
Akashi grabbed the rest of the DNA sample he got from defiling some graves and repeated the process.
After she finished. She smiled at her result. Out of the light came Erich Hartmann, Adolf Galland, and Hans-Ulrich Rudel.
She smiled. “The experiment was a success! The Commander will be so proud of me!”
Galland looked at Akashi. “So, what do you want us to do?”
Akashi smiled. “Just hang out here. The Commander will come in the morning.”
The men nodded as Akashi left to go to her dorm to go to sleep.
A shout woke up Akashi.
“AKASHI! COME HERE THIS INSTANT!”
Akashi’s eyes went wide as she heard the scream. She ran to her laboratory.
She opened the door, and she saw the Commander, who was glaring at her.
The Commander pointed at the men. “Akashi, what is this?”
Akashi shrugged. “Ok, so I might have done some grave robbing and resurrected some Luftwaffe aces, nya. What else do you do on a Friday night, nya?”
The Commander facepalmed. “Literally anything else, Akashi. What the fuck.”
Akashi shrugged her shoulder. “I think we should discuss this with the men in your office, nya.”
The Commander nodded as the men followed him to his office. The men all stood near the Commander’s desk. Graf Zeppelin and Prinz Eugen were hard at work, working on the Commander’s paperwork.
The Commander sighed as he stared at Akashi. “Alright, Akashi, you mind explaining yourself?”
Akashi smiled. “I wanted to see if I could use human DNA on a wisdom cube, plus I got bored. So I got some DNA of famous Luftwaffe aces to experiment with and it appears my experiment worked, Nya.”
The Commander facepalmed. “Why did you do this?”
Akashi sighed. “I felt bad for you as you are the only guy here on the base, nya. I figured I would get you some friends.”
The Commander sighed. “It’s alright. So long as these guys can’t make more of themselves, we should be fine.”
The Commander looked up and saw Marseille and Graf Zeppelin looking at each other while blushing. Hartmann was doing the same with Prinz Eugen.
The Commander’s eyes went wide. “Graf, why are you looking at each other like that?”
Graf Zeppelin coughed. “You want to hear the unofficial or official version?”
Before the Commander could answer, two young boys came running towards the men. The young boys looked like copies of Marseille and Hartmann.
The Commander sighed. “Unofficial?”
Graf Zeppelin blushed. “Well, Marseille and I were alone. We are both tipsy, and Rumba Azul was playing.”
The Commander shook his head. “I don’t need to know the details. Official version?”
Graf Zeppelin sighed. “Marseille and I were fiddling with one of Akashi’s lasers and I accidentally shot Marseille. Next thing I knew, a young boy came out and told us that his name was Jochen.”
Prinz Eugen smiled. “Hartmann and I tried it out as well as we both thought it was a fluke. Next thing we know, a young boy came out and told us his name was Bubi.”
The Commander sighed. “Oh well. So long as it’s only those two, we should be fine.”
Just as the Commander said that. Galland and Rudel coughed and looked away from the Commander. The Commander’s eyes went wide.
“Are you serious?”
Two more young boys ran into the office. They looked like a mini version of Galland and Rudel. They smiled at the Commander.
“Hi! I’m Adi! He’s Rudi!”
The Commander slammed his head against the desk. He knew it was going to be a long day.
After some time, The Commander made a list.
“Try to keep Gangut and Rudel away from each other. Last time, Gangut. Sevastopol, and Tallinn all beat the tar out of him.”
“Keep Marseille away from the higher-ranking Ironblood shipgirls. We already have our hands full with Jochen, and we do not want a succession crisis on our hands.”
“Make sure that Galland has his cigars. He gets cranky without them.”
“Try to keep Hartmann away from the Northern Parliament. Last thing we didn’t they kidnapped him and tied him up to a chair for some reason.”
The Commander leaned back in his chair as he sighed. Akashi knocked on his office door.
“Commander! I made you more friends, nya!!”
The Commander facepalmed. “Akashi! What did I tell you?”
Akashi looked down at the floor and sighed. “Stop defiling graves to resurrect old war heroes.”
The Commander sighed as he made his way to Akashi’s laboratory.
He knew he had a long day ahead of him.
Post Work

It started with an itch. An itch along the edge of my right eye. An itch that I scratched and rubbed. An itch that wouldn’t go away. It was like I’d gotten dust in it, or a speck dirt that I’d only been massaging deeper into my eye. Yet, no amount of tears that welled to the surface, or water that I splashed into my face seemed to fix it. It was an itch I tried to bear, thought I could bear, but I was wrong.
‘Do you want me to help?’
My brow furrowed, head twisting while I searched for who’d spoken. I was alone on the sidewalk, walking my daily route along the local park. The air was crisp that morning, a subtle breeze had been whistling in my ear all throughout the walk. I wondered if perhaps it had been the wind, its gentle caress that had whispered a tune into my ear. I felt ridiculous in the moment, the one eye I wasn’t covering with my hand swiveled to check my surroundings. There wasn’t even a tree for someone to have been hiding behind.
I smiled a slight grin, shaking my head as if it would help quell the rising embarrassment. Yet, there was an undeniable appeal to the offer. The constant rubbing and probing had started to morph into a pain, more a prickling annoyance than anything substantial. Yet, I’d long since become annoyed with the inconvenience. Mind drifting to such dramatic thoughts, I weighed the offer. I’d give anything to make the itch go away. Before I raised my hand to poke at the sensitive area once more, I glanced around with embarrassed trepidation. No one was near, yet my face was warm, flush from the unavoidable awkwardness. “Sure,” I said quietly, my voice nearly cracking, “help me out.”
I didn’t know how to explain it, but my eye stopped itching. More than that, the pain dissipated too. It was like it had never happened. I removed my hand from where it had been pressing against the socket, blinking away a moment of blurry half-vision.
I went about my day without giving it another thought, letting the warmth of the sun soothe my concerns until it dissipated back into an oddity of the otherwise mundane morning.
