Im afraid to finger

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.

Lately I've been noticing my (30sF) rapport with a coworker (30sM) has been evolving. At first, I just saw him as a shy man who knew a few people in the office so I started talking to him to get to know him more. I personally think I am kind of goofy/ non-serious so my default is to just try to make the other person laugh with dumb jokes or talk about irreverent hypothetical. It seemed like it was good because he started talking more with other coworkers, which is great, it sucks feeling left out so I was happy he was able to talk to more people. He's very funny and I personally find him quite charming and attractive but I don't feel like it's right to pursue an office relationship.
Then I kept noticing things or instances where it seemed like he might like me a bit more than just coworkers? Here they are:

1. I noticed when he talks to me, he really kind of looks deeply into my gaze. Like he held down the eye contact, but I just kind of brushed it off because it seemed he talked with everyone like that but I'm not sure since I don't have other peoples POVs.
   
2. When I was at the kitchen and talking to someone he touched the upper part of my arm to gently move walk past me, but I feel like he held it longer than I thought a normal oops gotta squeeze by you move is. Actually I don't even know if coworkers typically touch people on their upper arms to move people.
   
3. In the beginning I talked to him about random stuff in the mornings and he heard I was the same fan as his football team and he got really excited. Then a few days later, he was talking to another person and I was just walking by to get some water when he noticed me nearby and mentioned that he and I had the same football team, bringing me into the conversation. Could just be friendly?
   
4. We went to lunch and one other coworker offered to drive along with me. He decides to get in my car and sat in the passenger seat. When we got the food and needed to go back to the office to eat (because the place didn't have a designated place to sit and eat) I had to give him my food to hold because I couldn't drive and hold a sandwich and both times during the food exchanges giving it to him and getting it back from him, I noticed he grazed my fingers with his fingers. Maybe I'm just bad a grabbing food.
   
5. He notices when I am gone from the office and the next time I'm back he says he's happy I'm back. Seems like a friendly response?
   
6. I said I never had some certain foods before and the one day he said he had a surprise for me and he apparently bought it for me to try it. But I don't know if that is specifically for me because he allowed other people to try it too.
   
7. I have another male coworker who loves to play devil's advocate over trivial things and so I like to just pretend to be his debate partner or anything just to rile him up because I think it's funny. And the initial male coworker made a comment saying he thinks this guy is in love with me. Not sure if he was being a little jealous there or if I'm thinking he's jealous because I'm not sure if he likes me?
   
8. Calls me over when I am walking to my cube to have a chat.
   
9. Anytime I'm in a group conversation he comes over right next to me.
   
10. He eventually tells me about personal things of his life that I'm pretty sure no one else knows about because it wouldn't come up in regular conversation in an office setting.
    
11. He bought me a drink when we were out with coworkers. I jokingly made a bet with him on something dumb and when I was right he bought us both drinks for me winning.
    
12. End of one night he gave one woman side hug but gave me a full hug.
    
13. He's always looking at me when something funny is happening or if he makes a joke. Or maybe I'm just over thinking it?
    

Honestly typing this all out has got me more confused because I feel like this can totally be friendly and I'm just overthinking it. He's fun to talk to but I am afraid asking him straight up because I feel like then it just becomes super awkward. Firstly, am I just imagining this all because if I am not then is asking him outright the only way to figure this out? Is there a more subtle way without potential making the office environment potentially awkward? Thanks!
tl;dr I am having trouble discerning if a male coworker has crush on me but most importantly how do I even navigate bringing it up without making it awkward? Is it possible to just stay good friends?

I’ve been clean from watching porn and masturbating for over a week. I do get morning wood still.
I have been seeing girls and hooking up with them but not having sex because of PIED. Is it bad for curing PIED when i still hook up multiple times per week with girls?
When i hook up with the girls we make out and i eat them out or finger them and they grind on me a lot but im afraid if this effects curing my PIED. The reason im questioning this is because i do get horny and sperm starts leaking and its sometimes quite embarrassing when my underwear is full of sperm because of that. And i have major blue balls after hooking up.
Is it smart to stop hooking up for a while or does it not effect the curing? I am enjoying pleasuring the girls so i am afraid of losing them if i tell them i cant hook up anymore.

Hi I am an M18 and lately someone has been pointing out to me some attitudes that might be autistic and I thinking about this for a few days, can it actually be so? Some of the attitudes that have been pointed out to me are : the presence of alleged stimming ( I move my leg and foot very often, especially in contexts where I feel emotionally tried, or with the thumb of my left hand I touch very hard the cuticle of my right one or lastly, very often at school, which for me is a place full of variable emotionality, I obsess and repeat sometimes even obsessively a song) I am a very logical guy and I struggle very often to understand others, I could say I have a lack of empathy and I have been told repeatedly by different people, for example if someone talks to me about their problems, I find it easy to give a logical and concise answer but I go ballistic the moment I have to empathize with the emotions , I have had a couple of times someone crying in front of me and I found myself in serious difficulty. I hate to maintain eye contact with people, it makes me uncomfortable; in physical contact I am very restricted ( with my girlfriend I found the problem that sometimes I feel like refusing her cuddles or hugs and to do it impulsively and not in a nice way, especially if not prepared, I don't like to give my hand, I prefer maybe to hold her finger or to be close to her without invading too much my personal space and it bothers me when I am on her left side I need to be always on her right side ( I don't know if it centers but I am left-handed ) I also have quite a lot of sensitivity to noise, for example yesterday I went to a concert and felt really uncomfortable, when the loud music started I started to feel lack of oxygen and every time there was clapping I felt the need to plug my ears, luckily after a while I got used to it but between too many people noise and chaos I didn't enjoy the experience, thinking back then I have been afraid of many things that make noise since I was a child, for example fireworks, at parties I couldn't stand where there were balloons because I was afraid of the burst and I hate the noise of dogs barking ( are still recurring fears ) Very often I am bothered by bright lights, for example I need to sleep with LEDs, and if I am on the opposite side pointing towards me, they bother me so much that I am forced to change sides ( premise they are quite far away) I hate being in social situations for too long and above all I need a lot of time to myself. In my head I am super perfectionist and when I can order things I do but if the situation is already too chaotic I can't most of the time maintain the desired perfection. I obsess with interests that vary from weeks to months and then obsess with something else, I obsess with songs that I listen to and replay for days or I obsess when I read pieces that I like that I go back and reread over and over again or episodes ( for example when I was little my mom complained that I was perpetually watching a certain episode over and over again repeatedly ). I find myself very often having to occupy my mind with multiple things, example,if I watch a movie I need to do something else ( I play tetris or other games, when I watch some video I like to put it in x2 because even if I like it I find it much more listenable that way. Reading various posts I noticed that I don't have the perfect routine except in a few things that however don't upset me that much for example I always take the same routes yes but for example, to go to a place I have more options and not just one, The glasses and cutlery I take the ones that are there instead with the seats in the car on the table and on the couch those are my seats but I think it is like that for non-autistic people too, when I get my coffee in the morning it bothers me if it is not the usual coffee from the same coffee shop, but it doesn't bother me that much. My girlfriend has pointed out to me that very often I take things too literally, but I don't think I'm one of those who would take phrases like a needle in a haystack; of course I admit that I often take literally what she says much more than what she means, but I don't know how reliable that is. I'm not convinced about the idea of self-diagnosing these details so I would like to hear opinions from people who surely know more than I do.

22f. 150lbs 5’4 medications: lexapro. the last 3 weeks have been hell to say the least. it started out with joint aches in my lower legs, then went to a back ache and turned into hot flashes and dizziness. I thought i was coming down with something but i went to the er (april 19th) 4 days after it all started and got a flu and covid test. as well as urine and blood tests. everything came back normal including kidneys, wbc, and liver. i got out of the er in two hours and was given tylenol. my aches continued and i went to my doctor the following tuesday. (april 23rd) and i explained everything going on, ive been completely stressed out about something else so maybe thats what caused all of this. i tend to vape more when im stressed out and was told im going through a nicotine overdose. i was then put on lexapro and given anti nausea meds for the dizziness. ever since that day i have not been dizzy. magically disappeared. i started to feel better a couple days after, however the past week ive been having pains in my entire body. i can mostly feel it when im laying down. my left side hurts and my lower back feels like something is pressing on it. ive been having diarrhea, tingling feet and hands, all over body aches, muscle spasms. when i lay down it feels like something is moving around on my sides and they tingle. my body aches are on my shoulders, lower legs, wrists, knees, feet, fingers, breasts occasionally. its mainly when im laying down, if im walking around or standing i feel nothing basically. i have an appetite, im not more tired than normal, not losing weight, no fever. nothing is swollen but i cant tell if its bone or joint pain at this point. i dont know what to do. im convinced i have the c word. im afraid im slowly dying, my anxiety is to the max. do i book a sooner appointment with my doctor? or go to a different er? i have another doctors appt in june and get a blood test a week before. do i wait?

