TW: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE
I had been abused since I was 8. I had many moments, years even, in my life that were good very good and many that were bad. I survived it all and I’m still suffering. I officially got away from the abuse at 22 years old and then my life went to shit. It was 2020 I had been living the best life I could. I transferred from community college to a university, made friends, made plans to move out, stable job, and I was hopeful. One summer day I went over to my dads brother’s house. My grown adult cousin pissed me off I said stfu he then went downstairs and started cry. He called his mom and told her she started pacing then took my mom outside. They both came back to get me I was then confronted. It was ridiculous and as i was trying to leaving my aunt grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me while pushing me to the wall. I started to push her off and that’s when she began to hit me and i hit back. I already had ptsd from my parents fighting me growing up. My mom jumped in the middle and I hit her until she gave up and let me go. She got pulled into the house my mom followed and I walked down the long gravel driveway. Half way down I hear ‘hey!’ I turn my head and see my dad running at me full force. He jumps on top of me and begins to punch me and hold me down. Trying to “restrain” me as he says but he won’t stop. I thought he was trying to kill me this time. I manage to break loose and ran towards the garage to hide and think even for a micro second. I lock him out and was planning a way out. All of a sudden him and my uncle come storming in I run to the door but they took me down. Again I am being punched, held down, choked. As I was being choked by uncle he says “this would be way worse if you weren’t a girl”. I get my leg out from under both of them and kick him in the face, get my other leg out, and run. Running down the long gravel driveway they jump me again. I again get out and start throwing rocks at them while digging through my purse to get my keys. I began to punch my dad with my keys in-between my fingers and he backs off. by this time my uncle on the phone with police yelling “she has a knife”. I run towards my car and as I’m trying to leave my dad takes one last lunge at me I pick up my metal water bottle and slam it to the back of his head. I speed to my parents house crying and hurt. I get there and destroy everything I could outside since my brother locked me out. The rest of the night doesn’t matter. Months later my car was t-boned and I got arrested for a warrant for felony domestic violence. I went to jail my father bailed me out just to use it against me. I see my car in their driveway and leave. My dad got me a lawyer so he could be the main line of connection. I go to me hearing and my case ended up going to trial in between then I was ordered to attend court mandated anger management classes. Found out my family was writing letters to the judges urging for me to be locked up. I still had my apartment but lost everything else. In between loosing everything I was tried and during the heart to heart with my lawyer right before I explained how I didn’t want this to affect my career of helping abuse survivors. While sitting outside the courtroom doors my uncle ran up to me saying he was going to fix everything as I was being shuffled threw the doorway. During the trial my lawyer paused and went up to the judge I think he told him about the volunteer work I did. I was let of with the highest misdemeanor you could have and a year of probation. It’s been four years almost and I have been miserable everyday. I’m making strides though. I just needed to type this out and get it off my chest. I will never be abused again.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

A bit of career history to set the stage: I completed my undergrad in Spring 2019 at a highly ranked public school in California. I was a great student through high school but got middle-of-the-road grades in college, graduating with a 3.07 GPA in Cognitive Science. Right after grad, I started my career at a well known tech company in silicon valley doing tech sales (SDR first, AE after).
I did pretty well through 2020, 2021, and most of 2022, never a top rep, but always in the top half. With tech slowing down in 2023 and through 2024, this job has become a GRIND and my performance has been... unremarkable. It used to be an awesome gig where there were highs and lows, but you own your own day and autonomy as long as you hit your goals. After losing motivation at my last company, I decided to take an offer at another tech company in a slightly different space. I'm ~7 months in and I like the conversations I'm having, the product, my team, and the leadership. Only problem is, I'm having a very hard time seeing how I'll be able to achieve quota when I am done with my ramp period.
There's more to it, but for brevity's sake, I'll leave it at this. My mental health is suffering in this job. In sales, your value is your number, no matter what people say. There are certain things you can control like how many calls you make, emails you send, etc. but at the end of the day, you are measured against your quota. I have a very hard time being happy with what I'm doing because if I can't perform and miss my quota for a few months, I could easily get canned. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm cut out for sales in the long haul. I love working with people, but I'm naturally not confrontational and the job requires a lot of that.
So... should I suck it up, stop whining, and try to make it work in tech sales until the economy turns, or consider applying to grad school (GPA isn't great, so not even sure how viable this is)? I've thought about applying to MBA programs, masters degrees in either Cognitive Science or Data Science, or even law school. FWIW, I'm 27, will be 28 in the fall. Would love to get some opinions!

NOTE: This guide contains a ton of gear and narrative spoilers
Most Sword Bard builds are either focused on either ranged or control + melee/AoE attack styles, and I wanted to explore whether or not it would be possible to take the best of both to make the ultimate martial all around build. This build features Sharpshooter with ranged damage of 20-30 per arrow and GWM + smite damage of 60-120 per single hit by the end game.

Background Theme

The theme for the build is a resisting dark urge, with a desire for redemption to become the champion of Baldurs's Gate. And this theme weaves through the playthrough with items and choices along the journey, for example:

• Getting branded by Priestess Gut and getting Loviatar's Love in at the Goblin Camp
• Saving the Nightsong (and Shadowheart) and forgoing the Spear of the Evening
• Becoming partial illithid in a quest for power
• In a moment of weakness, falling prey to the powers of Bhaal by becoming an Unholy Assassin at the Murder Tribunal, only to later realize that Sarevok and the tribunal must die.
• And finally rejecting Bhaal and giving up the dark urge powers.

Build Overview

The build centers around a combination of Bard and Paladin, with all three feats, for a Level 8 Sword Bard / Level 4 Oath of Vengeance Paladin. Feats are Shapshooter, Great Weapons Master and Tavern Brawler centered around Nyrulna for throwing + smite melee and the Titanstring bow for ranged giving absolute martial authority under almost all circumstances.
In addition to the primary martial strength, you gain the jack of all trades benefits of being a Bard, including exceptional social skills, relatively high charisma, good persuasion, deception, sleight of hand and stealth.
Early game, expect to play like any other dexterity/charisma bard, with the first 6 level progression on Bard alone.

• Focus on ranged fighting style, with enough stealth to dip in and out of battles solo, particularly against large groups like the Goblin Camp, in the Creche and the Gnolls
• Use flourishes, both ranged and melee to hit multiple targets in one round.
• Dual wielding hand crossbows early game.

By the end of Act 1, and with the acquisition of the Gloves of Dexterity in Creche Y'llek,a respec is needed to maximize the benefits of the Titanstring and the build plays like a ranged beast through all of the mid-game.
After level 6 of Bard, we begin to level into Paladin, which opens the door for the character to start building up melee power. Truth be told, I may have respec'ed a few times between levels 6-10 trying a few things on for size, but the most effective strategy mid-game was:

• Titanstring with Sharpshooter and Gloves of Dexterity for ranged flourishes and multiple Bard attacks that came online at level 6.
• Dual wield shortswords like Knife of the Undermountain King for smites (starting at level 8 - SSB 6/Pal 2) and melee flourishes.

By Act 3 and the late game, and with the acquisition of Nyrulna from the Djinni at the Circus of the Last Days in Rivington,the martial melee power took center stage, with ranged flourishes still very powerful, but no longer the primary attack strategy. And by level 12 and the end game, you have the choice between throwing Nyrulna for AoE or Slashing Flourish for specific ranged attacks.
Philosophically, the build is focused on fast nova damage to overwhelm a larger group by decimating them in the first 2 turns. High movement is key, we're always looking to surprise enemies, and taking advantage of stealth and invisibility to duck in and out of battle for the occasional "oh shit" moment or recharge of bardic inspiration.

Leveling Guide & Feats

As noted earlier, this build really doesn't come online until level 6, more so at level 8+. Prior to that, you're just an average ranged or melee bard, your choice. The end game goal is Level 8 College of Swords Bard / Level 4 Oath of Vengeance (or Oathbreaker) Paladin.
Race choices include Wood Elf, High Elf, Duegar Dwarf, Half Orc, Gnome or Halfling. I've always opted for one of the elves, primary because of movement speed. The fighting style that has evolved for me throughout multiple solo runs now is that you are often fighting in retreat, and movement is key to manage this. If you're playing this as part of a party, movement is less important.
Levels 1-6 - Bard

• Start at level 1 as a Bard with STR 8, DEX 17, CON 14, INT 8, WIS 10, CHA 16, and you should expect to respec at least once. Select Minor Illusion and Friends for Cantrips if doing a solo run, with a strong case to also be made for Mage Hand. If not for a solo, you have other options here. Longstrider is a key spell as well. For skills, optimize Persuasion (or Deception), Sleight of Hand, Stealth, and Performance, in that order. I chose Persuasion, Sleight of Hand and Stealth.
• At level 3, choose College of Swords. For spells, consider Invisibility, Cloud of Daggers (for some vital early AOE on a solo run), and Hold Person. You can also swap an existing spell slot here to get two of those three. Choose Two-Weapon Fighting for fighting style.
• At level 4, choose Sharpshooter for your first feat.

I recommend a respec as soon as you are able to purchase the Gloves of Dexterity, which for me happens usually around level 4 or 5 somewhere. When you do, choose STR 17, DEX 8, CON 14, INT 8, WIS 10, CHA 16.
Levels 7-8 - Paladin

• At level 7, start with your first Paladin level. I chose Oath of Vengenance.
• At level 8, choose either Defense or Great Weapon Fighting as your fighting style. At this point in the game, I was playing with dual wielded shortswords with Knife of the Undermountain King as primary, but you could also play with Halberd of Vigilance, Mourning Frost or some other two handed weapon. Melee is less important still at this point, since we chose Sharpshooter as our first feat and primary fighting style. This is really about your secondary melee damage dealing, so whatever you prefer for the mid-game.

Levels 9-10 - Bard
We're really just marching towards that second feat here. Choose whatever you want for spells, I like Freedom of Movement, Greater Invisibility, Fear, Hypnotize. For this build, spells are tertiary to ranged and melee damage, so the focus should be on enhancements and prep spells for battle, not in battle casting against enemies.

• At level 10, level 8 bard, grab the Great Weapons Master feat. By this time in the game, we have picked up Nyrulna and have a lot of spell slots for smites. This is where the melee part of this build really shines and starts to outpace the already amazing ranged archer. NOTE: If you chose Defense at level 8, respec to choose Great Weapon Fighting.

Levels 11-12 - Paladin
Again, we're marching to our third feat but you can pick up some great Paladin support and control spells like Command, Bless, Protection from Good and Evil, and additional smites.

• At level 12, level 4 Paladin, get the Tavern Brawler feat and put your ability point in Constitution (kid of doesn't matter, I'll explain in a bit). I thought about getting Savage Attacker here for maximizing crits on smites, or even an ASI into Strength, but ultimately wanted the flexibility of using Nyrulna as a solid throwing option and I'm glad I did. I might go back and try the other two options at some point.

Gear Guide

Not extensive, but I'll list out the important items I picked up and used along the way, but place an asterisk by absolutely essential items
Early Act 1

• Ring of Protection* - Worn pretty much the entire game, best ring in the game IMO (don't @ me)
• Titanstring Bow* - the build revolves around this bow
• Doom Hammer* - Absolutely essential for any solo of Myrkul to prevent healing from Reaper's Reward ability.
• Amulet of Misty Step
• Gloves of Archery
• Crusher's Ring
• Haste Helm

Late Act 1

• Gloves of Dexterity* - Essential to the build, worn throughout the game since the build was based on dumping DEX in the spec.
• DeathStalker's Mantle* - Durge item only, essential to the build to go invisible after a kill.
• Boots of Speed* - Worn pretty much throughout the game, I almost feel are essential for a solo run. These are top 3 items for me all game for any solo run.
• Periapt of Wound Closure* - Essential for me mid-game to have healing potions max heal. I wore throughout act 2.
• Club of Hill Giant Strength - This was essential before Gloves of Dex purchase
• Disintegrating Night Walkers
• Knife of the Undermountain King
• Mourning Frost
• Unseen Menace
• Caustic Band

Act 2

• Risky Ring* - I wore this most of the game as well, with some situational exceptions
• Cloak of Protection* - This was swapped out situationally with the Deathstalker's Mantle throughout the game, really the only two cloaks I used.
• Darkfire Shortbow - used situationally for fire/cold resistance
• Killer's Sweetheart
• Helmet of Arcane Acuity - used surprisingly little, but had to mention

Act 3

• Nyrulna* - Essential to the build, couldn't do this one without it unless you went full evil and did Shar's Spear of the Evening, but that goes against the theme here.
• Bhaalist Armor* - Essential to the build to get the smite damage maximized from Nyrulna.
• Sarevok's Horned Helmet*
• Helm of the Balduran*
• Amulet of Greater Health*
• Band of Mystic Scoundrel - used surprisingly little, but had to mention

End Game items

• Sarevok's Helm
• Bhaalist Armor
• Cloak of Protection
• Boots of Speed
• Gloves of Dexterity
• Ring of Protection
• Risky Ring
• Amulet of Greater Health
• Nyrulna
• Titanstring Bow