…
The next day, the itch returned. It was not the slow escalation that built over time, not like the morning last. It returned immediately, and without the encouragement of my touch a searing pain came to join it. It was sudden and brutal, like nothing I could have prepared myself for. I winced, sucking a short breath through clenched teeth while the agony felt like a nail had punctured my eye, an invisible hammer pounding the stake deeper through the orb as it burrowed towards my brain. Beneath it all, was the desire to wipe at my eye, to press into it deeper with the flesh of my palm, anything that would lessen the pain and overwhelming urge to scratch at it some more.
My jaw opened with a click, muscles tightening around clenched joints. I started to cry out, the overwhelming pain so profoundly unique, unlike anything I’d known before. A shaky hand rising to my face, I pressed the back of it into my face, wrist twisting as the bones of my knuckles rolled into my eye socket.
For a fraction of a second, the white hot poker that had been stabbed into the edge of my eye lessened. But it only lasted for part of a breath, just long enough for me to think that the worst of it might be done. Oh, how I was wrong.
The torture leaped from the edge of my eye to encompass the whole orb. With a feeling like knives were dragging their edges in sadistic figure eights against the gelatinous flesh. My stomach twisted, and I was sure that I would empty my breakfast onto the floor. All the while, my world was starting to spin, encompassing delirium gripping my mind. I cried out in pain once more, this time wetted by moisture that streamed down my cheeks and poured from my nose. I don’t know when, but I’d entered the fetal position, my free hand wrapping around my knees to pull them closer to my chest – as if that would somehow help me.
As the pain continued to increase, my thoughts became muddier, with every passing second it was becoming harder to form a cohesive thought. I knew my limited options were becoming even scarcer, I knew that soon I would black out from the pain and by then my fate would be sealed. I tried to think of something to try, except only my screams rattled my brain, the only brief respite being when a fresh inhale was needed to produce more of the painfilled noise. I didn’t know who would hear, I lived alone, and the walls leading to the outside world were fairly thick. Even if someone heard me, and happened to call the police; even if they made it to me before I gave myself a hernia - what could they possibly do?
Between a volley of screaming that my tucked head had been directing to my knees, I stopped to suck in a short inhale. When I started again, a new sound pulled at the back of my mind, barely audible over my own voice.
‘Do you want me to help?’
Silence filled my home. Jaw creaking from its fully extended position, vision blurred from the tears that covered both pupils while I hesitated. Did I hear that? I wondered for a fraction of a second. “What?” my voice rasped in a hoarse sound, my throat torn from my abrupt and violent usage of it. The voice was more like a whisper when it had spoken to me, I was unsure if I’d even heard it or if my mind had conjured it in the delirium.
“Would you like my help?”
My head nodded furiously, a new round of tears spilling to the surface. “Yes, yes,” I begged, “please make it stop.”
Same as the last time, the pain melted away as abruptly as it had come on. With shaky limbs, I rose from the floor, my breath still quivering as quiet whimpers escaped my lips. Blinking away the moisture I stared at the floor in a confused amazement, wondering what was going on, or if I’d maybe imagined the whole thing. Besides the constant shivers from the dump of adrenaline and the crust along my cheek I didn’t have any hard evidence, or witnesses to the strange episodes.
Dragging feet across the floor, the adrenaline gave way to such a heavy exhaustion, the urge to collapse on my bed and sleep for a day was an alluring proposition. After what felt like an extremely long minute of lumbering to the bathroom, I made it to the mirror, hoping to find some proof of my pain that I could show someone.
When I looked up at the reflective pane hanging above the sink, I flinched so hard that I nearly fell into the tub behind me. The image was distorted, like an object held so close to my face that part of it had duplicated. In the mirror, half of my face seemed the same as I’d seen it when I brushed my teeth a few hours earlier.
The other half of my face was a sickly green, holes pockmarked my flesh with red and pink beneath. Aside from my pumice stone complexion, gashes dragged deep wounds erratically at different angles across my face, many of the creases formed lips of hardened puss and gangrene. Some of the wounds dug deeper to show the milky white bone beneath. The front of my nose had also fallen off or decayed to a point where all that was left was the twin tunnel leading into my brain. In the ghoulish half of my now haunting visage, my eye popped from its socket. The eye lids long since decayed to leave a permanently wide-eyed expression, the gaps between the yellow stained orb and the socket gave it the appearance of floating inside my face.
My otherwise normal eye widened, panic and confusion crawling up from the depths. Directing my hand to rise to my face, I watched it slowly creep from the bottom of my vision. As it crossed into the half of my face that was closer to a mummified husk, my digits changed. The skin around my hand turned putrid, the digits became gangly, while fingernails curled and fell off. Waving my fingers in front of my face, I watched the bones and sagging skin sway like a tattered curtain. I gawked at the sight with a morbid curiosity for a few seconds before yanking it from view, a sudden urgency brought on by fear of it as atrophying if I held it out for any longer.
Hidden from view, I clenched my hand in a few investigatory squeezes, rubbing into it with deep massaging presses. It felt normal, but I needed to be sure. Eyes drifting down, I caught a glimpse of my exposed forearm. Like my hand, craters of decaying flesh marred the limb, some gaping holes as large as quarters, they patterned the limb like a macabre art piece.
Head snapping to the side, I quickly looked away from my hands and arms. As my vision swept from the normal scene into the altered sight the cabinets and walls transformed. In the edge of my vision, they were aged, wallpaper curling into a soaked yellow, spackles of black mold staining its surface.
What is this? I wondered, still struggling to comprehend what my eyes were showing me, each of them showing a different version of the same image. My neck craned to the side so I could look at the same spot along the wall with my other eye. In an instant, it returned to the plain taupe as soon as it entered the other half of my vision. The cheap replica painting and few family pictures, reformed into something cohesive.
Careful not to glance at the mirror or anything else that might show me my reflection, I rubbed my hand along the forearm that had been spackled with lesions and sores. Underneath my fingers, I felt the dry skin and thin hairs all standing at attention. But no holes, I remarked with a shaky breath. I stepped from the bathroom, with my eyes straight ahead. It’s in your head, it’s not there – I’m fine. The thought brought a measure of comfort, like the knowledge that I’d been imagining everything would leave my physical form intact. That was until I realized that viewing the world through a glass of atrophy and death was still far from normal.
