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As someone who has personally struggled with the frustration and discomfort of eczema on the face, I know firsthand how challenging this skin condition can be. The red, itchy patches that characterize this inflammatory skin disease can not only cause physical distress but also take a toll on one's self-confidence. In this comprehensive guide, we'll dive deep into the world of facial eczema, exploring the various triggers that can cause flare-ups and offering practical insights on managing this dermatological condition. Together, we'll uncover the root causes, identify common triggers, and explore effective strategies to soothe and prevent flare-ups, empowering you to take control of your skin health and embrace a better quality of life.

Demystifying Facial Eczema: An Inflammatory Skin Condition

Before we delve into the triggers and management strategies for eczema on the face, let's first establish a clear understanding of what this condition entails. Facial eczema, also known as facial atopic dermatitis, is a chronic inflammatory skin condition that primarily affects the delicate skin on the face. It is characterized by red, itchy, and inflamed patches that can cause significant discomfort and distress for those who experience it.
While facial eczema shares many similarities with eczema that occurs on other parts of the body, the unique challenges posed by the face's sensitive skin and constant exposure to environmental factors make it a particularly tricky condition to manage. The skin on our face is thinner and more delicate compared to other areas, making it more susceptible to irritation and inflammation. Additionally, the face is almost always exposed to the elements, from harsh weather conditions to potential allergens and irritants in skincare products and makeup.
It's important to note that facial eczema is not contagious, meaning you cannot "catch" it from someone else or spread it to others through physical contact. This is a common misconception that often leads to unnecessary stigma and isolation for those living with the condition. In reality, eczema is believed to be caused by a combination of genetic and environmental factors, which we will explore in more detail throughout this article.
The impact of facial eczema extends beyond just physical symptoms. The visible nature of the condition can lead to feelings of self-consciousness, anxiety, and even depression. Many individuals with eczema on the face report experiencing a lower quality of life due to the constant itching, discomfort, and social stigma associated with the condition. This highlights the importance of not only finding effective treatments but also cultivating a strong support system and practicing self-compassion throughout the journey.
As we move forward in this comprehensive guide, we'll arm ourselves with the knowledge and tools needed to better understand and manage facial eczema. By exploring the triggers, symptoms, and management strategies, we'll empower ourselves to take proactive steps towards clearer, healthier skin and a more confident, comfortable life. Remember, while facial eczema can be a challenging condition, with the right approach and mindset, it is possible to minimize flare-ups and embrace a better quality of life.

Unveiling the Culprits: Triggers Behind Eczema Flare-Ups

One of the most crucial aspects of managing eczema flare-ups on the face is understanding the various triggers that can exacerbate symptoms. By identifying and minimizing exposure to these triggers, individuals with facial eczema can take proactive steps to reduce the frequency and severity of flare-ups. Let's explore some of the most common culprits behind eczema on the face.

Allergens: The Immune System's Nemesis

Allergens are substances that can trigger an overreaction in the immune system, leading to inflammation and other symptoms associated with eczema. Common allergens that can cause facial eczema flare-ups include:

1. Dust mites: These microscopic creatures thrive in warm, humid environments and can be found in bedding, carpets, and upholstered furniture. Exposure to dust mite droppings can trigger an immune response in some individuals, leading to eczema symptoms.
2. Pollen: Seasonal allergies to pollen from trees, grasses, and weeds can cause eczema flare-ups, particularly during spring and summer months when pollen counts are high.
3. Pet dander: Dead skin cells and fur from pets can be a potent allergen for some people, triggering eczema symptoms upon exposure.
4. Cosmetics: Certain ingredients in makeup, skincare products, and even sunscreens can cause allergic reactions in sensitive individuals, leading to facial eczema flare-ups.

To minimize exposure to allergens, it's essential to maintain a clean and dust-free environment, using allergen-proof bedding and regularly vacuuming carpets and upholstery. For those with seasonal allergies, monitoring pollen counts and staying indoors on high-pollen days can help reduce the risk of flare-ups. When it comes to cosmetics and skincare products, opting for hypoallergenic, fragrance-free formulas can minimize the chances of an allergic reaction.

Irritants: Disrupting the Skin Barrier

Irritants are substances that can cause direct damage to the skin, disrupting its natural barrier function and leading to eczema flare-ups. Common irritants that can trigger facial eczema include:

1. Harsh soaps and cleansers: Many traditional soaps and cleansers contain harsh surfactants that can strip the skin of its natural oils, leading to dryness, irritation, and eczema symptoms.
2. Fragrances: Synthetic fragrances found in skincare products, laundry detergents, and even scented candles can be a major trigger for facial eczema flare-ups.
3. Excessive washing: While maintaining good hygiene is important, overwashing the face can disrupt the skin's natural balance and lead to dryness and irritation.

To minimize exposure to irritants, it's crucial to adopt a gentle skincare routine that focuses on preserving the skin's natural barrier. This means opting for mild, fragrance-free cleansers and moisturizers specifically formulated for sensitive skin. Avoiding hot showers and baths, which can further dry out the skin, and using lukewarm water instead can also help minimize irritation.

Stress: The Emotional Trigger

Stress is a well-known trigger for many health conditions, and eczema is no exception. When we experience stress, our bodies release cortisol and other hormones that can disrupt the immune system and exacerbate skin inflammation. For those with facial eczema, stress can be a significant trigger for flare-ups, making it essential to prioritize stress management as part of a comprehensive treatment plan.
Effective stress management techniques may include:

1. Relaxation exercises: Deep breathing, meditation, and progressive muscle relaxation can help calm the mind and reduce stress levels.
2. Regular exercise: Engaging in physical activity releases endorphins, which can help reduce stress and improve overall mood.
3. Adequate sleep: Getting enough quality sleep is crucial for managing stress and supporting overall health.
4. Therapy: Cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) and other forms of psychotherapy can help individuals develop coping strategies for managing stress and anxiety.

By incorporating stress management techniques into daily life, those with facial eczema can help minimize the impact of this emotional trigger on their skin health.

Environmental Factors: Weather and Beyond

Environmental factors can also play a significant role in triggering eczema flare-ups on the face. Some common environmental triggers include:

1. Dry weather: Low humidity levels can cause the skin to become dry and irritated, exacerbating eczema symptoms.
2. Cold temperatures: Exposure to cold, harsh winds can strip the skin of its natural oils, leading to dryness and irritation.
3. Excessive sweating: Sweating can irritate the skin and lead to eczema flare-ups, particularly in areas where sweat can become trapped, such as the creases of the neck or behind the ears.

To minimize the impact of environmental factors on facial eczema, it's important to take proactive steps to protect the skin. This may include using a humidifier to add moisture to the air during dry months, protecting the face with a scarf or hat when exposed to cold winds, and changing out of sweaty clothes as soon as possible to minimize irritation.
By understanding the diverse factors that can trigger eczema flare-ups on the face and taking steps to minimize exposure, individuals with this condition can gain greater control over their symptoms and improve their overall quality of life. In the next section, we'll explore the potential link between food allergies and facial eczema.

Can Food Allergies Trigger Eczema Flare-Ups on the Face?

While the relationship between food allergies and eczema is not fully understood, some individuals with facial eczema may find that certain foods trigger or worsen their symptoms. Food allergies occur when the immune system mistakenly identifies a specific food protein as harmful, leading to an allergic reaction.
Common food allergens that have been associated with eczema flare-ups include:

1. Cow's milk: Some individuals with eczema, particularly infants and young children, may be allergic to the proteins found in cow's milk.
2. Eggs: Egg allergies are also common among those with eczema, with symptoms typically appearing within minutes to hours after consumption.
3. Peanuts and tree nuts: Allergies to peanuts and tree nuts, such as almonds and cashews, can cause eczema flare-ups in some individuals.
4. Soy: Soy allergies are another potential trigger for eczema symptoms, particularly in infants and young children.
5. Wheat: Some people with eczema may be sensitive to gluten, a protein found in wheat and other grains, which can trigger symptoms upon consumption.

It's important to note that not everyone with facial eczema will have food allergies, and not all food allergies will trigger eczema symptoms. If you suspect that certain foods may be contributing to your eczema flare-ups, it's essential to work with a healthcare professional, such as an allergist or dermatologist, to properly diagnose and manage any potential food allergies.
In some cases, an elimination diet may be recommended to help identify potential food triggers. This involves removing suspected allergens from the diet for a period of time and then reintroducing them one by one to gauge the body's response. However, it's crucial to undertake an elimination diet only under the guidance of a qualified healthcare professional to ensure that nutritional needs are being met and to minimize the risk of nutrient deficiencies.
By working closely with a healthcare provider to identify and manage any potential food allergies, individuals with facial eczema can take a proactive step towards minimizing flare-ups and improving their overall skin health. In the next section, we'll delve deeper into the root causes of eczema and explore the complex interplay of genetic and environmental factors that contribute to this condition.

Beyond Triggers: Uncovering the Root Cause

While understanding the various triggers that can exacerbate eczema symptoms is crucial for managing flare-ups, it's equally important to explore the underlying root cause of this skin condition. Despite extensive research, the exact cause of eczema remains unknown. However, scientists believe that it is likely a result of a complex interplay between genetic predisposition and environmental factors.

The Genetic Component

Studies have shown that individuals with a family history of eczema, asthma, or hay fever are more likely to develop the condition themselves. This suggests that there may be a genetic component to eczema susceptibility. Researchers have identified several genes that appear to play a role in the development of eczema, particularly those involved in the skin's barrier function and immune response.
One of the most well-studied genes associated with eczema is the filaggrin gene (FLG). Filaggrin is a protein that helps maintain the skin's barrier function, preventing moisture loss and protecting against the entry of allergens and irritants. Mutations in the FLG gene can lead to a deficiency in filaggrin, which in turn can contribute to the development of eczema.
However, it's important to note that not everyone with a genetic predisposition to eczema will develop the condition. Environmental factors also play a significant role in triggering and exacerbating symptoms.

The Environmental Influence

Environmental factors can interact with an individual's genetic susceptibility to trigger the development of eczema. Some of the most common environmental influences include:

1. Climate: Living in areas with low humidity or extreme temperatures can contribute to dry skin and eczema flare-ups.
2. Air pollution: Exposure to environmental pollutants, such as tobacco smoke and industrial emissions, has been linked to an increased risk of developing eczema.
3. Hygiene practices: The "hygiene hypothesis" suggests that a lack of early childhood exposure to certain infections and bacteria may contribute to the development of eczema and other allergic conditions.
4. Stress: As previously mentioned, stress can be a significant trigger for eczema flare-ups, likely due to its impact on the immune system.

The complex interplay between genetic and environmental factors highlights the multifaceted nature of eczema and the importance of a comprehensive approach to management. While we may not be able to change our genetic makeup, we can take steps to minimize exposure to environmental triggers and support overall skin health.
This may involve a combination of lifestyle modifications, such as maintaining a consistent skincare routine, managing stress levels, and optimizing the home environment to minimize allergens and irritants. Working closely with a dermatologist or other healthcare provider can help individuals with eczema develop a personalized management plan that takes into account their unique genetic and environmental risk factors.
By understanding the root causes of eczema and taking a proactive approach to management, individuals with this condition can work towards minimizing flare-ups, improving skin health, and enhancing their overall quality of life. In the next section, we'll explore the common symptoms of facial eczema and how to recognize the signs of a flare-up.

Recognizing the Signs: Symptoms of Facial Eczema

Identifying the symptoms of facial eczema is a crucial step in effectively managing the condition and seeking appropriate treatment. While the severity and specific manifestations of eczema on the face can vary from person to person, there are several common signs and symptoms to look out for.

Itching: The Hallmark Symptom

One of the most prominent and bothersome symptoms of facial eczema is intense itching. The itching sensation can be persistent and often feels uncontrollable, leading to a strong urge to scratch the affected areas. This itching is often worse at night, which can significantly disrupt sleep and contribute to daytime fatigue and irritability.
It's essential to resist the temptation to scratch, as this can further damage the skin, leading to increased inflammation, potential infections, and a worsening of symptoms. Instead, individuals with facial eczema should focus on alternative methods of managing the itch, such as applying cool compresses, using moisturizers, or engaging in relaxation techniques.

Redness and Inflammation: The Visible Signs

In addition to itching, facial eczema is characterized by visible redness and inflammation of the affected areas. The skin may appear swollen, warm to the touch, and even slightly raised. This inflammation is a result of the body's immune response to perceived threats, such as allergens or irritants, and is a hallmark of the skin condition.
The redness associated with facial eczema can be particularly distressing for individuals, as it can be difficult to conceal and may attract unwanted attention or questions from others. The visible nature of the condition can contribute to feelings of self-consciousness and may impact an individual's confidence and social interactions.

Dry, Scaly Skin: The Texture Transformation

As eczema on the face progresses, the affected skin may become dry, rough, and scaly. This change in texture is due to the disruption of the skin's natural barrier function, which leads to increased moisture loss and a reduced ability to retain hydration. The skin may appear flaky or even cracked, which can further contribute to discomfort and itching.
Maintaining proper hydration of the skin is a crucial aspect of managing facial eczema. This involves using gentle, fragrance-free moisturizers to help replenish lost moisture and support the skin's natural barrier function. Consistently applying moisturizer, particularly after cleansing or bathing, can help alleviate dryness and minimize the appearance of flakes and scales.

Blistering: A Rare but Severe Symptom

In rare cases, facial eczema may lead to the formation of small, fluid-filled blisters on the skin. These blisters, also known as vesicles, can be intensely itchy and may ooze clear fluid when scratched or broken. The presence of blisters may indicate a more severe form of eczema or a secondary infection, which requires prompt medical attention.
If you notice the development of blisters on your face in association with eczema, it's crucial to seek prompt medical attention. Your healthcare provider can assess the severity of your condition and recommend appropriate treatment options, which may include oral medications or more potent topical therapies. Blisters can also increase the risk of secondary infections, so close monitoring and proper care are essential.
By familiarizing yourself with the common symptoms of facial eczema, you can better recognize when a flare-up is occurring and take proactive steps to manage your symptoms. Remember, everyone's experience with eczema on the face is unique, and symptoms can vary in severity and presentation. If you're unsure whether your symptoms are related to eczema or another skin condition, it's always best to consult with a dermatologist for an accurate diagnosis and personalized treatment plan.

Taming the Flare-Ups: Effective Management Strategies

Managing eczema flare-ups on the face requires a multifaceted approach that addresses both the physical symptoms and the underlying triggers. By implementing a combination of skincare practices, lifestyle modifications, and medical interventions when necessary, individuals with facial eczema can effectively control their symptoms and minimize the impact of flare-ups on their daily lives.

Moisturizing: The Foundation of Eczema Management

One of the most crucial aspects of managing eczema on the face is keeping the skin properly hydrated. When the skin's natural barrier function is compromised, as is the case with eczema, moisture can easily escape, leading to dryness, itching, and inflammation. By regularly applying moisturizers, you can help replenish lost hydration and support the skin's protective barrier.
When choosing a moisturizer for facial eczema, opt for products that are fragrance-free, hypoallergenic, and specifically formulated for sensitive skin. Look for ingredients like ceramides, glycerin, and hyaluronic acid, which can help attract and retain moisture in the skin. Apply moisturizer liberally and frequently, especially after cleansing or bathing, to keep the skin supple and hydrated.

Gentle Skincare: Avoiding Irritation

In addition to moisturizing, adopting a gentle skincare routine is essential for managing eczema on the face. Harsh cleansers, exfoliants, and other skincare products can strip the skin of its natural oils and exacerbate irritation, leading to more frequent and severe flare-ups.
When cleansing your face, choose a mild, fragrance-free cleanser that won't disrupt the skin's delicate balance. Avoid using hot water, as this can further dry out the skin; instead, use lukewarm water and gently pat the skin dry with a soft towel. Be cautious when introducing new skincare products, and always perform a patch test on a small area of skin before applying them to your face to check for any adverse reactions.

Stress Management: The Mind-Skin Connection

As we've discussed, stress can be a significant trigger for eczema flare-ups, including those on the face. When we're under stress, our bodies release cortisol and other hormones that can disrupt the immune system and exacerbate inflammation in the skin. By incorporating stress management techniques into your daily routine, you can help minimize the impact of stress on your facial eczema.
Effective stress management strategies may include:

1. Relaxation exercises: Deep breathing, meditation, and progressive muscle relaxation can help calm the mind and reduce stress levels.
2. Regular exercise: Engaging in physical activity releases endorphins, which can help improve mood and reduce stress. However, be sure to choose activities that don't excessively irritate your skin, and always shower and moisturize after exercising.
3. Adequate sleep: Getting enough quality sleep is crucial for managing stress and supporting overall health. Aim for 7-9 hours of sleep per night, and practice good sleep hygiene, such as maintaining a consistent sleep schedule and creating a relaxing bedtime routine.
4. Hobbies and social support: Engaging in activities you enjoy and connecting with loved ones can help reduce stress and promote a sense of well-being. Don't hesitate to reach out to friends, family, or a mental health professional for support when needed.

Identifying and Avoiding Triggers: A Proactive Approach

Another key component of managing eczema flare-ups on the face is identifying and avoiding your personal triggers. As we've explored, triggers can vary from person to person and may include allergens, irritants, environmental factors, and even certain foods.
To pinpoint your triggers, consider keeping a symptom diary, where you track your flare-ups and note any potential contributing factors, such as skincare products used, environmental conditions, or stressful events. Once you've identified your triggers, take steps to minimize your exposure, such as using hypoallergenic skincare products, maintaining a consistent environment, or avoiding certain foods.
It's also essential to work closely with your dermatologist or allergist to rule out any potential allergies or sensitivities that may be contributing to your facial eczema. They can perform tests to identify specific allergens and provide guidance on avoidance strategies.

Medications: When Extra Support is Needed

In some cases, lifestyle modifications and gentle skincare alone may not be enough to effectively manage eczema on the face. When flare-ups are severe or persistent, your dermatologist may recommend medications to help control inflammation and alleviate symptoms.
Topical corticosteroids are often the first line of treatment for facial eczema. These medications work by reducing inflammation and itching, allowing the skin to heal. However, long-term use of topical corticosteroids on the face can lead to side effects like skin thinning, so it's crucial to use them as directed by your dermatologist and not exceed the recommended duration of treatment.
Other medications that may be prescribed for facial eczema include:

1. Topical calcineurin inhibitors: These non-steroidal medications, such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, can help reduce inflammation and itching without the risk of skin thinning associated with corticosteroids.
2. Oral antihistamines: These medications can help reduce itching and improve sleep quality, which is essential for managing eczema symptoms.
3. Oral corticosteroids: In severe cases, your dermatologist may prescribe a short course of oral corticosteroids to quickly reduce inflammation and control symptoms. However, long-term use of oral corticosteroids can have significant side effects, so they are typically reserved for acute flare-ups.

It's essential to work closely with your dermatologist to develop a personalized treatment plan that takes into account the severity of your symptoms, your medical history, and any potential side effects of medications. With the right combination of skincare, lifestyle modifications, and medical interventions, it is possible to effectively manage eczema on the face and minimize the impact of flare-ups on your daily life.

