...thanks to you guys. I've been lurking the sub for a while, but I wanted to share my perspective and, who knows, maybe it will help someone. Bear with my anger for a bit.
Tw: body dysphoria
I (23F/NB?) live in a relatively progressive country. I have a nice family, nice friends, and my childhood was fairly normal.
However, I was an early bloomer. My boobs grew overnight, and I got my period when I was about 11. I remember everyone in my family celebrating the fact that "I was a woman now", even if all I could think about was the sheer amount of horror I felt when I looked at the blood-stained toilet paper. Now I know they didn't have any ill intentions, it's just the way society sees girls. So, the moment I hit puberty something clicked: my body was not mine anymore. It would never be mine again. My boy friends in school stopped talking to me. One of them came to me one day, looked at my boobs and said "woah, you are hot", and then ignored me for the rest of the year.
Now, I guess this is a universal experience for most people with a uterus. For some reason, we stop being kids way earlier than boys. Pervs honk when they see us walking down the street, or they stare at our boobs when they are talking to us. They don't give a sh*t that we are basically children.
The word I would use now to describe how I felt would be alienated. I was a nerd, so I was only approached by guys at least five or ten years older than me. They liked me because I was girly and guillible. It felt wrong. I felt like something was extremely wrong inside me. For a while, I stopped using the term "bisexual" and started considering myself a lesbian. I felt kind of better, but again, the women who approached me were far more "masculine" and wanted me to roleplay as the girl of the relationship. It felt awful.
On top of that, I started feeling extremely dysphoric. I hated my boobs, I hated my long hair, my soft voice and gentle manners. But most of all, I hated that my biology was flawed to the point where I would always be weaker than your average man. I felt useless and defenseless. What do you mean that any man could just throw me around if he wanted to? That thought still haunts me.
Recently, I reconnected with an ex boyfriend I broke up with because I was just so f*cking disgusted by myself, my body and my gender. We are dating again, and I'm extremely grateful for the fact that I'm comfortable enough to allow myself love and intimacy. I think that's partly because he's bi too, so he wouldn't care about whatever choices I end up making. He is CF, and I was a fence sitter until I met him. I always said "yeah, not gonna get pregnant. If I ever want kids, I'll just adopt". But I guess that my mind was still wired that way, and, deep down, I knew that everyone expected me to have bio children.
It's hard to be CF and "neutral" (speaking in terms of gender presentation) when everywhere you see moms just talking about the miracle of life. My reproductive organs disgust me because they remember me that nature made me to host a parasite inside my guts. Your average cisgender guy will live a life without experiencing the horrors that I (and half of the population) am bound to live with. What do you mean that these sacks of fat hanging from my chest not only hurt when I run or jump, but also make me feel like a sex object? What do you mean that I'll bleed monthly for 30 more years and then my body will fck me up in a bunch of other ways? What do you mean that my hormones can just control my mood and energy levels... forever? It's just so unfair. It's so fcking unfair. I could literally die from childbirth complications or post partum depression.
Not only do we have to cope with biological disadvantages, we also have to cope with the patriarchy! For a while, I tried to deal with my dysphoria by being ultrafeminine, but I felt like I was wearing costumes. It doesn't help that the image of the "empowered, independent woman" is a typically attractive, skinny and hot woman that appeals to the male gaze. I could never feel like an empowered woman if I was hairy and covered my boobs and chopped my hair myself at 3 a.m. with some kitchen scissors.
But yesterday I had a revelation. I was reading some rants in here that talked about dysphoria and the idea of pregnacy being "body horror". I found out I have a very bad case of tokophobia. But after reading how a lot of people are really happy and lead fulfilling lives being CF, I just kind of... Realized that I could be happy too. I guess I stopped being on the fence. Jesus, I can't imagine myself having to wake up at an ungodly hour because a random kid that lives in my house is crying. But I guess I said "whatever, maybe when I'm 30 or 35 the maternal instinct will kick in". Well fck no! Now that I have a CF boyfriend, I imagine my life in 10 or 20 years, I see myself having savings, fur babies and all the time in the world to play videogames, go on dates with my bf and just... Live life. I thought about my CF aunt, and how she spends the afternoons tending to her plants, painting and going out with friends. I realized that I could be more than my body, that I had a choice... In hindsight, it sounds kind of stupid. Of course I have a choice. But, when you grow up feeling like your body is: -a vessel for a parasite that will, no doubt, fck up your body -a sexual object -a fucked up machine with maaany flaws, especially when you compare yourself to men
God, it's so fucking hard to snap out of it. I'm so happy that I'm not alone in this journey. It's not easy, but I'm starting to accept myself. I don't even care about being considered a woman again, now that I understand that my dysphoria is mainly social. There's nothing wrong with my body, and there's also nothing wrong with finding it kind of gross and despising the idea of pregnancy. My boyfriend doesn't see me as a vessel or an object, he sees me as a human being. Maybe I was just unlucky in my past relationships, or maybe society sucks.
God, sorry for the long rant. If you are reading this, know that there's hope. I'm only at the beginning of this journey, but I feel like a weight was lifted from my weary shoulders.
Thank you for reading!

I have small group of friends in the city I live in, we met through a mutual interest and have a sort of "club" where we meet once a month in person or (since the pandemic) over video with rotating members as organizers, we have an email/listserv group, and a WhatsApp group that gets daily use. My friend "Abby" invited me to join and I've been with the group as one of its most faithful members for about 6-7 years now.
The group has a core of about six members who participate in most things most of the time, with an additional four or five more who participate less frequently, more like only two or three times a year. Our meetings usually average about 5 or 6 people able to make it to each one.
I am the last person in this group of women to get pregnant and these women have been a great support along the way as we had a lot of trouble conceiving. A member of the group who I particularly like, "Beth," offered to throw me a baby shower and I was delighted! As a group, we've gotten a bit lazy about meeting in person lately and just seeing everyone for a lunch or tea or something would be so delightful. I told her I didn't want any gifts (at least nothing bigger than a token), it would just be great to all get-together and talk about motherhood. She asked me about dates, locations, and venues and I told her, since she was the organizer, to just do whatever was best for her.
Well, it turns out no one can or wants to make it to the "shower" except Abby, who I see pretty frequently anyway. Beth picked a restaurant in her area, which is not convenient for anyone else, for the event. And, frankly, she didn't really check effectively with other people when they would be free (she did all the arranging and asking with me always CC-ed or otherwise aware). It turns out about a third of the members are out of town that weekend, and the others, well just have other stuff going on or don't want to make the time/effort to make it to this rather inconvenient location (no one else specified the reason, they just said "sorry, can't make it, happy to chat on WhatApp, though" or something like that).
I have to say, I am really disappointed that people were so blasé about coming to the shower. I always suspected that I was sort of the least favorite member of this group because whenever I organize meetings, the fewest people show up, and the most people who say they will make it cancel at the last minute.
I love Abby and Beth as friends, but it doesn't really feel like a shower anymore, just a lunch in place it's going to take me an hour to get to and an hour to get back. Of course I will go, but I really wish we had never embarked on this affair. I really like these women a lot and I was so looking forward to seeing at least some of them all together again. Just going there are having this whole shower just be two people feels kind of depressing.
(Clearly, maybe I should have been more asserting in planning, but I really felt I should leave it to Beth since she made such a nice offer. I threw a baby shower for my bestie and she did so much back-seat organizing, insisting on when and how I invited people, controlling the venue and everything about it and annoying me incessantly about RSVPs I really didn't want to be the "Momzilla" of this event.)

This story is one that started a long time ago, but still affects my (32F) day-to-day life. Sorry everyone, it's a long one.
It began about 17 years ago, when I was 15 and still in school. I frequented internet forums including several fan sites of video games and books I enjoyed. One of these was a role playing forum where I and five others were writing stories together in our favourite universes. I got along well with the other members and it was a great way for me to learn English. Importantly, we only ever communicated through text, never through voice or video calls.
This is where I met the main character of this story, let's call him Tom. Tom said he was 19 years old, and was the only guy active on the forum. He had a great way with words, was mature beyond his years, and had a natural charisma about him. Naturally, as a 15-year-old with no prior experience with relationships, I was instantly drawn to this mysterious, well-spoken figure. Over the course of a month since meeting him, our conversations grew in frequency and depth, until eventually we spoke to each other on chat clients for 3-4 hours a day. At the same time, we continued writing our stories, including a plethora of romantic scenes between our respective characters. We also shared poems that we had written. It was an intense experience for me - I had never really had such a deep connection with a 'boy' before.
My parents never really taught me the importance of internet safety, and I can't blame them: it was all still very new at this time, also to them. It was Tom and my other friends on the forum that stressed how important it was to keep personal information private, especially when they learned my age. Tom especially was adamant never to share my location or photo with anyone, not even with him. It made me feel safe with him - for how could someone who so actively dissuaded me from sharing my information be a monster?
Of course I fell in love with him, to whatever extent a 15-year-old brain can comprehend love.
From written descriptions I had given of myself, Tom had expressed that he thought I must look beautiful, and so the fool that I was I gathered up the courage to send him a picture of myself anyway, desperate for his approval. He was complimentary, but did ask me why I had sent him a picture. I admitted my feelings for him. Tom was understanding, but stressed that he would never be able to give me what I needed from him.
Still, that did not stop either of us from progressing the nature of our interactions into something more sinister. I call it sinister looking back on it as an adult; at the time it was titillating and exciting. We started to send each other 'kisses' goodnight, sent back and forth explicit drawings depicting characters that looked like us, and described other intimate interactions over chat.
My mother once came into my room and witnessed Tom calling me by an endearing term. She interrogated me and I begged her not to make me break off contact with Tom. She listened to me, but made me promise her to be sensible. I want to scream at her now for not stopping it then.
My school friends did what my mother could not: they were concerned for my safety, and stepped to the headmistress, who called me into her office. After telling Tom about the encounter, he panicked. He told me we could no longer chat, and made me promise to tell the headmistress that it was over. I was heartbroken, but promised him.
I did ask Tom if we could still communicate through other means - we were doing some online art projects together that we both wanted to finish. He said yes, we could still maintain contact over e-mail and forum DM, but chat was off the table for now. I took what I could get.
The years that followed were chaotic. Sometimes our contact would be e-mail only, then we would move back to chat. At times, when things got too hard, I would decide to go no-contact for a while. I had my first real relationships in the lulls, but I would always come back. Tom would always receive me with open arms, either as a friend whenever I was dating someone, or rekindling our romantic interactions when I was not. He was always kind, patient, sensitive, and seemed selfless in his interactions with me. He made me feel so good about myself that I became obsessed with him, convinced he was the love of my life.
Three years in, Tom knew my real name, knew where I lived, and had seen nudes of me (he used one as his desktop background for years). At the same time, I knew nothing about Tom. What was worse, the few details he had unintentionally revealed weren't adding up.
Tom always portrayed our story as one of star-crossed lovers who due to circumstance outside our control could never be together. He told me I would never love him if I ever saw him in real life. First he claimed that his face had been ruined by flesh-eating bacteria. When my biology degree taught me that it's nearly impossible to survive that, he claimed body dysmorphic disorder (which I think to some extent was true).
Things reached boiling point six years into this mess. He slipped up, and revealed a detail about his life that directly contradicted the only concrete thing he had ever told me about himself: his age. I took a day to process, then confronted him, asking him how old he really was. After some initial resistance, he admitted that he had lied.
Mid-thirties, he said. A decade(!) older than he had at first claimed. I should have been furious, but after 6 years of being charmed and manipulated by him, I could only feel sorry for him. When I assured him that nothing between us had to change because of a 'number', he dropped the next bombshell:
Tom: "Alright then. Mid-forties."
I felt like I couldn't breathe. For years, I had been having sexually explicit conversations with someone old enough to be my father when I had believed him to be my age. What was worse, it had all started when I was underage. I gave Tom an ultimatum: either tell me the full truth about who he was; or I would leave. I gave him two weeks to send me his information. He decided not to, which should have immediately set off the alarm bells that there was even more he was lying about; more he had to hide. I didn't even consider that in the moment; my heart was broken once again, and I cut off contact.
At the time, Tom and I had a number of mutual friends that we both spoke to regularly. Two of these were my cousin and his wife. I went to see them after I found out about Tom's real age, trying to find solace and understanding from someone who also knew him. I felt incredibly betrayed and angry, and asked that they also break contact - maybe that was a bit of an a-hole move. They said no: after all, Tom had never revealed his age to my cousin or his wife. As such, he had never lied to them, only to me, and they were not willing to end their friendship with Tom over that. When I asked what they thought of a 40-year-old having explicit conversations with a 15-year-old, they said that from a certain age, the teenager also has a responsibility in preventing this.
My cousin and his wife were not the only mutual friends that knew what was going on. Amazingly and invariably, NONE of our mutual friends chose to break contact with Tom over this. It caused immense doubt in me. Was I wrong in judging Tom for lying to me? Maybe the lie wasn't so terrible. And all those explicit conversations? Well, I instigated a large number of them, not Tom, so maybe I was equally, if not largely, to blame.
The way I see it now: Tom is like a cult leader: no matter what he does or says, his 'followers' will defend him; even blame themselves if it strips him of guilt. What is worse, anyone who dropped out of his inner circle would feel incredibly isolated and excluded. My friends would not play games with me because they preferred playing games with him. They would not write with me, because writing with him was so much more fun. I wish I'd had the strength to stay away, but one year later I came crawling back, desperate to be included into his circle once again, desperate for his affection that the others seemed to thrive under.
I was 22 at this time. Our contact was sporadic for the next four years - I was hesitant to engage romantically with him, even though part of me, despite everything he had put me through, still 'loved' him (trust me, writing this down, my naivety is making me want to claw my eyes out). I entered a relationship with someone else during this time, and went back to no-contact for most of its 4-year duration. When that relationship ended, Tom and I started talking more again, slowly slipping back into old habits and using the same terms of endearment we had used in the past. Tom revealed more details about himself now - he would talk about his boss, his sister, his friends, his home-town, and discussed things that were going on in his personal life. We also started talking over voice-chat, and damn it, he had an attractive voice.
I had just turned 27 when a response of his triggered me. We were recalling the early days of our interactions, and I mentioned how he had once accidentally sent me an e-mail from a throwaway account. I recalled the address letter by letter (I have a mild form of autism). He went very quiet, and then said that my memory was astounding.
Something in my lizard brain decided to look up the name in that e-mail address. I had done the same 12 years prior, but I had much more information now. It took me three hours to cross-reference the tidbits of information he had fed me over the months and years within the context of this name. And what do you know: it WAS his real name. I continued looking for the rest of the evening.. and I found much more than I bargained for.
You see, Tom was not the only person registered to his house. He was reported to live there with a woman who shared his last name, let's call her Hannah. I naively thought she might be the sister he mentioned (though he had given another name). Fortunately for me, Hannah was a lot less careful than Tom with her personal information, and I soon found a link to her blog on her Twitter page. A goldmine of information, going back over 10 years, covering almost every single day since Tom and I started talking.
My blood went cold as I started reading. It soon became clear to me that not only was Hannah his WIFE of 25-or-so years, they had an 11-year-old SON together (let's call him Jacob). I was 100% sure it was his wife writing - I could easily cross-reference the little things he had told me (assembling a bookcase, having lamb for dinner, visiting SIL for the weekend, getting a sunburn) with the details she was sharing about their life.
Once more, I should have run for the hills. Once more, I didn't. I often wonder how I could have been so stupid as to let this shitshow continue for so long, despite the thousand-and-one reasons Tom had given me to drop him. I can only attribute it to some kind of twisted sunk cost fallacy. By recognising Tom for the monster that he was, I had to face having loved that monster for over a decade. It meant admitting to myself that I was a terrible judge of character, and how could I possibly trust anyone ever again if I could not trust my own judgment? Also, all our mutual friends had always normalised his behaviour to the extent that it seemed almost arrogant to say that HE was in the wrong.
Because of the reactions that I had received from my friends and cousin last time, I kept what I knew to myself, even from Tom. Enter the next ridiculous phase of the story: Tom was saying how he was ordering a passport SO THAT HE COULD COME TO VISIT ME AND MY COUSIN. And idiot that I was, I wanted nothing more, because I was STILL IN LOVE WITH THE SH*T even after everything he had done, now not only to me, but also to his wife Hannah and his son.
I met him in real life five months later. He would be visiting my house for the day, and I was planning to confront him about what I knew. I had given one of my close friends his real name and address, and had told them to contact the police in the event they didn't hear from me by evening - I had no idea how Tom would react when exposed. Probably the fact that I felt unsafe in the first place should have been enough reason not to meet him alone.
We met, and I wish I didn't feel attracted to this 50-year-old but I did. We talked a lot. Eventually, I decided to test him, to see if he would be disloyal to his wife. While our conversations had definitely been flirty over the past year or so, I had never actually been straight with Tom and told him I still felt the same way. So I told him. Credit to him where it is due, he said he couldn't pursue a relationship with me, but followed it up with 'that we could still hold hands and hug'. He did not tell me why he couldn't, of course.
Only then did I reveal what I knew. I told him I've known for months now what his real name is, where he works, where he lives, and who he lives with. I probably could've been a bit more sensitive in how I brought it up (but let's be honest he doesn't deserve it and I was pretty pissed off keeping this stuff inside for 5 months). He turned incredibly pale and said that I could ask him anything I wanted to know. I asked him about his wife and their relationship (which hadn't been good for years according to him), his son (the pride of his life), and why on earth he had chosen to have explicit exchanges with a 15-year-old as a married man ('I was drunk').
During his stay, we were never intimate in the 'spicy' way, but we did hold hands a lot, he would have his hand on my leg, and we shared long hugs. He stayed the nights at my cousin's, and a few days later he left to go back to his country.
I am not proud of what happened next. Over the next months, we video chatted almost every evening. The conversations got flirtier, the amount of clothes we were wearing diminished until we both went into the calls topless.
One night, things escalated. We had gotten into a fight earlier in the evening - he had revealed that during that first real-life meeting, he had made an audio recording of the whole conversation, apparently so he could later prove to his wife that nothing happened. I responded that it was ok (it totally wasn't but that's beside the point), that I had taken precautions as well, and told him about the friend I had contacted. He lost it, saying I had no right to share his personal details with my friend or anyone else. I got angry in return, saying that he had no reason to distrust me as in the 12 years of knowing each other I had never lied to him; on the other hand I had EVERY reason to distrust him as he literally hid a wife and son from me, and had lied to a 15-year-old girl about his age.
We were both emotionally drained after, and I took things a step further that night, and seduced him into doing more together in front of the camera, maybe knowing that he would be too drained to refuse. He asked me later if I had consciously manipulated him into going along with it, choosing a vulnerable moment to strike - maybe I did, and I regret it.
Over the next months, our 'mishap' developed into a full-blown affair. I visited his home-town about 5 times in the year that followed. We kissed, and did basically everything apart from the 'deed' itself. I think he never wanted to have traditional sex either because then he could keep justifying to himself that he hadn't cheated on his wife, or because he was terrified of getting me pregnant. During my stays in his home-town, he would bring his son Jacob along to our lunches and dinners. Mostly to pacify his wife I suspect, for how could it be an affair with his son around? I loved the kid, we got along well, but I hated the lie that I had to live. To put myself through this was one thing, but it was so unbelievably unfair on Hannah and Jacob.
The whole situation sent me into severe depression. I was abandoning my morals for this man whom I still could not trust. I was lonely, and didn't date because I refused to be a cheater myself (maybe hypocritical). With every real-life meeting, his mask slipped further, and by the end there was little left of the charismatic, caring man that I had imagined him to be. Still, I was so entangled with him that I could not imagine my life without Tom. I did not know who I was without this person, who had completely overshadowed at this point almost half my life and all my adult life. I was stuck.
Eventually, I gave Tom an ultimatum again: Hannah, or me. I gave him two months to make up his mind. We spoke daily, and as his 'deadline' was approaching he became verbally aggressive with me, saying that he wasn't enjoying our conversations as much as he used to because I kept bringing up the choice he had to make. I asked him what he needed from me. He said he needed more time. I am ashamed to say I gave him that time.
I was lucky to have found two very close friends among my colleagues over the course of this whole drama. They had slowly witnessed the situation devolve into something unmaintainable. One of them often visited when I had panic attacks; she even slept next to me on the bad nights to make sure I'd be ok. They recommended me to make written lists of the red flags that I saw, the abusive behaviours Tom had demonstrated, and the effects the whole situation was having on me. They made me see how he would never choose me, that he was happy using everything and everyone as long as it served his needs. They slowly guided me into making the right decision during a work conference, when I didn't have time to contact Tom. Being away from his reach for a week, combined with the continuous talks with my two friends throughout the conference, made me strong enough to make a decision. Together, we agreed that as soon as I got back home, I would call Tom and cut ties with him. My friends would be available on call straight after.
Thanks to my friends, I went through with it. I cut contact almost three years ago now. As expected, he did not fight for me, and never tried to contact me again. My friends saw me through the worst of it.
Four months after cutting ties with Tom, I met the man who is now my husband, and we are currently expecting a baby. He makes me unbelievably happy, and has taught me what a loving relationship should feel like. He knows about this whole story and is very supportive. He even encouraged me to post this as he believes it'd help me process things.
I am still in touch with some of Tom's friends: my cousin, his wife, and a 40-year-old woman who has been my friend since the start of this whole story and was my MOH during my wedding. I have decided not to hold it against them that they cannot let go of Tom - hell, I couldn't let go for 14 years. It just demonstrates the horrible grip and influence he has on people. My MOH and I have an understanding that we don't discuss Tom, and that saved the friendship - we actually have a lot in common and enjoy each other's company a lot. I refuse to lose any more people over him.
I am in a good place now, looking forward to the future, and can't wait to meet our child. Still, this experience has not left me unscathed. I still struggle with trust, in other people and myself, and feel that I am responsible for a lot of what happened. I feel incredibly ashamed and naive for my behaviour over the years. I especially feel horrible about what I did to Hannah and Jacob - as far as I know, Tom never told them about the affair, but I would be very surprised if Hannah didn't know what was going on. I do have my suspicions that I am not the only one Tom did this with, but I have no proof, and it does not take away any of my responsibility in all of this.
So reddit: did I seduce Tom as a 15-year-old, or did he groom me and manipulate me into falling for him? Or was our interaction simply toxic on both sides, and not any one person's fault? And AITA for having pursued this affair even after I found out Tom was married? Also, should I reach out to Hannah (though honestly I would be a bit scared to do so, and I don't feel at all like reinserting myself into Tom's life in any way)?
And finally the question that still keeps me up at night: did Tom ruin half my life, or did I do that all by myself? And if I had a role to play in this, am I fit to be a mother?
TL;DR: As a 15-year-old, I fell in love with a man who claimed he was 19 but was actually 40. 12 years later, I found out he had a wife and son, but had become so infatuated with him that I pursued an affair with him. I ended the affair two years later but still feel guilty. I feel like much of what happened is my responsibility, since I instigated most of the intimacy. AITA?

