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Prenatal Yoga Classes: Joining a prenatal yoga class can help improve flexibility, strength, and balance while also providing a calming environment for expectant mothers. These classes focus on gentle stretches and breathing exercises specifically designed for pregnant women. Mindfulness Exercises: Practicing mindfulness can help you stay present in the moment and reduce anxiety or stress. Try incorporating simple mindfulness exercises into your daily routine, such as deep breathing exercises or guided meditation. Self-Care Activities: Engaging in self-care activities is essential during pregnancy. Take time to pamper yourself with activities such as taking warm baths, getting a massage, or enjoying a soothing prenatal spa treatment. 

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Prenatal Yoga Classes: Take advantage of the calming benefits of prenatal yoga classes offered at these nature retreats. Stretch and strengthen your body while also connecting with other expectant parents. The gentle movements and breathing exercises will help alleviate any pregnancy discomfort and promote a sense of inner peace. Babymoon Photography Sessions: Capture the precious moments of your babymoon with professional photography sessions amidst the stunning natural landscapes. These photographers specialize in capturing intimate moments between you and your partner, creating lasting memories to cherish forever. Safety is our Priority: Rest assured that safety is a top priority at these serene nature retreats. From well-maintained trails for leisurely walks to comfortable accommodations that prioritize cleanliness, every aspect is designed to ensure a worry-free babymoon experience. 

On the reunion the girls are upset that Lindsay posted an opportunistic Instagram caption. Ciara made a comment that came off to me as her not wanting to always have to take photos to hang out with someone. I think this really showcases the difference in their ages as I have noticed this with my friends and Instagram feed.
For the mid 30s to early 40s crowd I tend to see more active social postings and doesn't really stick to an aesthetic. With Brynn from RHoNY, Katie from VPR, and Lindsay, it's all restaurants, activities, weddings, friends. It's very clear they have active lives out of their shows.
For the mid 20s to early 30s crowd I see beautifully curated posts but mainly of themselves, their clothes, and whatever they are promoting. Ciara, Paige, Jordan from SHMV, Madison from Southern Charm, all post either show related content when the show airs, beautiful shots of themselves in beautiful locations or promoting products. But lately I have not seen any actual social posts with non bravo people.
I have seen this within my own social media circle. It's very clear the younger set show themselves and their work while the older set it is to show they are being social. As someone who is in the older group I definitely do this. I was chatting with one of my younger mid 20s friends and she was saying how it was more special or more fun to be off the grid and not take photos or just to share them in the group chat especially since social media doesn't exist for us any more they exist for shareholders.
Do you guys think the age divide between the cast is showing here? What's your age and how do you use social media? Or am I just over thinking with my Sunday coffee?

