Broken arm surgery games

Hey guys,(23 M) here
I need to share something incredibly personal and ask for your support during this heartbreaking time. I am completely broken and don't know what to do. My soulmate, Jordan (20 M), has been diagnosed with testicular cancer. Over the past couple of weeks, I've been closely following his condition. He recently had surgery to remove the tumor, but tragically, the cancer has spread to his lymph nodes, and there's nothing more they can do.
Jordan is far away, being treated for cancer in another country where he was attending university. I've been crying for hours—it's devastating. I'm so poor that I can't even be with him during this critical time no matter how hard i tried to make him feel better,Calls, Texts it's been hard really hard . No one seems to understand the pain I'm in. Jordan is incredibly special to me, and it's killing me that I can't be there for him.
My vision is worsening, and I'm utterly exhausted and broken. I haven't slept in days, and the emotional and physical pain is overwhelming.
I desperately want to be with Jordan during this difficult time, but I simply don't have the financial means to do so. If anyone could offer support or assistance, it would mean the world to me. Any help to bring me closer to Jordan would be a lifeline right now. Thank you for taking the time to read this and for any support you can provide.
https://imgur.com/8IoniIB

Round 1, Pick 13 - Brock Bowers, TE, Georgia:
NFL: This is the Raiders willing to adjust the offense to take the best player available. Bowers is a spectacular player who can line up anywhere along the formation as a tight end. There aren’t many holes in his game -- which should urge new OC Luke Getsy to get creative and get Bowers and Michael Mayer on the field together.
CBS Sports: C. He’s a heck of a player, but didn’t they draft Michael Mayer last year and signed Harrison Bryant this year? They have other needs. Don’t really like this pick that much. It’s not like he’s a good blocker for their run game. Strange pick with other needs.
ESPN: What a strange first-round selection, especially considering tight end was addressed last season with the second-round selection of Michael Mayer. Offensive tackle and cornerback were bigger needs. New general manager Tom Telesco must have simply relied on his draft board and gone best player available, especially with Oregon State RT Taliese Fuaga and every single CB still available. In fact, every defensive player was still on the board, and yet ... Bowers was considered a top-10 overall talent and should provide immediate production for an anemic offense.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Cries during Bluey but only at the opening credits.
Round 2, Pick 44 - Jackson Powers-Johnson, OG, Oregon:
NFL: Brock Bowers felt like a throwback Raiders pick to me, but JPJ really feels like an Al Davis classic. Powers-Johnson is a big, brawling interior lineman who played center last year but also can line up at guard -- the position he was announced at -- and bury the man opposite him, even if he's a little stiff and an average athlete.
CBS Sports: A. Instant starter inside. Guard size with mobile center feet. Shorter arms and some rawness in pass pro. But upside is through the roof. All-Pro caliber in that regard. Smart pick here.
ESPN: While Powers-Johnson played center at Oregon, the Raiders announced him as a guard, which makes sense since Las Vegas needs a right guard. Yes, even after the Raiders signed veteran Cody Whitehair in free agency. Powers-Johnson has started games at both guard spots and center in his college career. Last season, he started 13 games at center, was an All-America selection and won the Rimington Award as the nation's top center. He provides quality versatility, which is highly valued on the Raiders' offensive line.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He somehow still uses a functioning Windows phone.
Round 3, Pick 77 - DJ Glaze, OT, Maryland:
NFL: A left or right tackle with great length and so-so athleticism, Glaze was considered a question mark because of some past injuries (including an ACL), but the Raiders clearly feel good about him here. He's likely a swing tackle to start out but could compete for a starting job down the line.
CBS Sports: A-. One of the more calculated OTs in the class. Rarely panics and has plus awareness. Requisite size and length to stay on the edge in the NFL. Athleticism is at times great but not a true speciality. Nothing overly standout about his game. Just high floor blocker.
ESPN: After taking a versatile interior offensive lineman in the second round in Powers-Johnson, the Raiders used their third-round pick to grab a college tackle who could also transition inside to guard in Glaze. The selection shows how much the new regime of GM Tom Telesco and coach Antonio Pierce value versatility on the offensive line, which is all but set on the left side and at center. Glaze has a long wingspan at nearly seven feet but is not known for being overly physical.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Prefers the arrows on the keyboard over WASD.
Round 4, Pick 112 - Decamerion Richardson, CB, Mississippi State:
NFL: I joked on Day 2 that the Raiders are having another Al Davis-flecked draft, and Richardson keeps the theme rolling. He's a straight-line speed demon with great length, two very encouraging traits. But his penchant for handsy coverage and no real track record for playmaking mutes his appeal just a bit.
CBS Sports: A-. Long, sleek burner who will make plays on the football when he trusts his eyes. Lacks physicality at times and that hurts him when attempting to stop the run although when he gets to the football, he’s a very sure tackler. Smooth athlete in off-man and zone. This secondary needed this type of CB specimen.
ESPN: The Raiders finally address their defense at defensive back in particular, with Richardson who is 6-foot-2 and ran the 40 in 4.34 seconds. He needs development but did lead Mississippi State with 7 pass breakups last season, even as he never had an interception. He's also not afraid to stick his nose in the scrum as he had a combined 164 tackles the last two seasons.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks scotch tape smells like Christmas.
Round 5, Pick 148 - Tommy Eichenberg, LB, Ohio State:
NFL: Instinctive, throwback linebacker who lacks great speed. Eichenberg has the makeup to turn into a defensive tone-setter, even if his coverage ability is limited.
CBS Sports: A-. Ultra-active middle linebacker with a blitzing specialty. Smooth athlete a bit quicker than fast. Awareness is good in coverage, he will find crossers and understand in-breakers are working behind him. Strong tackler. Lack of speed and at times problems vs. blocks are weaknesses but this is a sound football player.
ESPN: Coach Pierce, who spent nine years as an NFL linebacker, gets his guy in the 6-foot-2, 233-pound Eichenberg, who provides depth while translating into a backup for Robert Spillane. Eichenberg did miss three games with an arm injury last season, a year after he was second-team All-American. More a thumper inside than a pass-coverage specialist, Eichenberg had 82 tackles (2.5 for a loss), a sack and a forced fumble in 10 games last season.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Played the role of background tree in his middle school play.
Round 6, Pick 208 - Dylan Laube, RB, New Hampshire:
NFL: Laube become something of a folk hero at the Senior Bowl, charming fans with his personality, elusiveness and pass-catching prowess. He had 295 yards receiving against Central Michigan alone this year and legitimately could emerge as a third-down weapon in the pass game.
CBS Sports: A-. Insane receiving RB. Built low to the ground and had fine testing figures before the draft. Low, side to side wiggle but lacks speed once he finds space. Contact balance is good too. Think the small-school Blake Corum.
ESPN: An FCS All-American all-purpose player, Laube projects more as a potential kick and punt returner in the NFL rather than a rotational running back. He averaged 31.1 yards on kick returns and 11.3 yards on punt returns and had a touchdown on each. He rushed for 749 yards and nine TDs, averaging 4.7 yards per carry last season, and also had 68 catches for 699 yards with seven receiving scores, including a 295-receiving yards game against Central Michigan.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Once wrote 250+ fake true facts for nfl draft cards like a moron.
Round 7, Pick 223 - Trey Taylor, S, Air Force:
NFL: Air Force has landed a few players in the draft the past few years after a long absence, and Taylor could make it either as a box safety or a special teams contributor.
CBS Sports: A. Thick, productive three-level safety best being closer to the line. Plays with controlled athleticism. Gets grabby against better athletes but that’s expected for a larger safety. Solid ball skills. Not ultra twitchy. Smart well-rounded type.
ESPN: The first-ever defensive back drafted out of the Air Force Academy, Taylor won the Jim Thorpe Award as the nation's top defensive back. He figures to provide immediate depth behind starters Marcus Epps and Tre’von Moehrig, but at 6-feet, 213 pounds, he has the size and instincts to be an immediate contributor. Taylor, whose cousin is Hall of Fame safety Ed Reed, had three interceptions, one pick-six, 74 tackles, five for a loss, four PBUs and a blocked kick last fall.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Yes, you reading this COULD have come up with better Facts.
Round 7, Pick 229 - MJ Devonshire, CB, Pittsburgh:
NFL: Devonshire is a fast, tough competitor with size limitations. He was never a full-time starter in college but had strong ball production the past two years.
CBS Sports: B+. Long CB who has the frame of a nickel. Fast, decently explosive athlete. Best in press man near the line. Average to slightly above-average ball skills. Zone awareness not there yet. High floor type.
ESPN: The Raiders concluded their draft by taking their second cornerback of the day in Devonshire, who is more a physical defender who does not shy away from bump-and-run coverage than a speedy DB, though he did run a 4.45 40. The 5-foot-11, 186-pound Devonshire led Pitt with four interceptions last season, including a pick-six, and had 10 PBUs in 12 games with nine starts. Las Vegas split their eight draft picks evenly between offense (TE, G, OT, RB) and defense (two CBs, S, LB).
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Likes bologna on white bread with mustard - it’s a flat hotdog!