Lydia awoke with Waldo screaming. Lydia quickly got up and activated the magic stones lighting the room, Lydia did not see a reason for him to be screaming and was about to wake him when he went quiet. Lydia wondered what had happened and as she watched him she became concerned he was not breathing but just as she was about to shake him away he started breathing again then he began to weep in his sleep saying “I would take it back if I could. I did not know what it meant. Please, I never meant for this.” Lydia watched over him for several minutes as he repeated this over and over. Lydia did not know why but after a while she embraced him gently.
“It is ok. We all make mistakes.” Lydia said quietly holding him. She did not entirely know why she chose to do this as she felt some concern over what he was apologizing for having done but something made her decide to stay with him. Eventually, he stopped and started sleeping peacefully. Lydia slowly fell back to sleep after he quieted and returned to a peaceful state.
Lydia awoke again with Waldo sitting dressed on the edge of the bed. “Good Morning.”
“Good Morning.” Waldo replied, turning to Lydia. “Sorry, if I woke you in the night. I do not always sleep well.”
“I can understand that. It took almost a year before I could sleep through the night.” Lydia replied.
“I brought breakfast up. Kna mentioned I screamed in the middle of the night. I rarely have a companion… So I did not know. I guess I was extra loud last night. I woke some other patrons.” Waldo said calmly. Lydia climbed out of bed and dressed herself as Waldo watched her but when she looked at him she felt he was lost in his own mind.
"Copper for your thoughts.” Lydia said as she started to lace up her dress. Waldo walked over to her and helped her.
“I thought I knew who I was…but I remembered things last night…” Waldo said hollowly. “I don’t know what I was fighting for… All that time as a soldier and now I remembered… what I learned before arriving here and it isn’t what I thought.”
“Do you want to elaborate?” Lydia asked.
“I am not sure I know how.” Waldo said and there was silence for a moment.
“Well, maybe you should stay here if you don’t know why you were fighting. At least, until you figure out what you want.” Lydia said and feeling better about what she had heard last night she kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thank you. I would stay for breakfast but I need to get to work.” Lydia said, grabbing a piece of bread with an egg off the plate.
“Have a nice day and I hope to see you later.” Waldo said, as she headed toward the door.
“Good luck today!” Lydia said, smiling and left. Waldo collected several things from his pack then stored it under the bed and took the plate of food to the common room where he ate slowly. Waldo noticed that Lydia was not in the common room as he ate breakfast. Waldo did not have to wait long after finishing his breakfast before Strisk arrived.
“Good Morning!” Strisk waved at Waldo moving across the common room.
“Greetings Strisk.” Waldo replied standing and moving to meet him.
“Are you ready to go down to the training grounds?” Strisk asked.
“Yeah, let’s head out.” Waldo said, motioning for Strisk to lead the way.
“Are you in a hurry?” Strisk asked, leading Waldo out.
“No, nothing like that just…” Waldo stopped in the door exiting the inn as he looked out into the city. Waldo had expected Protham to be small but realized it had been dark when he arrived and late that is why he had not realized how expansive it was. Waldo saw a wall sixty or seventy feet tall. Waldo stepped into the street and could see a gate two hundred or so feet down the road in one direction and in the other there was what appeared to be a small square. “How big is Protham?”
“It is just a small village, only five thousand or so. Most people are employed in fishing the lake or harvesting trees.” Strisk replied. “The gnolls recently opened a college here… Something about ley lines and increased power, but that is not my expertise.”
“I am surprised they even care about the ley line. The planet is so saturated with magic I would have thought everyone can easily use it.” Waldo responded.
“I wouldn’t know about that. Are you a mage?” Strisk asked.
“I cannot use magic… I can still feel it pooling.” Waldo said, wondering why he could feel it still since he now knew he could not use it. “It must be something to do with the leveling. I wonder if there is a construct powering the whole system.”
“You are suggesting a magic artifact causes people to level?”Strisk asked, shocked at the strangeness of the idea.
“Um… So I assume it is a mage college of some kind they opened?” Waldo asked, trying to change topics.
“Yeah. I would have suggested going and seeing the head there about your teleporting but from what I have heard they see almost no one who isn’t a student.” Strisk said, starting to walk down the street. Waldo followed, taking in the people and the streets. Waldo noticed most people were gnollish he saw drakes as well but it seemed to be ten to one.
“Lydia said you are a Drake. I have never learned to identify the scaled races apart from one another. It appears that Protham is mostly gnolls and Drakes. What makes a drake a drake and not say a lizardfolk?” Waldo asked, carefully.
“Lydia is right. I am a Drake. Lizardfolk always have tails. Drakes rarely have tails and those that do have a tail almost always have wings. That is usually the easiest way to tell us apart but it is more nuanced. A healthy Drake’s scales are vibrant, we stand out. A healthy lizardfolk has duller scales. Drakes can have horns or spikes across their head and back but never hair. Lizardfolk never have horns but can grow spikes. Usually they grow something more like a fin, which can be over their head or even down their chin to their chest. All the facial features are nuanced except the eye. Drake’s eyes face forward. Lizardfolk’s eyes face out enough to easily tell if you look at them.” Strisk explained calmly. “Kobolds are short but look like Drakes with a tail and all the other scaled races have gills.”
“Thank you. I realize that might have been rude to ask but I assume it is ruder to make a mistake.” Waldo said as they continued to make their way through the mostly empty streets.
“Most drakes consider it the pinnacle of rudeness to mistake us for the lizardfolk. Well the lizardfolk seem indifferent. I once saw a short Lizardman get mistaken for a Kobold and they laughed about it. Well a few days ago I had to break up a bar fight cause a gnoll called a drake a lizard.” Strisk said. “My people need to calm down about being mistaken for another race. Most cannot even tell the other races apart. No offense, but I assume you are a human because Lydia is one without looking at your ears, which are currently covered by your hair you could pass for an elf in my eyes and if you told me you were a dwarf I would believe it… even though, I think you are too tall to be a dwarf.” Waldo laughed at Strisk’s words.
“An elf you say?” Waldo said, smiling and moving his hair from over his ears. “I am a human. However, I can understand the confusion. Even among humans it is possible for some to mistake another human as one of our kin races.”
“Kin race?” Strisk asked.
“Yes, races that share certain broad features and where half races are possible.” Waldo said.
“Then would Drakes not be a Kin race.” Strisk asked.
“You ever seen a half human and half drake?” Waldo asked.
“Well no, but I was told it was possible.” Strisk said, wondering.
“Possible for our race's women’s bodies to respond as if they are creating a blend. However, it is largely my understanding no blend has survived birth. Maybe one is out there but largely our internal anatomy; bone structure, organ placement, organs in general, and finer points don’t blend into something that survives birth if a pregnancy occurs which to my knowledge is extremely rare and usually it is a half race not a full where that can occur according to one report I read most mothers die in labor if they carry the blend to term and the child still dies.” Waldo said calmly. Strisk stopped.
“How do you know this?” Strisk asked. Waldo thought about it for a moment. Realizing he did not know how to explain having millions of years of knowledge on hand a little surprised he had so easily recalled something from another life. As he thought about it he wondered how he could so easily access it. Then he knew. Four of his prior selves had learned to build a mind palace. When the Orc had implanted all the memories, those four had combined their knowledge and laid out everything, which made him wonder how he knew about the interbreeding of humans and drakes, which brought forth the memories of four doctors. One of which was drake. Strisk watched as Waldo stared off into the distance. Suddenly, Waldo went pale and threw up in the street. “What the hell?” Strisk said, jumping back to avoid getting splattered.
“Sorry.” Waldo said, feeling queasy. Waldo pushed the doctor’s memories away realizing he was not ready to go exploring all the memories aimlessly. Waldo pulled out his hip canteen and washed his mouth out. Spitting the water down a nearby drain “Damn. I was hoping to not have to eat until dinner. I assume the interview will have a combat skills test?” Waldo asked, looking at Strisk.
“Well yes, but what was that?” Strisk asked, feeling the response was unjustified for his question.
“Oh, right, your question. Um… I went to a memory I should have left alone. I was thinking about my time studying… when I strayed into an incident.” Waldo said, trying to explain without lying.
“An incident?” Strisk asked.
“I expect there are things you have seen as a city guard you would rather not remember.” Waldo replied, carefully.
“Oh… you mean something like that. I can understand that. Let’s continue on. Just another block or so.” Strisk said, letting Waldo follow him. Neither said anything until they got to the city's barracks. They had crossed near the center of town and were now at a lakeside gate that had a training arena with a large gatehouse next to it.
“How many positions is the guard filling?” Waldo asked as they approached the building.
“We are adding five new full time positions in hope of growth due to the mage college, three part time, and around fifty new reservists.” Strisk said and then opened the gatehouse’s front door.
“Good Morning, Strisk!” A female voice behind the counter greeted as they entered.
“Good Morning, Violet.” Strisk replied. “Is Trag in?”
“Yes, he got in a bit ago and…Who are you?” Violet asked, staring at Waldo as he entered the gatehouse.
“Waldo Winter.” Waldo said, step into the room and bowing slightly to the human girl behind the counter.
“He is with me. Violet. He arrived in town last night under strange circumstances.” Strisk said.
“Is he why you are meeting with Trag this early?” Violet asked, keeping her eyes on Waldo. “Is he a criminal?”
“Yes to the meeting with Trag and not as far as I am aware. You haven’t done anything illegal have you?” Strisk asked, grinning Waldo.
“Admittedly, I have not read your legal code, but assuming it follows traditional patterns of legal codes for structured societies. Not in this city. At least, I very much doubt I have.” Waldo said, smiling lightly at Violet.
“What are you doing here then?” Violet asked.
“Apart from identifying myself to local authorities due to the strange way I arrived. Hopefully, applying for a job.” Waldo stated. Violet frowned.
“Are you applying for citizenship in Protham or just submitting notice of intent to work in Protham?” Violet asked.
“Notice of intent to work, at this time.” Waldo replied, moving up to the desk as Strisk stepped away. Violet handed him a sheet of paper and pulled out a second enchanted page.
“Good luck finding work here. There are not many jobs outside of scribe, barworker, or general laborer for humans in Protham. The Drakes and Gnolls are larger and stronger than humans naturally and they are basically hiring enforcers right now.” Violet whispered to Waldo. “Where are you staying?”
“The Spriggan Inn.” Waldo said, looking at the form, surprised he could read it. As he started to fill out the form he remembered a passage about grown arrivals passing between world and being gifted languages of the worlds they arrived on from death. Waldo tried to remember the author's reasoning for the gift but could not. Waldo wished he had learned written gnollish languages but had only learned their spoken languages.
“How did you come to be there?” Violet said, showing surprise.
“Long story short…Some sort of teleportation accident.” Waldo answered, focused on completing the form.
“Wow… Lucky.” Violet said, thinking it strange he appeared in the only inn with a human working in it in Protham.
“Yes, but I suspect there is a good reason for that.” Waldo said, handing her the completed form.
“You how to read Grofeas gnoll?” Strisk asked, looking at Waldo holding the form out to Violet. “You said you had not heard of this country last night.” Violet took the form looking suspiciously at Waldo.
"No, I am familiar with other gnollish written languages and this is close enough to them that I guessed. Please check that and make sure my responses make sense.” Waldo said, looking at Violet. Waldo smiled at his omission. He was familiar with several gnoll written languages and had learned a few key words like bathroom, food, and price but had not even memorized their alphabet. Violet started to look over the document carefully. Waldo noticed the enchanted page on the desk had a picture of his face on it now with a list of several things about him, such as height, an approximate weight, and the like. Waldo heard a low growl with several inflections. Waldo looked at the gnoll standing by Strisk.
“Would you mind repeating that? I am not sure I quite heard what you said, because I thought you called me a fur lover.” Waldo said, looking narrowly at the gnoll. The gnoll made several more growls at Waldo. The gnoll had reddish brown fur and stood a little shorter than Strisk. Waldo thought the gnoll would probably be considered extremely handsome among gnolls. He was well groomed and clearly muscled under the fur. He even wore a steel breastplate that was polished to a shine. Waldo saw a stamp over his right peck that appeared to be a runic enchantment.
“Because I am not. I learned it at the time because my life depended on it. The gnolls I met were not as affluent as you are here and only knew one language. Their own. I had to learn it or live without speaking. Their treatment of me would have killed me if I had not learned their language. They knew next to nothing of humans and were a tribe secluded in the mountains. They meant well, but due to the harsh circumstances of the location I was slowly dying from starvation and exposure. It took four weeks to learn enough for rough communication after which I found them to be extremely friendly and curious. I spent two years with that tribe before making contact with a human settlement in the area. I managed to broker a peace there because I learned gnollish. So I continued my education and have since learned various spoken dialects.” Waldo responded to the newcomers' growls calmly.
“Why don’t you respond in gnollish?” The gnoll asked, changing languages. Waldo growled back in several inflections and moved a hand. Violet had noticed hand movements when gnolls growled and never associated it with them speaking but Waldo’s movements were so pronounced she realized it had to be part of the gnollish language. “Fair enough. I am Captain Trag. Strisk says you are a soldier.”
“Wait what did you say?” Violet asked Waldo.
“Violet. Don’t be rude.” Strisk chided, curious himself but having held himself back.
“I am sorry. I have just never seen a non-gnoll speak gnollish” Violet said, almost involuntarily. Trag slapped Strisk across the back of the head.
“Strisk, she is our scribe, do not order her around.” Trag said, smiling. Waldo got the sense that Trag did not like Strisk.
“I explained human throats are not well formed for the gnollish language, which hurts my throat the more I speak it and makes my accompanying hand movements more pronounced than is proper.” Waldo explained to Violet.
“Can you teach me?” Violet asked, seeing how beneficial it would be to know gnollish in her job.
“We can talk after the interview.” Waldo said, smiling at Violet.
“Right, sorry. Thank you.” Violet replied looking over at Trag apologetically.
“Excuse me for interrupting your conversation Violet. I will make sure to send Waldo back once we are done.” Trag said, smiling at Violet then turning to Waldo. “What level of soldier are you? Or is it some other fighting class?”
“I don’t have any levels in fighting classes.” Waldo replied.
“And you want to be a city guard?” Trag said looking angrily at Strisk who looked at Waldo surprised.
“Wait, are you a medic of somekind?” Strisk asked, remembering the other night.
“No, just give me a chance. We should go to the training ground if combat assessment is to be a large part of this process.” Waldo stated, a little surprised they had started asking questions in the entrance.
“It is. We can train you in Protham legal code, but we rarely do combat training for our guards; most people come to us with twenty or more levels in a combat class, when they are applying to be a guard.” Trag stated, as Waldo opened the door.
“Where I come from people do not rely on the leveling systems for combat training.” Waldo started walking to the training grounds as Trag and Strisk followed.
“Where are you from?” Trag asked.
“Halcyon. Heard of it?” Waldo asked, knowing the reply.
“Nope.” Trag replied, thinking this human could never keep up with a gnoll or drake in a fight. “What are you wearing?” Trag asked, no longer able to hold back the question as the human looked very strange to him.
“Desert Armored Combat Fatigues, my throwing knives, combat knife, an assortment of tools I have found useful over the years, and a magic sling.” Waldo said, touching different things on his body. “The armor is stab resistant and there are several metal plates spread out in the fabric. If I get the job I would like to wear this until I can afford to get some locally made gear.”
“A magic sling?” Trag asked.
“Yeah, but I have limited ammo for it. It only works with special magic ammo and I doubt you have that here.” Waldo replied.
“Have you heard of a magic sling Strisk?” Trag asked.
“No, that is new to me.” Strisk replied. “I thought you could not use magic.”
“I cannot not cast a magic spell but this is an artifact. I could teach anyone to use it. If I had unlimited ammo or access to a bullet manufacturer I would be happy to show it off but I only have ninety rounds for it.” Waldo explained.
“How long have you been a soldier?” Trag asked, Waldo had seen himself in a mirror and knew they would not believe the truth. Waldo looked like he was in his prime but Halcyon slowed aging massively Waldo was older than any human got to normally and he was still unsure if he had died or Death’s healing had further reduced the effects of aging.
“Nine years.” Waldo replied, pushing it as far as he thought he could. Waldo had put his age down as twenty nine on the form, but knew he looked closer to twenty now. “I expect I will be sparing with one of you?”
“No, we are waiting for your sparring partners. I sent for two reservists. They generally are not needed for regular guard shifts and if they are injured it should not interfere with their regular jobs.” Trag stated, show us how good you are with throwing knives.
“Alright.” Waldo said, pulling four of the weighted knives from their sheaths. Waldo carried twelve in all. Four on his left leg, two on each arm and four on his chest. Waldo started by juggling the knives as he moved into position to throw them. Waldo smoothly plucked them out of the air as he was juggling them and launched them one after another in quick succession down the lane, with the knives sinking deep into the wooden target in a tight group.
“For having no skills that is pretty good. Now for the moving targets.” Trag said, with Waldo looking back at him as he pressed a button. Waldo watched as the targets began to move side to side. Waldo could tell this was intended for arrows as the range was longer than he would usually throw when it came to moving targets.
“May I move up or do you want me to throw from here?” Waldo asked.
“Tark throws from there.” Trag replied, Waldo grabbed two more knives, throwing them half a second after looking back at the target. Both landed bullseyes but Waldo could feel the strain on his muscles. He was not used to this distance. Waldo pulled two more and turned his back to the targets. Waldo slowly strafed toward the center of the range as he had started to the right side. After a moment making sure to give the targets time to move he spun around and with one hand launched both knives. One landed in a bullseye, but the other fell short. Waldo turned his back to the targets and drew all of his remaining knives placing them at the ready in one hand. Waldo turned and threw three and turned back around quickly. He heard 2 thuds and one that was a clang. He was not sure what the third had hit. Waldo spun around and sent his final knife down the lane hitting another bullseye. The three quick throws were not bullseyes but they had all hit targets.
“That is all the throwing knives I carry.” Waldo said. “Shall I collect them?”
“No, Strisk go get the knives and report back on how deep they are.” Trag said, turning the moving targets off. Waldo moved over to Trag as Strisk retrieved the knives. “Only one complete miss, that is not bad. If you are hired then we are gonna have to replace the knives with some weighted rods. We can issue you some bolas while on duty. Unless a kill order is issued, but most the time we will expect people to be taken alive.”
“Understandable. What is a bolas?” Waldo asked.
“It is three pieces of rope tied to each other on one end and has a weight on the other side. When throwing it, the intent is to hit a person's legs and if it works correctly it will wrap around a fleeing person’s legs and trip them. In town it can be tricky to use and for people they have lighter weights. It was originally used to hunt various animals on the plains. If the weights are too heavy they can break bones.” Trag said, explained. “What class are you?”
Waldo had been preparing for this question since they had asked him earlier. “Diplomat.” Waldo replied.
“You have no levels in a combat class but you are a diplomat as a soldier?” Trag questioned.
“When I use skills from it as a soldier it is generally in interrogations, but my personal goal was to try and find less violent solutions to my nation's disputes. So, I ended up becoming a diplomat. The times I acted in that capacity I was glad to have trained as a soldier. Few people seem to want peaceful resolutions. So as a diplomat I have often been met with violence.” Waldo explained twisting the truth. They stood in silence as they waited for Strisk to finish retrieving the knives. Strisk handed Waldo eleven of the knives and Trag one of the knives.
“Six perfect hits. Three near perfects. Two hits. One miss. Ten hits were all very deep. The one that made the clang hit a metal frame holding the target. It dented the metal and chipped his knife.” Strisk reported as Waldo sheathed the eleven knives he had been handed. Waldo looked at Trag just in time to catch his face returning to a neutral state after what Waldo believed to be a frown.
“How is your hand to hand combat proficiency?”Trag asked.
“I am an expert with a knife, however, I could easily swap it out for a padded baton. It would be harder on me, but I am sure I can hold my own.” Waldo said, showing the knife sheathed across his lower back and trying to determine Trag’s mood. Trag examined the knife and could see it was custom made for Waldo and well used.
“Strisk, you are good to go on patrol. Your partner should be ready about now.” Trag said, with a hint of sadness.
“I was hoping to stay and see him fight the reservists.” Strisk said, a little excited and as Strisk said that it clicked for Waldo.
“No one is coming. To test my combat proficiency.” Waldo said, calmly. “Sorry, Strisk. I should have known better.”
“We should go to my office and talk.” Trag said and handed Waldo the chipped knife Strisk had handed him.
“Wait, why?” Strisk asked, Trag.
“Politics, Strisk. Guardsmen are just a little political, which means Trag cannot hire another human. Especially, not in a citizen-facing role.” Waldo said, with a smile. “Am I right?”
“Violet, is our scribe. Citizen’s see her.” Strisk said looking confused.
“Violet is my scribe. She assists with filing and compiling guardsmen reports. She has only covered the front desk on a few occasions and usually it is to give another scribe a break or chance to go to the bathroom.” Trag stated.
“Strisk, thank you for introducing me to Captain Trag. I truly appreciate this opportunity. I would be happy to speak to you in your office Trag.” Waldo said, smiling at both of them.
“Sorry, Waldo… I didn’t realize.” Strisk said dejectly. Waldo laughed lightly.
“You have done no harm at all and even helped me file documents I needed to in order to stay. You introduced me to your Captain. Strisk, you have been nothing but helpful. Please do not feel sorry.” Waldo said, smiling at Strisk.
“Thanks, I guess I should get going.” Strisk said, clearly feeling better. “Sir. Waldo.” Strisk said, nodding his head to each of them and leaving. Trag started heading towards the guard house and motioned for Waldo to follow, which Waldo did in silence. Trag opened the door and sure enough Violet was no longer at the front desk. There was a male Drake scribe sitting behind the counter.
“Sir.” The drake said, standing up to greet them. Trag waved his hand and the drake sat back down. Waldo followed him up a set of stairs and down a hall to an open room with three scribes working on various documents on a table big enough for four, one of which was Violet.
“Your morning report sir.” A female gnoll scribe said, smiling at Trag and holding a folder. She noticed Waldo and her demeanor changed slightly. She glanced at Violet as Trag grabbed the folder.
“Thank you. I have a meeting for a few minutes. Is there anything urgent?” Trag gestured at Waldo. The scribes all looked up and gave a negative nod. “If needed you may interrupt us.” Trag said, opening his office door and leading Waldo into his office. It was a plain room. There were several chairs facing the back of the room with a large desk and chair behind it facing the door. There were two sturdy looking bookcases organized with an assortment of documents. The room was clean and orderly. A couch sat against one wall with a window behind it that had shutters and Waldo noticed a plain axe with a rope next to it leaning against a bookcase. “Please take a seat.” Trag said, opening the folder as he moved around the desk and sat down. Waldo sat across from him. They sat in silence as Trag read over a few reports. “Thank you for your patience.” Trag said look up from the report.
“Anything important?” Waldo asked.
“No, just the normal going on. Except for you of course.” Trag said.
“Yeah, I made a surprising entrance last night.” Waldo agreed.
“Teleportation has a tendency to create some alerts. If Strisk had not reported your arrival last night, the guard may have interrupted your welcome to our fine city.” Trag replied.
“That report is more thorough than I would have liked.” Waldo stated.
“Kna is a friend and Aer is a gossip.” Trag replied.
“I should have waited in the common room. We could have talked last night.” Waldo guessed.
“Doubtful, but I would have known your face this morning if you had.” Trag stated.
“I had hoped this was an offer for contract work of some kind.” Waldo said, frowning slightly.
“It still might be. I have not determined what to do about you.” Trag replied.
“Oh, well is there something you would like cleared up?” Waldo asked, smiling.
“Kna is worried about one of her barmaids. Aer has never seen her friend respond so positively to someone so quickly.” Trag stated, calmly. Waldo knew they were straying into dangerous territory.
“I have never responded to another human as positively.” Waldo replied, honestly.
“Just two soulmates meeting for the first time?” Trag asked, Waldo jerked in surprise at the word reacting before he could stop himself. Waldo realized Trag did not mean it the way he had taken it but it was too late. Trag had been watching him closely and was now looking unsure at Waldo. “I think you have some explaining to do.” Trag said, prepared to strike. Waldo leaned forward and placed his head in his hand dropping his show.
“This cannot under any circumstances leave this room. If you have listeners they need to stop. If you have a way to make the room secure. I will tell you enough to know why.” Waldo said, unsure of what would happen next.
“What, so can you kill me in silence?” Trag asked, feeling concerned about this stranger's response.
“If you want to tie me up feel free, but I am not talking until I am confident the secret won’t leave this room.” Waldo said, sitting back and calming his nerves. Waldo was trying to figure out how to explain this with as little lying as possible. Waldo wondered if he could avoid lying all together. Trag hesitated for a minute then opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. Trag said a command word under his breath and the box activated.
“Alright, we are alone and no one can see or hear us. This better be good or I won’t keep your secret.” Trag said.
“Have you ever been in love so much it hurt your soul?” Waldo asked.
“What?” Trag asked, surprised.
“I have. If I had understood this was possible. If I had known. I would have done so many things differently.” Waldo said, deciding to be as honest as he felt he could. “I thought she was dead. I joined the wrong people to get vengeance. To make it stop. In doing, so I pissed off some really powerful people. I thought my master was strong enough to protect me and I thought I was powerful enough to protect myself. I want to tell Lydia so bad. I want her to remember our time together. Every second we spent together. If I had magic this would be so easy but using magic to accomplish it would be wrong.” Waldo said, with tears in his eyes. “I wish I could just show her. However, the people I pissed off took my ability to use magic. I did not even know that was possible.” Waldo said, holding out an open palm. “Light.” Trag felt magic tug slightly, but nothing happened. “They took my magic so I could not interfere. When they did that I thought they would send me to a prison cell or some equally horrible place. They cursed me with unwanted knowledge I can barely grasp. Part of my mind is still trying to rip itself apart. But instead of sending me to a desert. They toss me like I am nothing and I land inside Spriggan Inn, in Protham barely even hurt. I did know she was the same soul at first. Standing in the dim light of the inn. She looks the same. Alive working as a barmaid in a place I have never even heard of. She doesn’t even remember me but she was drawn to me just like I was to her all those years ago.” Waldo said. “Kna is worried I might hurt her and honestly so am I. However, if we are to separate again I would have her tell me to go. It would be the most painful thing I ever do but I would leave if she asked. I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but I have found my dead lover again, my soulmate and I never thought I would see her. She died so I figured that was it. I did not know about the cycle but now I do. So please give me the chance to win her.” Waldo finished with tears at the corners of his eyes. “Please, I am begging you.” Trag knew Waldo was leaving part out but felt he was being honest and looking at Waldo Trag knew he held this man’s life in his hands at this moment. Trag looked at Waldo and activated several skills he had for conversations like this. Trag knew Waldo did not intend harm at this time or harm to his city.
“For the moment. You have convinced me.” Trag said, still slightly concerned, something about him bothered Trag, but Trag was confident the stranger would be unlikely to deliberately cause problems in Protham.
“Thank you for giving me a chance. I will prove I mean no harm.” Waldo said, starting to recover his composure. Trag grabbed the rope and axe, placing them on his desk.
“Do you know how to cut down a tree?” Trag asked.
“Yes.” Waldo replied.
“As captain of the guard. I am allotted two trees every year. The town allows me to do as I will with the tree tokens, I am issued. The mill will pay me five gold per token on average. However, If I cut the tree down and turn in the tree with the token they will right now pay eight gold. If you cut a tree down and turn it in for me. I will let you keep two gold coins of those eight.” Trag stated placing a token on the table.
“Sounds like a good deal.” Waldo replied.
“Have you hunted boar?” Trag asked.
“I have hunted. Not specifically boar but I am familiar with the complexities they present.” Waldo replied, wondering where this was going.
“Currently, we have a boar problem on the western road and several groups have been attacked by boars. It is quite troublesome. Protham does not have an adventuring guild and most hunters will hunt safer game or only kill one or two boars at a time. You can rent a hand cart for a day for three coppers at the docks. Usually they are used to transport fish around town. They are sturdy carts and can hold several hundred kilos. There are several blacksmiths in town that sell quality steel tipped javelins, for a silver. Now they are not perfect for hunting boar but they should work well enough. Currently, I have placed a bounty on boar kills of a silver per boar jaw turned in. We will even buy the dead boar for one and half coppers per five pounds. However, you could show us the boar, collect the silver, then most local butchers will buy dead boar for two copper per five pounds. Those are the current rates for whole boars” Trag explained.
“Sounds like I have a tree to chop down.” Waldo said standing.
“Out the main gate past the mill and then pick an un-worked tree the taller the better. They pay less for trees shorter than twenty feet and more for trees taller than twenty five feet. If you are willing to search there are some forty and fifty footers out there. I expect six gold regardless.” Trag stated.
“Why are you doing this?” Waldo asked.
“It is not one thing. Lots of little things adding up. Kna is a friend and Lydia is important to her. Kna knows I cannot employ you as a guard. This keeps you out of trouble. Solves a problem for me and if you work hard. Kna might start to like you. I was not going to be able to cut my second tree down before the end of the year. There are more reasons, but in the end, I see no downside for me giving you this chance.” Trag stated plainly.
“Well thank you. I appreciate this.” Waldo said and picked up the axe smiling.
“Good Luck. I plan to eat dinner at Spriggan Inn. So if you get back after sunset you can find me there.” Trag said, gesturing for Waldo to leave.
“Thank you, again!” Waldo said, leaving. After he closed the door he looked for Violet but she was not there. Waldo headed to the stairs back to the entryway. Violet wasn’t there either so he left a message for her and headed back to the Inn. Waldo wanted to ditch his armor before heading out to cut down a tree.