My name is Rory Fars, and my little sister, Lily Fars, is the last family I had left.
A heavy sense of dread settled over me like a suffocating blanket as I sat in the worn leather seat of Lily's old jeep. The car, a relic of our happier days, seemed to groan under our shared sorrow. Beside me, Lily, my best friend, and confidante, absentmindedly twirled a strand of her long, dark hair, which swayed gently in rhythm with the haunting melodies from the oldies station on the radio. This car had seen us through countless joyful journeys when our family was whole. Almost three years had passed since that fateful Christmas trip in Texas when our parents were tragically killed in a horrific multi-car pileup. The memory of their loss was a constant ache, a wound that never fully healed.
My dad was from Amarillo, Texas, so my parents often took trips down there, visiting the places that held so many memories for him. During one of these trips, just before Christmas, a sudden blizzard struck while they were on the freeway. The snow fell in blinding sheets, making the world outside a disorienting white blur. As they tried to slowly pull to the side, their vision obscured by the relentless storm, they never saw the car barreling toward them at least forty miles an hour. The impact was devastating, an abrupt and brutal end to their journey and, in many ways, to our lives as we had known them.
My parents were always sticklers for safety, insisting on seatbelts every time we got in the car. So, of course, they had theirs on during that fateful trip. The initial impact wasn't what killed them, the coroner explained to me. Not even the first hit from behind, which was going at least fifty miles an hour, was fatal. I had to practically shake the information out of him—they were so resistant to tell me anything at first. By the time the third car hit, with an unknown speed, their survival was already in jeopardy. The coroner said that by the fifth car, they were likely dead. But it didn't end there. Another twenty-three vehicles slammed into the back of the pile, each collision further crushing their bodies, reducing them to a horrific, unrecognizable state. Each jarring impact pushed my parents deeper into a gruesome amalgamation of twisted metal and shattered lives.
I don't know why I felt compelled to demand those details at the time, but I deeply regret it now. I wish I had never asked. Almost every night, unless I drink myself into oblivion, I am haunted by nightmares of what they endured. I dream of driving up to save them, only to be caught in the same deadly barrage of cars, ending in a twisted metal tomb for all of us.
Lily is never in those dreams. Even in my most horrific imaginings, I can't envision her being hurt. Lily is my little sister, younger by eight years and three months. Whenever I mention our age difference, I see the judgment in people's eyes, but what can I say? Our parents never stopped loving each other. They had Lily late in life; she became our shared joy, our living reminder of the love that had bound our family together.
Lily wasn't my twin in the literal sense, but ever since she was born, it felt like we shared the inexplicable connection that twins often describe. As she grew up, our bond only deepened—we acted, sounded, and even looked remarkably alike. She became my rock, especially after our parents' tragic deaths. We leaned on each other, cried into each other's shoulders, and somehow found the strength to move forward. We eventually moved in together, finding solace in a two-bedroom apartment that became our sanctuary.
Lily seemed to handle our parents' deaths better than I did, or maybe she was just better at distracting herself with technology. Even before their passing, Lily was addicted to any kind of digital screen she could manipulate. Her ability to navigate the digital world was unmatched; she was the most intelligent person I had ever met. Her intelligence was a beacon of light in the darkness that had enveloped us, a testament to her resilience and brilliance.
After my parents' death, I embarked on a quest to find my spirituality by delving into paranormal investigations. I hoped these pursuits would bring me closer to my parents in the afterlife, spiritual realm, or whatever you want to call it. Instead, it created a chasm between me and any sense of spiritual existence. Each investigation seemed to push me further from the answers I sought, leaving me feeling more isolated and disconnected than ever.
I had hoped that by exploring these paranormal claims, I would discover a way to reach out to my parents and feel their presence again. Yet, as the years have passed, this endeavor has only deepened my loneliness and sense of loss. Despite knowing how detrimental it is to my mental health, I can't bring myself to stop. The hope that the subsequent investigation will be the one that proves the existence of an afterlife and that I'll find a way to contact my parents keeps me going. It's a desperate, unrelenting pursuit for a connection that remains heartbreakingly out of reach.
I should have accepted their death and moved on like any sane person would. Instead, I let my grief fester and dragged my sister and a stranger, Mark, through my obsessive quest for answers. My relentless pursuit of the paranormal didn't just alienate me; it consumed us all, leading to their untimely deaths. My name is Rory Fars, and I am here to confess my side of the story about the missing case of Lily Fars and Mark Lawrence.
This is the truth about how my desperate search for a connection with the afterlife led to a nightmare from which none of us could escape.
To start off, no, Lily was not a student of Mark's who fell in love with him and then got jealous of me hitting on him, leading her to kill him and herself. I know that sounds ridiculous, but given some wild theories circulating online, I need to address this one specifically since it seems to be the most popular.
First and foremost, Mark Lawrence was not, nor has he ever been, a professor at a university. Lily and I met Mark at the Local Museum in Redlin, a town nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountains. He was the curator of an exhibit showcasing the history of Raven's Nest, a forgotten mining town that neither Lily nor I had ever heard of. This is where our story begins, in a place steeped in history and mystery, far removed from the convoluted theories that now cloud the truth.
We were constantly searching for new ideas for our podcast about paranormal claims. Each of our twenty-five episodes so far had concluded with a rational explanation, so when Mark told us about the curse of Harper, I was immediately intrigued.
Mark was an older man, likely in his mid-sixties, with a full head of silver hair and a beard that stubbornly clung to its youthful color, only lightly dusted with grey. He had a presence that commanded attention, and his stories about the curse were delivered with an intensity that drew me in.
On the other hand, Lily was always more interested in the technical aspects of the paranormal. She had her own theories and was determined to debunk every claim we investigated. She wasn't easily swayed by Mark's tales about the curse of Harper, but she was willing to listen and give him a chance to prove himself. Her skeptical mind constantly checked my enthusiasm, and together, we hoped to uncover the truth behind yet another paranormal mystery.
"Hello ladies, care to hear about the mysterious town of Raven's Nest?" Mark asked with theatrical enthusiasm.
Lily and I exchanged a knowing glance, trying to stifle our amusement. Despite our attempts to remain composed, a smirk played at the corners of our lips.
"We're all ears," I replied, my tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.