Consulting a Doctor: Importance of Professional Guidance

While understanding the triggers and management strategies for eczema on the face is crucial, it's equally important to recognize when professional medical guidance is necessary. Consulting with a dermatologist or other healthcare provider who specializes in skin conditions can provide invaluable support and expertise in managing your facial eczema.
One of the primary reasons to seek professional guidance is to ensure an accurate diagnosis. While the symptoms of eczema may seem straightforward, other skin conditions like psoriasis, seborrheic dermatitis, or contact dermatitis can present with similar signs and require different treatment approaches. A dermatologist can perform a thorough evaluation, including a physical exam and possibly skin biopsies or allergy tests, to determine the specific type of eczema you're experiencing and rule out other potential conditions.
In addition to diagnosis, a dermatologist can provide personalized treatment recommendations based on the severity of your symptoms, your medical history, and your individual needs and preferences. They can prescribe medications, such as topical corticosteroids or calcineurin inhibitors, and offer guidance on proper application and potential side effects. They can also recommend skincare products and practices that are best suited for your specific type of facial eczema.
Another benefit of working with a dermatologist is access to more advanced treatments when necessary. In severe or treatment-resistant cases of eczema, your doctor may suggest phototherapy, which involves exposing the skin to controlled amounts of ultraviolet light to reduce inflammation and itching. They may also prescribe systemic medications, such as oral corticosteroids or immunosuppressants, for short-term control of acute flare-ups.
Regular check-ins with your dermatologist can also help you stay on top of your eczema management and address any concerns or changes in your symptoms promptly. They can monitor your progress, adjust your treatment plan as needed, and provide ongoing education and support to help you feel more in control of your condition.
It's important to remember that finding the right dermatologist may take some time and effort. Look for a provider who has experience treating eczema and other skin conditions, and don't hesitate to ask questions about their approach to treatment and management. A good dermatologist will take the time to listen to your concerns, explain your options clearly, and work collaboratively with you to develop a plan that meets your needs.
In addition to working with a dermatologist, consider seeking support from other healthcare professionals who can contribute to your overall eczema management. For example, an allergist can help identify potential allergens that may be triggering your flare-ups, while a mental health professional can provide strategies for coping with the emotional impact of living with a chronic skin condition.
Remember, you don't have to navigate the challenges of facial eczema alone. By building a strong support system that includes both professional guidance and personal support from loved ones, you can feel more empowered and equipped to manage your symptoms effectively and live your best life with eczema.

Beyond Treatment: Living with Facial Eczema

While finding effective treatments and management strategies is crucial for controlling eczema on the face, it's equally important to acknowledge the broader impact this chronic skin condition can have on an individual's quality of life. Living with facial eczema often involves more than just managing physical symptoms; it also requires developing coping strategies, building resilience, and learning to navigate the emotional and social challenges that can arise.
One of the most significant challenges of living with facial eczema is the impact on self-esteem and body image. The visible nature of the condition can lead to feelings of self-consciousness, embarrassment, or even shame, particularly in social situations or when meeting new people. It's essential to remember that eczema is not a reflection of your worth as a person, and that true friends and loved ones will see beyond your skin and value you for who you are.
To help build self-confidence and cope with the emotional impact of facial eczema, consider practicing self-compassion and positive self-talk. Remind yourself that you are more than your skin condition, and that your experiences with eczema have likely given you unique strengths and perspectives that others may not have. Surround yourself with supportive people who uplift and encourage you, and don't hesitate to reach out for professional support from a therapist or counselor if needed.
Another important aspect of living well with facial eczema is learning to adapt your daily routines and practices to minimize flare-ups and discomfort. This may involve making changes to your skincare regimen, such as using gentle, fragrance-free products and moisturizing frequently, as well as adjusting your diet and lifestyle to avoid potential triggers.
It can also be helpful to develop a "toolkit" of coping strategies and self-care practices that you can turn to when eczema symptoms flare up or stress levels rise. This might include relaxation techniques like deep breathing or meditation, distracting activities like reading or listening to music, or physical comforts like cool compresses or soothing baths.
In addition to personal coping strategies, connecting with others who understand the challenges of living with eczema can be a valuable source of support and encouragement. Consider joining a local support group or online community for people with eczema or other chronic skin conditions, where you can share experiences, exchange tips and advice, and feel less alone in your journey.
Remember, living well with facial eczema is an ongoing process that requires patience, self-compassion, and a willingness to adapt and learn as you go. By developing a strong support system, practicing effective self-care, and staying proactive in your eczema management, you can cultivate resilience and find ways to thrive despite the challenges of this chronic condition.
It's also important to keep in mind that while eczema may be a lifelong condition, it doesn't have to define or limit you. Many people with eczema go on to lead full, active, and fulfilling lives, pursuing their passions and goals with confidence and determination. By focusing on your strengths, cultivating a positive outlook, and taking proactive steps to manage your symptoms, you too can embrace a life of purpose and joy, even with facial eczema.

As the inspiring words of Lao Tzu remind us, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." No matter where you are in your eczema journey, know that every small step you take towards understanding, managing, and coping with your condition is a step in the right direction. With time, patience, and self-compassion, you can learn to navigate the ups and downs of life with facial eczema and emerge stronger, wiser, and more resilient than ever before.

Conclusion: Embracing Confidence with Managed Facial Eczema

As we've explored throughout this comprehensive guide, eczema on the face is a complex and multifaceted condition that requires a holistic approach to management. By understanding the underlying causes, recognizing common triggers, and implementing effective treatment strategies, individuals with facial eczema can take control of their symptoms and improve their overall quality of life.
It's important to remember that while eczema flare-ups can be frustrating and challenging, they do not define you as a person. With the right tools, support, and mindset, it is possible to manage this condition effectively and embrace a life of confidence and fulfillment.

As the inspiring words of Lao Tzu remind us, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Whether you're just starting your eczema journey or have been navigating this condition for years, every small step you take towards understanding, managing, and coping with your symptoms is a step in the right direction.

So, to all the facial eczema warriors out there, I encourage you to stay curious, stay proactive, and stay compassionate with yourself. Surround yourself with a supportive network of loved ones and healthcare professionals who can guide you along the way, and never hesitate to reach out for help when you need it.
Remember, you are not alone in this journey, and there is always hope for clearer, healthier, and more comfortable skin. By embracing the power of knowledge, self-care, and a positive outlook, you can learn to thrive and flourish, not just despite your eczema, but because of the strength, resilience, and wisdom it has given you.

Key Takeaways

• Facial eczema is a chronic inflammatory skin condition characterized by redness, itching, and dry, scaly patches on the face.
• Common triggers of eczema flare-ups include allergens, irritants, stress, and environmental factors.
• Effective management of facial eczema involves a combination of gentle skincare, trigger avoidance, stress reduction, and medical treatment when necessary.
• Working closely with a dermatologist is crucial for accurate diagnosis, personalized treatment, and ongoing support.
• Developing coping strategies, building a strong support network, and practicing self-compassion are key to living well with facial eczema.
• While there is no cure for eczema, with proper management and a positive outlook, it is possible to achieve significant symptom relief and embrace a life of confidence and fulfillment.

Read more: https://miraridoctor.com/what-causes-eczema-flare-ups-on-face/

The 'tism is currently kicking my butt. The feeling of being sweaty and having it drip down my chest and back + my clothes being damp from it is sensory Hell. Don't even get me STARTED on underboob sweat 💀 I've been on T for a year and a half now and have unfortunately inherited my father's sweat-like-a-pig gene. It's started getting up to the mid-80s here already and I've had to quit mid-routine a couple times already this week to take a shower because the sensations would put me on the verge of/cause a meltdown. Tips/advice would be greatly appreciated.

Hi, my cat is 9 years old. I have had her since she was born to a stray in my backyard. She's a shorthair mix. She got some Siamese genes from her mom and her dad was a massive striped orange bastard.
She has no history of medical problems. She is an indoooutdoor cat, mostly because of the circumstances when she was young. She has always gone in and out. We live upstairs in an apartment complex with a huge yard and there is no real risk of her getting hit by a car or bitten by a dog. If we try to keep her in or out she makes a huge scene. She is quite spoiled and very loved.
Over the last few months she has started peeing outside the litter box to the point where we now have a vet visit scheduled for this weekend. She is losing weight but is so hungry all the time; she is eating about 3-4 times the amount of food that she used to. She also appears to be drinking more water. She used to do her business outdoors most of the time but now she comes inside to use the bathroom. If my husband or I have left any soft clothes or towels on the floor she will definitely pee on them. She goes inside the bathroom and pees right on the linoleum. She pees on the litter catcher mat outside of her litter box. We haven't been able to keep a bath mat because she will pee on it.
At first we believed it was behavioral because we saw no other symptoms, but now we are noticing the major change in appetite, thirst and begging for food, including foods she never used to beg for. She is just so hungry. I wonder if she could have diabetes. I don't know what to do. There doesn't seem to be any pain anywhere and she's not vomiting and doesn't seem lethargic. This is making us miserable and worried. What does this sound like and what can I do for her until her vet visit this weekend?

I'm not going to post pics because herself is still lacking an outfit and I'm not really up to it today but the Class Act Delilah Noir that I snagged last week for a song turned out to be an interesting variant. CA Delilah has black finger nail polish and either black or pink toe polish depending on whether she has flat or heel feet. She always has the berry-ish pink lipstick, light tan older, heavier body which has the breasts further apart.
Two collections of Delilah Noir dolls I've never seen one like the one I just got. First off she is in that original CA costume. You can tell it's likely the costume she originally came in because she still had paper on her legs and arms under the clothes. That means it wasn't likely a later doll with a swapped outfit but her polish on both hands and feet is black and she's on the later body which wasn't even developed when the original CA doll was made. She's also got a light tan that is a bit different shade than the original doll but that doesn't entirely match the later tan dolls I have like the Steampunk or It's 10 O'clock doll.
So either they had a second run of the original doll and replaced her old body with the new one, or this doll is her own entity entirely for some reason. There were a lot of issues with the first CA doll on the original body staining from the costume. So I'm wondering if when they came out with the new body the next year they just swapped out the body on any older dolls they had still left in stock?
I still like her. She's a Delilah but I'm a bit disappointed because the CA doll is supposed to be on the older and IMHO better body and I prefer it to the lighter slimmer newer one. She's in nice shape. There's not a mark on her but she's not quite the doll I thought I was buying. It's very odd to have the same original doll but with a different body. I thought they only issued the original doll once but clearly not if this girl exists with the later body.
I checked her dating info under the velcro on her head but they don't say anything different from my other CA Delilah dolls. The Delilah Noir head mold was copyrighted in 2009 and all the dolls say that so far as I know. There are no # in series numbers for each doll on the dolls like say with Gene dolls. Her nails are actually not that well done for a Delilah Noir doll but her mouth paint is pretty standard a tad bit lighter than the mouth on my other CA dolls and the Steampunk dolls I have.
All these dolls later and I still ran into one that made me go "Hmmm?"
It's interesting.
I've had at least 5 of this doll at different times. I own two now besides this one. They were all pretty much the same. Old body, tan skin a bit darker than this one, fingernails black, heel toenails pink, flat feet toenails black. She didn't come with the extra heeled feet so it may be the person who owned her swapped out the heeled feet with a pair flat ones that matched the finger paint but that doesn't explain the newer body.
I'm figuring they must have continued offering the original doll but on the new body for a while? The doll was sold at Ashton Drake and at the Bradford Exchange, also at quite a few independent doll shops at the time. So it could be that there were different runs for different retail locations and that the dolls were not just offered in sequence as at the Bradford Exchange.
Well, it doesn't matter because ultimately she's getting a bit of a redo anyway. I'm going to change her nails to match the outfit I am going to use on her. Probably swap her brown eyes for green as I've already got a couple with the brown eyes and several with blue.
All the Delilah dolls I've owned though you'd think I'd have seen it all... 😂
Pics when I finish her...

My normal posts are 2-5 paragraphs. This is long because it's a starter.
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The sloping ground around the Kiaurk family mesa had been sculpted into shelves or terraces, and it was on one of those upper terraces that Kiaurk Nshurr now lounged beneath a pergola anchored to the striated stone face behind her. The mesa rose at her back: an enormous, looming, almost sheer outcrop that her family's dwellings had been carved into the face of. Wide, shallow steps cut into the artificial (but entirely convincing) sandstone wound their way up between landings and porticos leading inward, between tiny balconies shaded by bright solid-colored canopies, between rooms with flat walls and rounded corners that came jutting out to shadow the steps below. Rriigkhans rarely used glass as window barriers; smooth-edged holes had been cut through the rock in varying shapes and sizes. It could be difficult to tell which apertures were windows and which were entryways. A physical barrier that kept out the elements was obsolete in all but the crudest dwellings, though some of these larger holes were curtained with braided string or strips of cloth that served a purely decorative purpose.
From her high vantage point Nshurr could see the shelves stretching out below her as the base of the mesa leveled out to flattish terrain that was a wonderland of vegetation in muted rainbow colors: mustard yellows, clay reds, earthy browns and the occasional dash of sage or dusty blue. This scrubland lay like a blanket around everything below that was not part of the village between the mesas. Down there, adobe compounds never taller than two or three storeys seemed so squat compared to the mesas that Nshurr could see towering in the distance, many of those family mesas only a few hours walk from her own if she traveled by foot. The village sprawled, with tile parkways winding in serpentine fashion between the various buildings, courtyards, parks, and ponds. There were no property lines, no clear division of the land into neat little plots owned by the individuals who lived and worked in these places. It all seemed to be part of a whole, with a single unifying aesthetic. The village housed those rriigkhans of the lower castes, the kharratah and chelhautah, and the humans which were a caste all their own, haukagh-ar, except for a small number who lived with their masters in the caverns of the mesas or up on the plateau.
This planet, Sgarrl, terraformed over three hundred years ago, was home to more human servants than any other Ssaarian world – aside from Earth, of course, discovered eighty years ago. The fact that humans shared so much in common with rriigkhans made them the perfect species to incorporate into the rriigkhan caste structure as servants. They breathed the same mix of gases and required similar gravities, and their nimble little fingers were very useful for all sorts of work.
The rriigkhan language was not necessarily too complex for humans, but it was wholly unfamiliar – too many phonemes that did not fit comfortably in human mouths, from grunts to huffs, to rolling trills that might by voiced or not, sometimes rumbling out like a purr. To a human, Nshurr's name was a sigh and a trill, and yet she was accustomed to humans vocalizing her name in their heavy, slurring way: Na-Shuurr! Nasher! Sometimes simply: ɽ͡r! which she recognized more easily as her name, or at least part of it, and not some random sounds.
Still, despite the weird pidgin humans had made of her language and their English, she liked the little creatures. She had come to live with her Grandmother on Sgarrl only days ago, and had never encountered them before. The males only stood as tall as her collar. The females were shorter still, much like the males of her own species.
To human eyes Nshurr was felinoid, with a muscular swimmer's body and the broad muzzle of a big cat, with watchful, forward-facing predator's eyes that seemed unexpectedly expressive, because rriikghans had almost as many muscles around their eyes as humans did around their mouths to convey the nuances of emotion. Despite being larger than even many Earth men, she was considered sleek by rriigkhan standards. She made up for that with her broader crest.
The rriigkhan crest was something like the crest of Utahceratops – a keratinized plate growing up out of the skull, except divided into three lobes instead of two, with scalloped edges along the outer rim. Unlike depictions of Utahceratops, the rriigkhan crest was not covered by skin. At least, not on the top. Thick ropy veins squiggled under velvet fur on the underside, closer to the neck. (A thick, arching neck muscular enough to support the weight of that crest meant that Rriigkhans walked with a stoop that made them seem hunchbacked, to humans.) The surface of the plate on top was often rough, even bumpy or corrugated like deer antlers in some areas, smooth in others. Every female crest had four tines jutting from the front – a pair several inches above the eyes, and another pair further up. Directly above the lowest set of tines were twin holes, the howrf channels, just big enough for a human to insert a finger. These holes were very much like nostrils – much deeper, but damp inside, and lined with short, fine hairs to protect the sensitive mucous membrane from debris. The organs housed within these channels were the heart of rriigkhan culture, the foundation of all relationships, of sex.
Male rriigkhans, of course, had only their neotonous crests: diminutive, mostly smooth with rounded edges, without tines or howrf channels. Cute.
Nshurr's crest was wider than average, her upper tines spaced further apart, and combined with a compact face this made her look top-heavy. (A human might say that she was more snow leopard than lion.) Most female crests did not interfere with the movement of the ears – highly mobile, highly expressive paddle shaped things – but the edges of Nshurr's crest did jut out enough to almost shield them.
That her crest was weighty, that it was inconvenient, that she was often aware of it – this was Nshurr's pride. Her long tail curled in pleasure when she caught males looking at it. Humans seemed to be intimidated by it sometimes, as if she might decide to gore them with her “horns.” She considered herself a confident person; not a braggart, but self-assured, and to carry her jhekaah so visibly pleased her to no end.
Her fur was an almost peachy off-white, but a mask of pale peach shaded each seafoam green eye. The mask blended into the white further up her forehead until fur gave way to bone-tan crest, and was split between her eyes by the white of her nose. Oblong spots in that same peachy color, each blending from dark to light, streaked down her sides.
These weren't the natural colors of her distant ancestors. It was unheard of to see a rriigkhan who was not gene-modified in some way, even if those modded genes had been part of rriigkhan life for so long that no one thought of them as mods any longer. She also thought nothing of the subtitles her augmented reality implant displayed whenever a human spoke, AI translated to help her decipher the pidgin. AR was simply a part of her, had been since she was a kit.
Reclining as she was on a padded lounger in front of an iron brazier, full of cold ashes from last night's fire, Nshurr was dressed in a pale coral shift only a few shades darker than the peach of her fur. Medallions trailing fringes of cloth had been sewn onto the front bottom half of the knee-length garment. A row of those ornate medallions defined a plunging neckline that bared much of her chest, muscular and broad, possibly even masculine to a human. Her breasts were lower on her body and similar in appearance to a mare's udders: long nipples on a pudge of fat nestled close together on the pelvis, just above the place where her thighs joined her body. They were only small lumps beneath the shift when Nshurr stretched out her legs so that the thin fabric fell across them. It was the roundness of her hips and buttocks that marked her female to the human eye. (As if her crest didn't make that obvious!)
She was listening to the sound of two younger female cousins wrestling on a nearby terrace, and although from her vantage point Nshurr could not see them, she could imagine the scene from what she heard: Fherou and Lahk growling while they grappled with their arms, the crack of crest hitting crest and then the scrape of tine sliding against tine. Each was fighting to control the other's head, each trying to bite the other. It wasn't easy when each had a shaggy ruff to protect her neck, and any attempt to bite the other's face would be thwarted by an interposing crest. Rriigkhan hands were less dexterous than human hands, more pawlike with stubby fingers, but capable of delivering hard blows, and once or twice Nshurr heard a cousin snarl in response to a strike against her body.
The competitive pheromones her cousins exuded from their unextended howrfs, quite unconsciously, were beginning to make Nshurr's own heart beat faster. The end of her long tail, where it hung down from the reclining chair, lashed in agitation. She was beginning to imagine sinking her teeth into someone's skin herself, and if her cousins had not been so much younger and smaller than herself she might have gone down to their terrace to show them a thing or two. It was putting her off the human flute music she'd been listening to, fed directly into her own brain through her implant for her private enjoyment. (Certain aspects of human culture were very popular here on Sgarrl; she'd been curious about it.)
She did not feel like going inside to escape the pheromones; Nshurr craved the warmth of the sun on her fur, not the cool stone and artificial light of those warrens. Most of her male cousins had gone into the village for boating today. Well, perhaps she would go down and join them after all.
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OOC Information:
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For this prompt I imagine you'd play a human servant, probably a new arrival to Sgarrl but maybe someone who was born there. Even though I've set up a situation where my character would have a lot of power and yours very little, I want to clarify that I'm not interested in abusing your character I am looking for a slow burn interspecies romance that develops naturally. This story may deal with power imbalances and even speciesism, but I'd like to explore those topics realistically.
I want to explore all aspects of loving relationship... Flirting, cuddling, kissing, lots of romantic scenes and character growth. My “type” that I'm most attracted to are men with average bodies in the 40-60 age range, with realistic personality flaws. I am more than willing to tailor my character's personality and physical attributes to suit your tastes, within reason. I appreciate partners willing to do the same.
I prefer to reply more than once a day. 2-3 replies per day would be ideal, but I understand life gets in the way. I usually write 2-5 paragraphs, or 150-450 words per post. This starter is much longer than my typical post length, but my lengths vary according to need. If I'm introducing a new character or setting a scene, my post might go up to 1,000 words.
Please send a writing sample if you have none in your post history. No need to custom write anything for me, old samples are fine. Click here to PM me!

