Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and when they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

shadow empress sleeves
shadow empress skirt (SOLD!)
shadow empress corset
goddess of triumph skirt (SOLD!)
cherry blossom set
cookie cutter loafers
sweet bunny shoulder bag
midnight strike popstar skirt
gothicute skirt
polar cutie fur leg warmers
overgrowth vine ear cuffs
teacup tulip hat
kitty candy bag 2022
miss lady rose bodice
merry sparkly dress

Hello folks,
I'm commuting in a relatively cool and windy place where it rains frequently.
I've found that I like helmets with visors since they kind of solve many of the problems of riding a bike: no more chilly wind blowing in my eyes, no more bugs, no more rain, no more leaves/twigs/dust. Visors are better than goggles since I don't want 1 extra thing to lug around with me and forget 5/10 times.
I've tried several urban biking helmets with visors:
Uvex Finale Visor V - doesn't have ear pads so my ears would freeze about 6/12 months. I bought a contraption to attach to the helmet but it also went over my head, under the helmet, and it made the helmet hard to put on. Also the visor itself is awesome from an optical perspective but there's no liner at the top and no rain cover, so the rain would just drip under the visor and on my face...
Abus Pedelec 2.0 Ace - does have ear pads and visor liner at the top, however the visor itself is just average optically and it doesn't go low enough... it's probably a few centimeters too high on my face which means I see under the visor, which is very annoying.
Does anyone know of a good bike helmet with a visor and detachable ear pads? I need something that works well in the rain and doesn't get super hot when the weather is slightly warmer.
I was thinking maybe a ski helmet? But I'd need one with great ventilation, detachable liner and ear pads. Any recommendations for the ski helmet approach?