Can I just cover it? The thought was so simple and would be an easy solution to my problem. Suddenly brimming with hopeful vigor, I shut my right eye, the one that had been so abruptly afflicted with the visions of decomposition.
Confusion battered at my mind when my sight remained unaltered. It was odd. I felt the side of my face scrunch, my eyelid closing over the orb, yet my view of the withering wall was unaltered. Cupping my hand to cover the eye, it didn’t block the twisted sight either. Investigating the other eye, I was quick to find that it could still be closed as normal, but all that did was limit my field of view while plunging the remainder of my vision in a gut-wrenching hellscape.
I grunted quietly at the new oddity, unsettled for what came next.
…
For six days, I shut myself out from the world. I hid. I got used to walking corpses handing me pizza, and me handing them money that had long since shriveled and faded into blank notes, yet they always accepted it with a smile. Have you ever witnessed a half-mummified body smile? Witnessed the lesions about his face twist and curl along bloated cheek bones, or the black stained teeth that hung at an angle loosely in his mouth by a stubborn corner. I of course could still see the man through my other eye, the image oscillating between decomposition and the youthful vigor of a young man trying to make a few bucks on the side by dropping off pizzas.
Each day I couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. The concept of eating was difficult when from the corner of my vision I constantly saw rotting food. Food I’d just ordered fresh that was shrunken and shriveled, taken over by carpets of mold black and green. The toppings turned from their vibrant colours of red and green to stomach churning shades of black and grey. Even if I looked to the ceiling to avoid glancing at my food, I was then treated to stained plaster, littered with holes that revealed the deteriorating wood behind it. If I could manage a few bites, it tasted like the pizza I’d known and loved before. But I couldn’t purge the images of the rotten meal from my mind, the thought was always there to shut down any thoughts of a meal.
It wasn’t just the lack of nutrients either, being unable to shut one of my eyes made sleep near impossible. Even with curtains drawn and the lights turned off, the pitch black surrounding was insufficient. Something about my brain knew that my eye was open, and refused to offer anything resembling acceptable sleep. After being awake for three days, I did eventually sleep – it wasn’t for very long. Three hours if I recall correctly, jolting awake immediately after my brain caught up to what it believed was the still open eye. The days after were profoundly lethargic, doing anything felt like it took hours, each moment of it like wading through a muddy bog. As well, the biological need for my brain to shut down every few hours left me nodding off constantly, only to wake a few minutes later.
I felt myself at my limit, my mind stretched to the absolute edge of what it could handle. How many more days can I go before a psychotic break? Until a stroke finally takes me? From my seat at the kitchen table, I glance to the counter, eyeing the arrangement of cleavers and blades with a quiet alluring. Quickly, my head shook. Not yet.
“Would you like my help?”
I jolted up from my chair. Snapping to attention with a sudden surge of energy. The quick movement dizzied my vision, pulling me to the side as I wobbled slightly. After recovering my wavy vision, my neck snapped to both sides for a quick examination of the small room. It was empty. “Hello?”
“Would you like my help?”
It was like the voice was in my head, echoing in both ears, seeming everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, a perfectly balanced timber that betrayed no emotion, neither malicious nor benevolent – it was simply there.
“What are you?”
Pausing for a long bout of silence, the voice held its answer, before finally responding with the same question. “Would you like my help?”
My mouth opened, but I nearly bit my tongue with how quickly my jaw shut. Shaking my head violently, I rubbed my arms vigorously, hoping it would quell the hairs that had risen along each of them. I knew the truth. It doesn’t help. It was the voice that made my vision like this. The piercing pain is also thanks to the voice’s ‘help’. But, I couldn’t deny that the thought of a full night’s sleep, of a meal that I didn’t immediately evacuate afterwards was incredibly appealing.
Had I been more rested, had I not been so exhausted and desperate, I might have possessed the fortitude to turn down the proposition. However, I was not, and I did not. “Yes,” I croaked in a voice that was dried to the limit of what my body could handle. Like the food, water had a similar effect on my brain, taking on the look of liquified sewage, like pond scum with a wisp of foam atop it.
Almost immediately, I felt a pinch behind my eye. It forced a wince from me as I withstood the discomfort, only for it to dissolve a moment later. My vision had returned, in my kitchen I saw my cabinets and stove top, the table I was sitting at and the half-eaten slice of pizza from last night. I lunged for the twisted remains of the meat supreme, wolfing it down in two ambitious bites. Stumbling to the sink, I cupped my hands beneath the open faucet, frantically funneling warm tap water into my stomach.
I felt like a man lost in the desert, stumbling into an oasis after days of exhaustion. Ignoring the protestations of my stomach, I jumped to the fridge where I’d stored the rest of the leftovers. Ripping contents from the shelves, they were scattered onto the table in a chaotic feast that I couldn’t wait to dive into.
That was when I heard a sound. It was quiet like the voice had been, simultaneously all around me and nowhere at the same time. I’d heard it for the briefest of instances, like a word half caught at the end of it being spoken somewhere in the distance. Struggling to place it, the noise sang out again. The quiet screech of metal is what I heard, like a knife being dragged against steel somewhere in the distance, as if it was the faint echoes of someone sharpening a knife. Or a rusted pair of scissors opening.
It screeched once more, this time louder and closer, with the unmistakable click of shears closing. Instantly, the vision in my recovered eye blurred, as if they suddenly needed glasses. Stumbling backwards in surprise, I was mostly amazed to not be feeling any discomfort besides the few squeals of metal I’d heard in my ear. Once more the metal wailed, and this time the vision in my blurred eye shifted. The obfuscated items of green and red dulled, its hues becoming barely legible, closer to grey than their original colours.
My breath skipped, then drew short inhales quickly through my nose. Between my rapidly drawn breaths, my ears picked up the quiet screech once more. I froze, immediately clenching every muscle I could while even my lungs paused.
One second.
Two.
Nothing. Whatever was doing this to me was relishing in the fear that was starting to scratch at my mind.