Hey folks, hello again. I took a bit longer this time to update (Part 1 and Part 2 here) you but at least I bring good news: this weekend, I got the definitive answer from the prison's legal department, and now I know how much I can tell (and I believe it's enough). For your information, after this incident and my eventual release from prison, I haven't contacted anyone I met behind bars, except of course for my wife, Linda. The point is, even after all these years, this story has troubled me a lot, and since my first post, I've become even more paranoid. Finally, this morning, I went out to get the mail but as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with a small untouched white envelope, except for two identical characters stamped on its surface: 11. Linda is sleeping, and I don't want to worry her, I'm at the kitchen counter thinking about what to do with this envelope while reliving the final events of all this mess, of what was really inside cell 11.
It was morning, and there I was in my cell, in a scene poetically similar to this. I held a playing card, an 11 of clubs. I later searched for such a card online, but found nothing. It was strange, very well made. Before I could reflect more deeply on this, one of the guards passed by our corridor, opening the cell doors for our breakfast.
So, slowly, as if in a trance, I got up from bed and put the playing card in my pocket. Somehow, the card seemed to heat up in my pocket, I could feel the heat increasing and increasing, almost burning my skin. It was a strange stupor, almost drunken, I could even swear I smelled ether lingering in the air as I staggered to the cafeteria.
I slumped into the seat as I placed the tray on the table. Old Munford looked at me in a friendly manner:
"Overdid it yesterday, lad? Your hangover face is priceless."
I forced a weak smile in response to Munford's comment, trying to seem normal despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The heat still burned in my pocket, an uncomfortable sensation that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.
"No, nothing much," I muttered, looking away to my food tray. "Just didn't sleep very well."
Munford seemed satisfied with my response and turned his attention back to his own meal. As I stirred the food without really eating, struggling to maintain my composure, I began to think about what to do.
My thoughts were interrupted when Francis joined us at the table, his usual smile lighting up his face. He looked at me with a questioning expression.
"Hey man, everything okay? You look awful."
"I think it was the heat, or maybe something I ate last night."
Francis frowned. Unlike the elder, he clearly wasn't convinced by my superficial explanation.
"Some of the guys told me they saw Bob talking to you last night. Did he do something?"
The question caught me off guard. All this news about the playing card had prevented me from thinking about the strange interaction with Bob since the previous night, but now the memories began to resurface, mixed with the heat sensation coming from my pocket.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Bob was just being a bit... Bob."
I felt Francis's gaze linger on my face for a moment.
"If he does anything, you know you can talk to us, right? I know he's one of ours, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on him."
I analyzed the options for a moment, reflecting on everything. Well, now it seemed to make sense, a prank by Bob, or an attempt to intimidate me...
"There's... something, Francis," I said in a low tone, feeling tense about the confession I was about to make. "Last night, after the card tournament, I... I ran into Bob in the hallway. He was questioning me about the tournament, accusing me of cheating."
Francis's face hardened at my words, a displeased expression passing over his features.
"Cheating? And you?"
"I swear I played fair," I replied quickly, the pressure building inside me. "But he was convinced I had some advantage, and... well, things got a bit tense... He walked away, and this morning I found this in my cell."
Deciding to omit the encounter with Tulley, I got straight to the point, pulling the card out of my pocket and placing it on the table. I could feel it almost incandescent now.
Munford looked at the card for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied it. The heat emanating from it was almost palpable, a strange aura that seemed to envelop the table.
"Is that... an 11 of clubs?" he murmured, his voice tinged with surprise and suspicion.
I nodded, my own confusion mingling with growing anxiety.
"Yes... I don't know, maybe Bob did this to scare me, to show that he has access to my cell, or to try to provoke me, knowing my fear of cell 11..."
My words were cut off when the guard's voice echoed through the cafeteria, interrupting our conversation as he announced that the meal period was over.
Francis looked at me with a serious expression.
"We'll talk about this later," he pointed to the card. "Mind if I take it with me?"
I nodded.
"No problem, feel free."
We began our march back to the cells, and I couldn't help but exchange glances with old Munford. He seemed to hesitate on the matter, as if he wanted to say something but was afraid. I made a mental note to speak with him as soon as possible. Our yard time would be in the next 4 hours, and I spent half of that time trying to ponder what had happened.
I don't know how long it took, but I fell asleep, sitting, with my back pressed against the wall of my cell. The dream, or rather, nightmare resulting from this was a disturbing experience.
I found myself standing, walking through the prison corridors in a way that seemed endless. The walls seemed to close in around me, creating a claustrophobic labyrinth that I couldn't escape. Every door I tried to open was locked, and the sound of footsteps echoed behind me, as if someone were following my every step.
Finally, I reached a door that was ajar, a dim light emanating from within. With a knot in my stomach, I pushed it slowly, revealing what seemed to be cell 11. But something was terribly wrong. A man was there, his back to me. Disheveled, uneven hair, a hunched posture, he was crouched down, rummaging through something I couldn't see, seemed to regurgitate. Suddenly, he stopped. He slowly got up and then looked at me.
Somehow, I knew that man was that prisoner, the one who had committed those atrocities and painted the eye on the damn cell. I noticed something dripping from his mouth, forming a red puddle in the center. On the wall, what seemed to be an incomplete sketch of the dreaded painting was there.
I watched, hypnotized by the horror before me, as the man slowly raised his trembling hand towards his face. Drops of that dark liquid dripped from his fingers, echoing in the oppressive silence of the cell. It was as if the very air was tainted with that impurity.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he began to move towards me, his irregular steps echoing like the distant clinking of chains. A visceral panic seized me, preventing me from retreating as he came closer and closer, his distorted figure gaining sharper contours as he advanced through the gloom. I could now smell the terrible scent he had, not just as something rotten, but a pure and concrete smell of death.
"Who... who are you?" My own voice sounded weak and trembling.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he kept advancing, his empty eyes seeming to pierce my soul. My heart was now pounding uncontrollably in my chest, a deafening cacophony that seemed to fill the entire space of the cell. I was about to retreat, to beg for mercy, when a voice whispered in my mind, a distorted echo reverberating like the sigh of a ghost:
"You... can you see? The watchful eye. He wants you. He liked looking at you."
The sound of my own breath echoed in the silence that followed, a dissonant note of fear and desperation. I wanted to scream, to run, to escape this living nightmare, but I was paralyzed by the terror that enveloped me like a coffin.
It was then that I woke up, gasping and covered in sweat, the echo of the whisper still resonating in my mind like a distant echo of a nightmare. For a moment, everything around me seemed distorted and unreal, a fleeting mirage, and then, I startled again. Munford was standing in front of my cell, staring at me with curiosity.
"Are you okay, son?" the old man asked in a soft voice, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
I shook my head slowly, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of information.
"I... I think so," I murmured, my voice sounding strange and distant even to myself. "I had a horrible nightmare... It felt so real."
Munford nodded understandingly, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Yeah, the situation isn't good... but I came to talk about that letter, earlier in the cafeteria."
"Oh yeah, what about it?"
"Let's just say I've never seen a card like that, but the energy coming from it, oh yeah, I've seen that before."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, a few years ago, there was a murder in one of the cells. This was before Francis arrived, we didn't have much organization, lynchings were common, and in an attempt to reduce these incidents, we decided that the main suspect, a newly captured serial killer, would be forcibly transferred to cell 11. It was one of the most terrible incidents I've ever witnessed in here. And do you know how that man was known?"
I shook my head negatively. Munford leaned his hands on two bars, bringing his face closer to the center of them.
"The Card Cutter."
A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
"He used to leave playing cards as a kind of signature on the bodies of his victims. They say he would choose the card based on the person or the method of murder. So, when he was put in cell 11, things got even weirder."
"What happened to him?" I asked, a bittersweet and macabre curiosity in my mouth.
Munford sighed heavily, looking at a fixed point this time.
"A few weeks after being transferred, he was found dead in his cell. Hung with sheets. And next to his body..."
"What was it?" I could barely breathe as I listened.
"A playing card. An ace of spades, if I'm not mistaken. And that cell... well, since then, no one wants to stay there. They say it does something to people, kills them."
The shock of Munford's revelation reverberated in my chest, trembling as I thought about what could happen to Guard Tulley from now on, or worse, what could happen to us.
"So you think this card is... a warning?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, staring into the old man's green eyes.
Munford nodded slowly, responding more to himself than to me.
"I can't say for sure, but it's a possibility to consider."
I swallowed hard.
"What should we do then?"
He fell silent for a moment, as if pondering his words carefully.
"I have no idea. I guess all we can do is keep quiet; we don't want to scare the other inmates. Francis doesn't believe in these things, so I won't waste my time trying to convince him, and I advise you to do the same. Maybe if we just keep pretending that nothing is happening, things will sort themselves out. But remember: whatever this force is, it wants to take you to the cell, wants you to face the eye. Resist those urges, okay?"
The clock struck 12:30. Time for yard time. I walked with Munford to the yard, the sun burning our heads as we stepped outside, futilely trying to erase the worry from our minds.
As I watched the other inmates spreading out across the yard, trying to appear normal, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Bob, his voice low and threatening.
"What did you tell Francis?" he whispered, he was behind me, and I couldn't see him.
The flesh on my back trembled and twisted, the fluid of fear rising up to my brain.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bob," I replied firmly, trying to sound confident.
He paused for a few seconds.
"You cheat first, and now, you make up lies about what I did or didn't do."
"I think there's a misunderstanding-"
"Shut up!" his voice rose sharply "I'm just here to say that I'm not a kid, I don't go around sending playing card letters or anything like that. I didn't threaten you with that thing, but now I am, and in a very direct way, and if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."
He was dead serious, and the threat was as clear as day. But what could I do? Confront Bob directly like Francis? That could mean he wasn't trustworthy... My thoughts were interrupted by the guard watching us.
"You two, no contact!" he shouted.
"No problem here, officer," Bob said, pulling me into a hug that felt more like an attempted chokehold.
I tried to pull away unsuccessfully, and the officer seemed to simply not care.
"Okay, but we'll be watching," he turned away, and Bob shoved me against the yard bars.
"Listen here, Bob," I began, my voice firm, confused about where this courage had even come from. "I don't know what you're up to, but I won't stand still while you try to intimidate me. If you have something to say, then say it like a man. Otherwise, leave me alone." I pushed him away with my hand.
"You're a fool, you know that?" he muttered.
"I'm not looking for trouble, but if you want it, you'll get it. Let's just leave it be, okay? If anything happens to me, I'll make sure some people know and-"
My assailant's hand closed around my neck, tightening. I squirmed, struggling to breathe as I desperately tried to free myself from his grip.
"Going to call daddy? Look, Francis may have that whole attitude, but he won't do anything to me, or any of the guys," he remarked.
I noticed the usual group of big guys who hung around with Francis, they were watching us from afar, seeming to distract the boss.
"He's getting out in two months...but honestly, I don't think I need to wait that long."
I couldn't breathe. Fighting against the grip on my neck, my eyes desperately searched for any help.
"Let him go!" The guard shouted from afar, starting to make his way down the stairs to reach us.
Bob didn't obey. I felt my body losing strength, so I did what I could: I focused my strength into a clenched fist and punched the bastard in the stomach, aiming right at his gut. And judging by his expression, it worked. I saw him lean over, his hands releasing my body and being placed on his belly.
I knew if I let it slide, he would come back and continue to harass me, so that had to be a definitive response to the jerk that I wasn't an easy prey. I lunged at him again, this time with a well-aimed kick to his knee, trying to destabilize him. He staggered backwards with a groan of pain, falling to his knees on the yard ground.
The other prisoners now realized what had happened, and soon their shouts in a circle were audible.
"Go, get him! Don't hold back! Finish this guy off!"
I lunged at Bob, raising my hand time after time to punch him. He didn't take it lightly, grabbing my right hand as I prepared to hit him; I could feel the pressure applied to the joints, my fingers starting to crack, and I could feel them tense, about to break. In desperation, I threw myself onto him with the only weapon I had left: my teeth.
I felt the flesh of his neck between the rows of teeth in my mouth. Without thinking and trying to loosen the grip on my hand, I pressed on the pearly bones harder and harder, feeling them slide against the skin, the metallic taste slowly emerging as the flesh was torn.
The scene around me seemed blurry, as if I were watching everything happen from afar, in slow motion. Bob's scream echoed through the yard, mixing with the encouragement shouts from the other inmates. I felt a mix of adrenaline and horror as my teeth sank into his neck flesh, a strange feeling of power and disgust.
While still hunched over that bloody man, I felt the blows on my back: it was the guards. Their batons striking time after time as the adrenaline rush passed, and I now began to feel the pain. Without resistance, I let myself be pulled away. Bob wasted no time and moved away, stumbling as he covered the wound.
"YOU SCUMBAG, WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?"
As I was being taken away, everything around me seemed blurred, as if I were in a state of stupor. The voices of the other inmates echoed in my ears, mixed with images of the fight that had just occurred. I still felt the blood running through my mouth, dripping lightly onto the ground and forming a trail of red dots marking my path. However, before we left the yard, our warden arrived at the scene, and the guards stopped, my arm uncomfortably twisted behind my body.
"What's going on here?" His voice was calm, but there was an unquestionable tone of authority in his words.
"He... he bit a detainee, sir," one of the guards explained, firmly holding my arm.
The warden looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
"Why did you do that?"
My mind was spinning, trying to find a coherent explanation for what had happened. I knew it would be useless to tell about Bob's threat, about the playing card, about the fear he had instilled in me. So, I found the most plausible words I could gather:
"He... he provoked me, sir," I murmured, my voice trembling. "I... couldn't take it anymore. He was intimidating me, threatening me, and I... I lost control."
The warden looked at me for a long moment, as if assessing my words. Finally, he sighed, seeming resigned, approaching me with slow, steady steps.
"No, you did that because you're an animal."
He gave me two pats on the cheek, then wiped the blood running from my mouth.
"Take this one to solitary."
The prisoners began to shout, a real noisy commotion. I trembled at the thought of being locked up there. No one came back the same from solitary, but at that moment, I really think I'd prefer to go there than what was to come.
"But sir," one of the guards said, causing the inmates to fall silent in an attempt to hear something, "The solitary is occupied..."
The warden frowned, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Then take him to cell 11," he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.
That was the final blow, causing the uproar to become widespread, with even some inmates needing to be subdued with tear gas. I could see as I was pushed, Munford looking at me, a worried and distressed expression on his face; he said something I couldn't understand amidst the noise.
With my heart pounding erratically in my chest and my mind clouded with fear and uncertainty, I was led by the guards towards cell 11. Each step felt like it weighed tons, as if I were walking towards the abyss. I could feel the stares of the other inmates watching the scene, some with expressions of shock, others with a mixture of curiosity and indifference.
Finally, we arrived, and by this point, I was sweating uncontrollably; they opened the cell and threw me inside. My eyes instinctively closed as I fell to the ground. I didn't want to look at it. I got up, still blinding my vision, slowly groping around until I found the bed. I lay on it and turned to the wall beside it, my face as close as possible.
Lying on the hard bed, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that it seemed to echo off the concrete walls around me. Each beat was a pulsating reminder of my situation. I tried to push away the thoughts, but it was like trying to hold back a raging river with bare hands. All the while, I heard stories, heard things about that place, and now I was there, cornered by circumstances beyond my control.
Gradually, I noticed the thick layer of sweat forming around me. I could even feel my pores opening, pouring the water from my body in an attempt to cool myself in that stuffy, hot environment. I couldn't help but think about the heat of the card and... about Francis. He still had the card. Wasn't that dangerous? I fixated on musings about it.
In my feverish frenzy, time seemed to stretch infinitely in that dark cell, minutes dragging on like hours as I struggled to maintain my sanity. Every sound, every shadow was a source of growing anxiety until somehow, I fell into a deep sleep, dreamless this time.
I woke up in the middle of the night, with a faint noise coming from behind the heavy steel door. At first, I feared, wondering what it could be, but as soon as I regained my senses, I remembered where I was, and frankly, nothing outside could be worse. I cautiously approached the source of the sound, trying to listen better, when a "Hey, kid, it's me!" sounded whispered.
"Munford! Munford, I'm glad you're here, knew you wouldn't abandon me."
"Ha, I know, I know," he sounded nervous, perhaps hiding from the guards. "Look, I'd help you out, but I can't get it open from this side, try it there." A small plastic rectangle slid through the door gap. A credit card... I remembered I had done this many times before.
I grabbed the card and started working, carefully sliding it into the lock. Each movement was made with the precision I gained from years of street experience, trying not to make any noise that could attract the guards' attention. My mind was racing, and the tremor it transmitted to my fingers made motor coordination difficult.
Finally, after several minutes of trial and error, I heard a soft click, and the door opened slowly. I could smell the fresh air from the corridor and was already about to smile when, along with the bright light of a flashlight, I saw Bob, now with his neck and shoulder bandaged, along with three more of his cronies. Munford was being held by one, who held an improvised knife to his neck.
"Sorry, kid, they forced me," the old man lamented.
"Not so fast, princess." Bob pushed me inside, onto the floor, and then he entered with one of his cronies, closing the door behind him and illuminating me with the halo of his flashlight.
"What's up, Bob, can't you leave me alone?"
"You wanted to settle things, didn't you? Well..." he pointed to his wound. "You just signed your death warrant! But first, I'm going to make sure to pull out all your teeth and make you swallow them."
He lifted me by the collar of my shirt and landed a punch with his heavy hand. I felt dizzy, seeing stars, curling up into a fetal position. His laughter was now a terrifying melody to me.
"Look at this crybaby. Where did your bravery go?" He kicked my stomach, and I'm sure he found it an ironic poetic justice.
His cohort laughed until the beam of his flashlight shifted away from me.
"Hey Bob, what's that over there?" He said, simultaneously pointing with his finger and the flashlight.
Even though it was on the wall behind me, I knew what it was. I saw Bob straighten up to face it, becoming petrified. He and the other, standing there, mouths agape. I waited for seconds, counting mentally and holding my breath, expecting anything, but nothing. Until suddenly, I began to see small puddles forming under their lower eyelids, dark marks... of blood.
The red tears started to stream down their faces like large crimson waterfalls. Soon, they began to make a noise... a familiar noise, which made my mind freeze as I felt my toes curling inside my shoes and my mouth trembling uncontrollably. It was the same sound as Tulley's. They were now allowing these moans to escape their throats and resonate in the tight concrete walls.
I had to do something. I began slowly to pass by them, trying to edge around. When, however, I was almost reaching the door, I could see their shadows turning slowly in my direction. The tension in the air was palpable, as if it could be cut with a knife. I held myself back from trembling as I tried to maintain composure in front of those men, whose bloodshot eyes were now fixed on me, full of terror and despair.
"What... what's happening?" My voice came out in a trembling whisper, barely able to make myself heard.
Bob and his cohort remained silent. They began to walk towards me, and in desperation, I opened the cell door and slammed it loudly behind me, not caring about attracting the guards' attention. As I looked around, I actually noticed that this was a concern I didn't need to have.
The environment where I was wasn't what I expected, from the prison corridor. It was actually another cell. I stopped for a moment, confused, only to be surprised by a figure in the center of it. A man in a straitjacket looking at me with a petrified smile.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was blood-curdling, sounding like someone scratching a chalkboard with their nails or scraping a fork on a glass plate.
I tried to open the door but it was stuck. When I turned around again, he was leaning, his face inches from mine, eyes bloodshot. I almost fell backward. He laughed. It was like the last time, he had his mouth covered by a sticky red mass that dripped, probably serving as material for the painting, which now displayed an almost complete surreal eye. He turned and walked to the painting, and then he regurgitated it again. Since his hands were tied, he used his tongue as a brush, finishing the last line of the drawing.
"This," he whispered. "Is my masterpiece."
I was trembling. I had forgotten Munford's advice, and now I found myself petrified, just like the others, staring at the eye. I don't know how much time passed, but I felt like it was hours, days... years. All in the blink of an eye, or rather, in a stare without a single blink.
I tried in vain to regain my composure. Scenes of horror penetrated my mind. Cadavers, bodies marked by playing cards. Criminals, inmates being violently beaten with batons, pepper spray, and all sorts of luxuries the police can serve, I saw gang fights, blood, death, and abuse. I saw people being killed inside the prison. Each scene of violence that each of those who looked had already witnessed. My legs were no more than reeds in the wind now, and I just wanted to run away and scream, cry, and sleep to never wake up again. I tried to scream but the man came to me, placing his foot over my mouth.
"Shhh... you need to see."
He repeated this indefinitely. "need to see, need to see, need to see, need to see"
With superhuman effort, I managed to free myself from the weight of his foot on my mouth, but I could barely articulate coherent words. My voice came out trembling and weak when I finally managed to speak:
"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
He simply continued smiling, as if my words were just another piece in his sadistic game. Then, with a quick and fluid movement, he approached me, so close that I could feel his fetid breath and the metallic smell of blood dripping from his mouth.
"Your mind is a fascinating playground," he murmured, his voice echoing in the claustrophobic space of the cell.
I felt tears running down my cheek, and I knew what color they were. I stood there, in shock, staring at the large painted eye, while my entire being was eaten alive in fear and dread. I don't know how much time passed, maybe the entire age of the universe, eternity, who knows. I woke up on the infirmary bed. Wires connected to my arm while a machine reproduced the "beeps" of my heart.
I looked to the side, seeing the green eyes of nurse Linda looking at me, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"You need to see," I said, not even wanting to.
She frowned, evidently confused by my response. Linda seemed hesitant, as if she were trying to decide whether to ask more or simply ignore my strange statement. I could see the concern in her eyes, but also a certain curiosity, as if something inside her was intrigued by what I had to say.
"What do you mean by that?" She finally asked, her soft voice echoing in the silence of the infirmary.
I sat up slowly on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over me. My mind was still cloudy, as if I were struggling to emerge from a deep nightmare. I tried to articulate my words as coherently as possible.
"I... I saw things," I murmured, my voice still trembling. "Terrible things. In the cell... in there... something... something is wrong."
Linda watched me with a serious expression, her green eyes analyzing me carefully. She seemed to understand that something serious had happened, but couldn't fully comprehend what I was trying to communicate.
"Look... you and the others had a collective hallucination in that cell... The director has already arranged for an investigation, but we suspect carbon monoxide poisoning, we've already talked to him about the lack of windows in that place, but it seems he doesn't listen."
I stopped, confused by that information. Was I hallucinating? Well, maybe I would even think that if it weren't for what followed. A man in a dark suit entered. He had a serious and intimidating expression, and he asked Linda to leave.
"Listen here, young man, you're lucky to have come back. The others are catatonic... and probably won't come back to themselves. That's why your cooperation is extremely important, and we need to know: what did you see?"
I stumbled, recounting as much information as I could remember, from Tulley to Bob. The man listened to me without making any expression. After that, he took a radio that was hanging from his blazer and said some words that I didn't quite understand, something like "Ceter," "Queter"... and then he took a clipboard, handing it to me.
"This is your letter of freedom. Our proposal is as follows: We release you from prison and in exchange, you don't open your mouth about the specific events mentioned here," he pointed to the clauses.
That was five years ago, and given my freedom, you must imagine that not everything that happened is transcribed here, but the most important parts are. I ended up visiting Munford a few times after that, and I was horrified to discover that Francis, on the eve of his release, hanged himself with the bedsheet. The old man and I stared at each other after this discovery, in a mutual silent understanding. Shortly after, they closed not only the cell, but our entire pavilion, relocating the inmates. I never saw Munford or any of the others again after that. My nightmares persisted, but in recent months they have been much less frequent, and I think I might be slowly healing.
I wanted to say that this story ends well, with my rehabilitation. A troublesome prisoner full of stories becoming a family man. And it would be, if it weren't for the last 15 minutes of this morning. I believe you may remember that I received a letter this morning like that cursed number. I left it on the counter in the living room while I came here, to have breakfast and finish reporting this to you. When I finished the last paragraph, I went back to the room, but now, it seems like the whole nightmare is back.
I felt the tears, transparent this time, forming in my eyes. In the center of the room right now is Linda, holding the letter, looking at something in it that I can already imagine. She's standing there, wet and red stains on her face, I can hear her whispering "You need to see... need to see," and by God... I can see...