This is just a vent. First of all English isn't my native language. Why do I always make my life harder? It's by default hard for someone who was born and raised in the middle east. Then picked one of the most challenging engineering disciplines. Did a masters in Europe and lucky I found a job that after three years I still suck at. Had a girlfriend that broke up with me a year and a half go but not only that she came straight to my face and told me that she slept with another man. I sucked it up and focus on 'working on myself ' no porn no gap. No dating apps. Lose 20kg and stsrt a new hobby and still absolute loneliness. Go out and try to talk to girls and nothing. Download dating apps and nothing. Delete dating apps. Make friends. Go to therapy. Develop and study. For how long can I keep this pressure. As 28 man it feels heavy to always be under pressure to perform. Look jacked, earn money, have decent clothes l, know how to talk to people and more. Stop looking for the one and she will show up. Yes, sure from the sky. Idk I am just born unlucky. Born in the shittest region on the world, born ugly, born with bad genes. Yes, hard work beat talent that's when everyone starts from 0 point not me starting from -1000. It's just a vent.

I've been trying for a while to find a fitting bra. The main reason why I want to wear them is because when I'm wearing thin clothes (in summer for example), my nipples are visible through the cloth, making me very uncomfortable.
I found out that my bandsize is around 83cm and my cup size is AA. It won't change anytime soon since another unwanted gene of mine is making HRT very risky.
For the past few months, I tried various bras through online shopping, but had to return them all since (even after finding out my size) they either wouldn't stay in place or were too tight.
Do you girls have any advice for me? Is there a specific type of bra I should be looking for?

This is the aforementioned wholesome chapter. And it's even more wholesome because Reddit decided not to destroy the formatting this time. Yippie!
Anyway, it's been harder to get back into the swing of things writing wise than I thought, but it is happening. The next chapter after this one is a real treat, because it's a new POV that I really enjoy. Not gonna tell you who just yet, you'll have to wait until next week for that ;)
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Prev - First - Next --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 11: [insert witty chapter title here]
- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 19th, 2136
“It is.” Arlene smiled, close lipped, to spare me from fright.
I felt… better, sitting on the floor, with furniture strewn about like shredded documents, dust caught in my coat, talking with my friend. Yes, friend. I made a friend.
Are you sure?
And if it was an illusion, it was good enough to fall for.
Avoiding death is worth being alone.
Is it?
I hated that I still didn’t feel completely safe around her. My stupid instincts were still flaring up, and I was still having those thoughts. At least I was in control of myself for the moment.
I just need to look at it logically. If she didn’t have empathy, she wouldn’t be able to engage with me on this level. And if it was, improbable as it is, fake, then there would be nothing to gain from acting angry with me. There have been no cases of human on venlil violence. I’ve seen her eat vegetables, so why am I still scared?
“Meba, you there?” Her face was right in front of mine.
I flinched a little. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Well, I was thinking too. We should clean up this mess.”
I looked around at my trashed apartment. “Yes, we probably should.”
Arlene’s strength was impressive, and with her help, we got the heavy furniture righted in no time, and the dressers and drawers back into their spots, the reading chair turned back around, and the books back on the shelf. Underneath where the couch was sitting was the wool doll Arlene gave me. I was sure I left it on a shelf in the bedroom.
“Oh, you found Alexander.” Arlene picked it up off the ground. “You know, he was very grumpy when you left him on the shelf. He’s supposed to be good luck.” She pressed the doll into my paws. “You’re supposed to bring him along with you.”
“Why do you keep calling the doll a ‘he’? It’s not a real person.”
She shrugged. “It makes them cuter. Also humans can make emotional connections with pretty much anything, so that helps too I guess.”
“With inanimate objects?”
“Well, we go crazy pretty quickly if we don’t have company, so in a survival situation people usually draw faces on an object, or talk to an imaginary friend, or something like that.”
I tilted my head. “Humans are pretty lonely, aren’t they?”
She chuckled. “I guess you could say that. We’ve been looking for friends for a pretty long time. Anyway, I expect you to carry him with you from now on. In your bag or something.”
I wondered if she actually thought the doll would somehow protect me, or if it was just a gesture. Somewhere in her voice was glint of seriousness, like it was going to save my life or something. Maybe humans were superstitious? I’d have to ask about that later.
“If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. Now say sorry for leaving him on your shelf.”
I looked up at Arlene. “I’m not gonna do that.”
“Come on, you left him all on his lonesome.” She made some weird expression that was supposed to elicit pity, raising her eyebrows and lowering her lips.
I sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving you on my shelf…”
“Say his name.”
A bloom spread across my face. “Ugh… Alexander.”
“His full name.”
I glared at Arlene. “I’m gonna get you back for this.”
“Sure, sure.” She cooed.
“The brave and respectable Alexander of Sunbrook.” I could feel my brain shriveling up as the words left my mouth.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What just happened does not leave this room.”
“Whatever you say, big man.” She shrugged, stifling a laugh.
I stuffed the doll into my bag, now discovering that my appetite was back, and that I still hadn’t eaten a single thing this paw. My stomach made a noise that was akin to a shadestalker growling at cornered prey. The fruit in my bag, though bruised, was looking very tasty.
Speaking of food.
“Arlene?” I grabbed the fruits out of my bag. “I was meaning to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah?” She was sitting on the couch now.
“I sort of agreed to have a meal with this guy and his exchange partner. I wanted to know if you could come along.”
“Hold on, you agreed to this before you realized I wasn’t trying to eat you?”
My face turned orange again. “W-well, yeah. I was sort of pressured into it.” I fidgeted with my claws. “I was sort of hoping that you would end up fighting each other if he tried anything.”
“Pffft!” She burst out laughing.
“I-I’m sorry… I know it’s stupid.”
She strained to stop. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, that’s pretty ridiculous.”
“Yeah…”
“So, what’s this guy’s name?”
“The venlil’s is Gram, and the human’s is Tommy.”
“Sure, I’ll come along. Just give me a little more of a heads up this time so I can actually get ready.”
“Thank you! I was worried you wouldn’t want to go with me.”
“Of course I do. Who else will protect you from the vile predator?”
“It’s not like that anymore!”
“Meba, I’m just teasing you.”
“O-oh.”
“I’ll stop if you want.”
“No, it’s… I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to act differently around me.”
She smiled, eyes narrowing, in a full face scrunch. “I’m glad we met.”
Through the fear, I felt the same. “Me too.”
I sat down on the couch next to her, and started eating my food.
“You know, I’ve been wondering. Why are you so much fluffier than the other venlil?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen hundreds of different venlil by now, but none of them are really as woolly as you. Lots of them don’t really have wool at all, just normal fur. Also your coat is way darker than others.”
“Oh. It’s because my family was from the night.”
“The night? Oh, duh. I always forget those are places for you. So it’s like an environmental thing?”
“Sort of. My ancestors lived in the night, so we have thicker coats, and darker fur for camouflage. The living conditions while you’re growing up are also a factor, but it’s mostly genes. Day-side venlil usually have more sandy colored coats, and thinner, slicker fur. Those are just extremes though, there’s all sorts of variations in the green.”
“That’s awesome.”
I shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought before. Is my wool really that noticeable?”
“I don’t know about venlil, but to me you stick out like a sore thumb. Your fluff is unmatched. To be honest, it’s hard not to touch it.”
“You have to stop yourself from touching me?”
Her face flushed a pinkish color. “Um, it’s complicated. Er, no it’s not, but I don’t know how to explain it.” She scratched at the back of her head. “When we see cute things, it activates our protective instincts.”
I almost spit out my food. “Protective instincts?”
“Yeah, it makes me want to baby you. Our brains release dopamine when we interact with things we find cute.”
“And this urge is so great that you have trouble keeping it in check?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not hard to ignore, but I do want to pet you.”
“Pet?” I finished my food.
“I did it on the ride back here, but you didn’t like it, so I won’t do it anymore.”
A thought crossed my mind. “If I let you pet me, would this urge be satisfied?”
She knitted her brow. “You don’t have to. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You just startled me last time. I don’t mind. After all, I’ve ‘pet’ you, right?”
“Fair enough.” She smiled.
Arlene raised a hand towards my head, and I flinched, though I was trying not to. She paused, then retracted her hand.
“Meba, it’s not a big deal. I don’t have to pet you.”
I grabbed her wrist. I wasn’t going to let my instincts get the better of me. “Yes you do.” I pulled her hand back towards my head.
She sighed. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Nuh uh.” I replied.
Arlene rested her hand on the top of my head. “Yuh huh.” She started ruffling my fur, going back and forth, eventually moving her hand back behind my ears, and scratching me with her dull claws. She switched to the other ear, then moving slowly back up my scalp.
“W-whoa…” I stammered out, completely stunned by pleasant sensation.
“Feel good?” Arlene brought her other hand to my face, and grasped both my ears, gently massaging the areas around them, using just the right amount of force.
My brain drained itself of any latent fear chemicals, as I instinctually leaned into the contact. “Myeah.” The word came out almost slurred.
I closed my eyes, full of bliss. Arlene put a hand on my back, kneading around my shoulder blades, while the other found its way under my chin, scratching again with those dull nails that felt so nice. Stress that I didn’t even know I had was draining out of the myriad bottles it was stuffed in. Before I knew it, my bones were turning to slush, and my muscles were unraveling into piles of yarn. I started drooping, and soon splayed out on the couch.
Once I was laying down, she switched to long slow passes all the way from my crown of my head to my lower back, with fingers running through wool so gently you’d be forgiven for missing it.
This is to lower your guard, so she can eat you! Surely! Any second now… any second. Okay, maybe not. This is pretty nice actually.
In my chest, old gears strained to turn, fibers twitched, testing their give, and dusty muscles started rumbling, reverberating out from the trunk, to the ribs, bouncing off each bone, rattling the jelly that was now my skeleton, and escaping out of my chest, making a sound I hadn’t since before I moved to Sunbrook. I hadn’t felt this calm in so long.
She paused. “Oh my god, are you purring right now? Do venlil purr?”
I opened an eye, slightly annoyed that she stopped. “Some of us. It’s a genetic thing.”
Arlene’s jaw dropped, and for a second I thought it would continue falling all the way to the floor. “It is a good thing, right?”
“Yes.” My tail was betraying my impatience for more. “Can you continue?”
She continued with the same long strokes down my back. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve such bliss.”
“Mmm…” I wasn’t really listening.
“It’s like someone designed you to be the cutest living thing possible.”
I might have bloomed if I wasn’t basically unconscious by this point. I think my brain was next on the list of things to melt. Whatever I was thinking about before dissolved like salt stirred in warm water.
She continued for what felt like forever. Almost. Sadly, the experience wouldn’t last forever.
I looked up at her. “Why’d you stop?”
“My arms are tired.”
Dang.
“Dang.” I collected my resolve, and peeled myself off the couch, back to a sitting position. “Can all humans do that?”
“Yes.”
“Are humans magic?”
“Maybe a little.” She chuckled.
This isn’t so bad.
“So, you’re satisfied?”
“Yes, very.”
I kicked my legs against the couch, head empty.
What now?
“I’ve still got a bunch of time, since the bookstore is closed. Do you want to do something?”
“Oh, that reminds me. I was going to teach you how to crochet.” She stood up from the couch. “Let me pop over to my apartment real quick and grab some yarn.”
I grabbed her by the coat. “Wait, the exterminators might still be lurking.”
Her smile disappeared. “Really?”
“Maybe. Let me check the hallway.” I made my way to the door and, after undoing the locks, took a peak down both ends. The hallway was empty, with no signs of activity. “I think it’s safe.”
“Okay,” She slid past me. “be back in a jiffy.” She took one large step, and shoved her key into the lock, getting past the door just as fast.
And a few paws ago, I would have been the one calling the exterminators.
I shut the door, leaving it unlocked so she could get back in. A few moments later, the door opened with a soft click, followed by footsteps.
“Sorry that took so long. I didn’t remember where I put the hooks, so I had to dig through a bunch of drawers.” She held in her hands a ball of yarn, and a set of metal sticks.
“No worries. What are those for?”
“Crochet. It’s kinda like knitting.”
“What’s knitting?”
She smirked. “It’s kinda like crochet.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“You’ll get it soon.” Arlene sat down on the couch, setting the yarn on the ground. “Do you know how to tie a slip knot?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” She took the yarn in one hand, making a loop, giving it a half turn, then grabbing the standing end and pulling it through in another loop. “Like that. If you pull on the end,” Arlene pulled on the standing end, and the loop shrunk until it unraveled. “it comes undone. Give it a try.” She handed me the yarn.
“I’ll try.” I took the yarn in both hands, mimicking the loop, then grabbing the yarn and pulling it through, but the loop came undone as soon as I did so, a look of utter confusion growing on my face.
Arlene giggled. “You gotta grab the other line. It’s gotta cross over itself or there’s nothing to hold it in place.”
I bloomed a little, retrying and pulling the other side through so that it twisted up with itself, actually securing together. “I haven’t had to tie a knot in forever.”
She plucked the knot from my paws, slipping it out and undoing my work. “Good job. Do it again.”
I flicked my tail in annoyance. “But I just did it.”
“You need repetition so you’ll remember it.” She handed the yarn back.
I took it and tied the slip knot again, tightening it more than before. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Let me show you how this works. I’d tell you about the hook sizes, but I don’t think you guys use the metric system, so just know that different yarn thicknesses take different hook sizes, and the thickness of the hook determines the tightness of the stitch. This yarn is somewhere in the middle as far as weight goes.”
“You still haven’t told me what this actually is.”
“Have patience, young padawan.” Arlene grabbed one of the ‘crochet’ hooks, and stuck it through the knot, tightening it around the handle. “This is called a ‘yarn over hook’.” She twisted the hook around to grab the line, then twisting back and pulling it through the knot. There was another link in the yarn. “And this is called chaining. This is how wide your piece is going to be.”
Arlene repeated the movement, now much faster than before, chaining together 10ish loops. She had obviously done this many times before, if speed was any indication. I leaned in to get a better look.
“Now I’m gonna do what’s called a ‘singe crochet’.” She pushed the empty hook through the chain, grabbing more yarn and pulling it through. “Now you can see that there’s an extra loop here. We’re gonna yarn over hook again, and pull it through both.” She did exactly that, creating a little protrusion perpendicular to the chain. “And that is a single crochet. There’s a bunch of other stitches, but this is the most important one. To complete it, we just repeat the single crochet all the way down our foundation chain.” She repeated the motion, in a dizzying blur of twists and turns that I could barely follow. “At the end, we do another chain to turn around, and flip our work. Like so.” She did the little chain, and showed me the little rectangle of woven fabric. “Then you repeat, until it’s as long as you want.”
I wasn’t really following. “So this ‘crochet’ makes rectangles of fabric?”
“Well yes, but that’s a gross oversimplification. You can make anything: scarfs, blankets, hats, socks, sweaters, and even stuffed animals, but that requires more complicated hook work.”
“It looks hard.”
“Don’t worry, it gets easy once you know the stitch patterns. Plus, you have me to help you.” She puffed out her chest in an exaggerated gesture.
“If you say so.”
Arlene pulled on the end of the yarn, unraveling the whole sheet into nothing in a matter of seconds. “If you think it’s too difficult we could do finger knitting instead.”
“No, I think I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” She smiled, slapping me on the back a little too hard.
The hooks on the table were all different sizes. Unsure which to pick, I chose the one closest to the size Arlene was using.
“I’d recommend one a little thicker, at least if you plan to wear anything you make. It’ll make it more breathable.”
“We don’t really wear much.”
“I can see that.” She chuckled. “But think of how cute you’d look in a scarf, or a shawl.”
“I don’t know what either of those are.”
“Just grab a larger one.”
“Okay.” I chose another that looked to be 2 or 3 sizes larger. The metal felt cool against my paw pads.
“Go ahead and start. I’ll tell you if you’re messing anything up.”
I tied the slip knot, and tightened it around the hook. Then twisting to grab the yarn and pull it through. The hook felt awkward in my paws, like using a mouse in the wrong hand. Arlene was watching me closely, with a gaze almost as intense as when she was yelling. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Okay that’s probably long enough. Try a single crochet.”
I pushed the hook through, but before I could continue, Arlene stopped me.
“Stop real quick. I forgot to say that you need to skip the first hole when you start a row.” She pointed to the next one in the chain. “You should have gone through there.”
“Oh.” I pulled out the hook, and went through the next hole, doing a yarn over and creating a loop. “Is that good?”
“Yep. Now pull the yarn through both loops.”
I followed her instructions, and finished my first ever single crochet.
“Great job! Now you just need to do that all the way to the end of the chain.”
This is going to take forever if I want to make anything substantial.
“Do all your weaving techniques take this long?” I had to look closely at the weave to find the right holes, still putting conscious effort into the yarn overs.
“Pretty much. After you get good enough to do it without looking you can watch a movie while you do it. I used to crochet on the bus to school when I was little. I think it would be a good thing for you.”
“What do you mean?”
She blinked. “I don’t mean to me rude, but you seem like a really anxious person.”
“I-I thought you said I was brave?”
“You can be brave and anxious at the same time.” She paused. “What I mean to say, is that you could use something to help calm you down.”
“Why do you say that?”
She frowned. “The panic attack.”
Not again.
The desire to run bubbled up from my gut like bile. “I d-don’t know what you mean.”
Once again, drills in my skull, poking holes into my head. “Has this happened before?”
Why does it always come down to this?
I paused my work to look at her. “None of your business.”
She frowned. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just want to help.”
“I’m fine.” I continued crocheting. “Don’t worry.”
“Whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“There’s nothing to face. Let’s talk about something else.” The words left a metallic taste in my mouth.
My crochet rectangle sheet thingy was about the size of my paw now. The hook was starting to move easier. The ceiling fan whirred above us, and the sun crept along the floor at imperceptible speeds, phantasmal shapes rotating through the same wobbles, over and over again.
Arlene laid back against the couch, stretching her legs. “Well, I’m gonna go see if I can get a datapad from the refugee center soon. I need to get in touch with my family, and I wouldn’t mind being able to use the internet either.”
“That’s nice. Then we can communicate from across town.”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to any humans. Not that you aren’t good company but… you know.”
“I wasn’t very talkative before this paw.”
“You aren’t much more talkative now.”
“That just means I’m a better listener.”
Arlene let out a bellowing laugh. “Fair enough. You know, I used to say that in middle school.”
“You weren’t always this… social?”
“No, I used to be a total wallflower. I didn’t have any friends. I would just sit in the back of class and doodle in my notebook.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s not a happy story, but I’ll tell you if you want.”
My curiosity was peaked. “Please.”
“Well, I was twelve years old, and it was the week before summer break. That’s the quarter of the year where there’s no school, by the way, and also the hottest time of the year.” She took a deep breath.
My single crochets were going faster now, and the hook was beginning to sit comfortably in my paw.
She exhaled. “I was super excited for the break, ‘cause my family was planning a trip to lake superior, which is the largest lake in the world. It’s really beautiful. There’s a bunch of nature trails, parks, stuff like that. Not to mention the swimming. The whole family was going to come along, including grandma.” Arlene swallowed. “It was one day before the break started when she died.”
I said nothing.
“It wasn’t painful. She died in her sleep, from natural causes. You know, old people stuff. I had never seen a corpse before.”
What?
“I was the one who found her. She was laying in bed. People often say the dead look peaceful. She didn’t. They don’t. They just stink.” She paused. “My grandma taught me everything I know about this sort of thing. We would sit by the window, knitting, crocheting, felting, whatever, for hours, just talking. She would ask me about school, I would say I didn’t like it, she would tell me to try talking to people, and then I would say she’s the only friend I need. Her eyes were always so full of pride when I said that. But it wasn’t just pride. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had been pressuring me to interact with other kids more and more up until the break.” She chuckled “Sorry if I’m rambling.”
“I don’t mind.”
She half-smiled at me. “I had made a scarf for her. It was my magnum opus. I knitted it out of yarn that I spun myself, using a super pretty stitch, and I even went through the trouble of knitting a picture into it. I was so mad when she died. Not much sense in being angry at the dead, but yeah. I was angry that I wouldn’t get a chance to give her the scarf. The trip was canceled, and with the intended recipient gone, I didn’t have anyone to give the scarf to. My parents were taking it just as hard as me, maybe harder, but I made it even worse. I started skipping school, even ran away from home once.”
I glanced over to her face. Her eyes were watering.
“Sorry, this was over a decade ago, I should be over it by now.” She sniffled. “There’s this forest close to town, with a bunch of hills and stuff. It was late June, but it was a really cold summer, somewhere in the forties or fifties. Windy too. I took a sleeping bag and a bunch of supplies, and started hiking. I tried stay close to town, so I wouldn’t get lost. After four or so hours of walking, I heard crying. It was a miracle really. Like finding a needle in a haystack. There was a kid curled up against a tree, wailing like an air raid siren.”
The rectangle was almost as long as my forearm now.
“I recognized him from my history class. He was the class clown type, always getting up in your face, making jokes. I never saw him so sad before.” She rested her chin on her hands. “He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Not enough insulation. I eventually approached him, and asked him why he was out in the forest.” She frowned. “His dad was a drunk, and he’d been beating him, so he ran away.”
I gasped. “Oh stars…”
“We talked for a while, with him shivering the whole time. I told him about my grandma, and he told me about his dad. We both ended up crying a bunch. I didn’t bring another pair of clothes, because I was a stupid twelve year old that didn’t know how to camp on my own, so I couldn’t give him anything to keep him warm. The only things I had were the sleeping bag and the scarf. I didn’t want to give him the scarf, but I did. I don’t know why, I just… he looked so small. I was out here going all scorched earth, and he was in hell everyday, still making jokes at school.” She paused.
“Anyway, I gave him the scarf, and my sleeping bag, so he wouldn’t freeze, and we shared some of the food I brought. I eventually had to go back home since I was now without a sleeping bag. Once school started again, he wore that scarf every single day, even when it was hot out, and he would go around telling people how awesome I was for making it.” She smiled. “He always acted happy around me, even though I could see the bruises his dad kept giving him. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore when he was trying so hard to be happy for me.”
“One day, he came to school without the scarf. He wouldn’t even look at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he burst out into tears saying his dad burned the scarf, ans how sorry he was for losing it. It crushed me. I put days of work into that scarf, and it was gone just like that. Just like grandma. But instead of telling him that, I said it wasn’t a big deal, and that I’d make him another one.” She stopped.
“What happened then?”
“Well, I made another scarf, but I never got the chance to give it to him. His dad died, probably from alcohol poisoning or something, and he moved in with family down in Georgia. I never saw him again. For all I know, he’s dead from the bombings, or from something before that. So I was without someone to give the scarf to. Again.”
I gave her a worried look.
She laughed. “I don’t know why, but that brought me out of my shell. I started talking to people. I gave some other kid the scarf that was meant for him. Then everybody knew me as the scarf girl, so I started making more and more of them for everyone in my class.”
“What then?” The sheet was getting substantial now.
“Well, that’s the end of the story. I started joining clubs, bouncing around friend groups, that sort of thing. Just normal kid stuff. High school was the same. Everybody knew me as the person that gave out handmade scarfs for free, so I was well liked. I graduated, got a job, time passed, and all this crazy shit with first contact happened, and so here we are.” She yawned again. “Do you have any childhood stories?”
“Err, well… not really.” I lied.
“Nothing? No funny stories? No teenage mischief? It doesn’t have to be dramatic like mine.”
And here you are, reserved again. Were you lying when you called her your friend?
“Well, one time I led my class into an abandoned house.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, a test of courage type thing. I pressured eight of my classmates into joining me there at night.”
“Night?”
“I grew up on a colony world, so we had a day-night cycle.”
“Uh huh.”
I paused for a while to think of how to tell the story. Arlene was right when she said crochet was calming. It was very meditative. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat.
“So there was this old building on a hill, out past the fields. It was all run down, with stains on the walls, and broken windows, sheet wood covering all the openings. Everybody at school thought it was haunted, or worse, infested by predators.”
Arlene rolled her eyes. “Very scary.” She picked up a crochet hook and started spinning it between her fingers.
I shrugged. “That’s just how it was.”
“I fail to see how an animal is scarier than a vengeful spirit, but I’ll humor you.”
“Well, I thought it was just a normal house, so I brought my classmates there, and we started exploring the thing. We had to squeeze past a panel of wood covering where the door would be to get in. I spearheaded the expedition, with the rest of them following behind me.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was scary, but I wanted to know what was inside the place. I broke us up into teams of two, and we split up to explore. I went with this gojid girl who’s name I forget, and we went straight up to the attic, while the rest of them checked the ground floor.”
“Ah, quite the lady’s man.” She nudged me in the shoulder, and I had to redo a crochet because of it.
Blood rushed to my face. “I-it wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, sure.” She smirked.
I huffed. “We climbed up this dusty old fold out ladder, which opened up into this crawlspace. I barely fit inside, and I had to exhale to move around.”
“That’s a weird ass attic.”
When the air doesn’t come, and the walls close in, will you be able to escape again?
“Y-yeah. I found a dusty old box of junk up there, but I got stuck. My classmate had to pull me out by my legs.” I shuddered at the thought.
“Jeez. What was in the box?”
“Nothing crazy. Just a bunch of rusty fasteners. It was probably left by the construction workers who built the house. But the next day, one of the people I brought told a teacher, and I got punished. My parents were super angry.”
“Wow. So you were a pretty crazy kid, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was sort of the leader of my herd.”
For a while.
“Really?” She leaned forward.
“Yep.”
“Wow. So when did you move to Sunbrook?”
Don’t think about it.
“A while ago. Two or so of your years, I think.”
“Are your parents here too?”
I looked to my paws, focusing on the yarn. “They’re uh… not around.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
Do you really mean that?
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
I don’t know.
“No.” I barely managed to squeak.
“Okay.”
I continued crocheting.
Arlene yawned for the third time. “Crap. Sorry Meba, I think we’re gonna have to cut this short. I need to get some sleep.” She scooped up the hooks from the table.
“Um, can we do this again next paw?”
“Sure. We can finish off that scarf of yours tomorrow.” She grinned.
Human teeth weren’t very pointy.