Welcome to The Oblivion Cycle universe, a vast setting spanning all of time and space and so much more. While many stories may shed perspective on this grand cosmic vista, there are also tales of adventure and sacrifice, romance and terror, grimdark corruption and scientific progress. To become immersed in the setting is to let the chaos of creativity flow through you, to let go of what is probable to discover what’s possible. I have created TOC for one reason, to inspire and entertain any who will listen. So please feel free to join me on this great adventure as I push the boundaries of what is possible and expand the limits of our creativity together. For more information on the setting and its lore there is a subreddit for TOC at TheOblivionCycle and a Discord server dedicated to it here [ https://discord.gg/uGsYHfdjYf ] called ‘The Oblivion Cycle Community Server’. I hope you find the following story entertaining and once more, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.
+ E1:P1 + E2:P1 + Previous Part + Next Episode +
__________________________________________________
Continued From E2:P6
Balinski watched the feed from inside the mobile command center with Siyel. The operatives were efficient and clearly knew their craft as they moved through the building quickly and methodically. Establishing clear lines of cover and overlapping fields of fire as they moved from room to room. It took them less than a minute to clear the entire ground floor, an impressive feat for any group.
The feed switched as they received a report, “Ground floor clear, no sign of hostile or any other recent activity. We are moving to the rear of the structure, there seems to be another floor below this one. No obvious entrance, stand by.”
Siyel glanced at him and then nodded. “Standing by, we have a canine unit available if you require.” She covered the mic with her hand and glanced at him and Caesar. “You wouldn't mind?”
Balinski shook his head, “I don’t mind. But you are going to have to convince her to move.”
Caesar knew she was being talked about now and raised her large furred head from his feet. Siyel looked at her and asked in a respectful manner, “Caesar, would you be willing to help my officers locate a hidden entrance?” Caesar seemed to balk slightly before glancing at him.
“Don't look at me, the lady asked you.” Caesar gave a small undignified grunt and then stood slowly.
Siyel smiled. “Thank you Caesar, I promise I will make it up to you.” The cyberhound gave her a pointed look that told her she was going to hold Siyel to that promise before she trotted over to the door.
As she did the ramp door opened remotely and she hopped out of the vehicle. The voice over the comms replied not a second later. “Yes, a canine unit would be incredibly welcome. How long until you can get them…” they paused. “Oh, that was fast. Hello there, er, what is this unit’s designation?”
Siyel grinned and replied smartly, “Her name is Caesar and she is a lot smarter than she looks. Treat her like one of your officers, she will know what to do.”
The man’s voice replied, the screen showing a feed of Caesar sitting in front of the man with her cybernetic jaws lolling open. A hand entered the view making a gesture towards her, “Hey you there, Caesar. We need to locate some manner of entrance to a lower level. If you could.. sniff it out?” Caesar barked and nodded her head before putting her nose to the ground and sniffing about in an over exaggerated manner.
Balinski chuckled. “She can be such a ham at times.”
Siyel nodded in response but remained silent. Of course, her microphone was still live. The feeds followed the enhanced husky as she moved from room to room, with each one checked off the list she seemed to narrow down the scents she was looking for. After only a couple minutes she was pawing at a large double-decker washing machine in the back of the store. Her muted growls being broadcast across the feed.
Two officers were then directed to take hold of the machine and they collectively managed to wrench it out of place. Balinski had to give a low grunt as the wall behind was revealed to have a metal doorway situated behind the machines. “A secret door, who would have guessed.”
As the man stepped through into the relative darkness the feed started to fizz, the black and white flecks of static appearing all at once across the screen.
The atraxses woman on the other side of Siyel seemed to murmur in annoyance once more before turning to Siyel and speaking in a gruff yet oddly feminine voice. “We are losing their telemetry. It would seem that there is some sort of faraday meshing in the sub-basement that is blocking all our signals.”
That was bad news, it meant that the team would be entirely cut off from anything but direct line of sight communications. He stood, not knowing what to do but feeling the overwhelming urge to do something. Siyel put out an arm and dragged him back into his seat, well, he allowed her too. There was no way she could have budged his heavy cybernetic frame if he hadn’t wanted her to.
She shook her horned head at him and gestured to the consoles. “They will be fine. They are highly trained officers of the law, you know?”
She was right, but he hated sitting impotent along the sidelines. Watching was anathema to him, as a man of action he liked to be stuck right in the middle of the action. He winced as his bruises stung, yeah.. that had been going just swell for him so far.
The waiting was an agony, but after another few minutes several of the officers including Caesar exited the dead zone and messaged back to Siyel, “It looks all clear. There is nobody here, one casualty. Civilian. They were already dead when we found them, they look like the owner. Please advise?”
She pounded one of her fists on the counter top and hissed in frustration. “Be advised, I am coming in with escort. Leave the body where you found it, I want to get a look at the place myself.” Siyel tossed off her headset and donned a navy blue police windbreaker. With a toss of her short black hair she gestured to him, “Are you coming?”
Balinski stood and glanced at the atraxses woman, she seemed perfectly content to stay where she was and so he just nodded and placed the headset he had been using down upon the counter. He had to duck slightly as he exited the Beast behind Siyel, they walked along the street quickly towards the activity up ahead. He chanced a glance behind them and could just make out a police cruiser manning a barricade that was blocking traffic from this part of the road. That was smart, limiting both coverage and innocents in any potential crossfire.
Siyel was walking just to his front and left, he watched the back of her head as they neared the site. He was wondering once more what it was that was making this entire debacle feel so personal to her. As if she felt his eyes on her she glanced at him and frowned causing him to snap his eye back forwards. He thought he heard a chuckle but he couldn't be sure, and by then they had reached the laundromat.
The man who’s feed they had been watching stepped forwards and gave her a salute before looking Balinski up and down with a skeptical look. “This is.. your escort?”
She nodded and reached out, smacking Balinski on the chest. He jumped slightly at the unexpected contact. “Yes, this is Balinski Katars. Void warden. He saved my life no fewer than three times during the attack last night, I trust him with my life. Anything you can tell me you can also tell him.” Balinski’s remaining eyebrow rose at that, that was a heavy statement indeed. He was a little shocked to hear her speak of him so positively.
It wasn’t as if he had expected her not to respect him, but to hear her so clearly express her trust in him made his heart flutter again. That same strange feeling crawled through his stomach and mind. He cleared his throat and nodded to the man, extending a cybernetic hand. The black digits whirring softly as they articulated into a friendly gesture.
“Hello, pleased to make your acquaintance officer.” The man gave his hand a quick shake and then stepped towards the structure, his Colt-Franz LMR v.17 held low and to the ready in case of any threats.
The walk into the building was short and tense. He looked around for any signs of danger while simultaneously keeping an eye on Siyel. She seemed to observe everything at once. Of course she would be good at this, she had been on the force for nearly a decade already, the woman was in her commanding position for a reason after all.
As he rounded a corner he was surprised by a large fluffy object rocketing into him, it was Caesar. Her cybernetic legs propelled her high into the air as she jumped straight into his chest and rebounded off him.
“Ooouff!” he wheezed as she gave a series of happy little barks and wagged her tail. He shook his head and then stood straight again as Siyel and the other officer walked around the corner.
Siyel smiled and waved to the pup, “Hello Caesar. Thanks for helping us. Good girl.”
Caesar smiled wide, her cybernetic jaws straining as she just sneezed and then strutted up to Balinski’s side where she looked up at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes and then leaned down to give her head a quick scrub. “Oh all right, good girl. But you only get this one for now.”
He opened a concealed pocket in his trench coat and plucked out a single small biscuit from a resealable bag with the stylized cartoonish picture of a croc noppin on it. The happy looking lizard-dog was smiling with a thumbs up under the brightly colored letters that spelled out ‘Happy Chompers Noppin Treats’.
He held it up, waggling the small treat above the excited pup’s head. She barked and made a jump for it, snatching the cookie from his hand with surprising precision before scarfing it down maniacally.
He shook his head. “What do they put in these things?”
Clearly it was something that drove the poor pooch bonkers for them, he flicked his eyes back to the others and followed them as Caesar followed at his heels. Siyel entered the dark tunnel of the secret entrance and Balinski followed. The passageway was dark, no lights evident as they followed the stairwell down to a lower basement floor that looked to have been converted from some manner of undercity utility chamber.
The walls were bare brick and there were tunnels that branched off into the depths, most of them far too short for a being to stand comfortably. In the center of the room were several smashed tables, their dromemite surfaces warped as if by high heat and the contents of a large wooden crate scattered around the floor.
Balinski took several steps closer to the scene and saw that just beyond the mess was a large figure, their form unmoving and surrounded by a pool of dark orange fluid that glinted in the fluorescent light like tiny gemstones. It was a gre’vahn, they had been stripped naked and beaten to death it looked like. And from the look of the wounds the death had been rather recent as well.
He covered his mouth at the grisly scene as he walked around to the front of the body. Siyel followed and then exclaimed in disgust.
“What in the lords mercy!” she turned away, her normally rosy features turning a pale shade of lavender as she had to take a second to recover.
Balinski himself was only a little better off, but he still felt his gorge rise at the sight. The large centauroid woman’s cat-like features had been smashed in, strips of tattered meat and the sparkling glint of shattered quartzoin visible through the mess that was once her face. What's more the woman's breasts seemed to have been cut from her mutilated chest and there were obscene slurs carved into the blood matted fur of her lower abdomen. From the deep scratches and gouges in the concrete floor around the woman’s corpse it looked as if the cutting may have been done while the poor woman was still alive.
He turned away now, the scene far more grisly than any of the mutilated and ruptured corpses he had seen in the war. This was not just a dead body, but the sheer cruelty and savagery of the act itself seemed to fog the very air with its insufferably evil brume.
He coughed weakly as he doubled over and had to take several steps away. Images forced themselves unbidden to the forefront of his mind and almost knocked him to his knees with their potency. Images of a tall furred alien in a blood stained coat and mask, a large surgical saw in one hand and a strip of chewed leather in the other. A voice echoed in his thoughts as if from a nightmare, ‘I’m sorry, but I need to remove your broken limbs. I am sorry.’
The psychosomatic pain of his cybernetics lit up like bonfires of sensation in his mind at the memory and he nearly blacked out from the neural overload, bet something stopped him from falling off the edge of that abyss.
A small whine sounded from his left and something soft butted into his side a few times in quick succession. He reached out near blindly and dragged Caesar close, hugging the cyberhound tightly and taking several deep calming breaths.
By the time he had recovered enough to stand Siyel had also regained her composure. She turned to the grim-faced human officer who had led them into the room and passed a hand over her horns. Her tail flicked in discomfort as she looked at the body again, “Lords Gavin.. You could have fucking warned me at least. That is, not good..” she finished simply.
Gavin nodded. “Yeah, well.. How do I accurately describe this? I guess I could have said the situation was FUBAR.”
Siyel nodded her horned head and then walked around the body to the other side before stopping again and averting her eyes. “Fucking perverts.. I hope.. no I just don’t.” she looked up at the ceiling as Balinski walked to the scattered packages on the floor.
As the other two talked quietly about the nature of the crime, he knelt and picked up one of the unruptured containers. It was a small vial of slightly silvery grey powder. He gave it a gentle shake and cycled through several different modes with his cybernetic eye before he spotted flecks of blue in it that glinted in the harsh white light. They were tiny, barely visible even to his enhanced cybernetic vision. He knew almost immediately what he was holding.
He stood and turned to Siyel holding up the small vial. “I know what this is.”
Gavin nodded and muttered, “yeah. It’s occusmite. Not exactly helpful in this instance.”
Balinski shrugged, “Sure. Unless you know who manufactured it.”
Siyel took a step in his direction, pointedly not looking at the broken body in the center of the room. “How on Jureillo do you know who manufactured that batch? There are illegal occusmite manufacturing rings all over the city.”
He tossed the bottle into the air before catching it a few times, weighing it in his hand as if it was important to his next statement. “Well, what I know is that the labs that make the good stuff, like this batch here.” he rattled the vial, the tiny tinkling sounds it made barely audible. “Tend to have signatures in them from the manufacturers. Something to mark their work and prevent counterfeiting. All a part of the business you know?”
She nodded. “Of course! And this batch is marked? How can you tell? The point of the marking is to be as indetectable as possible.” She walked over to him now, the nerivith woman was only a few centimeters shorter than him. Tall even for her own people. She was nearly able to look him in the eyes as she implored, “And who manufactured this batch?” She seemed to plead with him. Her violet eyes enraptured him as she stared into his very soul.
He coughed after a moment of silence and shook his head slightly. He held up the vial to the light and shook it. “It took me a bit of cycling through different color spectra, but I eventually noticed tiny flecks of blue in the 393 nanometer range specifically. That marks it out as unique and a product of the Psychosis Division.”
As he finished speaking she sacked her fist into her palm. “I knew it. This has all the hallmarks of the Pit Vipers. But they couldn't have come up with such an elaborate plan on their own, there had to be something guiding them.” She whirled around to the other officer. Pointing at them with a long fingered hand, she instructed commandingly, “Officer Gavin, I want you to run a sample of this to one of the technicians. Then call for a group of Tunnel Trawlers. I want these tunnels checked out.” The man gave her a crisp salute and then scurried away.
As his heavy footfalls receded it left Siyel alone in the room with only him and Caesar. She once more seemed to slump slightly, her normal stoic demeanour slipping like a mask. “I don’t know if I can do this, Balinski.” She walked towards one of the less damaged tables and leaned against its edge, her arms folded under her breasts as she looked over at him.
Balinski frowned. Where was this uncharacteristic emotion coming from? “I don’t believe that for a second Siyel. You are the best police officer I have ever seen, and I am not saying that just to make your head bigger.” She smiled slightly at his remark, but he continued. “Look, the truth of the matter is that this woman was likely killed before the raid even started. Those scumbags hopped themselves up on some fresh ockie and then had a rape party to get themselves in the mood.” Not to mention that the gre’vahn female had likely been at least tangentially aware of the criminal activity in the basement of her building.
He saw her shake her head. “No, I know that. But.. if I can’t help the people of this city then what good am I?” Her voice wavered slightly and he had to remind himself that he was talking to one of the highest ranking police officers in the city. She was an SC-3, in charge of countergang activities across the entire city.
That meant that this particular case must have some significance to her then, if she had been following it as closely as she had. He sidled over and leaned on the table next to her, pushing his already strange relationship with her to the limits of what he felt comfortable in a professional setting.
He gave her a hard look as he removed his hat and held it in both hands. “Look. I'm new to all this police stuff. I got my contract straight from the government as a sort of pity gift to a war cripple. They would have given me anything I wanted to make up for leaving me in that hell hole for…” He swallowed hard and changed the subject with a deep breath. She looked over at him, her expression changing ever so slightly. Her hard violet stare becoming slightly warmer in his own twisted imagination. “The fact of the matter is that I could have become anything. I chose to become a Warden. I wanted to help people, just like you do every single day. I saw injustice every day on the battlefield from corrupt officers and incompetent officials. I don’t see that when I am helping you, you are doing the work that nobody else can. Not because you have too, and not because it is easy. You do it because you care deeply for the people of this city. The people that are saved from injustice every single day by your task force operatives.” he had to pause for breath.
She took the opportunity to reach up and place a pink hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for that. I might not want to hear it, but I guess I am doing the work that others won’t. Thanks for reminding me.”
He nodded, his mouth snapping closed. He glanced down at her hand, the hand that was lingering slightly longer than was strictly necessary for the sake of comradery in that moment. He cleared his throat as Caesar whined. Siyel chuckled and removed her hand, reaching out to scrub the pup’s head.
Seeing her there wearing one of her rare smiles, it made him realise. He was indeed fond of her, surpassing that of simple friendship. He closed off the thoughts though, she had never shown any feelings towards him but mutual respect and so it was not his place to do anything different. “I think we can probably head back up now.”
As he moved to turn away he felt her hands grab his arm. Balinski jerked and looked back over his shoulder in surprise. She looked at him earnestly and then checked the surroundings before lowering her voice. “This is likely one of the very few times I can talk to you without fear of being overheard, Balinski. I’m being watched, somebody knows my every move I feel. There are ears everywhere.” his eyes widened at her words. What on Jureillo was she talking about?
She continued quickly, “I can’t say this up there. But I need you to catch the one responsible for this. Not for the city, for me… Will you do that for me, Balinski? Please?”
He looked at Siyel and felt something inside his mind shift. She had shown a side of herself that he had never seen before. He had seen her angry, he had even seen her panicked before. But he had never seen her look so desperate, every instinct in his body told him she was telling him the truth. And he had no reason not to trust her.
Balinski glanced down at Caesar who was looking at the pair with poorly veiled curiosity on her doggy features. He looked back at her and nodded. “Consider it done. They won’t escape justice again.”
She seemed to relax instantly and then released him before taking a deep breath and regaining her normal stoic composure. “Good, that's.. is good.” She placed her hands in the small of her back and stretched, pushing out her chest and causing a series of crackling pops. “Oough. It never gets any easier, trust me.” She gave him another nod and then started off towards the stairs.
Balinski started in surprise again as he felt something brush one of his hands, it was her tail. The dark tuft of hair on the end of her long sinuous appendage fluttering as it flicked away. She didn’t seem to react, it might have been unconscious or it could have been intentional. He would have no way of knowing and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her about it.
He just shook his head as she exited the room. What was he getting into? “Caesar, stop that.” he said as the insufferable pup kicked one of the glass vials across the floor. “That’s evidence tampering. I could report you to the field office for that.” he joked. She didn't seem to get the joke as she flattened her ears and gave a short whine.
He shook his head. “Oh you big baby. You know I wasn’t actually mad at you. Come on, let's get out of this place.”
He gave another glance to the body in the center of the room and burned the sight into his memory. He would find those responsible and make them suffer ten-fold for every atrocity they had ever committed. He grinned cruelly as he thought of just how he planned to make them pay for their crimes.
He strode out of the building and stopped on the edge of the street. He looked up at the sky, the orange colored sun was nearly directly overhead. As if to make a point he heard a small growl from his middle and had to chuckle as Caesar copied it.
He looked at her and smiled. “Yeah, I’m hungry too. What do you say we go and hit up a McDoinks Bugerhut? I'll get you an order of frine nuggets, does that sound fair?” She hopped up and down a few times before giving him a very positive woof.
He nodded, the dark thoughts that always scratched at the corners of his mind held at bay for another day. As long as they were together he could take on the world. He reached down and scrubbed her head, she was his best friend. And nothing would ever change that.
End of Episode 2
Continued in Episode 3 -Pulling at Treads-
==End of Transmission==