When I (35f) was 14, my mom had my little sister. I was an accident, the child that “ruined” my mother’s life (aka ruining her chances at marrying rich and living her best life… her words paraphrased), but my sister was planned. My mom’s entire pregnancy was a nightmare. She was always abusive, but somehow being pregnant made her even worse.
The day they both came home from the hospital, it became my job to take care of my sister. As you can imagine, that went over super well with a teenage girl, but I did it.
Every day I’d come home from school to find my little sister still in her crib. Sometimes crying and needing a diaper change, while my mother laid in bed watching General Hospital and screaming at me to take care of my sister. Any time I pushed back, my mother would punish me. She refused to take care of my sister because my stepdad was the one who wanted a kid. He could take care of her once he got home, which wouldn’t be for hours. So I’d take care of my sister, cook dinner, and do the list of chores my mother demanded.
My first homecoming game? My parents showed up, my mom dumped my sister on me, so I (at 15) had to walk around carrying my infant sister while my mom got drunk and had the time of her life.
We’d go out to dinner, and I’d be on “baby duty”. So the servers would think she was my kid, and talk to me like I’m the mom. I’d angrily clarify that I’m 15 and this was my little sister, and my mom would laugh like it was hilarious.
The day I turned 16, my mom literally had me going out applying for jobs because I was old enough now. She wasn’t going to pay for me anymore. I had to take care of myself… which was hilarious since my dad was paying her child support. While we had been dirt poor when I was a kid, my stepdad makes a ridiculous amount of money. We were no longer living paycheck to paycheck, and living in a million dollar home.
At 16, I was taking multiple AP and honors courses, in the presidency of five different clubs, was a senior editor of the newspaper with several columns assigned to me, a member of the varsity debate team (also was a mentor to the novice team members, working 30+ hours a week, paying all my bills (car insurance, gas, clothes, food), and raising my little sister. All that time, my mother’s abuse got worse. Her drinking had steadily increased, and she became more violent.
A few days before my 18th birthday, I finally snapped. I left home. When I tried to go home a few days later to get my stuff, my mom attacked me and my friend who’d come with me. My friend and I both ended up escaping and running… technically I had to do a barrel roll as the garage door opened to escape… which shouldn’t be funny but I’m laughing right now thinking about how ridiculous it must have looked to anyone on the outside who had no idea what was happening.
Anyway, I ended up moving across the country to live with my dad, for my own safety and mental/physical health. I wanted to go no contact with my mom forever, but I couldn’t leave my little sister alone with her. I went back eventually for my sister, but things were the same with my mom. I left again for my own sanity and physical well being.
When my sister hit high school, my mom refused to get her a phone, so I put my sister on my plan. Made sure Uber was set up for her so that I’d pay if she needed a safe ride to get out of a bad situation. I took her school clothes shopping. Bought her exactly what she asked for every Christmas (something my mother purposefully refuses to do).
I’m the one who taught her how to be safe at parties, how to protect herself, and to look out for other girls. I had safe sex talks with her. Encouraged her to do well in school so that she could escape our mother too.
What killed me was getting the calls from her that mom was off the rails again. The police did nothing to protect me back when I was 17, almost 18. When CPS was called on my mom for my sister, several times, they did nothing also. Having a lot of money and being able to look like a stepford wife at the drop of a hat worked in my mom’s favor I guess. I personally believe she’s a narcissist, but I’ll probably never know for sure cause she’ll never get diagnosed.
When my sister turned 18 and graduated high school, she moved in with me and my fiancé that summer. She took a gap year, and we took care of her. Having escaped our mother myself, I knew she needed that space to heal. My fiancé and I joked to ourselves that we became parents to a grown teenager.
I drove her to college last summer, she just finished her first year. My little sis has been accepted and is transferring to her dream school this fall. I’m so proud of her.
To be honest, I’ve busted my ass since I turned 18, because I knew the day would come where my sister would turn 18, and she’d need a safe place to fall. I wanted to be in a good enough place to be able to provide that for her… and I did it. I got her out, and she’s thriving.
We’ve been planning a trip to go see our grandmothers this summer. My fiancé isn’t able to join us for the trip, since it’s going to be an extended visit and we can’t leave our cats alone/have his parents look out for them for that long.
One of my grandmothers called to tell me that my little sister was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be there, and that he feels more like a dad to her than her own father…. And honestly that broke my heart.
She’s joked with me before that I’m more like her mom than our actual mother. Honestly, it’s true. I feel like her mom, more than I feel like her sister. Sometimes I wish she was my kid. That we were her parents, because she’d have probably been better off. I told my fiancé about what my sister said and we both got emotional about it… and then pissed at my stepdad for being so god damn apathetic and my mom for being an abusive alcoholic narcissist… that woman wonders why I never call.
I’m looking forward to seeing my sister soon and giving her a big hug. Fiancé did joke that little sis is being dramatic because she’s still flying back to our house to stay with us for a week. Her Christmas/Birthday present for 2023+2024 were VIP/barricade concert tickets to see her favorite K-pop group. I saved up forever for them. It was just supposed to be for her and her friend as her Christmas/birthday present for 2023, but she insisted on it being for 2023 and 2024. I just like seeing her happy.

MAIORES. IV, CAL. IUNI. FORTUNA PRIMIGENIA.

This subject follows along from the general conclusion of infantilism, i.e. if we agree that infantilism exists in a culture that therefore all aspects of (such a culture) must be examined as to how they are impacted ‘by’ that infantilism, as: infantilism constitutes an undeveloped form of a thing; here (without covering absolutely every single aspect of it, as this could be a book in and of itself) we explore ‘sexual immaturity’ and its promulgation and consequences (of which we could easily make the case of the consequences as to be the cause of ‘all social ill’).
In an anthropological view; as if like we are looking at a chimpanzee colony, both procreation and familial-tribal child-raising takes place in our contemporary Western societies in a very clumsy sort of way; with the latter (i.e. the actual raising of children) not occurring at all, with the consequence of ‘arrested development’ – usually we would recognize and name it as that, if we ever thought very deeply about it:
However, the notion that all of this could be reduced to and fathomed as ‘sexual immaturity’ is an interesting (and unexplored) avenue to approach these matters from; certainly the act of actual procreation is deliberately accidental (I mean here in the contemporary West) in that a Woman does “not seek a mate” and then become pregnant, i.e. she does not even consider the sexual act to be procreative, rather: she accidentally becomes pregnant (“it was a miracle”), having beforehand and all throughout the duration and beyond it a culture which is far detached from the physical reality of things and thus a new human is created with no forethought for its care or provision and no security net in place to provide for it and ensure its prosperity and intelligent up-bringing, and increasingly there are fewer and fewer intelligent older persons around who are capable of providing the education and care for that child as would naturally exist in the large familial-tribal unit of an extended family where, historically, we all came from and of which is still the norm across much of the world (i.e. village elders who would otherwise raise the children up to be intelligent even if the Mother herself is too young to be a real parent - if we imagine as the species norm would be that most Women historically had their first child at around the age of fourteen or fifteen). Without, then, that familial-tribal unit to instruct and care for the child’s intellectual development and without either land to make a living from to provide for it's economic development then we find a cursed life, that is: a life far more difficult than it otherwise ought be had it been born in a more wisely chosen environment.
My point here is that ‘procreation’ is considered almost never at all by our society as being the most basic step in the creation and promulgation ‘of’ a tribal unit; with procreation itself being left down to blind chance and more often either legitimately accidentally or feigned accidently so as to attempt to cement a relationship (see: divorce and break-up rates in the West), either way this is the material circumstance into which children are born.
To say, then, that not grasping this reality ‘is’ itself a product of sexual immaturity; i.e. a Woman who does not understand what a new human is, seems to me to be far more of an accurate view of the thing than to declare it as ‘sexual immorality’ as it is usually insisted by the Abramic types, as: rather obviously it is ‘Sexual Immaturity’ rather than ‘Sexual Immorality’ that is the really cause of (the above scenario), that is: it is not Men and Women knowing too much about sex but of Men and Women knowing virtually nothing at all and therefore absent of a practice and familiarity necessary for Sexual Maturity, with Sexual Maturity itself being the very thing declared to be Immorality - an irreconcilable paradox.
It seems to me, then, that the habits we observe of ‘accidental pregnancy’ are the natural occurrence in such an unnatural society; that is: a consequence of misplaced moralism over the vital mechanical sexual functions of the human body (a thing which may well dominate and drive our unconsciousness entirely) have been rendered so alien to our expression and consideration but of which are so incessant and irrepressible; that sexual release is habitually denied, I mean here societally (i.e. “it is not polite”), and only finds ‘permission’ to appear in extreme drunkenness in fits of frenzy, and so on, so that when procreation actually occurs it is sporadic and neither at that moment nor before it was the adult rational mind involved – again, this is plainly a consequence of ‘sexual immaturity’ ‘before’ it could ever be said to be a consequence of ‘sexual immorality’.
It’s worth considering, of our own society in contemporary times, how far removed we are from most of the world which practices arrange marriages in one form or another (i.e. whether we are speaking of large tribal units or smaller family units) and what the consequence of this is on our own communities being absent of that; that is: the most fertile years of our lives are not spent having gotten procreation out of the way by having five or six children by the age of twenty or nineteen (so that when the child is fifteen you might be thirty, which seems to be the age where the sexual drive begins to dissipate or has anyway lost its novelty), and instead (i.e. without of being match-made far earlier in life) procreation instead occurs – if it does at all – accidentally and well-past the most fertile and healthy years, with such children being often quite sickly and the strain on the body being significantly more risky to the Mother (haphazardly enabled only then by massive external resources which would not have been required at all beforehand). I do not mean to seem as if I am advocating “having five or six children by the age of twenty or nineteen” only that in our natural environment this has always been the way of the thing due to natural sexual exploration when we are at that age.
At the same time, at the beginning and at the end of this “waste of time” (as I would say) of those most fertile years in which our sexuality is forbidden to us; that culture which we examine here as being simply Sexual Immaturity, it has been the case that that “Immaturity” persists well into later life by those afflicted adults who were forbidden to practise their natural sexuality when they were at the age where they wanted to, that is that the culture and mentality of such persons subjected to such restrictions quite demonstrably can be shown to have regressed them to the point that, as then as adults, they dress as children, speak and think as children, shun adult responsibility and seem altogether to have matured intellectually no further than the age of twelve or thirteen years, despite physiologically and neurologically having surpassed far beyond that early almost larval-like stage of our development where the body and mind are both only partially formed.
Instead it has been the “dragging-out” of that childlike insensibility, again: to no useful outcome, which has by that point in time essentially mitigated most of their procreative potentiality in that 1) physically having children is then far more difficult for them, and 2) they are now twenty-five years behind where their familial-tribal unit might otherwise have been, i.e. they do not have five or six twenty year old children bringing in incomes to the Household (to purchase a Household in the first place if they did not possess one before) or working the land (or likewise to purchase land) so that their prosperity will not have developed beyond mere subsistence off of the external labour market so as to escape the poverty and dependency traps inherent in the cities – which nominally constitutes their entire existence ‘to’ escape such miseries. All in all it is a lot of hard work by that point and I could not help but notice, of my own generation and those slightly older, how this outcome would have been entirely altered and set on a more prosperous trajectory if, say, at the age of sixteen a couple had been put together and had a few children, as: by the age of twenty the best seeds would have been sewn and they would not have to even think about “having children” ever again which is itself a thing, I observe anyway, that is so daunting and bothersome later in life that it really is something better gotten out of the way as early as possible in the manner that we would have done quite naturally otherwise.
If the idea here is to build up that familial-tribal unit then this methodology serves the purpose in the most optimal manner; the adults are freed up and enjoy their liberties, the younger adults (i.e. the teenagers) are preoccupied quite happily fulfilling their single greatest biological urges to have sex as much as they like, and the population figures begin to climb up at a rate of replacement which is far superior, e.g. a thirty year old parent of a fifteen year old only has five years before that fifteen year becomes a physically matured adult ready to contribute to the unit, whereas by contrast a thirty year old parent of a five year old has a great longer time to wait for physical maturity so that the distance between the two age groups becomes fragile and thin the further it is stretched with a concurrent loss of replacement manpower by a space of ten additional years.
There is something to be said for the older more experienced Father, of course, I remember quite well that the children I grew up with whose Fathers were in their forties and fifties and whose Mothers were in their twenties or very early thirties were quite better-off in their disposition and intelligence (whilst those with older Mothers tended to be sickly in one way or another); simply put though I think it is more to do with the experience of age as the influencing factor than anything else and a functional familial-tribal unit would have this influence in far greater capacity.
If we add to this factor the notion of polygamy (something shunned as ‘pagan’ by the Abramic religions yet advocated for in their own holy books, indeed: it was the universal norm) then we find the whole circle being completed in that young teenagers do as they please with each other, becoming familiar with relationship and their sexuality, and then when they reach a more mature age they might marry each other or other people properly so as to begin families of their own; but that by that age they may well have produced several children already via multiple partners so that the actual ‘legitimate children’ (in the sense of inheriting land and titles) of a more formal marriage is superfluous to population replacement insofar as the tribe is concerned, as: they have already increased the headcount quite massively by comparison. It is worth mentioning here the legal problems of land inheritance and the seeming inability for people to ever work this all out amongst themselves as being one of the most desirable points of the introduction of some of the Abramic religions, when they first appeared, as rules were laid out of who could inherit (some rules more effective than others, some quite ruinous in fact) which provided a framework in perpetuity (but on the other hand, with all children being considered legitimate in some instances, i.e. the children of concubines, this produced the problem of “all children” being in competition for the single title or, in turn, a vast spread of land, i.e. a Kingdom, being broken apart “to make it all fair”: this did not differ in form from, say, Imperial China to the late Ottoman court whilst the European Monarchies to their credit, somewhat, temporarily solved the matter by the allocation of specific titles to be given to the first born, second born, third born, etc., and then bouncing back to the Monarch upon the death of that Duke to be allocated again – although some would say this is a feeble manner by which to govern large polities it differs not very much from the essential ‘oversight’ duties over local governments as practiced in the Roman Principate rather than direct-governorship over those provinces themselves).
The tribal influence in real terms upon children cannot be understated in its superior effects upon the character and long-term capacity of the children themselves (when compared to others); I have some experience in my own up-bringing with this and really the outcome (again: compared to the infantilism, i.e. arrested development, you will almost always find in the nuclear family type, which we might easily compare to factory farmed within four walls and a hen-pecking parental authority vs. free range) is a quite more matured and capable disposition (call it “street smarts” if you like; they follow what actually works rather than what is ‘pretended to them’ to work, which is typically nothing more than the parents own whimsical desires of the moment) amongst all the children when they are simply freed up from the poor influence of an unfit parent even without the good influence of a more fit parent of which, then, the fit parent itself could be determined to be largely superfluous, as: of their own accord they learn amongst themselves and become naturally fortified against being instructed into error by a witless or ill-inclined adult, whereas a child stuck under the thumb of a witless ‘parent’ has no means to disobey that witless parent without facing severe punishments and so there the child is sculpted into a helpless fool, later embittered in life and at the tender mercy of their peers, as: even as they might innately know-better (than to do the foolish thing their parent demands they do) they are forced nevertheless, either physically punished or emotionally coerced, into adopting the ‘silly walk’ and ‘dress’ of the witless parent, which is to say: they are forced into conforming toward the cultural idealism determined by the parent with no thought whatsoever for the practicalities of life, e.g. the matter of “how will my child earn a living” is addressed neither by parenting nor by schools thus begrudgingly selling themselves auction block of the labour market turns out to be the only method, whether they were deluded into thinking that their aspirations to be a professional athlete or an astronaut were entertained and encouraged for them at the expense of informing them about any other means of paying the rent or not.
I should say here that when I say “familial-tribal unit” I am broadly referring to any number of groupings, in whatsoever local forms they may take shape, but that the decisive factor, most chiefly, will be a large extended family network of which, if it ever needed to pool its resource together, would constitute a decent size force in land, resource production and manpower – but chiefly it is the possession of land which enables everything else:
More ideally, to my mind, it would resemble (or be very close in composition to) that Roman ‘Familia’ (the origin of the word ‘Family’ in our English) where a fairly large blood family of at least five generations inhabited in and around the same House or group of Houses (see: Palace, Villa and Manor Economy), with servants and adoptees and associates (business partners) likewise being considered as extended kin; altogether forming, as it were, a little nationality. In the sense of ‘Nationality’ it is, it ought be said, more a return to how we actually were prior to the ‘naming conventions’ of the 1700’s or so where the stupid surnames made up on the spot of many Europeans were forced into Law over what would have originally been clan and tribal identities and from which there came that fake sense of disparate ‘Nationality’ (i.e. cut off from tribe and forced into atomization; identity through a very small family unit alone) from which the misnomer of ‘Race’ would be made-up to lend credibility to. In many ways a great deal of the urbane ‘neurosis’, let’s call it, stems really from this absence of ‘true tribe’ with it having been eradicated either by the fecklessness of urban societies; societies of strangers and thieves, and also more directly via those religions which pretend to fill the void of ‘true tribe’ with their witless rituals and effete pretences – things which are a wet-blanket over true fellowship wrought in such a manner as comes in all reality perfectly naturally the moment the screws holding foolishness in place are undone and cast away – and really here, when we stack these observations together one upon the other, we are really speaking of a sound and strong society certainly immune to the shallow perversity created by denialism toward the basic mechanics of the human body – in addition to any other considerations which follow from that.