Buffs and Enhancements

• Hag's Hair went to Strength - 17 base + 1 = 18 Strength
• Brand of the Absolute and Loviatar's Love
• Volo's Eye
• Necromancy of Thay, both buffs
• Awakened Illithid powers
• Potion of Everlasting Vigor - 18 STR + 2 = 20 Strength
• Partial Illithid, because flying!
• Githrazei Mind Barrier
• Arabella's Shadow Entanglement
• Tharacite Vigor
• Anointed in Splendor
• Statue of myself buff
• Mirror of Loss - 20 STR = 2 = 22 Strength

Other Misc Tactics and Potions

I used Potion of Speed, Elixir of Bloodlust, Elixir of Viciousness, Invisibility, and various posions/toxins for weapon dipping throughout the game. Bloodlust was easily the most important for a solo run, I tried to put it on after as many long rests as possible, followed closely by speed potions and invisibility on a per battle basis. Buy Hyena Ears and Worg Fangs every time you see them.
I stocked up on tons of scrolls along the way, the most important of which were Haste, Remove Curse, Misty Step, Fireball, Lightning (+Chain), Mirror Image, Invisibility, Cone of Cold or other large AOE high level spells.
FOOTNOTE: Thanks for reading this far. I've played through the game now like 12 times or so, with one successful honor run, and the last 3 of which were solo runs on Tactician. The solo runs were inspired by Friendly Lich and his blade warlock: https://www.reddit.com/BG3Builds/comments/1cmn6sb/a_warlock_pact_of_the_blade_multiclass_for_solo/
This resisting the dark urge run was my favorite playthrough so far, for both the narrative storyline, and how it played thematically into this build, with the choices between good and evil waffling back and forth along the way, ultimately leading to redemption. I think this is the best story arc of BG3.
I've considered a couple of other options for this build that I'd like to experiment with in the future, including ditching one of the feats and adding one level of War Cleric to get Sanctuary and Guidance. I will not lie, I save scummed a few times along the way and Guidance and Sanctuary would have helped me a bunch in those situations. However, it was rewarding to get the full martial with Tavern Brawler on Nyrulna in the end, will report back if I end up tinkering. Suggestions welcome!

My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looming for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.

My boyfriend of 5 years is on a small road trip/overnight stay in his college town for a concert/night out. Last night one of the other people going asked if I was coming along, and mentioned other women were going. My suspicions started there, I was under the impression this was a boys only trip and that’s why my boyfriend didn’t invite me. Then, this morning he woke up a little late and was rushing to pack his overnight bag so he left kind of a mess behind. I went to clean up after he left, and I noticed he had pulled down, and left out, this old travel pouch that has lived at the top of his closet untouched forever. I actually checked that bag a couple days ago looking for some q tips because I know he brings them with him everywhere and figured they might be in one of his old travel things. There was only a few very old toiletries in it and a handful of condoms a couple days ago. I checked it when I went to put it away, the only thing missing from it were those condoms.
I don’t know what to do right now. There is a history from early on in the relationship of him attempting to be unfaithful I thought we worked through it and I haven’t had any suspicions anything was going on for a very long time but I can feel in my gut right now that something is very very wrong.
I know, logically, that even if there’s an alternative explanation for the missing condoms, the fact that I don’t trust him right now means this isn’t working out anymore. I plan on dealing with that when he comes back but I just don’t know what to do with myself in the meantime. I have this pit in stomach, I feel like I’m going to be sick constantly, I’m on the edge of a panic attack, and I can’t stop envisioning him fucking some random girl from college. I’m just stuck alone in our house going absolutely crazy. Any words to get me through the next 24 hours would be greatly appreciated.

Hello. Just passed 12th with a perfect score today (my_qualifications). I'm preparing for cuet exams right now to get top 3 colleges of DU. But that's not my final destination.
I've been hearing of Yale University for quite some time and after researching it, I found that it is to my interest. I want to make a career in Management so I'll be trying to get into Yale School of Business.
So my question is how to do so. In which way should I develop my profile in UG years to make it strong enough for a foreign university that cares about extra-curriculars more than academics? Our financial conditions are not that good that's why I didn't focus on these things during my schooling years (also the fact that I was ignorant about most of these things). This will change now though.
I am also aware of the GMAT exam for MBA. I've seen questions from it and it seems quite easy (I've been preparing for impact as well so my quants are something like 30℅ CAT level hehe). So the exam won't be a problem. The problem is achievements, essays, the interview, and also financial conditions. How to get good at all these things? I can't spend crores on my education. 50 Lakhs is the maximum I can go for my 2 years stay there. So I wanna know how can I earn a scholarship as well. Also, do these foreign universities guarantee placements like Indians universities as well? Also recommend other prestigious non-Indian universities!

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⚠️ WARNING: Maasverse Spoilers—Proceed with Caution ⚠️

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Part 1: Characters and Courts (sorry for those who already saw this post and now it's gone. I realized after publishing that Reddit formatting deleted a solid CHUNK of detail after the fact. Gimme a few days and I'll get it back up and published)
Part 2: World Map, Items, Terms & Other - YOU ARE HERE
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If this is the first post you've landed on, see Part 1 above for an introductory explanation to this two part post.

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UK + IRELAND

PRYTHIAN

A combination of Prydain, the old Welsh name for Britain, and Brython, which translates to “Ancient Britons” from Welsh.

HYBERN

A riff of Hibernia, the Classical Latin name for Ireland.

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Artist of Prythian map: P-dulcis on redbubble

ADDITIONAL EUROPEAN-PARALLEL LOCATIONS

ILLYRIA

The Ancient Greeks used the term Illyria to define a region in the western part of the Balkan Peninsula. The numerous peoples who populated those areas were known collectively as the Illyrians. The region itself is quite mountainous.

THE MIDDLE

May refer to the Midlands, the central part of England, though geographically the Prythian map places the Middle central to Prythian, not central to England; with the Prythian inclusion of Scotland, the Middle on Prythian maps is located further north than the actual Midlands of England.

UNDER THE MOUNTAIN

A potential nod to the Schiehallion, a cone-shaped mountain often referred to as the center of Scotland. It's name comes from the Gaelic Sìth Chailleann, meaning "fairy hill of the Caledonians." On the southwestern side of the mountain is said to lie the well-concealed Uamh Tom a' Mhòr-fhir, a cave serving as an entrance to the underworld.
As the Schiehallion lies in the middle of Scotland (the Night Court) and not the middle of mainland UK (Prythian), the Sciehallion could instead be representative of Ramiel.

THE WESTERN ISLES

May refer to the Outer Hebrides, also known as the Western Isles, which is an island chain off the west coast of mainland Scotland. They are also sometimes known as Innse Gall, a Gaelic term meaning "islands of the foreigners/strangers" which was originally used by mainland Highlanders when the islands were ruled by the Norse.
ACOTAR role: The Prison is located in the Western Isles.

THE PRISON

Though located in the Inner Hebrides of Scotland rather than the Outer, the Prison may be a nod to Beinn Shiantaidh, which is Scottish Gaelic for "holy mountain." It is located on the western side of the Island of Jura and is the second highest peak of the Paps of Jura.
Fun fact: Pap is of Old Norse origin and means breast.

VALLAHAN

Valhalla is the hall of slain warriors in Norse mythology, located in Asgard, where those who die in combat live in peace under the leadership of the god, Odin. They are said to dwell in Valhalla until the events of Ragnarök, where they will then march out to fight in aid of Odin against the jötnar, a type of being in Germanic mythology.
ACOTAR role: Vallahan is a faerie territory located in the northwest portion of the Continent.

ADRIATA

The Adriatic Sea is located in Southern Europe and separates the Italian Peninsula from the Balkan Peninsula. It contains more than 1,300 islands.

BOG OF OORID

The Oorid Lough is a freshwater lake in the west of Ireland.

CRETEA

Crete is the largest and southernmost island in Greece.
ACOTAR role: Cretea is where Miryam and Drakon's people lived following the War.

LAPPLUND

Lapland is a geographic region in Northern Fennoscandia which covers much of the Nordic countries. It is also a province of Sweden and the largest region of Finland.
ACOTAR role: Lapplund is where the Cauldron was hidden.

ITICA

Ithaca is an island featured in the Odyssey and was the island home of Odysseus. It is also a real island in Greece. The Kathara Monastery is located in Ithaca.
ACOTAR role: Itica is one of three temples where the feet of the Cauldron were hidden.

MONTESERE

Montserrat is a mountain range near Barcelona.
ACOTAR role: Montesere is a fae territory located in the Continent's NW and is considered generally wealthy. They allied with the loyalists in the War.

RAVENNIA

Ravenna is located in Northern Italy and was the capital of the Western Roman Empire.
ACOTAR role: Ravenna is a fae territory on the Continent and allied with the Loyalists during the War.

DUNMERE

Dunmere is a hamlet in Cornwall, England.
ACOTAR role: Dunmere is a town located within the Night Court, between Velaris and the sea.

NEVA

The Neva is the fourth-largest river in Europe and is located in northwestern Russia.
ACOTAR role: Neva is one of the largest human cities on the Continent and is where the Archeron sisters' father travels to trade.

SCYTHIA

The Scythians were an ancient Eastern Iranic equestrian nomadic people who migrated from Central Asia to the steppes of modern-day Ukraine and Southern Russia.
ACOTAR role: Scythia is one of the territories of the human lands on the Continent, ruled by Queen Vassa. They are said to be a horse loving people.

ROSEHALL

Rosehall is the name of a remote hamlet in the Scottish Highlands.
Fun fact: The 2nd Duke of Westminster acquired the Rosehall estate and his mistress at the time, Coco Chanel, redecorated the interior to her own liking. Winston Churchill, a close friend of the Duke, also visited the estate.
ACOTAR role: Rosehall is mentioned in ACOFAS and is theorized to be the place where Azriel's mother resides.

AFRICA-PARALLEL LOCATIONS

THE BLACK LAND

Black Land translates from Kemet, a popular ancient name for Egypt, which is derived from the color of the fertile black soil along the cultivated area of the Nile valley.
ACOTAR role: The Black Land is a region of the continent where human slaves were ruled over by a High Fae queen. Miryam and Drakon joined the mortals in the War and freed Miryam's people by crossing the desert and eventually the sea.

THE ERYTHRIAN SEA

The Erythraean Sea, originally an Ancient Greek geographical designation, has been used as a name for the Red Sea which lies between Africa and Asia.
ACOTAR role: Drakon used his magic to split the Erythian Sea.

ASIA-PARALLEL LOCATIONS

XIAN

Xi'an is the the most populous city in Northwest China snd the second most popular tourist destination in China.
ACOTAR role: Xian is a Fae territory on the Continent and allied with the Loyalists during the War. A large majority of the Dawn Court is made of Fae from Xian, including Thesan's mother. Feyre remarks that Amren may have molded her mortal body after their peoples.

BHARAT

Bhārat is one of the two principal official short names for the Republic of India.
ACOTAR role: The Archerons lost their fortune when their father's ships sank on the way to Bharat.

RASK

May refer to Rask, a city in Iran, that serves as both capital of its county and district.
ACOTAR role: Rask is a Fae territory on the Continent and allied with the Loyalists during the War.

ADDITIONAL LOCATIONS

VELARIS

Possibly derived from the Latin vēlo*,* meaning "to veil, cover, wrap" along with "to hide, conceal" and "to clothe in." Could also derive from the Latin vēlum, meaning "to veil, curtain" and also indicates a tarpaulin acting as cover for outdoor spaces.

THE WALL

No singular reference, but the presence of a wall separating one race from another, often humans from mythical beings, is rife throughout history, mythology, and fantasy.
One from each category that has loose ties to ACOTAR: (1) Hadrian's Wall, ie the Roman Wall, a defensive fortification of the Roman province of Britannia. It spanned from coast to coast, cutting across the entire width of Northern England. (2) In Norse mythology, the Master Builder asking for the hand of the goddess Freyja as payment for constructing a wall around Asgard to defend the gods. (3) The English village of Wall in Neil Gaiman's Stardust, named after the wall separating the land of Faerie from the mortal realm, highly guarded and cautioned against for mortals seeking to pass through.

THE MOONSTONE PALACE

Romans linked moonstone to the moon goddess Diana (goddess of wild animals and the hunt) and Ancient Greeks linked it to their lunar deities Artemis, Hecate, and Selene.

SIDRA RIVER

Sidra is a name of Latin origin and means "Goddess of the stars" or "like a star."

RAMIEL

Ramiel is a fallen Watcher, a type of Biblical angel, one of the 20 Watchers that rebelled against God by mating with mortal women, therefore creating the Nephilim (Shadowhunters, anyone?). Ramiel means "God has thundered." Ramiel is sometimes conflated with Remiel, also known as Jeremiel, meaning "God shall have mercy," as is listed as one of the seven Holy Angels. He is the archangel of hope and is responsible for divine visions and guiding the souls of the faithful into Heaven.

POOL OF STARLIGHT

No plausible connection found, though there is a famous pool in Greek mythology—a pool Mnemosyne presided over in Hades, counterpart to the river Lethe. Dead souls would drink from Lethe to wipe their past lives from remembrance when reincarnated. Those who drank from Mnemosyne's pool remembered and halted their transmigration of the soul.