I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe as a warning. Maybe I just want to know that there's someone, anyone, who will listen to what I have to say and react appropriately.
I live in a small town at the base of a semi-famous mountain, somewhere in Northern California. I’m not going to disclose exactly which town, however it probably wouldn’t be too difficult to figure it out. Our population is 3,165, a large percentage of which consists of rich old people and weed smoking hippies. Objectively, it’s a beautiful place: there are nice restaurants for the tourists, long hikes concluding in crashing waterfalls, and views from even the downtown windows that could be called breathtaking. To the locals like me, of course, these perks are somewhat watered down by years at the tiny, poorly funded high school and the thirty minute drive to get to the nearest Walmart. But even with that being said, the spirits here are generally high, especially during the summer.
I won’t lie, it’s not like I’ve never noticed strange things. I think something paranormal or otherworldly can be said about any town, especially ones that get boring after living in them your entire life. Rumors spread, stories are born and passed around like souvenirs. My town is no exception to this rule. However, until a couple of weeks ago, these stories only scared me when it was dark outside.
Something started feeling seriously wrong on a perfectly sunny Sunday afternoon. My friends and I went to the city park, as we sometimes did when sitting inside, playing GTA, and shit talking the same people we knew in high school again (did you hear that Jessica got pregnant? No way, I thought she was still in jail...) got boring.
We sat by the rusty, slightly off-putting, 12 foot metal clown by the jungle gym (why did they never get rid of that thing?) eating our supermarket sandwiches and trying to subtly hit a blunt from behind our sweatshirt sleeves, as the park was swarming (compared to usual) with the spring rush of tourists, enjoying the sun and each other's slightly high conversation. Laughing at something my friend had said that I no longer remember but must have been funny at the time, I looked around the park. Everything seemed particularly lighthearted that day - there were children playing tag on the other side of the grass plain, people picnicking, dogs chasing sticks and joyfully returning them to their owners, and a family standing side by side, staring up at the white peaks of the mountain in what seemed like awe.
"Shouldn't the snow be gone by now?" My friend said, following my gaze and motioning for the half smoked blunt balanced between my fingers. "It seems like it stays longer every year."
"Because it snows later and later," I replied, glancing around before passing her the weed I'd been babysitting. "Global warming and whatnot."
"Weird," Marcy called from behind us. She was hanging upside down on the bars, her long hair nearly brushing against the gravel. "It seems wrong for there to be that much snow up there in the middle of April."
"There isn't any snow down here, at least," Naomi said absentmindedly next to me, taking a long drag. I watched her flick her short blonde bangs away from her increasingly reddening eyes.
All three of us went quiet for a moment, listening to the warm breeze dance in the head of the metal clown behind us, creating a hollow sort of chime. I kicked at the rocks at my feet, enjoying my buzz. The sounds of the kids running around seemed far away to me, almost like my friends and I were in a little glass box.
"God," Naomi scoffed, breaking through the comfortable silence. She tried to hold in a snort. "Fuckin' tourists. Haven't they ever seen a mountain before?"
"I know," Marcy laughed.
I looked up from my shoes, looking around for who they were talking about. It was immediately obvious. The same family that I had noticed before were still standing there, facing the mountain. They were turned away from us, but I could still tell that their eyes were locked directly on the peak, their heads synonymously tilted upwards. They hadn't moved an inch. How long had it been?
As if reading my thoughts, Marcy swung down from the bars, landing with a clumsy crunch.
"Maybe I'm just high," she mumbled, frowning at them. "But haven't they been standing there a while?"
Naomi scoffed again. "Why don't they just take a picture?"
I swallowed my absence of saliva, shifting uncomfortably. My mouth was suddenly unbearably dry. Even from here I could see the camera straps around the parents necks, untouched. A small dog, maybe a Jack Russel Terrier, scurried in circles around them. It stopped and pawed at the child's calve, dropping the tennis ball in it's mouth and yapping. The kid didn't react. None of them did.
"That..." I didn't know what to say. I felt like all of the breath was being sucked from my lungs. "That's weird, right?"
"Super weird."
Marcy shifted uncomfortably. She had gone silent. She took the blunt from Naomi's hand and stubbed it out against the metal jungle gym, flicking the roach to the ground and stepping on it. "I think I should get home. I've got laundry to do."
I didn't think she was telling the truth, but I felt a little uneasy too. I nodded, pulling my sweatshirt tight around my chest.
As we made our way across the grass toward the parking lot, I couldn't help but glance back at the family. Something seemed so off about them, like something was deeply wrong and I just couldn't put my finger on it. But when I turned to look, it was like it never happened. The dog was yipping happily as the kid threw his ball, and the parents were sitting on the grass, aiming the cameras around their necks at the mountain and snapping away.
Over the next week, everything seemed normal. I had almost forgotten about what had happened at the park. I spent most of the time that I wasn't at work, like usual, indoors, glued to my couch, watching the same Adam Sandler movies over and over again. Most people seemed to think that the nice weather made them happier, or somehow changed things - for me, it wasn't like that. Something about this town seemed to drag you down, and keep you there. Even people who managed to move away, make something of themselves after high school... they always came back. This town drew you in somehow.
I was snapped out of my work-sleep-eat cycle, finally, the next Friday night. I heard honking outside my bedroom window and threw on my slightly more presentable pair of pajamas, rushing outside to find Naomi's dad's beat up Toyota Corolla parked haphazardly against the curb.
"Fancy a drive?" She called out the window in a terrible British accent.
I faked a laugh and climbed into the passenger seat, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Sure. Why not."
Our late night drives were far more common when we were teenagers, but now, we seemed to take them less for granted. She cranked up the staticky stereo, some shitty local pop station nearly deafening me.
"Sorry," she barked over the music. "No bluetooth."
A pile of empty beer bottles and cans clanked at my feet as I hopelessly knocked them around, reaching desperately for the handle on the ceiling.
"Are these yours or your dads?" I asked, trying not to let my voice shake as she careened around a corner.
"Probably a little bit of both," she yelled back with a smile.
She took another rough turn and I slammed against the passenger side door. I had remembered our drives in high school being a bit more relaxing, but then again, maybe I had been the one behind the wheel. I subtly turned the music down a few notches as we took the narrowing road out of town, the lights from windows growing in scarcity and the evergreens swallowing us as we took off into the forest.
"Remember when we used to drive up here and smoke? And watch those weird PSA videos?" Naomi shouted. She was rolling her window down, letting in the icy breeze and making it even more difficult for me to hear her.
Up here? I looked out the window at the inclining and increasingly windy road. She was taking us up the mountain.
It wasn't like that was crazy or abnormal for us, but for some reason, my heart sank into my stomach. I closed my eyes, and all I could see was the back of the heads of that family, perfectly still, staring up at the skyline.
I didn't open my eyes again until the car rolled to a stop. I hadn't noticed it happening, but the music was quiet now, the static sound overtaking most of any of the discernible lyrics.
"Woah," Naomi said. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light.
Wait. The light?
We were parked at the bottom of the mountain, where the hikers that often climbed to the top usually set up basecamp. The mountain was biggest from here, stretching across the horizon, towering above us like a monolith. We had come here so many times, and it had always been a little breathtaking, but now...
I let out a wheeze.
The sky was as bright as daylight. The snow covered peaks seemed to almost glow, or even swell. I swore I could even see clouds in the sky, peeking out from behind the trees.
I checked the time on the car's dashboard. 1:13 AM. It had been pitch dark out moments ago, yet I would have sworn it was long past sunrise up here.
The stereo crackled to life with a horrible sound, making me jump. The static seemed to creep up my arms and under my T-shirt, giving me goosebumps.
"D... D... D..."
"Naomi," I whispered, frozen in place. She was already reaching for my hand, digging her fingernails into my sweaty palm.
"D-D... Don't... Stop..."
"What the fuck," she exhaled. Both of us were like deer in headlights, staring dumbly at the radio. In my peripheral vision, the mountain glowed.
The voice didn't sound human, nothing like the optimistic pop artist that had been singing before. Nothing like anything I had ever heard before, or could even have even conjured up in my head. Certainly nothing I can explain in words now.
"D-D-Don't... Stop... Looking..."
Both the terrible screeching and the voice stopped at once, engulfing us in terrifying silence, and I found my gaze snapping back to the mountain. Right then, as crazy as it sounds, I knew it was breathing.
I could almost feel it next to me, like a mouth right next to my ear.
"Look at us," it whispered, in clear and perfect English.
I didn't need to say anything, Naomi was already shifting gears and peeling out of the parking lot. Neither of us said a word the entire drive back to town, and when she finally parked in front of my house, we took each other's hands and walked inside.
She slept in my bed that night, and neither of us said a word until it was bright outside, properly bright, and the birds were reassuringly chirping outside my window.
The next few days were a haze. Luckily I had the whole weekend, so there was no need to leave and go to work. Naomi stayed over until she was confident enough to drive home alone, and although it was nice to have the space, the house felt eerily empty without her. I couldn't even wrap my head around what I had seen, what I had heard. All I knew was I didn't want to leave, didn't want to see that mountain again, even for a second.
I shielded my windows with curtains, and when that didn't feel like enough, I boarded them up. I put my computer, my radio, everything but my phone in a closet at the end of the hall. I didn't want to take any chances. I didn't ever want to feel that way again, the way I had at the base of that mountain.
I couldn't sleep or eat. By the end of Sunday, I felt ready enough to sip at a bowl of chicken noodle soup from a can, and climb into bed. I could feel the dark circles under my eyes getting worse, threatening to swell and swallow them up altogether. With my room completely blacked out by the boarded windows, I could finally close my eyes.
I don't know why I woke up when I did. Maybe I had tripped on something. All I knew was I was back exactly where we had been that night, where we had sat in the car and the radio had spoken to us.
I remember not quite knowing if I was still asleep or fully awake, but I could feel the ground beneath my bare feet, aching and raw as if I had walked for hours. The wind whistled in my ears, my thin pajamas doing little to protect me from the cold.
I tried to keep my balance in my strange dream like state, looking up.
There was a man. Or what looked like a man.
His silhouette was almost completely indistinguishable, it was impossible to make out any details. It was like a child had taken scissors to where the rocky terrain met the backdrop of the mountain and tried to cut out the shape of a person.
He was moving. I couldn't tell if it was towards me or away.
I stumbled forward blindly. I felt scared, so scared I couldn't breathe, but it was like the cold was numbing all of my emotions, or like they were buried deep inside of me somehow. I didn't feel like myself, only like a body. Only like a pair of legs.
"Hey," I called out weakly, my voice swallowed by the screaming wind. It sounded like a thousand voices whispering, drowning out my own.
"Hey!" I tried again, louder.
The man didn't respond. He didn't react at all. As I grew closer, I realized he was walking away from me after all, toward the mountain.
My eyes were drawn up toward the mountain again. Glowing, breathing. I had to narrow my eyes until they were almost closed in order to focus.
There was less snow. It seemed ridiculous, but that was what immediately popped into my head. There was far less snow on the mountain than there had been a few days ago, as if large patches had suddenly melted away, but it hadn't gotten any warmer outside.
In fact, it looked like it was melting before my very eyes. It looked like it was moving. Shifting.
Migrating.
I strained my vision, trying desperately to understand what I was seeing.
My blood ran cold.
It wasn't the snow melting. It was people.
There were people up there, thousands of people. Moving.
Somehow I made it back down. It's hard to remember what happened after that.
No one seems to want to listen to me. Even Naomi seems to be forgetting what we witnessed. Everyone wants to brush me off, or tell me I'm another conspiracy theorist, like so many of the people who live here. I don't know how to convince them of what I saw. But I saw it. I don't know what to do.
There are people up there.
There is something wrong with the mountain, something that calls to them. I don't know what it does to them, or how. It almost got me that night.
Every night I hear it breathe. And every day I see more tourists, staring. Walking towards the base.
If you're ever driving through the mountains of Northern California and you feel compelled to stop your car and walk, keep driving. And, I'm begging you, turn off your radio.