THE OVERALL INFLUENCE (OR LACK THEREOF) OF A TRIBAL-FAMILIAL UNIT

It must be considered quite seriously by the reader as to the overall influence, or lack thereof, of a tribal-familial unit as to what fills its place in the education of people otherwise and, as I began this text by considering for myself, how much of the ‘dysfunctionality’ can be attributed to the “lack thereof”.
Along with the cultural instance on sexual immaturity as to produce the consequence of delaying and drawing out for decades a fetish of normal sexuality which ought naturally be done with by a person after reaching the age, say, of maybe seventeen, there is the greater point which I am trying to relay here in this text of how many other aspects of ‘bad culture’ are singularly anchored to and thusly totally dependent upon that sexual immaturity – that is: we would be hard-pressed to imagine how really many of the pernicious scenarios in our contemporary society would even arise if that foundation stone of ‘sexual immaturity’ were removed from the equation:
For instance, how much of a ‘relationship’ is spent and sculpted (either by the Man or the Woman or both) on jealously and worry of the other ending the relationship for having found another person or another means to fulfil their sexual gratification? If a ‘relationship’ is based upon, let’s call this, “mutual masturbation” then at the heart of that is sexual immaturity of the mental age of maybe fourteen years whereupon a person has been sort of coaxed into dependency for orgasm on a third party; they are fraught and fearful that this should be taken away from them – it being so vital as like a mechanical necessity for either sex – that the entire content of their ‘relationship’ revolves around it; seeking it, coaxing it, demanding it, guarding it from be lost, and so on, of which I think it is not exaggeration to say that such concerns constitute 100% of the verbal interaction in such a ‘couple’; either outright or in the back of the mind so as to reinterpret all scenarios and verbal expressions as being related to that end-goal of maintaining the “mutual masturbation”.
Simply put this ‘relationship’, then, revolves around twenty minutes of sexual activity in a day – if that much (or even if every day), yet dominates the entirety of the mind; that is: the entirety of the ‘relationship’, when this action itself is something that a servant or a slave or a prostitute would be used for in many societies, with the ‘content’ of the marriage, say, being concerned more with running the business of a Household or concerned with procreation to produce legitimate children to inherit the business, the title, the land, whatever. My point here is that neither Man nor Woman are elevated or their dignity improved, somehow, by this absence of sexual maturity but rather that both are reduced; i.e. greatly lowered, to the cognitive and social standing of the “servant, slave, prostitute,” in that as far as they think of and conceptualize themselves as part of a Household at all it is singularly the concern with simple sexual acts which dominate their interpersonal interactions and their ideas about their own self; it is their ‘social currency’.
If this seems alien – I mean my observation on this – consider how much neurosis goes on in the daily grooming rituals of Women or those sad excuses for Men who “lift weights but cannot fight” (not to mention the ease at which a thin muscular physique bleeds out at the slightest of puncture wounds, see: Roman Gladiator training), i.e. whose only concern is that of admiring their own bodies in a mirror, this being intellectually identical to young Women. Is this not the mentally of a slave? If so, even if we shy away from saying it plainly, then we must ask “what forms the mentality of a slave (i.e. where does it come from)” – in the above equation a slave in a Household is more like an object fulfilling a function than He or She is a person with any autonomy (well, obviously there is no autonomy for a slave) so it is almost to be expected that in such an environment that the intellectual trajectory of an object-person goes away from externalities and becomes entirely absorbed with self-presentation and equates their social status from that, and if groups of such persons will set this to be the common culture; deriving status in that manner among themselves – although still these are slaves possessing no ‘status’ to speak of, as being object-people. This is evidenced also in victims of sexual abuse or those, in general, suffering at the hands of third parties whose autonomy is in some way or another restricted; that their singular focus becomes that of sexuality as like depression is “rage turned inward”, thus too it seems for sexual infantilism.
I cannot pass up this subject without mentioning a series of interviews describing, a thing quite novel to me, the notion of American Christian ‘Purity Culture’ from the point of view of those heavily indoctrinated into that; instilled with Catholic levels of guilt over the normal function of the body, who have then left their small churches or megachurches, or whatever, and spoken plainly about the mentality of those inside of it as relating to sexuality. It is a thing I think long suspected but seldom expressed that, as it was described, the mentality of such persons is that they are “horny all the time” due to the relentless guilt inculcated into them; that due to denialism of sexuality their ordinary sexual impulses are magnified to an incredible degree and that, consequentially, their entire being is animated by repressed sexuality so that their thoughts are ‘impure’ all the time whilst verbally they express strong denialism and shame over the thing. I think this is no real difference to any such religious malinstruction; be it Muslim, Jewish or Christian, in that the perpetual infantilism of their surrounding society stems first of all from their own bedrock religious culture (i.e. whatever religion which is at odds with the human body, etc.) were due to such ‘culture’ they never really get over, say, an early adolescent view of sexuality where they are driven entirely by it and never learn to overcome it, no pun intended, but utterly unrealized – which would take them leaving their religion – is that this process demonstrably brings out the absolute worst in their character and disposition with the process itself being the promulgation ‘of’ those very “Viceful thoughts ” that they claim to be “at War with in the world”, in other words: it is just they themselves who, for example, look at a young teenage girl (or god help us, a small boy) and thinks all manner of sexual rapacity – and that this animates them politically to campaign for restrictive legislation to be put into Law to police “all society” as if “all society” existed at their low level is an incredible thing to consider. But I do not think their broader societies are any exception to this, rather point here is that their broader societies are comprised of persons exactly like them; that the Christian or the Jew driven by a lifetimes shaming over their normal sexuality adopt, in turn, the most depraved expressions ‘of’ sexuality as a self-affirmation; that is: the extreme self-identification with a simple sexual action, for example, came to literally define a persons personality in such places to the point that (Americans anyway) seriously put out the notion during the late 1990’s and 2000’s that a fleeting sexual act 1) defines a persons entire character, and 2) it is also inborn, e.g. as like to say that whether you prefer this or that on the menu at a restaurant is something determined genetically; this is utterly stupid and utterly, in my opinion, a consequence of society which has not wanted to evolve beyond the ‘sexual immaturity’ of which physiologically seems to occupy a very small window of the middle to late teens and of which repression during those ages quite demonstrably creates madness and retardation – I mean that if their culture did not peripherally do this to them then the manner by which swathes of their cultural-historical institutions do this to them ‘outright’ by inculcation into this process in particular certainly does it to them, and merely it is the unwillingness to fully condemn these Religions and relegate these influences to the dustbin which keeps the entire thing ticking along with “just enough” of the population bent out of shape by it to present those same persons, seemingly confused as to where they came from, lumbering through the broader society and serving as examples of lunacy and degeneracy.
In short - and I may as well add this here also, the aim to abstain for a while from sexuality was a custom introduced by the Ancient Romans and was designed to heighten sexual pleasure; in effect, then, foreign barbarians coming to this culture much later on with nobody to really explain it to them ended up unwittingly engaging in what they would probably have recognized as ‘sex magic’ whereupon the denial of their own mechanical sexual function was ‘abstained’ by them; i.e. they saw the value in holding off on doing drugs or having sex for a while, – but they did not understand what the effect or the outcome of that was ‘intended’ to be in that one would abstain specifically ‘to’ heighten the senses toward that pleasure; and this is evidenced chiefly in the Lunar Orgies and the Fast/s of Ceres. Interestingly, Jesus himself in (i think the Gospel of Thomas?) mentions to his followers that “they will hate him for what he says now,” and that he says that “fasting brings out all the worst in them” – in other words, engaging in periodic abstinence will turn them all horny. Knowing this from a relatively early age it was no surprise to me at all why celibate priests ended up diddling children or member of their own congregation or why the most outwardly pious zealots proved to be the most morally weak people to be found as even with the most ‘clean’ example, let’s say, of a person who has never drank wine, for example, they have not ‘overcome’ that thing but have rather avoided ever experiencing that thing so that it will always be a novel temptation to them of which they will have no understanding of and which they can be leveraged by in various ways primarily due to their ignorance of which ‘experience itself’ would otherwise render them far more fortified against:
A good example here is the ‘pot scare’ of the early 1930’s in America when it was seriously believed by a wholly ignorant chunk of the urbane voting public that smoking cannabis (and drinking alcohol, for that matter) would turn a person into a serial killer, this is totally bizarre to us now, but notice that this was the same society whose moral standard was that “a table leg” should not be uncovered because it reminded them of a Womans bare leg – although here we might better understand why they were so preoccupied by thoughts like that (I think very seriously in their heightened state of perpetual arousal any little thing would send them to buggery of a farmyard creature)! Hilarious. But – notice also that this was the same society which was engaging in some of the most casually egregious inhumane criminality that history had ever seen, as if they ‘were’ high on narcotics and their rational senses dulled; I do not mean here to bring American notions of ‘Race’ into this as to be seen to ‘condemn Black Slavery’ in the fashion of my own day (although we mentioned family-tribe as a better form of so-called nationality earlier) but the ghastly images of actual Country Fairs where smiling families with children by their knees would pose for crude photographs with the charcoaled or bloated rotting carcass of a burned or lynched Man is beyond my ability to play-down or normalize. I mean here to say, that: far from the pretense of ‘clean mindedness’ of such persons about themselves that we find these same persons are the filthiest and most depraved characters around, being those few persons who walk amongst us who are actually capable of doing those inhumane things (again, see: Banality of Evil) as would be unthinkable to a person of normal rational healthy conscience. We might connect this, also, to the historical BDSM extravaganzas which took place in the Christian monasteries and public squares for many centuries where young Women were sexually tortured by celibate clergymen as to recognize how deep and quick a plunge it is from a person or their culture going from the denial of normal healthy sexuality into the kettled and sadistic gore fetish of outright murder.
It is always worth reminding the reader who wishes to minimize these more egregious aspects of the subject (as rape is still rampant among the clergy); which are consequential of sexual immaturity, that it was not ‘reason and rationality’ per se that stamped this out from European society but soldiers kicking in the doors of such Churches, Town Halls and Houses with muskets, rifles, long knives and grape-shot and physically eradicating the perpetrators and their willing congregations from America and France for the practice itself of sexually torturing a Woman and then burning the evidence on the fake pretexts of obviously made-up accusations of “she turned me into a frog” to actually be ended. That is to say that the ‘mentality’ and ‘culture’ which provided the framework for such inhumane activities was never formally realized or educated-out of a people, so to find it lingers along into contemporary times; animating the otherwise dormant farmyard animal-like character of such persons “like powers of evil”, is not surprising to me in the least. What was more surprising to me is that as so much of these religions are so obviously outright ‘evil’ that more persons do not speak of the intricacies of the things in such necessary detail these more ‘egregious’ cases would qualify, and then to spool back to discover the cause of every evil action in the mentality of every perpetrator – generally speaking, for instance, it will be a character with a disposition of infantilism and perhaps this is more easy to understand without needing to connect it to sexual immaturity though, to my mind, these are not distinct enough to warrant any separation; as: infantilism is always going to be immaturity and immaturity is always going to run concurrent with a lack of adult intellectual development where a mature and experienced view of a thing, sexuality in this case, has likely been within the powers of a person to have gleaned naturally through experiences – in which case there would be no argument with anything I say here, or of which such experiences have been prevented by external powers from being gleaned by the person in question; in which case they remain ‘as if’ they were fourteen years old with the allure of mysterious unknown sex acts utterly dominating their consciousness at all times and yet physically being thirty, forty, fifty years old – well past the age (certainly physiologically) where they should have gotten it all out of their system but of which they have not, chiefly because their experiences have been rather dull and monotone and so much social currency has been valued by it ‘being’ dull and monotone, e.g. monogamy, legal repercussions binding two people in place, the atomized kettling nature of the disconnected nuclear family unit, living amongst strangers in large cities where it not so simple as just going topless to change the local culture, control through the selective denial of the sex act itself (as William Reich and Esther Vilar both write on), the sexualisation of young people by adults, the accidental ‘perversity’ (in the real meaning of the word) of unfulfilled (or poorly fulfilled, or repressed altogether) sexuality and its effects on the brain and society, and so on and so on.
I am always inclined to think when considering this subject, and I may as well end this text in conclusion with this recurrent thought of mine, that ‘sexual perversion’ really begins in the mind of ourselves as young teenagers when the normal human body is leeringly presented to us as being something ‘illicit’, e.g. the breasts of Women are concealed in our society and so due to ‘hiding them away’ they become objects of mystery and fetish which they otherwise are not. I do not think this is deliberate reverse psychology (as god help us few enough people even understand the concept to understand what they do inadvertently) but it produces the same consequence of reverse psychology, whereupon quite arbitrarily a certain piece of the body, say, an ankle, is all of a sudden declared by a mad Adult to be “evil, sinful, lustful, of the devil,” when no such notion existed in the minds of people otherwise, as then: their natural curiosity is piqued by this imposition and so they develop a perversion dervied in chief part – as a sense of lewd pleasure – from bucking the arbitrary nonsensical imposition forced upon them by that dictate of which such a scenario never would have had cause to occur if not for that imposition having created it. I feel that this ‘perversion’ (again, in the real meaning of that word) stands in the way of a fully realized and fully pursued sense of actual sexuality and, from it, of a more resonant concordance between Men and Women whose interactions are otherwise thrown off balance by such impositions as they are dragged back down to sexual immaturity all the time; or into fear and jealously etc., as like a dozen avenues are presented in any conversation and virtually of them are strewn with piss, vomit and polyfoam which had no reason to be put there in the first place, or more accurately: it was put there through the carelessness of an atomized and witless peoples who knew no better than to do this to themselves but of which a familial-tribal unit would have drummed out of them quick sharp if for the actuality of nothing else than “we are all in this together” being something that is tangibly true and not merely shallow political rhetoric when it is said of a tribe vs. when it is said of a state polity comprised of countless strangers.

MAIORES. IV, CAL. IUNI. FORTUNA PRIMIGENIA.

It is the first part of my AU clan story, a loose collection of events written more in the style of a documentary than a novel, highlighting only the most important moments and quotes. Tell me what you think, I'll post more parts and allegiances soon. Here it is:
As the first glimpses of the moonlight appeared in the black sky, illuminating the travelling cats, the danger was already in the air. For some time now, the Lake Territories were being invaded by an unknown group of cats. They always appeared in number, were uninterested in talks, and ready to kill if challenged. Attempts to reconquer the land were always met by decisive action and foiled by the much more numerous enemy.
The hope of the ThunderClan leader, Brackenstar, was that the issue would be resolved at the upcoming Gathering, but events moved faster than he expected. Yesterday, after another of his clanmates was killed, he was forced to prohibit his cats from hunting north of the camp and change the route of patrols, effectively abandoning over half of his territory to the rogues.
And yet, there he was, marching towards the island. His whole clan was with him - he wouldn't dare to leave a weakened camp with cats inside. When they arrived on the island, all the remaining clans were already present. The atmosphere was tense, no one was speaking or exchanging news, only watching the approaching ThunderClan warriors.
As the Gathering begun, the first topic was that of the rogues. The cats were divided. ThunderClan and SkyClan requested the five clans join their forces to expel the enemy, ShadowClan was hesitant, while yet unaffected RiverClan and WindClan were unwilling to make a hasty decision.
"Your obstinacy may cost us our existence!" the Risingstar of SkyClan told Nightstar of RiverClan, "I know the enemy, and I know, there's nothing for us to gain from waiting. What we need is not thinking, but a decisive action to vanquish the forces that threaten us!"
Nightstar argued, but his voice was cut by a shout from the back. The words no cat would want to hear or say fell, silencing the quarrel. "They are here! The RiverClan camp has fallen!" At that moment cats flooded onto the island. First, escaping RiverClan, then Rogues.
The messy defense, which the unorganized cats provided lost them the opportunity to hold the attack at the crossing point. The Rogues quickly established a breach on the shore and started pushing clan warriors further away from the tree trunk that served as a bridge. The first to react was Brackenstar, jumping off the branch and leading his cats with a rallying cry. He ordered his freshly appointed deputy, Olivefur, to secure elders, kits and medicine cats and move them to the other side of the island. Soon the other clans joined in, but it was too late. They fought valiantly, but to no effect. They soon found themselves yielding more ground to the relentless onslaught.
Some of the RiverClan cats, led by Blackpelt, suggested fleeing by lake onto the other shore. Meanwhile Olivefur, helped by Nettleleaf and Eaglefeather managed to break a branch from one of the trees and used it to cross the lake with four medicine cats and some warriors. It is often described that Olivefur opposed the idea of fleeing and had to be dragged onto the branch by Nettleleaf, who more strategically, pointed out that after crossing the lake the medicine cats would need escort as well.
As they moved out, their clanmates' defense started collapsing. From the water they could see Brackenstar falling under the Rogue claws. On the other side, Nightstar, after overseeing the retreat of his cats, entered the water himself, carrying one of the younger ThunderClan warriors. Deprived of leadership and without hope for victory, cats of all clans fought side by side till the end or tried to save themselves by swimming in the cold early-Newleaf water. The chaotic retreat left many of the cats dead, most on the island itself, but there were many who drowned or were hunted down after reaching the mainland.
Fleeing by a wooden branch, Olivefur and her cats landed on the ThunderClan shore, and were almost immediately targeted by a Rogue patrol. Having some ten cats with them, they were a force to not be taken lightly, but even they soon found themselves outnumbered. On Eaglefeather’s suggestion, they fled into the underground tunnels, planning to reach WindClan territory, the one least affected so far. The plan almost fell apart when a Rogue patrol appeared behind them.
"Go on. I'll slow them down," Nettlleaf's words sounded from the end of the escaping group. Olivefur was unwilling to abandon another one of her clanmates but moved forward. It is unknown how exactly Nettleleaf died, but her heroic sacrifice slowed the pursuit for surprisingly long, allowing the rest to reach WindClan camp unharmed. There, they found Rogue cats as well, besieging a group of defenders. They swiftly broke through and chased away the enemy with the help of a group of RiverClan cats that emerged from the other side led by Blackpelt.
Numbering now around twenty cats, they decided to look for more survivors. At first, they successfully rescued several more cats, including the RiverClan leader, Nightstar, the only one of the five to survive, as it would prove later. Yet, as they moved into the RiverClan territory they found increasing opposition and soon had to abandon the search and flee. They regrouped on the outskirts of the WindClan territory and set up a temporary camp. For the next week they found several more escapees, but then, were chased away again.
Faced by an overwhelming enemy, themselves underfed, exhausted and carrying wounded, they decided to abandon the Lake Territories. In total, of some two hundred cats that lived around the lake, only exactly forty-six set off with Olivefur's group.
Up to this day, it is unknown if and how many any other clan cats fled, never reuniting with the largest group, but it is possible such existed. Of the five clans, SkyClan suffered the worst fate, left with only two warriors and a medicine cat. Blackfeather agreed for her mate, Crackedcloud to take the role of the clan leader. In ThunderClan, that honor rightfully fell on Olivestar, who appointed Eaglefeather, her mate, to be the deputy. In WindClan, Wildstar was elected, while similarly to ThunderClan's case, the ShadowClan deputy, Greenstar, took command of his clan. The least affected was RiverClan, where the only change was Blackpelt's appointment for deputy - for his courage and quick thinking in face of danger that saved many lives.
And thus, the five clans, shadows of their former selves, set off into the unknown, a great adventure which begun a new age in the history of the clans - one of pain and suffering, but also of courage, honor, and one that forged the greatest legend in the clan's recent history, shadowed only by the great Firestar.
Context: The CE, or Clan Era, started with the events from the book S4E6 "The Last Hope". The story may not be consistent with some of the later books, thought so much time passed probably no one will notice.

It is the first part of my AU clan story, a loose collection of events written more in the style of a documentary than a novel, highlighting only the most important moments and quotes. Tell me what you think, I'll post more parts and allegiances soon. Here it is:
As the first glimpses of the moonlight appeared in the black sky, illuminating the travelling cats, the danger was already in the air. For some time now, the Lake Territories were being invaded by an unknown group of cats. They always appeared in number, were uninterested in talks, and ready to kill if challenged. Attempts to reconquer the land were always met by decisive action and foiled by the much more numerous enemy.
The hope of the ThunderClan leader, Brackenstar, was that the issue would be resolved at the upcoming Gathering, but events moved faster than he expected. Yesterday, after another of his clanmates was killed, he was forced to prohibit his cats from hunting north of the camp and change the route of patrols, effectively abandoning over half of his territory to the rogues.
And yet, there he was, marching towards the island. His whole clan was with him - he wouldn't dare to leave a weakened camp with cats inside. When they arrived on the island, all the remaining clans were already present. The atmosphere was tense, no one was speaking or exchanging news, only watching the approaching ThunderClan warriors.
As the Gathering begun, the first topic was that of the rogues. The cats were divided. ThunderClan and SkyClan requested the five clans join their forces to expel the enemy, ShadowClan was hesitant, while yet unaffected RiverClan and WindClan were unwilling to make a hasty decision.
"Your obstinacy may cost us our existence!" the Risingstar of SkyClan told Nightstar of RiverClan, "I know the enemy, and I know, there's nothing for us to gain from waiting. What we need is not thinking, but a decisive action to vanquish the forces that threaten us!"
Nightstar argued, but his voice was cut by a shout from the back. The words no cat would want to hear or say fell, silencing the quarrel. "They are here! The RiverClan camp has fallen!" At that moment cats flooded onto the island. First, escaping RiverClan, then Rogues.
The messy defense, which the unorganized cats provided lost them the opportunity to hold the attack at the crossing point. The Rogues quickly established a breach on the shore and started pushing clan warriors further away from the tree trunk that served as a bridge. The first to react was Brackenstar, jumping off the branch and leading his cats with a rallying cry. He ordered his freshly appointed deputy, Olivefur, to secure elders, kits and medicine cats and move them to the other side of the island. Soon the other clans joined in, but it was too late. They fought valiantly, but to no effect. They soon found themselves yielding more ground to the relentless onslaught.
Some of the RiverClan cats, led by Blackpelt, suggested fleeing by lake onto the other shore. Meanwhile Olivefur, helped by Nettleleaf and Eaglefeather managed to break a branch from one of the trees and used it to cross the lake with four medicine cats and some warriors. It is often described that Olivefur opposed the idea of fleeing and had to be dragged onto the branch by Nettleleaf, who more strategically, pointed out that after crossing the lake the medicine cats would need escort as well.
As they moved out, their clanmates' defense started collapsing. From the water they could see Brackenstar falling under the Rogue claws. On the other side, Nightstar, after overseeing the retreat of his cats, entered the water himself, carrying one of the younger ThunderClan warriors. Deprived of leadership and without hope for victory, cats of all clans fought side by side till the end or tried to save themselves by swimming in the cold early-Newleaf water. The chaotic retreat left many of the cats dead, most on the island itself, but there were many who drowned or were hunted down after reaching the mainland.
Fleeing by a wooden branch, Olivefur and her cats landed on the ThunderClan shore, and were almost immediately targeted by a Rogue patrol. Having some ten cats with them, they were a force to not be taken lightly, but even they soon found themselves outnumbered. On Eaglefeather’s suggestion, they fled into the underground tunnels, planning to reach WindClan territory, the one least affected so far. The plan almost fell apart when a Rogue patrol appeared behind them.
"Go on. I'll slow them down," Nettlleaf's words sounded from the end of the escaping group. Olivefur was unwilling to abandon another one of her clanmates but moved forward. It is unknown how exactly Nettleleaf died, but her heroic sacrifice slowed the pursuit for surprisingly long, allowing the rest to reach WindClan camp unharmed. There, they found Rogue cats as well, besieging a group of defenders. They swiftly broke through and chased away the enemy with the help of a group of RiverClan cats that emerged from the other side led by Blackpelt.
Numbering now around twenty cats, they decided to look for more survivors. At first, they successfully rescued several more cats, including the RiverClan leader, Nightstar, the only one of the five to survive, as it would prove later. Yet, as they moved into the RiverClan territory they found increasing opposition and soon had to abandon the search and flee. They regrouped on the outskirts of the WindClan territory and set up a temporary camp. For the next week they found several more escapees, but then, were chased away again.
Faced by an overwhelming enemy, themselves underfed, exhausted and carrying wounded, they decided to abandon the Lake Territories. In total, of some two hundred cats that lived around the lake, only exactly forty-six set off with Olivefur's group.
Up to this day, it is unknown if and how many any other clan cats fled, never reuniting with the largest group, but it is possible such existed. Of the five clans, SkyClan suffered the worst fate, left with only two warriors and a medicine cat. Blackfeather agreed for her mate, Crackedcloud to take the role of the clan leader. In ThunderClan, that honor rightfully fell on Olivestar, who appointed Eaglefeather, her mate, to be the deputy. In WindClan, Wildstar was elected, while similarly to ThunderClan's case, the ShadowClan deputy, Greenstar, took command of his clan. The least affected was RiverClan, where the only change was Blackpelt's appointment for deputy - for his courage and quick thinking in face of danger that saved many lives.
And thus, the five clans, shadows of their former selves, set off into the unknown, a great adventure which begun a new age in the history of the clans - one of pain and suffering, but also of courage, honor, and one that forged the greatest legend in the clan's recent history, shadowed only by the great Firestar.
Context: The CE, or Clan Era, started with the events from the book S4E6 "The Last Hope". The story may not be consistent with some of the later books, thought so much time passed probably no one will notice.