ATHELWOOD

Ethel (also aethel) is an Old English word meaning "noble." Athelwood can mean "noblewood."
ACOTAR role: Athelwood is Morrigan's estate located in the Night Court.

GOLLIAN MOUNTAINS

Göll is one of the named Valkyries from Norse mythology. Her name means "tumult," or "noise, battle."
ACOTAR role: The Gollian Mountains are where the Valkyries were slain during the War.

MYRMIDONS

In Ancient Greek mythology, the Myrmidons were an Ancient Greek tribe. In the Iliad, they are the soldiers commanded by Achilles. Myrmidon has also come to mean "a follower or subordinate of a powerful person, typically one who is unscrupulous or carries out orders unquestioningly."
ACOTAR role: The Myrmidons are a set of mountains serving as the border between the Day Court and the Night Court from which the Illyrians migrated.

CESERA

No direct reference found, but may allude to Caesarea, the name of numerous cities and locations throughout the Roman Empire.
ACOTAR role: Cesera is one of three temples where the feet of the Cauldron were hidden.

SANGRAVAH

No direct reference found (and I lost my mind searching for one). Closest I came to was the similarly sounding Angharad, a feminine Welsh name, long associated with Welsh royalty, history, and myth, including Arthurian legend.
ACOTAR role: Sangravah is one of three temples where the feet of the Cauldron were hidden.

GREENFIELD VILLAGE

No direct connection found, though Greenfield is the name of several villages of England.
ACOTAR role: Greenfield village is a neighboring village to where Feyre grew up and where Isaac Hale's wife is from.

WINDHAVEN CAMP

No connection found, though a separate Windhaven also appears in Tower of Dawn in the TOG series. Altun—Windhaven being the rough translation—is located in a three-peaked mountain range and is the home of Sartaq's hearth-mother and family.
Fun fact: Windhaven is the name of a science-fiction novel by George R. R. Martin and Lisa Tuttle following a group of humans who crash-landed on a foreign planet and learned to craft their own wings out of the spaceship wreckage.

THE WOLF'S DEN

No connection found, BUT fun fact: there is a named Wolf's Den castle in George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series (aka Game of Thrones) that now serves as a prison. "All the days were much the same inside the Wolf's Den, and any change was usually for the worse." A Dance with Dragons, Ch 29
ACOTAR role: The Wolf's Den is the name of the worst tavern in Velaris that Nesta is known to frequent.

SILVERSPRING CREEK

No plausible connection found, BUT fun fact: "Silver Springs" is a song written by Stevie Nicks, performed by Fleetwood Mac, and is so strongly ACOTAR-coded even my non-loving playlist-to-book self can't deny it. If you want more bread crumbles that SJM is a Stevie Nicks fan, "Rhiannon" and it's lyric origins have potential ties to the Rhiannon of TOG.
You could be my silver springBlue-green colors flashin'I would be your only dreamYour shinin' autumn ocean crashin'
Time cas t a spell on you*, but you won't forget me*I know I could have loved youBut you would not let me
ACOTAR role: Silverspring Creek is a stream running through Feyre's human village, near where she hunted rabbits.

STRYGA'S CASTLE

No direct reference found, but due to Stryga/the Weaver resembling a female demon akin to a vampire in Slavic mythology (see the Monster section above), it is possible Stryga's former home, before she was confined to her cottage, is reminiscent of Bram Stoker's 1897 Dracula and the Transylvanian Castle complete with three vampiric sister brides who entice men with their beauty and charm before proceeding to feed upon them.

The Night Sky

ARKTOS

Arktos, also written Arctus, means "bear" in Ancient Greek. Arktos was a centaur who fought against the Lapith spearmen. The Arktos Megale (aka Ursa Major, the Great Bear) is one of the original 48 constellations listed by Ptolemy who drew on earlier works by Greek, Egyptian, Babylonian, and Assyrian astronomers.
ACOTAR role: Arktos is one of the three regarded holy stars (the furthest left star) of the Illyrians and serves as part of the symbol for the Night Court. The echelon of Arktosian is reserved for Illyrians who survive the Blood Right but fail to reach Ramiel.

CARYNTH

May refer to Corinth, an ancient city that was one of the largest and most important of Greece, or Carinthia, the southernmost Austrian state in the Eastern Alps, noted for its mountains and lakes.
ACOTAR role: Carynth is one of the three regarded holy stars (the middle star) of the Illyrians and serves as part of the symbol for the Night Court. The echelon of Carynthian is reserved for Illyrians who scale the summit of Ramiel during the Blood Rite and are considered elite warriors.

ORISTES

Orestes (also spelled Orestes) means "stands on a mountain" and he is the subject of several Ancient Greek plays and myths concerning his madness and purification.
ACOTAR role: Orestes is one of the three regarded holy stars (the furthest right star) of the Illyrians and serves as part of the symbol for the Night Court. The echelon of Oristian is reserved for Illyrians who make it to the Ramiel during the Blood Rite but don't reach the top.

Locations not listed: A slew of various more minor locations have not been listed, including the Four Market Squares of Velaris, certain cottages and houses, and even the Ironcrest Illyrian war-camp.
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THE CAULDRON

There are many magical cauldrons present in various mythologies, one being the Pair Dadeni in Welsh mythology, a magical cauldron able to resurrect the dead, and the coire ansic of Irish mythology, the cauldron of the chief god of the Tuatha Dé Danann, which never ran empty.

TRUTH-TELLER

Possibly inspired by Fragarach, an Irish mythological sword known as "The Whisperer" or "The Answerer." It was the sword of Nuada, the first high king; it was said that no one could tell a lie with Fragarach at their throat and that the sword inflicting wounds from which no one could recover.

THE HARP

May refer to the uaithne, the magical harp of the Dagda, the chief god of the Tuatha Dé Danann in Irish mythology. It could control men's emotions and change the seasons.

THE MASK

In Egyptian culture, death masks were designed to guide the spirits of those mummified into the next world.

THE UNKNOWN 4th TROVE ITEM

Seen in a vision by Nesta via Lathys, which we now know to be the Horn, and may refer to the Gjallarhorn of Norse mythology, the sound of which is said to herald the beginning of Ragnarok.

ATARAXIA

Ataraxia, in Ancient Greek philosophy, was a state of calmness untroubled by mental or emotional disquiet, ie tranquility of the mind. It was considered the ideal mental state for soldiers entering battle.
ACOTAR Role: Nesta's Made sword.

GWYDION

Gwydion is a name meaning "born of the trees" and is the given name of Gwydion fab Dôn, a magician, hero, and trickster of Welsh mythology. Caer Wydion, the castle of Gwydion, was the traditional Welsh name for the Milky Way.
ACOTAR role: The Starsword and twin to Truth-Teller.

NARBEN

No direct reference found, though narben in German means "scar."
ACOTAR role: Narben is a lost sword from the Dread Trove.

OUROBOROS MIRROR

The ouroboros is an ancient symbol of a serpent or a dragon eating its own tale, first present in ancient Egyptian iconography and the Greek magical tradition, the term itself deriving from Ancient Greek. It has been used frequently and extensively throughout fantasy literature. It often symbolizes the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

BOOK OF BREATHINGS

The Books of Breathing are a set of ancient Egyptian funerary texts that are intended to enable those deceased to continue their existence in the afterlife. It is a simplified form of the Book of the Dead.

VERITAS ORB

Veritas is of Latin origin meaning "truth." It is the name for the Roman virtue of truthfulness and in Roman mythology, Veritas is the Goddess of Truth. Universities and colleges such as Harvard use the term veritas as their motto.

SYMPHONIA

Symphonia is Greek in origin and was used to denote a variety of musical instruments.

AMARANTHA'S NECKLACE AND RING (JURIAN'S FINGER AND EYE)

Jurian's finger bone and eye, kept by Amarantha, are reminiscent of relics and reliquaries, often religious in nature. Relics typically consist of the physical remains or personal affects of a saint and the reliquary is the container that holds them.

FAEBANE

Possibly inspired by wolfsbane (aka aconite or monkshood), a poisonous flower ancient Greeks would poison arrows and bait with to hunt wolves. It is lethal and often fatal and is an oft-used plant and poison within the fantasy genre.
Fun fact: In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hamlet himself was killed with an aconite-laced blade.

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DAEMATI

Potentially a combination of the Greek word dae (to give) and the concept of mati, labeled as "the evil eye" in Greek classical antiquity. Daemati may effectively mean "to give the evil eye."

THE WEAVER'S SONG

The Weaver's song, sung when Feyre was stealing Rhysand's ring from her cottage, is similar to "The Twa Sisters," a traditional murder ballad dating back to mid 17th century England. It tells of two sisters who travel down to a body of water where the older one pushes the younger one in. A harp or a fiddle is then made out of the murdered sister's body, which plays itself and sings about her murder.