He sighed, almost as if he was disappointed that we said yes. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to steel himself for the task ahead. "Well, you see," he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "in the early twentieth century, a man named Harper Franstein exploited many men and children in the coal mines. By the mid-1920s, he had established his own settlement in a secluded valley, which he dubbed 'The Raven's Nest.' It was never officially recognized as a town, but that's the only name we have to go off of."
I could see the beads of sweat forming on Mark's brow as he struggled to recall every detail. Despite his initial enthusiasm, he now appeared flustered, his confidence waning. Eventually, he resorted to consulting his damp and crumpled notes, a sign of his growing unease.
"Um, anyway, yeah, um," he stuttered, audibly gulping as his nerves got the better of him. Lily couldn't contain her laughter, emitting a snicker that earned us a glare from Mark.
"Hey, just relax," I interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "We're not here to judge or intimidate you." With a gentle touch on his forearm and a chuckle, I attempted to reassure him, hoping to ease his obvious discomfort.
He paused, sharing a chuckle with me, while Lily struggled to suppress her laughter and eventually excused herself, leaving just Mark and me. Evidently, he felt more at ease with fewer listeners, so he pressed on with his narrative.
"Anyway," he resumed, "Harper held complete control over the town and the mine, and he made sure everyone was acutely aware of that fact. When the disappearances began, he tried to sweep them under the rug, attributing them to anything but his own negligence in mining practices."
"What do you mean by 'negligence in mining practices'?" I interjected, eager to delve deeper into his intriguing tale.
He looked up, clearly pleased by my question. "Yes, exactly," he affirmed. "Harper adhered to a mining technique outlined by Dwight Brunst in the mid to late nineteenth century. This method mandated only one entry and exit point into the mine."
"Wait, so they were forbidden from creating additional exits?" I pressed for clarification.
"Not explicitly," he explained. "The practice advocated for just one entry and exit as it was believed to minimize the risk of cave-ins, at least in theory. However, there were instances where miners, feeling uneasy about this restriction, took matters into their own hands and carved out what they called 'Emergency Exits' for themselves. After about half of the town started going missing, Harper couldn't take criticism about how he responded, but most people say he was losing money quickly and didn't want to live in a world where he was poor. He walked into the mine, never to be seen again, much like the cave's past victims. Visitors report seeing and hearing Harper, trying to get them to leave."
As I stood there, listening to Mark's enthralling narrative, I found myself captivated by the mysterious allure of Raven's Nest. Unable to contain my curiosity, I decided to pose a question.
"So, what does the town look like now?" I inquired, eager to learn more about the present state of this enigmatic place.
Mark's demeanor shifted slightly as he rifled through his notes, a subtle indication that he didn't have a straightforward answer to my query.
"You've never been there?" I asked, my tone softening with genuine curiosity.
He flinched as though my question had struck a nerve. "Shhhhhh... shut up," he demanded, his voice tinged with unease.
Suppressing a chuckle, I leaned in closer and whispered, "Okay, hear me out. My sister Lily and I are investigating paranormal phenomena. Your story about Raven's Nest sounds like the perfect addition to our podcast. What do you say we compensate you for your guidance? Let's say, three hundred bucks?"
He straightened up, contemplating my proposition for a few moments. Without uttering a word, he extended his hand, and I met it halfway with my own, sealing our agreement with a firm handshake.
Our journey to Raven's Nest was no easy feat. Situated a good twenty miles from town and nestled deep within a dense valley. After all of the tight turns, narrow dirt roads, and steep inclines, it took us a grueling two and a half hours to go twenty-something miles, but we finally reached the outskirts of the infamous settlement. As we stood at the edge of the "Nest," anticipation mingled with trepidation, setting the stage for the eerie exploration that lay ahead.
I glanced at my phone; the time read 11:56 pm, signaling the late hour. Sensing the exhaustion weighing heavily, I suggested we catch a few hours of rest in Lily's jeep. Mark, though visibly unsettled, remained silent from the back seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he slumped against the window like a sulking child.
Drifting asleep in the passenger seat, I soon found myself ensnared in a nightmare. In my dream, Mark was being dragged away into the darkness, his desperate attempts to claw his way back to safety only resulting in broken fingertips. Despite his struggles, he was powerless against the unseen force pulling him inexorably into the abyss. Suddenly, I was alone, engulfed in utter darkness, my heart pounding with fear as I ran blindly from an unseen terror that seemed to pursue me relentlessly, its malevolent presence palpable but unseen.
I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my heart racing as the remnants of dread lingered in the pit of my stomach. It was morning, and I was struggling to adjust my vision. Lily's frantic but comforting voice broke through the haze of my terror, grounding me in reality. With her comforting embrace, I gradually calmed my racing thoughts, drawing deep, steadying breaths.
As we sat there, enveloped in each other's embrace, Mark approached the driver's side window with an unexpected question, "Alright, what's for breakfast?" His nonchalant tone and casual demeanor were a stark contrast to the harrowing nightmare that had just consumed my thoughts, momentarily dispelling the lingering specter of fear that had haunted my dreams.
Lily and I both look up at him and back at each other as we burst out into laughter.
Amidst our shared laughter, Lily and I exchanged amused glances before turning our attention back to Mark.
"Ha...ha, yeah. No, but seriously, what's for breakfast? Eggs, bacon, toast, at least?" Mark pressed, hoping for a more substantial response.
His earnest inquiry fueled our laughter further, our giggles echoing through the quiet night air. Eventually, we regained our composure and stepped out of the jeep, stretching our limbs after the cramped confines of the vehicle.
Mark awkwardly moves to the side, still waiting for an honest answer. Lily tossed him a granola bar, eliciting a bemused chuckle from him. With a shared understanding, we set off on foot, embarking on the hike into the town.
The path ahead was clear: a single dirt road that wound its way from the abandoned coal mine into the heart of the small settlement. The road, now overgrown and muddy from years of disuse, bore the marks of neglect and isolation. Wary of the treacherous conditions, Lily opted to forgo the risk of getting stuck, steering clear of the decrepit road that likely hadn't seen a traveler in at least half a century.
We parked Lily's jeep at the entrance to both the mine and the town of Raven's Nest, opting to proceed on foot from there. Standing at the mountain's peak, gazing down at the desolate town below, I couldn't help but ponder the history beneath the dilapidated structures. I imagined how this valley must have once been a pristine landscape cherished by the indigenous people who roamed its lush terrain.
"Jesus, this place is more like a shit nest," Mark muttered in disgust, his disdain evident in his tone.
Lily shot me a knowing glance, silently communicating her skepticism toward Mark's assessment of the town.
Deciding to put Mark's knowledge to the test, I casually inquired, "So, what year was this area founded?"