Then the snip. I flinched at the subtle pinch, and the darkness that immediately fell on the side of my vision. It wasn’t like an eye was closed, where my field of view should have become narrower. There was only darkness. A dribble of moisture trickled down my cheek, not tears but something else. Raising cautious fingers, they poked towards the wetness that continued to flow down to my chin, quickly returning with tips dyed a crimson red.
A part of me was terrified, too terrified to stumble to the mirror and see what the voice had done to me. But the much louder part of my mind demanded sleep, so I curled up into a ball on the floor, grateful I could finally close my eyes. Tomorrow’s problem will be dealt with tomorrow.
…
The next morning I woke with a spasm coursing through my limbs, like I’d been jolted awake by a bolt of lightning. A stabbing pain raced down the back of my neck, creeping into my spine with its barbed wire touch. Along the side of my head was a different pain, this one dull and thumping to the steady beat of my heart. My arms and legs felt sore, with a sensation of pins and needle gripping the one arm that I seemed to have slept on.
My mind wandered while I struggled to my feet, trying to recall the faint lickings of the terrible dream that I’d suffered last night. But as my eyes drifted to the wall, and the black void covering half of my vision became more apparent, I remembered. It wasn’t a dream at all.
Wobbling legs carried me to the bathroom. Both hands gripping the sinks edge, I couldn’t look. Fear scratched at the back of my mind, I knew the truth, I didn’t need a reflection to confirm it. It was only after I felt my knuckles whitening from the pressure for several long seconds that I pushed through the heavy fog, gathering the will to look at the reflective pane across me.
Where there should have been my eye was a crater. With its true depth hidden by the shadow of my skull, I could only imagine how deep the cavern in my face went, the parts I could see were lined with the near black crimson of dried blood. Beneath the hollowed socket were also thin streams of dried blood, forming narrow paths towards my chin like pain filled tears. I raised a trembling hand to my eye, like I’d done before, but this time to see if what I was seeing was in fact real. I watched in the mirror while tremors rocked my extended finger, watched the finger descend into the crater that was the eye socket. As my hand flinched, part of a fingertip rubbed against the moist flesh that lined the inside of my socket. I felt no pain in my face, but the rest of me felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. My stomach immediately flipped and I suddenly had to contend with the urge to empty my stomach into the sink.
My breath was shaky, shuddering air that I tried to control before it got away from me. But I felt myself losing the battle, each breath harder to draw than the last. In, and out. My feeble commands were having little effect, the dread becoming stronger as I knew what would come next. Like a hunter in the night, one second I felt fine, the next second, a dryness at the edge of my remaining eye. It twitched slightly, a tremor in the nerves that could have come from anything. I couldn’t yet tell if it was a lack of moisture in the air or something more.
Then my eye started to sting, and I realized I’d been holding it open for a few seconds straight. Fear demanded it be held ajar, unsure if it was a natural discomfort or the beginnings of the next round of torture.
Only holding it open for a few seconds longer, I eventually blinked. Breath held, while my lungs froze. Still unsure if I conjured the new itch, I tested the feeling in my eye. Is it gone? I wondered when I couldn’t feel anything more than the slight stinging along its edges. Chest finally collapsing, I drew long breaths with shut eyes. With each shuddering breath, I analyzed the sensations that coursed through the nerve endings along my face. I’m fine, I promised myself.
Then the urge to rub at my eye became stronger, forcing twitches all along the side of my face, even down to my jaw. Don’t. Instead I clenched my hands while my mind drifted to something else that might distract me, like the stale air flowing in and out of my nose, the rattle of the furnace creeping through the vents.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, the back of my hand pressing into my eye socket and slowly wiping across it. Dry skin from the back of my hand was wetted, the cracks along my skin filled with the moisture my eye had been producing. More tears joined it as I realized with a jolt what I’d done.
“Wait,” I whispered in a shuddered breath.
It didn’t wait. Like a needle, a stabbing pain pierced the side of my eye, feeling like it punctured through to the other side too. A howl of pain escaped my lips, echoing in the acoustics of my narrow bathroom. Legs immediately giving way, I fell to the floor, already half curling into a ball atop the small shag carpet I’d laid by the sink. Palm pressing against the eye, I let my vision go black while stars of white spackled my vision. Short hissing breaths filled the room as I grappled with the return of the violent pain. Even as it felt like the stake plunging through my eye was twisted, as the nerves and sinew wrapped around each other into an unimaginable squeezing – I fought it.
I don’t know where the strength had come from, the sudden urge to resist became everything that I set my mind towards. Grinding my teeth together, my waning strength was being battered, it had been seconds and already my will was on the precipice of collapsing all together.
Then an image fluttered into view. It stole my breath, air freezing as shock gripped my system. My stolen eye was still gone, the right side of my face covered with inky nothingness. The remaining one that had been covered by my hand, abruptly shifted into a sideway view of my floor. I saw my bathroom tiles, chipped and faded; the carpet, patchy and molded; the walls, chipped of its paint, made pale by years of sunlight, and stained from years of neglect. What I saw was not my bathroom, not the bathroom I’d been in when I collapsed to the floor.
Like a sadistic poem, the itching, pain, and macabre vision assaulted me all at once. It was like it knew that my will was brittle, that my desire to resist was hanging onto the edge of the cliff by only my finger tips.
Then something shifted in my mind, a final surge of resistance. A spiteful rebellion gripped my thoughts, a rage that flared up abruptly with the surging of a wildfire as it tore through a forest of dried kindling. I wished to confront the source of my torment, to grip it by the neck and throttle it into submission. As I tapped into this new reservoir of strength, my hands balled into fists. Where the fuck is it? I demanded in my mind. As if I’d summoned it myself, the voice spoke. “Would yo–”
“Fuck you!”
“Would you li–”
“No!” I screamed my throat raw.
“Would you like my help?”
“I would like you to leave me. I’m never going to ask for your help.”