Hi guys, as the title already suggests, I recently picked up some Truthear Zero Reds and I really, really like how they sound. The issue is that my ears are small (I usually wear XS/S attachments on every TWS bud/ IEM I had prior), and the wider nozzle on the Truthears is seriously uncomfortable, especially for the first few minutes after inserting them.
I'm not really sure if it's something i'll get used to over time, and the discomfort while using them already makes me want to use them less, even though I really like how they sound (especially with the impedance adapter, the warmer sound they produce is great, imo).
Are there any (ideally similarly priced, although somewhat more expensive is fine, up to 100-150$ or so) IEMs with a more traditional fit that I could give a try, with similar tuning to the reds? Any feedback is greatly appreciated, thanks in advance!

My best friend is having a cyberpunk inspired costume birthday party, I want to participate and show up as cyberpunk inspired as possible, so I decided on a fun little challenge for this subreddit:
Send me your top cyberpunk inspired clothes links, the most upvoted comments will be my costume. If you want to add accessories, go for it, basically go nuts and make the best costume y'all feel like would suit.
A few rules: Nothing too risk risque as there will be under aged people at this event. Anything which glows or looks more technological would be amazing, however y'all go ham on what you think is going to look as sweet as possible! I identify as non binary, so either masc or fem clothes are fine by me! It is winter currently where I am living, so I would prefer warmer clothing. I have both my ears pierced, and would love to get some cyberpunk esc earrings for this as well!
The winning outfit when all items arrive, I will post a photo of on the subreddit.
Submissions close on the 4th of May!

I started a crochet bunny project and ran out of yarn for one ear and arm, so I went to michaels and got the exact same kind: Loops and Threads, Chenille Home Slim. It looked identical but the skien felt more firm, but i thought I was just going crazy.
Anyways, I did the second ear and the new stuff is WAY different from the stuff I bought maybe four months ago. It was nearly impossible to tighten my magic circle, and took me 10+ tries. Then when I made the full ear, it was almost 1.5x the size of the other one, despite using the same hook and pattern. So frustrating because it was my go to yarn and now I have to freestyle the other ear and arm to match the others’ size. Anyone else notice this or did I maybe get a weird batch?

I was thinking about how much easier it is to get testosterone as a cis guy compared to a trans guy, and then the thought hit me that I could try using being AFAB to my friend's advantage. We're both 16, pre-HRT, pre-everything more or less.
I used to get progesterone pills, though now I've moved onto having depo provera injections. I've heard that progesterone is sometimes used by trans women. I think it's less illegal to share estrogen and MtF-related HRT too, isn't it? I'm just wondering if there's anything I could get for her that could help, aside from the obvious clothing and makeup.
I've started learning to crochet and I'm hoping I'll be able to make her things soon, like a cute cat ear hat or something! I'm trying to think of more... gender things though, as she's really struggling with dysphoria.

I really would love to use my fiio fh5s more cause they sound grat and are comfortable durning the warmer days. But my doctor said no to iems back then sknce they made a little hole in my ear canal some years ago (not sure what it is called in englsh) I am just super worried that i might get an infectiion by using them maybe 5-10 hours durning a longer seasson. Otherwise i prefer using my meze 109 pro. What is your opinion?