I’m going to preface this by saying I’m neutral on the topic concerning the business side of things, but it’s clear that both sides have made mistakes with the way they handled the business matters. The interpersonal side is a whole other can of worms that will be the meat of my thoughts. There is stuff that is not inherently “wrong” to do, but is illegal to do. It can be argued that what MHJ did was not “wrong”, but it was definitely illegal in the eyes of the law. HYBE (BSH, PJW, etc.) handled the situations in a legal manner (based on the information so far), but they also did/said things that would be seen as “dick moves”, petty, or actions of an asshole/douche. With that out of the way, I’m just gonna ramble incoherently about my thoughts. I’m sure we’re all used to it by now.
I’m not really expecting anyone to read all of this or respond, but there were all these thoughts in my head and I just had to get some of it down; So I thought I might as well share. If you do end up reading it, you’re nuts, but I appreciate you.
To me, it seems like MHJ is obsessed with youth. I don’t mean it in a sexual way, and I hope it doesn’t turn out that way, but I hate that I’m even having these thoughts. It always seemed like she has been living vicariously through NewJeans. From the information we have so far, it looks like MHJ personally handpicked the members based on her preferences or views on what she thinks is attractive (set aside opinions on talent/skill and potential cosmetic procedures). This doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s attracted to them. You can find someone attractive, but not be attracted to them, that’s normal. Though, with MHJ’s history of obsession with youth and childlike innocence, it’s not hard to imagine that she has a preference (hopefully non-sexual) for youthful/innocent looking faces.
I don’t remember how recent, but there was a video on the official NewJeans YouTube channel where the NewJeans members surprised MHJ with a cake for her birthday. In the video, we don’t see a lot, but it shows MHJ going into their dorm and the members surprising her with a cake and singing happy birthday. It felt so weird. There was also an Instagram (might’ve been Phoning) live stream or video where MHJ took the NewJeans members to dinner or something. From my memory, it was a big room with one large table, and chairs for them all. On the table, there were huge bags with a lot of gifts for each member. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but I believe MHJ was filming the whole thing herself, shoving the camera in the member’s faces for reactions and them thanking her (they had no other choice even if they didn’t like it). There could be nothing wrong with this, just genuine generosity and appreciation; It’s just a thought. It just seemed so manufactured, as if to say “look how much I love them and they love me!”. To me, it felt like she thought she was part of the group, as if she was a teenage girl again. The whole thing felt like a little girl playing with her dolls… I don’t want to speak for anyone (again, these are just my thoughts and views on this), but while watching it, there were times when the members looked awkward and didn't know how to act/respond. She has pretty much embedded herself into their lives, living vicariously through them to feel young or (presumably) experience a life she never got to have. These are just a few instances, but I’m sure that there are a lot more instances, filmed or otherwise, so we will never know about it.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she had pool parties (a cherry-picked example) with them, and took pictures together to keep as cherished “memories” to add to her collection. These could potentially be used as blackmail or something. I really don’t know. I sincerely hope she doesn’t do anything to them if they ultimately decide to go against her or stay with HYBE, but I wouldn’t put it past her if she feels she’s been betrayed by them.
Again, I hate that these are thoughts I’m having, but I tend to think a lot, and have to get my thoughts out there even if no one cares or reads this.
A 45 year-old woman fraternizing with teenage girls less than half her age. Imagine if this was a situation with a female boss with her male employees, or if this were a male boss with his male or female employees. I understand that there are different dynamics at play when it comes to male and females, but why is it only seen as normal and innocent when it’s a female boss with female employees? Every scenario should be viewed with skepticism.
The trainee information that she allegedly has presumably includes NewJeans members. I heard that it wasn’t uncommon for trainees, both male and female, to wear minimal (i.e tightemore revealing clothing to show their figure… yeah…) clothing and take pictures for their profile (not public company profiles, but private profiles that management keeps). If she has these kinds of pictures and is showing it to investors/brands for persuasion purposes, it would feel like she is “whoring” them out… Maybe that’s not an appropriate phrase to use, but that’s what it would feel like. Perhaps “auctioning” them off would be a better term, though still very wrong.
I don't think that the NewJeans members are dumb, but I feel that they are definitely naive and ignorant of what’s really happening because they are so young. Their parents are a different matter. If what MHJ claimed ends up being lies, the parents definitely seem dumb or were gaslighted by MHJ. This goes a few ways. If MHJ is telling the truth, NewJeans and their parents are seen in a good light because they supported her through this, but their relationship with HYBE is jeopardized. If MHJ is lying and NewJeans and their parents still support her, they are seen as being naive/gaslit/dumb for believing her. If MHJ is lying, but NewJeans and their parents go against her, I wouldn’t put it past her to go full scorched earth with them because she feels scorned/betrayed by them after everything she believes that she did/sacrificed for them. I sincerely hope this doesn’t happen. We don’t know how much information or potential dirt she has on the members. If she goes scorched earth, her claims of feeling like Newjeans’ “mother” and that she cared for NewJeans were all just manipulation tactics. MHJ mentioning NewJeans and their parents put them in an awkward situation. Sadly, NewJeans’ relationship with the company, staff, and other groups will probably feel awkward or strained due to this.
On what she said about Minji during the press conference, I truly think she didn’t mean it as a backhanded compliment. She was just rambling and it came out that way, whether she intended to or not; But again, with her history of being obsessed with youth and childlike innocence, it could be how she really felt. If what she said was deliberate and exactly how it sounds, there might be a reason for it. Perhaps, Minji didn’t agree with her or didn’t support her the way the other members did during the last few days. She didn’t mention Minji, or for that matter Danielle, supporting her. Not that this means anything, but might be worth noting. In general, Minji is the most mature and least naive among the members, at least to me (perception based solely on how she interacts with the members, staff, and fans in all their content), so it’s easy to believe that she isn’t buying whatever MHJ is selling. Either way, it was a weird and disturbing thing to say, given MHJ’s history.
There’s also the double/hidden meaning of their tracks and their names. NewJeans can be heard as “NewGenes” (i.e. we are superior to you, in terms of looks, talent, etc.) This is probably just reaching. We all know about the Cookie controversy. There’s also the OMG controversy and theories that claim people who criticize MHJ and NewJeans are crazy and deserve to be in a mental hospital. I don’t really believe this implication, but who knows. I personally don’t know too much about the ETA controversy, but I read that there were coincidences connecting it to or referencing it to a terrorist group in Spain?
Different tangent, what’s up with her outfits? Based on other people’s observations, she mostly wears sweatshirts, sweatpants, and a baseball cap. I’ve also seen it when she visits the members on set. Is she trying to look/feel younger? There’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to look younger, but this goes back to her being obsessed with youth. Admittedly, she did look “young” during the press conference with her outfit and hat covering her face, but whenever she would push her hat up revealing her eyebrows and forehead, you could see her real age. Also, throughout the press conference, there were times when she would be on the verge of tears/crying and then like a flip of the switch, she was back to normal. It was a little creepy and unsettling.
This is pure speculation, but MHJ has presumably taken NewJeans’ parents to dinner and given them gifts and stuff. They could feel like they owed her their loyalty because of this, or they feel they might lose everything if MHJ loses. I hope this isn’t the case; It’d make them look like bad parents.
Another thought, and pure curiosity, but as I was thinking about this stuff my mind wandered; Does MHJ have no interest in men (not that women need men), or did she focus her whole life on her career, and feels scorned/regretful now that she was betrayed, and things aren’t going her way despite all she’s done? Does she have an interest in women? If the latter is the case, it makes her relationship with the NewJeans members even more inappropriate and disgusting.
There are a lot of other thoughts that I have about MHJ and her relationship with NewJeans, but I’ve gone on way too long. If you read everything, congratulations, you’ve endured two sessions of incoherent ramblings in the last 2 days.
TLDR; I don’t know, just a large wall of text with a random person’s thoughts about MHJ and her relationship with NewJeans.

So I went on a date recently like (an hour ago). On my profile I have “child free life” hoping that the guys would understand it. I started to talk to this guy and we went out today. Of course he brought up children and started to question me about my decision on why I’m choosing the child free life. I told him my reasons and he says “well you are just a waste of goods. You clearly have good genes since you’re pretty.”
I was stunned. My mind just went blank. He then went off on how no man would ever want me and that I’m just a waste.
At this point I just stood up and left. It was a coffee date and I paid for mine so it was easy for me to leave. Normally I don’t ever let someone like that talk to me but idk why but it really hurt me.
You’re probably wondering why I went on this date with that wing nut. Well he told me that he’s child free too. So idk if he just lied to me and saw me as a challenge to change my mind. But damm what he said really hurt me. Am I really that much of a waste because I don’t want kids?
Update: after I left that date. I took myself shopping and got some cute new clothes. Gotta treat myself for dealing with that goblin

Elden Ring is coming to its completion with the DLC, but I doubt the game will get any significant change, aside from the particular scaling thing mentioned by Mr. Hidetaka Miyazaki.
So I am asking you guys, which features would you have liked souls games to have? I am excluding Sekiro of course because I am interested in the RPG fantasy games made by Fromsoftware in which I can create a character with stats, so Demon's Souls, Dark Souls series, Bloodborne and Elden Ring.
I have a list of my own so please let me know if you agree with me or not:
Weapons respec or dismantling
This is a very popular complain, it's kinda baffling that I am able to respec my character stats but I can't do the same with weapons, if not respec at least give me a way to dismantle already upgraded weapons and reuse the resources on that. This is particular annoying in Elden Ring, which is a huge game with tons of weapons. This system is very flawed because I am encouraged to either use the same few weapons that I know from the start of the game without risking resources or look online to see which weapons are the best for me to use.
No starting class, initial stat distribution
I don't see the starting class purpose, I'd rather be able to distribute my initial stat from a limited number. Also, is autisticly annoying choosing to change your stats for a strenght build just to still be "an astrologer". I know it really does not matter for the gameplay, but still...
Quest log and better quest system

• I understand that you need to pay attention to details and From doesn't like to take your hand but want you to find out the way, but the quest system in these games feels dated and too much obscure. In Elden Ring they did an improvement, the NPCs appear marked on the map after you find them the first time in that spot, however this wasn't enough in my opinion (and even the marks on the map could have been done better, because the feature feels rushed and unpolished).
• A quest system that could work well for this games is one similar to the one in Outer Wilds, basically a list of NPCs in a menu with key info about what they told you or why not, the entire conversations you had with them?
• Also the steps for completing a quest lines should be more clear and at least more forgivable in failure, I would say that Elden Ring is better compared to its predecessors in this regard, but still there are some quests that can fail or have a bad outcome if you do something first, usually beating a boss or stepping in an area the first time, and example could be in Elden Ring: Boc's, Corhyn and Goldmask's, Seluvis'.

Attire and Weapons appearance customization:

• Honestly I am really tired of spending 35 minutes to create my character than covering them with an outfit that ANY OTHER PLAYER CAN WEAR. What is the point of creating a unique character if they are gonna look identical to another if covered?
• I want my protagonist to be their own character not some motherfucker that wear a random piece of clothing of some enemies or speaking character, why is every NPC allowed to have their own unique outfit but not me, the actual protagonist?
• I know, this is something that barely any game does, and you are probably thinking that From would never do that since they are very attentive to their art direction and world building so they would never allow something in their games that does not fit the aesthetics and the lore of the game, also weapon customization could have gameplay implications that cannot be ignored. Another thing that annoys me is not being able to wear anything, if not very basic or starter outfit without basically cosplaying another character or npc/boss in the game. HOWEVER, hear me out, please.
• Even if I am not allowed to customize, color, shape and size of any attire or weapon I am still able to run around naked with a character that looks like this, also many armor pieces put together can look very unpleasing and ridiculous. So if this is allowed, why not allowing me to change appearance of my clothing/armor and weapons? Also if you provide a big number of selected options you can give the player a lot of freedom without defiling the game aesthetic, I'm thinking about something similar to Mordahu, maybe a little bit more detailed and among the options various colors and decorations that fits the lore of the game, pretty much like the tattoos in Elden Ring who represents various concepts and factions within the game world.
• From a gameplay point of view, customization of attire and weapons could be more tricky, however, if you put a set of stats for each customization option or categories and have the player unlocking them with something (an item, reward that is like a blueprint to give to a seamster or a blacksmith). For weapons, to avoid gameplay issues related to changing the size of the weapons the game could allow you to just pick a category and work on it. (similiar, again, to Mordahu).
• What about item descriptions? Well while many attires and weapons have lore-relevant descriptions many actually do not (Check this, this and this), special armors and weapons can still have their fancy description while customized weapons can have none or have a base one for their category.

Weapons and attires collecting and purchasing like Bloodborne

• Nothing much to say about this, Bloodborne made this perfect and I honestly cannot wrap my mind on why they went back to the flawed drop system of Dark Souls (Demon's Souls too?) with DS3 and Elden Ring.
• In Bloodborne each weapon and outfit can be either found in the game world (sometimes chalice dungeon) or purchased from the merchants in the central hub. Also each weapon can be purchased multiple times, allowing you to get back a weapon you sold/discarded or just have an extra copy of the same weapon to be customized differently with another gem (this wasn't possible with the outfits, indeed I wished they gave the option to at least buy them back if you sold them).
• Forcing the player to hunt a specific enemy for hours just to get a weapon? Why? Also in Elden Ring, why do I have to choose between having just one of the rewards of each legend/demigod boss? For a game that big I'd rather have everything at least purchasable rather than forcing me to play 250 hours of game fucking twice just for that.

Defensive combat/deflecting

• Sekiro and Elden Ring were developed in tandem, and it shows, many lessons they learned in Sekiro felt not learned in Elden Ring, that unfortunately made that game have some hereditary flaws from Dark Souls, I already pointed out the dropping weapon feature but the combat is basically Dark Souls 4. Sure there is way more customization of weapons, better spells and moves, but the combat is still: dodge, hit, repeat.
• I understand that Sekiro combat is not as customizable and REQUIRES you to deflect because you can't really dodge, but I really wish they will add a system that integrate the freedom of souls games with the deflection/defensive moves of Sekiro. A game in which you can parry, deflect, dodge would be top notch. Is not easy for sure, but they have 10+ years of experience at this point and they already put some Sekiro genes into Elden Ring DLC, so I hope they will do something like this for a future game.

The supreme luxury of the society of technical necessity will be to grant the bonus of useless revolt and of an acquiescent smile. —Jacques Ellul[1] The System has played a trick on today's would-be revolutionaries and rebels. The trick is so cute that if it had been consciously planned one would have to admire it for its almost mathematical elegance.