For a few long seconds, the voice didn’t respond. It left me with the unbearable itch that no amount of rubbing could satisfy, the sadistic agony that I was powerless to quell, and the knowledge that my vision had been plunged back into the unescapable hellscape - but at least it was quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
“Would you like my help?!” It suddenly screamed in my ear. I flinched in surprise, it was the first time that the cool dispassion of the voice was broken. “Would you like my help?!” It repeated a fraction of a moment later. “Would you like my help?!” Shouting over and over, the voice didn’t pause to breathe, repeating the words as soon it had finished the furious request. As the vicious battery of the question continued, I tried to fight it, shaking my head violently as if it would loosen the sound and even screaming alongside it to drown out the noise. Nothing worked, the unending noise persisting in my mind.
With each attempt to break my will, the question was starting to sound different. It was changing slightly, with at first minor variance in its tone, and cadence. With each failed attempt, the difference in the request after it became more stark to the point where I was starting to hear different ages, genders, and even accents in the repeating petition.
Cupping both hands over my ears, it did nothing to mute the sound. I screamed to drown out the sound, but the voices were louder. My face grimaced in stalwart resistance. I’m not going to give in, I assured myself. The voice had taken enough, I would give it no more ground.
…
How foolish I was. I know this now.
My jaw was impossibly sore from clenching teeth into a twisted grimace; sweat matted down hair against my forehead, and stained my shirt with the proof of my defiance. My will was brittle, a resigned exhaustion filling every one of my muscles. “Would you like my help?!” A woman yelled, she sounded Asian, eerily close to the woman who worked the counter at the small Chinese market I used to shop at. The requests had changed their tone some time ago, I don’t know how long I’d been curled in the ball before it, and I don’t know how much time has passed since. There was a desperation to her sound, a brief and frantic plea before she was shunted to the side in place of the next voice in the endless queue.
“Would you li-” the next one started.
“Fine,” I whispered in a voice so soft I barely heard it myself. The voice heard me though, halting its request now that I’d finally caved. In the silence I thought I could feel it relishing in my pain, soaking in my surrender and what little fear I could muster for what comes next. And as one second drifted into the next, a part of me started to believe that nothing would happen.
That was when the voices responded. In a booming chorus, ten thousand voices spoke as one, “thank you.” The thundering voices were impossibly loud, simultaneously loud enough to fill a stadium but also bearable as it echoed in my head. They sounded as tired as I felt, and the relief in their tones gave me a measure of calm. I was exhausted, too exhausted to feel anything when the screech of the twin metal blades scratched my mind. Managing to get my feet under me, I rose to stand.
My vision had turned back to normal once more, and I knew it was all but a fact that it would be for the last time. I would have liked to look at a sunset if it was going to be the last thing I saw, but I doubted the cruel voices would allow me that mercy. So I stared at my haggard features in the mirror. The gaping maw that was my right eye no longer bothered me, a grim acceptance finally quelling the shock and revulsion I’d felt before. In three quick cuts, the view of my face went from blurry to grey, and then finally to black. With a relieved breath, my hand wiped the new trickle from what was my last eye.
…
That was a week ago. My friends and family thought I’d lost my mind, that I suffered a mental break and decided to scoop my eyes out with a spoon. At first I was in disbelief, then rage, but after a few days of quiet contemplation I’d made my peace with it.
Who could blame them if they didn’t believe my story; the voices in my head, the unscratchable itch, the unimaginable stabbing pain, the visions of rot and decay that had become everything I saw. Who could blame them if they didn’t believe me when I told them of the rusted scissors in my mind that snipped at my eye before plucking it from my head. I could barely believe it myself, some nights questioning if maybe they were right.
However, I could blame them for having me locked in an institution. In the solitude of my padded room, I was given time to think, to recall the events and search through what I felt. It was in that sterile room, beneath the quiet buzzing of what I could only assume were fluorescent lights, the truth solidified in my mind.
I am not crazy.
I am not delusional.
…
“How did that feel?”
“Good, I guess.”
“That’s good, it’s good to talk about these things.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“That I am. I’m going to leave this with you, use it to record your thoughts or whatever you’d like. It’s yours, you won’t have to share the recordings with anyone unless you want to.”
---
My throat is itching, and no amount of water, tea, lozenges, or even salt water gargled has helped. The men and women in flapping coats say that I’m sick. BUT I’M NOT SICK. I know it like I know that water is wet.
I tried to make them understand, but they wouldn’t listen. Even as the two larger men wrapped thick hands around both my arms and carried me to the far end of my padded cell. Even as I kicked and screamed and fought furiously. Even as the needle slipped into my skin to deliver the fluid that would ‘calm me down’. Even as I begged and pleaded with them to just kill me instead.
My throat is still itching.
…
I record this now, knowing I’m dead. It’s almost impossible to talk, each entry takes most of the day, but I need to record something of myself.
I’ve accepted that with a desperate trusting in whatever comes next. The only hope that I truly cling to in this life is that someone finds this, and that they believe me.
…
I can barely swallow. Water, saliva, even air all struggle to slip down my neck. I hear the quiet murmuring of the nurses and doctors when they check on me, they think I’m doing something to myself.
I try to tell them that it’s back, but they only give me more drugs.
“I don’t understand it,” I heard one of them say.
…
A nurse came by with my medicine. I asked her to kill me. She said the medicine was a muscle relaxant for my throat.
I told her it wouldn’t work.
I made her listen to my choked sobs as she locked the door behind her.
Why won’t they just kill me?
…
I heard a sound. I know I heard this sound. It was like a whisper, gentle as a wisp of smoke, but it was there.
“Would you like me to help?”

Ms Robinson had always been…eccentric. You wouldn’t notice at first; her wavy brown hair, grey eyes and radiant smile usually set people at ease when they saw her, but sooner or later her quirky nature would always give in.
“Her name is Gertrude, his name is Herbert, and would you please stop flirting with Ruby over there Samuel? You have a boyfriend.”
Seem ordinary? It does, doesn’t it? Until you realize that Gertrude’s the name of the back wall of our classroom, and Herbert is the ceiling. Ruby’s our resident leftie, if you’re wondering. Not my fault there was only one seat available that day.