Just a lil info, I already posted this story on Reddit, I just wanted you to read and comment on it, as you are a youtuber that I really like, and I hope you could give me so good reviews or advice;
Okay, it's a complicated story so get ready (I have adhd, so story telling is long, with a lot of possibly useless details, and so on and so on) (also english isn't my native language, I apologize for any mistakes or typos) (maybe some trigger warning, for verbal abuse, bullying, sh, suicidal thoughts, it's not a light hearted story at all)
So, I (18 F) lived with my mother (42 F) (As) and my step father (47 M) ( J) since I was 2 years old, after my mum divorced my dad (44 M) (An) after only four months into marriage (which was a disaster from what I got told, expensive wine stolen, my mum's parents being assholes, etc etc), and there is a HUGE possibility of As cheating on my dad, since J cheated on his now ex wife, N, with whom he had a daugter (20 F), E.
So naturally, N and my dad had a lot of resentment toward the third party, N with my mum, and him with J... Which led to a funny thing such as talking shit about them. N would tell E that my mum is a witch because her hair is black and curly, like Mother Gothel, and my dad would do anything not to interact with J., leading to that GROWN ASS MAN to... Hate and bully me haha.
And by bullying, I mean it, he would always call me bad names, using the horrible nickname my school bullies used for me as an every day nickname (I was registered in his phone as those nicknames). I have my hairs curlier than usual? Shaun the Sheep. I had a dance gala and I was Pumba? He would nick name me that. He would also comment on my weight a lot, calling me a pig, telling me to "move my fat", calling me a circle... yada yada yada.
(I am really overweight, and I suffer from an ed (hyperphagia), and at the time I was also under a medication that made me hungrier and have a larger appetite, and being constantly bullied, and belittled, with the school pressure, I gained over 40 kg (about 80 pounds I think?) in 2 years)
My mum wasn't really helping either, she wasn't calling me these nick names, thank the gods, but she was pretty passive agressive, like "oh once you loose weight this skirt would look so great on you", you know. She talked to me about going to a nutritionnist, even talked about a SURGERY.
Also, (this is relevant I promise) I have another sister (12 F), H, and we have the same mum. With us having a 5 years age gap, it was always difficult between the two of us. My parents would force me to play with her, and her games, like Barbies, Playmobils, lego, so things that, when it was for her age, wasn't made for me. And since every time I was forced to be with her, it kinda poisoned our relationship, meaning that until last year, when she started middle school, we were fighting like cats and dogs.
Now, back to my story. My step father loves to invent, or modify the reality. My sister got a small barbie toy in her nose? It was my fault, and I got yelled out. (I tried to get it out, but my fingers where too thick, so I was shaking sooo bad when I realized I had to go see him and asked him for help about the situation... WHICH IS A BIG RED FLAG you should not be shaking of fear when telling a parent about an issue we have!!)
And he also seem to love being rude or mean to me. Like, he would always flick my ears, to the point I started to startling and have that "I-put-my-hands-on-my-ears-to-protect-them" reflex, he would hit me with my math copybook because I didn't get it, he would force me to copy a page of the Bible (we aren't even religious) for something I have still no idea what I did wrong.
When I was 11, I had to do the dishes, because we had just moved in the new house, and the dishwasher had yet to be installed, and the glasses weren't clean enough for his liking, so he made me wash them again. But with the soap and the bubbles, it was slippy, so I let it go accindentally and it broke, as well as my sister's (H) glass. He yelled at me so loud, scaring the shit out of me, that I literally peed myself, and he made me sat on the kitchen chair for two hours, until Mum entered the room, and let me go.
(For those wondering, I don't remember if she knew, or if I ever told her, and like, she was constantly dismissing me and my feelings when I told her that I hated these nickanmes, that it was hurting me, that I didn't like it, because it was "funny to him and it's the way he works, it's the way he shows affection" (he also makes fun of my mum) which is the definition of bullying, when you do something repeatedely that is funny to you, but not to the target of said ""jokes"".)
Once, I was in 10th grade, it was October, and I was lending my tablet to my sister, so she could play the games on it. (My dad had bought it for me when I was 9 so it was pretty old, and lagging) and she wanted to go to my room upstairs to be with me (because somehow, even when I lowkey hated her (cuz forced proximity) she still loved me and wanted to be with me (and that honestly brokes my heart and make me want to cry, because at this point, we were bullying each other)).
But as she open the door of the stairs, J tells her that she shouldn't go see me, that I will hurt her again blah blah blah. So I'm hurt, because I heard this, but H still go see me. But the game is lagging, a pop up window went on the game, and nothing could put it away. So I told her that it was her game, so she deals with it, which she told me that it was my tablet so I deal with it. Shit went south, and we started to argue pretty badly. J called H 1 time, 2 times, 5 times, and every time she yells "five more minutes", until he starts to go upstairs (making my heart sink into my stomach), and barges in my room.
He took her arm, and yanked her out of my room so violently that she fells on the floor, and then he slapped me on my ear and upper cheek so hard that my head turned, and then he yells at my sis and he go back downstairs with her. And I'm sat on my bed, crying, hyperventilating, like, almost suffocating, for 20 minutes, saying that he had no right to do this, that it's illegal... And my mum came in my room, I tell her that I can't do that and yada yada. She tells me that she wouldn't have done better, and she go back downstairs, leaving me there, just crying and hyperventilating.
(I only told that to my dad a year and a half ago, so about then six months after the fact, he and my step mother (49 F), P, were so shocked)
Then comes my 16th birthday, my dad calls me, with P and her parents, to wish me a happy bday, and my sister comes to my room. It led to such an argument over me wanting her to get out of my room that I cried on the phone and had to hang up. Dad called Mum, who called H, and me, and she yelled at me, saying that I should just have mute my phone and deal with it, so it's my fault, and I ended up having my bday canceled, and reported to four days later.
So yeah, I was pretty miserable. Then I go to my dad whole July plus the last 2 weeks of June due to the 11th and 12th graders exams, and they tell me that if I want I can go live at their house, like they said I could in summer before my 9th grade (in which time my mum fought all she could to make me annulate this, because she did not want to move out).
So I said that I wanted to live at my dad, and then I go back to my mum for August!
...
Oh boy.
So, I go back at my then home, and the adults are talking, me and my sisters can't talk because of it, I'm not quite happy being there, but hey, J's daughter, E, is here, and she is amazing, she is a big part of how I literally survived there. So, they are talking, I'm a bit bored, so, resting face, like, emotionless face... Which happed to be a resting bitch face (thanks mum's genetics), so it looks like I'm unhappy being home (and I was).
So then goes the nicknames, the comparison between being at my mum and at my dad as usual, and like, P and her sister, D, encouraged me into speaking up for myself, so I tried, but me speaking up to myself equals being disrespectful and insolent in their books, so guess what? I'm being yelled out. Yay. The first night back home. So then other shit happens, like, me and E not doing the dishes, after she didn't told us to do it, just because she assumed I would do it after doing the dishes for three weeks at my dad. (Which they asked me to do so!!!)
(I'm also autistic and hyperdependant, if you don't tell me to do it, I won't, partly because I'm also scared of doing the wrong thing. I know it excuses nothing, and I'm working on it, I promise).
That's the last straw for me, and I decides that the next day, I'll tell her. Yep. It was awful. The worst summer of my life. Lil sis forbidden from seeing me since "I hate them all". Witholding hugs, and physical affection from me (when my love language is physical touch). The pizza saturday nights? Gone too, if I don't want to be here when shit aren't good, why would they share the good moments with me? (so I ate soup at 7pm, then went straight to bed).
Mum set the rules : she would provide me food, a roof above my head, clean clothes, school necessities, and nothing else. I need a hair trim, new jeans, or shoes? You'll ask you father during Halloween break.
(for the time line, this was in 2022, just as I'm about to enter 11th grade)
And oh this school year... From august 2022 until june 2023, it was awful. And know that it's during this year that me and my sister finally started to get along!
So when I finally actually wanting to be with her and seeing her and her parents forbidding it because "I don't like them anymore" was very tough, emotionnaly and mentally.
So, going back to my step father, he started to just ignoring me, or sighing at every thing I do, because how dare I drink water, or put pepper in my soup? But right before, in September, shit went down, badly.
Like, I learned from friends that sometimes people didn't smoke real tobacco, but tea, and so I told it during lunch. (You should also know that I have that marvelous addiction call self harm... and at this point I had been relapsing for the past two weeks). And they make fun of me, because i presented that fact like all actors smoked tea instead of real cigarettes, and when they did the research, it showed that it was just a few people that did this. And then J starts moking my weight and calling me a circle, and it was, again, the last straw, and I relapsed again... In a stupid way. And J saw me going through the medical supplies, he told my mum, who then went to see me, and i couldn't lie to her, so I just, lifted my shirt and she saw it.
So she panics, yells at me, asking what was going on in my mind, calling the neighbour was is a nurse, she puts bandages on the thing yada yada yada. You should know that I did not, under any circumtances, wanting my baby sister to know. So when she went to say good bye to me because she had a bday party at a friends house that after noon and I noticed how careful she was with my belly when she hugged me, it broke me, because I really didn't want her to know.
And my mum told me H thought that I tried to kms. Which broke me even more. We then went to a hospital, when I was checked by a doctor (it was really superficial, smh, I didn't need that but eh), and then saw a psychiatrist. Who didnt make my mum leave the room. I had to tell in front of her that I wish I was never born, and that I sometime wished she had abort me when she had the chance. Yay.
So then the psych directed me to another, who, after a few tests, diagnosed me with anxiety, depression, memory and attention disorder, mood disorder, and suicidal. Yay. That changed absolutely nothing.
Hell, during Christmas holidays, I wanted to see a film with my sisters, and they accepted under the condition that we do not sit on her bed, with which, of course, J made another ""joke"" about my weight. I had no reaction whatsoever besides just one single tear running down my cheek. But H saw it, and she went mad at my place, and we got yelled at a lot.
(You also need to know that during these events, my best friends were ignoring me, I was all alone in the dorms, had to go alone through a lot of panic attacks, had to eat alone, when one of them sees me, and knows I hate loneliness but she doesn't give a damn. I had other friends, but it was still hurting me like a bitch, as we were besties since 7th grade.)
My friends at school, to which I was telling these things cause I """love""" trauma dumping, were all trying to convince me that my mum was toxic, and I didn't believed them until that fateful night of January. (Because to me, being toxic implied being physically abused... Which my sister go through, but yeah, I was in denial and stupid)
Mum was telling us that we, H and I, weren't the centre of the universe, that if someone doesn't conctact us, it's okay, and shit. (pretty ironic since she yelled at me for not calling her as she had Covid), and my sister said "well, so do you". I swear I was eating my soup, not daring to move an inch too much, barely breathing, almost crying. Then I went to brush my teeth, and then my sister joined me, still getting yelled at because she can't just let mum talk, she has to talk back.
So while I'm fighting back my tears and heart break, I have to see and listen my sister getting screamed out, and spanked (she was 11), and trying to lock the bathroom door because she just had enough. When she locked the door, I tried to be fast to finshish brushing my teeth because I wanted to hug her, but mum manage to get H to open it, so I tried to take my time washing my face and hands, but I still finished before I could hug her.
So I went in my room, and just had a breakdown, a full ass panic attack. And it's that night that I understand how toxic, and manipulatrice she is. She told us that "we have no one else, we can only count on her and J, and that's it." when I have my dad, and H has her aunts and other family.
Then it's Febuary. Dad tells me that it's now impossible to have me at their house, because no more car, and money shortage. And strangely, it's also around that time that mum gets better, warmer, nicer, smoother. How strange !
but still having little passive agressive words, like, I go to hug her because I am touched starve "oh you like your mother now?", some things like that, that just makes it soo difficult.
And it's still hard to live there all the time. And my school nurse suggest that I call CPS.
For a time, I hesitate, i'm scared. Until the night before my 17th birthday.
So, it was during the weekend, and my sister had a friend over from friday night to sunday morning, and that sunday morning, they woke up with two sipders above their head, like, big body, big legs, terrifying. So my sister, scared, asks me if I can sleep with her that night. And I say yes, of course. (I have been refusing for years now, and I regret it soo much now...)
Problem, mum says no. So my sister freaks out. She yells, and cries, and begs my mum because she is scared, and "I promise I will sleep normally after just tonight pleaaaase" (she has a historic of night terrors, and difficulty to go to sleep, she slept in her parents room until last year if I remember correctly.)
Also, prior to that moment, I was in H's room, and I was on her bed, with my back laying on it. (She had the twin size bed of her parents, because mum slept badly, so they took E and I's bed, and I got a bed I had when i was two years old, which literally breaks during the night because of how fragile that shit it!) And J walkes in, yells at my for being on the bed. H yells back, saying it's her room and her bed, and she can decides who can go on her bed, and J responds by saying that it's his house, therefore his room and it's his bed so he gets to decide who goes in there.
Back to my sister freaking out. So I go brush my teeth, and then I don't really know what happened, but now H is trying to convince J, who does not agree. Then he comments on how I was laying like a pig on her bed, which upsets me. The thing was, that my mum was in the way, with an arm popped up on her hips, so when I forcefully went, she got mad, because I pushed her arm, and she started to yell at me how ingrateful I was, how I only like them for money (lmao, what money?) That I was demanding things (me when I asked for my shoes :"uh, hey mum, would it be possible to buy me new shoes please? I really need ones, if that's possible please...")
And then, she threatened to slap me. In front of my sister. This is when I decided that I needed to ask my therapist to call cps.
But... He had to tell my mum, because he can't legally blindside her with this. And she freaked out. Saying she didn't want to go to jail, that how dared he, yada ydad yada. (No one, no one who know they did nothing wrong, would react that way. She knows she is guilty). So then, since she did no want cps at home, because she knew if they get me and H to talk, they'll end up in trouble, my therapist basically blackmailed her into making me leave her house, or he'll call cps on her.
Because I was in danger, I was so low in my mental health, and hinting on possibly kms, so yeah. In danger.
So remember how my dad couldn't take me in? Well he had to take me in urgently. So I slept on the couch for 6 months, until my bed was built, but I still sleep in the living room.
So, right after my exam, I go to my dad, for the whole summer. Once of the best summer, if not the best summer in my life. Sure mum forgot to call me for the whole August and two weeks in September, after she yelled at my dad for forgetting to call me. But it's fine.
And I at first I don't want to go to her for Halloween break. But I want to see my sister, and I planned a day at my best friend's house that lived near my small village. I was supposed to go for a week. But it went south on Tuesday, after I came back from by best friend's house. I had just taken mly shower, and J was on the phone with E. I don't remember the ordeal, but it was about me going to E's house, and me talking to N, E'm mum.
Anyways, things went shitty, and I ended up confessing that J was the reason why I self harmed in September 2022. Yay. So I asked to go back home earlier, and instead of Sunday, I went back on Friday.
And Mum promised me to call and text more... Until she sends me those messages, telling me that she does not want me for Chistmas, that it would ruin it for every one, that she won't step up for me if J starts to bully me again, liken she is actively choosing J, and is trying to make it look like it's my fault?? I'm sorry??
So I breakdown, I show it to my dad, and his parents, and after talking, I decide to block my mother on every thing except tiktok, because I have no idea what is her account, and I have too much followers to be able to search up any suspicious accounts...
So AITAH?
(I left out a lot of things, like she blamed me for their new financial problme, because she has to pay child support, and losing the State's financial help, or that she refused to let me go to my brother's funeral after he was born sleeping, refusing that I serves as an "emotional clutch to my dad" when I needed support too... (she was not the mother, P is.) that she spend our last moment together being passive aggressive...)