Welcome to our first discussion of David Copperfield! This week, we will discuss Chapters 1-5. The Marginalia post is here. You can find the Schedule here. The discussion questions are below.
One reminder - although this is a classic novel that has been adapted many times over, please keep in mind that not everyone has read or watched already, so be mindful not to include anything that could be a hint or a spoiler for the rest of the book or for other media related to this novel! Please mark all spoilers not related to this section of the book using the format > ! Spoiler text here !< (without any spaces between the characters themselves or between the characters and the first and last words).
Links of Note:

• Goodreads page
• Storygraph page
• Rockingham Castle and Mr. & Mrs. Richard Watson: Dickens dedicated this novel to the Watsons (link has minor spoilers for Bleak House)
• A David Copperfield Map (zoom in to click on individual locations - beware of potential spoilers, though)
• Get your own Dickens character name! Use this automatic generator or go by your birthday.

Chapter Summaries:
Chapter 1 - I Am Born: David Copperfield launches into the retelling of his life story with that famous line that questions whether he or someone else will turn out to be the hero of his life…but we’ll just have to read the whole thing to find out! Immediately we are let in on the unusual circumstances of David’s birth, which is suffused with superstition, causing the town gossips to speculate wildly. He was born on a Friday night near midnight, which of course means that he’ll have an unlucky life and be visited by ghosts and spirits. (I mean, would this even be a Victorian novel without some ghosts? David assures us that he’s yet to be haunted, though.) He was also born with a caul (inside the amniotic sac) which means he’ll be safe from drowning. This is apparently such great news that they advertise the caul for sale after his birth, but only get one hit on Victorian Craigslist, so they hang onto it until they can put it up for a raffle several years later. David says he remembers that raffle and found it super weird to watch a piece of himself get sold off, which, fair! He does note that the old lady who won the caul died in bed and not by drowning, so I suppose it was worth it?
Anyway, back to David’s birth! His father had been dead for six months on the night of his birth, and his mother was a terrified teenager living alone with Peggoty, her servant-girl, so called because they share the same first name. One Friday afternoon in March, his mother was hanging out by the fire and pondering the likelihood of dying in childbirth, when a formidable woman named Betsey Trotwood showed up at her door. Miss Betsey was his father’s aunt and she loved Mr. Copperfield, but hated her abusive husband, who she paid off to go to India and leave her alone. It worked - he died there! On the night in question, Miss Betsey literally pokes her nose into Mrs. Copperfield’s window and then demands that the pregnant lady get up to let her in. Being a force of nature, she takes charge of the room right away, criticizing the Copperfields’ choice of home (a rookery with no birds?) and making somewhat disparaging remarks about Mrs. Copperfield’s history as an orphan and a nanny. She also declares that the baby will be a girl and demands to be the godmother and namesake so the new Betsey Trotwood (Copperfield) can undo all the mistakes of Great Aunt Betsey’s life. Mrs. Copperfield goes into labor and Miss Betsey stays by the fire, plugging up her ears with cotton. She spends some time mildly abusing Ham Peggoty (the servant’s nephew who was hanging around the house to carry emergency messages) and generally ignoring the doctor. Said doctor, Mr. Chillip, is a gentle man but speaks so slowly that Miss Betsey almost throttles him. When he congratulates her on the birth of a BOY, she smacks him upside the head with her bonnet and leaves immediately, never to darken the Copperfields’ door again! Welcome to the world, David!
Chapter 2 - I Observe: David Copperfield relates some of his early impressions of life: his memories of creepy pantries, stuffy parlors, boring church services, and a loving home. His mother is young and beautiful in these memories, and Peggoty is beautiful to him in her own way (though she insists she is not). One day, Davy's mom shows up with a stranger who walks her home and - gasp! - touches her hand! Davy immediately dislikes this black-bearded, dead-eyed interloper and Peggoty seems to like him even less. He falls asleep while his mother is swooning over her new admirer, but when he wakes up his mom and Peggoty are having a big fight. Peggoty says the new man is bad news and Mr. Copperfield would never approve, while Davy's mom says Peggoty is being unfair and heartless. When all she does is sacrifice for Davy, doesn't she deserve some attention and excitement?! All three of them end up crying, and things are never quite the same between the trio again.
Davy's mom continues to see this man, Mr. Murdstone, who rides up one day and invites Davy to take a little trip with him to see a yacht. Peggoty gets him ready in a huff, and you can just tell this is the Victorian era version of riding on the irresponsible boyfriend's motorcycle without a helmet. Davy gets to meet some friends of Mr. Murdstone and watch them do a bunch of paperwork on the yacht. They also make fun of him, comment on how hot his mom is, and make him drink brandy. Since Davy is a little kid, he thinks they're having a grand time. When he later tells his mom they complimented her looks, she is quite thrilled. And then a few months later, Peggoty invites Davy to go with her to visit her brother for a fortnight. She talks up the trip so Davy will be excited, but it's clear she's worried. Davy wonders how his mom will fare all alone, but Peggoty assures him she will stay with a neighbor. (Lies!) Mr. Murdstone is there to see them off and he has … opinions … about how emotional Davy's mom is during the goodbyes. I'm with Davy when he wonders why it's any of this guy's business in the first place. In retrospect, Davy reflects that he wishes he had known he was leaving something behind forever and he is glad that he and his mom had a touching moment full of love as his carriage pulled away.
Chapter 3 - I Have a Change: Davy endures a very boring journey across flat countryside towards the sea to get to Peggoty’s family in Yarmouth. When Davy complains, Peggoty defends her hometown, as a proud Yarmouth Bloater. (Here's some bonus reading: a Victorian-era article about bloaters.) Davy is won over when they reach the busy fishing town and he gets to see the Peggoty home: it is a boat that has been converted for living, and he thinks it is pretty perfect. It turns out to be a full house due to the generous nature of Mr. Peggoty (original Peggoty's brother). Just don't mention said generosity because it makes him super mad. Mr. Peggoty has taken in the orphaned children - Ham and Em'ly - of his drowned brothers, as well as Mrs. Gummidge, the widow of his fishing partner. Davy's fortnight with the Peggotys is full of happiness. He explores the seashore with Em'ly and falls in love with her. They bond over never knowing their dads, although Em'ly wishes she were a lady in the same class as Davy. Davy reflects that given what he knows of her future life, it might've been better if Em'ly drowned that day by the sea. Dark! Mrs. Gummidge often has melancholy moods where she cries all day and declares she has it worse than everyone else, but the family kindly chalks it up to mourning for her husband and assures her they don't want her to go off to the poorhouse and die.
As the visit draws to a close, Davy realizes he has quite forgotten to miss his home and becomes eager to see his mother and Blunderstone Rookery. Yet when they arrive, Peggoty pulls him into the kitchen nervously. She really botches the delivery of her big news because Davy first thinks his mother may have died and then, when she tells him he has a dad, imagines Mr. Copperfield may have risen from the dead. But she brings him to the parlor to greet his new step-dad: it's Mr. Murdstone, of course. Mr. Murdstone proves himself to be a real downer, kicking things off by correcting Davy's mom (who we discover is named Clara) for jumping up too enthusiastically at her son’s arrival. Davy sneaks away to find that his house has completely changed and the yard has acquired a mean, black dog that snaps at him.
Chapter 4 - I Fall Into Disgrace: Davy has fallen asleep crying after the discovery of his mother’s marriage, and when Clara and Peggoty wake him, his mom blames both Peggoty and Davy for his despair. Mr. Murdstone comes up and dismisses them both so he can be alone with Davy. He explains that if he had a stubborn animal, he’d beat it until it obeyed, strongly implying that Davy had better change his attitude or else. Things get pretty grim for Davy after this. He is kept isolated from both his family and neighborhood children. Mr. Murdstone’s sister, Jane, comes to live with them and immediately takes over Blunderstone. Clara is given no say in household matters: even the keys are kept by Miss Murdstone and, when Clara protests and weeps at being pushed aside, the Murdstones manipulate her into apologies and submission. When the family goes to church, Peggoty is no longer invited and the Murdstones keep Davy and his mother apart; Davy also notices that the family seems to be the subject of much whispering and staring from the community.
Davy’s days are miserable. He is often locked up alone in his room, where he loses himself in his father’s old stash of novels and uses this escape as a survival mechanism. (This collection of novels was taken straight from Dickens’ own childhood, according to his biographer John Forster.) When allowed out of his room, Davy endures lengthy, difficult lessons in the parlor. He suspects the lessons are meant as much to teach his mom the Murdstone tradition of firmness tyranny as they are to educate him. No matter how hard Davy tries, he cannot seem to remember the lessons under such severe supervision. Davy is belittled as stupid for his mistakes and boxed on the ears with his books by Mr. Murdstone. When Clara tries to help Davy at one point, Miss Murdstone catches her, and both Clara and Davy are in a good deal of trouble. Clara is chastised, Davy is removed from the room, and the next day’s lessons are overseen by Mr. Murdstone with a cane and switches. This goes about as well as you would imagine: in his terror, Davy makes more mistakes than ever and is dragged from the room by Mr. Murdstone. To her credit, Clara does protest and try to run after them (unsuccessfully). Mr. Murdstone wields his cane and switches, but Davy bites his hand in an attempt to wriggle away. He then beats Davy severely and leaves him locked in his room for five days. During his imprisonment, Davy sees only Miss Murdstone who brings him meager meals and allows him short walks in the garden each morning and family prayers in the evening, before locking him away again. At the end of this punishment, which feels like years to Davy, Peggoty sneaks to his room to whisper through the keyhole that he will be sent to boarding school in the morning. She tells him his mother isn’t very angry with him, only disappointed, and begs him to remember her and her love for him. She promises to look after Clara and they both vow to write to each other. Davy asks to be remembered to Em’ly and the other Peggotys.
The next morning, his mother expresses her disappointment in his behavior and her hope that boarding school will reform him; Davy seems to realize she has been coached to believe the worst of him. He chokes down a little breakfast before his coach arrives, and Clara steals one unsupervised moment with him to say goodbye affectionately. Then, they are parted, and Davy is on his way to boarding school. It’ll surely be a harmonious and supportive learning environment. Right? Right?!?
Chapter Five - I Am Sent Away From Home: Mr. Barkis, the carrier driving Davy on the first leg of his journey to school, pulls over not too far away from the house. Who should appear out of the bushes but Peggoty! She silently hugs Davy until she pops some buttons of her dress (one of which Davy keeps), hands him some cakes, and slips him a note from his mother that includes two half-crowns. Davy shares a pastry with Mr. Barkis, who asks a lot of questions about Peggoty’s relationship status and cooking skills. He asks Davy to write Mr. Barkis is willin’ in one of his letters to Peggoty, which Davy does at the next stop. As he waits in Yarmouth for the stagecoach to London, Davy eats lunch at a hotel restaurant where he is grifted by the waiter. This unscrupulous man tricks Davy into giving him his ale, most of his food, and some of his money. The rumor goes around that Davy has the appetite of a boa constrictor, making him too nervous to eat at the next stop for supper. Wedged between two men and with a woman’s luggage stuffed underneath him, Davy spends an uncomfortable night in the stagecoach as it approaches London. He finds it strange the next morning, after all the snoring and moaning he witnessed, that the adults insist they were unable to sleep a wink!
Upon arriving at the station in London, there is no one to collect him. Waiting in the office, Davy begins to worry that he will be turned out of the station at night, run out of money and starve, get lost walking home, or have to offer himself as a soldier or sailor (though he knows he is too small for that). Finally, a rather scrawny man - who Davy assumes is the Master of Salem House School - arrives and takes Davy the rest of the way. Weak from lack of food and sleep, Davy begs to stop so he can buy breakfast, and the man takes him to the home of a poor woman (presumably his mother) to cook the provisions they purchase. The man plays the flute very badly as Davy begins to eat, but soon Davy has fallen asleep. He wakes to hear comments of “delicious” which he assumes refers to the man’s music, but I bet indicates they were eating Davy’s breakfast. They continue on to Salem House, where a man with a wooden leg lets them in and throws old boots at Davy’s escort, who turns out to be Mr. Mell, an employee of Mr. Creakle, the school proprietor. Salem House is dilapidated, dirty, and deserted. Davy wonders where everyone is and Mr. Mell informs him that Davy has been sent to school during the holidays as punishment. Another punishment: Davy must wear a sign on his back identifying him as a biter, which makes him increasingly paranoid that someone is always behind him reading it. (Probably not.) He also worries that the students, whose names he can read carved in the doorpost, will all make fun of him for it when they return. (Probably true!) Mr. Mell, an odd man with various ticks, doesn’t pay much attention to Davy, but neither is he mean. We get another ominous reference to the future in that Davy says he dreads the return of boys like J. Steerforth and the presence of “the awful Mr. Creakle”.

I'm gonna be real: I hated this. There were interesting concepts, and had they been utilized differently and written by literally anyone else, it could've been an actual good book.
writing. The writing in The Deer and the Dragon is miles better than in The Night and its Moon. It's still not good, but it's better if that tells you anything. The first-person POV mixed with modern-day speak works so much better for Piper's capabilities. It was much easier to get through, but it was still a huge slog for me. Honestly, what are the editors at Bloom even doing? There were still way too many typos and sentences with missing words. Piper still misuses the word dredges after using it in THREE(+?) BOOKS. HOW DO YOU STILL NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DREDGES AND DREGS? Dregs are the sediment of a liquid, so what's at the bottom of your coffee cup. Dredge is when they scoop up mud from the bottom of a river. TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS. The word broach is also misused in this book TWELVE times, and it's PART OF THE CENTRAL PLOT OF THE BOOK. You mean to use BROOCH, PIPER. They're pronounced the same, but they mean two different things. Again, what the hell are the editors at Bloom doing?
characters Really, the only character I can talk about is Marlow because this book is just about Marlow and how amazing, special, perfect, and genius Marlow is. I fucking hate Marlow. If I ever met Marlow in real life, I would beat her up. Marlow is the most unlikable person ever. The story opens up with her on a date with a guy she's not interested in and can't remember his name; when she gets it wrong, and he corrects her, she continues to call him the wrong name all the way to the end of the book. She mentally berates him for mixing wasabi and soy sauce and cannot let it go. She’s also an AWFUL friend. It seems like her friend's only real purpose is to support her and tell her how amazing she is. She never bothers to make plans with them or inform them about anything that’s happening in her life. When she goes missing for a good chunk of the book, and they're blowing up her phone worried about her, she doesn't even bother to call them to calm them down. She doesn't think about them at all. She's far more concerned with herself and finding her imaginary boyfriend, who she only just decided was real. Her editor tells her she's at risk of losing her job if Marlow doesn't deliver her work or update her on what's happening, and Marlow just...doesn't care. She's like, 'No excuse I can give will be enough, so I'm just not going to say anything at all because I'm afraid of confrontation'. Grow the fuck up?? Her friend Nia only became her friend because she obsessively messaged her on social media until Marlow 'gave in', and now they're family? Somehow? Yet Marlow doesn't think about Nia once or bothers to comfort her when Nia has to call Marlow's abusive mom to ensure Marlow isn't dead. Kirby has allegedly been Marlow's friend since childhood, but does Kirby know anything about Caliban at all? Does Nia? Does Marlow tell her friends anything? If they know about the abuse her mom put her through, do they know how that abuse started? When Fauna shows up and freaks out over liking Kirby’s name so much, Marlow takes it upon herself to tell Fauna the story of Kirby’s name, scornfully informing Fauna that Kirby isn’t their real name the second Fauna expresses interest in it. (Like what, are you jealous that Fauna likes Kirby’s name, you fucking insecure freak??) The story revolves solely around something traumatic that happened to Marlow and how she and Kirby sat and played Super Smash Bros. Kirby liked their character so much that they adopted the name. Which…okay, choosing the name because you liked a video game character, okay, fine. But the whole story preceding this was so unnecessary and just made Marlow come off as suuuuch a whiny baby. “Oh, you want to know about my friend’s name? Well, first, let me preface it with this long woe-is-me story all about ME before I tell you how they chose their name because basically everything revolves around me.”
The way Marlow talks about rejection is so juvenile. You're in your thirties girls, get over it. Life is full of rejections. Someone telling you they didn't to play with you when you were eight years old isn't something you should form your whole life around. Like Marlow doesn't want kids because she doesn't want them to face rejection. Oh my god, Marlow. I also can't empathize with her trauma with her mom at all because I feel like I didn't really see much of it. I'm sure some of the things she says might hit with other people, but I wanted an actual flashback of a super intense fight or conversation instead of an overview of what happened.
plot. It took a while to get to the actual plot. About 100 pages in before things start really happening. I would’ve liked a little more exposition on Marlow’s relationship with Caliban at the beginning of the book. I get that some of the reveals needed to come more towards the end, but I kind of wish that maybe the fox had spoken to Marlow, too, which would’ve helped with why she’s so sure she’s insane. Foxes don’t talk! In all honesty, I wish this story had been restructured entirely. I think it would've been substantially better if we'd started out in Marlow's childhood. We can see how her day to day life was before Caliban ever appeared, how things were with her mom, who can also see through the veil. Maybe she notices some strange things about her mom that she just brushes off, which she later sees in herself and understands why her mom responded that way. Then something actually traumatic happens instead of some little kids not letting Marlow play with them, instigating her starting to see Caliban. I also would've liked to see flashbacks to Marlow's previous lives. While she's busy trying to convince herself Caliban isn't real, those flashbacks would add to her thinking she's losing her grip on reality. Maybe she'll be doing something innocent, like washing the dishes, and then suddenly, she sees herself standing in the middle of a raging battle, wearing long, elaborate robes. Do you see what I'm saying? This could've been cool! Instead, I had to read about Marlow jerking off about herself for 600 pages.
At some point, Caliban shows up to Marlow looking like a human. She's a teenager at this point, but they eventually start sleeping together, and like...idk something about that feels icky to me. It feels like grooming. Because he's clearly thousands of years old, he probably stays the same age while she's a teenager. What age did he wait for her to turn before their relationship turned sexual? Also, she doesn't even think he's real, and he does nothing to convince her that he is. Yeah....just no thanks. I'm good. Marlow tells Caliban when she's 21, she doesn’t want to see him anymore, so she literally physically cannot see him, but she can hear and feel him, and he still shows up, and like they keep having sex. So she’s just having sex with her imaginary demon friend for like five years before she’s finally like, all right, this is weird; maybe we should stop. And then she immediately regrets that when he stops showing up and then the rest of the book finally happens.
We also get flashbacks to when Marlow first starts escorting, and tbh, I hated this depiction of sex work. I keep hoping since Piper claims to be an advocate for sex work and is a former SWer that, we might get some actual depth to this plot. Maybe learn how Marlow was able to mold herself into the person she needed to be for each client, how she’s able to play people, etc. But no. She meets some random girl in a foreign country where she’s teaching English to children, and the girl is like, OMG, you’re too pretty to BE A TEACHER. COME HANG OUT ON MY YACHT. Now, I’m going to be so real. I feel like any woman with a speck of intelligence in their brain would have red flags going off right about now. If a random woman I met in a foreign country invited me to her yacht five minutes after meeting me, I’d immediately assume this woman was about to try and murder me or kidnap me or traffick me or something. But not Marlow. She is like fuck it, why not. She flies on over to wherever this yacht is(literally, she has to get on a plane and fly there) and makes some new besties who introduce her to the wonderfully glamorous non-dangerous life of escorting, where they hand her clients and set up the appointments for her and blah blah blah(also, wanna point out that Marlow even tries to say that she built this sex work empire herself. bitch no you didn't. it was all handed to you). I don’t feel like I really need to go further about why this is a really poor, dangerous rose-colored glasses-type depiction of sex work. It’s just not the reality.
Flash forward five years later, and Marlow is now a top-selling author writing about South African folklore as a white woman, trying to date other men, still having sex with her imaginary friend, calling her nonbinary friend a horse girl, the usual. Her escort pals are nowhere to be seen, and we have no clue what happened to them. We never hear from them again; they just vanish once Marlow gets what she wants from them, just like Nia and Kirby vanish once Marlow finds Fauna and Azrames. One day, Marlow’s at a book signing and sees the ONE bad client she had(because in all the years/months fucking strange men you meet in a foreign country, only one time does it go bad. okay, sure) He somehow finds where she lives, breaks into her home, and tries to murder her. An angel shows up and murders him instead, and then Caliban finally reveals his face and explains to Marlow that he has marked everyone who’s ever wronged her. (Wronged her in what way, tho. Like if someone accidentally shoulder-checked her on the street, are they now marked for death?) I thought it was kind of weird that she’s not like…focused on the fact that her hallucinations have extended to two people and another person dying. She’s still convinced Caliban is a figment of her imagination even after she sees this happen, and Caliban explains to her that he couldn’t save her because there’s some type of contract with her that forbids him from doing anything under her roof without her permission. But she still gets mad and banishes him, and now he can’t come back, and now she’s like, but wait, no, I didn’t mean it. Thus begins the search for Caliban.
Now, I could sit here and outline the rest of the book, but I won't because it's so boring, and nothing of substance really happens. So, to summarize. Marlow searches for Caliban fruitlessly for months and finally makes some progress when she decides to go to the house of the guy who tried to kill her and finds a parasitic entity that she continuously calls a Cheshire Cat. then Silas, the angel, shows up to save her again. Silas maybe wants to fuck Marlow, I can't tell. He waffles between abandoning Marlow to die and stalking her and her mom to force Marlow to bond with him for no seeming reason at all. Everyone and their mom wants Marlow to join their religion, and I don't know what the fuck makes her so special. Marlow is such a popular author that everyone recognizes her name, reveres her, fawns over her, and has multiple copies of her two books in their offices. She's so good that she inspired millions to switch religions. This book was so exhausting to read because it was just about how amazing Marlow is LMFAO. I'm pretty sure they even try to say she's the reincarnation of Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world. Like....wow.
Marlow goes to Hell with Fauna to escape bonding with Silas, where they meet a literal stolen character design. this guy
(my original review has these images but I am an idiot and don't know how to post them so instead I'll share the links)
https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1717860981i/35597445._SY540_.jpg
Don't believe me? here's the commissioned character art.
https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1717860929i/35597423._SY540_.jpg
Anyway, his name is Azrames and he and Fauna are long time lovers and they go and bone while Marlow is in the next room and Marlow fucking masturbates to the sounds of them boning. So...I was forced to read about that, and I hated it. And then, at the end of the book, five chapters before it's over, we learn the bad guy who's been holding Caliban captive the entire time is a fertility goddess. Just out of nowhere. No mention of it previously. So, no one tells Marlow the actual plan, and instead, they send her into this fertility clinic the goddess is working out of and have her pretend to want to get pregnant. So the goddess drugs her without her consent and puts her in a room full of half-naked men, hot stereotypes from every ethnicity, while she's SUPER horny. One of the doctors tells her that 'mixed babies are all the rage right now'. The men all tell her how hot and amazing she is and how lucky they are for the chance to get to fuck her. Then after she chooses one of them, she grinds all over him while he just stands there, then they take him out and bring Caliban in and decide he'll fuck her instead. I just wanna point out that this, all of this, would be rape. Marlow didn't consent to being drugged, and if she didn't know who Caliban was, they basically just took the guy she "agreed" to have sex with away and brought in one she didn't agree to for no reason whatsoever. It doesn't matter that she's saying yes to it; she is drugged. She can't consent. Anyway, Caliban sticks his dick in Marlow and just leaves it there, unmoving, and then makes out with the fertility goddess before stabbing her in the heart and cutting off her head, even though five chapters earlier, they said it's super hard to kill a god. I'm just...wow.
Marlow gets taken back to Fauna's apartment by Silas while Caliban and Azrames are stuck fighting more Cheshire Cat demon children that I imagine look like the spider baby from Toy Story. Marlow is still high, so she's putting the moves on Fauna. She's kissing her throat, rubbing her thigh, trying to suck on her fingers. Let me tell you rn, if one of my friends showed up at my place high af doing this shit to me, I'd be livid. Because I guarantee you, Marlow will not apologize for doing any of this to Fauna.
Fauna tells Marlow that they can be sunflowers. The book ends.
I will read the next one because I like to suffer, but...I hated this. I give it 2 stars because the writing is better than TNAIM, but it was not a hit for me at all.