Mark's reaction was almost defensive as if my question had caught him off guard. He hesitated momentarily before fumbling for his note cards in his pocket, a telltale sign that he wasn't as knowledgeable as he let on.
Before he could respond, I interjected with another question, "Mark, how long have you worked at the museum?"
As Mark froze, his gaze locking onto mine like a deer caught in headlights, I watched him closely, waiting for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. My narrowed eyes bore into his, silently urging him to be honest.
Finally, breaking the tense silence, Mark confessed, "Look, this is only my first week. I... I haven't had the greatest time lately, and I really need the extra money. I'm sorry I lied, but I'll help however I can."
I met his gaze unwaveringly, sensing the sincerity in his words. Clearly, he was a man in need of redemption, grappling with his own personal struggles.
"Alright, alright, don't cry too much," I teased lightly, trying to ease the tension. Gesturing towards Lily, who was busy preparing her wireless motion cameras in her backpack, I continued, "Lily and I already figured that was the case. Honestly, we're surprised you agreed to come along."
Mark remained frozen, but the tension seemed to melt away from his expression, replaced by a tentative smile. It was a moment of shared understanding, a silent acknowledgment that he was still welcomed into our expedition despite his initial deception.
"Alright, I have the cams and portable batteries to make sure the cameras and anything we have with power can last," Lily said, her voice brimming with determination.
We began our descent into the town, our hiking boots struggling against the thick, clinging mud produced by the constant light rain and years of disuse. Each step was a battle, the mud threatening to swallow our boots with every move.
After an eternity of trudging through the muck, we finally reached the town's only paved road—the main road. It had taken us only about fifteen minutes to hike down, but navigating the muddy slope had sapped our energy. We paused for a break, taking a few minutes to clean off our boots and catch our breath.
As we rested, I noticed Lily rummaging through her bag with a focused intensity. Curious, I asked, "What are you looking for?"
"I brought five motion-detecting cameras that I want to set up strategically throughout the town," she replied, pulling out one of the cameras. She walked over to the nearest building, a structure that served as a post office, police station, and fire station. She positioned the camera outside the building so it was pointed at the only road leading in and out of the town.
"We need to cover all potential points of interest," she explained, securing the camera in place. "This one will monitor any activity on the main road. We should place the other cameras around key locations like the mine entrance, the town square, and some more intact buildings."
I nodded, appreciating her thoroughness. "Good idea. We need to make sure we capture anything unusual."
Mark, having finally caught his breath, joined us. "Alright, let's get these cameras set up and see what we can find," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"Look," Lily said, turning her tablet screen toward us. She waved her hand in front of the camera she had just placed. The tablet displayed five squares on the interface, each meant to show a feed from one of the cameras. Since Lily had only set up one camera so far, only the bottom right square showed any footage pointed at the road leading out of town. She stopped waving her hand, and the feed went to a blue screen.
"What happened? Did we lose connection?" Mark asked frantically, his eyes wide with concern.
Lily cackled, struggling to contain her amusement. Composing herself, she waved her hand in front of the camera again, and the bottom right square showed her hand waving once more. "It's motion-activated. It's the best way to save on battery life," she explained.
Mark seemed to relax, though he was still catching his breath after the brief panic.
I glanced at my watch, noting the time. "It's 8:30. We're behind schedule. If you want to place the rest of your cameras, we better move now," I said, walking down the street.
Lily immediately got up and followed me, with Mark struggling to keep pace behind us. We reached the market building, and Lily positioned her second camera on the side of the road, pointing up at the market.
It's not much longer before we make it to the Town Hall. I suggest Lily place a camera nearby. She nods and heads into a building across from the Town Hall labeled, "Slaughterhouse: LOCAL ANIMALS ONLY."
As Lily explores the building to find an adequate spot for the camera, I wait for Mark to catch up. While I wait, I can't help but imagine this town in its prime, picturing the streets filled with families who loved each other.
My thoughts are abruptly cut off by a sound echoing in the distance—a roar unlike any I've ever heard. It was a mix of a human screaming in pain, the roar of a lion, and, near the end, the howl of a wolf. The chilling sound sent shivers down my spine.
I jump to my feet and immediately call out, "Lily, you okay?"
There's no response from Lily, but I'm interrupted by Mark finally catching up, panting heavily.
"Holy... shit... did you... hear that?" Mark said frantically between breaths.
"Yeah, we have to find Lily," I say, bolting into the slaughterhouse. I glance back to see Mark bracing himself on the steps of the Town Hall, struggling to keep up.
As I enter the building, the stench of rotting flesh hits me like a wave, causing me to gag. The smell is too fresh to be decades old.
"Lily? Lily, where are you?" I yell, using my shirt to shield my nose from the overwhelming odor.
"Rory, I'm in here!" I hear Lily yell from a room two doors down. I pass the first door, peeking in to ensure I hadn't misheard, but I wish I hadn't looked.
Inside the first room, I catch a glimpse of what appears to be a pile of animal carcasses, their decayed bodies arranged in a grotesque display. The sight is horrifying, the flesh still disturbingly fresh. The bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to focus on finding Lily.
I rush to the room where her voice came from, pushing the door open. Lily is there, setting up the camera, seemingly oblivious to the horror in the adjacent room. Relief floods through me as I see she's safe.
"Lily, did you hear that roar?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Yeah, I heard it," she replies, her eyes wide with concern. "I was just finishing up here. Let's get back to Mark and figure out what that was." She had placed the camera in a window, pointing directly at the Town Hall.
We hurry back outside, where Mark still catches his breath as we meet between the buildings. "We need to stay together from now on," I say firmly, looking at both of them. "Whatever that noise was, it's not something we want to face alone."
"Let's check out the Town Hall!" Mark says excitedly as he slowly clambers through a broken window.
"Did he not just hear what I said?" I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.
Lily gives me a shrug, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Guess we're heading into the Town Hall then," she says, adjusting her backpack and walking towards the broken window.
I sigh and follow suit, hoisting myself up and carefully maneuvering through the jagged glass. Inside, the air is musty, filled with the scent of old paper and decaying wood. Dust motes float lazily in the beams of sunlight streaming through the cracked windows.
The main hall is vast and eerily silent, with rows of empty chairs facing a stage draped in tattered curtains. The walls are lined with faded portraits and yellowed maps of the town, remnants of a time when this place was alive and bustling.
Mark is already at the front, examining a large, decrepit desk. "Look at this," he says, his voice echoing in the empty space. "It's like stepping back in time."