As an extremely sciency person, my ability for writing creatively stopped after P6 lol. But I have the heart to pour out my grief as well as a stern warning to myself. So enjoy my 3 hour creation. I'm sorry if its bad,,, it really is. I try to recount and reflect on the incident that I want to rant about, but I took the creative freedom to recast certain moments to protect myself, and the people involved. Also, I love imagining things but writing aint my cuppa.
Its quite long... so to those who actually read it. Thank you for suffering through it haha
Part 1
We rats go by one rule: Rule or be ruled
We have no middle ground. You can be a Queen: carve up your empire, amassing your army to your satisfaction. Failing to be a Queen grants you a meagre Worker status. Day and night, the Worker labours and toils. “One day”, the Worker thinks, “I can earn some sedrim”
“Go!” The Queen berates, “Stop idling and start working!”
“Yes, my Queen.”
The Worker lives up to the whimsies of your queen. All for some sedrims. The warm fuzzler, the rat claw, the mouth warmer. It goes by many names. Workers love sedrim. In the harsh cold climate of Rat City, sedrim is their solace. A gentle nudge by a zephyr that everything will be alright. Queens love sedrim, for only they secrete it. Its production is wholly controlled and restricted by them. The only path of sedrim is through the Queen.
In Rat City, there is no room for neutrality, no room for compromise. Life ain’t a bed of roses son, so toughen up. Even if you’re the Queen, do not turn your back, or a spectre might just plunge a knife down your heart.
Sounds tough? But the history of all hitherto existence has been of the Queen and Worker. Sounds brutal. But brutal is our world, and rats are not known for fairness.
I, a mere shepherd, see this system as a society of non-compos mentis. Fortunately, in the dark and quiet room, I am liberated. No sedrim has touched my lips. Rationality reigns supreme. Through my little peephole, I see the other rats scrimmage for the scraps, gathering goo for their taskmasters. I see task masters inspecting every morsel awarded. The junior rats earn either an affirmation, embracing their dose Queen, or they are thrown in rat jail. Believe me, you do not want to be in rat jail. No sedrim; alone, desolate. Not even the cats can hear your cries for succour. Your will is broken and you exit as an empty rat shell.
Woe to those Worker rats! A joke are they? Scurrying about just for a temporary refuge. Used and abused just to get their grubbing claws on more sedrim. What a life to live! To attune to the Queen, satisfying every demand of the Queen, and to lose yourself just for more of the drug. Why can’t they just live without it? I pondered and mocked them. They deserve suffering. It is their own doing.
“Hello!” A whisper echoed in the room. A sharp and cosy sound caressed my ears. Tingling with excitement, my ears replayed the sound multiple times. I swivelled. It was Jan. Jan. The revered one. There is never too much sedrim for it. Be in their good books, and sedrim (or the lack thereof) is never an issue. But transgress it, and fall out of grace, be prepared for hell as you’ve never seen.
“I’ve always seen you in this dark room. What do you doing here? You aren’t like other rats, are you” Jan enquired.
I was flattered. No one has ever taken an interest in me. I am different. While they toil and labour, I have risen above them. I am the evolved rat, the civilised one. The one which can guide my fellow compatriots to a bigger and brighter future.
“No, I am not” I chuckled. “I love this dark room for my ratology. I love ratology. Perhaps you care to listen to my discoveries”
Jan was stunned. Perhaps she has never engaged in ratology before. It paused. Scratching its chin with its little rat claw, Jan muttered “Sure, let’s hear from it”
“See here, this is linear ratology. We assume it to be a plane, but I have been working on non-linear ratology. I believe that it will shake the rat collleges up!” I arrogantly boasted. There couldn’t be any more air in my abdomen as I felt I was floating in my mini-lecture. Jan could not be more interested, and disinterested in me.
“Perhaps, we could meet up and talk more about ratology another day?” Jan suggested. “But first, I come to you for a favour. The annual ratolympics is up, and I need help. Those damned Workers are really unsuitable for me. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes will help?”
“Sure” I replied swiftly. I am more than willing to employ my services. Perhaps I should start befriending Queens. Knowing rats in high places is never a bad thing.
“See you tomorrow at midnight!” Jan’s claws brushed my whiskers, strumming it like a guitar, before she retracted her claws, and disappeared into the night.
“What an eventful day. Something I can tell Tinn about” I mused. Shockingly, Tinn was not as enthusiastic about my gracious gesture.
“Are you out of your mind? All Queens are dangerous. You wouldn’t go near a cat would you” Tinn chided
“No?”
“Then, why go near a Queen. Remember: Queens are never kind. They are the Erlkonig. They seduce you with exorbitant gestures. They look onto you kindly until you reach the point of no return. Once you’ve taken a fancy on sedrim, even I, the great Tinn, can never save you”
“Don’t worry. I am strong. I won’t fall into the trap of the Queen. I will benefit from this and I will never falter. Anyways, aren’t you a Queen once too?”
“I am, but I have been an awesome one” Tinn flicked their hair and scorned. “Anyways, you were my only Worker, and I treated you well. I don’t know why you broke it”
“You know why. We can’t do this forever, especially when -”
“Don’t talk to me about this. I trusted you and you broke it.”
The next day, at midnight. I met Jan. Without much of a casual exchange, we got down to business. My expertise proved useful, for I provide insights beyond measure.
“Thank you. With me, you’ll surely win” Jan thanked me.
And of course, we did win the Ratolympics. We dominated the rat race. Jan seemed to be different from other rats. Of course, her method of treatment of her Workers is cruel. The rat jail is a cesspool of her disobedient workers. Unlike other Queens who dispense sedrim for all workers in minute amounts, appeasing the crowd, Jan has the nasty habit of simply fulfilling the sedrim requirements of just one lucky Worker. Twisted, but effective. Jan’s workers vie for attention. They whine, and sap just to be included in its sedrim schedule in future. All this to satisfy Jan’s twisted ambition, filling its dark empty heart with empty gestures of affection.
There is no doubt. But perhaps, as the evolved rat that has risen above the Workers. We are equals. I don’t need sedrim, we function as a team. Ratolympics wasn’t the only activity we worked on. Many tasks were thrown at us, but we overcame them, together.
Part 2
At the end of the rat calendar, Rat City organised its long-awaited walk for cheese.
“Hey Jan, what should I wear for the cheese walk?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”
“Well, I want to be a little more whimsical for it”
“Hmm.. dress as a cat!”
And a cat I dressed. It took a long while for me to order a catsuit from the local tailor. Not to mention the amount of convincing and mockery from fellow rats. But it was ready just in time for the walk.
“You look cute! My daily dose of dopamine” Jan smiled
“Thank you. Glad you liked it.” I strained
Was that affection? No, it can’t be. I am a special rat and I cannot accept such affection. I am a lone rat. But it felt good, it warmed me. But no, I cannot accept it. Many Workers have fallen down that path. I am evolved, I won’t fall into that path. But I want it.
With the turn of the new Rat calendar. Things have changed. My help is superfluous. But the companionship, the affection, the recognition. Oh how much I long for it. How much I yearn for it. Every hour without the presence of Jan, my heart sinks.
“Jan, perhaps if you can spare just -”
“No. We are collaborators. Shouldn’t that be low maintenance? Come on! I give sedrim to my Workers. Why must I entertain you”
“Jan. I really feel, as collaborators, we should enjoy some time together”
“Whatever, next month. Whatever, but -”
And that was it. Last I have heard, the Queen has found other collaborators. There are others. Jan has time and sedrim for them, but not me. Why not me? I am perfectly a decent rat. I do my best to satisfy her needs. The sudden loss. Oh, the pain. Oh, the despair! Woe to me, for I am the lost rat.
"Ha. You think you can get to Jan" The Worker Rat Kynestan mocked. "Yea, You must be nuts", Jan quipped
This goes no more. I will not be treated as such. I deserved better. You, Jan, are out of my life. And your workers too. I am contented on my own.
And this is the story of me. But who cares, we’re just rats

Hello, I’m looking for some tips for some better sleep habits. Long story short, I’m a full time firefighter at a busy department so my sleep habits have taken a really hard hit the last few years since starting this career. My schedule is 2 day shifts, 2 night shifts and then 4 days off and I try my hardest to sleep normally during my days off and my day shifts but I can’t help but wake up at random times throughout the night and it isn’t easy for me to fall back asleep, and often times I do feel like I’m usually warmer then I’d like.
Basically here’s what I’ve tried; - i try to nap as much as I can to make up for my sleep debt but napping is a challenge for me not sure why - I turn Ac / open windows to keep a cool temp which usually does help I’ve found - white noise from Shuteye app as of recent - wearing ear plugs for full silence.
Any other suggestions so I can get regular peaceful night sleeps? I’ve been tracking with my Fitbit and 6 hours is considered good for me and I can only get that like 1-2x/week.
Looking for suggestions on cooling systems/pads/blankets etc that ideally won’t break the bank and any other suggestions really.
Thanks!

“A little to the right, William,” Eleanor said warmly, noticing the boy was having trouble centering the baby’s breath and forget-me-nots exploding from the clear crystal vase.
“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery,” William responded with a small smile.
She had given up on telling him to call her Eleanor, so she gave him a slight nod and went on her way. Tonight was her first gala since the New Year; everything needed to be perfect. Eleanor strode through the ballroom, her fingers grazing the cotton tablecloths as she eyed the decorations with a harsh gaze.
Eleanor was barefoot, dressed in a simple nightgown, her hair done up in curlers. It was odd for a woman of her status to let herself be seen in such a state, but Eleanor trusted her staff not to gossip, and she didn’t see her husband nearly enough for him to cause a problem.
After a final sweep of the room, she deemed it fit for the ball and headed up the grand staircase to her room. There, she spent the next two hours getting ready. She carved cheekbones with a light brown powder, lined her eyes to make them look sharper, and selected the perfect nude to color her lips. She was beautiful, agonizingly so. Blonde curls flowed effortlessly down her shoulders, her dress a misty blue; it always matched the flowers. She wore diamonds around her neck and ears, though they reminded one more of pristine water droplets than real gems. Without the click of her heels on the hardwood, one would think she was merely floating down the hallway.
Eleanor reached the top of the grand staircase, stopping to look down on the guests mingling below. She observed them for a moment, invisible to them on the stairs like she was a falcon preparing to swoop down and snatch up prey. That’s what Eleanor fancied herself: a predator. The ballroom was enormous. Looking down at it almost gave her vertigo; she was standing on a precipice of good manners and fake laughter, ready to jump. Marvelous, intricate carvings stretched to the ceiling, lit perfectly by several glass chandeliers, ready to fall in a clash of glass and blood.
Eleanor inhaled deeply, oxygen reaching the dark depths of her lungs, excitement making her head spin. The chorus of small talk stopped, all eyes on her as she descended; the echo of heels was deafening. She often gave a welcome once she reached the bottom, but tonight, it felt redundant. So, as she stepped on the floor level with her guests, she smiled, waved her hand, and said in a casual but practiced tone, “Well, go on!”
The chorus returned. Eleanor began to make her rounds, determined to talk to every guest. She snagged a glass of champagne on her way to chat with her bridge group.
“Ladies! How are we this evening? I’m dying to catch up,” Eleanor said, a convincing fake smile plastered on her face.
“Eleanor, you have done it again! The ball has barely started, and it's already an exceptional hit,” the woman across from Eleanor said.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Eleanor responded, “So, catch me up! I haven’t heard a piece of news in a whole week.”
“Someone shouldn’t miss the weekly bridge game, then,” Charlotte said, a cheerycheery tone replaced by a passive-aggressive one.
“Oh, come off it, Charlotte, it's not Eleanor’s fault,” another woman commented.
“Thank you, Elsie. If you want to blame anyone, blame Henry.” Eleanor smirked, “He’s the one who kept me up so late…”
The girls giggled at the suggestive comment and delved into catching Eleanor up on what she missed.
Several conversations and one crude comment from one of Henry’s coworkers later, Eleanor decided to slip away for a moment. She dipped into the kitchen, using the back staircase to avoid suspicion. She walked into the library, another great room in her home, though hardly any rooms were less than vast. The library was dark, relying heavily on big windows that let in natural light and a few gas lamps that flickered weakly. There were rows and rows of bookshelves reaching to the ceiling. Eleanor had always wanted a sliding ladder, but Henry didn’t see the point in her reading, much less her physically climbing literary heights. A small seating area was opposite the door, with plush leather chairs and ashtrays stacked on end tables. Eleanor loved the library; it was always quiet, not that the mansion was ever loud, but the books seemed to have a way of oppressing the mere thought of noise.
It was not quiet now. Eleanor could hear the light rustle of turning pages and the soft in and out of breath. Someone was there, standing in her library, leafing through one of her books.
“Who are you?” Eleanor asked, anger and suspicion evident in her voice.
The man, loitering in the middle of her library, looked up and smiled at her.
“Who are you?” the man questioned back.
“I asked first,” Eleanor replied.
“I asked second,” the man said; Eleanor rolled her eyes.
“It’s my house.”
The man narrowed his eyes before his face split into the same easy smile, “Fine, I concede. You win. Wesley Ackworth,” he said, extending his hand toward Eleanor.
Eleanor looked him up and down before gingerly taking his hand, ‘Eleanor Montgomery.”
Wesley was handsome. He was tall and fit. His dark hair fell perfectly on his face, and he wore a gentle smile that lit up his light brown eyes. She would have been flustered if she had not spent most of her time staring at a mirror, practicing and perfecting her facial expressions, controlling the minuscule muscles that threatened to twitch. She had half the mind to order him to leave and let her bask in silence. Instead, she gestured for him to sit opposite her in the extravagant leather chair.
“Why are you in my library?” She questioned, intrigue trumping anger.
“I was bored,” the man sighed.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, “I don’t know you.” 