Thank you u/SpacePaladin15 for the amazing universe!
l Prologue l Previous l Next l
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Memory transcription subject: Kalsim, Captain, United Federation Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: December 30th, 2136
It became harder and harder to remember why we came in the first place when the simple process of landing on the ground was tantamount to stepping back into the past.
So many of the sensations granted by the asteroid sanctuary, the smells,the sights, the sounds, were so hauntingly familiar. Of flying from treetop to treetop, seeing my non sapient kin fly free of the burden of galactic existence. Of fruits and berries picked right from the stem, carrying with them flavors that bordered on ecstasy. The calls and cries of a nature beaten down time and time again, but still managed to stand back up on its own two legs every single time.
So much of it was familiar, yet so much of it wasn't.
"Kelum, do you recognize that?" referring to the foreign call sounding off in the distance.
He was still trying to process his surroundings, beak poised catch several insects. "Uh...no, I don't."
I turned in the direction of its source. "Neither do I."
"What about that bird from earlier?"
The one that flew by the viewport? "Didn't recognize that one either."
"Shit then." Kelum slowly returned to guard mode as he began sweeping his rifle over the foliage. "Your the big history guy here, I'm relying on you. What does it mean that you don't know?"
"Well, maybe call it a gap in my knowledge..." my attention was caught by a strange cluster of berries perched on a nearby bush. Collected in bunches, the fruits were oblong, almost cylindrical, orange with black spots across the skin. The aroma was sweet and tangy, something I knew several officers on the Lyakuda would love to use as an air freshener. And it was entirely unrecognizable.
Yet some base instinct inside of me said that it belonged. That it all belonged. That the ferns and grasses adn the strange noises that seemed foreign to my home were in fact an integral part of this one. There was song being played that I couldn't quiet yet hear, but I knew was there. Whether it was one that I would enjoy was still up for debate.
"Captain?"
"Wuh?" I spun around to see Kelum checking me with a look of concern.
"You kinda zoned out there for a sec. Are you alright?"
"Sorry, I was just thinking." I stepped back from the bush and into the clearing. "I...don't know what to make of this. This place..."
Kelum shrugged. "Couldn't tell you either cap. I'm just along for the ride at this point."
"All I need you to do is to keep that gun raised, just in case." Some part of me said that it would be unnecessary. After all, the Federation wiped out any native species that posed even the slightest threat to a krakotl. And by all means, this place seemed like Nishtal. But then again...
A sharp cry grabbed the silence and violently broke it over its knee. More like a wail, piercing in its effect, little needles in our eardrums that seemed to stab more and more as the seconds dragged along. The pitch never faltered, even as the cry let the background jungle settle back into its normal rhythm. I looked over to see Kelum taking deep breaths, before I realized I was too.
"Cap, what the fuck was that?" For the first time since we arrived, tendrils of genuine fear seemed to creep into Kelum's voice. At the very least, he was never letting go of that rifle ever again.
"I don't know, I never heard that before either."
"Well I need you to start knowing right fucking now, cause I don't like that shit, not one bit."
"Neither do I, but we need to remain calm. Now's not the time to start acting like Sivkit," another awful wail echoed in the further distance, "so keep that rifle up."
Kelum didn't need to be told twice. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around. Maybe we've seen everything we've needed to see."
Some part of me agreed with him. You didn't need to be a prey to not be comfortable sharing a space with whatever made that sound. And I don't think that's all this place has in store for us. For better and for worse...
"We saw those buildings. We were just in that observation room. This place is more than just a sanctuary. We need to keep going."
Kelum raised a talon in argument, faltered, then sighed. "If I die here, I'm gonna fucking kill you cap."
That somehow raised a chuckle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"You drag me to the gallows, least you can do is let me get the last laugh in." Kelum pushed past me and began sifting through the undergrowth. "I'll lead. I think the town was this way."
Directions, thankfully, weren't going to be an issue. Despite its gargantuan size, the sanctuary appeared to have a pretty simple layout. A giant circle, with the town at the center, surrounded on all sides by thick jungle. All we had to do was walk forward. If only if it was that simple.
I did manage to recognize many of the plants that composed the flora, only due to their absence on the Nishtal I knew. The undergrowth there was absolutely sparse in comparison to here, mostly thanks to the Federation's anti predator efforts. Without natural balances to keep them in check, the native herbivores of Nishtal went wild, stripping the ground level nearly down to the very soil itself. If not for our geoengineering tech, the planet would've suffered an ecological collapse that would've made the Cradle look like hiccup in comparison.
This place seemed to suffer no such issues. Great for the local ecosystem, terrible for us. For not only was it hot, not only was it humid, we had to push through vine and bramble so thick it was nearly impossible to squeeze through. It didn't help that the we seemed to be heading down a slope, so the atmosphere only got thicker as we descended further. It came to the point where I almost considered stripping off my vest so I wouldn't die of heatstroke on the spot. Thankfully we came across a small clearing, which gave us the opportunity to catch our breaths.
"How close do you think we are?" I asked between pulls of impossibly humid air.
"Don't know, but we have to be close." Kelum looked up to the 'sky', where the 'sun' had really reached its zenith. "Hard to tell, but we're definitely making progress."
"Stars above, whatever this is must be worth it."
"Better fucking be. Not dying of thirst on some secret asteroid zoo run by...fuck I don't know. You said you thought it was someone up high who contacted you?"
"Yeah, but that was just a confident guess."
He chuckled. "Maybe this is just his private resort or something. They definitely have the money to hollow out an asteroid. Maybe there will be a pool and a bar on the other side of this bush."
I had to admit, the possibility was funny. "If this was just a roundabout way for Nikonus to invite me over for a drink, I swear to the stars above I'll glass Aafa myself."
Kelum laughed. "Glad to hear your in a good mood cap."
"I'm not."
He stood up, ready to get on the move again. "At least you know what a joke is. Did you know I used to work for Jerulim? Head so far up his ass he forgot what-"
The rustle from a nearby bush cut off Kelum's admiration of our ambassador. He trained the rifle on the source, talon itching to let the weapon bark. The pistol in my holster gained a newfound presence as something began to emerge from within the shadows.
"Alright then, come at me you...oh."
The creature that caused us so much worry turned out to be a small lizard, scales verdant, barely the length of my wing. It crawled from underneath the bush and across the dark earth of the clearing. It took a moment to regard us with two beady side facing eyes, before it began on its way once more.
Kelum lowered the rifle, and began breathing once again. "Damn, little buddy there gave me a-"
Before he had a chance to finish, a rush of air came from behind, and a flash of green and gold plucked the lizard off the ground right in front of our eyes. Before we had a chance to fully process what just happened, the bird was away, propelling itself skyward, the unfortunate lizard grasped firmly in its talons.
We stared dumbly as the...predator ascended, then leveled out, before finally disappearing behind the canopy. Kelum went to say something several times, but each attempt only seemed to point his rifle closer and closer to the ground. Finally, he turned to face me directly, his face the farthest point from comprehension it could possibly go.
"Cap, did that..." he didn't need to finish his sentence. I was still struggling to construe it, but we both saw the same thing.
"Yes, it did."
Kelum nodded his head, before turning it back to the sky. "It did..."
As the shock of the lizard being hunted wore off, I managed to have some thoughts on the situation. This place is definitely not the Nishtal I know. The Federation would never let a bird like that exist in any form besides ash. Yet here it was, in a facility no doubt constructed by the Federation. Is that what the note writer wanted us to see?
"Cap?" I turned to see Kelum once again wear that worried expression. "Any ideas?"
"I...don't know. Maybe this is...some sort of facility to study predators? An isolated environment, far from any inhabited planet, where they won't pose any danger?"
Kelum sighed. "I think that's the best we got right now. But that still doesn't explain the town."
"No, it doesn't." At this point, I was worried that the distant collection of buildings we saw would only serve to raise even more questions. Who lives there? More krakotl? kolshians? Is it empty? But standing around wouldn't answer any questions. It'll kill us, given everything we've seen so far. "Kelum, we have to keep moving."
"Yeah, your right, but with all this..." He paused, before looking at me, then himself. "Are we stupid?"
"Uh...what do you mean."
"Cap, we're birds."
"Yes, but..."
"...oh..."
We had become so enamored with our surroundings that we completely forgot the fact that we could fly.
"Yeah, oh." Kelum slung his rifle over his shoulders, and extended his wings out to their full length. "Hopefully we can just fly right over all of this shit."
"Good thinking, wish we thought of-" Another rustle caught my attention, this time from the nearest tree. In the shadowed canopy far above, I could just barely make out something slinking among the branches.
Earth and debris began to swirl as Kelum went airborne. "Something wrong Cap?"
"Nothing, it's just..." Another branch moved, then fell entirely still. Out of all things, why does this seem so...
And then all at once, days spent at the academy flooded back. Memories of illegal histories and textbooks downloaded over the internet, of countless nights spent secretly learning my peoples true history, of why the Federation even considered us prey in the first place.
Oh no.
"Kelum, KELUM!"
"Cap, wha-"
My yell was enough for Kelum to falter, just enough so that the blur that leapt out of the tree missed him by a feathers width. It landed on a trunk opposite to me, claws sharper than an Arxurs digging into the bark. Its earthen fur, which camouflaged it amidst the foliage, now stood on its ends. A growl gurgled from between its barred teeth, and four forward facing eyes trained directly on me.
For a moment we stared each other down, as we both processed the fact that we were seeing specters. My breath caught, my wings were shaking, and I couldn't focus. Partly out of fear, partly out of the impossibility of the whole situation.
Your supposed to be dead. The Federation killed you, they killed ALL of you.
But it didn't care much for the Federation. It only cared about me. Because it was the predator, and I was now its prey.
It launched off the trunk, almost defying gravity as it crossed the gap at a nearly imperceptible speed. I tried to dodge out of the way, but I only managed halfway before an unfathomable pain flashed across my chest and sent my spinning into the earth.
Something warm and sticky filled the space between my vest and chest as my vision faded in and out. Loud pops sounded off one after another, fully killing the already injured silence. That terrible wail once again echoed distantly, cut off by another pop, and the calm returned once again. Shadows invaded the corners of my vision, threatening to overtake everything. As the false sun dispapeared behind Kelum, consciousness finally slipped away.
The pain was the first thing to greet me, followed by the contradiction of the relatively cool air. The battle between them, the pounding agony and the soothing cold, was what awoke me from my imposed slumber.
Fluttering my eyes met we with large splotches of grey and gold, spattered over my vision like spilled buckets of paint. It took several moments for everything to gain defintion, while another spot of blue went back and forth across my sight.
K...Kelum?
Something I did caught his attention, for he stopped in his tracks and immediately came to my side.
"Captain....Cap...can you hear me?"
"I...Kelum?"
"Yeah, yeah, Cap, it's me. It's Kelum."
"Kelum..."
Kelum was standing over me, fatigue dragging at his features. His talons, his wings, his vest, all of him was smeared with violet. Looking behind him revealed that we were in some sort of cave, orange light cascading through the distant entrance. The rock reflected it all, granting the scene an almost...magmatic appearence. Like everything was going to melt right on top of us and burn us alive. My chest already felt much that way anyways.
"Stars above, your awake. I thought you weren't gonna make it."
I managed to look down to see that I was entirely naked, spare for the fithly fabrics wrapped tightly around my chest. They, along with the feathers surrounding it, was also stained a pugent violet.
"Kelum," a cough sent bolts of pain running across my chest.
"Take it easy, Cap, take it easy." Kelum pressed a talon on my shoulder to keep me from gettiing up. "It got you pretty good. You lost a lot of blood."
"Wha...what happened." My memory was still fuzzy, no more defined than my vision mere moments ago. All that was there were feelings, of fear, pain, confusion, and in some small note, even awe.
"That...that thing, it almost got me. If you hadn't had called out, I...fuck, that fall would've done most of the work." Kelum's brevity was all but gone, leaving behind a bloodied, anxious wreck. "And then it pounced on you, got you across the chest. There was so much blood, I thought you were going to..." He trailed off as he considered the possibility. It was still a possibility.
"Hey," I managed weakly. "I'm still here. It hasn't got me yet."
Kelum managed to regain some of his composure. "I...had to use your vest as a bandage. I don't know how long it'll hold, but it's stopped the bleeding for now."
I looked down at my chest again. Somewhere beneath the tattered remains of my uniform laid a gash that nearly ended my life. There was a momentary urge to peel back the fabric to see how bad it was, but that would only hasten things at that point.
"Kelum...if I don't make it..."
"Cap, don't say that."
"Kelum, it's my job as a captain to realistically assess the situation we find ourselves in. And the fact is that I can't fly. I don't even know if I can walk. Odds are that more of those Dakquo are roaming around out there, along with stars know what else. If this," I pointed to my bandage, "doesn't get me, everything else will."
"Cap..." Kelum didn't want to accept it, but I could see that he knew it was true. I was living on borrowed time.
"Kelum, for what it's worth, I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to come with me. Even in this place, you've flown above and beyond the call of duty. And for that, thank you."
Kelum couldn't help a tear from rolling down his cheek, one which he quickly wiped away, leaving behind a little smear of purple. "Thanks cap, it's been an honor serving with you too."
Kelum stood over me for a long moment, before setting down beside me. He glanced deeper into the tunnel , before turning back to face the entrance. "Cap?"
"Yeah?" My breathing was beginning to grow more ragged.
"You mentioned a Dakquo? Was that..."
"Yeah, it was."
Another moment of silence.
It's ironic, isn't it.
"It was a predator from before the Federation arrived. It likes to hide up in the trees, waiting for something to fly past. That's when it pounces. I...became fasncinated with it in my youth. To think, such a powerful creature once roamed our home, that we coexisted with it peacefully for so long. And in an instant, the Federation took it all away. I never thought I would see one. I was never suppsoed to see one. They're supposed to be all dead."
Kelum took another glance back.
"So when I saw it there, about to pounce, a small part of me couldn't help but feel amazed. Something they took from us, something that once defined who we were. And there it was, right in front of my eyes."
I coughed again, and pain roared back once more. Kelum gripped me tighly as it slowly faded, but didn't fully disppear. I didn't have long. Hours, maybe a day or two at the most.
I looked down at the wrap. A small bead of blood peeked out from the wound, which I picked up on the tip of my talon. It glowed pink under the fading light.
"It's funny. It only took a thousand years, but things are finally back to normal."
Kelum glanced back once more.
"Kelum, what are you looking at?"
"I.." he blinked, "I've been trying to ignore it, but there's down the tunnel there."
"What do you mean? Is it-"
"It's not alive, but..." his look said it might has well been. "I'm gonna check it out."
"I'm coming with you." I moved to stand up, but Kelum placed a talon on my shoulder.
"Your not going anywhere cap. Walking around isn't gonna do you any good."
"Like sitting here is." Ignoring my wound scremaing murder, I stood up, and balanced myself on two shaky legs. "I'm not sitting this out. Not anymore."
"But cap-"
"Kelum, I came here because it was a choice I could make. Let me make this one too."
Kelum moved to protest, but only managed to sigh. He unholstered my pistol, and handed it off to me. "If you die now, I'm gonna kill you cap."
That managed a frail chcukle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"Fuck, I'm glad too."
Every step was like ten years spent on a cattle farm, but I was able to at least walk. We began slowly creeping deeper into the cave, with Kelum bringing up his weapon light against the encroaching darkness. It revealed something only barely visible from our previous spot, a set of...bones. Inching closer showed that the corpse wasn't of a bird, or that lizard, or even the Dakquo. Rather...
"Wait..." Kelum pasued his light on the skull, where two forward facing sokcets stared back. The snout was elongated, housing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It rested near what remained of the creatures long tail...and the hands...
"No way..."
Kelum turned his light on one of the hands. Four fingers, and...two thumbs.
"That can't be possible." Kelum swept the light to the other arm, and the story was the same. Four fingers, two thumbs. "No, this can't be right."
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but it was. It was staring us right in the face, with sockets that housed eyes that once terrfied the entire galaxy.
"It's an arxur."
Before we even had time to process the discovery, noises from back where we came caught our attention. Kelum turned towards the light, rifle raised in anticiaption of another attack. I raised my pistol, before a flash of agony nearly sent me to the ground. Something tore, something seperated, and my chest suddenly began to feel too warm. I looked down to see that the bandage had gone loose, and the blood was beginning to run free.
"Oh shit, Kalsim, hold on!"
"It's fine...it's fine." I lowered to the ground as Kelum began frantically ripping off his own vest. The blood was running in little rivers between my feathers as my gaurd despratley tried to stem the flow. But it wasn't working this time. Even with mine and his, the makeshift dressing wasn't enough to prevent what was coming now.
Everything began to fade, Kelums deseperate pleas for me to stay awake, the approaching footsteps, what sounded like voices, all rapdily consumed by the encroaching fog. Even the pain, which seemed to slink away with every passing second.
It was so...peaceful. Even as Kelum began to shake me, even as he was thrown aside by a shadowed figure, I wasn't afraid. Maybe I lost the capacity to be afraid. The path set for me left me liable to be shot or annihilaited at any given moment. I long accepted the inevitability of my death, but I was no hurry to greet it. And now here I was, knocking on the door.
The darkness envloped me entirely, and sensation quickly fell away. Just as I crossed the threshhold, one final thought occured to me:
At least it was all my fault.
l Prologue l Previous l Next l

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1cq87q1/im_a_single_mom_i_never_knew_who_the_donor_was/
It all started when I got divorced at the age of thirty-nine, and was left with a choice.
Return to the dating "circuit," as my single girl friends would jokingly refer to it, and take my chances on finding a man ready to jump right into having a family, or explore alternative means of having a child... on my own.
"On my own." The very sound of it terrified me, but when I thought about starting a relationship all over again after ten long years of trying to salvage one, going it alone didn't sound so bad.
And so...
...The next day, I began looking into artificial insemination by way of an anonymous sperm donation.
...A week after that, I was at a fertility clinic, looking through a database containing profiles of potential anonymous donors and making arrangements for a procedure...
...A month after that, I was pregnant...
...And nine months after that, I was giving birth to my beautiful baby boy... David.
And while I didn't know who David's biological father was, it didn't matter. I was his mother. He was my son. And we were in it together.
That is, until almost seven years later, when I received a call from an unknown number, that would change my life forever.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Is this Mary Birch?" A man asked on the other line.
"Yes, this is she..." I replied, prepared to hang up at the earliest sign of spam risk.
"The same Mary Birch who received an artificial insemination from an anonymous sperm donor seven years ago tomorrow?"
Fuck. I thought to myself, assuming that after all these years, the anonymous donor himself had suddenly come looking for me... or worse... David.
"This is Ryan McDonald. I was a nurse at the fertility clinic where you chose your anonymous donor and underwent your procedure."
"Okay..." I replied, unsure of where he was going with it.
"Mary, I'm not sure exactly how to tell you this... but there's something you need to know about David."
"What?"
"And I need to tell you before tomorrow."
—
Later that night, I was sitting at a diner, texting David's babysitter his dietary restrictions, while at the same time researching where to rent a bouncy house for his seventh birthday the next day, when Ryan McDonald sat down in the booth across from me.
He didn't look familiar, but in my defense, it had been almost seven years, and it wasn't like I ever got to know any of the countless nurses I had met during the process.
"This is going to be difficult to hear..." Ryan began, before taking a deep breath. "But David isn't the only child conceived using his biological father's sperm."
"Fair enough. I always knew there was a chance that there were others out there." I replied, relieved to hear what I assumed was why he brought me there.
But my assumption was very wrong.
"Yeah but the thing is..." He added, before hesitating, and then leaning in to whisper to me. "The others... There's something very wrong with them."
"Oh, well I guess I lucked out then." I said defensively, "'Cause David is the most level headed child. I honestly couldn't have asked for a more well behaved kid."
"See that's the thing..." Ryan continued, "So were they... Until their seventh birthdays."
"Seventh birthdays? Well, what happened then?"
"They... turned."
"Turned into what?"
"Killers."
I stopped for a minute and went completely silent, as he looked at me sympathetically...
...Until I suddenly burst out laughing.
"Killers? That's a good one! Hold on." I called out, as I looked around the diner, "Where are the hidden cameras? You're pranking me, right?"
"I'm afraid not, Mary."
That's when he pulled out the newspaper clippings.
There were nine stories in total, about nine different children. Each one having either gone on a killing spree, or attempted to, just after turning seven years old. And, according to Ryan, each one a child of "The Donor," as he kept referring to him.
"David, from what we know, is the tenth, and final child." He concluded, as he put the clippings back in his pocket.
The whole thing was all so overdramatic, so far-fetched, and so disrespectful to both me and my son... that whatever amusement I was finding in it, had long faded away. Instead... it was actually starting to piss me off.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. McDonald, I'd better be going. I'm afraid your joke has gone a little too far." I declared with a scowl, as I grabbed my purse and stormed away.
"Wait!" He called out. "We need to talk about "The Donor.""
But I'd already made up my mind.
—
By the time I got home, David was fast asleep in his bedroom, and the babysitter was anxiously waiting to leave. After handing her some cash and heading upstairs, I got ready for bed, and put on some reality TV, to help get my mind off the bizarre, and unsettling encounter at the diner.
But when the clock struck midnight, and it officially became David's seventh birthday, I couldn't help but be reminded of Ryan's warning.
"See that's the thing... So were they... Until their seventh birthdays."
"Don't worry about it. It's just a bunch of nonsense." I whispered to myself, as I pulled the comforter over my head, shut off the light, and turned in for the night.
But just as I was falling asleep, I was suddenly awoken by a strange noise emanating from the hallway, specifically David's bedroom.
Cracking the door and tiptoeing down the hall, I slowly approached it.
And as I got closer, and closer, and closer...
...The noise grew louder, and louder, and louder...
...Until I reached the door to David's room, and was able to hear the sound more clearly. It was a growling noise, accented by what sounded like howling and drooling.
Surely, Ryan was right, and there was, in fact, something wrong with David. I thought to myself, terrified by what might have come over him.
I stood there for a moment, frozen in place, not knowing what to do.
Until I eventually worked up the courage to grab the doorknob and fling open the door....
...Only to find David curled up in bed, watching a horror movie, its hero on the verge of being devoured by a zombie.
Phew. I thought to myself, realizing that the film was the source of the unsettling sounds that I'd heard. Before my relief turned to anger.
"David! What are you doing? It's way past your bedtime!"
"Sorry, mom!" My son replied, looking even more scared than the movie's main character, and than I had just been, as he scrambled to find the clicker and turn off the TV.
Then I remembered that it was David's birthday, and suddenly felt bad, so I decided to let him watch TV until the movie ended, under one condition. That he be on his best behavior at his birthday party the next day.
—
But despite our agreement, when David's seventh birthday party commenced in our backyard the next day, something came over him that I'd never seen before.
A strange irritability. A temper that, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed he was capable of.
Seemingly out of nowhere, after showing his friend Bobby one of his birthday gifts, he suddenly snatched it back and yelled, "Give it back! It's not yours, it's mine!" Before shoving him to the ground.
"David!" I screamed, as Bobby's eyes welled up, and the other moms looked on in surprise. "That's enough! Now get inside and go to your room! Until I say otherwise!"
"But mom!" He cried back.
"I said go! Now!" I insisted.
But rather than continue to argue, his face suddenly turned blank and he simply walked back inside.
"Are you okay, Bobby?" I asked his friend, who had just picked himself up off the ground, and appeared to be fine, before turning to Bobby's mother, Roxy. "I am so sorry about that. I have no idea what's gotten into him."
But Roxy didn't say anything. She just stood there, silently, her mouth agape and her eyes wide in fear, as she looked over my shoulder.
I turned around...
...To find David, standing at the door to the backyard, holding a steak knife.
"David..." I began to scold him, but he had already come charging at me, as the rest of the party goers cried out in horror.
Now it's important to know why my husband had left so many years ago. Truth is, he had a terrible temper, and was prone to psychological and emotional abuse. He had never laid a finger on me, until one day, when, in the middle of a fight, he seemingly out of nowhere, picked up a kitchen knife and threatened to use it on me. Suffice to say, a month later, we had filed for divorce.
Which is why, in that moment, as my child held one of his own, repeating history, I simply...
...Froze...
...As he grew closer... and closer... and closer, raising his weapon in the air, ready to strike.
But before he was able to bring the knife down on me, suddenly a hand emerged out of nowhere and caught his arm, freezing his blade in midair, just an inch from my face.
And when I turned to investigate who had saved me from my child...
...I saw Ryan McDonald standing there, a look of sorrow in his eyes, as if to say, "Told ya so."
But all he said was, "We have to talk about "The Donor.""