As discussed in the first post, this is my ongoing compilation of the remaining questions Christopher has answered online between August 1st 2023 and April 30th 2024 which I've not already covered in other compilations.
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused specifically on inspirations and other media. This installment will focus on Worldbuilding and Touring, how Christopher constructs his worlds, and how he goes about promoting them on tours. The topics aren't actually linked, but they both fill up around half a post and so are being joined here. The next and final post will focus on miscellaneous questions about the real world.

Worldbuilding

Creating Magic Systems

Did you have a research process when you were writing the Inheritance Cycle? I put a fair bit of thought into the story itself of the Inheritance Cycle, and then some general stuff as to the society and just kind of where things were in the world before writing it. I put a medium amount of thought into the magic system before I started writing, and then as I wrote the implications of it became much more apparent to me, and I really sort of dove deep into it. In retrospect, were I to create a fantasy world from scratch now, I would really put a lot of attention into that magic system and the society beforehand, just to have a good feel for that before I even start chapter one. I would put more restrictions on the magic too. I think the more restrictions, the more interesting, even the more realistic in some ways. [3]
If I were designing a magic system from scratch nowadays I would put way more restrictions on it because I find that the limitations are useful, I don't want the characters getting overpowered, but also just from a storytelling standpoint, incantations, rituals, spells, prayers, potions, all of those mechanical things are just kind of interesting and of course they give lots of opportunities for things to go wrong if you don't follow the correct steps. So I think if I were designing magic from scratch right now I'd put a lot of restrictions and rituals associated with it. So costs, more costs. [25]
What kind of hacks do you have to developing a magic system? Once I have a general idea of the setting, whether science fiction or fantasy, the first question I ask myself is how does it diverge from physics as we know it? Because that is a fundamental question that's going to determine what is possible in this world. It might determine what's possible with warfare, with politics, with industry, manufacturing, travel times, it could affect everything depending on what type of divergence you have. In the World of Eragon, the divergence is that living creatures have the ability to directly manipulate energy using their minds. The reason for that is kind of handwavy, although I have an explanation for it, but that is the divergence and then I tried to be as consistent and physically possible with it at every step of the way past that. When people play games you always get people who are looking how to exploit it. "What's the most I can get out of this game? What's the most I can do?" That's basic human nature. Science is a speedrunning nature I think. So the same sort of thing. You assume that if magic existed there's going to be someone sitting in their basement who's absolutely obsessive about it and is going to figure out every single advantage that that divergence gives them. And you have to be realistic and work that into your world and say "Well people aren't stupid. They are going to figure this out and use it in this way, and what are the implications, socially, physically, and everything else?" Once I have that then you can think about society and culture and everything else, but that basic physical difference from our reality is just to me fundamentally important to understand before I even begin to write. [25]
With standalones you're not dealing with continuity or what rule did you break or things like that. That's interesting, because I would say that writing a sequel for me is faster than writing a standalone. At least for me, the more I know the characters and the world, the faster, like I don't have to do the groundwork of creating a magic system, creating a society, creating the gods and the history. All that's done for me, so I can just slip into it like slipping on an old glove. [33]

Creating Religions

A socio-political religion in your world helps drive characters or stories or die-hard fanatic characters forward. How do you go about developing those? Have the courage to let your characters actually believe the things that they are supposed to believe. If you look back historically people really did truly believe these different religions and different systems. Too often I think with modern stories we have people only giving lip service to the supposed belief and instead having very modern attitudes toward it which perhaps doesn't always work. That's understandable if you want a character to be relatable to a modern reader, but there are so many examples of interesting belief systems throughout the world. To me that's something fascinating to write about. But the main thing is just accept that when people truly believe something they're genuine about it and then you can follow that from a logical and storytelling standpoint. What I'd also say is, if you're writing about something that is very different from your own belief system, assuming it's not like completely evil, to try to approach it with a sense of charity. With the understanding that everyone is searching for meaning and understanding. I've always had a soft spot for the old television show Babylon 5, because although I don't believe that the creator J. Michael Straczynski is religious, he writes all of his characters with great sympathy and understanding, he's never cynical about it, and he's not putting up straw man arguments or criticizing any of the characters. He's like "They're searching for meaning. They're struggling with the great questions as we all do, and each one is trying to solve those questions in their own way." And I always really appreciated that he wasn't being cynical about it or really shallow. [25]

Creating Languages

Did you think of the ancient language, not just as a mechanic, but also as a parable of our own language? I was thinking about how language itself feels like magic to me. You can write a story, you can convey information. Language in many ways is our greatest tool and makes us human along with, I would argue, our hands, our ability to manipulate objects and use actual tools. But one without the other wouldn't really work and wouldn't allow us to be a technological species. We could have language with no ability to handle tools, and then we wouldn't be what we are now. But I find language fascinating and I find the function of language incredibly interesting. And there is this idea in the real world going back to the beginning of time, that to name something is to understand it, and gives you a certain amount of power over it, whether that's a person or a physical object. And the ancient language is just taking that idea seriously. And I'm not the first author or tradition to do that, but is it a parallel? Is it a metaphor? I don't know if I'd go that far, but it definitely ties into the use of language and my ideas about it. What's crazy to me is there is a theoretical arrangement of words right now that would give us a massive breakthrough in science and physics. There's a theoretical arrangement of words that were I to write it or anyone else would influence how people think about the next presidential election to such a degree that it might actually changed the election. These are all theoretically possible and you can think of many many other things that you could do with language. We just lack the knowledge of what those arrangement of words are, and so we're constantly clawing our way toward new knowledge and new uses of language. [19]
The languages that you were playing around with in The Inheritance cycle, they were Germanic, Anglo Saxon based? The ancient language, the magical language, is based very strongly on Old Norse, which of course is Germanic or related to Old High German. The Dwarven language was invented pretty much from scratch although it is an agglutinative language like German is. And then the other languages have not appeared very much in the series. They're just little scraps here and there. To be clear, I am not a linguist, and I have not devoted the time and energy to developing these in a formal or rigorous way, the way that Tolkien did. Tolken was a linguist and that was his forte. I got far enough down that path while working on the Inheritance Cycle that I really began to appreciate how every word has a history and that history is inexorably tied to the history of the land. It's often said that Tolkien created Middle-earth just to explain his languages, as a setting for the languages. Which isn't entirely true, but there is truth to that. That's what I was encountering and I was realizing that I could spend 20 years, 10 years, just working on the languages and building this out. It might have been a worthwhile venture, but the tradeoff would have been no more books published during that time. I want to tell a story. [28]
What I would do these days, or what I did with other languages, is come up with a couple of words that sort of had a general feel that I liked and then extrapolating from those invented words, figuring out what consonants and vowels and clusters thereof that I wanted. Come up with some more sample words based off that and then start working out some grammar. Grammar is probably my weakest spot since at the time I wasn't really aware of non-English grammar systems and I've put some more attention in that since then. [34]
The language and culture that you describe in the books seem very real. How do you start inventing a language? You shamelessly steal from Germanic mythology and Scandinavian mythology, just like Tolkien did. But I'm no linguist, I did my best, I have a copy of the Nibelungen up on my shelf along with the Eddas, and I based one of my languages on Old Norse, which gave it a nice sound and feel. So the main thing is picking things that make sense for your world and then trying to be internally consistent. [2]

Creating Maps

At what point in your writing process do you start creating the map? I've created the maps at different times in different books. At first I thought I didn't need a map because I thought that a good book should be perfectly understandable without a map. You shouldn't need to rely on anything outside of the text in order to enjoy it. And I still think that's generally true, but a map can add a lot. So for Eragon, I did it partway through the book. If I were to do a stand-alone fantasy novel, I would definitely want to work out the maps and stuff before writing it. [12]
The map for Eragon, the original black and white map, I did about halfway or a third of the way into Eragon. My idea was, and I still kind of believe this, that a well-written book shouldn't need a map in order to understand the story. You should be able to keep your bearings just based off the text. What I ran into though was that I was getting lost in the world myself with the amount of places and things after a certain point. And so I drew a map. [34]
For me I think if you're creating something in the real world obviously that gives you certain constraints and certain advantages but if you're starting with something from scratch, I find creating a map right up front is really helpful because your story is not going to visit every square inch on your map so by filling in those other details on the map you're going to get more story ideas and also ideas for potential conflicts, travel distances. It all feeds into the realism of the story as well as potentially future stories. It's fun stuff. The downside is you could spend your whole life worldbuilding. There's a there's a book from World War Two called Islandia, and the guy just spent his whole life creating this island and its culture to the point of working out the actual layers of geography of stone in the island. I've never actually read the book, I don't know if it's any good, but I know it was fairly popular when it came out. [25]
What hacks do you have for for creating geography and points of interest within your world? When I was creating the map for Alagaësia I actually used a old National Geographic Atlas and traced over various coastlines and then distorted them and pasted on top of each other in order to get sort of a natural feeling coastline. Please don't compare the island of Vroengard to the outline of Greece. Please don't do that. And then you have Robin Hobb who just turned Alaska upside down for her map which I always love because I've lived in Alaska twice. I think she told me that she never actually expected the book to get published, but then she got stuck with that because everything was tied to the geography that she started with. [25]
I think that a good map ought to have lots of points of interest, and the tricky bit is, without getting so detailed that it becomes cluttered. You see that sometimes with real world maps, like atlases and stuff, where there's a ton of place names, city names, river names, road names. All of which are useful and necessary, but it can actually visually get in the way of the art, perhaps the artistic effect that you would want a fantasy map to have in a book or a movie or even a game. [12]
There are world generators that you can just click through. It's really easy nowadays with technology to build worlds just by snapping your fingers. Even with those tools, if you have the time and inclination, I think there is some benefit to redrawing or painting the maps in your own style. I don't know about you, I love seeing when the maps are from the author themselves. I remember Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams. Tad did all the maps himself, and I love that. Even if it's imperfect or a little amateurish it just gives it a really nice feel. I love Tolkien's original art for the same reason. [25]

Creating Dragons

You are the creator of your own world. Do you feel that you have follow certain canons of fantasy worlds, for example, dragons have four legs and wyverns have two? Or do you feel that you can practically do whatever you want because it's fantasy and you create everything? Yes and no. No because I have already established rules and traditions and precedence in The World of Eragon, so I have to be consistent with that. But if I were writing a new fantasy, I would not feel beholden to any tradition. If I wanted to write a world where the dragons have three legs or feathers or something like that then I would feel free to do that. That's the great thing about speculative fiction is it gives you the freedom to write and create whatever you want to. The thing is when you have a genre where anything is possible it actually reveals the limitations of your imagination. And there are very few authors, myself included, who really make full use of that. But at the same time, limitations can make your fiction more interesting. I think it's important to pick some limitations and that will help actually improve the quality of your work. [7]
Why did you decide to have your dragons have a saddle? I was around horses growing up. And the thought of actually physically being on a creature with very hard scales was rather terrifying if thought about in a practical sense. And so it just seemed to me that there had to be some protection. [33]
When you're writing fantasy and you include dragons, especially a dragon rider fantasy, depending on how many there are there, it's actually quite a difficult thing to not solve all your problems with dragons. I think the solution to that is you focus on the problems that dragons present, which balances out the advantages. And of course people are smart, whether we're talking about humans or elves or dwarves or any other invented species. If dragons were real, you'd come up with counters to them, whether it's a bunch of giant ballistae on your walls, or building domed fortresses, or building underground. You would come up with solutions and it would negate those advantages. And that's always my issue with writing fiction with dragons in the real world. If it's a slightly more modern, then you have to ask, well, why isn't everything different in history? Like if dragons were a constant part of our world, architecture would be different, warfare would be different, politics would be different. Well, no, politics would be the same. What am I saying? [30]
I'm sure all of us have seen the fantasy paintings of like a knight in armor with a lance on a horse facing off against a dragon. Now, to be fair, a lance moving at a decent speed at a horse galloping will have enough kinetic energy behind it to punch through just about anything. It could do a lot of damage. But any decent sized dragon would move so fast and be so strong, you wouldn't have a chance with a lance. You'd need a giant crossbow. That'd be your only choice. The size of a dragon, intelligence of a dragon. Until you get to projectile weapons, you have no chance. [30]
We all know what any creature gets when they bond with a dragon. They get a dragon. But why would a dragon create that bond? Why would they do it? Is it the bond, is it their nature? I think for me, having other species bond with the dragons was essentially a way to keep the dragons from getting wiped out. Because dragons are such a huge threat. If you imagine in the real world, we don't suffer giant predators to be constantly predating and disrupting our world. We remove that threat. Especially if there's magic involved, the ability to remove that threat gets even bigger. So in a way I viewed the bond between rider and dragon as essentially self preservation for the dragons, if not the other species as well. Without some sort of symbiotic relationship, coexistence becomes very, very difficult. That, or the dragons have to be smart enough to just essentially remove themselves from the world and live off in the far off places. But that gets really difficult when you start considering how much they need to eat. I remember reading the Live Ship Trader series and I remember the end of that spoiler alert where it's become clear that true dragons have returned now. And it really was kind of an oh crap moment because you start thinking about what that actually means for there to be dragons in the world again. It's kind of like Reign of Fire. [30]

Promoting The Books

Touring Hazards

How did you do on your book tour? It was a lot. It was a lot. I did 50 days of touring last year between Fractal Noise and Murtagh. Obviously the majority of that was for Murtagh. And of course I had a couple other trips in there as well. I went to New York Comic Con. I had one or two personal trips. So there was a lot of travel last year. My goal is to not have as much travel this year. In general, the book tours were awesome, great crowds for the Fractalverse, enormous crowds for World of Eragon/Murtagh. I don't normally talk about this stuff, but since we're past it, it doesn't matter. I started touring for Murtagh November 6th and then got home for good on December 16th. But there's always a risk of getting sick while you're traveling. And I did pretty well in the US leg of things. And then over in Europe between the jet lag and not sleeping- I had a really amazing dinner, one of my publishers took me out to a three star Michelin restaurant. The problem was the dinner started at 8pm and didn't finish till midnight. And there were two or three desserts, and the last dessert was full of coffee, and I didn't realize it. Absolutely full of coffee. And I did not get to sleep until like four in the morning. And I only had three hours of sleep that night. So I think I got sick the day after as a result. I got so sick on the European tour that at one of my stops I had to call paramedics to my hotel room at 2 a.m. because I couldn't breathe. Ended up with bronchitis for the first time in my life. But I'll have you know, I did every event. I didn't miss a single event. I managed to do all my presentations and made it through in one piece. I've never, never backed down from doing an event, even while bleeding. Can you tell us a little bit about the time that you were bleeding in an event? Well, I was in Europe. I was touring for Inheritance, I'd already toured North America, and then I started in Europe, went to UK, and then I went to Australia and New Zealand. But first country was Germany, and I think I did Munich and Cologne, and then I ended in Berlin. And in Berlin, they had me in this wonderful theater that's like over 100 years old, which is very rare in the city, considering all the bombing during the war. And I'm backstage, which meant down in the basement of this theater. And there's like 500 people out waiting for me to make an appearance and there's someone introducing me and they say my name and everyone starts clapping. And of course you want to get on stage before the applause dies down. And the way you got onto stage in this theater was through a set of stairs. And it really wasn't even steps. It was almost like a ladder and it was wood. And the steps were so old that they were basically hollowed out from all the people that have gone up and down it over the years. So I'm scrambling up this and about halfway up, my right foot slipped off the edge of one of the steps because it was hollowed out and full speed, full strength, full weight, I slammed my shin into the edge of one of the steps, stumbled forward two more steps and did it a second time. But momentum, adrenaline, I keep going, I get up on stage, I waved to everyone. And fortunately for me, because I was speaking to a foreign audience, they had me sitting at a table with a translator and a presenter. So I got to sit down and the table kind of hit everything from view. And I start the presentation, start the event. And after about, I don't know, five minutes, I'm thinking to myself, okay, I've banged my shin before. We've all banged our shins before, but this really bleepin' hurt. So I looked under the table and the whole front of my jean leg on my shin is soaked with blood. There is blood dripping onto the floor and my sock is soaked with blood. So I poked my translator, the presenter next to me that I was doing a couple of events with, and I said, "Hey, look at this". And he glances under and his face just goes white. And I'm colorblind and I saw his face go white. And he said, "Do we need to call an ambulance?" And I'm like, "No, no, we're going to do this." So I did an hour-long presentation. And then I got up and managed to quickly limp over to a signing table. And no one really noticed that I wasn't feeling so hot. And I got behind the signing table, and I signed books for 400 or 500 people. And the funny thing is, I was traveling with this foreign rights agent publicist for Random House named Jocelyn, who was just an absolute beast of a woman. I love her to death. You have to understand, she did a European book tour with me while eight months pregnant. The woman was and is just very impressive. But she grew up on a farm. German family in the US, grew up on a farm. So I showed her my leg when I was sitting down to sign and she just looked at me and she said, "You need to go to the hospital?" I said, "Nope". She said, "I knew you were country. Good man." Slapped me on the back. So I finished signing and then I went back to the hotel and I had to get into a tub of water to soak my jeans off because the blood had dried and glued them to my shin. And the problem was I had a dent all the way down to the bone. And I really should have gone to a hospital because, sorry for the gory details, but what happens is when you get a dent like that, you lose the fat under the skin between the skin and the bone and it doesn't come back unless you get an injection to help it puff out and heal. And I didn't do that because I was on tour, there was no time. So the next day I had to fly to pretty sure it was Barcelona for the St. George Book Festival, which is a walking festival. So you have to walk from bookstore to bookstore in the city and do signings. But that was a bit rough. That actually took over a year to heal properly. I still have that dent. Stuff happens. I've heard some crazy stories with other authors. I'd rather it's my blood, not the fan's blood. [32]

Touring Difficulties

We've got blood and sweat, any tears from tour? On occasion. The biggest one is just being away from home. And if anything is a bit off for whatever reason, you can't just pop home and hold someone or do this or do that. It's just difficult to be that far away from home for so long. [32]
If you're not familiar with book tours, the way it often works is that you fly to a city, you get to your hotel room, you have a little bit of time to freshen up, maybe get some food and then you go to the bookstore and you do your event. And it has to be after people get off from work, so it tends to be a later evening event. If you have a large number of people show up, that means that that time spent talking and signing pushes fairly late in the evening. You go back, you get dinner, and if you're a semi-introvert like so many authors tend to be, you need some time to decompress, which means you probably stay up a little too late reading or writing. And then in the morning, you got to go get another airplane flight and go to the new city. All of which is fine, but going to the airport, doing those flights, with the time it takes to go through an airport these days, it means that the schedule has very little time in it. When I toured for Fractal Noise, the publisher one of the days had me fly from Tampa to Portland and I still had to do an event that day. Which I agreed to. It was my own fault because they had everything on the East Coast and I said, "Well, what about the West Coast? You know, I have readers on the West Coast. They need to get a chance to get a signed book." It was my own fault. But that can get rough when you're doing it for weeks on end at a certain point. You just can't recover. A day off? What's that? But it's a good problem to have. That people want to see you and want to read your books. It's an awesome career to have. [1]
I'm also a big fan of coffee naps. So I will drink a cup of coffee, usually my second cup of coffee, and then I'll go take a nap, and I will nap for about 30 minutes, because after 30 minutes the coffee wakes me up. And I find that 15 to 30 minutes is the perfect length of a nap for me, and if I go past that, I need to sleep for about three hours, because otherwise I get into the middle of a REM cycle, and if I wake up in the middle of a REM cycle, I'm just like groggy and drugged, and I feel worse than if I hadn't napped at all. And then of course, if you're on book tour, the way I have been for a while, you gain the ability to just close your eyes at any point and take a 10 minute nap 15 minute nap anywhere, and it at least helps you stay upright. [19]