Most parents would’ve killed to have her removed. Most parents are idiots. Ms Robinson was fun, energetic, and one of the best teachers I’d ever had. You’d be hard-pressed to find another teacher with such a passion for their subject as Ms Robinson, which only further cemented her abilities as a more-than-competent teacher.
Which was one of many reasons I’d always chosen to ignore the less funny facets of her teaching regimen. Such as the near-obnoxious amounts of perfume that was constantly being sprayed around the classroom. You couldn’t enter the place without at least one tear rolling down your cheeks. When I asked her what it was, she just said that the janitorial staff were testing out new cleaning products.
“And they couldn’t have done it in a classroom that wasn’t being used?” I asked, strapping my face mask on.
“Common sense isn’t as common as you might expect,” she muttered, obviously displeased. “You’d think they’d learn the first time.”
When I turned back to ask her what the hell that meant? Ninja-disappearing trick. Never gets old, until it does. And with Ms Robinson, it got old fast. Like, ‘this is the hundredth time this week!’ kind of fast. Every time I tried to ask her about the smell, or the creepy groans, she just vanished.
Oh, I didn’t mention the creepy groans? They happened when I was alone, or when the class was actually silent. Sometimes, when we were really bored and the teachers were out, we’d tell them to shut up or groan back. That usually made them quiet down.
Or, at least, they used to. Now…I’m not so sure. Now, I think I’m noticing patterns that I never knew of before. Strange patterns. I didn’t even notice it at first, until one of my friends pointed it out for me.
“Hey, you haven’t seen Annie at school lately, right?” Stephanie asked, fiddling nervously. My brows furrowed. I hadn’t, actually. Annie and I weren’t close or anything like that, but it was weird of her to skip school for two weeks straight. Even weirder was the fact that, when we checked, nobody knew what was happening.
Apparently, her parents packed up and left in the break or something. We got a new student though. Mark. Ms Robinson had Marky seated to the far back of the classroom, saying that Annie would like the company.
Sometimes I can’t believe how stupid I was. Maybe it was the fact that I’d known Ms Robinson for so long. It felt impossible to me that she might be anything other than good. I keep trying to tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I was a child, trying to survive my high school years.
But that doesn’t stop the memories. It doesn’t stop the pain, the guilt, the shame. It doesn’t stop me from curling up into a ball every time I remember it, screaming until the sounds fade away and the only thing I hear is my own pitiful sobbing.
There’s a storage room in my school that nobody goes to. People say it’s haunted or something, and that’s why everyone, even the janitors, stay far away from it. My friends thought it would be funny if I were to stay back in school.
Obviously, I wasn’t too pleased with the prospect of spending what could’ve been a productive/fun night in the Hellscape we call our second home, but the five thousand bucks they threw in helped sweeten the pot.
The plan was simple. While everyone else left the school, I’d be hanging back in the storage room until six in the morning, at which point I’d head out using my friend’s key (long story that we really don’t have time for). My parents were out of town so it would be fine.
“Careful. I heard there’s ghosts down there,” Jack joked, handing me a bottle of water before he left. I downed it in one gulp.
The storage room was surprisingly comfy, to be perfectly honest. Sure, a little cold, but nothing like I expected. Best of all was the smell, or lack thereof. After spending years being assaulted by ridiculous amounts of perfume, it was a welcome change. I plugged in my earphones and waited to fall asleep, my alarm already set for 6 AM.
It was midnight when I heard the scratching. I tried to ignore it at first. Maybe a cat or something got in? I couldn’t do anything about that, so I just tried my best to fall back to sleep. I failed, and ended up doing a few stretches when I heard something else. Something darker.
“Sam?”
Her voice was distant, and yet so close I could feel her breath on my nape.
“Annie?”
I sat there, waiting for a reply. Possibilities rolled through my mind. A prank? Possible, but unlikely. My friends had a 5-mile radius policy set as soon as school ended. Maybe they put some kind of timed recording?
I looked around the storage room. The place was spartan. Nowhere you could hide a recorder. I sighed, and turned on my phone flashlight. For a moment the light burned into my retina, and I stood against the wall, dizzy and blind.
A few moments passed, and when the spots in my vision began to clear, I felt vertigo hit me like a freight train on steroids. The room had become narrower? Or longer? I wasn’t sure, but something was wrong. I staggered forward, and the room twisted again.
I kept walking, trying my best to make sense of this strange spatial anomaly. Using my phone as a flashlight, I managed to navigate the corridors. I’d have time to wonder what the hell this was about later. Right now, I needed to find a way out.
“Samuel…”
“Sammy?”
“Sam!”
The words kept echoing in the back of my head. I screwed them shut, trying to focus. But it wasn’t working. The world kept turning and changing around me. Sometimes I saw hands crawling out of the walls. Sometimes they came from the floor. Some were skeletal, others were made of decaying flesh and blood.
What was happening?
I must’ve walked for hours. No, tens of thousands of hours. But the nightmare showed no sign of ending. Would I be trapped here forever? Would I never get to see sunlight again, or tell my parents I loved them?
I got my answer when the storage room door opened.
“Samuel?” Ms Robinson asked breathlessly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I couldn’t answer. I just fell to the ground, too tired to say anything.
When I woke up, the doctors said I’d hallucinated. Apparently my ‘friends’ had drugged me with some kind of hallucinogen, and that’s what caused my hallucinations. I fainted because I’d spent three hours walking in the same room. I’d crashed into the wall at least twice.
The water bottle, I realized.
The rest of the school year was as normal as ever, except my parents freaked out and grounded me for life. That was years ago.
I’m 25 now, and this story had never been of particular importance to me until now. I mean, sure, it’s fun to say at parties: hey, did you know I got drugged that one time? And you thought your story about sharks was scary!
But now, now I don’t want to think about it at all. I thought those voices had been hallucinations. I was wrong. A few weeks ago, the school was being renovated for something. One of the workers apparently fainted on the spot when he saw what was behind one of the walls.
Kids. Hundreds of kids. Some were nothing more than skeletons now. Others were rotting and decayed. And you want to know the worst part? Some of them were still alive. Theirs’ were the most horrifying faces I have ever seen.