I felt myself getting a little heated in today's CASA group discussions about "trauma." For every 10 times you'll hear that word, "resilience" will come up maybe once. I think most of us are aware of how arm-chairy and buzzworthy trauma and therapy have become. It's one of the latest cultural trends that facilitate a fluidity to presumed-more-informed conversation, without the practice of developing finer lines of understanding and distinction.
On the basis of your invocation of "trauma" you can rush to provide "help" and "services" and begin blaming an incredible amount of "mental health issues" or "unresolved childhoods." It's literally the cliche of a freshman's behavior after enrolling in their first college psychology course on blast. They've already invoked unsubstantiated pseudo-science and pop-culture explicitly not psychology as tools to provide frameworks for understanding your families. When someone infers substance abuse from a story just because the accusation was levied or any kind of drug was referenced at any level, their conclusions or assumptions go unchecked. It's predictably baking a recipe for an unnecessary mess on top of whatever the family is going through.
You can feel the tension every time you speak in "checking" ways. This happens to me routinely. One of the presenters spoke to the biased and incomplete ways that foster parents or aggravated family members might speak to the nature of the case or anyone's character. I pointed out that case managers can leave out details and massage stories to fit their ends as well. That got ignored and we moved right along. It's a real concern, and you need to know how to protect your relationship with someone who might be specifically directed to undermine your effort to advocate with the evidence.
But it doesn't feel "pleasant" or "decent" when you "want to believe the best" about your colleagues. Is it less true? Absolutely not. I was literally forced into that position from predatory supervisors and watched dipshit coworkers skip along those disingenuous lines without hesitation. Anecdotes fawning over better-inclined and capable FCMs do nothing to erase that.
So I started thinking about "discomfort" broadly. Another concept that's been wholesale abused. We needed to be way too on guard for what or whether we said might be a "micro aggression" or would cause someone to feel "unsafe" or "uncomfortable." Again, our pop psychology and propensity to overstate the noisiest out-ragers, made it so critical thinking and doubt became sinful in and of themselves. Facts don't matter in that space. "Being heard" is afforded only if you're claiming victimhood, but then, only victimhood of a certain type. The own-goal that is reactionary politics when you forgo any genuine attempt at taking someone's, almost certainly mostly irrational but nonetheless real, concern seriously is the ongoing consequence we get to suffer.
I think the more you practice observing conversational patterns, word choices, and trends, you can start to see previously "abstract" things considerably more acutely. One thing I notice is a propensity for "moving right along." I don't care what the topic is, there's a "normal" pace and pater that is preferred. Violate that, and it's time to move on. Point out the failings of the people you're supposed to trust most or even ingratiate yourself to? Let's move right along into the next module, as we all know there's nothing much more to say about that.
Another pattern I notice is the "taken aback pause." It's not precisely a reaction to being "offended," but it's a stark enough detail or way of relaying information that who you're speaking with was not prepared to engage that intensely. If they're quick, it'll be a brink-of-condescending acknowledgement before moving-right-along, or if they're not quick, it'll be a placating obfuscating of what you said to "even things out."Again, these are imprecise norms of conversational behavior around the particulars of one culture at one point in time, but they're real and of consequence whether or not you can see them.
When we use the word "bias," we let ourselves off the hook on the myriad ways it manifests. We let "bias" obscure in the opposite way that we let "trauma" obscure. Trauma is abused to over-explain what should be considered a necessary series of responses or consequences. Bias is abused to overlook how deeply it colors your propensity to engage that over-explaining behavior. You are biased, first and foremost, to your subjective experience of reality. In my experience, almost no one is that clued into their own flow of experience. Even the ones that are, or are showing the most growth and evidence, struggle, and will struggle indefinitely. This includes myself.
That's the point, though. You need the struggle to keep your wits about you. You need appropriate stressors against the things that will help you grow and incorporate. By definition, norms put that insistence to the side so we can all find a baseline mutual understanding to move right along down. The more cliched you sound, if you don't have a reflex to pause and pull back, the more you're training yourself to believe and act on "just whatever it is you say." You're a circular and totalitarian monster by default.
Add to that, you may not have any real ability or willingness to recognize how many cliches you truly are under the spell of. This is what the unironic attempts around discussions of "privilege" do a generally miserable job of explaining. We all have privileges up and down hierarchies and competencies and dozens of other metrics we fluidly transition through all day. None are necessarily going to jar you awake or indicate there's anything worth examining on their own. Your cohort speaks your language. Your education taught you the "right" things. Your hobbies and interests conform to a person of your state and stature. "It's just how things are done."
This provokes people's insecurity as a standing state of a lack of readiness. When you poke people, you'll find they don't have "real" reasons for their behavior, beliefs, or words. It's all been handed to them. They're a series of unconscious forces they're more or less molding to because that's how our brains work. Your brain doesn't care what it forms a pattern around, just that it can do so. There's survival reasons for this, as well as a story of basic capacities to function regardless of the nature of the environment that's all-but certain to otherwise kill you if you can't figure it out.
I, routinely, provoke that insecurity. I've learned to show considerably less ambivalence about the person after they've been provoked, but it happens just as an ongoing and predictable course of my practice. This is my practice. I analyze. I pull back. I try to identify and speak to patterns, even if they're abstract, but certainly concrete enough for me to anticipate them and work with or around them. I know what kind of response I need built into what I can reliably anticipate is going to be yours. I know how to piss off and get ignored by "the internet," and I know how to illicit a thousand likes. What's important to me is that I'm speaking as closely to my real perspective or agenda as possible, and not being driven by an elusive brain chemical game subject to the mercy of algorithms or inarticulate desires to unhealthily fit in.
I want to fit in, but with an ever-winnowing type of person. I want to be less-wrong in the information I share, but not at the expense of someone's capacity to hear it or learn from it if I can't be bothered to temper how I say it. I want to grow in my capacity to accept people, but not at the expense of their obligation to better account for and relay their own experience. I've been told my whole life that I'm not allowed to expect the same things from other people as I might of myself. I think this is fundamentally wrong and condescending. I think I should maintain the expectation while doing everything in my power to reduce the barriers to any one person getting to whatever heights you think I've managed or been born with.
Here again, we stay lost. How do you remove barriers you can't see or might even be dispositionally against even acknowledging can exist altogether? How many "boot straps" types can even be bothered to acknowledge the impact of the villages they're living in? How many "deeply empathic" people would entertain pairing their sensibilities to the word "toxic" under any circumstance? It's pretty easy, now, for me to see when my forthright manner acts as too blunt an instrument. Can you see where your baseline disposition and sympathies cloud your judgment and capacity to act more accountably?
I feel like "accountable" itself is poorly understood. Just count! Count the disquieting contradictory thought. Count the intensity, frequency, and severity of the feelings. Count the attempts to mitigate or times you recognized forgoing to do so. Accountability doesn't mean wildly wielding an axe to bring down dramatic consequences upon everything and everyone that wasn't noticed until now. It's just asking yourself, over and over again, what can I control about this situation? What can I act on that speaks to my values and perception?
Let's take the real world example of me and Byron. I can't control his perception of what he thought he was doing in service to the kid. I can't control his awareness of any creeping mental health issues that might have arisen. I can't control whether or not he responds affirmatively to my new boundaries. I could control telling him what those boundaries were altogether, so I did. I can affirm that I'm only going to communicate along the lines that hopefully help the boundary conditions get met before I'm willing to get more colloquial or back to friendly. I can respect that he told me our friendship is "invaluable." I can't truthfully say I think we'd be using that word in a mutually understood way until I see practical, tangible effects upon my life that counteract where I feel I am as a direct result of my expression of friendship getting grossly taken advantage of.
Until then, I'll treat him like I would any client. Show me. I'll patiently-enough nod along, provide whatever perspective or reframe that I can, and remain open to demonstrated behavior changes. I don't have to throw myself back into his fire. If I'm going to claim a desire to protect and maintain genuine friendships or care for those in my life, I'm not going to treat myself with the ambivalence I see others suffer from themselves every day.
I choose that level of discomfort. I only mildly complain today, as it's gotten dramatically better, about doing things alone and never having anyone to hang out with. Byron was my go-to spot for killing time or hanging out. Not once in my free time have I said, "You know, fuck my boundary, let's hang out there!" How could I look myself in the mirror? How could I advocate for you establishing better boundaries with people in your life? How could I ignore what I would characterize as gleeful and willful defiance of doing "better" than playing out battered-wife excuse making? I will not play-act friendship with someone who can't be bothered to work as hard on themselves or in service to me as I've been for them. That's not the kind of friend I am, so it's not the one I'll let back in lightly.
What's normal, though? No matter how bad someone fucks you, forgive and pretend to forget, right? They're "family." Life's too short. It is what it is. They didn't mean to or weren't aware. That's not who they were in the past. Holding grudges is unhealthy. Your insecurities around being isolated or alone betray you. Your obligation to play along and appease your mutual network takes over. Whether any real healing or mutual understanding comes into the equation is perfectly mute because we need to just move right along and "love each other."
I watch that dance justify literally every conceivable level of atrocity. It is the exact same self-servicing motivatedly ignorant pattern. From your god's behavior right on down through your secret satisfaction and smirk at punishing your pet a little too aggressively just that one time. What you don't account for counts on you to carry out its consequences. And you are, every day, in big and small ways, and it's predictable and fixable, but only with stuff like this. You have to own it. You have to "yes, and" like it's an improv class. You have to perpetually entertain the thought that you are a misguided monster, but that fact doesn't have to dictate your behavior going forward nor need to illicit some special amount of stress or talking in circles.
Then you might have a prayer of genuinely helping anything, because you see how you're otherwise fucking it up within yourself. You can resist the insistence to move past meaningful details. You can point to specific repeatable demonstrations of your values. You can see other people responding to your confidence of relatable recognizable capacity, and not the shadow game of peacocking virtue signaling and mantra echoing.
I will spend thousands of dollars, use all my tools, and spend every waking hour I have trying to help. I think most people I've met would say the same thing. Who is actually doing so? And in service to whom? Do you trust what drives them? Do you see equitable put in get out dynamics? Or is it codepedence? Or insecurity? Or some noble story of infinite sacrifice and unconditional love?
I'm willing to set the conditions because I expect better than what's normal of and for myself. Were circumstances reversed, I wouldn't treat you as I've been treated, and most importantly, have the demonstrated behavior from myself to trust. I've spent the time and money. I've opened the conversations. I've challenged the mismanaged powers and privileges. I've risen to the challenge of creating circumstances that inch me closer to what I actually want or think is better versus what's expected of me. It never ends. Every second you pretend otherwise, you disappear, and I have to fit your abstract abdication into my specific constructs.

I’m a freshman in college and last semester I met this guy who has kind of become my friend. I say kind of because we are friends through situation rather than choice. This guy is the president of a club that I became the secretary of on campus and a research student under one of my professors from last semester (who I am friends with) and because of this I see him often enough. He got ahold of my number after I became part of the club group chat and since then has privately and casually texted me, which I was at first uncomfortable about, but brushed it off as I didn’t think he was weird and his texts were normal. I didn’t really think anything was weird about him until this semester. He started randomly touching the ends of my hair and patting my head which I have repeatedly told him not to do which he completely ignores and continues doing anyways.
He also started getting upset if I forget to text him back (I have a lot going on in life and we are not close friends) He complains to my sister about it (she goes to the same college) and when he sees me on campus he says that “I need to fix my texting and communication problem.”
What really made me feel uncomfortable about him is that a few weeks ago we had a long conversation about random things, which was fine, until he started asking me what I was most afraid of. I brushed him off and said something silly, but he kept coming back to it throughout the conversation over and over and over again. I finaly said that I wasn’t afraid of anything (genuinely I’m not) and I threw the question back at him and he said “hmmm, I haven’t really thought about it”. We talked about favorite animals and he asked the question again “ what are you afraid of?” My sister came by and he abruptly changed the topic and became quiet.
Just before that conversation he invited my sister and I to a dinner party at his dorm and because I didn’t want to be rude, I said sure and went. While I was there we watched a movie and afterwards he brought out a guitar and said I could play it if I wanted to, then asked me to play some Spanish guitar. I asked how he knew that I could play Spanish guitar and he said that he had found and looked at my mom’s Facebook page and saw that she had posted some videos of my playing among other things like the cakes that I made for my sibling’s birthday and the things that I baked. It wouldn’t be so weird if it wasn’t for the fact that those posts and videos were from 2018 and he had dug through hundreds of videos and posts to find them. On top of that he never talked about any of the posts that pertained to my sister. Little while later he played music (for about three hours straight) and the entire playlist was romantic songs, to which he tried to get me to dance with him. He asked if my sister and I could dance and we both said we knew how to waltz. My sister offered to teach him how to, but he kept insisting that I do it, and to avoid awkwardness, I did it. I waltzed him right into the couch so I didn’t have to keep going as I was very uncomfortable.
After the conversation, I have been avoiding him as much as possible and texting him as little as possible which has been hard because he started to wait outside my classroom for me to get out of class and follow me around campus until I would leave (I commute). I ran into him at a college picnic about two weeks ago and when he saw me he abruptly turned away from the picnic and headed to his dorm. I was sitting with a few of the professors and they were all shocked that he would turn down free food. A little while later he came by and sat down next to me at a table and rubbed my back asking if I was okay (I have some health issues that he is aware of). I subtly moved away from him just far enough to let him know I was not comfortable with his attention and he got up in a huff and went to play a yard game. Every few minutes he would look over to see what I was doing and just stare. I stayed with the professors and didn’t leave until the picnic was over and walked back to the college with one of my professors.
His texting has become a little strange too. He used to rarely use any punctuation and now all of his texts are like this “(my name)!!! How are you??“ “ What are you doing?!?!?! Just about every single text has an exclamation mark after it.
Is this stalking or am I being too much?