Meeting Fans around the World

You just got back from the U.S. leg of your book tour — who’s making up the crowd? The readership is broad and probably older than it was back in the day. There are still a lot of 8-year-olds, but now there are grandparents, too. I’ve even met some kids who’ve been named after the characters, which is pretty amazing. Because people have been reading the series for so long, I tend to get a mix of incredibly detailed, hyper-focused, deep-dive questions about some of the lore, but also some more general ones about Eragon’s name. [16]
I'm sure you hear personal stories all the time especially at your readings and your your appearances. It must be lovely, and I guess overwhelming to connect with your fans. That's a good way of putting it: lovely and overwhelming. Everyone has their own personal history with these books. I have people showing up who named their children after the characters, or who've gotten tattoos. Oh my goodness, what's the one you get? Multiple Saphiras, Aryas, Rorans, a couple of Eragons. As a writer, you want people to read your stories, enjoy them, be affected by them. If they're affected so strongly they name their children after your characters, you feel pretty good about it. [28]
Are your European fans different from your American fans? I actually haven't met any children here who are named after characters from my books. That seems to be an American phenomenon. The language barrier sometimes makes it a little more difficult to talk to European fans. But the love for Eragon is just as strong in Europe as it is in the US. This is not your first time on tour in Europe. Is there something you're missing here? I actually noticed that hotels in Europe usually don't have ironing boards or irons. This is standard equipment in America. [24]
My great-grandmother was from Sicily and then my grandfather was from Bologna. I just found out recently that my grandfather as a child was tutored by Fellini's wife. [7]
My grandfather was the stereotype of an elderly Italian gentleman. He had a mustache, he cooked spaghetti and he made the most amazing red sauce for the spaghetti. He used too much profanity. He was quite the character. [35]
Amsterdam is a beautiful city, but if I had grown up here I would probably still have written fantasy, but it would probably have influenced the type of fantasy I write. [23]
I was just in Stockholm on book tour for my latest book. And I've sold a really large number of books, proportionally in Sweden, and I'd never been there before. And I was kind of curious what their thoughts and feelings were on it, given the fact that I have shamelessly pillaged, Anglo-Saxon Scandinavian mythology for my own work. And they said native Swedish authors don't write using their own mythology, they go into the more literary veins and they import and translate other authors who are writing about Scandinavian mythology and they enjoy it immensely, but it doesn't seem to be a homegrown thing for them, which is rather odd, I think. [30]
Old Norse is not so far from German, do you speak a little bit of German? I understand a fair bit. When I've done presentations in Germany, I've had children ask me questions in German, and I can sometimes understand the entire question without translation, but I only speak a few words. [Host 2]: Let's try it. Can you ask the next question in German? Of course. Oh dear. [speaking quickly] Herr Paolini, wie viel von ihrer Vision für die ganze Serie hat sich mit der Zeit verändert? Hat es sich überhaupt verändert? Denn wenn man sich die frühen Werke anguckt, erkennt man, dass sehr viele Sachen aus den frühen Werken in den späteren wieder auftauchen. So dass es eigentlich unmöglich sein kann, dass sie das nicht von Anfang an komplett geplant haben? Translation please. That was not fair. But funny. Yeah, I was just asking, when you started writing the book, and it became not just one book, it became a whole world, it became a series, and I don't want to spoil anything, but if you read the first books and you read the later books, stuff comes up again, and it seems like you actually knew where it was going when you started writing, which is again insane because you were 15. Is that something you just got lucky, or did you really plan for a whole series when you started writing the first one? I planned because I tried writing some stories before Eragon, and I never got past the first five or ten pages because I didn't have a story. I would only have an inciting incident, like a young man finds a dragon egg in the forest. Well, fun, awesome, but that's not a story. So Eragon and the series as it was, was a writing exercise for myself to see if I could outline, plot, and then write at least the first book of a series. So yes, if you read the first book, Eragon, there's actually a scene, a dream sequence in the first book. And it is the very last scene of the last book. And I did that specifically so that I could point to it and say to my readers, "See, I knew what I was doing." But of course, it isn't the last book now. [2]
Before he finished signing them all he asked if I read Fractal Noise, I said yes. He then asked how I liked it. I said I liked To Sleep far more. And to be fair I did. But I could've been a little more less brunt about it. All in all I'm sorry Paolini. I hope you see this. Dude -- No need to apologize! I was the one who put you on the spot. I was just curious about Fractal Noise as it's pretty different from what I normally write. That said, I'm a big boy, and it doesn't bother me in the slightest if someone prefers one book over another. [R]
Have you been on TikTok? How do you find it? I have an account that my assistants post content on for me because I don't have the time and I don't want it on my phone, but it has been a really useful way to connect with readers, and I had a lot of people who came up during my book tour end of last year, who said that they found out about the events I was doing from the posts on TikTok. [33]
Outside of the tour, did you do anything to personally celebrate the release of Murtagh? No. Not to sound blase, but this isn't my first book I've released. Going on the tour is the celebration. Getting to meet the fans. It's an enormous expenditure of energy, time, effort, and it's very joyous and touching and meaningful for me. And I think for a lot of the readers. So that's the celebration. My team and I, we all kind of take a moment to pat ourselves on the back every time a book comes out and then it's back to the grind a bit. Also, I got to celebrate my 40th birthday while on book tour, and I got to celebrate it with my editor, my publicist, my former publicist who's been with me since the beginning. So that was really nice. [32]

Appearance

Being an author is like the best kind of semi-celebrity, because nine times out of ten, no one knows who you are, you can live a nice quiet life, and then you get to go out and meet people who like your work. And that's a real treat. I grew the beard partly to keep people from recognizing me. But then I've had it for so long that it doesn't work anymore. And I got tired of shaving. But the problem is the beard takes so much time and effort to take care of it, it doesn't save me any time. [1]
Did your hat end up getting fixed post-tour? Yup. Fixed it myself with a rivet. [T]
Any advice on how to wear a pirate's hat without it being weird? It's very simple. There's one ingredient. You wear it with confidence. That's all. [36]

Signing Books

People people don't maybe don't realize what an endurance race it is, especially when when books are this big and successful. Like the amount. I once did 9,280 books in an afternoon and a half at a warehouse. I had nine people helping. I stood. I find that if I stand, I don't use my wrist. I can isolate the arm. And I just had someone shove it under me, someone pull it out for me, and everyone else was boxing, unboxing and flapping. But it hurt. It really hurt. I dropped my first name this past year. For the first time in a 20 year career, I finally dropped my first name. Did you feel defeated? Yes. But I have kids now and I just could not afford the time and the strain on my body. I actually got two typewriters. I got really bad inflammation in my right thumb from all the signing and I find that typewriters alleviated that. Also heavier like mechanical keyboards seem to help. So I know like Robin Hobb has suffered some severe problems with her hands with the amount of typing she's done over the years. So yeah, it is an occupational hazard. [33]
I have to say, signing 30,000 sheets is SIGNIFICANTLY harder than mining or placing 30k blocks in #Minecraft. Lol. [T]
Do you have a PO Box or something? I’d pay shipping both ways to have you sign my books. P.O. box is listed on paolini.net. Just include return shipping, please. :D Alternatively, you can arrange signed copies through Conley's Books & Music in Livingston, MT. [R]
If I send a book to a P.O. Box and pay for shipping there and back, would you sign it? Yup. Address is on paolini.net [T]

Hi lovely people in my phone. I’m looking for some advice and where better than Reddit (ask calling the vet tomorrow no worries).
We have three cats. Nikka (9F) had been with us the last nine years. When her brother died February 2022 she was a little lonely, and our vet adviced a kitten as a friend. Enter Mochi (1F) who came to live with us may 2023, whilst I was pregnant with our son. Mochi is my little baby and she loves her human brother like no other. She is where he is, day and night. But Mochi lost playfulness beyond what is expected and became sad and quiet, Nikka was not interested in play with her. We played with her plenty, but not the same.
So, our vet advised one more friend. We got Dodo (1M, almost 2). Dodo was scared at first. We did introductions in the crate and gave Dodo his own room to acclimate. After a couple of days we did visual contact, all seemed well. A little after that Dodo went on to explore the house, and they were cautious but respectful. Mochi growled any time Dodo invaded her space, and he respected that and backed away.
In the following months, Dodo proceeded to push her boundaries. He leaves Nikka alone. He sometimes strolls up to her, they do the nose sniff thing and then she usually bats him away and he goes on his merry way. With Mochi however, he keeps pushing. We’re five months in and it’s getting worse, not better. He chases her, ears back and tail puffed, while she screams and hides. she hisses and growls every time he comes close, sometimes he respects it, sometimes not. It doesn’t get more physical than batting, but Mochi is under obvious stress
She now hides every day, doesn’t use the litter boxes anymore but goes outside in my garden bed only (and twice under the bed on a rainy day) she doesn’t play at all anymore, and only refrains from hiding when we are near.
At this point we’re debating rehoming Dodo, but have grown very fond of him, and don’t want to. Mochi’s health and happiness however is key. Any tips?

I got married at 26 knowing I had endometriosis. TTC naturally for two years and never saw a BFP even after ablation of endo. In the process, discovered one fallopian tube was closed. My Ob Gyn said I would most likely need IVF but tried fertility drugs (clomid, trigger etc.) and no success. I skipped IUI and went straight to IVF. Joined WW and went from 220 to 180 lbs. exercised 5 days a week and tried to maintain a whole foods diet. VCU Health had a 6 IVF with ICSI package for roughly 20k. If you don't take home a baby after 6 rounds, you get a refund. This did not include meds and anesthesia. We purchased the package. There was a grant making meds $1500. I only did IVF during the summer and never worked during the process. After two rounds of IVF, the grant was lost and meds cost $4500 per round. Both rounds only produced 4-5 embryos. I had a fresh transfer and the embryos only grew to 5 days max. No success. The 3rd fresh transfer was during covid (2021) and only produced 3-4 embryos no more than 5 days old. No success. I got a therapist, quit WW and stopped going to the gym. I got a less stressful job than teaching, bought a house and gained weight (skyrocketed to 250 pounds). I took a break from IVF and ignored my biological clock. During the 4th round, I only produced two embryos; one was good and the other so so. The doctor recommended stopping until he remembered that I had a package. My mom was the one who reminded me that all it takes is 1 (and to eat pineapple 🤷‍♀️...what did I have to lose???). She and my husband had all of the faith in Jesus that this was possible. I was emotionally and physically depleted and was preparing myself for the five millionth BFN. Nothing would shake my faith in Christ, but I wondered why this was my trial. I remember watching the episode of Young Sheldon when Sheldon had the awards party and no one showed. Sheldon cried because he realized at this point in life, he had no friends. At the end of the episode, it showed all of Sheldon's friends he'd have in the future on the Big Bang Theory. I cried because it gave me hope that one day, my circumstances would change, too. The next day, I accompanied my father while he was buying a boat and I received a call. The clinic called and put me on speaker phone letting me know that my blood had hcg (43). I was pregnant for the first time in my life at 36 years old and bigger than I'd ever been. I was in shock and as I hold my two month old son, I'm still in shock.
Several things had to happen to help me get through this:

1. Support: I had to KNOW my husband would stay and love me whether we had kids or not. TTC/IVF is not sexy and can suck the romance out of a relationship. Make sure you have someone strong by your side to weather the storms, your emotions and the let down after failing TTC. My mom was my strength. Choose one BFF in your life who loves you unconditionally; for me, it was my mom. I would caution telling others about IVF while going through it. If they've never been through it, they just won't understand. Once you tell your family, it's out there and don't be surprised if they make uncomfortable comments or judge you for spending money on this. I told my mom, dad, husband and friend who'd had 3 miscarriages before having her first child. That was it. An excellent therapist is a must. She helped me to focus on one day at a time and seeing the glass half full. Find the best IVF doctor you can and trust the process. Make sure you get along with and trust your doctor and the team. I started taking fertility meds at the Jones Institute with a doctor who was unreachable and disconnected. They also declined me for the 6 cycle package so I kept looking. There was no way I was going to give my Tesla money, my house down payment and my European vacation to a clinic that couldn't even return my calls.
2. Rest and Less Stress: Covid forced me to re-evaluate my life. I got a less stressful career, stepped down from the church praise team, ate whatever I wanted and just rested. I don't recommend gaining weight but I do recommend relaxing (no new weird diets, exercises or supplements that might put your body in shock before IVF). The IVF meds will do what they need to do. Just rest and do things to make yourself happy.
3. Have a financial plan. If you can find a package deal, it is wonderful. After accepting that we may never have kids, we were going to take the refund money and travel in Europe for a month. The money alone can destroy your relationship. Make sure you can handle this financially because it is brutal.
4. Growth: Make sure that you find a way to travel, go back to school, have fun, buy a house etc. If you put all of your time, effort and money into having a child and it never happens, you could suffer from massive depression. To prevent that, have a life outside of TTC.
5. Set boundaries: Tread carefully when telling people. Most ppl just don't understand if they've never been through this. They think your whining about silver spoon problems. I had to cancel affairs due to IVF and I had to take a step back from anything that caused me stress (family members, church obligations, babyshowers (sometimes), after school obligations etc. I've found that people at church especially don't know how to handle this. You can request prayer without telling people why.

*Processing this spiritually is hard. You expect God to move mountains. This is intimate and only between you and Him. Pray, pray and pray some more.

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.

Let me start by saying that until 3 years ago I was a bad alcoholic and an asshole. Emotionally and eventually physically abusive to the mother of my children. I’m still kind of an asshole but I’m sober now at least. I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself for how I used to act and I’m sorry if my admission triggers anyone who’s experienced it in their life.
I preface this story with that honesty so no one misunderstands me as the good guy in this scenario. I’m at least trying to be now. My ex and I have been split for almost 4 years now. I’ve followed her and her various new boyfriends around the state the entire time. From Panama City to Pasco. It is what it is. Fathers who acted like I did don’t get much say in those kinds of things understandably. She’s now pregnant with her sixth kid (yes the first five are mine) after pushing me into a vasectomy and then cheating on me. Again I did everything to make her hate me. I deserved what I got.
Now onto the meat of the story. The most recent guy/baby daddy just so happens to be the guy who used to sell us weed occasionally . Kinda messed up crossing a weird line I didn’t even know existed but whatever. I got my kids for the summer right now. My oldest is 12 and autistic. He’s been stimming a lot since he got here. At least a lot more than usual and he wouldn’t tell me what he was thinking about. (Usually he responds with the time we went to universal studios or the time he went to Lego land with his grandparents). Eventually can’t take it and ask his brother if anything’s been going on. I guess recently him and his mom got into it, she eventually lost it and snapped on him and slapped him. He cried. Said new man eventually yells at him and tells him to “man up “ and “be a man” making it much worse.
I just talked to him about it and spent ten minutes holding him while he cried more than I’ve ever heard him cry in his life. I just cried more than I have in a long time. Assured my son that even the strongest men and women in the world cry sometimes. How healthy it is to cry sometimes. How the man who called him that isn’t a man himself if he’s saying things like that. Like I said in the title, I have never genuinely wanted to hurt anyone. I’ve lost my mind while blackout drunk but soberly genuinely wishing harm…..this is a first for me. May any picnic he attends be infested with ants….I’ll leave it at that. Thanks for listening to my crazy rant if you got this far. I needed to get it out and I didn’t want to wake up anyone from aa.

I read a post on coparenting subreddit in which a woman is pregnant but she is struggling whether to break up with her boyfriend now before she gives birth or afterwards. What on earth is going on?
My grandmother had five kids with the same man, my grandfather and she died at 91 surrounded by her kids and grandkids including me. It’s an absolute joke where we are today. My own mother had three kids with my father while married.
A women finds it easier whether she wants to get pregnant and to carry the child to term and deliver the baby than whether the man that impregnated her should be in the child’s life 100% of the time. Or 0% of the time.
This is the ultimate result of feminism. The collapse of families. The collapse of any notion of family values and tradition.
That child you are carrying deserves to have full access to both parents. Girls and boys need fathers. Not father figures. Actual biological fathers not some random guy with a penis and born with XY chromosomes. Men have the right to their children too.
So many women have adopted a poisonous and toxic ideology which makes it look like the women impregnated themselves without any men. The only time in human history that this happened was a miracle in ancient Israel and that was a miracle by God (I am referring to the virgin birth of Jesus by his mother Mary). Every other birth required a man and his sperm.
A man has a natural and God given right to be in his children’s lives. That’s not a favor from the mother. That’s not some kind of act of benevolence from the mother (she allowed the father to be in the child’s life) which is a disgusting thing to say. This is toxic feminism.

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/Popular-Valuable-243. She posted in AmItheAsshole

Do NOT comment on Original Posts. See rule 7. The latest update is 7 days old due to the rules of this sub

Trigger Warnings: sudden parental death; controlling behavior
Mood Spoiler: just tough all around
Original Post: April 6, 2024
Throwaway Account
I (21f) Have an older sister "Eve" (29f) who had her first child, "Lori" (1f) and while this should be a time of joy an excitement there's actually a lot of tension and brewing resentment between her, our mom, and her husband "Jack" (29m). Despite it being unplanned Eve's pregnancy was wanted and Jack was an involved partner. He went to most of Eve's appointments, took the birthing classes, and supported Eve's decision to just have our mom in the room while he wanted outside when she gave birth.
The plan was for our mom to be by Eve's side in the room and to help stay for a week after Lori was born. Everyone was cool with this but unfortunately our aunt got into some drama with her husband in another state and our mom rushed over to be at her sister's side. Eve was already in her 3rd trimester so Jack didn't like the idea of our mom going and voiced it. Our mom tore Jack a new one and Eve even got on his case about it so he apologized. However, Eve ended up going into labor and Jack ultimately was the one in the room while our mom was away.
When she called, our mom expressed being sad over not being there for the birth of her first grandchild and she and Eve decided that no one else in the family would see Lori until she got back. Without discussing it with Jack. He was understandably not happy as his mom lived about 45 minutes away and was looking forward to meeting Lori too as she was the first grandchild on both sides. Eve pulled the "I just gave birth" card and Jack reluctantly allowed it. On the day that our mom was supposed to come back she missed her flight and couldn't get a new one until the following morning. Our mom could've just rented a car but she didn't want to spend the money since the airline wouldn't refund the money.
Jack was brought up allowing his mom to come again, but Eve refused citing that he already agreed. Unfortunately, Jack's mom was in a car accident and passed before ever getting to meet Lori since Eve wouldn't even allow a video chat. Jack was distraught, he moved to the guest bedroom, went to the funeral alone and refuses to engage with Eve at all.
Jack's side of the family keeps calling and messaging Eve to tell her what a selfish and awful person she is and Jack refuses to defend. Eventually, Eve got sick of it and packed up and left to our mom's house to "teach Jack a lesson" but he hasn't texted or called. Our mom thinks that he just needs some space and that he'll call soon but I just laughed at that. Didn't mean to though.
My mom and Eve asked me why I laughed and I tried to brush it off or even leave but they couldn't let me and pressed for answer. Eventually, I told her that while the accident wasn't her fault she did keep Lori away from Jack's mom meeting her for a week and now she never will. There's no way Jack is going to ever love you enough to forgive that and that you should prepare for the worst. Eve started to bawl her eyes out while mom berated me so I left. AITA?
Edit: Just to clarify because I keep seeing this when the accident first happened Eve has apologized three separate times (Jack has admitted to this) and Eve intended to go to the funeral with him but he drove off without her. Jack does interact with Lori it's Eve that he's icing out and my niece is the only thing he's willing to talk to Eve about. Jack had been living in the guest room for 5 months before Eve left. She's offered to go to couple's counseling but Jack has refused.
Relevant Comments:
What was up with your aunt?

OOP: To be fair it wasn't a small thing. My aunt's husband was revealed to be cheating and used her personal information to take out credit cards in her name to pay for his side piece. Plus the potential danger of her own health.

Commenter (downvoted): YTA
You are COMPLETELY right. But you were an AH to mention it. WHY rub it in, and cause drama. YOU should have kept silent, staying out of it would have been the reasonable option.
They needed someone to blame - why offer yourself up for that?

OOP: I tried to brush it off and walk away but they physically stood in front of my way and demanded an answer.

Commenter: If she's still bad mouthing him, she obviously didn't mean it [the apology] with an understanding of what exactly she did wrong. Hope Jake is well supported by his family and can see his daughter soon.

OOP: Eve hasn't bad mouthed him (at least to me) since his mom's accident. But she is frustrated that he's no longer affectionate and doesn't engage with her like before.

Commenter (downvoted): YTA. Sorry, but are you married? A parent? In love? In a relationship? No, then maybe put a cork in it.
Why would you say something like that? It was incredibly vindictive and nasty. She is a new mother going through ish, and you could have been compassionate. Even civil. You laughing at someone's misfortunes, much less your sister, says a lot about your character.
Her husband may never forgive her, but that's not on her. To be honest, it would be hard to forgive you for kicking her when she was down, so there's that.

OOP: Married? No. A parent? No. In love? Yes. In a relationship? Also, yes.
And please read the post again. Lori is now a year old and Jack's mom died when she was less than three weeks old. This has been an ongoing issue with months and I TRIED to not say anything and even walk away in order to be civil but my mom and sister kept pressing me for an answer.

Commenter (part of a longer comment): why didn't Jack just let his mother come anyway? I'm amazed he put up with that bullshit, he sounds like a treasure of a husband and Eve really screwed herself by treating him and his family like that.

OOP: Because it was just supposed to be one week. No one saw this accident coming and Jack didn't want to stress out my sister (who had just even birth). He was trying to respect her wishes and got screwed over because of it.

Commenter: The fact that your sister wouldn’t even allow a FaceTime? That’s some RIDICULOUS PETTY BULLSHIT. She deserves to be a struggling single mom for that choice alone. I wouldn’t blame jack for being the type of coparent who will only coparent thru a phone app. JFC

OOP: Yeah I think her being pregnant made her lose touch with reality and logic a little bit. She's usually understanding and reasonable.

Eve's apologies/Mom's apologies:

OOP: From what she told me it was a "I'm sorry I did x" the first time and then "I'm sorry but I didn't know that y would happen" and then "I'm sorry but we can..."
OOP: My mom did reach out to give her condolences for Jack's mom's passing but I don't know if she apologized for insisting on being the first grandparent to see the baby. Also I know that Eve apologized at least three separate times but it could've been more. I honestly don't know.

OOP is voted NTA
Update Post: June 2, 2024 (almost 2 months later)
Hey!
It's been a couple of weeks and due to people still occasionally asking I thought I'd give a people some quick updates to the situation. Here are the basic bullet points:

• My sister has now been officially diagnosed with Postpartum Depression and that is the trump card/Hail Mary of the situation.
• My sister and her husband are living together again and in couple's therapy.
• My sister is in individual counseling.
• My niece has now been officially introduced to a few members of her paternal size and they all love her.
• Jack's family have ceased their negative comments about my sister but she says that they're still pretty formal and distant towards her. I honestly don't know if she'll ever be in their good graces again and will only put up with her for my BIL and niece's sake.
• My niece's name first and middle is going to be legally changed to whatever Jack wants.
• For the next five years BIL's side of the family is getting priority when it comes to any and all holidays.
• My mom will be on a strict info diet when it comes to the baby. No pictures unless Jack approves.

This is all I know for right now and my mom is NOT happy with any of this and is calling Jack a controlling AH but my sister is holding firm in an effort to save her marriage. She claims that BIL and her are making progress in counseling and I hope for her sake that it's true. It's gonna suck not being able to see my niece as much as I wanted for the next possible few years but compared to never being able to see her at all (like Jack's mom) it is what it is. I know a lot of you may not be happy with this update but it is what it is for now.
Relevant Comments:
OOP's thoughts:

I won't deny that Jack is taking full advantage of Eve's willingness to do whatever it takes to save the marriage, but Jack has never come off as a controlling person in the past (I mean he didn't put up any opposition to Eve's requests/demands since finding out she was pregnant) but Eve has a support system if she feels like it's getting to be too much.
I'm not going to get involved until I suspect violence.
(to a different commenter): I won't deny that Jack is taking advantage of the situation. He's hurt and angry and very resentful. He laid out his terms and Eve is agreeing to them. Plus they're in counseling. It's not ideal but it is what it is.