After the Khumans had settled down somewhat, Alex let out a rather shaky breath. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."
"What were you expecting?" Kirell didn't understand, and it bothered him, but he was suddenly also extremely curious. It should be safe to learn more about this, right?
"Well... something more along the lines of swearing."
"Um... Karyces, Alex, did you get browner?" Kirell asked tentatively, which apparently set off the Khumans again.
"Woah there, spaceman." Sleepy didn't seem thrilled to hear him say that one; Kirell felt a guilty flush of purple around the edges of his frills. He didn't know Sleepy knew what it meant. "That's a strong word around the little one, huh?"
"Oh." He looked down at Nryxə guiltily, but she didn't seem to have noticed. At least he hoped she hadn't noticed. She was staring at the glassteel wall with her seven eyes wide open. Kirell didn't need his shiny new translator to know that her expression was curiosity. She probably didn't notice.
"You'll have to tell me what it means later. I mean it, Sleepy." Alex took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and closed her eyes. "I mean, I guess I got browner, but it's not.... Well. It's a scar."
Kirell's frills flashed open with a little pop, the whole width stained a deep red. "A scar? The whole thing?"
"Yep." Come to think of it, Alex's voice was a little lower than he remembered, a little raspier. "I– Captain, could you? It's sore."
"Sure. Poke me if I say something bad." The Captain cleared his throat as Alex sat down, crossing her legs under her, on the floor. "So, you know we burned a lot of atmosphere on Kzrkn, right?"
"Yes." Of course Kirell remembered that; he'd been scared out of his wits at the time. It seemed so silly now, to be afraid of something on the ground while he was safe in orbit.
"Well, the gate they took you through... yeah, atmospheres started mixing up, and then they closed it on Hook's electric prosthetic and–" The Captain broke off as Alex grabbed his leg; the deep red from Kirell's frills grew even darker. She was shaking a little. "Sorry Hook. Anyway, Squishy, I bet you saw it from your end too, but Hook was real close. Doc fixed what was mission-critical and did a bunch of patching, but it's still rough, and she's.... I bet she'll be mad for telling you, but she's still pretty spooked. Most folks'd already be shipped home with a Heart for this kinda thing, but damn if Hook hasn't made us proud. Well, prouder."
"What's that got to do with being browner? Did you not fix the scars?"
"Not mission-critical." Sleepy broke in on the conversation. "Don't get us wrong, Spaceman, he wanted to, but Hook said to focus on gettin' ya back."
"I think her exact words were 'Being pretty can wait.' Gotta love Hook, huh Squishy?"
Kirell felt his eyes itching, as if he wanted to cry again. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't ha–"
Alex slammed her synthetic hand into the floor with a bang; Nryxə jumped in Kirell's arms. Alex was shaking again, but this time she didn't look scared at all. She looked angry, and her eyes were a bit wet. That felt wrong, somehow, and conflicting, but Kirell could remember being scared and happy at the same time while wandering with Nryxə; it was probably similar.
"Shut it kid. Don't say that; don't you dare say that. I went after you 'cause I wanted to get to you. Don't ever say differently." Alex's voice seemed to squeak and thin out at the end of the last syllable; she pressed her lips together, looking frustrated.
"Easy there Hook. You've talked a lot more'n usual today. It's OK." The Captain reached down and patted Alex's artificial hand awkwardly. "You're doing good."
Alex swatted his hand away. Kirell's hearts abruptly thumped in his chest; he'd never seen that kind of expression on a Khuman face before. It was some mixture of ones he'd seen before; some kind of anger, sadness, coupled with a strange sick look he didn't recognize.
"Cap, ya aren't helping. If ya don't shut up I'd say it's about three seconds 'till ya get socked."
"Shi... crap. Sorry Hook. Didn't mean to– Uh, think I'll stop talking." Kirell didn't know what this situation had to do with closed tubes of fabric, or why the Captain had glanced at him and fixed his language, but he was too tired and confused to question it.
"Wait. So, Alex got burned, and Doc put her back together?" Kirell felt his own voice squeaking, not because he was injured but because the magnitude of Alex's injuries seemed to be stealing some of his air, along with much of the space in his stomach and most of his knees' strength.
"Burn care and puttin' someone back together aren't the same thing. Doc does both, but not the same way. Some parts, sure; it's why her vocal cords are weak right now. It's like a surgery; gotta be gentle with it."
Kirell's translator helpfully reminded him that Khumans were in the habit of cutting themselves open to deal with internal problems. He hadn't wanted to remember that.
"Anyway, Hook had to get most of her lungs and voice box rebuilt, so she's not got much voice to use right now. Still gettin' stronger. Her lungs are doin' great, but the voice is takin' a bit longer. It usually does."
Kirell's frills stained a deep blue. "Alex.... I wish you hadn't. I wish you weren't hurt."
Alex looked sideways awkwardly; she didn't look angry any more, which Kirell hoped was an improvement.
"I think what Hook wants to say is that she couldn't not come for you. And I'd agree with that."
Kirell didn't think that was right, but he couldn't figure out how to say so. Surely Hook had a choice, right? He wasn't somehow making a Khuman– a Khuman, of all things– do anything they weren't already going to do. Surely not. The idea of a Khuman being controlled by anything but their own wild Khuman-ness was laughable. Or, he acknowledged at the sight of the glassteel walls, by another Khuman.
"So you're in here because....?"
"Well, essentially we, uh... we were doing it again, huh Hook? We were just running in again like there was nothing there to stop us. Guess that's what we do." The Captain grimaced, one hand brushing the back of his head. "Right up until Sleepy showed up and said 'Hey stop that' with a bit more'n words."
A loud amusement sound made both Kirell and Nryxə jump; Sleepy was apparently very amused by this rephrasing of his actions. The Captain bared his teeth, too, with a look on his face that the translator told Kirell was [embarrassed] and [slightly regretful].
"Well, ya saw him now, and ya see that he's picked up someone of his own."
"Does that make you a granddad, Sleepy?"
Sleepy shrugged, looking at Nryxə, who looked back with seven wide eyes. "Dunno. I guess it depends on what the spaceman wants, right? And what'd be best for the kid. Whaddya think, Spaceman?"
"I, um... I don't know if I know what's best for Nryxə, but I don't want her to be upset. Can we talk about this later?"
The Khumans froze for a moment before the Captain whistled long and low. "Right. Not exactly good practice, is it? Talking custody with a kid in the room. Sorry 'bout that, Squishy."
"Hey, speaking of which." Sleepy reached out and gave Kirell a gentle, very reassuring head pat. Oh, he'd missed those. "I'm not sure he should be 'Squishy.' He didn't like it before, and now... don't ya think?"
"Yeah, agreed, it doesn't fit any more. Blue? No, don't like that one. Zim?"
"Absolutely not, Cap. Nor Dent, nor Ford Prefect. Gonna cut you off at the pass on that one."
Alex made a strange noise in her throat; with more patience than Kirell remembered them having, the Captain and Sleepy waited for her to be able to speak. When she did, it was a single word.
"Ripley."
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No music for this chapter, surprisingly.