1. What the System Is Not

Let's begin by making clear what the System is not. The System is not George W. Bush and his advisers and appointees, it is not the cops who maltreat protesters, it is not the CEOs of the multinational corporations, and it is not the Frankensteins in their laboratories who criminally tinker with the genes of living things. All of these people are servants of the System, but in themselves they do not constitute the System. In particular, the personal and individual values, attitudes, beliefs, and behavior of any of these people may be significantly in conflict with the needs of the System.
To illustrate with an example, the System requires respect for property rights, yet CEOs, cops, scientists, and politicians sometimes steal. (In speaking of stealing we don't have to confine ourselves to actual lifting of physical objects. We can include all illegal means of acquiring property, such as cheating on income tax, accepting bribes, and any other form of graft or corruption.) But the fact that CEOs, cops, scientists, and politicians sometimes steal does not mean that stealing is part of the System. On the contrary, when a cop or a politician steals something he is rebelling against the System's requirement of respect for law and property. Yet, even when they are stealing, these people remain servants of the System as long as they publicly maintain their support for law and property.
Whatever illegal acts may be committed by politicians, cops, or CEOs as individuals, theft, bribery, and graft are not part of the System but diseases of the System. The less stealing there is, the better the System functions, and that is why the servants and boosters of the System always advocate obedience to the law in public, even if they may sometimes find it convenient to break the law in private.
Take another example. Although the police are the System's enforcers police brutality is not part of the System. When the cops beat the crap out of a suspect they are not doing the System's work, they are only letting out their own anger and hostility. The System's goal is not brutality or the expression of anger. As far as police work is concerned, the System's goal is to compel obedience to its rules and to do so with the least possible amount of disruption, violence, and bad publicity. Thus, from the System's point of view, the ideal cop is one who never gets angry, never uses any more violence than necessary, and as far as possible relies on manipulation rather than force to keep people under control. Police brutality is only another disease of the System, not part of the System.
For proof, look at the attitude of the media. The mainstream media almost universally condemn police brutality. Of course, the attitude of the mainstream media represents, as a rule, the consensus of opinion among the powerful classes in our society as to what is good for the System.
What has just been said about theft, graft, and police brutality applies also to issues of discrimination and victimization such as racism, sexism, homophobia, poverty, and sweatshops. All of these are bad for the System. For example, the more that black people feel themselves scorned or excluded, the more likely they are to turn to crime and the less likely they are to educate themselves for careers that will make them useful to the System.
Modern technology, with its rapid long-distance transportation and its disruption of traditional ways of life, has led to the mixing of populations, so that nowadays people of different races, nationalities, cultures, and religions have to live and work side by side. If people hate or reject one another on the basis of race, ethnicity, religion, sexual preference, etc., the resulting conflicts interfere with the functioning of the System. Apart from a few old fossilized relics of the past like Jesse Helms, the leaders of the System know this very well, and that is why we are taught in school and through the media to believe that racism, sexism, homophobia, and so forth are social evils to be eliminated.
No doubt some of the leaders of the System, some of the politicians, scientists, and CEOs, privately feel that a woman's place is in the home, or that homosexuality and interracial marriage are repugnant. But even if the majority of them felt that way it would not mean that racism, sexism, and homophobia were part of the System—any more than the existence of stealing among the leaders means that stealing is part of the System. Just as the System must promote respect for law and property for the sake of its own security, the System must also discourage racism and other forms of victimization, for the same reason. That is why the System, notwithstanding any private deviations by individual members of the elite, is basically committed to suppressing discrimination and victimization.
For proof, look again at the attitude of the mainstream media. In spite of occasional timid dissent by a few of the more daring and reactionary commentators, media propaganda overwhelmingly favors racial and gender equality and acceptance of homosexuality and interracial marriage.[2]
The System needs a population that is meek, nonviolent, domesticated, docile, and obedient. It needs to avoid any conflict or disruption that could interfere with the orderly functioning of the social machine. In addition to suppressing racial, ethnic, religious, and other group hostilities, it also has to suppress or harness for its own advantage all other tendencies that could lead to disruption or disorder, such as machismo, aggressive impulses, and any inclination to violence.
Naturally, traditional racial and ethnic antagonisms die slowly, machismo, aggressiveness, and violent impulses are not easily suppressed, and attitudes toward sex and gender identity are not transformed overnight. Therefore there are many individuals who resist these changes, and the System is faced with the problem of overcoming their resistance.[3]

1. How the System Exploits the Impulse to Rebel

All of us in modern society are hemmed in by a dense network of rules and regulations. We are at the mercy of large organizations such as corporations, governments, labor unions, universities, churches, and political parties, and consequently we are powerless. As a result of the servitude, the powerlessness, and the other indignities that the System inflicts on us, there is widespread frustration, which leads to an impulse to rebel. And this is where the System plays its neatest trick: Through a brilliant sleight of hand, it turns rebellion to its own advantage.
Many people do not understand the roots of their own frustration, hence their rebellion is directionless. They know that they want to rebel, but they don't know what they want to rebel against. Luckily, the System is able to fill their need by providing them with a list of standard and stereotyped grievances in the name of which to rebel: racism, homophobia, women's issues, poverty, sweatshops…the whole laundry-bag of "activist" issues.
Huge numbers of would-be rebels take the bait. In fighting racism, sexism, etc., etc., they are only doing the System's work for it. In spite of this, they imagine that they are rebelling against the System. How is this possible?
First, 50 years ago the System was not yet committed to equality for black people, women and homosexuals, so that action in favor of these causes really was a form of rebellion. Consequently these causes came to be conventionally regarded as rebel causes. They have retained that status today simply as a matter of tradition; that is, because each rebel generation imitates the preceding generations.
Second, there are still significant numbers of people, as I pointed out earlier, who resist the social changes that the System requires, and some of these people even are authority figures such as cops, judges, or politicians. These resisters provide a target for the would-be rebels, someone for them to rebel against. Commentators like Rush Limbaugh help the process by ranting against the activists: Seeing that they have made someone angry fosters the activists' illusion that they are rebelling.
Third, in order to bring themselves into conflict even with that majority of the System's leaders who fully accept the social changes that the System demands, the would-be rebels insist on solutions that go farther than what the System's leaders consider prudent, and they show exaggerated anger over trivial matters. For example, they demand payment of reparations to black people, and they often become enraged at any criticism of a minority group, no matter how cautious and reasonable.
In this way the activists are able to maintain the illusion that they are rebelling against the System. But the illusion is absurd. Agitation against racism, sexism, homophobia and the like no more constitutes rebellion against the System than does agitation against political graft and corruption. Those who work against graft and corruption are not rebelling but acting as the System's enforcers: They are helping to keep the politicians obedient to the rules of the System. Those who work against racism, sexism, and homophobia similarly are acting as the Systems' enforcers: They help the System to suppress the deviant racist, sexist, and homophobic attitudes that cause problems for the System.
But the activists don't act only as the System's enforcers. They also serve as a kind of lightning rod that protects the System by drawing public resentment away from the System and its institutions. For example, there were several reasons why it was to the System's advantage to get women out of the home and into the workplace. Fifty years ago, if the System, as represented by the government or the media, had begun out of the blue a propaganda campaign designed to make it socially acceptable for women to center their lives on careers rather than on the home, the natural human resistance to change would have caused widespread public resentment. What actually happened was that the changes were spearheaded by radical feminists, behind whom the System's institutions trailed at a safe distance. The resentment of the more conservative members of society was directed primarily against the radical feminists rather than against the System and its institutions, because the changes sponsored by the System seemed slow and moderate in comparison with the more radical solutions advocated by feminists, and even these relatively slow changes were seen as having been forced on the System by pressure from the radicals.

1. The System's Neatest Trick

So, in a nutshell, the System's neatest trick is this:
For the sake of its own efficiency and security, the System needs to bring about deep and radical social changes to match the changed conditions resulting from technological progress.
The frustration of life under the circumstances imposed by the System leads to rebellious impulses.
Rebellious impulses are co-opted by the System in the service of the social changes it requires; activists "rebel" against the old and outmoded values that are no longer of use to the System and in favor of the new values that the System needs us to accept.
In this way rebellious impulses, which otherwise might have been dangerous to the System, are given an outlet that is not only harmless to the System, but useful to it.
Much of the public resentment resulting from the imposition of social changes is drawn away from the System and its institutions and is directed instead at the radicals who spearhead the social changes.
Of course, this trick was not planned in advance by the System's leaders, who are not conscious of having played a trick at all. The way it works is something like this:
In deciding what position to take on any issue, the editors, publishers, and owners of the media must consciously or unconsciously balance several factors. They must consider how their readers or viewers will react to what they print or broadcast about the issue, they must consider how their advertisers, their peers in the media, and other powerful persons will react, and they must consider the effect on the security of the System of what they print or broadcast.
These practical considerations will usually outweigh whatever personal feelings they may have about the issue. The personal feelings of the media leaders, their advertisers, and other powerful persons are varied. They may be liberal or conservative, religious or atheistic. The only universal common ground among the leaders is their commitment to the System, its security, and its power. Therefore, within the limits imposed by what the public is willing to accept, the principal factor determining the attitudes propagated by the media is a rough consensus of opinion among the media leaders and other powerful people as to what is good for the System.
Thus, when an editor or other media leader sets out to decide what attitude to take toward a movement or a cause, his first thought is whether the movement includes anything that is good or bad for the System. Maybe he tells himself that his decision is based on moral, philosophical, or religious grounds, but it is an observable fact that in practice the security of the System takes precedence over all other factors in determining the attitude of the media.
For example, if a news-magazine editor looks at the militia movement, he may or may not sympathize personally with some of its grievances and goals, but he also sees that there will be a strong consensus among his advertisers and his peers in the media that the militia movement is potentially dangerous to the System and therefore should be discouraged. Under these circumstances he knows that his magazine had better take a negative attitude toward the militia movement. The negative attitude of the media presumably is part of the reason why the militia movement has died down.
When the same editor looks at radical feminism he sees that some of its more extreme solutions would be dangerous to the System, but he also sees that feminism holds much that is useful to the System. Women's participation in the business and technical world integrates them and their families better into the System. Their talents are of service to the System in business and technical matters. Feminist emphasis on ending domestic abuse and rape also serves the System's needs, since rape and abuse, like other forms of violence, are dangerous to the System. Perhaps most important, the editor recognizes that the pettiness and meaninglessness of modern housework and the social isolation of the modern housewife can lead to serious frustration for many women; frustration that will cause problems for the System unless women are allowed an outlet through careers in the business and technical world.
Even if this editor is a macho type who personally feels more comfortable with women in a subordinate position, he knows that feminism, at least in a relatively moderate form, is good for the System. He knows that his editorial posture must be favorable toward moderate feminism, otherwise he will face the disapproval of his advertisers and other powerful people. This is why the mainstream media's attitude has been generally supportive of moderate feminism, mixed toward radical feminism, and consistently hostile only toward the most extreme feminist positions.
Through this type of process, rebel movements that are dangerous to the System are subjected to negative propaganda, while rebel movements that are believed to be useful to the System are given cautious encouragement in the media. Unconscious absorption of media propaganda influences would-be rebels to "rebel" in ways that serve the interests of the System.
The university intellectuals also play an important role in carrying out the System's trick. Though they like to fancy themselves independent thinkers, the intellectuals are (allowing for individual exceptions) the most oversocialized, the most conformist, the tamest and most domesticated, the most pampered, dependent, and spineless group in America today. As a result, their impulse to rebel is particularly strong. But, because they are incapable of independent thought, real rebellion is impossible for them. Consequently they are suckers for the System's trick, which allows them to irritate people and enjoy the illusion of rebelling without ever having to challenge the System's basic values.
Because they are the teachers of young people, the university intellectuals are in a position to help the System play its trick on the young, which they do by steering young people's rebellious impulses toward the standard, stereotyped targets: racism, colonialism, women's issues, etc. Young people who are not college students learn through the media, or through personal contact, of the "social justice" issues for which students rebel, and they imitate the students. Thus a youth culture develops in which there is a stereotyped mode of rebellion that spreads through imitation of peers—just as hairstyles, clothing styles, and other fads spread through imitation.

1. The Trick Is Not Perfect

Naturally, the System's trick does not work perfectly. Not all of the positions adopted by the "activist" community are consistent with the needs of the System. In this connection, some of the most important difficulties that confront the System are related to the conflict between the two different types of propaganda that the System has to use, integration propaganda and agitation propaganda.[4]
Integration propaganda is the principal mechanism of socialization in modern society. It is propaganda that is designed to instill in people the attitudes, beliefs, values, and habits that they need to have in order to be safe and useful tools of the System. It teaches people to permanently repress or sublimate those emotional impulses that are dangerous to the System. Its focus is on long-term attitudes and deep-seated values of broad applicability, rather than on attitudes toward specific, current issues.
Agitation propaganda plays on people's emotions so as to bring out certain attitudes or behaviors in specific, current situations. Instead of teaching people to suppress dangerous emotional impulses, it seeks to stimulate certain emotions for well-defined purposes localized in time.
The System needs an orderly, docile, cooperative, passive, dependent population. Above all it requires a nonviolent population, since it needs the government to have a monopoly on the use of physical force. For this reason, integration propaganda has to teach us to be horrified, frightened, and appalled by violence, so that we will not be tempted to use it even when we are very angry. (By "violence" I mean physical attacks on human beings.) More generally, integration propaganda has to teach us soft, cuddly values that emphasize nonaggressiveness, interdependence, and cooperation.
On the other hand, in certain contexts the System itself finds it useful or necessary to resort to brutal, aggressive methods to achieve its own objectives. The most obvious example of such methods is warfare. In wartime the System relies on agitation propaganda: In order to win public approval of military action, it plays on people's emotions to make them feel frightened and angry at their real or supposed enemy.
In this situation there is a conflict between integration propaganda and agitation propaganda. Those people in whom the cuddly values and the aversion to violence have been most deeply planted can't easily be persuaded to approve a bloody military operation.
Here the System's trick backfires to some extent. The activists, who have been "rebelling" all along in favor of the values of integration propaganda, continue to do so during wartime. They oppose the war effort not only because it is violent but because it is "racist," "colonialist," "imperialist," etc., all of which are contrary to the soft, cuddly values taught by integration propaganda.
The System's trick also backfires where the treatment of animals is concerned. Inevitably, many people extend to animals the soft values and the aversion to violence that they are taught with respect to humans. They are horrified by the slaughter of animals for meat and by other practices harmful to animals, such as the reduction of chickens to egg-laying machines kept in tiny cages or the use of animals in scientific experiments. Up to a point, the resulting opposition to mistreatment of animals may be useful to the System: Because a vegan diet is more efficient in terms of resource-utilization than a carnivorous one is, veganism, if widely adopted, will help to ease the burden placed on the Earth's limited resources by the growth of the human population. But activists' insistence on ending the use of animals in scientific experiments is squarely in conflict with the System's needs, since for the foreseeable future there is not likely to be any workable substitute for living animals as research subjects.
All the same, the fact that the System's trick does backfire here and there does not prevent it from being on the whole a remarkably effective device for turning rebellious impulses to the System's advantage.
It has to be conceded that the trick described here is not the only factor determining the direction that rebellious impulses take in our society. Many people today feel weak and powerless (for the very good reason that the System really does make us weak and powerless), and therefore identify obsessively with victims, with the weak and the oppressed. That's part of the reason why victimization issues, such as racism, sexism, homophobia, and neocolonialism have become standard activist issues.

1. An Example

I have with me an anthropology textbook[5] in which I've noticed several nice examples of the way in which university intellectuals help the System with its trick by disguising conformity as criticism of modern society. The cutest of these examples is found on pages 132–36, where the author quotes, in "adapted" form, an article by one Rhonda Kay Williamson, an intersexed person (that is, a person born with both male and female physical characteristics).
Williamson states that the American Indians not only accepted intersexed persons but especially valued them.[6] She contrasts this attitude with the Euro-American attitude, which she equates with the attitude that her own parents adopted toward her.
Williamson's parents mistreated her cruelly. They held her in contempt for her intersexed condition. They told her she was "cursed and given over to the devil," and they took her to charismatic churches to have the "demon" cast out of her. She was even given napkins into which she was supposed to "cough out the demon."
But it is obviously ridiculous to equate this with the modern Euro-American attitude. It may approximate the Euro-American attitude of 150 years ago, but nowadays almost any American educator psychologist, or mainstream clergyman would be horrified at that kind of treatment of an intersexed person. The media would never dream of portraying such treatment in a favorable light. Average middle-class Americans today may not be as accepting of the intersexed condition as the Indians were, but few would fail to recognize the cruelty of the way in which Williamson was treated.
Williamson's parents obviously were deviants, religious kooks whose attitudes and beliefs were way out of line with the values of the System. Thus, while putting on a show of criticizing modern Euro-American society, Williamson really is attacking only deviant minorities and cultural laggards who have not yet adapted to the dominant values of present-day America.
Haviland, the author of the book, on page 12 portrays cultural anthropology as iconoclastic, as challenging the assumptions of modern Western society. This is so far contrary to the truth that it would be funny if it weren't so pathetic. The mainstream of modern American anthropology is abjectly subservient to the values and assumptions of the System. When today's anthropologists pretend to challenge the values of their society, typically they challenge only the values of the past—obsolete and outmoded values now held by no one but deviants and laggards who have not kept up with the cultural changes that the System requires of us.
Haviland's use of Williamson's article illustrates this very well, and it represents the general slant of Haviland's book. Haviland plays up ethnographic facts that teach his readers politically correct lessons, but he understates or omits altogether ethnographic facts that are politically incorrect. Thus, while he quotes Williamson's account to emphasize the Indians' acceptance of intersexed persons, he does not mention, for example, that among many of the Indian tribes women who committed adultery had their noses cut off,[7] whereas no such punishment was inflicted on male adulterers; or that among the Crow Indians a warrior who was struck by a stranger had to kill the offender immediately, else he was irretrievably disgraced in the eyes of his tribe;[8] nor does Haviland discuss the habitual use of torture by the Indians of the eastern United States.[9] Of course, facts of that kind represent violence, machismo, and gender-discrimination, hence they are inconsistent with the present-day values of the System and tend to get censored out as politically incorrect.
Yet I don't doubt that Haviland is perfectly sincere in his belief that anthropologists challenge the assumptions of Western society. The capacity for self-deception of our university intellectuals will easily stretch that far.
To conclude, I want to make clear that I'm not suggesting that it is good to cut off noses for adultery, or that any other abuse of women should be tolerated, nor would I want to see anybody scorned or rejected because they are intersexed or because of their race, religion, sexual orientation, etc., etc., etc. But in our society today these matters are, at most, issues of reform. The System's neatest trick consists in having turned powerful rebellious impulses, which otherwise might have taken a revolutionary direction, to the service of these modest reforms.
[1] Jacques Ellul, The Technological Society, translated by John Wilkinson, published by Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1964, page 427.
[2] Even the most superficial review of the mass media in modern industrialized countries, or even in countries that merely aspire to modernity, will confirm that the System is committed to eliminating discrimination in regard to race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, etc., etc., etc. It would be easy to find thousands of examples that illustrate this, but here we cite only three, from three disparate countries.
United States: "Public Displays of Affection," U.S. News & World Report, September 9, 2002, pages 42-43. This article provides a nice example of the way propaganda functions. It takes an ostensibly objective or neutral position on homosexual partnerships, giving some space to the views of those who oppose public acceptance of homosexuality. But anyone reading the article, with its distinctly sympathetic treatment of a homosexual couple, will be left with the impression that acceptance of homosexuality is desirable and, in the long run, inevitable. Particularly important is the photograph of the homosexual couple in question: A physically attractive pair has been selected and has been photographed attractively. No one with the slightest understanding of propaganda can fail to see that the article constitutes propaganda in favor of acceptance of homosexuality. And bear in mind that U.S. News & World Report is a right-of-center magazine.
Russia: "Putin Denounces Intolerance," The Denver Post, July 26, 2002, page 16A. "MOSCOW—President Vladimir Putin strongly denounced racial and religious prejudice on Thursday…'If we let this chauvinistic bacteria of either national or religious intolerance develop, we will ruin the country', Putin said in remarks prominently replayed on Russian television on Thursday night." Etc., etc.
Mexico: "Persiste racismo contra indígenas" ("Racism against indigenous people persists"), El Sol de México, January 11, 2002, page 1/B. Photo caption: "In spite of efforts to give dignity to the indigenous people of our country, they continue to suffer discrimination…." The article reports on the efforts of the bishops of Mexico to combat discrimination, but says that the bishops want to "purity" indigenous customs in order to liberate the women from their traditionally inferior status. El Sol de México is reputed to be a right-of-center newspaper.
Anyone who wanted to take the trouble could multiply these examples a thousand times over. The evidence that the System itself is set on eliminating discrimination and victimization is so obvious and so massive that one boggles at the radicals' belief that fighting these evils is a form of rebellion. One can only attribute it to a phenomenon well known to professional propagandists: People tend to block out, to fail to perceive or to remember, information that conflicts with their ideology. See the interesting article, "Propaganda," in The New Encyclopaedia Britannica, Volume 26, Macropaedia, 15th Edition, 1997, pages 171–79, specifically page 176.
[3] In this section I've said something about what the System is not, but I haven't said what the System is. A friend of mine has pointed out that this may leave the reader nonplussed, so I'd better explain that for the purposes of this article it isn't necessary to have a precise definition of what the System is. I couldn't think of any way of defining the System in a single, well-rounded sentence and I didn't want to break the continuity of the article with a long, awkward, and unnecessary digression addressing the question of what the System is, so I left that question unanswered. I don't think my failure to answer it will seriously impair the reader's understanding of the point that I want to make in this article.
[4] The concepts of "integration propaganda" and "agitation propaganda" are discussed by Jacques Ellul in his book Propaganda, published by Alfred A. Knopf, 1965.
[5] William A. Haviland, Cultural Anthropology, Ninth Edition, Harcourt Brace & Company, 1999.
[6] I assume that this statement is accurate. It certainly reflects the Navaho attitude. See Gladys A. Reichard, Navaho Religion: A Study of Symbolism, Princeton University Press, 1990, page 141. This book was originally copyrighted in 1950, well before American anthropology became heavily politicized, so I see no reason to suppose that its information is slanted.
[7] This is well known. See, e.g., Angie Debo, Geronimo: The Man, His Time, His Place, University of Oklahoma Press, 1976, page 225; Thomas B. Marquis (interpreter), Wooden Leg: A Warrior Who Fought Custer, Bison Books, University of Nebraska Press, 1967, page 97; Stanley Vestal, Sitting Bull, Champion of the Sioux: A Biography, University of Oklahoma Press, 1989, page 6; The New Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 13, Macropaedia, 15th Edition, 1997, article "American Peoples, Native," page 380.
[8] Osborne Russell, Journal of a Trapper, Bison Books edition, page 147.
[9] Use of torture by the Indians of the eastern U.S. is well known. See, e.g., Clark Wissler, Indians of the United States, Revised Edition, Anchor Books, Random House, New York, 1989, pages 131, 140, 145, 165, 282; Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth, Anchor Books, Random House, New York, 1988, page 135; The New Encydopaedia Britannica, Vol. 13, Macropaedia, 15th Edition, 1997, article "American Peoples, Native," page 385; James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America, Oxford University Press, 1985, page citation not available.