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1b5iszd/my_wife_and_i_got_cast_in_a_reality_show_pilot/
I had just wrapped work on a Friday night, when my wife, Cara, first told me about the ad.
"I don't know how long I can work for this guy anymore." I said to her, closing my laptop for the weekend.
"Alan?" She replied.
"Yeah. He's such a prick. Everything's urgent, and everything's a fire drill. Until he doesn't care about it anymore."
"You know what you should do?"
"What?"
"Kick his ass."
"I wish. But you know full well that I don't have a threatening bone in my body. I'm a lover not a fighter." I said with a wink.
"Oh, that reminds me! Speaking of lovers." My wife said with a smile, pulling out her phone. "Look at this."
Taking the phone from her hand, I saw that she had saved a job posting.
"New Reality Series Seeks Married Couples For Chance To Win Once In A Lifetime Prize."
At first, I scoffed at it. Having been happily married for a few years now, and both of us gainfully employed, I was pretty confident that neither my wife nor I sought money or fame. We already had everything a couple could ever want.
"Why would we ever go on a reality show?" I asked.
"Keep reading," Cara replied, pointing to the bottom of the posting.
I did as she suggested.
"The winning couple will receive a once in a lifetime chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child."
Okay, maybe we didn't quite have everything a couple could want.
I looked at my wife. "Enticing, yes. But I mean, what are the chances we'd actually get cast?"
"Hey, you can't win if you don't play, right?" Cara replied, "And what other choice do we have?"
She had a point. We'd been trying to conceive for a few years, but no matter the approach, whether natural, IUI, or IVF, you name it, the outcome was always the same.
It was the one thing we didn't have. The one thing, save for surrogacy or adoption, that money couldn't buy...
...Having a child of our own.
And so...
...The next day, we reached out to the production company's nondescript email address...
...A couple days later, we heard back...
...And a week later, we found ourselves on a video call with a casting director, attempting to sell her on why they should choose us as one of the five couples competing in their pilot, and why we deserved the prize.
But my wife and I both left the meeting thinking we botched it, each of us walking away with the same feeling that one gets after a flubbed job interview.
And so, we both resolved to go back to our lives. Back to being realistic about the situation. And even started looking into some adoption agencies.
That is, until a week later, when Cara and I received an email from the production company...
...Informing us that we were selected to participate in the reality show pilot!
A few signed contracts, NDAs, and talent release forms later, and my wife and I were off on an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles.
I remember pulling into the parking lot of the production studio that first day, and finding it a bit strange that a TV show would be filmed in such a rundown, dilapidated warehouse. But I knew nothing about production, and chalked it up to budgetary constraints. And, after all, we had already traveled too far, and there was too much on the line, to turn back now.
Upon entering the building's lobby, we were immediately welcomed in by the show's producer, Phil, whose warm greeting through his medical mask, quickly turned sour, "You're late! Literally the last couple to arrive! Hurry, hurry! Follow me! We're about to start!"
I thought it a bit rude, and noticed a concerned look wash over Cara's face. But then I remembered it was our fault, after all, that we underestimated LA traffic, so I bit my tongue.
Phil then confiscated both of our cell phones, before escorting us out of the lobby, down a long hallway, around a corner, and into a massive lounge, lit by professional lights, with five couches scattered about. Four of which were occupied by other couples, who were sitting there, patiently waiting, when we finally entered the room.
"So sorry!" I called out to them, while simultaneously waving "Hello," as I sat down in one of the loveseats.
"Thanks for your patience!" Cara added, as she took a seat beside me.
But our peers and competitors didn't even have a chance to react, as Phil suddenly ran into the room with a similarly masked production crew of about ten individuals, and got right down to business.
I thought it strange that they were all masked, assuming that covid regulations had long ended, but before I could dwell on the details too much, Phil yelled out, "Alright, places people! Sound!"
"Speed!" A few masked sound guys yelled back, as they hit record on their audio devices and aimed their boom microphones at the front of the room.
"Camera!" Phil continued.
"Speeding!" Several masked camera men replied, in unison, each carrying a broadcast camera on their shoulder.
"Slate!" Phil added, as a masked production assistant ran up to the front of the room, where there was a set of two doors on the far wall, and a door to the side that must have led offstage. He then opened his clapboard, for all of the cameras and microphones to see and hear.
I wondered why they hadn't filled out the section on the clapboard where the first take would go, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of it clapping.
CLAP!
Then Phil gestured to what must have been the director, who was hanging back in the shadows, his features hidden in the dark, outside of the set's bright lights.
"Action!" The director yelled out for all to hear.
And then...
...There was silence.
All of us couples looked at each other with a smile, literally on the edge of our seats, when suddenly, we heard the voice of a middle aged man ring out over the speakers that had been mounted to the ceiling of the lounge. "Ladies and gentlemen! Who's excited to make history?"
The cameras turned to the ten participants, including Cara and myself, and we all immediately started clapping and whistling, before they turned back to the man.
"I'm your anonymous host, four time husband, and five time divorcee!"
The group erupted in laughter, cheering him on, as they looked up at the speakers.
"And you know what? I'm not proud of that. Cause, much like you, deep down inside, I want to love and be loved. To have the fortitude, the patience, and the will to fight on through good times and bad, all in the name of love. Which is why I've brought you all here. Yes, you! Give yourselves a round of applause!" He said, before pausing to allow us all to react.
And so we did, all the couples clapping and smiling.
"Yes, I'm here, hosting and watching remotely, to learn from the five happily married couples before us, what the secret is to persevering through the challenges that life throws our way. To see what ends you'll all go to in support of your marriage, and if you'll do... anything for love. Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome... to Anything For Love."
Everyone let out a nervous laugh, but kept applauding anyway.
"And now... it's time for the rules. In this reality competition, the first of its kind, you'll be split up into two groups, five men and five women, and separated from each other for the duration of the game. Over the course of the show, both teams will compete in four challenges, with each challenge resulting in one loser, who will be promptly eliminated. At the end of the game, the winning player from each team will be revealed. If those two players are not members of the same couple, then no one wins. But if those two players happen to be members of the same couple, they win the game, and a once in a lifetime prize... The chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child. So before we begin, let me ask you this... Are you prepared to do anything for love?"
His voice blasted out from the speakers with so much enthusiasm, and so much energy, that in that moment, every single one of us hopped up out of our seats, and began cheering and clapping.
Eventually, the applause faded, and our host continued, "Now, will the men please line up on the left side of the room, and the women on the right?"
The couples did exactly as he asked, and when we had finally split up into two groups, men and women, our host simply said. "Now goodluck! And I can't wait to see who makes it to the end!"
Suddenly, the two doors at the front of the room opened, and each group was escorted by a masked production assistant through one of the doors, separating the husbands from the wives, until that fateful moment at the end of the show, when only the two winners will be reunited.
For the first couple games, I didn't know where they took the wives, or what kind of challenges my own wife was facing. All I knew were the games they presented to us husbands.
Games that were, let's just say...
...Utterly fucked.
As all five men entered the room for the first game, we all saw before us, a massive open factory space, that had been adorned with only one simple piece of art direction at its center... a small wooden table.
"Will the contestants please make their way to the table." The host called out over this room's ceiling-mounted speakers.
We did as he said, as the masked camera crew followed us to the center of the room.
"The rules of game one are simple. In marriage, you must sometimes sacrifice a piece of yourself, for the greater good. Today, that sacrifice... is your wedding ring. But not just your wedding ring... your entire ring finger!"
The five guys and myself all turned to one another and chuckled, assuming he was kidding.
But suddenly, a door opened into the factory, and a masked crew member proceeded to walk over to the table holding a steak knife.
He didn't say anything, and simply stared at us through his mask, as the host continued.
"The last person to cut their finger off, or the first to give up, is the loser. And will be promptly escorted from the premises."
What the fuck. I thought to myself, realizing the host wasn't kidding.
"Wait a minute," a few of the men mumbled.
But one of them, the most obnoxious in the group, could not have been less afraid, puffing out his chest and yelling into a camera, "Fine! I'll go first. I aint afraid."
He then slammed his hand down on the table, clenching his fist in a way that only exposed his ring finger.
There was a brief moment of silence until...
...Suddenly the masked crew member grabbed the husband's hand and brought down his blade so hard, that it cut the man's finger clean off, blood spraying all over the table.
It took the arrogant man a moment to process what had just happened, before he started screaming in pain, a scream that turned into a maniacal laugh, as medical staff ran over to tend to his wound.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys looked on in horror, as we saw blood pouring from his hand, and realized we were next.
The wounded husband then looked directly into one of the cameras and defiantly said, "That was nothing." Before turning back to us and asking, "Come on. Who's next fellas?"
Two more of the men begrudgingly followed suit, each of their ring fingers being severed from their hands, leaving just myself and one husband left.
We were both shaking in fear, but the other guy was terrified, that he started begging the producer for a way out. "Wait you can't be serious? We really need to do that? Please. Please don't make me.
"The show is called Anything For Love." Phil replied. "And you signed paperwork that warned you things like this would come up."
"I didn't read that!" The nervous man yelled back.
But before he even had a chance to consider participating, I must have accidentally leaned on the table with my hand.
"Wait!" The nervous man yelled out...
...But it was too late. Before either he or I noticed, the masked man had already amputated my ring finger, blood spraying everywhere, as I let out a great scream that echoed throughout the factory.
And as the medical staff ran over to me, just as they had done for the others who had gone before me, I heard the host's voice on the speakers again. "Congratulations, gentlemen! Four of you have shown that you'll do anything for love. While the fifth, did not have what it takes, and must now return home."
And like that, a couple masked production assistants grabbed the nervous man by the shoulders, and escorted him out of the room.
It was in the aftermath of that first game, that I realized the title of the show, "Anything For Love," was not just a play on words, but the literal description of what we would need to do to win.
And then, the host continued.
"Will the remaining four husbands please walk through the open door, and into the next room."
We did as he asked.
On the way there, I looked down at my missing finger, its stump wrapped in gauze, and couldn't help but wonder if Cara had also been forced to make the same choice, and if she had gone through with it.
When we entered the second room, we all saw another giant warehouse space. Except this time, instead of being sparse, it was completely overgrown with shrubs of thorny vines, separating where we stood, from the other side.
"Love is both a rose, but also has thorns." The host called out over the room's speakers. "It can make you feel euphoric pleasure, but at the same time extreme pain. In game two, you'll need to prove that you can overcome that pain to get to the other side, and make it to game three. The last person to crawl through the thorns, or the first person to give up, will be promptly eliminated from the show and removed from the premises. Will you do anything for love? The game starts... now."
The four husbands all looked at each other, then back at the thorns, then back at each other, before the arrogant man, who was standing beside me, made me a proposition. "Let's team up. If we follow the same path, we can take turns, one of us pushing forward for a while, then the other, and it'll save us half the pain.”
But I didn't like the idea of cheating, or supporting such an asshole, so I politely declined. "Sorry man."
"Fine, have it your way, idiot. I don't need your help, I was just trying to help him out." The arrogant man said to one of the cameras, before he turned around and charged into the thorns.
The rest of us husbands, including myself, still in shock from what had happened in the first game and clenching our wounded hands, looked at each other, and then back at the production crew. But a group of them were standing behind us, ready to push us into the thorns, should we decide not to comply.
So we all proceeded to follow the arrogant husband into the thorns, and began a race, through what felt like a football field's length of sharp vines, each of us doing our best to avoid what we could, but inevitably getting scratched over and over and over again, to the point where our bodies were covered in blood.
And when I finally crossed the finish line, and stepped out of the thorny shrubs bloody and exhausted, I was relieved to find that only two husbands had beat me there. The arrogant man, of course, and another.
We all looked back, to find the fourth pour soul still halfway through the shrubs, his clothes caught in the thorns.
"Wait for me!" He called out. But it was too late.
"Congratulations, winners!" The host's voice called out over the speakers. "You've proven you would truly do anything for love, and can proceed on to the next game. And as for the loser, please remove him from the game."
Then, a couple crew members wearing rubber suits and carrying shears, cut their way through the thorns, freed the fourth husband from the thorns, and escorted him out of the factory.
As the three remaining husbands left the second room and entered the third, my thoughts once again returned to my wife, and wondered whether she too was faced with the same challenge, and had made it through the thorns.
Game three is where things... escalated.
When we entered the next factory, I saw three beds in the center of the room, each with a TV next to it.
"Remaining contestants, welcome to the semi final challenge." The host bellowed out over the room's speakers. "Will you each please choose a bed."
The three of us did as he asked, and walked to the center of the room, each of us standing in front of one the beds.
Then, a door opened and three masked women emerged, making their way to the center of the room, and each lying down on one of the beds.
"The rules of game three are as follows." He continued. "You simply have to sex with the stranger before you..."
The arrogant husband looked at me and smiled.
"...While watching your partner do the same."
Suddenly, the three TVs turned on, each displaying our wives in the very same situation. And lying on each of their beds, was a masked man.
"First off, we assure you that the women and men before you complied consensually, and have been tested for STDs. So the test of this game is not about morality, or safety, but fidelity. Would you cheat on your significant other, for the greater good of the relationship? The last couple to have sex, or the first to refuse, will lose. While the others, will proceed on to the final challenge."
I looked at my wife on the TV screen, relieved that she had made it this far, but started in shaking fear of what we both have to do to win.
Meanwhile, the arrogant husband started unclipping his belt button and turned to one of the cameras. "You call this a semi final? My wife and I are in an open relationship. Bring it on!"
While the third man, simply stared at his TV screen, sweating and pacing, clearly terrified to go through with it, and watch his wife do the same.
"The game begins... now!” The host called out.
As the arrogant man began to have sex with the woman on his bed, his naked body still littered with fresh scratches from the thorns, I thought about trying to escape, but then I saw the timid husband, and realized his hesitation was an opportunity for me to make it to the next round.
And so, I too removed my clothes and exposed my wounded body, crawling into bed with the masked woman, as my wife did the same with the masked man.
Before long, it was over, the arrogant man laying there naked and smiling into one of the cameras, while I, also naked, hung my head in shame for what I had just done.
I looked at the TV screen, and saw my wife put her clothes back on too. We had both made it.
The same could not be said for the nervous man and his wife, who both stayed true to their values, neither engaging in the act, before masked crew members promptly escorted them out of the factory.
And then there were two. Well, two couples that is. Myself against the arrogant man, my wife against his.
Masked production assistants then brought myself and my competitor into the room where the final challenge would be held.
It, much like the first room, was completely bare save for a dinner table at its center, where two plates and sets of utensils were set out.
"Finalists. Welcome to the fourth and last challenge. Will both contestants please take a seat at the dinner table."
We followed his instructions, as we had done previously, and sat down at the table, before a couple production assistants ran over and helped us tuck bibs into our shirts.
"The rules of game four are perhaps the most simple of all. You'll be presented with an item that you must eat. The first to finish eating it, is the winner." The host said over the room's speakers.
That's when a door opened and two masked PAs came out holding trays, and began rushing them over to us.
As they approached us, I began to panic, knowing that whatever it was that they were about to present to us, would likely even be more terrifying than anything we had encountered in the previous games.
"Sometimes you have to break a heart, to win another." The host called out, "In this challenge, the item you'll need to eat is..."
At that exact moment, the two PAs each removed a pair of tongs from their pocket, uncovered their tray, and placed the item on our plates.
"...A human heart."
I gasped, and nearly threw up in my mouth, as I saw the disgusting bloody organ lying there on my plate.
"May the best husband win! Goodluck, the game starts... now!"
For a minute, I hesitated, disgusted by the challenge set before me, but then I thought about what was on the line, and saw the arrogant husband immediately biting into his heart, blood pouring down his face.
I hurried to catch up, briefly fumbling my own heart, before chomping into it, and attempting to eat it as fast as I could, as blood sprayed all over my own face.
But the arrogant husband had gotten a head start, and was moving too quickly. No matter how fast I ate it, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, he would surely beat me..
So, not knowing what else to do…
…I slammed what was left of my heart onto the plate, removed my bib, stood up, and proceeded to tackle the arrogant man out of his seat, sending his heart sliding across the concrete floor.
"What the fuck are you doing, man?" He asked, likely surprised that I was capable of such an act.
"I'm doing what needs to be done for love." I replied, before pummeling him over and over in the face with my fist, as I channeled my innermost frustrations, ranging from the traumatic experience we had just gone through, the arrogant husband’s obnoxious behavior throughout the game, years of belittlement from asshole boss, and my wife and my countless failed attempts at getting pregnant over the years.
I kept pummeling him, until he had completely shut the fuck up, and was simply mumbling incoherent words, his face a bloody pulp, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I then stood up, walked back to the table, sat down, put the bib back on, and took the last bite of my heart.
"Congratulations, you’ve proved that you'll truly do anything for love, and have won the show! Please remove the loser."
Rather than celebrate, my mind once again returned to my wife, worried about her well being and wondering if she too, had mustered up the courage to eat the heart, and had become the winning wife.
A couple masked production assitants then ran over and dragged the arrogant husband away, as he simply stared at me in shock.
I looked down at my hands, which were still covered in blood, then up at one of the cameras, which was now right up in my face.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, prompting me to speak to the camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to speak any words.
I tried to think of something to say, but before I could, a door opened, and the masked PAs grabbed me by the arms and escorted me out of the last room and into an adjacent hallway, which led to a huge set of double doors.
"Winners,” the host said over the hallway’s speakers. “You stand here before us, victorious, each of you on one side of the doors. Now it is time, to find out if the person on the other side… is your partner… and if you both had what it takes, to do anything for love."
I took a deep breath, expecting the worst. Expecting to see the arrogant man’s wife on the other side. After all that.
But when the doors opened, I simply saw…
...My wife, standing there on the other side.
We ran to each other and embraced, both of us missing our ring fingers, littered in scratches, emotionally exhausted, and with faces and hands that were covered in blood.
"Congratulations!" The host continued, "You're the winners of Anything for Love!"
Both crying, we smiled at each other, but our smiles quickly turned into looks of sadness.
We'd won. But at what cost? I wondered, before the thought was overshadowed by that of the once in a lifetime prize that awaited us.
The producer, Phil, then brought us into yet another room, where we met a doctor, his face covered by a surgical mask, and both shook his hand.
"When you two showed up late,” Phil began, “I never thought you'd be the ones to win. But you did. So we stand by our promise. After you return home, you’ll be contacted by the doctor, who will provide you with the guidance and resources to hopefully have a baby of your own. That part, is obviously not guaranteed."
"Thank you." My wife replied, clearly torn by saying those words. “Understood.”
"Thank you." I added, also torn, before realizing that the camera crew didn't follow us into the room with the doctor. "But can I ask, why aren't you filming this part?"
"Oh, our audience only cares about watching the games." Phil replied with a chuckle.
"Audience? But we just filmed it."
"Oh, yeah we were livestreaming the whole time."
"I thought it was just a pilot. Who was watching?"
"The subscribers."
"Who are they?"
"A very small, very privileged group of people, who can't be bothered by pedestrian entertainment. They desire something more... elevated."
"Will this ever be a real show?"
"This? Of course not." Phil laughed, "No one else will ever watch this again. And no one but the small group of contestants and this crew, will ever know of what went on here."
"What happened to the other couples?"
"Oh they're fine. Aside from missing fingers, and being a little physically and emotionally scratched up. We'll do with them exactly what we'll do with you. Drop them off somewhere just far enough away that after we give them their phones back, if they choose to call the police or tell anyone about this place, by the time they come here to investigate, they'll find this factory abandoned, without a trace of what went on here today. The same goes for you. By the way, we better get you ready to go, your car will be arriving any minute now.”
Neither my wife nor myself had the energy to conjure up a reply.
"Thank you again for playing!" Phil said through his mask, "And on behalf of the subscribers, please enjoy your prize!"
He then led us out down a long hallway, through a back door, and into an alley, where a car was waiting to take us away.
"The chauffeur will provide you with your phones upon your arrival."
An hour or so later, the driver pulled over on the side of a highway, and let us off, handing us our phones just as Phil had promised.
But rather than call the police, we just stood there for a while, still horrified by the terrifying experience we had just been put through.
And ultimately… we decided that since we had won, it'd be best to leave it alone.
We hitched a ride back home, and sure enough, about a week later...
...We received a call from the doctor...
...And less than a year after that, my wife gave birth to our baby boy.
Sometimes, I think back to that day, and the terrible games they set before us, and wonder if my wife and I went too far to win…
...But then I look at my newborn son, and all the doubt, all the shame, all the horror, washes away.
And as for the subscribers. Every once in a while, when a car drives suspiciously slow past our house, or I get the feeling that my baby monitor might have just moved on its own, I wonder if they're still watching us, and if this is just the next episode of their reality show.