I noticed that in gurugram wine and beer shops are decorated with lights as if they are highway dhabas/restaurants or hi-fi malls. Just real malls and thekas decorated as malls. That's the only thing that exists in gurgaon for fun. During my childhood we used to have games period only once or twice a week. Even during those periods all were busy preparing for jee. Indian kids are least interested in sports. I used to make bow and arrows out of broom sticks and try to imitate ramayan Mahabharat characters by holding the arrow in front of my forehead, murmur some gibberish and then letting go of the drawn arrow on some toy placed at a distance. My father snapped and broke my bow and arrows. He was like, "not sending you to such an expensive school just so that you could become a tribal hunter. Go study". One of my father's friends had once gifted me a mouser bb gun for fifth or sixth birthday. My father was furious and angry at him for gifting his son a gun. He was like guns are banned in USA. Guns as toys are for bad kids. I used to like watching martial arts based movies and imitate their actions alone. Father gaslit me by saying that I was trying to be a future criminal. As martial arts are only for goons, thugs, killer, police, army or ultra rich people who just want to show off medals as status symbol. He wanted me to focus only on studies.
Rich shitty kids in my school had Xbox, PlayStation and PC games. They discriminated against me because of obvious status difference. So I had no friends, no siblings or any good memories while growing up. Girls in my class only wanted to hang with those boys who used to play football or basketball for school team. I was good at goalkeeping because of my natural reflexes and height and was also good at taking penalty kicks because of brute strength. But I wasn't good at tackling or dribbling. I used to do a lot of fouls. That's not the reason for which I wasn't allowed to play by the way. The real reason was that they didn't want to get embarassed by me who was a "poor loser" according to them. They used to belittle me because of my looks, skin colour and lack of money. So getting humbled by me on playground obviously used to hurt their ego. Because of that they didn't use to let me play.
Every one in my office just smokes tobacco or drinks alcohol. That is the definition of having a good time or celebration according to them. I noticed that Indians just drink(alcohol), spit(paan gutka), smoke (tobacco) and do drugs. Like isn't there anything else for recreational activities? In urban areas there's malls and I think one can go for hiking or trekking too. But even there Indian gen z and millennials just want to do gaanja and charas at Manali or any other hill station. Why are Indians so much into drugs?
Most of the MMA coaching centres are frauds as per the reviews on Google pages. They charge a leg or an arm but whatever they teach isn't that good as per the reviews.
I want to go to uttrakhand for river rafting, bunjee jumping, sky diving or para gliding. But don't feel brave enough because of the fact that it's India after all. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the chord breaks, what if the bunjee cable breaks, what if I drown....and also the charges as per Indian economy is too high. As per Indian economy the charges should not be as high as they are. Maybe within a year or two I will finally got for it.

I think I may be neurodivergent, I think it's very likely I have dyscalculia, and I think I may be autistic as well.
I've always had a difficult time making friends, and all of my childhood friends are neurodivergent. I do not have a hard time keeping friends, but I do not know how to start conversations with other people. I'm not very good at keeping conversations with neurotypical people going, and the only thing I've learned to do is ask questions, because if I'm asking questions, the other person is talking, which means I'm not, and that's good. I'm not uncomfortable with eye contact, but I do not know how much or how little I should be giving in a conversation, so I tend to stare at people's eyes when they are talking. I do not feel lonely easily, and enjoy being by myself a lot of the time, which may just be introvert behavior. Sometimes, people call me weird though I do not understand what I am doing wrong to be called that. I do not take offense to it. I also get called quiet, even though I enjoy being around people, and I'm not shy, I don't get that either. I listen to people all the time, especially when my friends infodump. I enjoy talking about my interests, though I have realized that many people are not actually listening to me, so I have stopped doing that as much. It hurts my feelings more to know I wasn't being listened to than to not talk about what I wanted to talk about.
I have a difficult time navigating familiar places. My school's layout is still confusing for me, even though I've been going there for nearly 2 years. Driving is an absolute nightmare for me, and I need a GPS to drive otherwise I will get lost. I get my lefts and rights easily confused, and I get confused with my feet a lot. Dancing is really hard for me because I can never figure out what I'm doing. PE was always unpleasant for me because I hate doing group exercise and I never understood the rules of any game. I would always watch people to figure out what was going on.
Some textures and smells bother me a lot. Lavender has been an overwhelming smell for me my entire life, it gives me a headache. Most fruit's texture upset me. I hate the feeling of biting into a strawberry, and I hate how berries pop in your mouth. I also really hate food with any kind of skin to them. Berries are absolutely awful because of this, beans are also really unpleasant, and so are hotdogs. I've always been a picky eater, and was even underweight until I was about 12 because I hated most foods. Thankfully, I've gotten a lot better about it.
I find most places are too loud, and I get overwhelmed very easily. When I get very overwhelmed, I want to leave the room or cry, but I usually just sit there and plug my ears. I think I need to get ound cancelling headphones. I think the sound level in public is fine most of the time, but when I'm already stressed out, it gets much worse. Also, whenever I'm stressed, I hate the way the water touches me when I shower.
I constantly fidget, and I usually wrap my fingers around my hoodie strings, and I have twisted them to the point where they have broken and I have hurt my wrist. I continue to do this even though it has caused me pain. I have also been rolling up paper into little balls for nearly 3 years now. I fill up glass bottles full of these paper balls, and have filled over 100 glass bottles up. I love rolling up paper, and I do not enjoy ripping up the paper very much. I also own 13 3D printed sensory toys, they are all animals and I take at least 1 with me everywhere I go. I like rubbing my thumb on them a lot. Also, I love background noise and listen to music for that reason, but it needs to be quiet enough that it doesn't bother me.
I get very attached to certain topics, such as Rain World lore or Don Hertzfeldt's work. When I find something I get attached to, I try to consume all the content that I possibly can, multiple times. I have probably seen the second episode of World of Tomorrow 100 times, maybe more. Most of the YouTube content I consume are videos I've already seen. I've rewatched Markiplier's Inside playthrough many times.
Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you have a better than mediocre day/night.

Hey guys wassup I played The My Faction Wrestle Mania mode and beat all the events I really enjoyed it since I like old school wrestling I’m more of an attitude era guy not really in to these new characters I would love to play online and have fun because I like the competition but this game online is soo broken never loads and if it does the opponent gets kicked out or I get kicked out 🤦🏽‍♂️ I would like to know if you guys have any suggestions I don’t really understand this Universe mode and My rise please help would really appreciate the advice Thanks in advance. 🙏🏽

In Facebook Pokraville announced that from now onwards gold forges and ovens will generate credits instead of gold. I mean are they even serious? They just want the game to become completely pay2win and casual players who aren't interested in spending real money are suffering.
Firstly they introduce broken mutants which are easily obtained by players who buy them using real money. So they have an unfair advantage over anyone who doesn't have that mutant. And they just keep adding more and more mutants after every month or two, instead of fixing the bugs and issues.
And now they're making it such that the only way to obtain gold is buying it for real money. Celsius sucks. MGG would be better off if they just rotated the mutants in market and changed the raids. I have been playing this game for years and I don't recall one good decision taken by Celsius which improved the gameplay experience of an average player.

Mod to adopt people younger than yourself:

• Why? I like family gameplay, however, sometimes the parents of a child dies, leaving them alone in the colony. I know 'the colony' technically looks after the child, however, I think it would be cool if another adult/ adults could adopt them as well. The same goes for children who you save/ rescue, buy as a slave and recruit, or even child raiders who you manage to capture and recruit. I say the 'adoption' should be available for anyone younger than yourself in order to form more 'familial' bonds with others. For instance, if there is more than a 15+ year age gap between two people, one could 'adopt' the other as a child (say you have a 20 year old colonist and a 40 year old one). It could also be cool to adopt people as your siblings, possibly again if there's a 10-15 age gap (or more). This could be a ritual as well.

Mod to rename people/ babies without having to resort to character editor

• Why? Idk why this isn't in vanilla honestly, and it means your babies that are not born healthy or that you forget to name don't end up being called something like Baby 'Colette' Bazkin or something like this. You can also rename people's first name rather than just their nickname, or if you wanted them to have a name change for whatever reason you can. Ik character editor is easy to install and doesn't change much in the game, it would just be easier if this was in the game anyways. Maybe it could even be a ceremony or something?

Mod to keep track of stillborn babies [correct me if I'm wrong on this]

• Why? I don't like when a baby is stillborn and they don't really 'exist' in the family relations. I know it's probably to avoid clogging up relationships but idk, I would still like it in. It would also be cool if instead of 'dead' in the side bar on the relationships it would say 'stillborn' which I think is more specific and tells you more than just 'dead'? I think irl too people still consider stillborn children their children and name them and such. You could argue the same for miscarriages in RimWorld too. Ofc there would be tweaks if this mod came into being so you keep track of miscarriages or not. It could also be great for story telling purposes as well. I remember having a pregnant captive who was too beaten up after battle and lost her baby, and I thought it would be neat if, when she came into the colony, she would try and have another baby to make up for the one she lost. [I also know there's the Pawn Tracker mod, however, I would still like stillborn babies to exist in the 'family tree'/ relationships]

Mod to make it so surrogate mothers, when/ if they give birth to a stillborn baby, also get the 'stillborn' moodlet

• Why? I'm a sticker for consistency and realism, okay! It's also a bit weird when a surrogate has carried a baby to full term, only to give birth to it stillborn, and not be affected by this at all. I know it's not her biological baby, but if that was me I would be super upset and wonder if it was my fault for the baby being born stillborn. It's strange that the biological mum and dad are the only ones who get the 'stillborn' moodlet, but not the surrogate. Idk maybe I'm in the minority for noticing this since the majority of people in my last game have had their children carried by surrogates. It's funny as well bc if a surrogate carries a baby and then that baby dies, I think they still get the negative 'my child has died' moodlet thing. But they don't seem to get this for stillborns.