I walk over, glancing at the old papers scattered across the desk. Most are mundane—meeting minutes, maintenance logs—but one catches my eye. It's a letter dated June 1925, addressed to Harper Franstein.
"Harper, the disappearances are becoming more frequent. The townsfolk are getting restless, and I fear they may take matters into their own hands if we don't act soon. We need to find out what's causing this before it's too late."
I read the letter aloud, and the room fell silent. "Sounds like things were getting pretty tense," Lily remarks, her voice subdued.
As I'm distracted by the time capsule in front of us, Mark sneaks off.
I'm not sure how long it was before she noticed, but I saw Lily looking around before saying, "Where the hell did Mark go?" breaking me out of my trance.
I look around, turning my head in all directions, and shrug at Lily. I hear shuffling in the second room down the hall, so I slowly walk toward it.
"Mark?" I call out.
Just then, a loud crash reverberates through the building, making it sound like the whole place was about to come down.
We run in and see Mark struggling to keep himself from falling into a giant hole that must've broken under his weight. Trying not to laugh, I glance at Lily. We help him up as he dramatically falls onto his back, wheezing as he catches his breath.
Lily and I can't contain our laughter anymore as we bust out laughing hard. Startled by our sudden outburst, Mark jumps in fear. He looks around, confused for a few seconds, before realizing that we are laughing at him.
"Jesus, thanks, I guess," he says, clearly thankful but annoyed by our reaction.
After we contained ourselves, we headed back outside, exiting through the window Mark entered through. He struggles to climb out, but after Lily gives him a hand, he is safely out of the Town Hall.
"Alright, Ror, where should we put the next camera?" Lily asks me.
I stop to think momentarily, trying to picture the town's layout. "I think the only place left is the neighborhood," I respond confidently. I always talk like that with Lily. Over the years, I've realized she is the only person I can have that much confidence around. With anyone else, I'm worried about saying something stupid or wrong or how they'll view me, but with my sister, everything is easy.
As I look at the replica map of the town in its heyday from the museum, I determine that the neighborhood is to the East. "Okay, looks like we head East past the Library. Let's go." I say, walking away.
It only takes about eight minutes to get to the long strip of road that housed the town's workers. According to the map, there were fifteen houses along this strip of road.
The houses stand eerily silent, their wooden frames weathered and decayed by time. We walk down the road, our footsteps crunching on the gravel and echoing in the stillness. The air feels heavier here like the past is watching us, waiting to reveal its secrets.
"Let's put the last cameras on that house at the end of the road," I suggest, pointing to a house that looks slightly less dilapidated than the others, "another one at the last house on the other side, and the last we can save for a spot you choose."
Lily nods and heads toward the first house, pulling another camera from her backpack. She sets it up on the porch, positioning it to capture the entire street, and does the same in the opposite house. As I stand with Mark breathing hard, still unable to catch his breath since we first got here, I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. I glance around nervously but see nothing out of the ordinary.
"All set," Lily says, breaking my reverie, "Still no ideas for the last cam?" Lily asks me.
"Like I said, wherever you think it would be best. I feel like we have enough good spots and angles, so go wild with that one," I told her.
She smirked and kept walking next to me. Mark was still struggling behind, but after the town hall mishap, he was trying his best to keep up. I looked at my watch, and it read '12:30 pm'.
"Holy shit, it's already 12:30," I said in amazement, but no one else seemed fazed. It felt like we'd only been here thirty minutes, not almost four hours.
We walked back down the street. Lily and I had been discussing on the walk that she should put the last camera at the town's only stoplight in front of the Library.
As we made our way to it, I could have sworn I was seeing something moving fast past my vision in the corner of my eye. Every time I turned to look, it was gone. I chalked it up to being my imagination until Lily and Mark both experienced the same thing.
"What the fuck was that?" Mark asked as he ducked, bracing for something terrible to happen. Lily and I looked back at him and then at each other as we shrugged. It was after that that I started seeing things, too.
I confided in Lily about the unsettling visions and sounds, and she admitted she had experienced the same phenomena but had kept quiet, fearing Mark would dismiss her as paranoid.
"Well, it's probably just a cat or something," I said, attempting to downplay the situation, but neither seemed convinced.
We continued our trek, and I noticed that the more we walked, the more frequently I caught fleeting glimpses of movement in my peripheral vision. It was beginning to grate on my nerves.
Finally, we reached the light in front of the Library. As Lily mounted the camera, I felt a sense of satisfaction. We were making good progress, and it seemed like a suitable moment to start exploring the town more freely. We decided to split up and cover different sections of the town.
"Wait, we have to go alone? Why can't we stay together like you said?" Mark asked frantically, but Lily and I ignored him as we headed in separate directions. He continued to protest, but we paid him no mind. Eventually, I was either far enough away to not hear him anymore, or he had given up. Either way, I was happy to enjoy the eerie silence of the town.
As I wandered, the stillness of Raven's Nest enveloped me. With its decrepit buildings and overgrown streets, the town exuded an unsettling charm. It was as if I had stepped into a forgotten world, a place frozen in time with secrets waiting to be unearthed. The ambiance reminded me of an amusement park's haunted town section—artificially eerie yet irresistibly intriguing. Despite the creepiness, the mysterious vibe of the town kept me engaged and eager to explore its hidden corners.
I glanced at my watch again, only to find the time glaring back at me: 3:19 pm. It couldn't be right. There was no way it had been that long since I last checked. Panic seized me, and I called out for Lily, my voice tinged with urgency. She appeared beside me in a matter of minutes, her expression mirroring my concern.
"What's up, Ror? You okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.
"How long would you say it's been since you put the last camera down?" I inquired, my heart pounding in my chest.
Lily's brow furrowed as she struggled to come up with an answer. "Uh, I don't know, thirty minutes?" she hazarded a guess.
I held up my watch, displaying the time: 3:20 pm. Lily fell silent, her eyes widening in disbelief. She was never great with time, but missing almost three hours of our memory was unprecedented.
"There's no way. Your watch must be—" Lily began, her voice trailing off as she checked her own watch, only to freeze in shock when she found it displayed the same time as mine.
"Lil, something is going on," I stated, my voice tight and apprehensive. I glanced up at the sky, my stomach churning as I noticed the clouds darkening and rolling in from all sides of the valley.
The sky closed rapidly, ominous clouds obscuring the sun as thunder rumbled ominously against the mountains.
"Mark? Mark, where are—" I began to call out, but before I could finish, Mark emerged from behind a wall, appearing as if he'd been too frightened to venture far on his own.
"We have to get inside!" Mark exclaimed urgently, his voice tinged with fear.