DAY: APRIL 22 2024
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I should’ve known better.
Driving in the dead of night down a dark ribbon of asphalt is enough to put anyone to sleep. Add in the complete lack of scenery, unless of course you count endless rows of giant corn stalks that flank both sides of the road.
I don’t know how they make them grow that tall. Maybe they put something special in the fertilizer. But in any case, rows upon rows of corn with nary a break in sight for miles can make me go a special kind of crazy. That is if I can keep my eyes open long enough.
I wish there was some other way for me to get home at night. Any other way. But there isn’t. I live at the far end of the road, surrounded by corn fields.
Going faster wasn’t an option. With the corn so close to the road, I had no warning if a suicidal deer jumped out in front of me. And believe me, I’ve had plenty of those. Fortunately, I kept to my own personal speed limit of forty miles per hour.
It helped me to avoid making a fur hood ornament out of many a deer. Not to mention the other creatures that seem to think they own the road.
My car was a factor too. At this point, I’m not sure it would tolerate going much faster than forty. The engine light had gone on around a month ago, but I didn’t have the time or money to get it to a garage. I just prayed every time I turned the key that it would start and get me home or to work, depending on what time of day or night it was.
Those were the only places I went anymore, home and work. Occasionally, I’d stop after work and get some groceries, but that was it. When you worked at a factory like me, that seemed to think you were just another machine they could run as much as they wanted, home and work was all your life consisted of.
This night I’d be especially glad to get home. My feet were killing me, and I was exhausted. I was due back at work in less than twelve hours and needed to get as much sleep as I could. Not that any of that was a rare occurrence. My feet were always killing me and I was always exhausted. Even on my days off, all I did was sleep, trying to catch up from a week of working twelve-hour days.
The corn seemed to be blurrier than usual tonight, and I caught my eyes going closed more than a few times.
I woke up to the sound of metal grinding and lights flashing on my dashboard as the car lurched to a stop.
There was no time to pull over, it ground to a halt in the middle of the road.
Futilely, I tried to start it a few times only to be rewarded by the sound of metal grinding against metal.
“No, no, no,” I said. “Please don’t do this to me.”
It ignored my pleas.
Closing my eyes, I turned the key one last time, praying for a miracle. The engine didn’t even click. It was done.
I smacked my head off the steering wheel in frustration, not doing any damage to the wheel but starting me on a headache.
The headlights were still lit, but just beyond their dying dirty yellow glow the overwhelming darkness closed in.
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I realized I was at least ten or more miles from home. My feet were still hurting from work, and even resting them as I sat in the car wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t relish the idea of walking, let alone for miles.
It was a little after three in the morning. Even if I was able to afford triple A, no one was going to drive out here at this time of night.
For a brief moment I thought about sleeping in the car, but there was always the chance of being run over by one of the tractor trailers that hauled corn from the local farm that surrounded me.
Dying in an accident because I was too stupid to get out of the road would be just my luck.
I decided to avoid that scenario. As much as I hated the thought, I would have to walk.
Grabbing my work bag and a flashlight out of the glove compartment, I turned on the hazard blinkers and got out of my car, knowing it would be the last time.
I only hoped I would get some trade in value for it when I went to buy a used car I couldn’t afford. But with my luck, the dealership would probably charge me more to tow it than they would give me on a trade in.
Not bothering to look back, I turned on the flashlight and started walking. Pain shot through my feet and up my legs with every step.
After ten minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped and sat in the grass on the side of the road, digging through my work bag for the bottle of Ibuprofen that I carried and used every day.
Fortunately, there was enough water left in my bottle to wash three of the pills down.
It took every ounce of my willpower to get up and start walking again.
The pain hadn’t gone away, it had gotten worse. I silently prayed that the medicine would kick in soon.
Trying to focus on something, anything other than my feet, my flashlight swept back and forth across the road, sometimes catching the edges of the corn fields.
It wasn’t supposed to be cold today. The temperature was in the lower sixties this afternoon, yet for some reason I caught a chill as I walked. I guess I hadn’t planned on walking home tonight.
It had been warm enough that I hadn’t brought a jacket to work. Now I regret that decision.
As if reading my mind, the wind kicked up, sending a gust my way, causing me to shiver.
‘What’s next, a rainstorm?’ I thought.
I looked up into the pitch-black sky with not a single star in sight, waiting for the impromptu shower that was sure to come. That was the way my luck was running.
As I waited for the downpour, I trudged on, each step delivering pain. I wished there was a way to prove that the company was at fault, sue them, and retire. But I knew there was no proof. Others before me had gone through the same thing and none of them had any proof either. They just slowly disappeared one by one.
Management found some excuse to fire them. And since the company was such a large employer in the town, the fired person was also blacklisted.
I know they say blacklists don’t exist. Tell that to the people who were fired and weren’t even given unemployment because the company didn’t want to pay for it, so they bullied people into keeping their mouths shut.
If only I could get another job, but the company was the highest paying around, by a slim margin. That’s why they built their factory in a depressed area, no competition. And no one could afford to take even a minor pay cut with the way insurance costs were, not to mention such frivolous things like food.
As depressing as the thoughts were, they distracted me from the pain in my feet and legs as I walked down the road, hugging myself, trying to keep the flashlight pointed ahead, shivering from the wind.
As my shaking hand made the light jump all around, I saw a set of eyes peek out of the cornfield ahead of me, then dart back in and disappear.
At first, I thought it might’ve been a dog or cat, but it seemed too big to be either of those. That thought concerned me. Having something bigger than a dog peeking out of the cornfield at me when I was miles away from any help or shelter, wasn’t high up on my to do list at the moment. But the fact that it ducked back into the field gave me a boost of confidence knowing that it was more afraid of me than I was of it.
When I got to the point where the animal had peeked out, I slowed and shone my light in through the impenetrable curtain of corn stalks. There were no eyes and nothing jumped out at me, so I shrugged and continued my painful march toward home.
The wind whipping through the corn stalks sounded like a rainstorm. It made me feel even colder, if that was possible.
Fifteen minutes later, I took another rest break. At least the wind was dying down. With literally miles to go before I sleep, I was taking comfort in anything I could.
After my break, getting up was harder. The pain had gotten worse instead of better. I didn’t even want to think of the blisters forming on my feet, or how I was going to get to work later on today. It didn’t matter if you’d never taken a sick day in your life, the company did everything they could to make you feel like a piece of crap for even attempting to call off.
I truly believe if I went to work with a severed arm, bleeding all over, they’d hand me a mop and tell me to get to work.
As my hopelessness and bitterness fought over which felt more justified, I heard something behind me. It sounded like the corn stalks rustling so I ignored it as the wind and kept walking.
The next problem my mind decided to torture me with was my car. How was I going to get to work without a car and how was I going to afford a car if I couldn’t get to work. A wonderful conundrum I would have to solve later today.
As I wrestled with that problem, I heard the corn stalks rustle again. I stopped and looked around. The wind had died down and the air was still. None of the stalks were moving. In fact, it had become eerily quiet. I shone my flashlight into the corn, doing a slow turn to search for whatever had made the noise. But I didn’t see anything.
Not entirely satisfied, I turned and started walking again. It wasn’t long before I heard the rustle. This time I didn’t stop, and neither did it. I went a little faster, so did the noise. I broke into a run and the noise kept pace with me.
I skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling. The noise in the cornfield stopped as well. There was no doubt about it, something was following me. It was keeping pace with me.
It was stalking me.
I turned toward the field and shone my light into the wall of green. The wind was still and there was no movement. I could feel the stillness. The chill I felt no longer had anything to do with the temperature. I wanted to see what was following me, but at the same time, I didn’t want to know. Out here in the middle of nowhere, I was on my own and didn’t like my chances fighting off a predator.
There was nothing I could do about it. The closest thing I had to a weapon to defend myself was my flashlight. And I was sure that it wouldn’t do much against a determined predator.
For a fleeting moment, my mind thought, ‘You know what, bring it on. At least if something attacks and kills me, I won’t have to deal with walking miles on feet that feel like razorblades are tearing them slowly to pieces.
It’s awesome to realize that your mind is actively trying to kill you.
With nothing left to do but walk, that’s exactly what I did. Trying my best to ignore the pain as well as the disturbing feeling in the back of my mind that I was being hunted.
As soon as I started, the sound started beside me. I did my best to ignore it. Shooting furtive glances into the corn field now and then didn’t have any results at first. But after a few minutes I noticed I could see something pale through the corn.
It was walking next to me in the first row of corn, maybe trying to get a feel for what I was. Funny thing was, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.
Stopping and ripping open the layer of corn stalks was a last resort. I didn’t want to spook this thing into attacking.
For the time being I began thinking of it as my walking buddy. My companion on a dark night with only a flashlight to keep me company. Thinking that helped me keep the fear at bay.
I had no sooner thought it until a light appeared on the road in the distance.
I watched with great curiosity as it came closer. It was moving fast and almost to me. Apparently, it didn’t care if something jumped out in front of it. It was close enough now that I could see it was a big rig truck. It must’ve been one of the ones that deliver corn from the farm.
I waved my arms in hopes of flagging it down and perhaps grabbing a ride home. The problem was it was going in the opposite direction and there weren’t many places on this road where a big rig could turn around. Even if it would.
Waving my arms, I still stayed on the side of the road. If the driver didn’t see me or worse didn’t care, I didn’t want to be found in the middle of the road days later as nothing more than an unidentifiable bloody lump of goo sitting in the middle of the road for crows to peck at.
The truck was almost here. My arms waved furiously, but it didn’t seem to be slowing down. Either the driver was having a hard time staying awake, as I often did on this road, or he was just ignoring me.
It was so near, the headlights blinded me and I had to hold my hand over my eyes.
Just then, I felt something push the middle of my back so hard I lost my balance and fell in the middle of the road with the truck bearing down on me.
My mind went into panic mode, and I scurried like a crab toward the side of the road, the truck’s tires missing me by mere inches.
As I rolled into the grass on the far side of the road, the wind from the passing truck washed over me so strong, if I’d been standing it could’ve knocked me down.
I watched in shock as the truck continued on. It’s brake lights didn’t even flash for a moment.
Hopelessness and rage fought for control as I watched the lights disappear into the distance. It didn’t even dawn on me how I had ended up in the middle of the road until I stopped the think about it.
Someone or something had pushed me.
Someone or something wanted me dead.
I shone my light over in the corn and stared at the other side of the road. Something in the corn stared back.
All I could see was a pair of glowing eyes. They were somewhere between white and yellow. I seem to remember reading somewhere that a predator’s eyes would shine white or yellow when reflecting light.
This, plus the fact that this thing had just tried to commit truckicide, made me think the chances of me getting home tonight in one piece were next to zero.
It must’ve sensed my fear and felt emboldened by it, because it stepped out of the corn toward me.
It took my mind a moment to sink in what I was even seeing. It was hideous, with large protruding eyes, pale skin, and many more arms or legs than any animal was supposed to have. At least any natural animal. The extra arms dangled just behind its neck, but they looked oddly human with the exception of thorns growing out of them and razor sharp claws. It looked like something out of a horror movie. As if someone had been playing around in the gene pool and the lifeguards blew the whistle on them.
It was bigger than a dog, but had no fur, like it had been skinned. The thing that sealed the deal was its enormous sharp teeth that it showed when it hissed at me and started across the road.
I didn’t hesitate, I turned and ran into the field on my side of the road.
When I was younger, my friends and I used to play hide and seek in the cornfields, and one of the first things I learned was, never run in a straight line.
I zigzagged and doubled back as the terror in my mind gave my feet the will and strength to escape.
At least the moon was half full (or was it half empty?) giving me a little light to see my path.
And then as suddenly as I’d started I stopped, dropped, and did everything I could to be as quiet and still as possible. It wasn’t easy, especially at first when my breaths were coming in ragged gasps and I had to cover my mouth, trying to breathe slowly and quietly when my oxygen starved lungs were screaming for more air as quickly as possible.
One of the lessons I’d learned early on in my hide and seek career was when you dropped, make sure you’re in a comfortable position.
I’d forgotten that lesson tonight, maybe out of sheer terror. When I dropped, instead of sitting, I was on my knees in the ready position in case I had to run quickly. A wise position to be in if I were to be found right away. However, after fifteen minutes of sitting on my knees I’d realized my mistake.
I was about to change position when I heard a soft rustling of corn stalks behind me.
Every fiber of my being froze, and I stopped breathing.
It moved slowly, searching methodically. Even though I knew it was trying to make as little sound as possible, I could hear the soft rustle of corn stalks brushing against it and feel the ground give slightly with every step it took.
It was in the row beside me.
I knew it was a bad decision, but I looked over at the spaces in between the stalks at its horrifying body. It was bigger than a dog, but the extra arms it didn’t walk on were covered with sharp looking thorns and claws. I didn’t dare look up as far as its face and mouth for fear I would start running right then.
And then it hit me. If I could see it, then it could possibly see me.
Was this thing just toying with me? I’d seen that so many times as a kid. The seeker would pretend not to see someone hiding and pass by only to jump back and scare the crap out of the hider a moment later.
This creature was almost past me. Was I about to suffer the same fate? Would it pass me, letting me believe I was in the clear only to whip around and sink its claws and teeth into me?
I was about to start shaking, I could feel it. I had to get that under control real quick. There was still a chance it hadn’t seen me. That was the hope I clung to. If it knew I was here, there was nothing I could do about it anyway. I wasn’t that little kid anymore. I couldn’t jump up and sprint at a moment’s notice. I was amazed my feet had allowed me to run into the cornfield.
And there it was. I hadn’t thought about my feet the entire time I was running in fear. But now that I wasn’t, the pain came back stronger than ever.
It was all I could do not to gasp from the strength of it.
I imagined if this creature was chewing my feet off, it wouldn’t have felt much worse. I winced and grimaced but did all I could not to move or make any sound.
Closing my eyes, I focused on anything I could except the pain, in a vain effort to make it go away or at least abate. It was a few minutes until it began to subside.
When I opened my eyes, the creature was gone. Not just further down the down the row, gone, like vanished.
At first, I felt relieved, but then I realized I had no idea where it was. It could literally be right behind me, and I wouldn’t know.
I felt the panic rising in my mind and had to fight to keep it down.
‘Ok, it passed me, so unless it knows I’m here,’ I thought. ‘There’s no reason it would stick around this area with so much more field to search. If it does know I’m here, I’m dead anyway and there’s nothing I can do about it. At least if I die, my feet won’t hurt anymore.’
As strange as it sounded, that seemed to calm me down for the moment. Next, I focused on getting in a more comfortable position. My knees were screaming for mercy. I turned and sat in the cold dirt, making surprisingly little sound.
Now was the time to rest for a minute then consider my options.
I still had my flashlight, but I didn’t dare turn it on. At least I was getting a little light from the moon. Somewhere during the commotion I must’ve dropped my bag. A shame really, because I could’ve thrown it in the opposite direction to misdirect the creature.
Sitting there was an option, but it wasn’t one that would get me home.
I could crawl out to the road and continue on my way, hoping that the creature was so busy searching for me and wouldn’t notice.
I chuckled softly at the ludicrousness of that plan, and then I stopped.
‘Why not?’ I thought. ‘If it already passed me and didn’t know I was there, maybe it would keep searching oblivious that I had quit the deadly game of hide and seek and was heading home.’
The longer I thought about it the more plausible it seemed. At least it was a plan, something to focus on rather than impotent fear.
I turned around as quietly as possible and began crawling toward the road. After a short time, I’d had enough of that and stood. Stepping sideways to brush against as few of the leaves as possible, I found the noise I made this way was less than what I did while crawling.
But it was still noise.
I had no idea how near or far that thing was and if it was close, it was bound to hear me.
The thought made me want to go faster, but I realized that panic would only get me caught. Besides, maybe it was making just as much noise looking for me.
As I comforted myself with that thought, I felt the first raindrop hit my cheek. Looking up I watched the moon disappear behind rainclouds and with it went my light.
At this point it didn’t matter. I was in a row that was heading toward the road (hopefully) and once I stepped out onto the road, I could use my flashlight again, covering it up and only allowing a sliver of light to escape at a time.
I kept walking, glancing behind me from time to time as the rain intensified. It wasn’t long until the fear of the last hour or so gave way to shivering as the cold rain soaked into my clothes. I once again lamented not bringing a coat.
All I could see were a few corn stalks in front of me. The storm had robbed me of even the little light the moon had provided.
The rain pounded harder so that I could barely hear myself walking. I took the opportunity to walk faster, when suddenly the cornstalks disappeared. It happened so fast I nearly lost my balance and fell face first onto the road.
I had made it out of the field. I felt like hooping and hollering, but that would just tell the monster where I was. Instead, I turned my flashlight on and covered it with my hand.
Looking left and right, I remembered which side of the road I was on and turned left to start for home again. I breathed a silent prayer that the thing would stay lost in the field until I was home, in bed, asleep.
The rain was coming down in sheets, but I trudged on through it. The monster chasing me took away any thought of rest breaks. The next time I sat down would be in my living room.
I limped on through the rain, pain shooting through my feet, but I didn’t care. I wondered if I would make it all the way home. It had to be at least six or seven miles away, through the pouring rain, with a homicidal monster hunting me.
I never thought all that would happen when I left for work this morning.
As I pondered my survival, the rain in front of me began to glow. I stopped and watched as a shadowy figure rose out of the pavement. ‘What now?’ I thought. ‘Have I entered the freakin’ Twilight Zone?’
Staring at this growing apparition, I suddenly realized it was my shadow. I whipped around and saw a truck barreling down the road toward me.
It could be my salvation or my doom.
I aimed my light at the driver’s side windshield and prayed for the best.
For one long moment, nothing changed. The truck kept coming just as fast as ever. Then miracle of miracles, I heard it slow with the jake brake and eventually come to a stop beside me.
The driver’s side window came down and a large woman stuck her head out through it.
“Are you nuts?” she screamed. “You tryin’ ta get yerself killed?”
“No, ma’am, my car broke down,” I called back. “I was just trying to get home.”
She shook her head.
“Where’s home?”
I pointed in the direction she was headed and said, “Around seven miles that way.”
She looked at me as I stood in the pouring rain and for an instant, I thought she would roll up her window and leave me standing there. Of all the terrors I’d dealt with tonight, that would be the worst.
“Alright, get in,” she said, nodding toward the passenger side.
I ran around and climbed up into the cab, profusely apologizing for getting her seat wet.
“It’s a company truck,” she said. “It don’t matter to me.”
She put the truck in gear, and it slowly started forward as I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.
“Was that your car back there in the middle of the road?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She looked at her odometer.
“Well, you walked around four miles so far,” she said.
I nodded as we picked up speed. Glancing in the side mirror, I saw something running down the road after us, but losing ground quickly. I knew I had escaped death by a margin of a minute.
Sighing deeply, I swore to never walk this road again. Even if I broke down, I would sit in the car and wait for someone to happen by.
We passed the large farm that I knew was her destination and stopped two miles later when we got to my house.
It was the only one at the end of a cul-d-sac. The realtor told me they were going to tear it down because the housing development it was suppose to start, never happened. The company had gone out of business before they could build anything other than the model house. It had sat empty for years, falling into disrepair.
Instead of tearing it down, they rented it to me after doing just enough to make it livable.
“Is this it?” she said, turning partway through and stopping.
“Home sweet home,” I said. “Thank you very much. You’re a literal lifesaver.”
She looked at me with a question in her eyes, but I was already climbing out of the cab and closing the door.
I ran to the front door, dodging raindrops as I dug out my keys and unlocked it.
Closing and locking the door behind me was the best feeling I’d had in a long time.
I painfully pulled off my shoes and left them on the mat beside the door, then went to the laundry room and stripped off my wet clothes.
Next was a shower before throwing on a pair of pajamas and going to bed.
Laying there under my warm blanket in my soft bed made the rest of the day feel like a nightmare. There was still the problem of what I was going to do about a car, and how was I going to get to work, but those would wait until I got a good night’s sleep.
The last thing I thought about was that monster and how I’d cheated death. I wondered how many of those things were roaming around, what it was, and how many people had disappeared like I nearly had.