Mod to transfer pregnancies/ fetuses:

• Why? Cue Marge Simpson meme: I just think its neat! It could also be cool to transfer a pregnancy -- say an injured pawn is in her first trimester and you think the baby might be miscarried, do a surgery and transfer this fetus to another pawn OR a growth vat. Likewise, you could transfer a fetus from the growth vat into a pawn. I don't know WHY you might do this, but I'd like the option (lol).

Mod to make colonists give blood regularly [is this already a thing?]

• Why? I'm not much of a war crimes rimworlder and tend to only keep captives for a short time, and don't want someone to be a long term hemogen farm. I also don't like having to manually go around and click 'extract hemogen' on various pawns and have to do this multiple times. I only have one vampire and there are bouts where I have to do this. A little thing, yes, but it could still be automated more via a mod. I also don't want my vampire to just bloodfeed on a bunch of people bc of the negative moodlet and I think negative opinion it also gives? Maybe it could be a bit like the drug policy and you can tune it accordingly, and you can select which pawns are apart of it and which not, and to only harvest blood when they're completely healthy, and every X amount of days.

I've (F14) been friends with this guy(M15) since the sixth grade and I only became friends with him bc I liked him but I kept him around bc he was pretty good company and we have this big friend group. He's been sending me mixed signals for like forever but this time it's worrying. The other day I went to my friends bday party and I was hanging out with some people from my biology class and out of nowhere he shows up. I was hella confused bc he was not invited 😭 but it was good bc i barely knew anyone there. It was a group of 5 hanging out and about 2 hours had passed and the other 3 had already left. We decided to sit on a swinging bench kinda secluded from everyone else in a corner outside. It was just us two laughing and talking and I saw he had his hand open and there was a little like bruise ish thing on it. I pointed at it and after he explained it I left my hand resting on his. He then kept inching his hand more until both of our hands were interlocked. A few minutes pass by and we're paying no mind to the fact that our hands are casually interlocked and then some bitch ass dude comes walking by and goes "guys we're going to play a game inside come on!!"
We go inside and theres no game happening 😐. I sneak back outside and so does he. In my mind im thinking "man my little romantic moment is over 😞". We sit back down and the first thing he does is put his arm around my shoulder and make my head lay where the crook of his neck is. Back in my head Im freaking tf out bc we're never like this close. We were still talking and laughing when about 10 minutes later he gets a call from his mom saying she's here to pick him up. He responds with "gimme a few minutes". He just continues our conversation and pretends like his mom isnt waiting outside for him😭. Then IIIIIII get a call from my mom saying she's here to come pick me up , I respond with the same thing he said. We stay there still laughing and he goes " I really don't want to leave" and I just tell him we should probably get going because his mom is super strict. I wait a few minutes for him to get in his car and leave bc his mom doesnt like me AT ALL.
I get home and im still freaking out bc Ive never been in a relationship before and there were multiple times where our faces were really close and I thought he was going to kiss me. We haven't texted since then and Idk what to say. Should I bring it up or pretend like nothing happened?? (hes probbaly not going to bring it up bc hes a PUSSY)