(Now there are some parts in this chapter that actually happened in real life, the French revolution and incidents that happened during it. But pretty much the story is a work of fiction.)
Chapter 1: Recollection- I stood and watched the droplets of rain slide down the window pane. This should be a festival, or some type of holiday, as we rarely get any rainfall. I focused my gaze on the neon signs below. The rain falling around them seemed to enhance their luminosity. It is amazing that rainfall can make such a filth-riddled city like this seem almost; normal. After a little while, the rain slowly stopped falling. The dark clouds quickly dissipated and the twin moons cast their brightness, like two large spotlights in a prison yard. The city that was briefly hidden by the rain showed its ugly face. New Grimes City, the place where ‘good people’ are the stuff of legends. Gangsters, thieves, murderers and prostitutes are just some of the people who call this place home. Not a day goes by where you have to watch for wandering fingers reaching for your pockets. Although if you’re someone like me, you have more than just pickpockets to look out for. Being a private investigator has brought a slew of negative attention my way. There have been multiple assassination attempts made against me. But there’s a reason why all who have challenged me have failed.
Being a vampire has its perks, especially in a place like this. That’s the reason why I was sent here in the first place. Back on Earth things like me weren’t allowed in society, in fact anyone who put a single toe out of line was doomed to be sent here. The group known as “The cult of order” saw to that. No one knew of their existence, until the meteor struck. “The cataclysm of 2223”, the year that everything changed. After the meteor fell and single handedly wiped out most of the population of Earth, the remaining survivors needed a leader. The cult of order came to power, and established a "one-world government". sometimes I still can see the events of that fateful day as if it were a movie being played on repeat. I can still see the distant trail of the meteor as it plunged to Earth, see the towering wall of sea water as it came rushing towards the land, and being consumed by it. People who were fortunate enough lived in Strato-houses, or had some type of SHRV (Space Habitation and Recreational Vehicle) to get them out of harm's way. The rest of us weren’t so lucky, I would wager that half of the Earth’s population died that day. I remember as I was underneath the waves watching the many lifeless bodies being dragged along, I didn’t have to worry about drowning but I didn’t want to be stuck under the water. I tried to fight my way to the surface but the weight of the water and raging current made that near impossible. As I still kept trying to fight my way to the surface, I felt a sharp stinging pain in my stomach. A long metal rod had pierced straight through me like a knife through warm butter. When my blood started to mingle with the water that’s when I started to panic, if I didn’t get out of the water soon I would die. I hadn’t eaten in months up until that point, so I was already weak as it is. Bleeding out is kind of an ironic fate for a vampire, and one that I really wanted to take a rain check on. I started reaching out, desperately trying to grab onto something, anything that I could hold onto. If I was lucky, maybe it would be something buoyant enough to get me to the surface. I was so desperate that I started trying to grab hold of the bodies that were being tossed along the current above me. “I can’t die! I won’t die here!” were the thoughts racing through my head. Suddenly; as if some divine force heard my thoughts and felt my desperation, the current started to slow down.
A brief feeling of euphoria hit me as I felt myself just floating in the vast waters that surrounded me. However I knew I wasn’t safe just yet, I was getting weaker from the blood loss, so much so that I couldn’t use any of my magical abilities. With one more desperate reach, I grabbed onto the hand of one of the bodies. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her long black hair floated in the water, it made me think of me and my fiancée swimming in the lakes at Versailles. I hadn’t thought about her for ages it seemed, up until that point. She died a very long time ago, and I’ve tried to forget about it. Those were very dark times, even darker than the present I believe. It was at that point where I felt as if I wasn't going to make it up to the surface, I was too weak.Well if I was going to die, I wanted those thoughts of my fiancée to be my last. I remember hearing a beautiful song and the feeling of something embracing me. I surrendered to the warm feeling of it and closed my eyes, I'm pretty sure I smiled.

 I woke up; I was curious as to whether I was still alive, or had died and this was the afterlife. I felt as if I was laying on a bed, or possibly in a coffin with a soft interior. That's when a figure approached me, I couldn't clearly see who it was. I blinked a couple times to try and adjust my vision. It was a man, the thing that struck me was his pale skin. It seemed almost translucent. His piercing hazel eyes glowed brightly in the dark room. Then he smiled; he was a vampire just like me. "W-where am I?" was all I could say. "You are in a sanctuary, for our kind. This place used to be packed to the ceiling, but now it's very rare to see vampires. Alexandre and I have been the only inhabitants of this place for some time, so it's good to see another vampire." the man said. He grabbed my hand and slowly lifted me up. “How did you know I was a vampire?” I asked. “Oh, aside from the pale skin and fangs? No human could truly survive that.” “How did I get here?”, the man before me giggled a little at that question. “ You were rescued by a mermaid, if only I were so lucky,” the man said. “What was she like?” I couldn’t help but wonder, I didn’t realize mermaids were still alive, they are an ancient and resilient species. Also very beautiful, I saw a mermaid resting on a rocky cove a long time ago. Her hair was long and the color was like the stars on a clear night, the scales on her tail were navy blue that transitioned to a silver hue. When she saw me, we just stared at each other for a few seconds. She blew me a kiss and dove underneath the ocean waves. Mermaids do have that reputation for being seductresses, I wouldn’t have minded being tempted for one bit at that time. “Oh she was a thing of beauty, orange hair, sky blue scales, a high-born mermaid for certain.” “High-born?” I asked him, as I didn’t know there were different kinds of Merfolk. “High borns are part of the royal lineage of Merfolk, they can live for at least two-thousand years if all goes well. They are also born with special abilities, such as healing powers.” When I heard him say that I quickly lifted up my shirt, as I had remembered being pierced by that metal rod. To my shock and amazement, the rod and the wound were gone. “I remembered being impaled by a metal rod, and losing blood, did she really save me?” I thought to myself. “She must have, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking right now, would we?” he said. Of course, telepathy. He can read my thoughts, he must be pretty strong for a vampire. “I'm surprised you haven’t learned to read people’s thoughts yet, with you being around for as long as you have.” “Well I never really thought about honing my skills, I’m just trying to exist pretty much.” I said in response. “You need to learn your powers in order to truly survive, you almost died. A vampire almost dying from bleeding out! It’s an oxymoron personified!” The vampire started laughing uncontrollably. “Anyways, let me show you where you will be living. In the meantime I will teach you all you need to know.” The man snapped his fingers, the candles in the room lit up bringing light to the darkness. I saw the man more clearly, his garb was that of the aristocratic kind we wore back during the old regime. His long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. "Were you alive during the reign of the Bourbon?" I asked him. "Yes indeed, those were the days, I miss the gilded halls of Versailles, the large parties and the women, mostly the women." "Sir, may I introduce you?" A voice suddenly spoke, I looked over in the direction of the voice. It was another man, holding a tea tray. The top portion of his head was bald, he had pale skin, and was tall and quite burly. He looked like a rather stern man. If the emotions of happiness and joy were physical beings, they would run away in terror from his intimidating gaze. He was wearing fancy clothing however it was a little less extravagant than the former's, he was most likely a valet. "Yes you may, my dear Alexandre." the vampire said. 

"Very good sir", Alexandre put the tea tray on a little table, stood upright and took two steps forward. "May I present to you, the Chevalier de Castellane!" Alexandre spoke loudly. "You know my dear Alexandre, you don't have to be so dramatic when introducing me." The Chevalier spoke. "I'm sorry sir, but old habits die hard and even though it's true millennia have passed, I still remember introducing you like this at the parties and salons at Versailles." Even though his demeanor was rigid, and his gaze cold, I could see in his eyes a longing for the ways of a time long since forgotten. Sometimes I find myself wishing the same, before the revolution life was paradise. I was due to be married to the woman I loved, I had wealth and status, I would relive that time over and over again if I could. "Please forgive me sir, but I would like to keep my introductions the same as they have always been." Alexandre lowered his head a little, "We don't get many visitors as it is, so may I be allowed to do so?". "Yes you may Alexandre, if it brings you happiness then so be it!" The Chevalier said with a huge grin on his face, he turned and looked at me “You can call me Philippe, it makes things easier.” Alexadre glanced at me, “May I be allowed to introduce you, sir?.” “Oh! Y-yes you may, Alexandre.” The last time I was introduced by a valet was on the night of the last Royal Gala. It was not as extravagant as the other parties I've attended, but it was still a good time. Before; myself, my wife, our friends and family members were imprisoned and killed. “I need your name sir so I am able to.” Alexandre said with a hint of sarcasm. I glanced over towards Philippe, he was pouring himself a bumper of wine. I could smell it from the coffin I was in, Turin Rose Solis was the brand. My personal favorite, I could feel myself salivating. “Sir! Please may I please have your name?”, Alexandre said, this time sounding a bit more frustrated. “My name is È’tienne De la Croix.” I said. I could hear Philippe gasping. I quickly turned my head, I watched as the full glass of wine fell out of his hands. I was expecting it to hit the floor with a crash. However in the blink of an eye, Alexandre was standing next to Philippe. Glass of wine in hand, and the same rigid expression. I looked down to the floor in between the pair, not a single drop spilt. “Sir you have to be more careful, this wine is one of the two bottles we have left of the Turin Rose Solis. It would’ve been such a waste if this were spilled, please do be more careful next time.” The sight made me giggle a little, the Chevalier de Castellane, a nobleman, getting scolded by his valet. I was so distracted by the introductions and conversations, that I didn't look at my surroundings. We were in a cave, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be like a crypt or an old 19th century home. "Did you do the decorating yourself?" I asked, Philippe snickered a little. "No but you can take it up with Alexandre, he thought this place would be convenient for our purposes. But you did say that your name was É'tienne de la Croix, right?". "Yes I did, have we met before?" I asked, he did not seem familiar to me at all. "Yes we did meet, but only briefly. We were both imprisoned at the Hotel de la Force, I remember you being with your fianceé. A beautiful and noble woman I must say, what was her name again?". I could feel my heart breaking all over again, I looked down at the floor. "Genevieve de Lyon", it felt like I was regurgitating little blades trying to say her name. "She was, and still is the love of my life. It's been a very long time, and yet I still can't forget about her. She was an angel personified, a kind and beautiful soul." I could feel tears start to run down my cheeks. "Those revolutionary brutes defiled her, and forced me to watch. After they were done with her they proceeded to torture me. They ended up slitting my throat. They drug her away and left me for dead". After I said those words Philippe piped up, "Alexandre, give him my glass, he looks like he is in urgent need of some wine." "Right away my lord," as soon as Alexandre said those words, the glass of wine was being held in front of me. Alexandre is very good at his job, no wonder Philippe chose him as a companion. I took the glass of wine, "Thank you Alexandre," I said softly, "You're welcome sir." Alexandre quickly took back his place beside Philippe. I took a sip of the wine, if words could describe how delicious it was. I felt brave enough to continue, "The only thing I remember is someone coming to me, and offering me an escape from death and a chance at revenge, I said yes,". I looked up to see Alexandre pouring Philippe a glass of wine, Philippe looked back at me, "Do continue E'tienne, say what you need to say." I wiped the tears streaming down my face, and took another sip of wine. "When I was turned into a vampire, the person told me to wait until everything calmed down. They told me to blend into the crowd and feed to get stronger, to save the real prey for last." Before I could say another word, Philippe spoke. "Evil-doer's blood tastes better when they are afraid," Philippe said. My eyes widened, those were the exact words said to me when I was being told what to do. "Did you read my thoughts again Philippe?" I asked. "No, I was the one who turned you," Philippe said with a bit of pride. He continued to speak, "I'm honestly surprised you didn't remember me, although to be fair I forgot about you as well. I can understand though. The memories seem too much for you to handle. Though I do have a couple of questions in mind, did you find the men? Did you find your wife?"
I was flabbergasted, not only by the fact that I had just met the vampire who made me, but also the fact he could pose such delicate questions so casually. "W-well yes I did, I found both my wife, and the men who hurt her," I shuddered and looked away. "I took some clothes from a dead revolutionary, and escaped under the cover of nightfall. I hid in an abandoned apartment near the prison. When the day broke, I watched as the revolutionaries brought out the dead and the dying from the prison. That's when I saw my wife being dragged into the courtyard, beaten and bloodied beyond belief. A man stood in front of her, accusing her of being a traitor to the revolution, wanting to bring back the monarchy. The punishment was death, and as quickly as he said that, someone came behind her with a sword. With one swift motion of the blade, her head was no longer attached to her body.” The tears started streaming down my face again. Philippe came and sat by my side, “Please È'tienne forgive me for being so intrusive, but I need to know if you made those brutes suffer”. I took a minute to compose myself and wiped the tears from my face, “You're damn right I did-”.
The sudden ringing of the telephone shook me out of my recollections. I quickly look around, I'm still here in my office in New Grimes city. I sighed and walked over to my desk. “Hopefully this is a job opportunity”, I think to myself. I clear my throat and pick up the phone, “This is È'tienne speaking, how can I help you?”. A very familiar voice comes through, “È'tienne my old friend, I need to meet with you at once. There is an issue of grave importance we need to discuss, don't worry this will be a paid job. Meet me at the usual spot, there is someone here who is very anxious to meet you. Hurry, this is the type of man who doesn't like to be kept waiting very long”. With that, the man hangs up the phone. “This is unlike Guillaume, I have to get there right away!” I said out loud. I quickly throw on my overcoat and hat, and slip my pistol into its holster on my hip. I bolt out of my office, I run so fast that I almost bump into my secretary Jenny, who is carrying a load of paperwork. She yelped and stopped in her tracks and braced for impact. Thankfully I stopped just in time otherwise it would've been raining documents of various kinds. “Sir what's the rush?! You almost ran me over!” Jenny shouted at me. “I'm really sorry Jenny, I finally have a job opportunity and I have to get there as soon as possible!” Jenny quickly stood out of the way, “Good for you sir, are you going to Stonehaven?” She asked with a gleeful tone. “Yes, do you want the seafood capellini?” I asked her, trying to speed up the conversation. “You know me so well thank you sir, I'll get your dinner the next time.” she winked at me. I turned and walked towards the door. “Please be careful sir!” Jenny shouted as I closed the door behind me. I'm really grateful for her kindness and her loyalty. Even though business has been slow, she still comes in when she is scheduled. I start making my way towards Stonehaven, the most exclusive vampire watering hole in the city. There are many others, but Stonehaven requires you to be of royal lineage to even be considered a potential member. Thankfully I am of royal lineage, so I am allowed in without any hassle. As I get closer to Stonehaven, I start to feel very uneasy. I feel like something isn't right at all, all of my senses are telling me to run the other way. I start to wonder, why did Guillaume call me after so long? Why did he sound so nervous? There's only one way to find out, I hope my instincts are wrong on this.
(Please tell me what you think about this first chapter, and that if anything can be done different.)