​
I should’ve known better.
Driving in the dead of night down a dark ribbon of asphalt is enough to put anyone to sleep. Add in the complete lack of scenery, unless of course you count endless rows of giant corn stalks that flank both sides of the road.
I don’t know how they make them grow that tall. Maybe they put something special in the fertilizer. But in any case, rows upon rows of corn with nary a break in sight for miles can make me go a special kind of crazy. That is if I can keep my eyes open long enough.
I wish there was some other way for me to get home at night. Any other way. But there isn’t. I live at the far end of the road, surrounded by corn fields.
Going faster wasn’t an option. With the corn so close to the road, I had no warning if a suicidal deer jumped out in front of me. And believe me, I’ve had plenty of those. Fortunately, I kept to my own personal speed limit of forty miles per hour.
It helped me to avoid making a fur hood ornament out of many a deer. Not to mention the other creatures that seem to think they own the road.
My car was a factor too. At this point, I’m not sure it would tolerate going much faster than forty. The engine light had gone on around a month ago, but I didn’t have the time or money to get it to a garage. I just prayed every time I turned the key that it would start and get me home or to work, depending on what time of day or night it was.
Those were the only places I went anymore, home and work. Occasionally, I’d stop after work and get some groceries, but that was it. When you worked at a factory like me, that seemed to think you were just another machine they could run as much as they wanted, home and work was all your life consisted of.
This night I’d be especially glad to get home. My feet were killing me, and I was exhausted. I was due back at work in less than twelve hours and needed to get as much sleep as I could. Not that any of that was a rare occurrence. My feet were always killing me and I was always exhausted. Even on my days off, all I did was sleep, trying to catch up from a week of working twelve-hour days.
The corn seemed to be blurrier than usual tonight, and I caught my eyes going closed more than a few times.
I woke up to the sound of metal grinding and lights flashing on my dashboard as the car lurched to a stop.
There was no time to pull over, it ground to a halt in the middle of the road.
Futilely, I tried to start it a few times only to be rewarded by the sound of metal grinding against metal.
“No, no, no,” I said. “Please don’t do this to me.”
It ignored my pleas.
Closing my eyes, I turned the key one last time, praying for a miracle. The engine didn’t even click. It was done.
I smacked my head off the steering wheel in frustration, not doing any damage to the wheel but starting me on a headache.
The headlights were still lit, but just beyond their dying dirty yellow glow, the overwhelming darkness closed in.
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I realized I was at least ten or more miles from home. My feet were still hurting from work, and even resting them as I sat in the car wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t relish the idea of walking, let alone for miles.
It was a little after three in the morning. Even if I was able to afford triple-A, no one was going to drive out here at this time of night.
For a brief moment, I thought about sleeping in the car, but there was always the chance of being run over by one of the tractor-trailers that hauled corn from the local farm that surrounded me.
Dying in an accident because I was too stupid to get out of the road would be just my luck.
I decided to avoid that scenario. As much as I hated the thought, that I would have to walk.
Grabbing my work bag and a flashlight out of the glove compartment, I turned on the hazard blinkers and got out of my car, knowing it would be the last time.
I only hoped I would get some trade-in value for it when I went to buy a used car I couldn’t afford. But with my luck, the dealership would probably charge me more to tow it than they would give me on a trade-in.
Not bothering to look back, I turned on the flashlight and started walking. Pain shot through my feet and up my legs with every step.
After ten minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped and sat in the grass on the side of the road, digging through my work bag for the bottle of Ibuprofen that I carried and used every day.
Fortunately, there was enough water left in my bottle to wash three of the pills down.
It took every ounce of my willpower to get up and start walking again.
The pain hadn’t gone away, it had gotten worse. I silently prayed that the medicine would kick in soon.
Trying to focus on something, anything other than my feet, my flashlight swept back and forth across the road, sometimes catching the edges of the corn fields.
It wasn’t supposed to be cold today. The temperature was in the lower sixties this afternoon, yet for some reason I caught a chill as I walked. I guess I hadn’t planned on walking home tonight.
It had been warm enough that I hadn’t brought a jacket to work. Now I regret that decision.
As if reading my mind, the wind kicked up, sending a gust my way, and causing me to shiver.
‘What’s next, a rainstorm?’ I thought.
I looked up into the pitch-black sky with not a single star in sight, waiting for the impromptu shower that was sure to come. That was the way my luck was running.
As I waited for the downpour, I trudged on, each step delivering pain. I wished there was a way to prove that the company was at fault, sue them, and retire. But I knew there was no proof. Others before me had gone through the same thing and none of them had any proof either. They just slowly disappeared one by one.
Management found some excuse to fire them. And since the company was such a large employer in the town, the fired person was also blacklisted.
I know they say blacklists don’t exist. Tell that to the people who were fired and weren’t even given unemployment because the company didn’t want to pay for it, so they bullied people into keeping their mouths shut.
If only I could get another job, but the company was the highest paying around, by a slim margin. That’s why they built their factory in a depressed area, no competition. And no one could afford to take even a minor pay cut with the way insurance costs were, not to mention such frivolous things like food.
As depressing as the thoughts were, they distracted me from the pain in my feet and legs as I walked down the road, hugging myself, trying to keep the flashlight pointed ahead, shivering from the wind.
As my shaking hand made the light jump all around, I saw a set of eyes peek out of the cornfield ahead of me, then dart back in and disappear.
At first, I thought it might’ve been a dog or cat, but it seemed too big to be either of those. That thought concerned me. Having something bigger than a dog peeking out of the cornfield at me when I was miles away from any help or shelter, wasn’t high up on my to do list at the moment. But the fact that it ducked back into the field gave me a boost of confidence knowing that it was more afraid of me than I was of it.
When I got to the point where the animal had peeked out, I slowed and shone my light in through the impenetrable curtain of corn stalks. There were no eyes and nothing jumped out at me, so I shrugged and continued my painful march toward home.
The wind whipping through the corn stalks sounded like a rainstorm. It made me feel even colder, if that was possible.
Fifteen minutes later, I took another rest break. At least the wind was dying down. With literally miles to go before I sleep, I was taking comfort in anything I could.
After my break, getting up was harder. The pain had gotten worse instead of better. I didn’t even want to think of the blisters forming on my feet, or how I was going to get to work later on today. It didn’t matter if you’d never taken a sick day in your life, the company did everything they could to make you feel like a piece of crap for even attempting to call off.
I truly believe if I went to work with a severed arm, bleeding all over, they’d hand me a mop and tell me to get to work.
As my hopelessness and bitterness fought over which felt more justified, I heard something behind me. It sounded like the corn stalks rustling so I ignored it as the wind and kept walking.
The next problem my mind decided to torture me with was my car. How was I going to get to work without a car and how was I going to afford a car if I couldn’t get to work. A wonderful conundrum I would have to solve later today.
As I wrestled with that problem, I heard the corn stalks rustle again. I stopped and looked around. The wind had died down and the air was still. None of the stalks were moving. In fact, it had become eerily quiet. I shone my flashlight into the corn, doing a slow turn to search for whatever had made the noise. But I didn’t see anything.
Not entirely satisfied, I turned and started walking again. It wasn’t long before I heard the rustle. This time I didn’t stop, and neither did it. I went a little faster, so did the noise. I broke into a run and the noise kept pace with me.
I skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling. The noise in the cornfield stopped as well. There was no doubt about it, something was following me. It was keeping pace with me.
It was stalking me.
I turned toward the field and shone my light into the wall of green. The wind was still and there was no movement. I could feel the stillness. The chill I felt no longer had anything to do with the temperature. I wanted to see what was following me, but at the same time, I didn’t want to know. Out here in the middle of nowhere, I was on my own and didn’t like my chances fighting off a predator.
There was nothing I could do about it. The closest thing I had to a weapon to defend myself was my flashlight. And I was sure that it wouldn’t do much against a determined predator.
For a fleeting moment, my mind thought, ‘You know what, bring it on. At least if something attacks and kills me, I won’t have to deal with walking miles on feet that feel like razorblades are tearing them slowly to pieces.
It’s awesome to realize that your mind is actively trying to kill you.
With nothing left to do but walk, that’s exactly what I did. Trying my best to ignore the pain as well as the disturbing feeling in the back of my mind that I was being hunted.
As soon as I started, the sound started beside me. I did my best to ignore it. Shooting furtive glances into the corn field now and then didn’t have any results at first. But after a few minutes I noticed I could see something pale through the corn.
It was walking next to me in the first row of corn, maybe trying to get a feel for what I was. Funny thing was, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.
Stopping and ripping open the layer of corn stalks was a last resort. I didn’t want to spook this thing into attacking.
For the time being I began thinking of it as my walking buddy. My companion on a dark night with only a flashlight to keep me company. Thinking that helped me keep the fear at bay.
I had no sooner thought it until a light appeared on the road in the distance.
I watched with great curiosity as it came closer. It was moving fast and almost to me. Apparently, it didn’t care if something jumped out in front of it. It was close enough now that I could see it was a big rig truck. It must’ve been one of the ones that deliver corn from the farm.
I waved my arms in hopes of flagging it down and perhaps grabbing a ride home. The problem was it was going in the opposite direction and there weren’t many places on this road where a big rig could turn around. Even if it would.
Waving my arms, I still stayed on the side of the road. If the driver didn’t see me or worse didn’t care, I didn’t want to be found in the middle of the road days later as nothing more than an unidentifiable bloody lump of goo sitting in the middle of the road for crows to peck at.
The truck was almost here. My arms waved furiously, but it didn’t seem to be slowing down. Either the driver was having a hard time staying awake, as I often did on this road, or he was just ignoring me.
It was so near, the headlights blinded me and I had to hold my hand over my eyes.
Just then, I felt something push the middle of my back so hard that I lost my balance and fell in the middle of the road with the truck bearing down on me.
My mind went into panic mode, and I scurried like a crab toward the side of the road, the truck’s tires missing me by mere inches.
As I rolled into the grass on the far side of the road, the wind from the passing truck washed over me so strongly, that if I’d been standing it could’ve knocked me down.
I watched in shock as the truck continued on. Its brake lights didn’t even flash for a moment.
Hopelessness and rage fought for control as I watched the lights disappear into the distance. It didn’t even dawn on me how I had ended up in the middle of the road until I stopped the think about it.
Someone or something had pushed me.
Someone or something wanted me dead.
I shone my light over in the corn and stared at the other side of the road. Something in the corn stared back.
All I could see was a pair of glowing eyes. They were somewhere between white and yellow. I seem to remember reading somewhere that a predator’s eyes would shine white or yellow when reflecting light.
This, plus the fact that this thing had just tried to commit truckicide, made me think the chances of me getting home tonight in one piece were next to zero.
It must’ve sensed my fear and felt emboldened by it, because it stepped out of the corn toward me.
It took my mind a moment to sink in what I was even seeing. It was hideous, with large protruding eyes, pale skin, and many more arms or legs than any animal was supposed to have. At least any natural animal. The extra arms dangled just behind its neck, but they looked oddly human with the exception of thorns growing out of them and razor sharp claws. It looked like something out of a horror movie. As if someone had been playing around in the gene pool and the lifeguards blew the whistle on them.
It was bigger than a dog, but had no fur, like it had been skinned. The thing that sealed the deal was its enormous sharp teeth that it showed when it hissed at me and started across the road.
I didn’t hesitate, I turned and ran into the field on my side of the road.
When I was younger, my friends and I used to play hide and seek in the cornfields, and one of the first things I learned was, never run in a straight line.
I zigzagged and doubled back as the terror in my mind gave my feet the will and strength to escape.
At least the moon was half full (or was it half empty?) giving me a little light to see my path.
And then as suddenly as I’d started I stopped, dropped, and did everything I could to be as quiet and still as possible. It wasn’t easy, especially at first when my breaths were coming in ragged gasps and I had to cover my mouth, trying to breathe slowly and quietly when my oxygen starved lungs were screaming for more air as quickly as possible.
One of the lessons I’d learned early on in my hide and seek career was when you dropped, make sure you’re in a comfortable position.
I’d forgotten that lesson tonight, maybe out of sheer terror. When I dropped, instead of sitting, I was on my knees in the ready position in case I had to run quickly. A wise position to be in if I were to be found right away. However, after fifteen minutes of sitting on my knees I’d realized my mistake.
I was about to change position when I heard a soft rustling of corn stalks behind me.
Every fiber of my being froze, and I stopped breathing.
It moved slowly, searching methodically. Even though I knew it was trying to make as little sound as possible, I could hear the soft rustle of corn stalks brushing against it and feel the ground give slightly with every step it took.
It was in the row beside me.
I knew it was a bad decision, but I looked over at the spaces in between the stalks at its horrifying body. It was bigger than a dog, but the extra arms it didn’t walk on were covered with sharp looking thorns and claws. I didn’t dare look up as far as its face and mouth for fear I would start running right then.
And then it hit me. If I could see it, then it could possibly see me.
Was this thing just toying with me? I’d seen that so many times as a kid. The seeker would pretend not to see someone hiding and pass by only to jump back and scare the crap out of the hider a moment later.
This creature was almost past me. Was I about to suffer the same fate? Would it pass me, letting me believe I was in the clear only to whip around and sink its claws and teeth into me?
I was about to start shaking, I could feel it. I had to get that under control real quick. There was still a chance it hadn’t seen me. That was the hope I clung to. If it knew I was here, there was nothing I could do about it anyway. I wasn’t that little kid anymore. I couldn’t jump up and sprint at a moment’s notice. I was amazed my feet had allowed me to run into the cornfield.
And there it was. I hadn’t thought about my feet the entire time I was running in fear. But now that I wasn’t, the pain came back stronger than ever.
It was all I could do not to gasp from the strength of it.
I imagined if this creature was chewing my feet off, it wouldn’t have felt much worse. I winced and grimaced but did all I could not to move or make any sound.
Closing my eyes, I focused on anything I could except the pain, in a vain effort to make it go away or at least abate. It was a few minutes until it began to subside.
When I opened my eyes, the creature was gone. Not just further down the row, gone, like vanished.
At first, I felt relieved, but then I realized I had no idea where it was. It could literally be right behind me, and I wouldn’t know.
I felt the panic rising in my mind and had to fight to keep it down.
‘Ok, it passed me, so unless it knows I’m here,’ I thought. ‘There’s no reason it would stick around this area with so much more field to search. If it does know I’m here, I’m dead anyway and there’s nothing I can do about it. At least if I die, my feet won’t hurt anymore.’
As strange as it sounded, that seemed to calm me down for the moment. Next, I focused on getting in a more comfortable position. My knees were screaming for mercy. I turned and sat in the cold dirt, making surprisingly little sound.
Now was the time to rest for a minute and then consider my options.
I still had my flashlight, but I didn’t dare turn it on. At least I was getting a little light from the moon. Somewhere during the commotion, I must’ve dropped my bag. A shame really, because I could’ve thrown it in the opposite direction to misdirect the creature.
Sitting there was an option, but it wouldn't get me home.
I could crawl out to the road and continue on my way, hoping that the creature was so busy searching for me and wouldn’t notice.
I chuckled softly at the ludicrousness of that plan, and then I stopped.
‘Why not?’ I thought. ‘If it already passed me and didn’t know I was there, maybe it would keep searching oblivious that I had quit the deadly game of hide and seek and was heading home.’
The longer I thought about it the more plausible it seemed. At least it was a plan, something to focus on rather than impotent fear.
I turned around as quietly as possible and began crawling toward the road. After a short time, I’d had enough of that and stood. Stepping sideways to brush against as few of the leaves as possible, I found the noise I made this way was less than what I did while crawling.
But it was still noise.
I had no idea how near or far that thing was and if it was close, it was bound to hear me.
The thought made me want to go faster, but I realized that panic would only get me caught. Besides, maybe it was making just as much noise looking for me.
As I comforted myself with that thought, I felt the first raindrop hit my cheek. Looking up I watched the moon disappear behind rainclouds and with it went my light.
At this point, it didn’t matter. I was in a row that was heading toward the road (hopefully) and once I stepped out onto the road, I could use my flashlight again, covering it up and only allowing a sliver of light to escape at a time.
I kept walking, glancing behind me from time to time as the rain intensified. It wasn’t long until the fear of the last hour or so gave way to shivering as the cold rain soaked into my clothes. I once again lamented not bringing a coat.
All I could see were a few corn stalks in front of me. The storm had robbed me of even the little light the moon had provided.
The rain pounded harder so that I could barely hear myself walking. I took the opportunity to walk faster when suddenly the cornstalks disappeared. It happened so fast that I nearly lost my balance and fell face-first onto the road.
I had made it out of the field. I felt like hooping and hollering, but that would just tell the monster where I was. Instead, I turned my flashlight on and covered it with my hand.
Looking left and right, I remembered which side of the road I was on and turned left to start for home again. I breathed a silent prayer that the thing would stay lost in the field until I was home, in bed, asleep.
The rain was coming down in sheets, but I trudged on through it. The monster chasing me took away any thought of rest breaks. The next time I sat down would be in my living room.
I limped on through the rain, pain shooting through my feet, but I didn’t care. I wondered if I would make it all the way home. It had to be at least six or seven miles away, through the pouring rain, with a homicidal monster hunting me.
I never thought all that would happen when I left for work this morning.
As I pondered my survival, the rain in front of me began to glow. I stopped and watched as a shadowy figure rose out of the pavement. ‘What now?’ I thought. ‘Have I entered the freakin’ Twilight Zone?’
Staring at this growing apparition, I suddenly realized it was my shadow. I whipped around and saw a truck barreling down the road toward me.
It could be my salvation or my doom.
I aimed my light at the driver’s side windshield and prayed for the best.
For one long moment, nothing changed. The truck kept coming just as fast as ever. Then miracle of miracles, I heard it slow with the jake brake and eventually come to a stop beside me.
The driver’s side window came down and a large woman stuck her head out through it.
“Are you nuts?” she screamed. “You tryin’ ta get yerself killed?”
“No, ma’am, my car broke down,” I called back. “I was just trying to get home.”
She shook her head.
“Where’s home?”
I pointed in the direction she was headed and said, “Around seven miles that way.”
She looked at me as I stood in the pouring rain and for an instant, I thought she would roll up her window and leave me standing there. Of all the terrors I’d dealt with tonight, that would be the worst.
“Alright, get in,” she said, nodding toward the passenger side.
I ran around and climbed up into the cab, profusely apologizing for getting her seat wet.
“It’s a company truck,” she said. “It don’t matter to me.”
She put the truck in gear, and it slowly started forward as I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.
“Was that your car back there in the middle of the road?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She looked at her odometer.
“Well, you walked around four miles so far,” she said.
I nodded as we picked up speed. Glancing in the side mirror, I saw something running down the road after us, but losing ground quickly. I knew I had escaped death by a margin of a minute.
Sighing deeply, I swore to never walk this road again. Even if I broke down, I would sit in the car and wait for someone to come by.
We passed the large farm that I knew was her destination and stopped two miles later when we got to my house.
It was the only one at the end of a cul-de-sac. The realtor told me they were going to tear it down because the housing development it was supposed to start, never happened. The company had gone out of business before they could build anything other than the model house. It had sat empty for years, falling into disrepair.
Instead of tearing it down, they rented it to me after doing just enough to make it livable.
“Is this it?” she said, turning partway through and stopping.
“Home sweet home,” I said. “Thank you very much. You’re a literal lifesaver.”
She looked at me with a question in her eyes, but I was already climbing out of the cab and closing the door.
I ran to the front door, dodging raindrops as I dug out my keys and unlocked it.
Closing and locking the door behind me was the best feeling I’d had in a long time.
I painfully pulled off my shoes and left them on the mat beside the door, then went to the laundry room and stripped off my wet clothes.
Next was a shower before throwing on a pair of pajamas and going to bed.
Laying there under my warm blanket in my soft bed made the rest of the day feel like a nightmare. There was still the problem of what I was going to do about a car, and how was I going to get to work, but those would wait until I got a good night’s sleep.
The last thing I thought about was that monster and how I’d cheated death. I wondered how many of those things were roaming around, what it was, and how many people had disappeared like I nearly had.