Citron: citrus fan story
Chapter 1:”Limelight”
A loud groan escaped my lips as the shrill notes of nano.RIPE's 'Azalea' reverberated from my electric alarm clock at the ungodly hour of 8:00 am. A familiar voice, that of my mama, Yuzu, cut through the morning haze from the kitchen below. I sat up in bed, my surroundings still blurry with sleep. As my vision slowly cleared, I realized I was in my sprawling and charming bedroom. But hold on! Before we dive further, allow me to introduce myself...
My name is Yumi Aihara, and yes, it's me, the one and only! A fabulous 14-year-old with black hair and piercing purple eyes. My family is…well, unique. My mother, Mei, is a strict, traditional woman, while my other mother, Yuzu, puts her children's needs above everything else. Together, they run the prestigious Aihara Girls Academy. As for me, I have three younger siblings: Joshua-Kai, a brilliant 12-year-old; Emi, an 8-year-old who acts like the boss but is fiercely loyal; and the adorable baby Emi. We might look like a picture-perfect, happy family, but the truth is, it's not that simple, especially for me. I'm destined to inherit Aihara Academy, but it's not my dream.
My ambition is to become a renowned ice skater, captivating audiences with my talent. While I don't aspire to take over the academy, there's another layer to this desire. My mother, Mei, has poured her heart and soul into the school, making it her life's work. It's almost like her child. Since high school, she's dedicated herself to the academy, even becoming the first female chairwoman at 19. This unwavering devotion has meant missing every birthday, Christmas, and countless other important moments in our family's life. The sacrifices she's made have also impacted mama and my younger siblings.
for clarification:
mother=mei
mama=yuzu
p.s. I'm thinking of doing the chapters as pages, so i have more motivation to write.