More misery bird? More misery bird. Really miserymaxxing with these fics I have going, but hey, this one is not that miserable actually! Krekos is back and ready to be dense and downcast, but maybe not quite miserable? Read and see!
Big thank you to NoP community for being great and supportive of my endeavors!
Also, obviously, big thanks to SpacePaladin15 for creating this universe and allowing fanfiction well to flow free!
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Memory transcription subject: Krekos, Krakotl Refugee
Date [standardized human time]: May 6th, 2137
I stare at the foul creature before me. Normally staring at something directly head on like that would be too predatory for me to do, but after nearly dying of bread yesterday, I didn’t feel patient enough to be gentle. The creature stared right back, though in a much more natural, prey-like way, tilting its head slightly as it looked back at me with one eye and let out a long bwok.
“Are you doing this now? Really?”, I ask, knowing full well it cannot respond.
Well, it can, if another bwok it made is any indication. Of course, translators aren’t yet advanced enough to translate non-sapient speech, but the intention behind sound is intuitively clear. It’s telling me to back off. Well, I tried the diplomatic approach at least.
Raising my wing I begin sliding the bird out of its nest, careful to keep any delicate joints out of its reach. It started clucking in upset indignation, struggling back and even trying to peck at me, but after realizing that I will not relent, it hopped out of the box and rushed out of the cattle house, revealing a single dead egg in the nesting box.
With relief, I finally pick up the last egg and head back to leave them at the house. Turns out that while Reginald didn’t forget to both lock them up yesterday and let them out today, he did neglect feeding them both times, as well as collecting the harvest. So when I was driven back here in early morning, the first thing I did was making sure they were taken care of. I can’t say the horrid birds looked in any way hungry, but the moment I poured the feeding grain for them, they attacked it with more viciousness than I’d expect of an actual predator. And yet only thirteen were present at the feeding, as the one that’s usually the target of flock’s ire remained in the cattle house yet again, Reginald leaving it to it, being unaware of its undesirable habit of trying to hatch dead eggs.
With eggs delivered, I flew my way to my usual spot atop the cattle house and could finally relax. The loner beast first made its way to feast on the scraps of the grain that other birds already all have had their fill of, so I wasn’t too concerned. Instead I tried to reflect on the morning I had so far.
Waking up at the hospital did make me momentarily panic before I remembered the precluding events. Not that I could properly panic, feeling the most starved I’ve been my whole life, and too weak to try flying out of the window. Thankfully, the breakfast they provided was actually well made with krakotl needs in mind, algae soup alongside a few slices of bread, this time without any horrid human ideas like putting eggs in there. Eggs! Turns out they put eggs in some kinds of bread! That’s how I got sick! Eggs! The thought of what I consumed even now made me queasy, and it definitely made breakfast a much less appetizing affair than it would have been without that knowledge, but back then the hunger won over the disgust.
Lena did keep her promise and came to pick me up extra early. Her being a staff member at the hospital gave her some extra privilege, I assume, hence why I was released without any forms needing to be filled out personally. She did have important business today too, which probably explained the earlyness and urgency of her driving me back to her house.
That did not mean I escaped her ire, however. While I couldn’t pinpoint anything to identify the man, as Bob was apparently a common name, that offered me bread, we did come to understanding that he was likely either unaware of the nutritional contents of it, or of extent to which the Cure-induced allergy would be affecting a krakotl. Yet, Lena seemed much angrier at me for failing to take any precautions. Turns out that was the purpose of medicinal injectors, epipens as humans call them, that were provided to me. I was supposed to have them on me in case I accidentally ingested contaminated food. Nobody told me that, I was just handed them back when I first received the necessities at the refugee camp and I had no clue what they were for. Then she also berated me for eating random food from strangers and ignoring bad flavors. Turns out that brioche bread isn’t actually bitter at all, and that was my body reacting to an allergen in it. Reaction that I unwisely elected to ignore, to further ire of my host. By the end, several new rules of my stay here were made, including not eating things I don’t know and always having at least one epipen on me. Thankfully, these rules would be ones I’d start following even without them being established, so I won’t have to concern myself with being kicked out over accidentally breaking them.
As if following the rules will be enough to make them like you.
Trying to distract myself from thoughts of yesterday’s incident, I focused my attention on the flock. All birds accounted for, so at least I knew that my absence did not result in the predator coming to snatch one of them. I do not wish to insult my hosts, but Reginald is far from most attentive people in matters unrelated to his job, and I am not sure the birds were watched at all while I was out. Speaking of, my scannings of surrounding treelines revealed no sign of the predator today. Perhaps it departed to hunt elsewhere, or maybe it ventured too close to a more populated area and exterminators dealt with it.
Actually, did human exterminators work similar to Federation ones? I knew for a fact they had them, although they seemed like a market of private organizations if advertisements are anything to judge by. Still, what methods do they use? I know humans oppose fire, and do not believe in predatory taint, but surely they have measures to protect themselves? They are, by self-admission, far from the best natural predator, and I doubt Earth’s non-sapient predators would just leave humans be. Maybe I should call one of those human exterminator agencies and call them in to deal with that predator? I haven’t told Lena or Reginald about it, as I didn’t want to bother them, but it could pose a serious threat to the cattle, but maybe that’s the way I could resolve it without involving them?
I have not done nearly as much research into human culture and lifestyle as I should have, considering that I’ve lived on Earth for over half a year now, but the sheer width of the topic always overwhelmed me the moment I opened internet search app to the point where I just closed it right away.
And you expect to start studying again with that attitude? You’ll flunk out even from this primitive predator education course.
Extra loud call from the flock made me refocus my attention on them, but it was nothing. Just the loner getting pecked extra hard and lashing out against assailants, causing a small aimless stampede as all the birds ran around in circles, puffing up at one another. The assailants now looked a lot more like victims. I could understand those birds more than I could humans at least. The loner bird is clearly an odd one out. It’s the only one repeatedly trying to hatch unfertilized eggs it lays, and it seems to always avoid the rest of the flock. Humans may deny the existence of Predator Disease, but they can’t deny that prey and predator both can and will sometimes behave in unnatural ways that may threaten the herd's safety. Or pack’s, in case of humans. Birds must know on instinctual level that the loner’s behavior is unnatural and are attempting to combat the Predator Disease on instinctual level. And since that is natural, I still will not interfere in this, unless the loner bird actually becomes a threat to others or will start getting too injured. The first time I attempted to pick one of the birds up was the only time for a good reason, as I have learned their viciousness all too well.
DING-DING
The sudden loud ring startled me enough that I nearly tumbled off the roof. Who would be coming over now? Lena and Reginald have left together and shouldn’t be back until afternoon, and they’d never use the bell. That means someone must be here for them. But wouldn’t they warn anyone to not come over? Especially with their plans for today.
With nobody to answer these questions, I had no choice but to go and discover the answer myself, flying up and over the house, towards the entrance gate. The moment I passed the house roof, I already saw a familiar silhouette. It was the human child from a few days ago.
Thankfully, Lena’s insistence on me carrying an epipen at all times meant I also carried my satchel at all times too, so I didn’t have to go grabbing my holopad, and took it out. But before I could even launch the translator TTS app to type out a greeting, the child was already hopping in place with excitement.
“Mr. Krekos! Hi! I came over to visit!”, she exclaimed, showing off her teeth in an unnerving expression of human joy. I simply tried to avoid that and focused on the pad, typing out my response.
“Hello, Rosie. Why are you here?”
The question was genuine, as the child was not carrying any more of that honey substance from last time.
“I just came over to visit you! Is that okay? Are Mr. and Ms. Vince okay with it?”
Visit... me? Why? While I was confused, I did instinctively type out a reply.
“They did tell me visitors are allowed as long as there’s no trouble when I first moved in.”
And before I could type a followup message asking her why she’s here, she already let out a joyous roar and ran past me.
“Can I see the chickens?”, she asked, and not waiting for an answer, rushed past the house and towards the cattle yard.
“Wait! You’ll scare them!”, I yell after her, but of course without a translator she can’t understand me as she runs like she already knows where to go.
And indeed she has, quickly rushing up to the open field where the birds were grazing. Thankfully she didn’t start chasing them, instead just approaching the flock from a distance and swaying in place, watching them with what I assume was some sort of predatory excitement at the sight of prey. Maybe that’s where the contained hunting instinct of human children showed themselves? In chasing small birds? I was still more subdued, considering she stopped shy of causing a small stampede, but still.
“Grandpa used to take me with him! He helped watch this farm until Mr. and Ms. Vince moved in. I like chickens! I think they’re cute.”, the child told me innocently as she kept swaying and watching as the beasts grazed upon insects of the pasture.
That revelation was... interesting. I suppose it makes sense that between the original owner of this land dying in the bombings and Lena and Reginald moving in, it would be unattended. With nobody to feed and watch over those things, they would be long dead for sure. And it was Rosie’s grandfather... Speaking of. I typed out my words.
“Does your grandfather know you’re here?”
She seemed to get a weird look as she stopped her excited swaying, fiddling with her hands instead. Looks like I asked the correct question.
“...he knows I am out visiting neighbors.”
That did not answer my question. I squinted at the human child, and she dipped her head as she continued.
“...he doesn’t know I’m here specifically. Or that an alien even lives here...”, she explained, her tone suddenly more sullen.
I couldn’t help but squint at that, and it appears that my expression was readable enough that even a human could see the suspicion, as she continued.
“I’m sorry... But if I told grandpa, he’d tell me I’m forbidden from talking to you, like he forbade me from talking to hedgehog people in town... But I want to talk to you! You’re nice and you’re a space bird!”
The child was actually working around the rules established by her guardian to come see me. I don’t know if I should be glad or concerned. Clearly, the man is anti-alien in his opinions, and I’d rather that kind of man not know about how close he lives to one. At the same time, I’d rather not encourage a child for lying to their guardian in order to meet a stranger they know they aren’t allowed to interact with... So I just took the middle path with my next message.
“I see. What did you want to talk to me about then?”, TTS speaks for me.
Her stiffened body language disappears, replaced again with earlier excitement.
“I wanna know more about space! And aliens! It’s all so cool but grandpa says it’s all dangerous because mom and dad died. But it’s not! The hedgehog people were nice, and you’re nice too!”
I wasn’t sure about that logic, but my self-preservation told me I shouldn’t try convincing her to go confessing. Instead I focused more on her chosen topic.
“I am not sure I am the best person to ask about space. I am not a scientist or traveler.”
“But you’re from there! You know way more than me. I don’t even know what you are called. And there’s gotta be cool things out in space!”
I let out a sigh. I suppose it’s childlike curiosity at its finest. So unfamiliar with mundane that it is a wonder. I remember being like that about becoming a doctor.
And then you let your teacher die.
I quickly tapped on the pad.
“Okay, I can answer questions, but I may not know everything.”
The noise that came out of the girl was like a squeal of a panicked dossur as she started hopping and spinning in place.
“Yes! Yes! Thank you, Mr. Krekos!” Sudden movement did cause me to recoil a bit, which in turn caused her to cease her happy flailing and adjust her little dress. “I dunno where to start though... Hm... What are you?”
...for all my trepidation about not knowing answers, I should have anticipated that the questions she asks will be rather age-appropriate and on the same level as we learn in our first school classes. At least I won’t disappoint her then.
“I am from a species called ‘krakotl’. We’re avians, as is obvious. Our home is...” dead, gone, reduced to glass and ash by our own hubris “...was Nishtal. A beautiful planet...”
Thankfully she did not question my hesitant pause. Instead she just nodded along.
“What about the hedgehog people? I already know venlil, but they’re the only ones I know name of.”
Hedgehog people in town she mentioned earlier. The only species I could think of that could be seen there would be the gojid. I have no clue what hedgehogs are, but probably some creature with visible similarity to them.
“They are called ‘gojid’, and they’re from gojid Cradle. Both of our species are... well, used to be known for our might and protecting other species of Federation.”
I am not sure if that’s something to brag about, considering... everything. But I didn’t want this child to get brought down with depressing regrets of our species. Let her know something nicer instead. She clearly lost a lot, but there’s still joy left in her. I wouldn’t want to be the one to ruin that.
“Cool! What about other people? I wanna know more!”
And so I went on, telling her about various species, although I mostly focused on ones in this new human-led union, only mentioning kolshians and farsul beyond that. It’s weird explaining to a child what a tilfish or a harchen looks like, but thankfully my holopad isn’t just a method of communicating with implant-less children. With access to interstellar web, I could easily pull up pictures of various alien species to show to her, even if she struggled to believe that some of them were even sapient purely based off of looks. With how varied species in Federation are, and how some of us admittedly aren’t too far physiologically from our more primal ancestors.
Among other topics, she asked me to tell her interesting things, which I didn’t know much of. I told her about Venlil Prime’s tidally locked status, a rarity among habitable planets, much less homeworlds for species. I told her about the unique architecture of Mileau, designed to accommodate both species of regular size and dossur themselves. I told her about Colia medical academies, some of the most beautiful medical facilities in the galaxy.
I wish I was more well-travelled, but I just wasn’t. My whole life, I never left Nishtal until the extermination fleet took me despite my protests. That may have been what saved my life...
Not that I, of all people, deserved it...
“Hey! Stop that!”
I flinched as I heard the child yell, but quickly realized that it wasn’t directed at me. Instead, Rosie was rushing down towards the chicken flock, breaking up the fight in which the loner was being pecked by a few larger chickens. As the human child approached, the birds stopped their infighting and scattered in different directions, crowing in loud panic and discontent. On instinct, I found myself rushing towards the child, forgetting about translation entirely.
“What are you doing?! Don’t touch them!”
I didn’t want her to hurt the cattle accidentally, and I didn’t want her to get hurt by the angry birds in return. But, it seems like the moment the birds scattered, she was satisfied with her actions and turned back to me, wearing another one of her happy smiles.
“Sorry, Mr. Krekos, I just saw chickens being mean. Bad chickens.” She explained.
I was baffled. Why would she interfere like that? When I tried that back when I was just starting, that got me pecked! But with her, the birds just scattered. What if they pecked her?
I took the pad out again and started typing quickly.
“That was dangerous. Why did you do that? What if they attacked you? Why are you even interfering in their natural dynamics?”, questions flowed out of my pad with an artificial human voice.
The girl simply giggled.
“They’re chickens! They aren’t dangerous. They don’t peck that painful and I’ve been scratched worse before. And I have to stop it because bullying is wrong.”
Then she actually noticed that the one that was being attacked wandered close. She casually approached it from behind, the blind spot and just reached down and grabbed it, picking the bird up. I was ready to rush to help the bird when...
“Mwah! There, all better.”
She did a human ‘kiss’ on the back of the cattle bird’s neck before releasing it, the surprise of it causing it to rush off. I knew what kisses were, I’ve seen enough of them between Lena and Reginald, but I believed they were gestures of intimate affection, not... what was even that?
It seems Rosie noticed my confusion as she explained.
“You gotta kiss it so it heals better! That’s what mom taught me.” The child displayed that smile of hers shamelessly. With how much I was being exposed to it, it almost wasn’t unnerving anymore. Still, it was interesting to learn that kisses are seen as something that helps wounds. I guess some species do have saliva with mild antiseptic properties, wouldn’t be too out there to assume humans are the same. And if that’s the case, maybe that’s how the kissing tradition started? Exchange of protective fluid between lovers?
“I see. I did not know that.” I responded before letting my puffed feathers relax. Okay, this whole ‘watching a human child’ thing is turning out to somehow be even more stressful than I expected at first.