Im writing this post because I am honestly at the end of my rope… I’m a 23 year old female and I’ve been in therapy for a year now. I’ve talked with my therapist about majority of the things I am going to discuss and over time I did see some improvement but now I’m back at square one. Recently something happened that completely triggered me and now I just feel hopeless. Last month I had surgery and I was supposed to have an ovarian cyst removed from my ovary but the surgery did not go as planned and I ended up losing a fallopian tube and diagnosed with stage 3 endometriosis. I was told that I may still be able to have children but there will be some difficulties. And unfortunately, a month later I already feel as if I can feel another cyst growing because my ovaries constantly throb and feel swollen. Having children is very important to me, I’ve always dreamed of one day being able to have my own family that I will love and they love me in return. Finding out there’s a possibility I might not be able to have children has completely shattered me. I feel as if this event has confirmed the fact that I am unlovable. It seems as if anything involving “love” it gets ripped away from me or I’m completely rejected from it. My therapist thinks I shouldn’t just accept the fact that I can’t have kids but still remain hopeful because there is some possibility I could but that’s honestly too painful. If I keep that hope alive and it doesn’t happen, it will destroy me mentally and emotionally. It’s the same as dating, I’ve always told myself that one day I’ll find someone who loves and cherishes me but in the end I always get left or abused. There is no one for me, it’s just wishful thinking and I get disappointed every-time. Right about now I feel broken in entirety, I was honestly doing very well for myself. I brought my first vehicle cash, I graduated last May with a bachelors, I just started working in a job within my professional career, and I was planning to go back to school next fall to obtain my masters. I felt happy and stable for once and now I’ve fallen on my face. Apart of me wants to just throw in the towel and be done but another part of me feels as if I need to keep going because I do deserve to live I just want to experience something new instead of being hurt all the time. I know life comes with good and bad but I just want a moment of time where I can finally experience more of the good. So I guess what I’m asking is, could anyone give me some advice or tips on healing? I don’t want to give up yet I just feel broken. This will probably be a very long post so I’ll break everything into sections that I would like to address.
Homelife/sexual abuse
I come from a dysfunctional family. If you asked, my family would tell you that we all love each other and we are one perfect family but that is delusional. We all love each other but it’s a toxic love not pure. For starters, at age 4, my father started exposing porn to me. The first time it happened, I had woken out of my sleep and looked over at the tv and there was porn up there and my dad was asleep. For a very long time, I just dismissed it because I felt like he had done it accidentally and just fell asleep. However, looking back he had watched porn while I was in the room or close by enough to see on multiple occasions as a little girl. He never made an effort to even change the channel when he would be watching this stuff so I know it was intentional. Soon after he began exposing me to porn, I became hypersexual. I never really knew what I was doing but more so copying what I had been shown. One day, there was an incident with a cousin of mine and I got in trouble by my mom for kissing him. My mother beat me and began asking me if anyone was touching me. And naturally, I responded no because my dad wasn’t molesting me or touching me inappropriately or atleast not in a way that four year old me could identify. I never thought to mention this to my mom because I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be watching it around me. I didn’t know what sex was. Overtime my behavior worsened and my mom immediately began to point fingers at my dad, yelling at him and saying that he was molesting me. My dad always denied and eventually my mom left it alone but decided to just start beating me everytime I behaved in a sexual manner.
It wasn’t until I was about 7 years old, when I had gotten in trouble at school for behaving sexually inappropriate with another little girl in the schools bathroom that my dad stopped showing me pornography. He suddenly became very “concerned” with making sure all content in the household was kid appropriate but now looking back he just didn’t want to get caught because there was investigation going on with both families of the children involved and he knew that I had gotten older and might be able to articulate that I had learned those behaviors from him. Eventually, after he stopped showing me, I stopped being so overly hypersexual and actually behaved like a normal child. But at age 9, my brother began molesting me. The molestation lasted from around 9-11 but I never told anyone because I was afraid I would be blamed or that I might be accused of lying. I just swept it under the rug and for years I’ve always just told myself he was also a child as a way to cope but it doesn’t take away the fact that I felt used and violated. I understand that he may have been abused as well but still till this day he behaves in an inappropriate manner. He doesn’t touch me anymore, but he’s always staring at my breast and butt and it’s creepy.
After my brother began molesting me, for some odd reason my dad completely stopped talking to me. Despite his behavior, my dad and I were very close but immediately after the molestation began he kind of just started treating me like I didn’t exist anymore. Even my mom noticed and talked to him about ignoring me multiple times. I never realized that what my dad was doing was sexual abuse, I just always pushed it aside, it wasn’t until college where I took a class on child welfare and child abuse that I learned knowingly exposing children to porn is abuse.
Bullying
Meanwhile I was being sexually abused in my household, I also have an older sister who was my very first bully. My sister is ten years older than me and for as long as I can remember she has always been my biggest critic. Anything I did as a child whether good or bad she had a negative comment. She has always used her age to push me around and. As I’ve gotten older, she gotten worse. Over the years, she has body shamed me, made jokes about my mental illness, called me all sorts of sluts and whores and just plain berated me. Anytime I have ever tried to stand up to my sister, she speaks over me and yells and I just shut down. My family always takes her side and just says to ignore her but it’s hurtful.
Not to mention, when I was 14 years old, freshman in high school, someone decided that it would be fun to circulate a rumor around the school that I was a “whore” and slept with everybody. Now I understand the stereotype that every person who has been sexually abused is hypersexual but that wasn’t the case for me. I battled hypersexuality as a very young child but once I learned what sex was and that it was for “adults” I pretty much moved forward and just didn’t give it second thoughts. These rumors lasted my whole time in high school, even teachers joined in on the bullying. I was told that I would never amount to anything more than a whore or that I would get pregnant and drop out. So many people told me that no man would ever love me or date me because I was known as just a slut. And honestly all of this broke me. I’ve always wondered what I did wrong to deserve it. I was very quiet in school, never dressed inappropriately, and didn’t even talk to boys. I was still a virgin then and still a virgin now at 23.
Even though my parents were strict and I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere but to school and back my mom still thinks I’m lying and was actually sleeping with multiple people at my school. And I would like to note my mom was a stay at home parent so she home with me 24/7 yet her speculation is that I would have sex at school. And anytime I have ever cried about this situation my mom would yell at me and say”that’s not trauma get over it.” And this is where I’ve learned to face the fact that maybe I am unlovable. I feel like everybody thinks I’m only good for sex my own mom always told me men would only want sex from me. If my own father and brother couldn’t love me in a pure way why would anyone else? And because of that I have a big fear of sex and won’t give my body away to anyone because I’m afraid of being used. I seem to be rejected from everyone. My family mistreats me, I have no friends, all of my previous relationships have been dysfunctional or abusive… there is no one who loves me. I know it’s easy to say “love yourself” but when you’ve been through so much abuse sometimes you just want a support system or even just a hug. I now suffer with anxiety and OCD and honestly I never feel safe I’m constantly waiting for something or someone to hurt me. I just don’t get why I’m unlovable.
How do you heal from this? What do I even do to move forward? Like I’m at a standstill..

This girl kept looking at me. It's starting to weird me out. Explanation
I believe an explanation is in order.
This started about a month ago, and i slightly regret letting it happen. The day at school started out like normal. Nothing was happening, and it would've been a slow day if it wasn't for the new student. She seemed to be a shy girl and was really quiet type and honestly, II would probably never talk to her unless I needed too. She ended up sitting in the row behind me, all the way on the other side of the class from me, yet I could feel the burning sensation of eyes on me. This persisted during the day, and it made feel somewhat nervous, and soon it started to get on my nerves, so as the day ended, I went up to her and asked her.
“I've seen you looking at me all day. Is there something you need from me”
she admitted to it, and she explained everything to me:
She is a small time warrior who came from another world to look for someone specific. The warrior from another world who somehow lost the connection to his other self. She was tasked with finding him in the other world and get him to properly return so he could be revived properly, and she believes I am this person.
I call her crazy and ask if she thinks I'm stupid. To which she responded with a deal. If she proved to me that what she was talking about was real, I would have to do something for her. This is when everything starts to go downhill. After I agree, thinking she couldn't, she takes my hand and slips this ring on my finger. She had one of her own, and she basically told me to rub it. I do so, and it suddenly starts to glow, and with a quick flash it went to black.
Moments later, I wake up in what seems to be a bed, but it looked very old-fashioned. My surroundings looked even more old and medieval, and I started to worry. As I notice on my right, there's a lady at my side with not only a very familiar face, but the world's more smug expression on her face. She had pointed ears now, and I instinctively felt mine as well, informing me that I had them as well. She was right, and this sentence would start the rest of my life in this world and my own:
“I believe we had a deal. Let's talk business, shall we?”
I guess this is the part where I explain myself. I call this brand-new plot idea, part-time isekai! For those who want a little tldr, here's the deal.
Your character is from another world, a world which is greatly connected to mine. Inward this other world, we are working together as bounty hunters who were starting out but quickly rising up in popularity. During one of these missions, my other world character gets shut down in a way that separates both worlds souls from each other, rendering him in a coma. Determined to get his partner back, she has to travel to the other world and convince the other part of him to join him. After they make the deal, and he comes back too, she asked the new person to help her with her bounty hunting with the promise that he can stay in his world until she needed him for a mission.
That's basically the short version with some added context. I've been wanting to make something new and bigger than usual, and this is what I hope you also find interesting and unique. I would like to talk more details when you do send a message to role-play, but if you have any important questions now, don't be afraid to ask them in the comments.

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cnuyl1/troublemakers_the_son_of_witch_and_warrio
......
Drake tossed the last shovelful of soil over his shoulder, looking over the massive circular bunker elevator that had been buried beneath rubble and dirt. Destrier and Caz were consulting the map for any kind of clue as to how it could be opened up. Cassius and Remin both kept an eye on Charlotte and the younger of the two was playing patty-cake with the small woman. Drake paused for a moment, looking at the display with an odd trembling in his heart. It was clear charlotte was at least a teenager, but she acted like a small child, her wide eyed wonder evident in the freely smiling face and glittering eyes as she happily patted her hands against Cassius'. His stomach roiled and he almost doubled over as he spit out a mouthful of bile that sizzled on the ground ominously. Truth be told, since he'd been thrown into that strange void he'd felt sick, the tingling, electrical power in his veins only intensifying even as he dug out the massive hundred foot in diameter elevator. Chucking the shovel to the side halfheartedly, he looked up at the tree of hung corpses as the shovel clanged against a wall several paces away. His heart began to pound angrily and the feeling of nausea and static intensified exponentially, He doubled over and vomited, a pink slurry of blood and oatmeal splattering on the ground. He fell to one knee as the edges of his vision darkened for a moment, an overwhelming weakness turning his limbs to lead. Cassius appeared at his side, a look of fearful concern on his face as he went to grab Drake by the shoulders.
Drake didn't understand where the knowledge came from, but Cassius absolutely could not touch him. Drake shoved a hand out, launching Cassius back a few feet where he landed on his back. Sitting up, Drake saw the rapidly cooling red-hot handprint on the chest of his nano-mesh Gambeson at the same time Cassius did. They shared a look of startled panic and realization before Drake slumped forward, his last thought before the void took him was one of confusion.
"What's happening to me?!"
...
Charlotte saw the man named Drake tumble forward after shoving his friend, Heat mirage rising off his prone back as the soil around him began to melt into magma. She hurried to her feet when the old man in lamellar held her back, a look of confusion and fear on his face.
"Why aren't you helping him?!"
She cried trying to push past the old man's iron strength. Her hand still smudged with soot where the man currently laying in a puddle of molten soil had reattached her finger like magic. The man looked down at her, anxiously shouting.
"Do you not see the godsdamned lava?! I don't think we can even get close!"
Charlotte stopped pushing, a feeling of stark impotency falling like a pall over her mind as the ground bubbled around Drake's still form. She didn't know much about her new world, but she knew that man was a good one, and seeing him lay lifeless and still made her skin crawl with the desire to help. But then she heard a sound that chilled her to the bone.
The dull thrum of propulsor engines reached her over the wind and she whipped around to scan the sky. She could see them against the soft brown midday sky, dark shapes that hurtled through the air like birds of prey. She could see them now in her mind, loaded to the gills with Spec ops and bio-engineered soldiers, Artillery class emitters charged to full, engines thrumming under a full combat load of rockets and bombs. Charlotte wildly looked around, spotting a mostly intact, low forge building she shouted.
"If you want to live get inside!!!!"
The woman and large black man who'd been pouring over the maps looked up confusedly as Charlotte began shoving Remin towards the building. The panic she felt made her nerves burn with the need to run, but she couldn't abandon them she couldn't just let the-
An earplitting screech came from inside her skull forcing her to her knees as she clutched the aching sides of her head, a horrifyingly familiar voice speaking to her from within her very being.
"Ooooooooh Sylva my dear?~ Did my little cuckoo lose her collar?~ Ah, no matter, would you kindly clear the landing area for the buzzards?~"
Her arms fell limp as her viewpoint shrank away, leaving her floating in the darkness as she saw her body move of its own accord. Drawing a long bayonet from the thigh scabbard on the old man's leg and driving it right between his ribs, the blade expertly slipping between lamellar plates. She wanted to scream as the old man jolted back, clutching at where the knife had slipped through his armor, falling to the ground as she rotated to face the other three. Her hair swayed in front of her face, the dark brown draining upwards, leaving it a stark silver with a purple stripe. The hum of the buzzards was only growing louder as she reached for the small of her back, clawing at the veil between her body and her as a pen-flare came into view, pointed at the sky.
She silently screamed as a purple flair rose into the sky, the cold void swallowing her like it had all those years ago.
...
Nothingness surrounded Drake, a deep, endless, colorless world devoid of meaning or substance. But he wasn't alone here, something moved within the emptiness, pure, flavorless power roiling off it like the heat of his village's forge.
And it was angry.
He could feel it as it beheld him with a sort of bestial curiosity born out of its anger. Invisible tendrils snaked into his body like hot pieces of iron, molding themselves around his bones and sinews like it was searching for something. Crawling through his veins and into his heart, making him feel as though he was burning alive. His heart seized and stopped bringing a cold stillness to his body. But he didn't die as the tendrils slowly withdrew, heart pounding back to life like a bright orange flame had been ignited in his chest. The thing's viewpoint changed, looking down on him from above as it touched the glowing sigil over his heart with that same rageful curiosity, then a tendril of power touched the scythe on his wrist with something akin to fondness. He could feel hard crystalline bands forming around his fingers as the thing rumbled with amusement, the feeling of molten iron filling his body before fading as each band slowly reached completion. Then it hurled him ass over head through a wooden door.
Death jumped out of his chair, falling hard without his prosthetics and careful not to spill the yellowish water inside the odd glassware in his slender hand. The two stared at each other with similar levels of bewilderment as Drake rubbed his face before looking at the set of ten obsidian bands that encircled the base of each finger and thumb.
"How in the fuck did you get here?"
Death asked calmly, stump-walking back to his chair and taking a long burbling pull from the glassware in his hand.
Drake clambered into one of the smoky chairs death had casually summoned.
"I... uh... I got thrown through your door by... something... I don't exactly know what. It seemed... angry at me, though."
Death looked up with a blank expression, oily smoke rising from his nostrils as he said.
"Beg pardon? what do you mean you don't exactly know what did it? wait..."
A look of concern etched itself into Death's face as he grabbed one of Drakes hands, looking at the black rings with ever widening eyes. Slowly he made eye contact with Drake, holding up the jewelry bedecked hand urgently.
"Do you even know what these are?!?!"
Drake shook his head.
"Obviously fuckin not."
Death took a deep breath, taking a long burbling hit from the piece of glassware with palpable stress as he set Drakes hand down, letting his chosen look at the rings curiously and experimentally take one off. The moment the pinky ring stopped touching his flesh Death leapt back exclaiming.
"Jesus fucking christ kid!! Put it back on! put it back on!"
Drake slipped the ring back on, he'd felt a small boost to his energy but hadn't noticed anything that would elicit such a reaction from the harvester of souls.
"Who's Jesus christ?"
Drake asked as Death took another calming breath before replying.
"Probably one of the most famous demigods known to humankind, but that isn't important..."
Death folded his hands and leaned across the desk with a twitching eyelid.
"What is important, is how you managed to acquire ten heart of the umbra crystals for rings. I can count on one hand the amount of people who have acquired exactly one of these rings."
Drake looked at the dull black crystal rings curiously.
"Do they give me extra power?"
Death shook his head, slowly revealing an arm encased in the black bands.
"Quite the opposite... They typically completely restrain your power so you don't burn up and turn into a walking, talking nuclear weapon. And they're specifically given to those who have touched the Umbra and survived, typically just experiencing the primordial soup that makes reality results in a cataclysmic leap in power... but even then... it's only ever been one ring. Three humans have owned one of these rings, Archibald Sunshine, Roxanne Richards, and Bagelious Braveheart. How the Bagel god's chosen got one I'm at a loss. But of those three, One died using the power the ring held back, The other lives inside a mechanical body locked away from her powers permanently, and Bagelius? he's... He's just unhinged."
Drake gazed at his hands, the rings glittering dully in the flickering firelight. He held them up curiously.
"So... what does it mean if I have ten?"
Death took another deep breath, letting it out in an exasperated sigh. He didn't look drake in the eye as he stared at a wall.
"I... I don't know... If I had to guess..."
Death looked at Drake with no small amount of curiosity and fear for his life.
"You didn't just survive the umbra... You fought it... and lived to tell the tale... I don't even think you're human anymore Drake..."
Drake furrowed his brow, clenching and relaxing his fist, feeling the rings click together.
"Then what am I?"
Death shook his head before simply stating.
"Something I and those before me, have never seen..."
He looked into Drakes eyes, a soft glimmer in the endless, silvery pools as he rolled his sleeve back down to hide the bands around his own arm.
"You defy every law and command of the universe, just by existing."
Drake slowly nodded before standing back up.
"That explains why conquest looked so afraid. Bitch kidnapped my soul and tried to fight me on her own turf and still lost."
"Im sorry..."
Drake glanced over at Death's coldly calm words, the primordial exploding with power as he roared.
"She did WHAT!?!?!"
Drake looked at death with wide eyes, shocked at the sudden outburst, the primordial literally steaming with rampant power as he clicked his legs on. Drake was about to step through the door and back to his body when death stopped him with a snarled.
"No, you're coming with me. I need to know what she's playing at... and what better way than to bring the one person she's actually afraid of."
...
Caz had barely taken a running step towards Charlotte, blindsided by the sudden betrayal as the small woman lifted a pen flare to the sky and launched it with a Pop! Snatching her Huntress she broke it open, cocking the striker and slamming a fresh flechette into the electrically insulated chamber. A massive shadow loomed over her and she froze in her tracks, looking up at the massive metal machine as it hovered over the ruined village, her heart pounding in her throat as dark silhouettes leapt from the sides of the propulsor driven aircraft. They landed hard on the ground, Grey, patterned armor shifting to blend in with the bombed out village as their cold visors regarded her emotionlessly. Caz drew a bead on the first one, about to fire when the cold steel of a bayonet was pressed against her throat from behind. She'd forgotten about charlotte. A soft chuckle came from within the group of organized soldiers and they parted to reveal a geknosian in similar but far more ornate armor. Golden medals bedecking every available surface including a fabric crotch flap weighed down with stamped precious metals. They pulled an ornately forged helmet from their head, a dark grin on the general's face as he looked around at the general disarray the five troublemakers found themselves in.
Cassius held a chest seal to the wet gash between Remin's ribs. The old man looking pale and shaky as he weekly held his shotgun in the general direction of the soldiers. Destrier slowly folded up the map and tucked it into the pouch at the small of his back, dark eyes gliding studiously over the Geknosian forces. Caz adjusted her crosshair onto the General and felt the bayonet press harder against her throat.
"Drop it... Bitch~"
The small woman holding the knife cooed. Caz snarled and threw her Huntress to the ground, raising her hands in surrender as the blade of the bayonet relaxed against her throat. She wanted to spare Drake a glance, but she dared not turn her head lest she slit her own throat on the keen blade of Remin's long bayonet. The Geknosian General sauntered forward, attempting to take her chin in his hand.
"ARRRGH!"
The General cried out, leaping back as a burst of cold frost froze his war gauntlet into a brick of ice. Caz's eyes lit up as she backed into Charlotte, the woman crying out in pain and jerking the blade away as a brick of frosted ice formed around her chest. The Geknosian general grabbed for the blaster pistol at his hip and she kicked him in the chest, freezing his chestplate and sending him reeling back in shock. She got a glimpse of Destrier sprinting to Remin and Cassius's side, helping Drag the old man into the low forge building as Caz dove for her Huntress. A heavy armored boot slammed into her mask, throwing her disorientingly on her side even as the boot froze over. Caz slowly got back to her feet as the soldiers bore their guns down on her, wiping the blood from her split lip through her mask, she growled, glancing back at Drake's still form, the ground around him having cooled and solidified into hard stone. Charlotte slowly joined the generals side, the frost around her chest quickly melting as she leaned in to whisper in the general's ear, eliciting a smile.
"Thank you Sylva, the information is much appreciated. A little cuckoo bird tells me that you all came here looking for the human bunker. How pitiful you don't have an access remote, like this one?"
The general held out a hand, a piece of blocky, olive drab green plastic falling into his outstretched, thawing palm. Clicking a button, nothing happened and he purred.
"But, alas we're at an impasse, for only someone of human genome may access the bunkers... oh wait~"
He held the remote out to Charlotte, Who stared at it blankly, eyes glimmering dully for a second. Then they dulled again as she looked up at Caz with an odd expression.
The remote sailed through the air and Caz instinctually caught it as Charlotte monotonely stated.
"Run, Keep it away from them."
Caz didn't need to be told twice as she turned on her heel and sprinted through a small alleyway between two buildings that leaned on each other, blaster bolts ablating the stony surfaces in puffs of loud smoke and blinding flashes. Grabbing the hook at her belt, she threw it and slung herself onto the crumbling rooftops, one of the metal buzzards turning where it hovered in the air to focus a glowing emitter on her. She leapt off the crumbling rooftop just as the powerful laser ablated the spot she'd just been standing with a blinding flash and a pressure wave that launched her much farther through the air than she intended. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a crumbling wall rushing at her as she fell face first towards it, clutching the remote to her chest.
......
Part 106: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cr3pct/troublemakers_adrenaline_is_a_superpower_in_itself/