“I don’t know you either; we already have so much in common.”
Eleanor scoffed and pressed on, “I know everyone here, but not you.”
“I came with Charlotte.”
“Charlotte Baker?”
“Yes,” Wesley said, “I believe she is in your bridge group.”
“Oh, she’s lovely to play with,” Eleanor lied effortlessly.
“I’m sure she is,” Wesley said, smiling knowingly, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“I suppose so,” Eleanor said.
“You don’t drink,” Wesley says, though it's not a question.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sherlock Holmes,” Eleanor responded, tilting her head toward the end table where she had set down her glass.
“It’s full.”
“It was just refilled.”
“When a cold liquid is poured into a warm glass, condensation forms on the outside. And yet, I find there is an absence of condensation on your glass.”
Eleanor said nothing, choosing to glare at Wesley, curiosity bubbling in her stomach.
“There aren’t any lipstick marks on the rim of the glass either,” Wesley continued; Eleanor unconsciously pursed her lips.
“I’m a careful drinker.”
The pair stared at each other for a long second, like cowboys ready to draw.
“You don’t drink.”
“I don’t drink,” Eleanor said, suddenly bored of the game.
“Why?” he questioned.
“Uh uh uh,” Eleanor tsked, “It’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Fine.”
“Why are you here?” Eleanor asked.
“I came with Charlotte, as I’ve said.”
“Charlotte has a husband. Are you her mistress?” she asked, voice laced with sarcasm.
Wesley rolled his eyes, “He’s sick. I’m her brother. ”
“You’re lying,” Eleanor gasped, feigned sympathy plastered on her face, leaning forward in mock interest.
Wesley stared at her momentarily, eyes sliding up and down her figure.
“He’s dying, actually—cancer. I’m here in his absence,” he said.
“Poor Charlotte,” Eleanor said, concern etched into her voice, tears forming but never spilling.
“Poor, poor Charlotte,” Wesley smiled knowingly.
“It’s good you’re here then.”
“Yes. It is,” Wesley said, leaning toward Eleanor as he spoke, flirtation dripping from his voice.
Eleanor mirrored his action and opened her mouth to say something but thought better. Instead, she smirked, lifted herself from her chair, grabbed her drink, and left.
The rest of the party went along as they all did: she pretended to be drunker than she was, spilling messy secrets in not-so-hushed whispers before ending the night bidding adieu from the top of the stairs. She would then retire to her room and sleep as if she were a corpse: dead and peaceful.
Two days later, Eleanor received a thank you note. This wasn’t uncommon; she usually got five or six, but his letter differed. It was more personal than the other letters, which were littered with simple pleasantries and thanks.
My Dearest Eleanor,
I cannot say I enjoyed most of the party; in fact, most of it was immensely dreary. You weren’t, though. I’ll be in attendance next time. In the same spot. I look forward to your company.

 -Wesley 

Though the note's confidence amused Eleanor, she told herself she would not sneak away to the library during the next ball. She was lying, of course; blood thudded through her veins, and a small tingling sounded through her whole body. It was a feeling she had yet to feel about another person: excitement—not the dull, fleeting excitement lying brought her.
A month and four days had passed since Eleanor’s last gala. She stood in the ballroom, practically giddy with excitement. She could feel it in her fingertips, the buzzing that made her feel alive. It was stupid. She knew it was. How could a woman like her be so excited to throw a party? But she was. God, she was. Eleanor came up with the conclusion that it was the control— the weight of the strings as she maneuvered them like puppets. She craved it.
Eleanor’s gown was green this time —dark and emerald. Tendrils of lace stretched down her arms, mimicking vines. She had dainty white flowers stuck in her hair. It was the beginning of spring, and Eleanor loved a theme.
It was nearing the end of the ball when Eleanor ascended the stairs and walked down the familiar dark hallway. She was eager but forced herself to slow down her steps so as not to give off her anticipation. She stalled in front of the door, dark wood carved with intricate florals, taking a deep breath to the jittering of her brain. It sickened her to want something so innocently —to be antsy like a child.
“Eleanor,” Wesley called; he was sitting in the same chair as last time, back turned to her.
“Wesley,” Eleanor responded, sitting opposite him; her champagne glass thunked dully as it hit the side table.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Eleanor asked, eyeing the book propped open in Wesley’s lap.
“I had a drink first.”
“Is someone a little eager?” she teased, deflecting her excitement.
“Someone is very bored of the socialite life already,” Wesley said, closing the book and plopping it down on a side table.
“You’ve been to one party, Wesley. Calling yourself a socialite is so egotistical of you,” Eleanor scoffed.
“Oh, because it takes so much to be wealthy and beautiful.”
“Darling, more than you would ever believe,” she said, leaning in as if it were a secret.
Wesley laughed and rolled his eyes, letting silence settle over them before asking, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you pretend to be someone you are not?”
Eleanor stalled for a moment, “It’s fun.”
“It’s fun?”
“Is that not a sufficient answer?” she narrowed her eyes at him.
“What is the honest answer?” he said.
“I get a question first,” she smirked.
“Fine.”
“Are you some kind of recluse? There has to be a reason I’ve never seen you.”
“I live in America.”
She laughed shortly, “Well, that would be why.”
He smiled before restating the question, “What is the honest answer?
“You know, I pity your wife. You obviously don’t know that a lady requires a little foreplay before jumping right in.”
He smirked but stayed silent.
Eleanor sighed, “For a second, Wesley, imagine my life. I’m home, alone, all day with nothing to do but sit with myself. I was going mad; one can only have so many brunches before they get exceptionally dull. So I started…pretending as you so gracefully put it. It made my life interesting again.”
Wesley simply stared at her, eyes narrowing. Calculating.
“You think I’m lying,” she smiled.
“No. I don’t,” Wesley said.

My Dearest Eleanor, There are other things that can make your life interesting. -Wesley 

Eleanor did not respond. She tucked the letter away in the bottom drawer of her bedside table. She knew her silence was answer enough.
Once, they met on a balcony. It was the middle of summer, and Eleanor decided to have the ball in the courtyard. It made more sense in the warmer months; the house would get too stuffy to be comfortable with so many people.
A soft, warm wind caressed Eleanor’s face. She sighed. They hadn’t had much to talk about tonight; Charlotte’s husband passed only a week prior, putting a sort of damper on the party. The two were standing on a terrace off the side of the house so as not to be in full view of the guests.
“Wesley, I’m bored,” Eleanor complained.
“Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“I honestly do not care.”
Wesley smiled at her, “Do you love him?”
“Henry?” she asked.
Wesley nodded.
“No,” she stated simply.
“Then why are you with him?”
“I have no other choice.”
“You always have a choice, Eleanor,” Wesley sighed.
“Maybe you do. That’s not how it works for us.”
Wesley rolled his eyes, “Us?”
“Us. Women. Wesley, I was married a week after my 18th birthday. I hadn’t even met Henry yet. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Eleanor said as she felt rage rise within her, threatening to spill out in the form of saline and salt.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t have a choice,” he said.
Eleanor scoffed.
“Well, you have a choice now, at least,” he supplied.
“Oh yeah, and what choice is that?” Eleanor laughed mirthlessly.
“You could leave him.”
“And give up all the wealth a girl could dream of? No, thank you,” Eleanor joked, desperate to calm the instinct to tear Wesley limb from limb.
“Is the wealth worth being married to a prick?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, fake smile plastered on, “How do you know he’s a prick?”
“I work with him,” Wesley said.
“I’m sorry. Since when?” Eleanor asked, slightly taken aback.
“I started around five years ago, and then two years later, they asked me to take over the branch in America. Those first three years were terrible; I mean, he really is a wanker. How can one man be so obnoxious?”
Eleanor laughed genuinely. There was a beat of silence.
“Does he at least love you?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Wesley, we sleep in separate rooms. We see each other once a day at dinner, if that. Plus, I’m fairly certain he’s sleeping with Elsie.”
“The dark-haired girl from your bridge group?”
“That’s the one.”
“See, he’s an absolute bastard. She’s not even pretty,” he said, the latter part coming out as a whisper.
“How do you know?” Wesley added.
“That he’s sleeping with her?”
Wesley nodded in response.
“I’ve seen the way she looks at him. You don’t look at someone like that and not have seen them naked.”
Wesley chuckled.
Eleanor smiled, “How’s your wife then? Better than my wanker of a husband?”
Wesley glanced down before answering, “I’m not married.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he answered.