“Wait, Mr. Krekos, what time is it?” She suddenly asked, looking up at the sky.
“It’s nearly twelve.” I respond, holopad having a convenient clock for local time.
“Oh no! I need to be home soon! Was nice seeing you Mr. Krekos gotta go bye!”
Before I had even a chance at typing out an answer or my own goodbye, the child sprinted away and back towards the entrance. I had to take flight just to keep up, and even then she just turned around, waved her arm at me and then kept sprinting down the road after leaving the gate. I simply offered a small wave of a wing back before locking the gate again. I suppose it is hard to keep track of time without a device or clock nearby...
Well, at least I had the usual peace and quiet now. And learned a bit more about the creatures I was in charge of. I should really try to deal with my aversion to looking things up on the human internet...
Just as I was about to head back out towards the yard, I heard a loud car horn, a familiar one, getting my attention. Lena’s car. There they were, signaling me, probably having spotted me at the gate from afar. Deciding to make use of my presence here, and hoping to avoid needing to explain that I had a surprise visitor earlier, I went ahead and opened the large gate, allowing the car to enter.
Once it was parked in the usual space, the doors opened and three people came out. Lena and Reginald were both looking a bit disheveled, but their faces carried these smiles that seemed wider than ever before. And third person... Was a stranger. A human I knew of, but never actually met. As he exited the car, a large bag in one hand, he just stared at me, standing in the front yard...
“...okay, I expected many things when I was told you guys housed a refugee, but not this.”
Oh no. Oh no, he was not one of the ones that was willing to overlook an invader that partook in bombing of his planet being allowed to walk free, of course, Lena and Reginald were the weird ones like that, doesn’t mean their son won’t be... I felt the panic rising as I realized I’d need to return to the camp. Why was I upset about that? This was supposed to just have been a way to make money, but now I have a free education program. Do I need to stay? No, but... Why?! Why do I not want to leave?
“Ken, you said it’s going to be alright no matter what it is, right? Wanted us to keep it a surprise to meet a new friend?” Lena’s voice. She should have told him, that’d give me time to prepare why didn’t they give me time why.
“No, no problems, just, really surprised, that’s all... uh... hey, buddy, you okay? You’re really... trembly.”
He was approaching me, and instinct took over as I recoiled, before stuttering out my answer.
“I-I’m fine...”
...thankfully translators don’t translate voice cracks. I hope, at least...
“Hey, relax... I have no problem with you being a krakotl, I just didn’t think...” He looks over at Lena and Reginald. “Calm down... I can wear my visor if you want?”
Right. Those things humans use to hide their scary faces from us.
“I... I’m good...”
Why would it last? It almost felt good after all.
There was some emotion I struggled to read on the young human’s face, as he sighed and shook his head.
“I screwed this up, I’m sorry. Let... Let me try again.” He straightened out, and adjusted his clothing, before slowly approaching me and giving me a small smile, no teeth showing. “Hello. My name is Kenneth Vince and I'm son of Lena and Reginald Vince. I was told you’re a refugee they took in to help out. It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
That... snapped me out of it. Right... He was... not upset at my existence. He was just very surprised that Lena and Reginald weren’t. That’s a reasonable thing to be surprised about, considering I was surprised about it to this day. I tried to compose myself as I responded.
“My name is Krekos. I live here as... hired help with the cattle. It’s... nice to meet you?”
The smile on Kenneth’s face widens, though he still refrains from showing his teeth. Instead, he extends a hand towards me. A handshake is a human gesture that I found far from comfortable, but I didn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind on acceptability of my existence, so I took it with a wingclaw. He gently took it and held for a few seconds before letting go and sighing again, turning to his parents.
“You know, I always thought you guys would be empty nesters, but I never thought it’d be that literal.”
That got all three of them laughing, as I just tilted my head in confusion. I was fairly sure there were no empty nests in the house until after I adjusted the attic room for my own accommodations. Still, I took the laughter as a sign that the tense moment had fully passed and let my ruffled feathers slowly rest.
“Let’s head inside. Krekos, we’re having dinner, you’re welcome to join us.” Reginald said, picking up Kenneth’s bag. I tilted my head a little and he followed up with elaboration. “We will be having meat... But there’s still going to be stuff you can eat too. It’s a celebration, so I prepared a bit of everything.”
“Dad, you shouldn’t have!” Kenneth responded with embarrassment.
“None of that! Our son returned from the war, alive and a hero, and we can have a celebration. Krekos, I know you’re still... uncertain about meat so you don’t—”
“I’ll join.”
Wait, who said that? And why did they say that in my voice?
Wait, that was me. Why did I say that?
“That’s great to hear! I’ve got some nice steamed broccoli and some vegetarian fried rice as sides that you’ll enjoy!” Reginald smiled at me and I felt myself shrinking into my feathers. That the humans didn’t notice at least, proceeding into the house instead.
Well, looks like I signed my warrant. At least my bag and my epipen were on me in case something at the table triggers the allergy again. Would be rather unfortunate to have it happen two days in a row.
And that’s how, in just ten or so minutes, I found myself sitting at the dining perch, while humans took seats in chairs, all consuming chunks of roasted flesh and somehow managing to also stuff pieces of equally roasted plants in, and converse with one another. You wouldn’t be able to tell on first look, but despite their mouths being relatively small, especially for a predator, it seems they compensate for it by having those be near bottomless in both hunger and small talk.
I am not sure how I managed to shift my focus away from them consuming animal matter in front of me, however vat grown it might have been, and onto their conversation instead, but I succeeded. I suppose that was just part of me going native around predators. Soon, I’ll be the one feasting along with them before I know it, and snacking on those epipens to not die of it.
Like you could ever be on the same level as humans.
“So, Fahl? That’s where you were sent after the Battle of Earth?” Lena asked.
“Yeah. From what I heard, we got a light posting compared to guys at Sillis or Mileau. The most I had to deal with was some exterminator insurgents.”
That’s right. Since harchen participated in the Extermination Fleet, they were one of those who were occupied by humans during the war. It makes sense that there was at least some ground resistance.
“Honestly, the worst thing out there was the heat. Not the flamethrower kind, the climate. The place was so damn dry and hot. At least exterminators you could subdue or evade. Not so much with the scorching sun!”
I couldn’t resist a small chuckle at the idea of a predator being more afraid of hot weather than flamethrowers as I slowly pecked at the vegetables on my plate. Thankfully it was set far enough aside from any meat dishes that no contamination should occur, but I was still examining pieces before putting them in my mouth just in case.
Seems like reacting was a mistake though, as that brought Kenneth’s attention onto me. He finished chewing latest piece of flesh and pointed a fork at me.
“So, Krekos... Where are you from? Cradle was my guess, but I do know there were refugees from other places like Sillis too.”
That’s a weird question. Isn’t it kind of to be expected for a krakotl to be from our actual homeworld?”
“I’m from Nishtal.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Kenneth chuckled, tossing a piece of broccoli into his mouth and swallowing before continuing, “I meant, where did you live? I kind of assumed you were born there, but it’s not like Nishtal had a chance to send refugees out, and if they did, this is the last place they’d be.”
Oh... I caught concerned looks of Lena and Reginald, looking between me and Kenneth from both sides. Not only did they not make him aware that I was a krakotl, they also neglected to mention just how I came by my refugee status... Which was just a legal workaround to grant me asylum without unnecessary complications or establishing undesirable precedent. Legally, I may be a refugee, but practically... I am a defector. Lena and Reginald know that, I told them my story before. And while they were weirdly accepting, Kenneth... Fought extermination fleet here on Earth. Personally.
Still, I wasn’t about to lie. It took a few moments and gathering mental strength to steel myself, and averting my eyes, focusing on the plate of warm vegetables in front of me rather than the human’s anticipating stare before I answered.
“I did live on Nishtal. I... I came with the extermination fleet.” I responded, doing my best to avoid looking at him. I did not want to witness his reaction, for some reason the thought of seeing it weighed heavy on my mind.
“Oh.”
The response was simple, and had no followup. There was no more clinking of cutlery against plates, or chewing. The only thing hanging in the air of the kitchen was silence, weighing down on me. It dragged on and on... until it just got so unbearable I couldn’t take it.
“I-I’m full... Thank you for the meal.” I quickly said, hopping off the perch and stepping out of the kitchen, quickly making my way to the yard and taking flight.
Fresh air of the outside and rush of it as I flew up and gained speed... I missed that. I knew it’s not safe to just fly over other people’s territory, so I corrected my course into doing large sweeping circles over the cattle yard and simply let my wings carry me.
Flying away from any danger is the only thing I’m good for anyway. The only thing I ever do.
I closed my eyes. With them closed and not focusing on my angle it feels like I’m actually flying away from all the troubles. Away from humans who barely tolerate my existence, away from gojid who see me as worse than a predator, away from Earth and all its incorrigible customs, away from horrid cattle, away from constant memories...
Flying feels nice. It may be a bit harder than it was home, but it’s still possible. I heard that on Venlil Prime or Mileau it’s much harder. But here? Just an extra flap of wings for every few paces and you’re just fine, free to soar the skies...
Alone. With no one to ever share it with me again.
Slowly I let my eyes open back to the bleak reality. Greenery of surrounding pastures and woods, bright blue skies and farmhouses dotted about here and there greeted me. I lowered my gaze down, focusing on what’s below. There they were, fourteen brown and black dots spread around the enclosed portion of the farm territory. I am not sure how much time I’ve spent flying in circles and trying to forget things but my wings were feeling a tad sore. Then as I just began slow descent, in same circular motion, I noticed that one of the birds, a familiar one, was being chased by several others. Recounting the morning, I tried putting the knowledge to action, and shifted direction of descent, swooping down. To my surprise, that actually worked, as the moment I got close to the ground, the cattle birds all got much louder and scattered in all directions, including the loner. Who, at least this time, got off unharmed. I suppose such pathetic flightless creatures would fear a flying one much more than they would when I just run up to them...
Swooping at them from the sky like a predator to intimidate them into behaving... Like an arxur warden.
With the fight preemptively broken up, I flutter up to the roof of the cattle house, to my usual position and rested my wings. I didn’t see any movement from the direction of the house, so I suppose the family is still busy unpacking. Since Kenneth joined the military just before the Battle of Earth, and Lena and Reginald only moved here after their actual house in city of New York got destroyed, it’d be the first time the human is seeing what is basically his new home. There was a room set aside for him since before I even moved in, and while there is also a guest room... That one did not have a large enough window to fit through, which did not feel comfortable. So when I asked for a space with a bigger window they only had an attic to offer. They seemed uncomfortable letting me live in a tiny room with slanted roof, but I found such space more comforting than I would have a large room with a window not large enough to fit even one fully spread wing through.
I wonder if Kenneth will need as much renovation as I did? The house is built for humans, but he never lived there before. Will he need to buy a more comfortable bed? Getting a proper nesting setup in place of a bed took a bit of effort, but I figured something out. Human sheets were comfortable enough for such, and sitting perches were thankfully not that hard to get thanks to help from the refugee administration. Maybe that’s the things that Lena went to buy yesterday? Kenneth’s preferred room decor?
I looked up to the sky to see the sun beginning to dim. I am not sure if it was me flying that long, or me losing track of time in my thoughts again, but the sun was beginning to set. I began my usual chores, putting out an evening meal and water for the beasts, and while they feasted, ate some myself. I was a bit hungry, having not properly finished lunch and about to skip dinner, but after the earlier conversation, I’d really rather avoid giving them the opportunity to talk to me.
After the birds had their fill, and by that I mean they emptied the tray as they always do, I let out the call, and they started funneling into the cattle house. The lonely straggler being first to go and hop into its nesting box. I bet tomorrow I will have trouble with getting her out of there again...
I took the moment to gather some eggs the birds left over course of the day, and once that was over and all of them were accounted for, I closed it up. When I flew down over to the house, there wasn’t anyone by the back door thankfully, so I just left eggs there, returned the basket, and returned to my room through the window.
Well, at least I didn’t get nearly killed today... That’s nice I guess?
I was about to check my holopad when there was a knock on the door. I approached and opened it to see... Kenneth. Standing in the doorway.
“Uh, hi, Krekos. I just, uh... Wanted to apologize again. I really wish mom and dad told me everything ahead of time... I just want you to know, I have no problems with you whatsoever, yeah? It’s just. Surprising, I guess, to hear all that. I didn’t think there were any defectors from the fleet at all... Just. Uh, please don’t worry about me?” He offered me a small smile, showing his canines before quickly correcting himself and doing a closed-lip one. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories or make you feel unwelcome.”
I had to take a moment to contemplate his words. Was Lena and Reginald’s weirdness hereditary? He almost reminded me of how Reginald talked to me early on, with constant stumbling over the words, as well as constant reassurances that he is fine with me being here. Couple that with failing to avoid predatory mannerisms like eye contact and smiles like Lena tends to and you get this human. But most importantly and least understandably, there was the general fact of him and them just... welcoming me. I couldn’t understand why. I should be one sorry to them.
“N-No, it’s fine... I’m sorry for... intruding on you and your family.”
“No, no, dude, you’re fine! I mean, hell, I was considering entering one of those exchange programs before the bombings happened, and even after, well, I did my best at Fahl to be the perfect friendly soldier just there to make sure no more bombs drop on my home and not kill or conquer anyone. And then mom told me your story, and I can’t believe it... Just... If you have any issues, feel free to tell me. I’m not one of those racist pricks that are too pussy to even call themselves HF anymore because they know they’ll get their teeth knocked. I get that there aren't good or bad species, just people. And you seem like a decent guy if mom and dad’s judgment is to be trusted.” His smile widened, though it was clear from tension on his face that he had to take conscious effort to keep teeth hidden. “So, what I said earlier stands. Friends, right?”
He extends hand forward, for a second time today. I wasn’t sure if I knew this human long enough to call him a friend... Any human really. But it also seems like human definition of ‘friends’ is anyone they’re cordial and peaceful with. Which is weird. You’d think translators would properly use ‘acquaintance’ for that.
Still... We will be living in the same house now. I can’t just say no, and... I can’t come up with a reason to say no. Even him being a predator and a human is not something I could really say I object to, considering how... mundane that became to me over my time here.
So, with naught on my mind but acceptance of the situation, I extended my wing and grasped his hand with my claw. This time he actually gripped it tightly and moved it up and down, as I saw other humans do occasionally.
“Yeah... I guess that’d be for the best.” I responded, shrugging off the hesitation. Fresh start for a third time, I guess?
The human grinned, forgetting to hide his teeth entirely, but I was ready for it somehow and avoided outwardly reacting.
“Cool! Anyway, I’ll try to get some shuteye early, I couldn’t sleep on the overnight flight home. See ya!”
And with that he left. Well... That meeting went well I suppose?
I returned to my nest and picked up my holopad, returning to what I was doing. And there it was, something I awaited every day. A notification that I was messaged on mailing app. Opening the letter revealed the schedule for the study program. Which... only had one day marked on it. And a note that the rest of it will be figured out ‘as we go from there’. So it’s not a schedule, it’s just a mark for the day of the first meeting.
While a bit underwhelming, it was still exciting. It would be an all-alien class so I wouldn’t have to deal with humans’ incomprehensibility nearly as much, and it would allow me to finally return to pursuing what I actually dreamt of. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure that was precisely what I wanted after everything that happened, it was at least something for me to move towards.
...just two days until start. I wonder if there’s some required reading to prepare?
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I wanted to make a post talking about all of the things I really like about Trench Crusade.