Round 1, Pick 23 - Brian Thomas Jr., WR, LSU:
NFL: After the departure of Calvin Ridley in free agency, the Jaguars were determined to find a physical, fast receiver who could give them a vertical element in the pass game. They found it in Thomas, a stud who found the end zone 17 times last season for LSU. This is a big addition for Trevor Lawrence and Co.
CBS Sports: B+. This is a heck of a move for a team that needs another young weapon. He can fly and his best football is in front of him. Watch out for their offense in 2024.
ESPN: Thomas is one of the biggest (6-foot-3, 209 pounds) and fastest receivers in the draft (4.33 40-yard dash at the combine). His production in the SEC was elite in 2023: 17.3 yards per catch, 17 TD catches. He gives the Jaguars something they haven't had since Allen Robinson II (2014-17): Someone who can go up and get 50-50 balls and provide a big red-zone target. The Jaguars threw few end-zone fade routes the past several seasons, but that should change with Thomas, who had 10 TD catches on go or fade routes last season, the second-most in FBS to Rome Odunze.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Enjoys the Browns, Texans, and Vikings and this pick had it all.
Round 2, Pick 48 - Maason Smith, DT, LSU:
NFL: When I spoke to Smith last week, he made sure to highlight his workout with the Jaguars -- his final team visit -- as clearly his best. The Jags agreed. Smith has first-round tools but has been beset by injuries and a rotating cast of defensive coaches at LSU. His production is lacking, but his potential is downright exciting. If they're patient, the Jaguars might have something here.
CBS Sports: B-. Highly touted recruit who dealt with injuries and never quite met hype in college. Tall, sleek interior player who flashes that big-recruit talent at times just not ultra consistent. Won’t be limited athletically in the NFL. Rushes get far too high, which saps his power. Nice arm over but really his only move. Fills a need.
ESPN: The Jaguars needed to bolster their run defense, which faded down the stretch in 2023, and get younger on the defensive line. The 6-foot-5, 306-pounder can play inside as well as at defensive end, which gives the Jaguars some versatility along the front with Roy Robertson-Harris and DaVon Hamilton. Hamilton had a disappointing season in 2023 because of a back infection and he never reached the level he did in 2022, which earned him a contract extension. The Jaguars also released NT Folorunso Fatukasi this spring after two disappointing seasons, so adding depth along the defensive front was a priority.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: His record in the fuzzy bunny challenge is 19.
Round 3, Pick 96 - Jarrian Jones, CB, Florida State:
NFL: Measuring nearly 6-feet and running a 4.38-second 40-yard dash helped Jones' cause quite a bit. He has inside and outside experience but likely will be a nickel corner in the NFL. I thought he was a Day 3 prospect because of his short arms and long injury history, but Jones has gone up against talented receivers and won some battles.
CBS Sports: B. Taller than most nickel CBs but has requisite twitch and possesses the vertical juice to carry deep routes. Change of direction is very good but just not consistent. Tends to get his pads high when trying to ID the play, which saps his quickness. Unreliable tackler. Good ball skills and destroys screens on regular basis.
ESPN: The 6-foot, 190-pound Jones lined up primarily in the slot in 2023, so that's where he'll start with the Jaguars. The Jaguars signed CB Ronald Darby in free agency to play on the outside opposite Tyson Campbell. Head coach Doug Pederson said at the owners meetings that Darnell Savage Jr., whom they also signed in March, would be playing nickel, so Jones joins the rotation there along with Antonio Johnson. Jones has good speed (he ran 4.38 in the 40 at the combine) and has played outside at FSU at times as well, but the team has confidence that Darby can be the starter.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Rolex? Bulova? Omega? Patek Philippe? This man is CASIO all the way.
Round 4, Pick 114 - Javon Foster, OT, Missouri:
NFL: Foster has excellent experience at left tackle, and he looked facile at right tackle at the Senior Bowl. He's not an exceptional athlete but has good length, is patient in pass protection and can quietly get the job done. He's likely a swing tackle to start out.
CBS Sports: B+. College OT who has the frame to stay there but maybe not the overall athletic profile. Power and quick-setting skills shine. Can win ugly and importantly shows recovery skill. This is a smart investment. Just gets the job done on a routine basis.
ESPN: The Jaguars have only one offensive tackle under contract beyond this season (right Anton Harrison) so this was a position the Jaguars needed to address. Foster started 39 games at left tackle and two at right tackle at Missouri but he won't be asked to play in 2024 unless there are injuries to left tackle Cam Robinson and swing tackle Walker Little -- or the Jaguars decide to trade Robinson, in which case the 24-year-old Foster could become the swing tackle as a rookie.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Spends all day writing letters to bring back Club Penguin.
Round 4, Pick 116 - Jordan Jefferson, DT, LSU:
NFL: That's the third LSU player the Jags have selected, and the fourth SEC player. Jefferson is one of three Tigers DTs in this draft class, and he is a bull-strong battler inside. However, he might have to make it as an early-down run-stopper because of his lack of pass-rush juice.
CBS Sports: D+. Classic wide-bodied DT who thrives against the run. Thick frame. Block-shedding skills are well-developed but has no pass-rush plans. Active on passing downs just rarely gets home. Length is a plus and he’s an above-average athlete for a future NT. Not a bad player just limited and this feels early.
ESPN: Jefferson is the third LSU player -- and second on defense -- the Jaguars have drafted so far. It's clear the Jaguars are mining inside linebackers coach Matt House, who spent the past two seasons as LSU's defensive coordinator. The 6-foot-4, 317-pound Jefferson -- who played three seasons at West Virginia before transferring to LSU -- showed off his upper body strength at the combine by benching 225 pounds 34 times. The Jaguars' run defense faded in the second half of the season and played a major role in a season-ending loss to Tennessee -- Derrick Henry ran for a season-high 153 yards -- and the team cut nose tackle Folorunso Fatukasi in March so an upgrade along the interior of the defensive line was a priority in the draft.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He has suffered from Ailurophobia for as long as he can remember.
Round 5, Pick 153 - Deantre Prince, CB, Mississippi:
NFL: Prince's speed gives him a chance, either as a corner or on special teams, but his lean, shorter frame could be problematic. He was a reliable contributor for the Rebels over the past several seasons.
CBS Sports: B. Outside CB with rockets attached his cleats. Can really run. Route-recognition skills must improve. High-effort type vs. the run but blockers devour him too often. Instinctive in coverage when everything is in front of him. Plays more athletically than his workout. With coaching can be solid pro.
ESPN: The Jaguars continue to add to the secondary with Prince, who lined up almost exclusively outside in college. He had six interceptions and 21 pass breakups in four seasons for the Rebels and one interception in one season at Northeast Mississippi Community College. He worked as a gunner on punt coverage as well, and his best chance to make an impact as a rookie will likely be on special teams.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Won’t eat bugles until after he’s had them on his fingers like claws.
Round 5, Pick 167 - Keilan Robinson, RB, Texas:
NFL: Three straight backs off the board. The Jaguars probably needed more RB depth, and Robinson brings top-shelf speed to Jacksonville. In a crowded Texas backfield, Robinson had to scrap for every offensive touch (156 total in 45 career games) he received. His meal ticket likely will be as a gadget-play specialist or gunner or jammer on special teams.
CBS Sports: C-. Played behind two studs at Texas but made the most of his minimal attempts. Has breakaway speed in a smaller frame. Not a very decisive runner who can win with his vision alone. Not ultra twitchy and elusive. Has some return ability. But this is too early for a developmental type.
ESPN: Robinson started his college career at Alabama and finished at Texans. He ran for 796 yards and eight touchdowns, but he has more value as a kick returner. He averaged 23.6 yards per kickoff return on 39 returns in his career. The Jaguars signed receivereturner Devin Duvernay to replace Jamal Agnew, but the new kickoff rule makes returners more valuable and teams may opt to put two returners on the field at the same time. He also covered kicks at Texas so this is a special teams pick for the Jaguars.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: The only thing worse than being drafted here is having to know TheFencingCoach.
Round 6, Pick 212 - Cam Little, K, Arkansas:
NFL: Our third kicker in a short span here. Little arguably has the best leg talent of the three and can hit all the way out to the 60-plus-yard range. But his inconsistencies (including at the combine) could make him a bit untrustworthy if he struggles in late-game situations.
CBS Sports: B-. Three years of 80-plus percent make rate on field goals in the SEC.
ESPN: Little is the most accurate kicker in Arkansas history, making 82.8% of his attempts (53 of 64) in his three-year career. He also never missed a PAT (129 for 129). He'll be the third kicker on the roster, joining Joey Slye and Riley Patterson, who kicked the game-winning field goal in the Jaguars' 31-30 victory over the Los Angeles Chargers in a wild card playoff game following the 2022 regular season. The Jaguars had agreed to terms with Denver kicker Wil Lutz in free agency but Lutz decided to return to the Broncos, so Little would likely be the favorite to win the competition with Slye and Patterson.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He is excited to find out where the 36th NFL team is located.
Round 7, Pick 236 - Myles Cole, DE, Texas Tech:
NFL: Finding the right technique for Cole will be key, as he lacks the bulk to handle full-time interior duty, but his unusual traits (especially his length) make him a fun Round 7 dice roll.
CBS Sports: B. Absolutely enormous, freaky long EDGE. Moves well for his size but wasn’t overly productive in college. Has hand work but too often blocks stick to him. Does not deploy his length as an advantage. Has to add that to his arsenal.
ESPN: Cole's measurables at the combine were impressive: 36 7/8-inch arms (longest of any player) and a 7-foot-3 wingspan. He also ran a 4.67-second 40-yard dash, which is impressive for a 6-foot-6, 278-pounder. But his college production wasn't as impressive, with five sacks in six seasons (four years at Louisiana-Monroe and two at Texas Tech). He's a developmental project.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks Sisko was, no IS, the best Trek captain.

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TOP 20 REASONS WHY I'M THE MOST LEGIT EXAM, HW, ONLINE CLASS TUTOR ON REDDIT:

1. Team of U.S. Academic Experts: I and my team of dedicated academic experts complete all types of academic coursework for students in most math, English, science, business, humanities, social Sciences, computer programming, and foreign language classes on a 24/7/365 full-time round-the-clock basis. This is not some part-time gig for me. It’s literally my primary source of income. I can regularly make myself available to help students with last-minute & same-day academic requests.
2. Essay Writing Skills: I can write essays & research papers in native U.S. American English and fluent Canadian English using APA MLA Harvard Chicago Vancouver OSCOLA IEEE formatting & citations.
3. 75+ Types of Academic Software: I am highly skilled & experienced in using over 75+ types of academic software and educational platforms including the following: ALEKS, Blackboard, Brightspace, Canvas, Cengage, WebAssign, ConnectMath, Crowdmark, D2L, Moodle, Pearson MyLab and Mastering, MyMathLab, MyStatLab, MyOpenMath, StraighterLine, WebWork, and Wiley.
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6. Study Help Apps: I have over 15+ paid subscriptions to a wide range of study help apps, software, websites, and programs to help me solve exam & homework questions faster and more efficiently. Some of these resources include: Brainly, Chegg, CourseHero, Quizlet, SymboLab & WolframAlpha.
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HOW I CALCULATE FINAL RATES:

• Exams & Quizzes: Final rates for exams and quizzes depend on various factors including: whether or not there is proctoring, how many hours the exam is, total number of questions including sub-parts, preferred method of me delivering solutions, whether it's show all work or just the answer only, and whether the assessment has a flexible window of time to complete or a fixed & rigid start and end time.
• Full Courses: Final rates for full class help depend all the foregoing plus: total number of hw, quizzes, exams, discussion posts, and other academic tasks left that need to be completed, total number of weeks or modules left in the class to complete, and whether there is required multi factor authentication for logging in like Duo Push or text passcode.
• Essays Papers Discussion Posts: Final rates for writing tasks depend on the required number of words or pages. topic of interest, type of citations, required number and type of sources & bibliography style , level of research required, and type of additional software required to complete the essay like: Excel, R, or Minitab.

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ABOUT MY RATES & PAYMENT OPTIONS:

• Rationale for My Rates: I sincerely believe my rates are more than fair considering my education, skills, native born U.S. resident status, legitimacy, and the substantial amount of value, stress relief, and saved time & energy I’d be providing you in exchange for my valuable, irretrievable time, energy, and effort.
• Disclaimer About Rates: Completing someone else's exam, essay, or homework assignment is obviously NOT something you can just freely ask anyone to do, especially on the internet. Therefore, such help should be well-compensated. Services that are reliable and deliver high-quality results are difficult to find and are very high in demand. Thus, I expect to be compensated fairly for all the value, stress relief, and saved time & energy my services provide. However, I may be willing to negotiate rates if necessary.
• Payment Methods: I accept PayPal (required for all Canadian students), Venmo, Zelle, Cash App, and anonymous credit & debit card payments via online invoice.
• Payment Plans: I offer the following payment plans for my services: weekly (most expensive), monthly, half-now / half-later, and all upfront (least expensive).
• Money Back Guarantee: I guarantee the following grades for coursework completed: A+. A, A-, B+, B. and B-. However, I offer a 50% refund for C+, C, and C- grades, and a full 100% refund for D+, D, D-, and F grades.

CURRENT RATES -- AS OF SUMMER / FALL 2022 -- SUBJECT TO CHANGE:

• Full Class Help Rates: $595 – $2495 USD
• Exam & Test Help Rates: $150 – $350 USD
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• HW Assignment Help Rates: $60 – $420 USD
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THE OBLIGATORY "IS THIS A SCAM?" QUESTION:
Considering the fact that you found my contact information online, it’s understandable to be skeptical regarding the legitimacy of my services. Therefore, I’m willing to do all of the following to help you feel more secure in trusting me with your academic needs:

• Engage in a Telephone interview: Speak with you on the phone and answer any questions you may have so that you have the opportunity to assess and analyze my tone, articulation, and accent. I’m a New Jersey-born Irish/Italian-American, but I have been told that I speak in an erudite & articulate suburban American accent with a “professor style” voice somewhat resembling the voice of actor: Ben Stein.
• Provide Telephone References: Provide you with the contact information of students who have utilized my services in the past who would be more than willing to vouch for my skills.

MY REBUTTAL TO THE OBLIGATORY “IS THIS A SCAM?” QUESTION:
At the risk of sounding arrogant, I consider myself to be at least marginally more intelligent (both academically & socially) than the average person. Therefore, if I ever decided to suddenly risk prison time, risk my reputation, and risk enduring the wrath of modern-day “cancel culture” by scamming people out of their money:

• Not Worth the Money: I certainly wouldn’t do it for such paltry amounts of money. (i.e., anything less than $1,000 per victim.)
• Most Students are Broke: I certainly wouldn’t choose high school & college students as my “target audience” to scam, considering that most people without college degrees have abysmally low annual incomes.
• Waste of Time & Energy: Communicating back and forth with potential clients is an absurdly long time sink since only less than 10% of all potential clients who reach out to me actually become paying clients of mine.
• All My Payment Apps are Still Active: If you pay me to provide academic services and I don’t deliver, you can always dispute the payment with the payment app and easily get your money refunded. If I were in the habit of swindling money from people, then all of my payment accounts would have been investigated and be completely shut down by now.
• My Mission: Thank you for taking the time to read my Reddit post. I take what I do very seriously and I always strive to get the highest possible grades for all students who entrust me with their coursework.
• Closing Words: Please feel free to reach out to me if you're sincerely interested in having help you with your school work. I am available via text, email, and call almost 24/7/365.