The chemicals had been the school’s way of stopping the smell and infections. Those voices? The kids, trying to cry out for help. The walls were thin enough that they could speak, but judging by the state they were in, even breathing would’ve been difficult.
The police still aren’t sure how the hell they did it. Whatever it was, it was designed so that nobody would ever figure it out. Some of the kids weren’t even from our town. All of them matched missing case reports from the last fifty years, ranging from our town all the way to…I don’t even know.
Gertrude Gilbert.
Herbert Jennings.
Annie Myers.
The police have no suspects. No leads. Ms Robinson is gone, along with the rest of the faculty. I have no idea how this hasn’t made national news yet. I’m afraid it never will. Nobody likes to admit when they make mistakes, and trusting Ms Robinson was the greatest mistake of all

I [26F] started dating my boyfriend [26M] over a year ago. This is my first serious relationship and I need advice.
At the start everything was going great, we met through friends in common and fell in love quickly. We would hang out a lot, he would tell me sweet things, give me gifts, ask me on dates, we went on vacations together, he met my family, all that.
But a few months ago something changed.
He became distant, started asking to see me less and every time we would see each other it was because I was the one who asked him on dates or to hang out. He started taking a lot of time to reply to my messages, like 5 or 6 hours each time we talked and just seemed very inconsistent in his communication.
I didn’t say anything to him about this behavior because I didn’t want to be overbearing and seem needy, so I gave him some space.
One day I had a death in my family and, separately, I fell ill with anemia and had to be hospitalized, so I was going through hell. I told him about it and his reaction was only “Oh, I’m so sorry. Sending love your way!”. He didn’t come see me at the hospital or followed up on me. He only messaged me once during this time and was very dry in the conversation.
He generally just didn’t feel interested in what was happening to me or how to make me feel better, which hurt me a lot cause I want to count on my partner when things like these happen.
When I told him this behavior hurt me and that he was being inconsistent he was very defensive to the point he got angry at me and told me something like “you can’t depend on only me to make you happy”. Once I felt better I asked him to have a conversation about this and he apologized for getting angry and when I told him if he didn’t want to be in this relationship anymore he said he did want to be with me and that he loved me.
He behaved well for a couple of weeks and now it’s back to the indifference again.
I started thinking about this relationship a lot since then and I figured out that it’s making me feel more lonely than happy.
We see each other once in every ten days even when we have similar work schedules and we are both free on the same days. He hasn’t introduced me yet to his family even when he already met mine. He’s very dry in his messages and doesn’t tell me he loves me. He doesn’t include me in any cool plan, he always goes to nice places with his friends or family and I’m never invited. On Valentine’s Day I asked him to get me some pretty flowers I have wanted for a long time but he didn’t get them for me, nor any gift. I ended up buying them for myself.
This is my first serious relationship so I’m not sure if this is just what happens when the honeymoon fase is over or if he’s just not interested in me anymore. I already gave him an “out” several times and asked him if he just not wanted to be in a relationship but every time he’s like “I want to be with you” but then doesn’t show it in actions.
I seriously don’t know what to think or do, or if I’m just too needy and need constant reassurance because of my anxiety. Some help here? :(

I did not find out I was trans until 16. I had a really really bad depressive period before that because of school burnout due to my ADHD and autism and had to go to a psych ward. I was a very gnc child but never thought about my gender like at all until puberty. First I identified as non binary until eventually I identified as a trans guy (i am 19 now, turning 20 this year). Since identifying as non binary and later as a trans guy, I always thought about taking Testosterone. I am not that far away from being able to take it. I just need to go to the doctor, get a referral, make an appointment at the endocrinologist and get on T in the next months, i plan on taking a lower dose at first. But as excited as I am, i am also scared and doubtful. What if I am unhappy with the effects of testosterone, what if I get REALLY bad hairloss or some other side effects that impact my physical health, what If I find out I am not really trans and have to go through a gender crisis all over again and then have to hear my mom saying "I told you so" I also feel like I am faking it or just going through a phase because of the fact that I didn't have trans thoughts until my late teens. My current therapist who even has his office in my village is really good but not really qualified to talk about trans issues. I could look for a therapist who specializes in trans issues but there aren't any near me and I do not have a car nor a driving license, meaning I would have to take the train wich is honestly a little too expensive and stressful. What do I do? Is this normal?

hello! as graduation is nearing I wanted to put in here that i’m a student reporter with the Massachusetts Daily Collegian looking to interview some students that are graduating but aren’t moving back home after May and are forced to live on their own/figure out what they’re doing post-grad. If anyone is going to be in this situation I would love to talk more! feel free to message me on here

And even though my most recent is the worst, I never thought she’d stoop to this level of bullshit.
Im part of a scene I helped to build. I’m proud of what I contributed. But my ex and/or someone entrenched with her, is spreading a rumor that I am a mass shooter and am going to shoot up our scene. It would bother me more if I took it seriously—I mean I do somewhat, but many people know me and what kind of person I am and that I would do damn near anything else before I’d hurt anybody—plus I don’t own any assault weapons or automatic weapons—it’s ridiculous.
I had finally decided I no longer needed this forum. I went from love to hate to resentment and finally to indifference for my ex. 5 months and I feel nothing for her. She can soar to new heights or crash and burn, neither makes a difference to me because neither affect me.
But if this rumor originated from her (and I mean, who else would stand to gain by trashing my reputation ?), it’s going to take a great deal of effort to avoid negative feelings towards her and her gang. I think I can handle it. I’ve taken the high road since I fucked up with a few text barrages early on. I’ve kept my thoughts to myself as I healed and grew from the situation in which I unexpectedly found myself, blindsided and sad.
So even though the potential for this might be bad if anyone buys into their bullshit, I still feel like I’m on target for leaving the experience with her in my past while focusing on my future. So I won’t have to post anything else here.
What is it that makes an intelligent person—after getting unmistakably caught lying—double down on holding on to the lie? Is it because they are pathological? In a delirious or demented state? Or they just don’t give a fuck?