• The sheer amount of variety. Something I love about the setting is that your warband can be anything you want it to be within the scope of the setting. Flavor-wise, want a tide of musket-wielding fanatics led by a priest? Sure can do! Want an unholy legion sword wielding heretical warriors running a distraction for a death commando? Can be done! Want a more elite force armed with the latest weapons, armor, and tech? Of course! How about alchemical horrors giving cover fire for Islamic warriors? Hell Heaven Yeah! Nurgle from Warhammer 40K if he was really fucking scary? Yup, you got it! Want elite warriors, or a horde of redshirts? Melee fighters, or a ranged? Medieval aesthetic, or more World War-sy? You got so much to choose from, even if they aren't the best. It's all so much to choose and find your force.
• Miniatures agnostic policy. I feel like more games are doing this, and I love it. Even with official models that are great, it's a good for the game and great for the hobby. Your dudes are true to how you want them to look
• The setting itself. I mean, it's pure, unrestrained grimdark. The Black Grail melts people into horrible, sentient sludge. Every Heretic Trooper straight up looked into Hell itself. Trench Pilgrims have a suicide bomber unit with Ecclesiastic Prisoner. The Lions of Jabir are just scientific atrocities of flesh and magic made into a Left 4 Dead Tank. New Antioch is Cadia-clone, and I love every part of it. It's all so cool in a fucked up, horrifying way: I love it.
• The Shrine Anchorite. That's all.