Commenter: It doesn't read to me that OP is being restricted. OP is free to visit their niece. Jack's family just gets priority for holidays and it seems like OP's family assumed that they would get majority of them (hence "won't see kid as often as I'd like to").

OOP: Yes. It's just the holidays for our side of the family. Right now I could drive up to see my niece so long as a call first.

Commenter: What is the issue with the baby’s name? Was Jack railroaded over that as well?

OOP: From my understanding Eve got pick the first name and Jack got to pick the middle name (from a list of names that Eve had), and my niece took Jack's surname.
(to a different commenter): To appease Jack. He didn't really get much of a say over naming the baby. My sister really played the whole "I'm the one carrying the baby" card.

Commenter: I don't get why your contact with your niece have to be limited? I'm not sure the marriage will last anyway, with these conditions.

OOP: Right now it seems like Eve is just doing whatever she has to do to keep Jack from leaving her as well as getting back on Jack's family's good side.

Commenter: I don't how I feel about this. Changing the baby's name after a year to whatever the husband wants? Priority for holidays for five years? No pictures for your mom unless Jack approves of it? This seems like jumping from the frying pan directly into the fire. If these are the terms set up by Jack in order to "save" the marriage...one, I doubt the marriage counselor knows about these specific ones I mentioned and two, is it even worth saving? Your sister has no autonomy over their child, no autonomy over her schedule, no ability to share a photo with her mother. You have limited contact with your niece. Who really won here other than Jack and his family who might, someday, be nice to your sister?
Yes, your sister was wrong in the original post. Of course she was. But not ONE things on this list can change what happened. Not one. And this parts of this list sound like they could lead to some DV situations in the future on Jack's part. Isolation from support systems is one of those factors.

OOP: Jack's mom suddenly passed away, and she was a loving and sweet person. I wouldn't exactly call it a "win."
Also from what Eve has told me it's not "isolation" so much as strict boundaries. Eve said that these restrictions were only for the baby and that she's able to still have regular contact with whoever she chooses.

Commenter: yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikes. what a hard overcorrection.
i can't imagine them ever getting back on the right footing again after this. eve will lose herself with guilt and trying to keep the family together and jack will lose himself in trying to forgive but also punish eve for what he lost. at that point it's not two people in love, it's just two people filled with resentment and "trying to make it work".

OOP: They're going to couple's counseling is all I can respond with. We'll see what happens.

Commenter: OP sounds disgusting too, calling PPD a “card” sister will play. Shame on you, OP.

OOP: I referred to it as a card because of how my sister is using her diagnosis with Jack. She literally said "he can't be angry with me I have PPD."
(in response to someone asking if she really has it): No, it's real and I do believe her because her personality did change the further she got into her pregnancy. It's just the way my sister is using her diagnosis that made me word it the way that I did. She's very "he can't stay angry with me I have PPD" and "he has to forgive me I'm not mentally well."

Commenter: Is the postpartum diagnosis is what made him to be willing to work it out? Not sure how that was connected to what she did.

OOP: I mean, he wasn't open to couple's counseling BEFORE the official diagnosis.

​

I applaud all of you truly seeking recovery from pornography. The hold it has on you mentally and physically is understandably excruciating. The effects it has on your relationships more than likely is also excruciating, even devastating.
I hope you don't mind me writing this here as I would like to provide insight as to the damaging effects it has on men, women, families. I also pray that a Christian man with long term recovery (I've seem several men explaining their history, ill effects, guidance, encouragement) under his belt reaches out to offer him support, even if a comment. Therapy is far too expensive in our state, he has no socials to seek a mentor on his own.
I am the wife of a 33 year old porn addict that has been in and out of recovery since his 20's. He has been using since he was a young teenager. He understands that lusting after other woman is cheating and adultery.
My husband is only just beginning to piece together over our hundreds on coversations just how much of his life it has robbed him of. So much time has been spent watching abhorrent and fake situations, fake women, unrealistic sex. He doesn't comprehend foreplay, he is learning that it isn't just kissing her neck for a few seconds while grabbing her ass and then slamming a chub (thanks PIED) into a dry woman and leaving micro tears isn't foreplay at all and that the woman isn't at all turned on enough. That the sex he learned is lack luster and lacking true intimacy and romance. That the PIED stems from him not getting the same dopamine rush of new girl, new girl, new outfit, new pose, new whatever. He is just beginning to understand it destroys his true attraction. His emotional maturity is that of a 15 or 16 year old. The temper tantrums withdrawl induces are heart breaking to witness, it's heart breaking to hear him crave other women and actively seek them on the phone or out in public. He never fell in love with a hobby or developed a skill.
Betrayal trauma is real. It beats us women down mentally. It truly causes insecurities with bodies, the idea of us never being good enough is solidified with each and every relapse. Each and every time we attempt sex and he goes soft. Woman feel a level of rejection that men cannot comprehend when we say no to sex. It's difficult when we see what he looks at on his phone, when our minds run with the question of "what does he seek?" If we dont know, it's absolutely devastating to watch him check out women in public because "all guys do it". (No, there a millions of men that posses self control, self respect, respect for their woman. They dont all walk down the street with an over sexualized mind looking for their next hit, I digress) You are not only showing us what you lust after and provide us a real life women that we are comparing ourselves too and ultimately competing with. Then you turn around and tell us to "get over it", "I go to bed with you every night", "your so insecure, its not like im f* her"🤮. When you drop subtle hints about makeup, hair, outfits, mannerisms, getting plastic surgery to fit whatever mold that is not us, we know it comes from you porn. We know we are yet again being compared. We feel as though you have only settled for us as you can do "so much better".
When you are with a partner, married or not, there should be no competition. Men should not be creating such insecurity for the woman they love. Men should not be manipulating them, gaslighting, go into full fledged DARVO loops to protect their teenage heart and mind from losing what has destroyed them.
My husband started truly seeking recovery in Jan of 2023 and has been hard core porn free since. Slow attempts at rewiring his brain from such fantasies and bringing him down to just him and I and what he is actually feeling and living. He did well but he was using me up until the fantasies he had in his warped mind became far too twisted for the Christian wife he had sought and married. (I know he wasn't on hard core as Truple is in place, finances absolutely prevent gimme from obtaining a second device, and he is always hinest abiut relapse situations) That changed my respect and trust in him. What else is he capable of? I don't know the man I married was a daily - moment to moment thought. I shared the reboot process, reviewed his need to get his brain out of fantasy world and bring him to reality and he went off all socials. The changes were astounding. My husband was returning and apolegetic and again apologizing for being an addict,, he penis began functioning correctly again and it became what it should have been - longer, more girth. He regained the ability to orgasm by something other than his own hand and various positions. Then the ferocious withdrawls hit 2 months later. The change in him was immediate, his mood, anger, desires all exploded and I felt I knew him even less. It took months of arguing, his performance issues, the change in me he had provoked and how much it impacted our relationship before he removed all socials again. This cycle went on for months. He is just now learning recovery takes more than just dropping socials. It takes understanding the addiction and what it does to the brain. It takes sitting and processing through all the thoughts and symptoms of withdrawl. Which means actual research, recovery plans, understanding events from childhood and how he used porn to cope and how to develop actually coping skills, how to seek and fulfil his dopamine need with real life, non sexual activities. There is more, but it's hard.
The most recent relapse to soft core thirst traps (it is porn boys) on YouTube shorts that brought me to my breaking point. Well, a little more about that. He made it to month 2 of no phone and all the amazing changes returned. Then a huge stressor knocked gim down. I am 5 months pregnant and just put on pelvic rest as my life and our child's life could end from me orgasming. I very well could bleed to death. His response when I told him was not about his wife or child and our well being. It was a temper tantrum about him not being able to have sex. What was he going to do for the next five months? A few days of me Servicing him while processing my new added elements of hell and very quickly came down to my decision of it's recovery or we divorce so I can protect my mental health and ensure our child is not subject to their fathers addiction and ill effects. (He did come around to talking about the pregnancy and risks and understanding but addiction kept him from allowing it to be the first line of thought. Please do not come at him for being a raging asshole, he can come off that way just like all other addicts. I have clinical experience in the addiction world just not porn, I am a true supporter in giving time, space, patient understanding while attempting to heal from an evil crutch. He is a good man who does adore me outside of the addiction)
He now understands some of what I experience with betrayal trauma, that I can not live in a mental hell he is dragging me through as a result of his addiction. I understand all the negative emotions come from the hold this sick, destructive addiction has on his fragile mind. He now understands HE is the one destroying the marriage and throwing it all away for fake, immoral, broken women that are simply using him for their own benefit. He understands I have given him 100 percent of me, tried to be his morally sound God fearing wife trying to keep us both on the straight path, I've been the diligent helper and provider of wisdom, the de escalator, the logical thinker all while taking the addictions abuse and attempting to keep myself in check mentally and physically. He also doesn't want to be the creepy guy gawking at young women, they very type he yells at other men for when they are checking me out.
If you made it this far, thank you. I'm sorry if this turned out choppy. It's all very complicated. Life is hard enough without a porn addiction. No one deserves this agony. Please, be kind to yourself and do the hard work it takes to truly recover. Apologize to your woman and love her the way she deserves.

I've spent so much time wondering if I'm crazy for distrusting me (former) dentist that I'm not even going to be able to formulate a coherent question. Instead, I'm going to make a sequential list of the relevant events:

1. Early fall: dentist replaces a large amalgam filling in molar 31 (back right side). This filling was *exactly* two years old. I later learned that my insurance will pay for a new filling *exactly* once every two years--although a good filling that's well taken care of typically lasts a lot longer than that. I take good care of my teeth and only have a couple of cavities--but I'm getting ahead of myself.
2. A month later, I returned to the dentist because I had pain in 31 whenever I tried to chew on that side of my mouth. My dentist had warned me that I might have some pain for up to two weeks after the procedure, but this was going on five weeks now. I'd also noticed that it was hard to fit my floss in between 31 and 30. My gums were always sensitive there, and they always bled and often broke the floss. And lastly, it seemed like part of that tooth had actually broken off. A week or two earlier, I'd bit down on what felt like a small rock in my sandwich. Ever since then, it had seemed like part of the cusp that abuts 30 on the buccal side was missing. There was also a new triangular gap that had formed at the base of 31, near the gum. When I tried to show the gap to my dentist, however, she told me she *couldn't see it.* I found this kind of jaw-dropping because I could see the gap so easily. And I'd pointed to it. I'd explained exactly where it was. But she told me I should change my flossing technique and sent me on my merry way. Later, when I was trying to make sense of what had happened in that appointment, I realized that my dentist hadn't even looked at the break with a dental mirror--let alone using any other specialized lenses or equipment.
3. Two weeks later, I called back in a state of exasperation, because I had no idea what more I could do to help my dentist see the break--and yet, the pain when I chewed only got worse. What's more, food not only got caught in the gap. It would also just sit there on the top of my tooth, on the low part where part of the cusp had come off. The dental office got me in a few days later, but once I was there, the dentist denied seeing the break AGAIN! I had to be really persistent and basically just keep pointing and pointing and repeating that she needed to look at the gumline, between the teeth. The FINALLY she acted super excited and pointed to a screen that was showing an image from inside my mouth and told me--as if I didn't know?!--OH, IT'S DOWN HERE! BETWEEN YOUR TEETH!!! And if that was genuine human emotion she was displaying, I must be a robot, because it looked to me like ludicrously unconvincing act I had ever seen. I tried not to roll my eyes, but I also didn't smile--and I could tell she noticed. She then told me that large amalgam filling sometimes cause the tooth to break underneath and recommended I get a crown. Although the crown cost me another $450 (since my insurance only paid half), I quickly agreed. I just wanted the tooth to be fixed and the pain to stop.
4. My dentist then tried to get me to delay the crown until January. This was mid-October. I told her, "My tooth is broken at the gumline. If I wait until January to get it fixed, I'm going to need a root canal." She said, "No. I'm not worried about that because you take excellent care of your teeth!" I insisted on getting the crown as early as possible, so she scheduled the two appointments for late November and early December. This meant I'd have the broken tooth--which I later learned was causing signs of temporary pulpitis--unfixed for another six-plus weeks.
5. In early December, my dentist put on the crown--but she didn't do an x-ray to check them margin.
6. In January, I went in for my 6-month cleaning and told the hygenist I still had pain in 31 and still couldn't chew on it. They got me back in a few days later, and the dentist lowered the crown--which totally fixed the pain. Yay! The dentist also did an x-ray of 31 and saw that it had an open margin. Props to her, I guess, for disclosing this finding to me? She then scheduled me for a replacement crown, which she agreed to do at no additional charge--although she did end up charging my insurance for some of the x-rays necessary for the replacement, which caused me to reach my annual maximum even sooner.
7. A month later, she prepared my tooth for the second crown and as soon as the analgesic wore off, I notice throbbing, overwhelming pain. This pain only got worse over the subsequent two weeks. It turned out that I would need a root canal. Although my dentist admitted that the trauma to the tooth from two crown preps had caused the nerve to die, she did not offer to pay for the root canal. I, therefore, had to use all my insurance money for the entire year--plus another $500 I didn't have--to pay for it.
8. In February, I had another situation with a gap between two different molars that my dentist couldn't see. I got a second opinion and the second dentist could immediately see the problem: the filling in one molar (3?) was pushing too hard into the next tooth (4), wedging the teeth apart. The filling in 3 also had a hole it in, which had caused decay that started on the surface and went all the way through to the side of the tooth, where there were brown spots inside the gap. The second dentist replaced the filling, fixed the contact, and I've had no further problems with 3 and 4! :-)
9. Sometime in March, the first dentist finally places the second permanent crown--after leaving me in a temporary crown for 5 weeks. At this point, there is new decay under the temporary crown, which the endodonist saw when he did the root canal. There is smelly, slimy black stuff all over my tooth, and there is a bright white patch of over-calcification as well as a deep black groove. None of this was there at the first crown prep, when my tooth was entirely smooth and uniform in color. I've been told this is okay, though, because the dentist presumably filled the new cavity before placing the second crown.
10. The second crown isn't great. The cusps are all ground down from the dentist's adjustments, so its not even shaped like a tooth. Without cusps to keep the food in the tooth, it just slides down the outer edge of the tooth straight into my gums. My gums are always irritated around the new crown, and my new dentist says there's en "overhang," which has left a gap just below the gums, where food can get trapped. My new dentist has confirmed that there's no open margin this time, but I'm concerned about the gum irritation and am going to have to have this crown fixed or replaced as soon as I can. (I am a graduate student, so my resources are limited.)
11. This is the real kicker: Like, two days ago (ie in June) I get a letter from this dentists office telling me, "respectfully," to seek dental care elsewhere. The dentist says she believes that "trust" between a dentist and a patient is "essential" and "clearly," trust is lacking here. I had already changed dentists at this point. I'd scheduled a cleaning for this coming July just so the dentist wouldn't know I was leaving until she'd finished replacing my crown. About a month ago, however, the office had called to tell me they'd be closed on the date of my July cleaning and saying I'd need to reschedule. I had done a little happy dance, because I now wouldn't have to call them to cancel my cleaning. I could simply ghost them by never rescheduling that cleaning. I celebrated too soon, though, because apparently they were not done with me. Did my dentist really just pull the old "you didn't dump me, I dumped you" on me?!? In all seriousness, though, that seems pretty sleazy to me to dump a client as soon as you've screwed up her dental work. I mean, yes, I'd also asked my insurance company to verify a couple of her recent claims, which she mentioned in the letter. In fact, I'd asked them to verify her claim, in January, that she'd done a "comprehensive oral exam" precisely because I wanted to be able to get a comprehensive exam from my new dentist--and I KNEW she'd only done a "limited, problem-based exam" in January. (It's weird, though, because my insurance actually pays more for a "limited" exam than for a "comprehensive one." May, though, it looks bad if they do too many "problem-based" exams within a short period of time? Anyway, insurance was no help--probably because why would they care if she billed for the LESS expensive exam?) This is all to say, I was never planning to let this dentist TOUCH my mouth again. Instead, I'm going to pay out of pocket (or, really, on a "Care Credit" card) to get this whole crown redone. At the same time, though, I'd been her patient for 8 years--and the moment I had to follow up with her after a filling with some problems, she sends me a letter of termination? What if I couldn't even get the credit to get this twice-botched crown fixed elsewhere? I guess I'd just have to wait ten years until my insurance would pay 50% of another crown?

Anyway, this dentists letter of termination really got me doubting my own reality and sense of justice here--but maybe that's just because I'm a people-pleaser who can't stand even the slightest insinuation that I've somehow been a bad patient? What I experience really wasn't typical, right? I'm in my early forties, and my dentist kept saying that "as we get older" we start to have more dental problem. But I have like 3-4 cavities total, no other crowns, no previous root canals, and even a family history of "strong enamel." (My 74-year old mother has never even had a single root canal--although she does have a couple of crowns.)
What I want to know is, how common is it for this kind of thing to happen? Also, am I vindictive and terrible if I file a complaint with the local dental board? I kinda just want my money back from that whole crown ordeal at this point--which is still less than the cost of the root canal and all the other visits.

Another one of my essays about being homeless in America.
Let's Take The Escalator
How quickly do things get out of control out here
"Sir," I barely heard the voice through the cacophony of the convenience store. How in the hell could a store be this busy at two am. in a town of this size was a mystery to me. As if everyone living here had set their alarm for this exact time to go out and overpay for stuff that they didn't really need. As for me, I needed hydration, hopefully at a price that would also let me squeeze in a bag of nuts or a candy bar. Anything at all, really. My stomach ceased being particular about twenty-three hours ago, which was ten hours into my non-consensual hunger strike in protest of something. Take your pick and then look the other way.
I already had felt the temperature of the crowd, and it wasn't a comfortable number at all. There was a line that stretched from the register down to the candy aisle that I had to go through to get to the cold drinks. I had already seen other people pass effortlessly through the line as people made safe passage for their fellow insomniacs without needing to be asked, moving out of the way in time that the newly arrived barely broke stride before passing the gap. I watched this miracle of humanity through the front window as I took the last couple of drags from my roll-up cigarette, knocked off the cherry, then reverently placed the last precious bits into my bag of butts before making my way inside. I put on my best 'don't mind me' smile and opened the door. The line immediately tightened up, and that was the only acknowledgment of my existence. I took two steps and had to stop. Apparently, the Red Sea wasn't going to part for me.
"Scuse me," I mustered up as much politeness as I could at that moment, which was more than I wanted. At this point, I had been awake for almost two days and on my feet for the vast majority of that time. The big festival was only three days away, so the city was determined to keep us undesirable on the move and out of sight. It seemed like every time I even thought about resting, there would be a cop five feet away ready to swoop in and tell me to keep moving.
But, as tired and close to the breaking point as I was, I knew better than to lose it. So I put so much sugar in my voice that I risked giving diabetes to the listener. "Excuse me, miss, can I get by?"
I guess that was a major inconvenience, like I had just told her to run to the kitchen and whip me up an omelet, because she let out an exaggerated sigh while rolling her eyes as she made a gap for me to pass. I decided it wasn't large enough and made sure accidentally bump her with No. 7. My tiny little way of saying "fuck you".
My buddy behind me veered right as I went left to the drink cooler, almost feeling the coolness against the back of my throat in anticipation.
"Sir!" This time I heard it, "You, with the green bag!" I stopped and looked back. "You have to leave your bag at the end of the counter." I looked to where she gestured and saw Mike coming out and dropping his weight and thought, 'Thanks for the heads up.'
Smiling, I started for the indicated area, "Not a problem."
"Did you not see the sign on the door?" She said in just such a way that felt both condescending and accusatory at the same time. I glanced at the door and saw at least twenty-five different signs, stickers, and ads plastered over nearly every inch of glass available.
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't take the time out to peruse your fucking door and I'm glad you took the time from your busy day of circling the sky looking for something dead to eat and think of an asshole thing to say even though you clearly saw me doing what you asked me to do already. I bet having sex with you is an emasculating wonderland." ran through my mind like a tornado. "Sorry. I must have missed it." is what actually came out of my mouth.
Then, just as I was congratulating myself on my superhuman level of restraint, I heard her say to a customer, "You know damn well he saw that sign."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, what was that?" Judging by her reaction to my words, she thought her whisper had done the job and was surprised for a second.
"Just sayin'."
Perfect. The perfect retort for that place at that time. I was honestly shocked that she popped that out there. Now, if I speak my mind, then it could come across as me trying to dominate her, giving her every right to feel attacked and lash out, which seemed to be what she wanted me to do right from the start.
But I knew how this would turn out. If I so much as put a sharp edge to my voice then I would be dealing with cops and the best case scenario is being kicked out and told never to return, while the worst is the worst. Every scenario I could imagine meant me leaving here dehydrated to dangerous levels with no other options open this time of night in this town. Would getting this off my chest be worth possible liver and kidney damage going forward? I remembered drinking two twelve ounce bottles of water earlier that day while walking in the heat. I had been drenched in sweat for three days. My urine had been an almost fluorescent orange color since around ten.
This is one of the choices on the homeless menu. Suck it up and move on. In my previous life, I may not have said anything to her. I would have just laughed and walked out the door. Tell myself that I should leave some kind of complaint that I never do, while I drive the thirty minutes to the next open store. That was no choice for me. Another twenty something miles would have been damn near impossible.
So, I did what I had to do. I kissed her ass and got my hydration. I also knew that I had better make my visit short. You never know when that someone will want to challenge you again, having come out on top for the first round often emboldened a person, and they want to revisit that feeling of success while the opportunity is there. Thankfully, this lady was too busy to drag it out any further, and as I got in line, I saw that Mike was already making for the door with his cup of coffee. I don't know how he could drink coffee on a miserable hot night like tonight.
I made my way to the register, and our champion of justice was waiting. I asked her if people stealing with book bags was a big problem there. I couldn't help but notice the proximity to a local high school, and I told her that I sympathized with her trying to get a bunch of high school kids to get with the program. Endearing 101. Find a common enemy.
She said it was the most frustrating part of working there. So, I shared an idea. Limit the number of kids that can enter the store at one time. You would have thought that I had just introduced them to fire or the wheel.
"I bet you that would work like a charm. We can try in a couple of hours with the before school rush." she looked at me and considered my existence for a moment before adding, "Look, I'm sorry about before, but we get a bunch of homeless people in here stealing beer and wine. They also grab our honey buns. Can you believe that? Last week, we only sold twelve out of one hundred and forty-four."
"That's gross."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired."
"Well, the drinks on me for the great tip and because of my attitude, my little make-up gift."
"Sounds good. I appreciate it, but make sure you put a sign on the door so people can see your new policy." I laughed as I walked outside, and looking back, I could see that she was as well. I got No. 7 situated the way he liked to be, and our little two man caravan started across the parking lot in the direction from which we came.
"Hey, man, you want a honey bun or two. I grabbed a shit load while you had Ms. Officer Sedanko distracted. I bet I got twenty of them. You wouldn't believe how many I steal every week."
"I'm betting about a hundred and twenty-four."
"That's oddly specific. But right. Almost down to the number. How'd you know that?"
"Because I used to be a magician. Which reminds me, now that we're out of sight of the store and that woman, I guess I can pull this out." I pulled two bottles of Gatoraide out of my pants waistband. Then I pulled about fifteen assorted candy bars out of my various pants pockets. "Fuck that lady. You know, I wasn't planning on taking anything, but she really pissed me off."
Mike looked at my haul and grabbed a Three Musketeers.