This is something that happened quite a few years ago on New Year's Eve. My mom (a single mom) was hosting a little NYE party that night. It wasn't an elaborate thing; just some friends and neighbors. She wasn't usually much of a drinker at all, but she ended up getting a bit tipsy and silly near the end of the night. Everybody left about an hour after midnight, and I started getting ready for bed. The only person who remained was an older neighbor of ours who lived alone. She was acting a bit flirty and giggly with him, but I didn't think much of it because of the alcohol factor.
They were still talking after I went to bed, and then about 30 minutes later, I heard the basement door open, then some footsteps on the basement stairs before the door closed behind them. I was confused at first and couldn't think of what point there was in them going down to a mostly unfinished basement, but then it suddenly hit me that there was a guest bedroom down there, and she might be going down there to have sex with him so I would be less likely to find out. When it occurred to me that this might be a possibility, my heart started pounding, and I got a huge surge of those really intense excitement butterflies in my abdomen. I was overcome with an overwhelming urge to sneak down the basement stairs to see if my suspicions were correct. I knew that it was so wrong to do, but I had to; I couldn't stop myself.
I opened the basement door as quietly as I could, then spent like two minutes crawling down the stairs backwards on my hands and knees to ensure that I was making as little sound as possible. Once I got to the door of the guest bedroom, I knew what was going on in there, and the butterflies and pounding heart were in overdrive at that point. It was so weird knowing that it was my mom, but that's part of what added to the excitement, if anybody can relate to what I mean? Standing in front of a door and knowing that your own mom is getting laid on the other side of it is an intense and visceral experience, especially when it's so unexpected, and especially when you're young too. She had never done anything like this before; she was more the sweet, shy mom-next-door type. I feel that was also a major factor in why it was so exciting: it was just so unexpected. There are so many mixed emotions, and the way you feel so weird and awkward but REALLY turned on at the same time gives you the most intense butterflies.
I was so overwhelmed by curiosity at this point that I knew I had to open the door quietly and peek in. I knew that I likely wouldn't be spotted by either of them because of the layout of the guest bedroom. It was a small bedroom, and the head of the bed was up against the wall opposite the door. The foot of the bed was only about 4 or 5 feet away from the door though, so I still had to be as quiet as possible. This photo I found on Google Images is the closest example I can find to describe what the layout of the guest bedroom looked like, except with the door only being about 4 or 5 feet away from the foot of the bed.
The door of the guest bedroom opened outward which made it a lot easier for me to stealthily open it. I slowly opened it about 7 inches with my eyes closed because I was trying to concentrate so hard on being quiet. When I opened my eyes, I was hit with a flood of mixed emotions and excitement like I had never felt in my life. They weren't doing anything wild or crazy; it was actually quite the opposite and more subdued if anything. It was just so crazy to see that only a few feet away though, right there in front of me. He was on top of her, ordinary missionary position, her legs parted in a relaxed way; not spread really far apart like spread eagle, but just kind of parted enough so his hips could get between her thighs.
It wasn't like typical one-night-stand sex would usually be; they were actually making love, and there was a lot of intimacy and romance. She was hugging him close to her the entire time, and there was a lot of lengthy kissing during the sex. The view I had was pretty limited due to where the door was situated, so I basically only had the behind view of him on top of her humping away between her thighs. But I could hear the kissing and some whispers and giggles in between the long kisses.
I watched right up until they finished and even stayed for about a minute when he stayed on top of her and they were just cuddling afterward. After I quietly closed the door, I quickly snuck back upstairs as quietly as I could and had to masturbate as soon as I got to my bedroom. The butterflies and excitement were so intense that I had two orgasms with only about a one-minute gap between the first and second one.
This is a memory that is deeply embedded in my mind, and I can remember all of it so vividly. It's still such a turn-on to think about even to this day.

Seriously, I am so tired of unsolicited advice from people who don't even begin to get it. I've lost 60 pounds and that required literally starving and I'm trying to get the rest off, but goddamnit, I am HUNGRY. Like, I am so hungry I do not have the patience to educate you or ignore you.
"Cut back on sweet drinks and you'll be amazed at how fast the weight melts off."
Oh yeah Ms. I Don't Remeber Fucking Asking, bend over so I can slap your ass with a dose of my reality and then get back to me in three months so I can give you my best idgaf look when you're crying about tit pimples and the first signs of buttshelf fat.
Sweet drinks? Hahahahahaha, you actually think I consume sugar? Because I don't. If you could lose 40 pounds in a year just by giving up Pepsi, then you and I are not the same and you've gone through life never realizing you're living on easy mode.
Try skipping breakfast for a while? Bish, I haven't eaten breakfast since the 1900s. I don't eat before 2pm. Ever. After 2pm, I have a zero sugar energy drink and a piece of gum. That's my "lunch."
You know what I ate yesterday? Not for lunch, but the entire day. A steak and a fiber pill. That's it. Most days, my entire day of food is just a chunk of meat, sugar free energy drinks, coffee with half and half, and leaves. If I eat more than meat and leaves, it can be as little as hours before my mood very noticeably and drastically destabilizes and I can go anywhere from hypomanic to mildly suicidal.
"You can eat a little bit of ice cream when you're craving it, just not a big bowl."
Who tf gave you the impression I eat big bowls of ice cream? Because that's what you were doing when your jeans started to get a bit too tight? Bish, if I add a little bit of ice cream to my diet, a couple of weeks from now, I'll be perpetually spotting with random spurts of intense cramping and birthing uterine clots the size of my palm.
When was the last time you stood up only to feel half a dozen gelatinous clots slip out of your cooch and glom down your leg while you waddle to the bathroom for your third shower of the day? What's that, the only time you've experienced anything like that was after giving birth?
You and me are not the same.
I don't need your advice. I figured out what works: eating like a primitive hunter whose body is tailor made for long periods of fasting during which you do nothing but chew stimulant leaves, the only break in fast happening when you catch the caribou and eat it. But that hunter never got to taste pizza and beer and bread and pasta and so on and so forth, so it was a hell of a lot easier for them to live a life filled with organ meats and nicotine leaves.