Tanjiro sat and told himself the story of his travels through the Knees. The other Tanjiro listened intently, smiling and interjecting questions as they spoke.
Shamrock leaned over to Karhma, “So, you want to explain what really happened?”
Karhma smiled in spite of himself. “Some years ago, When Galacian was gathering his power. He reached out to various members of the pantheon, and beyond. At the time, Truth and Lies were at the height of their bickering. They both reached out to Galacian, telling him that, should he support their side, They would ally with him. Both of them saw how Greed could further their own agenda. Galacian put Azaphriel, The Arch-Devil of Rebellion, in place as their “point of contact”. He did this on purpose, hoping that they would be corrupted enough to be controlable. And that worked for a time. What he didn’t notice, was Azaphriel’s desire to overturn a power structure. He whispered in Truth and Lies ears, stoking their fight more and more. They were so focused on their own battles, that they simply sent whatever troops, money or components that Galacian required. When Galacian lost his empire, Azaphriel took the opportunity, using the confusion and chaos resulting to convince Truth to attack Lies. He then played Lies, encouraging him to make drastic decisions, that over then next few years, nearly killed every follower, and avatar that Lies had. Leaving only a single True follower, Azaphriel imprisoned him. He spent the next few years, whispering in Truth’s ear, telling him to “strike now!” against the now, non-existant followers of lies. Convincing him that they were hiding, and stirring up problems. Eventually, Azaphriel’s whispers corrupted the Truth enough, that he was able to gain a foothold in Truth’s Avatar, Quinn. At that point, he was able to access The Last Bastion of Truth, and his real goal, The Fae Stone inside it’s central tower.”
Sham nodded. “Ok, I’m with you so far.”
“This is where it gets a little murky.” Karhma noted. “ Azaphriel’s goal is always to topple whatever power structure exists in a given universe. Until now, he’s always had to work in the shadows, causing small rebellions, and troubles, that, left unchecked, could indeed topple a country, or region. However, now he had the power to create something that could threaten anyone. Power’s, Primes.. etc.. He had the Totem of a Prime. ‘Grixxus’ Razor.’ It was given to Quinn eon’s ago, as a weapon of Fact. He had the blood of an Avatar, as well as the power of a Fae stone that could rival even us. All he really needed was the blood of an Eldritch Lord. To our knowledge, there is only one left. Once he had that blood, and enough time to complete the ritual, that sword would have been capable of killing you, me, Rammar, Grixxus.. anyone really, Followers or no.”
Shamrock raised an eyebrow. “So, why didn’t we just roll on over and take him out? You know, like the old days?”
“He was expecting that.” Karhma said. “He was holed up in the Last Bastion, and he controled the Mythall. We would not have been able to cross that line, and the amount of power it would have taken to break that mythall would have taken centuries or more to aquire. The only real way to get in and stop this from happening, was to do it all sneaky like. I sugguested to Sharky, to go ‘Have a look’ at what Azaphriel was up to. I made it clear that she was supposed to get captured and stay long enough to convince him that she was truly captured. She did well, He was so sure that she could keep me from seeing his movements. It was very entertaining.”
“I mean, I knew you knew what was going on.” Shamrock said. “but next time, can you let me in on the plan?”
“I tried to.” Karhma said. “but, Azaphriel was watching me very closely, especially after he ‘captured’ Sharky. I was hoping you would just trust me, and go with it.”
“It was close,” Sham said. “another day or so, and I was just gonna go.”
“I know.. but you did well.” Karhma said. “Anyway, Sharky convinced him that her brother, Consequence would come for her, regardless what I said. So, Azaphriel devised a plan to use Consequences actions to get the last ingredient he needed. Meanwhile, Mayhem saw what was going on, and he went and talked to his Favorite uncle, and well, Rammar and Mayhem really cooked up a fun little play action for us.”
“Wait.. Rammar knew?” Sham said, sounding a bit hurt. “and you left me in the dark?”
“I mean, Technically, I didn’t tell Rammar.” Karhma said. “Mayhem did. He knew the same as I, that both Azaphriel and Quinn know that I am the Plan maker, and you are the real physical danger. Rammar is big and powerful, yes, but he was held at bay by the Mythall, so, Azaphriel wasn’t really concerned. In fact, as long as Rammar was raging outside of the City, Azaphriel didn’t have to go looking for him. We were the ones he was concerned about. And you acted as if you didn’t know what was actually happening. And I didn’t act. Just as if Sharky really had pulled the wool over my eyes. Azaphriel was all but sure of success at that point. So, all he had to do, was weaken Truth enough to ensure that he could finish the ritual. His original plan was to throw Truth’s army at our heros, until it was whittled down to near nothing. However, our little stories here decided to avoid fighting for the most part. Azaphriel was forced to kill them himself, not that that really mattered to him, He just really likes others to do his dirty work. Anyway, they all ended up down in Hell, and you saw the end.”
“Huh..” Shamrock said, still processing. “So, anymore of these coming up soon?”
“Like this?” Kahrma ask, as his eyes grew a bit distant. “Nothing for sure, the choices haven’t been made yet. I don’t see anything on this scale for a bit. However, something interesting is about to happen.”
“Wanna tell me about it?” Shamrock asked.
“No.. If I do..” Karhma started.
“Then I won’t act in the same way I would, and it won’t happen.” Shamrock completed the thought.
“Exactly.” Karhma said with a grin.
“Tanjiro. It’s time to go.” Mirage said gently, to the two identical Fae Princes. The Storybook Tanjiro stood, and held out his hand. As Tanjiro took his hand, a loud sound of the turning of Pages echoed through out Belladonna’s court chamber. When it stopped, Tanjiro was holding a book.
“Keep that safe for me.” Mirage told him with gentle smile. She kissed him on the forehead. “You should be able to read that book, whenever you desire, if you want to know more about the adventure you missed. Until next time, Prince of Summer.” She said, and returned to the rest. “We can go now.” she told Karhma.
********************************************************************
https://youtu.be/EV4lykOpyHo
Karhma’s feet moved from the smooth polished marble of Belladonna’s court, to the soft loam of the Felon’s Punishment. The group found themselves walking toward Felony Grimm, who had set a large table in the main clearing from the Hotel. She greeted Sham, Karhma and Rammar with a deep bow. She ensured they were seated, and that Rammar had begun to eat. She turned to face the Hotel, and gently called…
“Atrocity, dear. Please come out here, there is someone that wishes to see you, Yes?” Felony waited for a bit, and slowly, shyly Atrocity meandered out to the table.
“Hello, friends.” he said, his eyes distant, and voice bemused.
Storybook Atrocity stood, and smoothed his nice white clothes. “Hello, Atrocity. I’ve come to talk with you a bit, if that is alright with your sister?” He asked, turning to Felony, with a questioning look.
Felony simply nodded.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Atrocity said to himself.
“Ok, Say, that’s a very nice suit you have on. I had one very much like it once.” Atrocity mentioned. “I wonder if I could find it.” He continued talking as the two wandered.
“How is he?” Karhma asked Felony.
“Making progress, yes?” Felony said with a smile. “My Mistress says that when the people of the city have forgotten about him, we can discuss his release.”
“How do you feel about that?” Karhma questioned with a raise of his eyebrows.
“He was never truly bad, yes?” Felony said. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed with your own children, our own moral values sometimes don’t translate to the others in your care the way you would like. Atrocity and I have always been troubled, yes? I was not always as pleasant as I am now, particularily before my mistress found me, yes? It is the least I can do, to help erase the damage that all that greed did to my brother. He deserves as much Hope as I was given, Yes? After all, I was far, far worse than he, when I was young.”
Karhma laughed. “Felony.. I’m very glad you and your mistress came to join us here.”
“Thank you, Lord Fate.” Felony said. She turned to view the path that Her brother walked. “They are returning, Yes?” She said, as the two Atrocity’s walked back into view.
Storybook Atrocity approached his sister. “Thank you for taking care of me.” He said. “Hopefully, this is not how I end up.” He glanced at himself, still straring out into nothing with a slight smile on his face. “I can’t imagine living like that.”
“It’s not forever, brother.” Felony said. “In fact, he – you are only like this when there are others present, yes?” She brushed off a leaf that had fallen on his shoulder. “Normally, you rage against me, demanding your freedom. We fight often.” She said with a smile.
“Good.” Atrocity said with a smile. “I hope I still give you a run for your money.” He laughed, turning to himself. “Take care, me.” he said, holding out his hand for a handshake.
The real Atrocity took his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, but I don’t think I caught your name.” He said as the sound of rapid pages turning seemed to startle him. He looked around, no longer seeing the figure dressed in white in front of him. “Oh, I didn’t realize that he left. How sad.” He said, he seemed to suddenly realize that he held a book in his hand. “Umm, sister? I think the man left something.” he said, returning to Felony’s side to show her the book. “Do you think we can return it to him somehow?”
Mirage stepped up and kissed both Felony and Atrocity on the forehead. “Felony, keep that safe until he can do it himself. Feel free to read it as you like.”
“Thank you so much for your Hospitality, Felony.” Karhma said. “Please, when you have time, come to the clock tower and visit sometime.”
“I will, Lord Fate.” Felony said, holding the book close.
“Alright everyone. A couple more stops this evening yet.” Karhma said, striding away from the table, toward the Gates.
“Just a little more.” Rammar called, stuffing a few more pieces of roast turkey in his mouth, followed by an entire cake. He jogged after them to catch up.
As they passed the silver gates of the punishment, Krev Bolidon and Tuk Trublade decided to depart. “We’re going to head to The Inn and have a drink.” Tuk said. “Tempest, you’re invited to join us, as well as you Bile.. er.. Biles..”
One of the two Biles walked over to Mirage and took her hand, leading her to the other Bile. “Kiss.” He said, pointing at the other Bile. She let out a small laugh, and kissed Bile’s forehead. Bile dropped her hand, and planted himself infront of the other Bile. He turned to Vess. “By Vess. Miss you.” He said, and picked up Bile’s hand, “read” he said, and suddenly with the sound of Pages turning became a large book. Bile carried the book with him, as Tempest, Tuk, Krev and Bile walked in the direction of “The Inn”.
“This way.” Karhma said, leading the group to a very large manor house at the edge of the Jade Quarter. The Name plate at the Gate read “Skyweaver” Karhma simply waved his hand, and the gate opened. They were greeted at the door by a sleepy servant. “Apologies for the hour. We are here to see Vessarian Skyweaver, I made the appointment several weeks ago. It will be under Avalin Threadspinner.”
“Of course sir. This way.” The servent led them all to a well appointed parlor.
“Avalin Threadspinner?” Shamrock questioned.
“Yes.” Karhma explained. “Most people in Qadar, don’t expect Karhma, the Prime of Fate, to come knocking on their door. The explanations are always so tiresome. So, when in public, I tend to use the moniker, Avalin Threadspinner. A textile merchant, master weaver and tailor.”
“And people buy that?” Shamrock asked with a snicker.
“I’m the second most successful tailor in the city.” Karhma said with pride.
“Second most successful?” Shamrock giggled.
“I don’t want to attract too much attention.” Karhma said, sounding a bit hurt.
The parlor door opened admitting a pretty young woman of around 20 years, followed shortly by a taller woman, of undetermined age, who looked extrodinarily like Mirage. “Ah, Mister Threadspinner, I have to admit, I’m at a loss as to why you insisted your appointment here and at this time of day. I have to admit, I’m ever so curious…..” She trailed off as she looked at the assorted folks lounging around the parlor. Rammar, even in his Tiefling form, was large and bulky, He was currently helping himself to the various spirits in crystal decanters on the sideboard. There was no mistaking Shamrock for a Skyweaver. She knew instantly whom he was. She let out a little gasp as little, eight year old Vess stepped around Mirage’s leg, and gave a little wave.
“Oh my.” Vessarian looked up at Mirage, and behind her to another Mirage, and then down to a younger version of herself. “I need to sit.” She said, hurriedly sitting down on a plush divan. She covered her eyes as if she had a headache. “Explain.” She demanded as she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady.
“You know.. I’m curious about this one too.” Shamrock noted. “Vess I get.. but Mirage? How ARE there two?”
“Sentrithigal Skyweaver, If I guess correctly.” Mirage said from Karhma’s side, Mirage Saga nodded from begind Vessarian.
“Senty?” Shamrock said. “I mean, He was a pretty good caster… but like, I don’t understand what that has to do with two Mirages.”
“Sentrithigal Skyweaver was a great mage, nearly as good as Venriath Skyweaver, His ancestor.” Mirage said. “He studied with Grixxus, for a long time, in the Tower of Questions. He and I became friends. He told me about his daughters. I gave him the Idea to enchant a storybook. I’m flattered that he gave her my name and face.”
“Huh.. I do have a mother then.” Mirage said simply. “That’s comforting.”
“Excuse me, uh.. me.” Vess said, interrupting. “I have a question.”
Vessarian knelt down in front of her younger self. “Go ahead.”
“So like.. When do we kiss boys?” Vess asked.
***************************************************************
“Now this? This place I like.” Shamrock said, whiping gore off of Clover’s blade over the carcass of a Giant Drill-claw. “I wonder if I can run a training camp here?” He mused to himself while looking pointedly at Jax.
“I mean. I can ask.” Jax answered a bit sheepishly.
“Ask.. Aren’t you the Prime around here?” Shamrock said.
“It’s not that easy.” Jax said. “The being that is the ‘Power’ around here.. He’s a bit.. eh.. Touchy.”
“First, I distictly heard quotes around the word, ‘Power’.” Shamrock said. “Secondly, I’m pretty sure Clover and I can convince him.”
Jax laughed a bit. “I’m sure he would enjoy that conversation too. He’s not so much a power, as a Great Demon. The Great Demon King, as it were. He’s basically this plain’s Rammar and You rolled into one being. He’s not a Prime though, so, It may be a good fight.”
“Interesting.” Sham said as Hibiki stood up, and shaking the dirt off of his hands.
“We are close.” He said, pointing toward the south. “That way.”
The much smaller group followed Hibiki and Lenore through the wastes of Pandora, eventually, the terrain became lush and green, as terraced rice patties grew all around them. Hibiki stopped, kneeling down and spreading the mushroom spores from his bag over a fallow field. He nodded, placing the bag back in his pocket.
He took three steps before stopping suddenly, holding up his hand to signal everyone else to stop as well. “We are not alone here.”
“Awww… C’mon Dad. Not fair! We’re supposed to ambush you!” Two young boys of Ten years old rolled out of the tall grass far too close to the group for comfort. Even Shamrock raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Obake, Rei! Get away! NOW!” roared a familiar voice. The two boys simply vanished Hibiki shifted instantly, drawing his sword and blocking a heavy strike aimed for his neck.
It took some time before the two Hibiki’s stopped fighting. In the end, They fought all the way to the Torii Gates of the house. Where Lenore and Lenore chatted with each other, and the Children all came out to watch the fight. A few of the Rice Dryads came and served Jax and the others a nice meal.
Eventually, both Lenore’s had enough. “Ok, Obviously this isn’t going anywhere. It’s time to stop you two.” They said in unison. Then looked at each other and laughed.
Both Hibiki’s slowly backed off, still facing each other, and growling.
“Put your sword away, Love.” Lenore said, and both of them sheathed their long pink blades.
“I see it doesn’t get any easier.” Lenore said to her counterpart.
“Oh, it does.” The other responded. “He’s only like this for special occaisions now.”
“How refreshing.” Lenore said. “That reminds me. We brought you all some presents.” Lenore opened her bag, and pulled out her collection of nibs, inks and powdered gemstones. “Our friends thought you could use this.”
“Thank you. Will you all be staying the night?” She looked up at the assembled visitors.
“Oh, I think not.” Karhma said. “I don’t want to disturb you all any further. We just wanted to make sure you all got home safe.”
Lenore looked at herself and then back to Karhma. “But, isn’t this Lenore, and This Hibiki just a story?”
Mirage sat next to her, and lightly kissed her forehead. “yes.. but it’s your story.” Lenore and Hibiki both took each other’s hands as well as Real Lenore’s hand. The pages turned, and Lenore was left holding a large book. “For you and your family.” She said, Patting Hibiki on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Lord Fate.”
“Hang on, waiting on Shamrock.” Karhma said.
“Where is he?” Jax asked, looking around.
“He went to go play with the Children.” Karhma said. “They wanted to show him their new baby brother and sister.”
“Should I be concerned?” Lenore asked with a warning tone.
“Always.” Karhma laughed. “but, he will not harm them.”
***************************************************
“Ok ok..” Shamrock said as the kids pushed him through the door.
“These are the last two. Neko and Karasu.” Irezumi told Shamrock. “They were just born a few days ago.”
“They are already so big.” Shamrock said. “I see Hibiki’s genes there.”
“We were all very big babies.” Irezumi said, matter of factly.
“I feel sorry for Lenore.” Shamrock muttered under his breath.
“What?” Irezumi asked sweetly.
“Nothing! Nothing at all.” Shamrock said silently thinking to himself that they got Hibiki’s hearing too. “Ok, who want’s to see a magic trick?”
The children all clambered together, “Me! Me!” they all shouted.
“Ok.. Here.. watch me closely.” Shamrock said. “Don’t let me go anywhere!”
As he said that, all of the children drew swords and held him at sword point. Sham smiled.. “I do love it here.” He laughed and suddenly vanished with a puff of gold and green glitter, that slowly settled on each of the children.
“I’ll find him.” Echo said, and rushed out the door, with three or four ink Clones fanning out behind him.