Paid Help from Hiraedu: If You're struggling to handle your comptia or any other WGU Exam or any other coursework, get help from Hiraedu and pay after the exam. Contact details for Hiraedu is: WhatsApp: +1 (213) 594-5657 OR Call: +1 727 456 9641
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Contact Hiraedu for any type of Academic Help:
Contact Details for Hiraedu Helper:
WhatsApp: +1 (213) 594-5657
Call: +1 727 456 9641
Website: hiraedu. com
Email: [info@hiraedu](mailto:info@hiraedu). com
ACADEMIC TASKS MY TEAM AND I CAN COMPLETE:

• Entire Degree Programs
• Full Online Classes (1 - 20+ Weeks Long)
• Proctored Exams Quizzes Tests
• Homework Assignments
• Research Papers Term Papers Essays
• Projects & Labs
• Discussion Posts
• Annotated Bibliographies
• Employment Assessments
• Certification Programs

MY TEAM'S CLASSES OF EXPERTISE:

• Statistics: AP Statistics Biostatistics Business Statistics Elementary Statistics Intro to Statistics Psychology Statistics Social Science Statistics Statistics & Probability Statistical Methods Statistical & Probability Models
• Math: Advanced Functions Algebra Calculus 1, 2, 3 (and 4 in some schools) Vector Calculus Differential Calculus Integral Calculus Multivariable Calculus Differential Equations Discrete Math Discrete Structures Finite Mathematics Functions Geometry Linear Algebra Precalculus Probability Real Analysis Statistics Trigonometry Quantitative Methods & Reasoning
• Science: Anatomy & Physiology Astronomy Biochemistry Biology Chemistry (General, Inorganic & Organic) Dental / Pre-Dental Earth Science Engineering (Almost All Types) Environmental Science Epidemiology Fluid & Mechanics Geology Geophysics Medicine / Pre-Med Microbiology Neuroscience Physics Physical Science
• Business: Accounting Auditing Banking Business Administration Business Law Corporate Finance Cost Accounting Econometrics Economics Finance Financial Institutions Financial Reporting Global Economics Governance International Economics Macroeconomics Management Marketing MBA Courses Mergers and Acquisitions Microeconomics Operations Management Principles of Accounting Real Estate Taxation
• English: Business Writing Creative Writing Critical Reading Digital Media Eastern Literature English Literature Essays Expository & Persuasive Writing Fiction Writing Greek and Roman Philosophy Grammar Poetry
• Humanities & Social Sciences: Architecture Anthropology Art History Communication Criminal Justice Forestry Ethnic Studies Film History Law Pre-Law Music Philosophy Political Science Psychology Psychiatry Religious Studies Sociology Theology Women Studies
• Computer Science & Programming: Android AWS Azure Blockchain Cryptocurrency Smart Contracts C C# C++ Cloud Computer Organization and Assembly Languages CSS Data Science Data Structures and Algorithms Deep Learning Design Patterns Game Design and Development iOS Java Javascript Machine Learning MATLAB MySQL Networking NoSQL Object Oriented Programming Operating Systems PHP Principles of Computer Science Programming for Virtual Reality Programming Languages Python R Robotics Ruby Software Engineering SQL Swift Web Development

MY EDUCATIONAL SOFTWARE OF EXPERTISE:

• Acellus ALEKS Aplia APEX Learning Badgr Blackboard Blink Learning Brightspace / D2L Canvas Cengage CengageNow Childsmath Cisco ConnectMath Connexus CPM Crowdmark EViews Edmentum Examity Excel Garch Google Classroom Google Education Gradescope Hawkes Learning Honorlock iClicker InQuizitive (Norton) Java Kaltura Khan Academy Knewton Kryterion LaunchPad MATLAB Maple MasteringChemistry MasteringPhysics MathXL Mathematica McGraw-Hill Connect MegaStat Microsoft Teams Microsoft Access, Word, Excel, PowerPoint Mindtap Minitab MonitorEDU Moodle MyAccountingLab MyEconLab MyFinanceLab MyITLab MyMathLab MyOpenMath MyPsychLab MySocLab MyStatLab NCSS Outlier Pearson MyLab and Mastering Piazza PlatoWeb Prezi Proctor360 Proctorio Proctortrack Python R Respondus Lockdown Browser with Webcam SAM Sapling SAS SPSS Socrative Stata StraighterLine Turnitin VoiceThread WebAssign WebEx WebWork Wiley WileyPlus Zoom

TOP 20 REASONS WHY I'M THE MOST LEGIT EXAM, HW, ONLINE CLASS TUTOR ON REDDIT:

1. U.S. Citizenship Status: I have native-born U.S. citizenship status, an 100% authentic & natural U.S. American accent, and a verified New Jersey, USA residence. I can speak on the phone professionally in both perfect native U.S. English and fluent Canadian English.
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4. Professional Website: I have a professional, well-designed, well-written, 100% secure SEO-optimized WordPress business themed website: hiraedu.com
5. Team of U.S. Academic Experts: I and my team of dedicated academic experts complete all types of academic coursework for students in most math, English, science, business, humanities, social Sciences, computer programming, and foreign language classes on a 24/7/365 full-time round-the-clock basis. This is not some part-time gig for me. It’s literally my primary source of income. I can regularly make myself available to help students with last-minute & same-day academic requests.
6. Essay Writing Skills: I can write essays & research papers in native U.S. American English and fluent Canadian English using APA MLA Harvard Chicago Vancouver OSCOLA IEEE formatting & citations.
7. 75+ Types of Academic Software: I am highly skilled & experienced in using over 75+ types of academic software and educational platforms including the following: ALEKS, Blackboard, Brightspace, Canvas, Cengage, WebAssign, ConnectMath, Crowdmark, D2L, Moodle, Pearson MyLab and Mastering, MyMathLab, MyStatLab, MyOpenMath, StraighterLine, WebWork, and Wiley.
8. Can Change IP Address: I have multiple reliable VPN software including: NordVPN, SurfShark & ExpressVPN that allows me to successfully change my computer’s original New Jersey IP address to any major city in the U.S. & Canada to avoid raising red flags with students’ online class software.
9. Proctored Exam Help: I have developed multiple highly effective methods of helping students with exams, tests, and quizzes that are proctored by software like: Respondus Lockdown Browser with Webcam, Honorlock, Examity, Proctorio, Proctor360, Proctortrack, and ProProctor using 3 highly effective proven methods. Option 1 - WhatsApp: I use WhatsApp to have the student discreetly text me photos of the exam questions outside of the webcam’s view and I text them the correct solutions to the exam questions. Option 2 - Screen Share: Using screen share software like Zoom to see the student’s screen displaying the exam questions and I text the correct solutions. Option 3 - Remote PC Access & Control: Using remote computer access software like to control the student’s mouse and keyboard from my own computer.
10. Study Help Apps: I have over 15+ paid subscriptions to a wide range of study help apps, software, websites, and programs to help me solve exam & homework questions faster and more efficiently. Some of these resources include: Brainly, Chegg, CourseHero, Quizlet, SymboLab & WolframAlpha.
11. Calculators & Math Software: I have access to a very sophisticated graphing calculator and various mathematical software that provides step-by-step solutions to complex mathematical problems within seconds, allowing me to provide exact solutions to the student in a timely manner.
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14. Flexible Payment Methods: I offer negotiable rates, multiple payment methods (PayPal, Venmo, Cash App, Zelle, anonymous credit & debit card payments via online invoice), and flexible payment plans: weekly (most expensive), monthly, half-now / half-later, and all-up-front (least expensive).
15. Money Back Guarantee: I have won multiple academic awards for my exceptional skills & expertise in math. I guarantee overall A & B grades for all coursework completed. Plus. I also offer a 50% refund for C+, C, and C- scores, and a full 100% refund for D+, D, D-, and F scores.

HOW I CALCULATE FINAL RATES:

• Exams & Quizzes: Final rates for exams and quizzes depend on various factors including: whether or not there is proctoring, how many hours the exam is, total number of questions including sub-parts, preferred method of me delivering solutions, whether it's show all work or just the answer only, and whether the assessment has a flexible window of time to complete or a fixed & rigid start and end time.
• Full Courses: Final rates for full class help depend all the foregoing plus: total number of hw, quizzes, exams, discussion posts, and other academic tasks left that need to be completed, total number of weeks or modules left in the class to complete, and whether there is required multi factor authentication for logging in like Duo Push or text passcode.
• Essays Papers Discussion Posts: Final rates for writing tasks depend on the required number of words or pages. topic of interest, type of citations, required number and type of sources & bibliography style , level of research required, and type of additional software required to complete the essay like: Excel, R, or Minitab.

ABOUT MY RATES & PAYMENT OPTIONS:

• Rationale for My Rates: I sincerely believe my rates are more than fair considering my education, skills, native born U.S. resident status, legitimacy, and the substantial amount of value, stress relief, and saved time & energy I’d be providing you in exchange for my valuable, irretrievable time, energy, and effort.
• Disclaimer About Rates: Completing someone else's exam, essay, or homework assignment is obviously NOT something you can just freely ask anyone to do, especially on the internet. Therefore, such help should be well-compensated. Services that are reliable and deliver high-quality results are difficult to find and are very high in demand. Thus, I expect to be compensated fairly for all the value, stress relief, and saved time & energy my services provide. However, I may be willing to negotiate rates if necessary.
• Payment Methods: I accept PayPal (required for all Canadian students), Venmo, Zelle, Cash App, and anonymous credit & debit card payments via online invoice.
• Payment Plans: I offer the following payment plans for my services: weekly (most expensive), monthly, half-now / half-later, and all upfront (least expensive).
• Money Back Guarantee: I guarantee the following grades for coursework completed: A+. A, A-, B+, B. and B-. However, I offer a 50% refund for C+, C, and C- grades, and a full 100% refund for D+, D, D-, and F grades.

CURRENT RATES -- AS OF SUMMER / FALL 2022 -- SUBJECT TO CHANGE:

• Full Class Help Rates: $595 – $2495 USD
• Exam & Test Help Rates: $150 – $350 USD
• Quiz Help Rates: $60 – $180 USD
• HW Assignment Help Rates: $60 – $420 USD
• Essay & Paper Writing Help Rates: $19 – $29 USD per 300 words

THE OBLIGATORY "IS THIS A SCAM?" QUESTION:
Considering the fact that you found my contact information online, it’s understandable to be skeptical regarding the legitimacy of my services. Therefore, I’m willing to do all of the following to help you feel more secure in trusting me with your academic needs:

• Engage in a Telephone interview: Speak with you on the phone and answer any questions you may have so that you have the opportunity to assess and analyze my tone, articulation, and accent. I’m a New Jersey-born Irish/Italian-American, but I have been told that I speak in an erudite & articulate suburban American accent with a “professor style” voice somewhat resembling the voice of actor: Ben Stein.
• Provide Telephone References: Provide you with the contact information of students who have utilized my services in the past who would be more than willing to vouch for my skills.

MY REBUTTAL TO THE OBLIGATORY “IS THIS A SCAM?” QUESTION:
At the risk of sounding arrogant, I consider myself to be at least marginally more intelligent (both academically & socially) than the average person. Therefore, if I ever decided to suddenly risk prison time, risk my reputation, and risk enduring the wrath of modern-day “cancel culture” by scamming people out of their money:

• Not Worth the Money: I certainly wouldn’t do it for such paltry amounts of money. (i.e., anything less than $1,000 per victim.)
• Most Students are Broke: I certainly wouldn’t choose high school & college students as my “target audience” to scam, considering that most people without college degrees have abysmally low annual incomes.
• Waste of Time & Energy: Communicating back and forth with potential clients is an absurdly long time sink since only less than 10% of all potential clients who reach out to me actually become paying clients of mine.
• All My Payment Apps are Still Active: If you pay me to provide academic services and I don’t deliver, you can always dispute the payment with the payment app and easily get your money refunded. If I were in the habit of swindling money from people, then all of my payment accounts would have been investigated and be completely shut down by now.

CONCLUSION:

• My Mission: Thank you for taking the time to read my Reddit post. I take what I do very seriously and I always strive to get the highest possible grades for all students who entrust me with their coursework.
• Closing Words: Please feel free to reach out to me if you're sincerely interested in having help you with your school work. I am available via text, email, and call almost 24/7/365.

Contact Details for Hiraedu Helper:
WhatsApp: +1 (213) 594-5657
Call: +1 727 456 9641
Website: hiraedu. com
Email: [info@hiraedu](mailto:info@hiraedu). com
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Hello everyone, I've been dealing with a break up that shook up everything about myself for the past 7 months. I just want to write this as a reflective piece. This was a 3 and a half year long relationship.
So I was dating a woman that I met in college (she was slightly older than me so she already had graduated), and the first few months felt like heaven. I never really had a relationship before where I felt so compelled, so in love with someone. And she really was a sweetheart, she did so many nice gestures, date ideas for us, and I was completely in sync and returned the favor as well. But then COVID hit and we went to remote learning/working from home. And this is honestly where our relationship's issues started to come into play, and not because of us (initially). Without revealing anything personal, my ex worked an incredibly abusive and demanding job that would have her often working until midnight or later, every single day. And this went on for years. The issue with this, on top of her trying to study, was that everything in our relationship had to either be cut off or revolve around her job. The thing is though, is that I learned over time (especially once I started my career and worked for a bit), was that she was under no obligation to actually work these insane hours with no overtime. She was just letting her job take advantage of her and essentially bully/pressure her into doing far more work than she needed to. While short-term this was not a huge issue to me, this was also actively eating into her own personal goals and achievements, and was taking a toll on her health as well.
I tried everything in the most polite way possible to convince her to look elsewhere, think of other opportunities (never told her to just outright quit as thats not my place), but she seemed to always dig her heels in and try to complain internally at her job, which literally never worked. It always led to bigger issues down the line. And eventually, it started to genuinely annoy me that our relationship was basically stalling and we were only seeing each other once a week or once every two weeks. I still genuinely loved her (and she really loved me) though, and tried my hardest to support her through it. By comparison, with my first job (which was in an extremely similar field), I was only working 40 hours a week, maybe 50 tops. But it was starting to get extremely worrisome that even by the 2 and a half year mark, I couldn't even get her to come on a vacation without her abruptly having to leave.
I want to make it clear though that despite all these issues, we were always incredibly understanding and honest to each other, and that if I had not made the decision I made, she never would have broken up with me, and probably would have been an incredibly loyal wife. However, after another year of feeling like she was really being more loyal to a shitty job than to me (and some other issues as well, without getting too into it I wasn't really able to bring myself to care about her interests anymore out of frustration, her problems that stemmed from never wanted to confront them was getting to me where I just didn't have it in me anymore, and her friends were pretty much actively shittalking me behind my back despite being significantly more supportive to her than any of her friends were, who basically used her constantly), I decided that I was going to end things with her. I did everything about the break-up correctly and respectfully, I went to her place, said that it wasn't fair for her to date someone that just didn't have it in them anymore, and I left. And that was the last I ever spoke to her.
Ever since I broke up with her, I've been hard blocked, no-contact style on everything by her. And for a long time (and even recently), it sucked hard. Someone that I spent so much time with, someone that I put so much love into, so many deep conversations that left me so happy, to see her just sort of treat me like I don't exist hurt like a motherfucker. I know it was definitely harder for her initially, as I dumped her, the guilt of hurting someone as sweet, smart, and as kind as she was absolutely ruined me. I'm ashamed to admit it, but multiple times I tried to contact her, just to talk, but every time it was met with deafening silence. Nothing.
To make matters worse, within a week of our breakup, I was laid off as well at my job.
But this is where things take a turn.
I was never a fit guy, but from starting a career at a sedentary job and feeling set in life with a beautiful girlfriend, I put on some serious pounds, I went from a little pudgy to straight up fat. I was starting to develop awful acid reflux + I have a nasty double chin when I'm fat, and with my job and my love life gone, I realized that for the first time in my life, I'm going to fight for myself, to be proud of how I look and feel. And thats exactly what I did. I took all of that sorrow, all of that guilt, and I took it to the gym, and I interviewed my ass off with some companies.
Flash forward to seven months later (now), I'm in the best shape I've ever been in my life (sub-20% bodyfat and looking to cut even more), all of my stomach issues disappeared from being active, and now I work at a job far better (and more stable) than my last one. As someone who never seemed to attract women, I'm actually starting to have great conversations and meet new people (although I don't know if I'm ready to start dating again) who genuinely seem interested in me. I feel great, and I feel motivated. I knew it wasn't going to be easy being alone, but I believe I'm doing the right thing. I think anyone going through something like this needs to hear this; don't give up. You put the work into yourself and it'll all come together. Its never too late.
And typing this post was very therapeutic, felt like getting a massive weight off my chest. I still feel the pain of loneliness and missing my ex's compassion and companionship sometimes, but I don't truly regret my decision. I really wish we worked out, but ultimately her inability to confront her problems was her own worst enemy. I'm the exact opposite, I confront my problems head on. I just hope that one day I find someone perfect for me.
Thanks for reading.