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I’ve watched a lot of RH shows (RHOA, RHOBH, some seasons of RHOC, RHOM, the first 5 or so seasons of RHONJ, RHONY, RHOP, RHOSLC, etc.), VPR, Summer House, Summer House MV, Below Deck (the original, will make my way through the spinoffs soon), and am about to start Southern Charm probably tomorrow. Safe to say, I consider myself a Bravoholic, but not as much as some of you here, which I love!
However, one topic I’ve started to think about is that typically, there usually is a “voice of reason” to balance things out on these shows between a typically chaotic cast. However, I’ve seen a few of these people fall from grace from their role, which is always fascinating because even if they don’t offer up storylines, humor, or shade, they ARE supposed to be the balance, but something goes wrong somewhere.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Is it Bethenny from RHONY (edit: to be fair, social media is more in play for her vs her storylines and confessionals). Is it a more low key person like Danielle from Summer House, who 100% once was viewed as the voice of reason before she flipped out and never fully recovered after Lindsay and Carl became engaged? Is it Lala, the self-proclaimed/Andy Cohen proclaimed “voice of reason” for S11 of VPR, which fans and critics have widely interpreted as a failure?

Context: You've just moved to a new country to open a ranch and start over. You've heard that, unlike home, this place has monsters, same as the ones your parents warned you about as a child. Well, for the most part... You're about to realize there are monsters out there that you've never even imagined.
Setting: The Listener's Ranch / A cavern - Thessappalachia
Tags:[MA4A][Strangers to ?][Scared Centaur Speakers][Helpful Rancher Listener][Greek Mythology x Southern Charm][Fantasy][Centaur Cowboys][Two Himbo Horses][Ranch-Life][AU][Mild Comedy][CW: Mentions of Trafficking/Injury]
Usage: You may tweak or record this script. Gender flipping is OK! Please credit me if you use this script in any of your projects. If you would like to use this script for a paywalled recording, please note:
Monetization: All forms of monetization are OK with me! YouTube, Patreon, etc. I would appreciate being able to listen to the recording. Let me know if you have any questions. Thank you!
Check out the rest of my scripts by using the Script Directory
[F] = Foal, a young centaur
[M] = Mac, an older centaur
[Scene opens on a modest ranch in the mountains of Thessappalachia]
[Note: Thessappalachia is a mix of Greek Thessaly meeting American Appalachia :3]
[SFX: The wind rustling / horse hooves coming close]
[You are new to this part of the world, Thessappalachia. You've just opened a private ranch with a range of mountains and a beautiful coastline in the distance. It’s day three in your new home when something… or, someone… runs toward you in a panic]
[F] “H-Hey! Are you friendly?! Please be friendly!!”
[Pause???]
[SFX: A shotgun being cocked]
[The creature skids to a stop, their lower half horselike while their upper half appears to be humanesque]
[F] “No, no, wait, don’t shoot! Please! I’m a monster, yes, but I mean no harm! Please don’t shoot me!”
[Pause.]
[F, nervous] “M-My friend got hurt in a fight… I don’t got any medicine or ways to help him, a-and I figured a friendly human might be able to help!”
[Pause?]
[The young creature’s eyes well up with tears]
[F] “I DON’T have any way to know yer friendly, but my friend is dyin’! And if I’m gonna die, it ain’t gonna be as a coward who didn’t try and help their buddy!”
[. . . ]
[The creature wipes his eyes]
[F] “We were ambushed… He got shot when we tried to flee… P-Please, can you just help o-or tell me where I can find someone who will…?”
[. . . ]
[SFX: The gun being tucked away]
[F] “Oh, thank ya! Thank ya! He’s laid out in a little cavern about fifteen minutes from here! I’d offer yer a ride but I think I’m too young to carry a full-grown human…”
[Pause.]
[SFX: Them heading off together after the Listener gathers some supplies]
[F] “So, uh… Name’s Foal… Yers?”
[Pause]
[F] “Nice to meetcha… Mac always says not to talk to no adult humans… or humans at all, but you seem nice, at least.”
[Pause…]
[F] “Well… No, I don’t know nothin’ fer sure. Truth be told, I know a whole lot about nothin’ regardless! But… Mac said I have time to learn… He’s my older brother, kind of. We ain’ blood, but… he and the others helped raise me, and I…”
[. . . ]
[SFX - Pause Fill - Them traveling / the ambiance of the mountains]
[You walk for a bit with the young creature before he picks up a bit of speed, pointing]
[F] “There it is! That’s the place! Here, follow me!”
[Pause.]
[You follow them inside and it doesn’t take long to see ‘Mac’ laid out on his side]
[F] “Mac! I brought help! Please tell me you ain’t dead!”
[The horse… man… looks up at you, panting weakly]
[M] “F-Foal… I dun … d-dun told you not to talk to humans!”
[F, panicked] “Yer dyin’, Mac! Yer need help! Please, human! Please help ‘em! You know how to help, right??”
[Pause???]
[Mac tenses as you kneel by his haunch, inspecting the wound]
[M] “Nnh… G-Got shot… one of them wranglers… They got my other brothers… I jus’ trying to get us out past the human parts! The path was meant to be safe, but… We got jumped…”
[Pause???]
[F, crying] “Y-You…? You don’t know ‘bout the Wranglers? W-Wait… I thought all the humans were-!”
[Mac belts out a groan, hissing through his teeth]
[M] “I’m done ‘fer… Ain’t nothin’ havin' it…”
[. . . ]
[Your spine and upper lip stiffen, and your brow knots, but you know what must be done]
[M] “Just… Just put me out of my misery… Please…”
[F, sobbing] “Mac, no! Please!”
[Pause.]
[F] “H-Huh…? You can help?”
[M] “...how…?”
[Long Pause]
[SFX to fill the [Pause - Western ambience]
[F] “Y-You got a cart that Mac could rest his bad leg on at yer ranch… We patch him up here, get him back to your place, and you’ll lay us up til he’s better?”
[Pause.]
[M, unsure] “...Why would you help a centaur…? Thessappalachia is our homeland, sure, but it’s the same ”
[You note the word ‘centaur’ for later]
[Pause.]
[F, with a little gasp] “That was a lotta swears…”
[M, with a chuckle] “You don’t agree with traffickers… Y’know what? Good ‘nuff for me. What do you need me to do?”
[Pause…]
[M] “You definitely think a bone is broken… Shit. That means you need to set it, huh?”
[...Pause.]
[Mac takes a deep breath, almost amused]
[M] “Foal… Might wanna cover your ears real quick.”
[F, wincing] “Golly…”
[He covers his cute little ears and you do the dark deed asked of you, quickly setting his leg. He muffles a yelp but, otherwise, handles the pain impressively well]
[M] “MMMMMM-Mother Gaia! Tsss… ow…”
[Pause…]
[M] “No worries, human… I appreciate ya going out of yer way for two strangers.”
[Pause…]
[M] “Do we know where the Wranglers take other centaurs…? Theoretically, I reckon… The big city yonder, where the STYX rail line runs South. I hear there are bands of centaurs that try and jump trains that run that way… Could be retribution for that. Centaurs could be getting their licks in for being trafficked, too. Nessus knows.”
[Pause?]
[SFX: The Listener casually getting the wound dressed]
[F] “Nessus is a centaur legend. I don’t really know much ‘sides he killed some unkillable human, me and Mac aren’t church boys.”
[M, with a laugh] “Reckon this is CarMer?”
[F] “Huh?”
[M] “Ya know… Comes ‘round, goes ‘round?”
[F] “Ohhh…”
[SFX: The wound being patched / a few pats from the Listener]
[M] “Ngh… Damn, that’s good work… Thanks, human… How far away is this ranch?”
[F] “It took us bout twenty minutes to get here, Mac! I could run back right now on my own, the way is easy to find!”
[Pause]
[M] “Thas’ a good point… if they’re trackin’ us, we don’t want to make it easy for ‘em. I don’t know what’s wiser… You two leaving me here makes more sense. If they find me, there’s nothin’ I can do. If they find me and Foal, I…”
[Pause…]
[F] “...OK… I’ll go with you, human… I don’t like the idea of leaving Mac here, though.”
[SFX: The gun being handed off]
[M] “Wh-...? Yer givin’ me yer gun?”
[Pause…]
[Mac takes the shotgun, giving it a grim, resolute look]
[M] “...Thanks, human… Go on! It’s hot this side of the mountains, so the Wranglers should be sticking clear of the path. Them Nyads take a lot of joy in trying to drown ‘em if they approach when the sun is nice, and you’ve got the river on either side…”
[F] “Stay safe, Mac… We’ll be back just as soon as we can.”
[SFX: Foal and the Listener heading off]
[F] “...Thanks, human… It ain’t often that a human will let centaurs on to their land cause of all the problems from Wranglers and whatnot. It’s easier for most of ‘em to turn a blind eye to crimes like this…”
[Pause?]
[F] “I dunno why they want centaur-folk. Ain’t like they tell us when they come chasin’ us down, you know?”
[Pause…]
[F] “Huh?? You wanna find out? That’s crazy talk! If they find your ranch has centaurs on it, they might try and burn it to the ground or somethin’!”
[Pause…]
[F] “...I hope we can get him home, too… If we get caught movin’ him, then… I reckon we’re done for…”
[SFX: Fade out on them walking / the ambiance desired]
[To be continued…]
Note: When a meme turns into 16 hours of worldbuilding for fucking REDNECK THESSALY-