food in anime is... weird
whenever it's on screen, a tremendous amount of focus in animation and detail is put into making it look as delicious and savory as possible, and in general if your anime doesn't make food look tasty enough to plaster on a restaurant menu, then the people will be disappointed and call it low effort. this obsession in the anime industry actually originates from this show named Yoake Mae yori Ruriiro na... erm... this one, which had such terrible looking cabbages they were ridiculed for it and ever since anime as an industry has vowed to never make food look that stupid ever again
and yet funnily enough, despite this seeming obsession with food, it is very rarely used to convey meaning in stories that aren't expressly about cooking. The closest many shows get to having meaning in their food is to use the always hungry anime character trope, where one such character, usually the protagonist, and especially if it's the protagonist of a Shonen battle series, will have a bottomless pit of a stomach and appetite, and loves eating to an almost obsessive degree.
I often view this as a representation of ambition. These characters dream big and always being hungry for more. Never being satisfied enough to not eat more is a great, if basic, representation of their personality. From my understanding in anime history, this particular trope was popularized by goku, and was as a result, present in many other series that started soon after dragonball exploded. 2 of the biggest and most famous examples of characters inheriting this trait are luffy from one piece and naruto from... wait i forgot the name of the show
Using these 2 examples, I think that one show naruto is from is a fair bit worse at incorporating meaning into its food than one piece, and I wanna talk about what the difference is.
in "that show", food is almost never really used to convey anything thematically or inform a character's personality. it feels like naruto only likes to eat a lot because he's the protagonist and that's what's expected of him. Why is choji pudgy? is it anything about his character? no, it's just because he eats choppers rumble balls as a super power and so the auther went "he swallows pills to get strong so he swallow everything else too."
one piece by contrast I feel does a lot more than either dragonball or naruto with food. luffy's cannonical ability to eat as much as he does is explained by his stomach being made of rubber and capable of expanding as he eats, and food directly works it's way into the power system for him, as many of luffy's gear techniques require huge amounts of energy and body fuel and leave him incredibly fatigued. on whole cake island he looks like this after just a single day of intensive combat with no snacking. And this is taking place on aan entire island made of cake and deserts you can eat, a place where it litterally rains syrup instead of water. This is an act of protest to sanji, as sanji is attempting to leave the crew and luffy told him to his face that he would starve to death on purpose unless his next meal was made by sanji. it's an important plot point and character moment for the 2 of them. sanji is a cook and a major part of his backstory involves him being stranded on the ocean with no food and starving for months, only being rescued within an inch of his life. This experience greatly informs his character, being willing to serve anybody who is hungry, even if its his enemy and it would be in his best intrests not to, like when he served don krieg and his pirates knowing full well as soon as they finished eating they would have the body stregnth to follow their plan and slaughter everybody at baratie and steal the ship, which is the major conflict of that arc. he puts several lives in danger, and condemned some to death because to him feeding somebody who is experiencing starvation is more important.
I jokingly called chojis pills the chopper rumble balls, but they really similar, even including massive side effects after eating 3 of them. however the meaning they have to the characters are quite different. choji just happened to be born in a family that uses them, and knows eating the third one means death (even though it really doesnt) and thats his only personal connection to the pill. by contrast, chopper invented his rumble balls himself using his medicinal knowledge as a doctor, and only discovered the third one is dangerous by accidentally eating 3, causing him to lose concious control of his body and turning him into a monster that attacks indescriminately. he's fearful of the third ball not because he'll die, but because he's afraid of what he'll become and afraid he'll hurt innocent bystanders, which is counter to his entire role and character as a doctor
this is not to shit on "whats that shows name", but to say that Food is clearly an important thing to oda, the author of one piece, as it plays a vital role in multiple staw hats personalities, and informs the decisions and situations the characters find themselves participating in, in a show that on the surface has nothing to do with food. it is a testimate to how you can use food to convey meaning and character in your world
but while food is meaningful and important in one piece, it's downright SACRED to golden kamuy. whereas one piece has food a comonplace staple and uses it to convey meaning once ever 20 episodes or so, or ocasionally throughout an entire food based arc like baratie or whole cake island, golden kamuy uses food to convey themes, messaging, character backstories and decisions, power dynamics, violence, connecting characters, foreshadowing major plot points, detecting lies, and more, and it does this on an episodic basis. there are SCARCELY few episodes of golden kamuy with no food or mentions and discussions of food. it is the very lifeblood of the show. it is such a big facet of the show that golden kamuy is often jokingly referred to by its community as a cooking show, and it puts more meaning and care into the food it's characters eat than many actual cooking anime.
food is the most universal languages in the entire world, and a fact of life is that everbody needs to eat. we may not see eye to eye, we may not eat the same thing, but we all eat. what we eat and why can tell us a lot about people, about our cultures and beliefs. islamic and jewish people don't eat pork, and hindu don't eat beef due to their religious beliefs. vegans care for animals and don't feel that they can personally participate in the consumption of living things. vegans that also try to make their dog or cats vegan are animal abusers who just do it to feel superior to others. what you eat can say a lot about where you're from. american cuisine looks far different than russian or scottish cuisine, which looks far different than african cuisine. ox penis is something ocasinally eaten in china, and pufferfish in japan. whale skin and blubber were eaten by the various inuit people, along with most every other part of the whale, due to availability. the land we live on can dictate what we eat in a very real way. most places with strong cultural beliefs against eating certain foods have a lot more variety in edible resources than other places. many hindu people refuse to eat beef or are straight vegetarians, and they mostly live in places where other types of food are easy to come by. by contrast, you would be hard pressed to find a vegetarian inuit, simply because that's not sustainable where they live, and their beliefs reflect that. cultures that historically had less food available to them are strongly abhorrent to letting any part of their food go to waste, and many indigenous people historically see using as much as humanly possible from the animals you hunt as a necessary part of honoring and thanking that animal, and not letting anything go to waste.
food is the most universal language, and it might just be the most meaningful one as well. offering someone food as a form of thanks is a lot more meaningful than just saying thanks for example. it's a way we connect to people, and is why most first dates are at restaurants. it's even a language that can transcend species. we train animals by offering food as rewards, and pets are often most attached to the person who feeds them. food is one of the most important aspects of who we are as people, and nobody writing fiction seems to understand this more satoru noda, the creator of golden kamuy... him and ryoko kui, the creator of dungeon meshi, but as much as I love that manga thats not what today's video is about.
I'll be focusing on the anime in this video, so meals that only happen in the manga or that happen after the current point the anime is at will not be talked about here. Truth be told, I don't really know where this script is going as I'm writing it, I just want to talk about many of the various ways that golden kamuy uses food, because I think it's something a lot of shows can learn from.
food is first brought up or used in golden kamuy as early as... oh would you look at that the very first line in the entire show! golden kamuy starts off in a flashack during the russo-japanese war on 208 meter hill. the very first interaction with any character in the series is sugimoto in the trenches eating an ant off his finger and commenting it tastes sour. he then comments that he would eat the russians he kills if thats what it took to survive. this establishes in only a few seconds that the living conditions in the trench are terrible, people are hungry, and that sugimoto is a survivalist, but didn't consider desertion, instead of you know... canibalism. this is all before the charge up the hill, before we learn he's a monster in close quarters and is nicknamed sugimoto the immortal. that's a LOT of information given in just a couple lines using an ant. we know sugimoto proably wasn't seroius about eating people, but are almost given the impression throughout the scene that if push came to shove he would do it. sugimoto is a person who does whatever it takes to survive. this is one of his most central character traits and is conveyed using food in a matter of seconds within the start of the show.
soon ashirpa is introduced, a young ainu hunter and joins sugimoto as they begin a quest to... uh... skin people for the purposes of making a treasure map... look golen kamuy is a weird show okay?
ashirpa and sugimoto are the 2 primary leads of the show, and neither of them are particularly familar with the cultures of the other, but they grow closer and bond over the course of the show and learn about each others lives and backgrounds. this is shown throughout the show by the meals they eat. when they kill a bear that was hunting them in episode 1, ashirpa comments that although the ainu to hunt and eat bears, she can't eat the bear they killed, as eating a wenkamuy: a bear that's eaten people before, is against her people's beliefs. so it's not until episode 2 that the pair share the first meals on their journey. they make chitatap, an ainu dish of raw meat that is meant to be made only using fresh kills, and ashirpa offers sugimoto the brains of the squirrel they hunted raw on a spoon as a snack for him to try. sugimoto is naturally at first repullsed by the idea, but after being preassured by ashirpa and not wanting to offend her he eats it, and reluctantly admits it's good. It's not clear in this scene whether he actually thinks it's good or if he's placating ashirpa, but it's definetely clear he still finds at least the concept of eating a brain gross. he also eats the chitatap and likes it, but believes it would taste even better by adding miso to it, and this time it's ashirpa who looks upon in disgust as she see's an unfamiliar japanese paste she insist's must be poop is willingly added to his portion of the meal. she even refuses to try it upon being presented with some, denying the same courtosey that sugimoto showed by eating brains just earlier. this is changed by their meal in meal a few episodes later when she tries miso at the insistence of both sugimoto and their new traveling companion shiraishi, and much like sugimoto admits it's good, even if it still visualy repulses her. from this point on, the characters share and mix both of their cultures into the food they eat and slowly become more used, accepting, and eventually enjoying each others cuisine, something shown with some hilarious screenshots. this mirrors of course their growing trust in each other. we don't need to be told that these 3 characters are closer when we can see it visually by sugimoto passionately sucking on a giant eyeball, or drunkenly babybirding shiraishi chewed dumpling, or ashirpa developing an obsessoin with miso and also wanting to try dried persimons because sutimotos favorite food and... fuck im getting emotional thinking about that scene again. I talked about it more extensively in my anti-war video on golden kamuy, so go watch that. but its so clear and disturbingly beautiful how much these characters have grown to care for each other by viewing their eating habits.
chitatap, the first meal they properly shared, becomes used repetedly throughout the show as a way to meet new people and intermingle characters, because it'a a dish meant to be prepared by everyone eating it together by taking turns chopping the meat, and we get to learn about every character by how they interact with the process of making chitatap, such as hijikata being cool with using his historial treasure of a katana, one of the few relics of his samurai days, to chop up raw meat because because a little kid thougt it would be cool and fun, or how ogata thinks he's too cool for school to chant chitatap while he cuts like everyone else, but the second time they make the meal he says it once just loud enough for ashirpa to hear.
meals have also been used to foreshadow events in golden kamuy, like when kioranke's betrayal is foreshadowed in this meal immitating the final supper. kioranke is in the seat and position judas in, and yes those are human corpses that have been turned into mannequins at the dinnertable, why do you ask?
on the topic of kiorankes betralal, after sugimoto is shot in the head and believed by ashirpa and half the characters to be dead, the fun joyous meals stop temporarily in the show. ashirpa is still eating and still enjoying hunting and trying new food, she's still ashirpa, but for the first couple of meals, the animals the capture reportedly don't taste good, such as this seal thing and musk deer. the only meal we were told as good was a snack made by someone else and eaten off screen. it's only after kioranke tells ashirpa that musk deer was her father's first kill and she finds a new purpose in the journey to learn more about her father and the karafuto indiginous that she begins to eat good food again.
food can be a tool in storytelling to display dynamics between characters. this is often in shown as a differentiating factor between the wealthy and poor, such as in the hunger games, but that's not the only dynamic that can be shown through this. to use lt tsurumi as an example, his second major scene where we learn about him as a character is a conversation with sugimoto after sugimoto has been captured by the 7th division. during this scene, sugimoto is handcuffed and sitting straight in his chair with 2 armed gurads while tsurumi casually questions him while eating dango on a stick, offering nothing for the captive to eat, representing a power dynamic showing which of them is in charge. tsurumi eats the dango throughout the scene, and the way he eats it is somehow offputting, and animated in such a way where you know there is something about him that just isn't right. I never thought eating dango could be intimidating, but here we are. I am terrified of this man. sugimoto does actually get to interact with the dango in this scene too, so we can contrasst it with how tsurumi did it to learn something... how did sugimoto get to interact with the dango again?
oh right, he gets STABBED THROUGH BOTH CHEECKS BY THE DANGO STICK by tsurumi as soon as he declines he gets caught in a lie. it's clear at this moment that the niceties and fun in games are over. tsurumi caught sugimoto in a lie about his identity, and the gloves are off.
food can also be used to show a sickness of the mind. ogata, who could be the topic of a whole nother video, has a hatred of monkfish stew. this is one of the only emotinal connections he has been shown to have food, and was born from his parents. ogata is the son of a high ranking military official and a geisha. ashamed of the mothers side of the family, the father forced them to leave and never make contact again while ogata was still a young child. over time, his mother lost her mind and began to only make monkfish stew to eat. it was his fathers favorite meal, and in her sickened mind she convinced herself that if she made it than one day the father would come back. she made it day after day after day. ogata picked up shooting and would kill ducks and birds to bring to his mother so he could eat something else and she would still only make monkfish stew. one day he put rat poison in the stew and killed his mother. ogata isn't right in the head either, he's a psychopath. he didn't kill his mother out of hatred of her food, but out of simple curiorsity to see if his father would care to show up at the funeral. he didn't.
monkfish stew here is used in golden kamuy as a representation of stagnation of the mind. denial that things will never go back to the way they were for the mother. it represents an insanity, doing the same thing over and over without change in hopes for a different outcome.