Throwaway account.
I've been dealing with a situation for the last 18 months. Here's the backstory:
The COO of our mid sized company ($100m annual revenue) forced me to hire his son onto my team in 2022. He is a recent graduate from college. If you take out the nepotism, this kid is very bright, tall, in good shape, is good with our clients, and he comes from an elite university that ranks in USNWR top 10. I tried to quash the hire at the time because we are a very by the book company and our chain of command is sacred. I don't want someone under me who has a direct line to the C-suite, that line needs to go through me.
Since he's come on board, he is using his dad, who is two levels above me in our org chart, as a career mentor. He gets information about the direction of the company and senior management's plan for our team before I do. In our culture, this would normally be a huge no-no, violating the chain of command like this.
The problem is that this has completely demoralized the rest of my team. I have worked hard to build up a team of loyal, dedicated employees who have played the game the way I want to see it played: They are sitting at their desks when I arrive in the office every morning between 7 and 8, and they don't leave before I leave. They make sacrifices in their personal lives to attend all of our teambuilding events. They accept their place in our hierarchy and accept that the way for them to move up, is if their leader moves up to the next rung and brings them along. They live the mantra: "You have to prove yourself as an excellent follower before you can be a leader" every day.
Historically I have doled out the career and resume boosting work to these team-first players, and I've tried to bury the others in grunt work and administrative tasks. The problem here is, the COO is pulling his son onto some of the company's most visible projects with our highest profile clients. I have been trying my usual strategy of loading him up with all of our team's grunt work but he handles it all, the work coming from the COO and the work coming from me, all at a high level of performance. Objectively, he is outperforming all of the other employees on my team, but he is trying to skip past paying his dues. Some of my other dedicated team members are starting to complain about the COO's son now being "anointed" and being on the fast track, and their performance is starting to slide. My right hand employee, that I've been grooming to take over for me and bring up into management when I progress to the next level, is who I most fear losing. She thinks these top-tier career boosting assignments should be hers, and honestly so do I. She has put in ten years of dedicated service to the organization. Jokes are being made about the problem employee's "birthright". Yesterday I overheard one of my star pupils utter the phrase "the only way to move up around here is to come from the C-suite's left ball".
So this kid is hogging the spotlight without ever having to pay his dues.
My question is, how do I solve this problem? I want to manage him out, and warn some of my other colleagues about the threat he poses to their harmonious teams. At my level we all have similar management styles. But I have no idea how to do so without facing wrath from above. I also can't afford the optics of having an objectively talented employee leave for the competition.
Any advice?

Round 1, Pick 7 - JC Latham, OT, Alabama:
NFL: General manager Ran Carthon is putting his stamp on the team with this pick. Taking Latham tells me the Titans want to continue playing bully ball and dominate at the point of attack despite surrounding their young quarterback with pass-catching talent in free agency. The 6-foot-6, 342-pound tackle can overwhelm and overpower opponents on the edges, which should excite second-year quarterback Will Levis.
CBS Sports: B+. He is a right tackle and they need a left tackle, so it will be interesting to see how they play it. But he’s a violent player wherever he plays. They cross-train at Alabama at both left and right, so he should be able to make a smooth transition.
ESPN: Latham played mostly right tackle at Alabama but will switch sides in the NFL. He was a highly-rated left tackle coming out of IMG Academy but switched to right tackle because Evan Neal was already entrenched on the left side. Latham's mix of size, heavy hands and footwork should allow him to fit in there. But it's a risk to use a top-10 pick on a player and switch his position. The Titans have used three picks within the first three rounds on offensive linemen since 2020. Could Latham be the one that finally pays dividends?
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Hopes he can convince his squirrel army to come with him.
Round 2, Pick 38 - T’Vondre Sweat, DT, Texas:
NFL: Our first mini-shocker of the day. The massive Sweat was believed to be a possible top-50 pick at one point, but that was prior to his recent arrest. Credit to the Titans if they did the requisite work on Sweat's character in the past few weeks. He's a massive human being capable of closing down two gaps by himself, but some teams felt Sweat might be available entering Round 4 based on recent developments.
CBS Sports: C-. Monstrous NT who finally demonstrated a glimmer of pass-rush capability with hand work as a senior. Not as good against the run or double teams as his size indicates. Probably two-down player in the NFL. Tennessee did need more size inside along the DL, but this is too early for a limited player.
ESPN: Sweat is another move for the Titans to address the trenches. At 6-foot-5, 366 pounds, Sweat will pair with Jeffery Simmons along the defensive line giving the Titans a formidable duo to attack the quarterback and stop the run. Sweat consistently made plays behind the line of scrimmage as shown by his eight tackles for a loss and two sacks. Sweat was booked into jail after an arrest for driving while intoxicated earlier this month, but the Titans are confident he will be fine with Simmons and former Texas teammate Keondre Coburn as leaders in the locker room.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Jumped his family mini-van like the Dukes of Hazzard.
Round 4, Pick 106 - Cedric Gray, LB, North Carolina:
NFL: Nice value here for a linebacker who does almost everything fairly well and can be a tone-setter in the locker room. Gray will be a quality special-teamer at the very least, but he carries starting potential down the road. He's aggressive and instinctive.
CBS Sports: A-. One of the younger prospects in the class who comes with plenty of experience. More fluid in coverage than he is with sheer explosion and range to the football against the runs. Has to improve beating blocks in traffic en route to the football. Long limbs. Upside is there.
ESPN: The Titans address a need at inside linebacker with Gray. Tennessee lost starter Azeez Al-Shaair when he signed a free agent deal with the Texans. Jack Gibbens started most of the season next to Al-Shaair last year. Gray will compete with Gibbens for the opportunity to start along side Kenneth Murray Jr. who signed a free agent deal last month. Having started the past two seasons at North Carolina, Gray could be a candidate to wear the green dot communicator helmet to relay the plays from the sideline to the defensive huddle.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Knows there is chemical waste buried under the Browns training camp.
Round 5, Pick 146 - Jarvis Brownlee Jr., CB, Louisville:
NFL: Nickel corner run! Brownlee will take on all comers in coverage, lacking great size and speed but compensating with good experience, coverage savvy and an intense focus.
CBS Sports: B-. Confident and feisty CB who can play inside or the perimeter. Not overly twitchy. Nice mix of physicality and athleticism at the line and during the route. Tackling is average at best. Same with ball skills and overall athletic skill set. Not tremendous anywhere but doesn’t have a clear flaw.
ESPN: Brownlee Jr. gives the Titans depth, especially at nickel cornerback behind Roger McCreary. Tennessee met with Brownlee at the Senior Bowl and had him in for a 30 visit. Defense is clearly a priority for the Titans as they've addressed that side of the ball with the last three picks. Brownlee lands in an ideal situation where he can learn behind L’Jarius Sneed and Chidobe Awuzie and play for noted defensive back specialist Dennard Wilson.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Almost got his toe bitten off by a snapping turtle.
Round 6, Pick 182 - Jha’Quan Jackson, WR, Tulane:
NFL: It felt like Jackson was among the leaders in Senior Bowl practice receptions. Interestingly, I felt he was underused at Tulane, as Jackson has good quickness to uncover and make people miss as a smaller-framed slot receiver. He and teammate Tyjae Spears are reunited in Nashville.
CBS Sports: B+. Small somewhat twitchy vertical threat. Not as ridiculous changing direction as his size would indicate but has electric burst and speed. Minuscule catch radius but flashed some bounce to go up and get it at times, although physicality and longer CBs give him problems.
ESPN: Jackson gives the Titans depth at slot receiver and another player that can be in the mix as a punt returner. Titans coach Brian Callahan expressed a need for someone to step up as a slot receiver when asked about wideouts in the draft. Jackson will compete with Kyle Philips, Mason Kinsey, and Kearis Jackson for a roster spot and the opportunity to contribute from the slot. He was a college teammate of Titans running back Tyjae Spears at Tulane. Jackson is also the nephew of Hall of Fame Baltimore Ravens safety Ed Reed.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He had to come up with all these draft facts under duress.
Round 7, Pick 242 - James Williams, S, Miami:
NFL: A long, fairly rangy athlete who spent more time at deep safety than he did in the box, Williams will be tried as a linebacker. His unusual dimensions and skill set might make him a sleeper.
CBS Sports: A-. Has some wild tackling misses on film but also counters with impact plays behind/near the line or at the intermediate level in coverage. Enormous size and length for the safety spot and will set the tone in many games with his powerful tackling. Not incredibly twitched up but moves reasonably well for his size.
ESPN: At this point, teams draft for traits. Williams played as a box safety at Miami but some teams envision him as a linebacker after seeing him work at that position at the Senior Bowl. That falls in line with the versatility that defensive coordinator Dennard Wilson said he wants. Wilson also said he wants the defense to be aggressive which is something that Williams showcased in college. Tennessee could also use him on special teams.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Simply cannot believe that Shrek 2 is 20 years old this year. WTF.
Round 7, Pick 252 - Jaylen Harrell, DE, Michigan:
NFL: Harrell is a broad-framed linebacker with rush skills and an alpha-dog mentality. His performance in the national title game was great, and he could be a sub-package defender with a unique job description.
CBS Sports: A. Old-school outside linebacker who can sink in coverage or attack the outside shoulder of the tackle. Smooth, athletic movements to comfortably do either. Shows glimpses of pass-rush promises just doesn’t diversify his rushes enough. Must get stronger but does set sturdy edge. Young ascending player.
ESPN: Five of the seven Titans picks have been on defense. Harrell's father, James, spent eight seasons in the NFL and played one season in the USFL. Jaylen Harrell started all 15 games for Michigan in its national championship season and adds to the Titans' depth at outside linebacker. He'll compete primarily with Harold Landry III, Arden Key, Rashad Weaver, and Caleb Murphy for a chance to be in the edge rotation.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has band T-Shirts from the 80’s and 90’s.