My Dearest, Eleanor, I feel I must apologize. (Not for the wanker comment. I’ve just come from cigars with the man; God, he is obnoxious.) I’m sorry, Eleanor. -Wesley 

The letters kept coming, always arriving a day or two after the gala, always without a return address. She would never admit it, but it excited her. She finally had someone to let it. To conspire with.
Eleanor loved dancing. Her parents started her in classes when she was six. Fourteen children bumbling around a dance studio trying to master the steps of the waltz through the speakers of a record with a broken needle. The instructor screeched orders over the music. Eleanor had thought her like a hawk, perched in the corner waiting to swoop down on an unsuspecting pair of dancers. She even looked like a hawk with her sharp downward-pointing nose and scowl drawn on her face.
The children around her whined about the class; quiet whispering about the Hawk’s wrath was all to be heard on their infrequent water breaks. Eleanor would stay silent, instead choosing to watch the Hawk pace the floors, feet stepping in a perfect forty-five-degree angle, head held high. Eleanor was jealous of her menacing grace.
The truth is Eleanor only cared for dancing if she was leading. The push and pull of dance was one thing, but pushing and pulling another person was her specialty. Some days, a boy would be missing from class, and she volunteered to step in. Eleanor enjoyed the uncertainty in her partner’s face as the music began. She would lead them through a path unfamiliar to them. Only Eleanor knew their next move. She would speed up as the music crescendoed, relying on muscle memory as she made her next step, each dance a performance of her ability to control.
Eleanor did not enjoy this dance. She was supposed to be leading it. But now, as Wesley sat across from her in her courtyard, it was her with uncertainty plastered on her face.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably in the metal garden chair. She resented Wesley for how comfortable he looked. He had shown up at her door unannounced wearing a cream-colored dress shirt with the top couple of buttons undone. It was loosely tucked into dark brown slacks. Casual attire suited him; it sickened her to see him so informal, like he was breaking an unspoken rule between them.
It was beautiful outside. The air was warm and fresh and smelled of blooming honeysuckle. Eleanor took a deep breath. When Eleanor was a child, she and her friends would run out into the fields of her childhood home and pick the flowers right off the tree. She could taste the sickly sweet syrup on her tongue. She grimaced in disgust.
“Wesley, why are you here?” Eleanor pressed.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m lying,” he admits with a soft smile.
Eleanor doesn’t respond, choosing to glare at the man instead. This wasn't the game they played; it was never this dangerous.
“I wanted to see you.”
“What if someone saw you come here, Wesley?” she said, anxiety leaking into her voice, “What would they think?”
“Who cares, Eleanor?”
“I care,” Eleanor said, rising from her seat and looking out at the garden, back to Wesley, her voice forceful, “How can you be so arrogantarogant?”
They both knew the answer.
Eleanor could hear the metal scraping of his chair as Wesley stood up. She counted his light steps as he walked toward her. She felt the heat of his body on her back, mere inches from her. Eleanor closed her eyes and sighed. She turned around. Wesley was so close. She could see the lightest of freckles splattered across his face.
“Wesley,” she said cautiously.
He stayed silent. They stood there, staring at each other like a strange game of chicken. Eleanor didn’t know how long the staring contest lasted; it could have been hours. And then it was over. Eleanor looked away. Then Wesley’s hands were cupping her face and pulling her forward. His hands were warm and soft, the privilege of white collar evident to the touch. His lips were rougher than expected, but she leaned in regardless. Her hands were trapped between them, laying flat on Wesley’s chest. Warmth spread through her whole body; she grabbed desperately at his shirt, pulling him closer before shoving him away entirely.
“I can’t,” tears fell from her golden lashes, her voice fluttered with emotion.
“Why not?” Wesley said quietly, so very quietly.
Eleanor said nothing; she only stared at him apologetically, mouth parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. She pushed past him and walked back into the house.
The next several months went on without mention of the kiss. Eleanor held many more events; she had almost completed her color rotation, though the dresses never repeated. After blue and green, it was creme, then violet, blush, black, and finally a deep vermillion.
Tonight, Eleanor was wearing vermillion. Holly ran down the rail of the stairs. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. A gargantuan tree loomed in the corner of the ballroom, decorated with beautiful glass ornaments. The smell of pine drifted through the whole house, filling Eleanor with a nostalgic itch close to innocence and excitement. Her parents always made such a big deal out of the holidays, showering her with gifts and affection; it was muscle memory for her to be jittery with excitement.
Eleanor was seated like a king in the soft leather chair, posture straight as an arrow, face split with a wry grin. The gas lamps that usually lit the library were extinguished and replaced by candles, making the room dim, romantic even. The flickering lights cast harsh shadows on Eleanor; she looked ravishing.
“Did you get me a Christmas gift?” she asked Wesley, eyes glaring.
“In a way,” he smirked at her.
She gasped like a child, “Did you really?”
He pulled a black velvet jewelry box out of his suit pocket. Eleanor gingerly took it into her hands, opening it with cautious hands. It was a slip of paper—a ticket.
Eleanor’s face fell into a severe expression, “Wesley.”
Wesley stood up from his chair, kneeled before Eleanor, and took her hand into his, “Come with me.”
Her stomach plummeted. The ground beneath her feet was gone. Eleanor had not jumped off the cliff; she had been pushed. Pushed into the realm of knowing. She could no longer ignore the passing glances and dripping innuendoes. Wesley ripped off the blindfold, leaving the truth bare and ugly.
“Wesley,” Eleanor said again, suddenly breathless, vision blurring.
“Charlotte is fine. Her husband passed away months ago. It’s time for me to leave. And I want you to come with me, Eleanor.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
Eleanor stood up, ripping her hand from his, and turned away, “No.”
“What?” Wesley said quietly.
“No. I won’t go with you.”
“Why not?” he was raising his voice now, sadness edging into his tone.
“Wesley, I am married,” she says like a mother scolding her child, “I have a life here.”
Eleanor's back was to him, her posture hunched, like a wounded animal covering gashings of an attack. For the first time in a long time, she seemed frail and small, a baby bird with a broken wing.
“What life?” he pauses to breathe, “You have no life here.”
“How dare you,” she is suddenly very quiet; it is not a question.
“Eleanor, I love you,” he pleads, “I could give you more than this.”
She whips around, looking him in the eyes, tears running down her face, “Why must I always want more!”
Eleanor does not look frail anymore, her shadow dark and ugly behind her. She stands up tall, her shoulders set. Eleanor is yelling now, voice crescendoing; she’s loud enough that the whole party would hear her if there were not a small orchestra playing downstairs. She does not care.
Wesley takes a deep gulp of air, “You were meant to come with me, why don’t you want to?”
His voice is barely audible.
“What?” Eleanor whispers, more to herself than Wesley, and then a louder, “What do you mean?”
Her face is dry, set in stone. Her cheeks are pink with the warmth of the rage boiling inside her.
“I just meant that-”
She cuts him off, “No. You didn’t ‘just mean.’ I have known you for nearly a year now, Wesley, and you have never once ‘just meant’ anything. Why am I meant to go with you?”
Already losing the battle, Wesley concedes, “He told me you would.”
“Who.”
“Eleanor, come on. You are smarter than this.”
“I need you to say it,” she spits.
Wesley is desperate, trying to put the blindfold back on, mend the wounds he tore, undo what cannot be undone. He is failing. Wesley knows he has no play left; in the metaphorical chess game they have been playing, he is surrounded. Rooks and bishops were slaughtered on the checkered tile; his king was backed into a corner, the white flag in his hand served as his only weapon.
“Henry. Henry told me you would go with me. I needed a wife, and he didn’t want you,” he throws the game.
She turns back toward the window, looking into the still night, “Get out.”
His king is gutted, Eleanor stands victorious.
“Eleanor,” he pleads.
“Get out, Wesley.”
He turns to leave, knowing hope is lost, dress shoes scuffing across the wooden floor. Wesley pauses in the doorway, the light from the hallway casting dark shadows over his figure.
“I do love you,” he says, no louder than a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Eleanor hears him take a step.
“I would have gone,” she breathes out.
He stops.
“Eleanor,” Wesley says cautiously.
“I would have gone with you. I would have packed my bags, found out when the ship was leaving, and ran down to the dock to meet you.”
Wesley says nothing, but she hears a soft, broken exhale and the click of his shoes as he recedes down the hallway.
Nothing is the same. The parties blur past Eleanor. Blue, then green, then creme, and so on, pass by her in a flurry of rainbow and satin. She drinks. She is sloppy with her lies. Eleanor becomes her facade. Henry and her start to sleep in the same room again, like when they were first married; he suddenly finds her charming where she once was brash. Eleanor pretends to be happy, and so she is.
And then it's Christmas, and holly decorates the railings, and a giant tree goes up in the ballroom, and Eleanor is wearing vermillion. Her childlike glee is gone, youthful adolescence no longer shrouding the holiday in glowing lights and neatly wrapped presents.
There is a letter in the mail. Eleanor reads it just once before lighting a fire in the hand-carved stone fireplace and tossing it in.
My Dearest, Eleanor,

 I have married. She’s nice. Lovely, even. Nothing like you. With all my love, Wesley 

I have suffered from hyperacusis for many years, but had been lucky and grateful to be able to work in a quiet, tolerable environment. However, my work recently moved people around and now a lady sits in the cubicle next to me who runs her space heater constantly all day, every day.
For some reason that noise is absolutely unbearable to me. It is worse than simply annoying. It makes my ears feel, I dint know, fatigued. I can’t focus on my work at all, it feels like it’s zapping my brain. It overwhelms me and it gets worse as the day goes on, as though the effect it has on me builds and builds. This has been causing me a lot of stress and anxiety and my mental and physical health is faltering as a result. I dread coming into work each morning. Every day is torture.
It’s admittedly not very loud, so why does it bother me so much? When she turns it off at the end of the day it’s like giant weight has been lifted from me. The sense of relief is incredible.

1. Is this all in my head, or is this a real part of hyperacusis and my adverse reaction is justified?
2. What should I do about this situation? Should I try to explain to her my condition? From my experience most people are not capable of comprehending what it’s like.
3. Has anybody been in a similar situation? What did you do?

Notes:
- Constant white noise like fans, humming, hissing, static etc. are some of my least tolerated noises. Certain sounds at certain frequencies cause me pain, no matter how loud it is. Regular background office noise is generally fine. - There are no other offices open, so I can’t move. - From overhearing her conversations, this lady can be a bit of a b-word and us quick to talk bad about people behind their backs, so she’s not easy to confront. - I don’t think HR would understand either. - She seems to have an aversion to wearing warmer clothes, especially socks. - Earplugs and headphones are not good solutions. Being cut off from all noises makes my sensitivpity worse - I have given it several months to see if I would get used to it, but I have not at all. It seems like my hyperacusis and tinnitus have gotten worse.
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