How do I (30F) navigate my coworker's (30M) potential feelings?
Lately I've been noticing my (30sF) rapport with a coworker (30sM) has been evolving. At first, I just saw him as a shy man who knew a few people in the office so I started talking to him to get to know him more. I personally think I am kind of goofy/ non-serious so my default is to just try to make the other person laugh with dumb jokes or talk about irreverent hypothetical. It seemed like it was good because he started talking more with other coworkers, which is great, it sucks feeling left out so I was happy he was able to talk to more people. He's very funny and I personally find him quite charming and attractive but I don't feel like it's right to pursue an office relationship.
Then I kept noticing things or instances where it seemed like he might like me a bit more than just coworkers? Here they are:

1. I noticed when he talks to me, he really kind of looks deeply into my gaze. Like he held down the eye contact, but I just kind of brushed it off because it seemed he talked with everyone like that but I'm not sure since I don't have other peoples POVs.
   
2. When I was at the kitchen and talking to someone he touched the upper part of my arm to gently move walk past me, but I feel like he held it longer than I thought a normal oops gotta squeeze by you move is. Actually I don't even know if coworkers typically touch people on their upper arms to move people.
   
3. In the beginning I talked to him about random stuff in the mornings and he heard I was the same fan as his football team and he got really excited. Then a few days later, he was talking to another person and I was just walking by to get some water when he noticed me nearby and mentioned that he and I had the same football team, bringing me into the conversation. Could just be friendly?
   
4. We went to lunch and one other coworker offered to drive along with me. He decides to get in my car and sat in the passenger seat. When we got the food and needed to go back to the office to eat (because the place didn't have a designated place to sit and eat) I had to give him my food to hold because I couldn't drive and hold a sandwich and both times during the food exchanges giving it to him and getting it back from him, I noticed he grazed my fingers with his fingers. Maybe I'm just bad a grabbing food.
   
5. He notices when I am gone from the office and the next time I'm back he says he's happy I'm back. Seems like a friendly response?
   
6. I said I never had some certain foods before and the one day he said he had a surprise for me and he apparently bought it for me to try it. But I don't know if that is specifically for me because he allowed other people to try it too.
   
7. I have another male coworker who loves to play devil's advocate over trivial things and so I like to just pretend to be his debate partner or anything just to rile him up because I think it's funny. And the initial male coworker made a comment saying he thinks this guy is in love with me. Not sure if he was being a little jealous there or if I'm thinking he's jealous because I'm not sure if he likes me?
   
8. Calls me over when I am walking to my cube to have a chat.
   
9. Anytime I'm in a group conversation he comes over right next to me.
   
10. He eventually tells me about personal things of his life that I'm pretty sure no one else knows about because it wouldn't come up in regular conversation in an office setting.
    
11. He bought me a drink when we were out with coworkers. I jokingly made a bet with him on something dumb and when I was right he bought us both drinks for me winning.
    
12. End of one night he gave one woman side hug but gave me a full hug.
    
13. He's always looking at me when something funny is happening or if he makes a joke. Or maybe I'm just over thinking it?
    

Honestly typing this all out has got me more confused because I feel like this can totally be friendly and I'm just overthinking it. He's fun to talk to but I am afraid asking him straight up because I feel like then it just becomes super awkward. Firstly, am I just imagining this all because if I am not then is asking him outright the only way to figure this out? Is there a more subtle way without potential making the office environment potentially awkward? Thanks!
tl;dr I am having trouble discerning if a male coworker has crush on me but most importantly how do I even navigate bringing it up without making it awkward? Is it possible to just stay good friends?

I got a Russian dwarf hamster about 2 weeks ago, I left her alone for awhile at first and then I started the taming process. I started with just putting my hand in the cage to let her get used to that, but every time I do this she will come up to it and start biting (chewing?) really hard and it's difficult to remove my hand because she latches on. Sometimes she also scrabbles at my hand with her paws. I've tried giving her treats from my fingers and palm and she will take these and then immediately start biting again. I'm so confused because she lets me pet her while she eats and I can even pick her up and put her in my palm to eat a treat but as soon as she's finished, the biting starts. It's gotten to the point where I'm honestly afraid of putting my hand anywhere near her because the bites are so painful. Should I continue trying to feed her treats? Do I need to change my strategy? Please help save my hands from total destruction. And yes, her enclosure is very large and has plenty of enrichment. I'm also washing my hands before.

I came home early tonight after a sports match. I went alone for the first time ever after going 5 times with friends or my partner, we're both F-F.
I was texting her throughout the match because I was nervous. I have social anxiety and it's a huge milestone that I finally did this by myself.
I took courage and spoke to a man next to my seat and it turns out we both take the same bus back (the team offers different routes to take the fans home). The game ended and we both started walking outside trying to locate our bus and we were talking normally.
He said "You came out of the stadium with a man you don't know, how do you know i won't kidnap you?"
That struck me as odd, but I figured out perhaps he also struggles socially or something like that. I'm AuDHD so I've been the one with the weird comments before.
I simply said "We're both rooting for the same team, it's illegal to kidnap someone from your team."
He laughed and we left it at that. After locating the bus, I brought out my phone and it turns out I'd received a call from my girlfriend and a message.She was sayin "Good luck leaving with that man you're not afraid to be kidnapped with. I heard everything".
I took the bus like normal and I sent her proof but she never answered. I was trying to explain to her and was left on read.
When I came home, she told me it was over and she was fuming. She said I broke the trust because he was flirting with me and I was flirting back! I didn't know he was and of course I wasn't flirting back!! I don't read social cues that way and I was just trying to be friendly and was happy that I finally had the courage to talk to somebody.
She's dead set on believing I did something wrong and there's no way to prove that I didn't. She's not trusting my words or anything. And I'm not looking for relationship advice per se here, but someone who can simply talk to me and tell me anything. It's 3 am and I'm spiraling down. She has locked herself in a room and I don't have anyone to talk to right now. I got two panic attacks back to back and things seem so bleak now. I feel like I'm watching my life and my whole future slip through my fingers and it hurts double because I didn't do anything wrong and I feel like I'm being punished because my autism prevents me from catching those things I'm suppose to catch to avoid this.
I'd to feel someone hears me, if that's okay. Please, if someone is awake and can chat for a bit until i fall asleep or can comment this. Please I'd be infinitely grateful.

I apologize in advance for the length of the post, this has been a horrible last 4 years and apart from trying to get advice, I guess this is also a bit of a vent.
I, (15F) have always had a HORRIBLE relationship with my mother (47F). Ever since I had been incredibly young, she would make sure to tell me to not tell anyone any of the things that would happen at home, or else they would misunderstand and take me away. She would constantly hit me as early as the age of 6 and being the oldest of three, would always take any issues she had out on me, waiting until she was too upset to hold it anymore and get the nearest object, be it a belt, shoe, wooden spoon, or even charging cable. My father (48M), was never really here, as he works away from home a lot and is sometimes gone for up to 5 months straight. In the more recent years starting around the pandemic, she would get increasingly more violent towards me, but also would start to call me horrible things and nicknames, such as a pig, lazy, and at one point even, "doggy" as she had made me get on my knees after hitting my back while i had been doing the dishes, which really put me into a depression from the start of the pandemic, to about a month ago. Because of that depression, I had lost a lot of interest in doing anything, when I am usually a very creative person, and I stopped doing as much, as well as staying up very late into the night. Because of this, my mother would call my father to complain about me, reminding him every time how lazy, worthless, and rude I was to her. This put a lot of stress on my father, as he was always called during his work hours, and was stressed enough with work as it was.
Now as for the actual reason for this post, around December of 2022, I had been putting dishes away as my mother was coming to me in a storm, after arguing with my brother. She started yelling about how I had been putting away all the dishes wrong, and at the moment, I had been holding a knife which she reached for, and afraid she'd use it with me, as she always used the thing closest to her to intimidate us, I pulled away. Unfortunately, she had grabbed onto the blade and pulled on it as well, but with much more force, cutting the tips of her fingers, not too deep, but deep enough to scare an already terrified 13 year old. It didn't take long for my mother to submit the new complaint to my father, unfortunately enough for her, this was his breaking point, and since he no longer found support and comfort from her, he decided to look for what he called, "a temporary fix". This lasted only until July of last year, as when we were on vacation in Mexico, my mother had found him mid-call at our resort, and blamed me for everything, asking me if I was happy now, and that my father had found another. They left to talk in the car so as to not make a scene in front of my siblings and I, and I later spoke to my dad, as he explained all of why he did so which was previously mentioned. After this things just kept snowballing and going downhill from there. He promised to stop talking to the lady, but found a new one about a week later. To my mothers credit, after this incident, she stopped hitting me as much, still slapping me whenever she felt like it, but kept the emotional abuse strong. My father’s relationship with me wasn’t weakened as much as my relationship with my mother was, so about a month later, I found the text from the new woman. I told my dad I had found the contact and he asked me to keep it secret from my mother, which I did for about a week since she started questioning me all the time and basically already knew. After this it was a bit smoother, with her putting doubts about my dad in my ear from time to time trying to destroy the trust I had in him.
Things kept going on like this for months, so much so that I had gotten physically sick from the depression I had dug myself into. Around the time I was sick, about two months ago, my father was supposed to be returning from a business trip he had been on, but left for Cancun, Mexico, and ghosted EVERYBODY. He wouldn't answer any texts or calls, and finally, in the shared camera roll we have, I saw it. A photo of him in Cancun with his girlfriend. I was… unimpressed? I sent the photo to myself and then deleted it to hide it from my mother, trying to hear my dad’s side of this first, but this really was a test to how good our relationship really was. I spoke to my father about it and he kept repeating the same things over and over again, “what was i supposed to do?,” “How can i fix my relationship with her?," and/or " I'm sorry.” I had to explain to him that it is not my job as his child how to fix HIS relationship with MY mother, and that this was no better than a drug, it may have felt good at the moment, but it certainly puts you into deep trouble once someone finds out. This definitely took its toll on our relationship, and I was tired of covering for him, of having to deal with his problems for him and more than anything, of being in the middle of it all, so I did it, I came clean to my mother and told her EVERYTHING I knew. I was tired of being in their problems and wanted a way out so I told her whatever she asked of me. I told her when it started, how long I've known, I even showed her the lady’s social media, and we grew closer during this time. What I didn't notice however was that little by little she would tell me something about my dad, to turn me further against him, telling me my father had no right to tell me all of that and put all that pressure on a child, and while she was right, she started doing the exact same thing. She started telling me all her suspicions, had me recording conversations between my father and her, at one point, she even told me she wanted to end herself, and just down a whole bottle of pills to never wake up, all while calling me her best friend. She got increasingly violent towards my dad on the other hand, fighting every hour, creating ridiculous rules in which he wasn't allowed to talk to his family, and she even threw herself at him in the middle of a fight, ON THE STAIRS, riding him down as a sleigh. Finally one day, she decided she had had enough, and wrote a suicide letter to a social worker, asking her not to let my dad take custody of us kids. The social worker immediately contacted my father, asking him where my mother was, and soon enough after looking at her location, the police were called to take her to a hospital. My father finally realizing and having to confront the severity of the conversation, told me to tell a teacher of our situation, to alert CPS of our situation and after 4 horrible years, CPS told my dad he needed to do 2 things, first, he needed to get us into therapy, and second, get a restraining order. My mother on the other hand needed to get into parenting classes, and therapy in order to see us, with supervision of an adult that is.
About a week ago, my mother showed up at our house unannounced, acting as if all was normal just a week after the incident. I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time; despair. I had felt so much better, started a normal sleep schedule, had routines, feeling confident, having her back felt like it was destroying that all, like it was all going to spiral back into what it was before. A few days ago,while we were both in the car alone, my dad brought up the conversation on if I was sure I really wanted the restraining order, he said I was being selfish and that I was going to deprive my siblings of a mother. I assured him I wouldn't abuse the restraining order, but that I would use it strictly for the first few months as she was acting horribly aggressive around us all. He got angry and we argued for a bit before having the rest of an awkward car ride. Today on mother’s day, we spent it at my my paternal grandma’s house, to avoid conflict with my mother, on arriving, had filled the house with helium heart-shaped balloons, later arriving at the house ad going CRAZY, screaming at us, and getting in my father’s face, on how dare he leave her on mother’s day, and he had no right to keep her children from her. She was grabbing my brother’s arm aggressively, and got too close to me when she realized I was recording it all. She dragged my brother into his room and told him not to mention this on our court date for the restraint order, but to instead say it was my dad who was making the entire situation escalate. She didn't leave without making a show, and reminding me that no matter what I do, she will always be my mother, and at the end of the day I owe her my life, that will haunt me forever. My court date is on May 16, and I couldn't be more sure on something, but even after all of this, my dad just isn't sure, so with all this said, people of Reddit, AITAH for wanting a restraining order against my own mother?

In my adult life, I have never been to a concert. I'm a huge fan of electronic music, and my dream has always been to go to one of these concerts. Near the city where I live, one of my favorite DJs was going to have a concert. I've been talking about it for who knows how many weeks, mentioning countless times that I wanted to go but didn't have anyone to go with (obviously, I'm afraid to go alone being a woman in Latin America). I had three close friends for whom I would have given my life and soul if necessary, and it's something I've demonstrated to them a lot. After insisting on the topic so much, no one offered to accompany me. The day was approaching, and I started with intensity. I offered to pay for everything, I just wanted a little company, but no one. One didn't want to go because she doesn't like crowded places, two said she couldn't go because she was working, and in the end, she went with other friends. Unfortunately, I ended up insulting her because I had never felt so betrayed, and the third, well, let's not even talk about her; she didn't even flinch.
In the end, I went alone, I met someone there after a while, and I managed to come back with them.
It was one of the best experiences of my life. I had never felt so good in a public place. I can't believe I had Alok so close, and I would do it a thousand times more. Thank God I'm home safe and sound.
Those friendships I have, I feel like as long as everything is fine and doesn't involve any discomfort or stepping out of the comfort zone, they can do something for me. But if it involves even a minimum of discomfort, they're not there. Something that I always demonstrate the opposite of. No one could lift a finger to be with me in fulfilling one of my dreams. They all left me to die. And if I had taken a bad taxi driver and something had happened to me because I was alone, what then? Nothing.

I'm really sorry for the misleading title, but its been a weird couple of weeks and I need some help.
I have known after a lot of teenage struggle that I am at the least bisexual, but I also was a very late bloomer and this teenage struggle occurred when I was around 16 and 17. I didn't start even considering dating until I was 16, and didn't enter a real relationship until I was 18, right around the same time I was coming to terms with the fact that I liked women.
I am very inexperienced with relationships in general. My boyfriend is the fourth man I've ever been on a date with, and the only man I've seen continually in my life. We have been dating for a little over a year now, but has been long distance (because of my schooling situation) for the last 10 out of the 14 months we've been dating, seeing each other for a weekend once every two months or so. We speak on the phone at least once a day and text constantly, and he has become my best friend and closest confidant. I genuinely love him and he is head over heels for me.
However, lately, it has seemed like everyone in my life is either getting married themselves or have concerned themselves with my own unmarried-ness. Every family gathering, every conversation with my brother ("are you engaged yet"), living in a place where marriage culture has permeated everyones brains- and it's starting to kill me. I've known my whole life that my worth is independent of my relationships with men, which sometimes created friction in my conservative Christian upbringing, but when everyone around me wants me to have a ring on my finger it at the very least feels weird! he has dropped subtle hints that he wants to get married and I am a little afraid he is going to surprise me with a proposal before we have discussed any of the things that are important to marriage (kids, finances, the rest of our educations).
Another growing pressure is that I have noticed that I have created this alter ego of myself here in my college town, and she is someone I really enjoy being. She has a cool nickname, dresses well, and I guess most importantly, isn't afraid to look a little queer with her opinions or look. She is a little more open about her sexuality than I've ever been to my boyfriend or the people I know back home, because it feels like here I can be the exact version of myself I want to be without hurting anybody simply by being a more authentic version of myself. A side effect of this is that I've been hit on by women a few times, and when it happened for the first time, something in me clicked. I turned her down quickly (because again I am actively seeing someone and that would be wrong as well as cheating, and I love my boyfriend) but it didn't make the feeling go away that maybe if I hadn't entered the relationship I am in right now right as I was figuring out who I was, I would've explored my sexuality more, if at all. If I wasn't dating him right now, I think I would've said yes.
On one hand, I don't want to give up something good because I might be gay. I've never been on a date with a woman, but I know I am attracted to them. Some of the more intimate parts of our relationship took a while, but I assumed that it was because I was inexperienced and afraid of doing it wrong, not because I was actually gay and a little internally repulsed. I love him, but I can't say with my full chest that I am in love with him, and that alone makes me fear that I am hurting him. But he is a wonderful man, genuinely, who deserves the world and more. I would rather hurt myself than hurt him in a heartbeat.
On the other hand, this part of me that knows that I feel so guilty when I wake up from a wet dream about a woman or cries about thinking a woman is pretty as a knee-jerk reaction, and that the only way to not hurt him is break up and let him find someone who can love him with her whole entire heart, forever. He is my best friend, and I don't want to hurt him. I also don't know if being terrified of the idea of marriage is because of outside pressure to get married and give up my education to start having kids or if its because I am a lesbian. I just don't know what to do.
TLDR: I have dated a man for a year and suspect he plans to propose soon. I am terrified of the idea of getting married, but I don't know if it's because of outside pressure or if it's because I am gay.

In my adult life, I have never been to a concert. I'm a huge fan of electronic music, and my dream has always been to go to one of these concerts. Near the city where I live, one of my favorite DJs was going to have a concert. I've been talking about it for who knows how many weeks, mentioning countless times that I wanted to go but didn't have anyone to go with (obviously, I'm afraid to go alone being a woman in Latin America). I had three close friends for whom I would have given my life and soul if necessary, and it's something I've demonstrated to them a lot. After insisting on the topic so much, no one offered to accompany me. The day was approaching, and I started with intensity. I offered to pay for everything, I just wanted a little company, but no one. One didn't want to go because she doesn't like crowded places, two said she couldn't go because she was working, and in the end, she went with other friends. Unfortunately, I ended up insulting her because I had never felt so betrayed, and the third, well, let's not even talk about her; she didn't even flinch.
In the end, I went alone, I met someone there after a while, and I managed to come back with them.
It was one of the best experiences of my life. I had never felt so good in a public place. I can't believe I had Alok so close, and I would do it a thousand times more. Thank God I'm home safe and sound.
Those friendships I have, I feel like as long as everything is fine and doesn't involve any discomfort or stepping out of the comfort zone, they can do something for me. But if it involves even a minimum of discomfort, they're not there. Something that I always demonstrate the opposite of. No one could lift a finger to be with me in fulfilling one of my dreams. They all left me to die. And if I had taken a bad taxi driver and something had happened to me because I was alone, what then? Nothing.