Columbia's homeless situation feels like a ticking time bomb. I know that many of you are just tired of talking about it and that may be why our City officials seem to be complacent regarding the problem.
This is a long read but we need to get a serious conversation started.
Here goes...
The problems surrounding the growing number of homeless people in Columbia seem to be on the brink of becoming untenable. We’ve all noticed the increase in homeless encampments, panhandlers and drifters listlessly wandering the streets of Columbia. While I realize that I’ve already violated many of the rules of political correctness, sensitivity and tolerance in the first two sentences, my fear is that our city is about to be overwhelmed by a series of circumstances that will be hard to reverse. It’s time for city officials to step up and take the problem more seriously before we reach that dreaded point of no return.
In recent years, Columbia has gained a reputation for being a city that is resource-rich in its ability to provide services to those who are “unhoused.” If we were living up to that claim, you wouldn’t see scores of people sleeping on public sidewalks and between dumpsters in Columbia’s downtown allies. Not only has our city proven itself incapable of housing the homeless, we’ve dropped the ball in terms of providing the necessary mental health and substance abuse assistance that is closely associated with being chronically homeless.
Despite the millions of dollars spent annually by our city and county governments and social service agencies on the issue, we have proven ourselves unable to deal with the harsh realities of Columbia’s homeless population in a humane way. Unfortunately, you won’t read about it in the local newspapers or see it on the evening news, but the number of homeless people who die from exposure and drug overdoses in our community is staggering.
My heart’s desire is to be compassionate about Columbia’s homeless population. However, 1 can’t set aside the incompetence of public officials and social service do-gooders who seem to ignore the obvious inhumanity and danger associated with the increasing migration of homeless people into our community.
All of us should be concerned by the threats to public safety created when desperate people turn to violence to get the fix they need, whether it’s food, alcohol or opioids. Beyond just the destruction of private property, you should know that nearly 40% of all police and medical calls in Columbia are related in some way to Columbia’s homeless population. When police officers are dealing with the vagrancy and disorderly conduct of a homeless man in a downtown alley, they can’t respond to calls in your neighborhood. Columbia’s police force is already down by more than 40 uniformed officers. Calls for robbery, vandalism and suspicious vehicles take a very low priority when our law enforcement resources are stretched so thin.
I love the fact that Columbia is a caring and compassionate community, however, l often wonder if we’re doing more harm than good when we fail to provide the necessary resources to this vulnerable population. The competition for public funding among so many social service agencies would surprise the casual observer. There’s so much money being thrown at the problem, but there’s little demand for any level of accountability in regard to how these dollars are spent. If the metric for success is in any way tied to getting people off the streets, Columbia, tragically, deserves a failing grade.
It’s worth repeating that Columbia’s homeless population is not connected in any way to a lack of affordable housing. You could offer an endless supply of free housing to anyone who wants it, but the problem won’t go away until you address the root causes.
Columbia’s homeless problem feels like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Those involved with area law enforcement will tell you that authorities in Kansas City are regularly providing one-way bus tickets to Columbia to homeless individuals on the streets in their community. You can be angry that public officials are responding to a crisis in that manner, but at least they’re doing something. You can’t say the same about Columbia’s elected officials. They’re more worried about climate action and creating a sanctuary city for transgender individuals. What will it take to get the attention of Columbia’s mayor and city council members? Will it come down to a vicious attack on a college student by a deranged assailant who came to Columbia under the false pretenses that he/she might get the help they so desperately needed? The danger is real.
Spending $18 million on the new Opportunity Campus for homeless individuals is only going to exacerbate the problem because it will feed the false belief that Columbia is a good place to be homeless. Rather than sticking their heads in the sand, it’s time for public officials to make this their top priority. While there are no easy answers, their current complacency is completely unacceptable.
Fred

I will graduate in Law (5 years B.A.LL.B after 12th std from an okayish baby NLU) in a couple of months. I really do not wish to pursue a career in practicing law. Haven't touched maths in 7 years, but I think I can manage Vocab and LR easily with a little push. I'm pretty sure I cannot get a seat in the top IIMs and realistically, I'm looking to aim for tier 2 colleges. I want to know what scope I have (if any in the first place) in MBA. I think I would be better off in the corporate life than law. Does MBA have any scope for lawyers looking for a change in a career path? Any online career counsellors who can guide me in this respect? Sadly all the counsellors I could find mostly catered to class 10 and 12 students. Help would be really really appreciated! Other inputs also welcome. Sorry for the wrong tags or post, I'm relatively new to Reddit.

I am an avg student till 9th I used to give re-examination for passing.. after covid I started studying in 10th I got 78% then in 11th I choose PCM because I was good in maths (till that time) I joined an offline coaching institute for JEE preparation
2.5 saal maine bohot mhenat kari maine bohot sacrifice kara sare dost chor diye kahi ghumne firne nhi gai koi maze nhi kare school bhi dummy kar liya.. Sunday's pr jb coching ki chutti hoti thi mai akeli vaha jake self study krti thi class khatam hone ke baad bhi 2hr extra rukti thi self study kr liye.. mere teacher's bhi bohot tarif krte the infact dusre class mai jakr batate the... Last december ke time mai district ho gai bohot self doubts hone lage (stress overthinking toh rooz ka tha mere liye) still itne mehnat ka koi result nhi nikla mere sirf 81%ile aye, I am genenal mera cutoff bhi clear nhi hua muje koi top ke college nhi mil rahe
Ab mai sirf yahi chahati thi ki koi accha private college mil jage acchi jage pr maine bohot college search kare fir maine Pune Jane ka dicide kara coz mere bohot relative rehte hai vaha toh parents easily bhej denge... But aisa nhi hua or bohot fight ke baad bhi muje kahi bahar nhi Jane de rahe ab muje bhopal ke hi koi private college mai admission Lena padh raha hai.. aise log jinne kabhi padhai nhi Kari sirf chill kara vo log bhi vahi a rahe hai jha mai ja rahi hu.... Mere itne hard work ka koi matlab nhi nikla ... I am literally a failure in my life 😭

PART 2

Max spent the evening jimmying the door back open. Then he set himself about seeing what kind of reactions he could get out of Ruth. So far it seemed only to be nature stuff, no politics or sports seemed to spark any interest. There had been a brief moment when he thought she started lighting up when he put the news on but, as it turned out pretty fast, she started to go still, the little stud bits stopped rotating and the ‘elements’, (as he remembered,) started to sink. Frightened, he quickly put on another documentary with an interesting narrator. She perked up again a short yet agonising minute later.
As a precaution he left the same channel on repeat so she could watch, and then he retreated quietly to his study so he could Google stuff like ‘artificial intelligence’ and ‘can water come alive’ and ‘alien machines’. Needles to say, he came away frustrated and no closer to understanding what the hell this thing was, though he did learn about some outlandish theories that the pyramids were built by aliens.
He peed, shoved a ham sandwich down his Gregory Peck, brushed his teeth and quickly shoved his joggers and a t-shirt on, dragged his bedding downstairs and onto the sofa. He adjusted the cushions across the room from the table and re-squared the carpet again.
At this moment, Scat, the long-haired tabby that he inherited from his mother, jumped arthritically onto the table. He stared with wide pupils at Ruth for a moment and snuggled himself down on the shiny table-top, as close to her as the bamboo plant would allow. He fell asleep almost instantly without his usual routine of ‘feed me, love me, now get the hell off me and let me sleep for 16 hours straight’.
“Right, Ruth,” he told the contraption, “I’m going to be sleeping here until... well, I’ll be sleeping here. If you don’t mind. If I snore, I would tell you to kick me but you don’t have legs now, do you? Maybe we’ll have to ask your maker, huh? When he comes back I’ll tell him you want to walk! Haha, he’ll think I’m a nutter. But I ‘spose talking to you I’d be a nutter by anyone’s standards, wouldn’t I?”
Ruth just stared at him.
Max felt a little uncomfortable again, now the windows were blacked out by the night and the only light that seemed to come from anywhere was the now-muted TV, the occasional passing car and Ruth. The only sounds came from a slightly squeaky nostril of a dead-to-the-world cat. That feeling of being watched had returned and somehow things seem more sinister in the dark, when it’s quiet, when nobody else is around, when everyone else is asleep…
He got up, turned all the lights on in the room.
Standing by the switch seemed ludicrous but he couldn’t help it. She was definitely watching. All the glitter was at his end of the tubes again, and it followed him as he sat down and pulled the duvet under his chin again.
“Well, night then… see you in the morning… sleep well…”
She didn’t answer.

Max woke up at some point after midnight. He had been having nightmares about being chased by something he couldn’t see, about some big raging ball of energy being just over his shoulder or in his periphery. He never caught sight of it but it touched him and he jolted awake.
Everything was exactly as it was before he fell asleep, except the TV had clicked into standby and was making a faint high-pitched squeal.
Should have got a new TV by now Max, he told himself.

The next morning Max woke sitting bolt upright, Ruth glittering her way towards Scat’s side and generally giving off the vibes she likes him. Th cat evidently heard Max move on the sofa, propped his ears up, yawned and stretched.
“NO, SCAT!” Max shouted and leapt towards the cat, just as he was doing his insanely stereotypical cat-like stretch where his chest goes down and his outstretched arms go forwards and butt goes backwards… right into Ruth.
“Don’t touch it, Scat!”
Oh, but he had. He set Ruth rocking slightly and Max could only stand and watch with his hands stuck to his head like he and his mates did when they were watching England trying to win the World Cup with penalties, painstakingly failing every single attempt.
I can’t touch it if it goes over it’s so screwed I’ve lost him the Nobel Prize this thing is alive does that mean I’m a murderer because of my cat what have I done what do I do fuck fuck fuck what can I do what can I
Ruth rocked her final rock and settled back onto the table without a final bounce-back. She sat as if she was glued to it now, never to be moved again.
Max sat and let out a relieved shuddering breath.
“Ohmygod. I thought you were a goner, Ruth! Bloody hell. Right,” Max stood up, pointed his irritated finger at Scat, “you, come here!” He grabbed the nonchalant son-of-a-gun from the table and promptly plonked him outside the kitchen door.
“You have no idea what you just did. None! I’d strangle you if I wouldn’t miss you, you know that?” he told Scat. In response, Scat rubbed himself over Max’s jogging bottoms and meowed for food.
“Fine. But you’re eating out here, you’re in the doghouse, mister,” he said, trying to maintain his anger despite his relief.
Max scooped out half a tin of the expensive stuff and mashed it in the bowl. Scat had a ear condition that his mother had been insistent was due to insufficient and inadequate food, hence this kitty being much much more of a kitty when he was inherited, though he turned out to be the right amount eventually. The problem was, because of her ridiculous and overly pompous pampering even by Max’s standards, this is all the damned creature would eat and he was getting skinny in his old age.
“You idiot,” he told Scat. “You could have scuppered us both, buddy, and we don’t even know what we got yet. When you’re done stuffing your face I’ll come let you in again, ok?” He stroked the full length of Scat’s back to the tip of his tail. “But stay off the damned table.”
Max wandered back into the front room to spend some more time with Ruth.
“So, Ruth, I was thinking, I know you like the nature documentaries and all, but the…”
Once again, as Max rounded the corner he stared at Ruth. She had changed shape. No longer was she a mass of glass tubes and glitter, she was an untamed riot of glass tubes and glitter which distended at the centre into that could only be described as a flat glass bubble with one tube going in and one going out on each side. Most of the glitter had formed clumps in the middle and was blobbing back and forth and looking like if Flubber mated with fairy dust and smoked weed while dancing the rumba.
“You gotta be kidding me!”
Max flopped down onto the sofa again, staring. It seemed to him he spent most of his life staring, these days. Staring at Ruth, staring at the TV, staring at the back of his eyelids, staring at Ruth some more…
Maybe that’s how flies feel, he thought, they don’t have eyelids. Must be horrible always having to stare around, not being able to control what you’re looking at. Annoying and stupid. Not like they understand what they see, anyways.
Max called in sick. Told them he’d be out for at least a fortnight.

He let Scat back in a few hours later, a Scat who ungratefully only ate half his food, altogether bypassed Max, shunned his table banishment and delicately placed himself next to Ruth again, immediately falling back asleep and making Max jealous.

It wasn’t until a few days later that Max realised he had no food in the house, except for one of Scat’s tins, and he absolutely was not going down that road. He had eaten cat food once as a dare while in college and he had thrown up for an hour solid. He made sure the first instalment went directly over his flatmate’s shoes. Serve him right for daring him in the first place.
Dare him to dare me anything again! Yeah!
Reluctantly it was time to go shopping. Instant noodles and trail mix could only sustain one’s life force for so long, and that ‘so long’ had come and gone.
Groceries unloaded, Max had a special little baggy of handmade organic treats in hand that he fully intended on unloading on Scat the second he got in (no, Max told himself, not to try and win my cat’s affections back from an inanimate object, that would be ridiculous.) Where was that cat, anyway?
He ambled into the front room, Ruth as solid and purposeful as always. Scat was where he had been, doing his best round rock impression on the table. He hadn’t been allowed on the table before Ruth arrived, (table-top fur floating into his breakfast eggs was not something Max would tolerate,) but now Max figured it was too late to break the habit. Perhaps once Ruth was given back to her rightful owner he would have to proverbially piss on the boundaries again, mark out what Scat was and was not allowed to do, and hope it worked. It probably wouldn’t. Dopey old thing.
And here was the dopey old thing, soft as ever, tucked up around that bamboo that was finally growing!
He poked Scat on his shoulder and wiggled the treat bag in front of his nose.
“Come on, up you get. Got summat tasty for ya!”
Scat didn’t move. He stroked him and gently called his name. Nothing. Ruth was glittering her way towards Scat again, fiercely and somehow tentatively, lovingly, bobbling around in the flat bubble. A sharp stab of fear thrilled through Max. He dropped the treats and picked the cat up but he flopped gently in his hands, tail limp and dangling.
“Scat! Scat, no! Come on, bud, wake up! Scat!” He started to sob, held him up to his face and cried into his fur. Max held him for what felt like hours, until finally he dug a hole in the middle of the lawn where he could see from most rooms, put him in a blanket-lined box three feet down, and planted the lucky bamboo on top of him.