1. Dreadpunk:

Dear Writer,
Emphasize a sense of dread and unease within a gothic horror narrative within a letter. Craft an atmospheric and chilling story that immerses readers in a world where fear and apprehension lurk in every shadow, creating an unsettling and haunting experience.
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Set your narrative in the Art Deco era within a letter. Explore the sleek design, glamour, and distinctive aesthetics of this period, incorporating these elements into the characters' lives and surroundings to create a visually striking and stylish world.
Best Regards, [Your Name]

1. Dying Earth Subgenre:

Dear Writer,
Immerse characters in the last days of a dying world within a letter. Portray a world on the brink of collapse, with a pervasive sense of decay and decline that shapes the characters' experiences and actions as they navigate a fading existence.
Best Regards, [Your Name]

1. Mannerpunk:

Dear Writer,
Focus on manners, social structures, and etiquette within a fantastical setting within a letter. Craft a narrative that revolves around societal norms, manners, and the complexities of social structures, exploring how these elements shape characters' interactions and aspirations.
Best Regards, [Your Name]

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Blur the boundaries between mainstream and speculative fiction within a letter. Create a narrative that incorporates elements of the surreal and the unusual, challenging readers' perceptions of reality through a blend of unconventional storytelling.
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1. Cattlepunk:

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Incorporate advanced technology and cattle-centric themes within a western-inspired narrative within a letter. Explore a world where technological innovations and cattle-related elements shape characters' lives, societal dynamics, or conflicts in this unique setting.
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Craft poetry inspired by or featuring dolphins as a prominent theme within a collection of verses. Dive into the elegance, beauty, and mystique of dolphins, weaving their essence into poetic imagery that captivates the reader's imagination.
Best Regards, [Your Name]

1. Cat Poetry:

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Compose poetry centered around cats as a significant subject within a collection of verses. Capture the enigmatic charm, grace, and whimsy of cats in your poetry, painting vivid pictures through words that celebrate these captivating feline creatures.
Best Regards, [Your Name]