Are there any complaints from me. Kinda. I do hope we get a proper Jewish faction in the game. Pagans would be a neat addition if they could fit in somehow. But really all that means is I want more cool stuff.

Hi there, as the title says, i think this JEDI SURVIVOR just broke my pc, here's the story
I downloaded this game on GAME PASS, i loved the first game so playing this one is a must
So far so good (not really), Koboh was playable despite lots of framedrops and stutters, by the time i finally went to the second world, like 2-3 minutes in after the meditation point, IT FREEZES, sound, game and whole pc FREEZES! So i have no choice but to hard reset (first time doing this), and oh boy, after 5 minutes, i turned it on again and led me to my first ever BSOD screen, so i was scared as shit, as that time, just got a new job, so no money for replacement or repairs yet
But, after a few hours, i tried playing the game again, after 5 minutes (the farthest so far), it FREEZES again, so out of fear that this will start issues with my HDD, SDD, GPU etc., i uninstalled the game (breaks my heart, but for the safety of my pc, i have to)
So yeah, i uninstalled the game, after uninstalling , played DIABLO 4 for 3 hours, no issues, no freezes, no BSOD, so my PC is SAFE and SAVED now right? RIGHT? WRONG
Turned on the PC again to play a game with my 9 years old niece, it was fine, no issues, still used the pc after for youtube and spotify, still no issues, runs great
After a few days, i turned on my pc and went to youtube to watch videos and bam! IT FROZE again! Another hard reset then turned it on again (no BSOD), and used it for hours with no issues after, by this time, i just think that it might have been the power outages or browser crashing or i don't know
Few days have passed again, turned on the pc again (this happened today), just surfing the net and it FROZE again!!!! Jesus Christ!
My god, this game might've broken my PC entirely, so i did the chkdsk (no issues), installed CrystalDisk (says my drives are "good"), scanned for viruses via Malwarebytes, no viruses and now looking for more options as i don't have enough money for repairs and replacements yet
So, did anybody have experienced the same issue? If so, is it fixed now? What fixes did you do or i can do to fix this? TIA!
These are my PC specs MSI PRO VDH WIFI RYZEN 5 5600 GEFORCE RTX 2070 SUPER MINI 2x HYPER X FURY 1200MHZ DDR4 RAMS WD SDD 120G WD BLACK NVME 500G SSD 500G (i don't know what brand is this) EVGA 700BR PSU

And I mean PHYSICALLY!!! I was just broken up with. (Story of everyone's life right?) And we are trying to be "just friends" but then she says she has a date tonight. I DON'T WANNA KNOW THAT!!! My stomach has been in knots for the majority of the day. My chest feels like it's going to explode!! I feel like I'm literally choking. I wanna cry, but I don't. I try to find things to distract my mind but it's not helping. I blame the ADHD. I just stare into the abyss and wonder where it all went wrong and what I could have done to prevent it. Fuck, I just feel...sad...broken...useless. I can't even play video games or pickup my camera. (The two things I use to relieve stress) What is wrong with me?!?!

Happy, happy birthday, my love. Can you believe that we are are 40 now? It seems like such a milestone year to me, so I'm making it a point to cross off a few bucket list items. It would make me happy to know you're doing the same. You deserve to do something nice for yourself. I hope that this is your very best birthday and that your family is pampering you and giving you all the love you deserve.
Before you ask, yes, I am doing okay. The kids are all doing wonderfully, especially "G". She is thriving, and I am so proud of her. Soccer has started for "B" (sorry, I just couldn't bring myself to call it football 😆), and you know I think of you every time I watch him play. Work is going fantastically, and I'm very happy in my current role. My boss has asked me to take yet another assignment, but I think that I will politely decline this time. I'm exhausted of the constant grind and have been focusing my energy on personal aspirations aside from my career, for once.
The vase from the flowers that you sent me broke a few weeks ago, and I cried. I cried because I have one less reminder of you. I cried because that broken glass was a stark reminder of how broken our connection has become. And I cried in frustration at both my inability to find another who loves me and at the missed opportunity to see you in Chicago earlier this year. I plan to visit London in August, and as much as I tell myself the trip is for relaxation and gazing at art and architecture, we both know the real reason. There may be little hope of seeing you, but being in the same city will be comforting enough.
Are you doing okay, too? It drives me crazy when you disappear, and I can't inquire about the happenings in your life. I miss knowing even the mundane. How is your work? Have you made it to an Arsensal game or two this season? What books have you been reading? Have you taken any trips? What activities are the kids involved in these days? Will you even be in London in August or have you taken a new assignment elsewhere?
Anyway, I hope that you have been "all in" with your marriage and that things with "L" have improved. I pray that she is treating you well and making you happy. She is so lucky to have you. I also hope the kids, your mum, your sisters and their families are all doing well. But most importantly, I hope you are taking care of yourself. Please don't forget to do that. You can't take care of everyone else if you're not putting care into yourself. Lastly, never forget your worth and that you are loved beyond measure. I hope that we speak again soon.
ndinokuda uye ndakusuwa, K💗

I'm excited by the possibility of having AI villages and towns and being able to trade or fight or both with them. I do however have a fear. Based on my many hours of Anno 1800, my fear is that just like the AI players in that game the Manor Lords AIs will arrive, occupy a region and have a thriving town replete with trade goods, supplies, food and a well armed militia whilst this mere human is still building the first burgage to get his people out of their tents.

Hi everyone! I am looking for one or two more players to join a group I am GMing for. We will be starting a new campaign and will have our session 0 shortly after we recruit enough players. The playtime has yet to be determined, but will most likely be 9AM to 12AM Eastern Time Zone. This will be a weekly game that lasts 3 hours a week. We use Discord and FoundryVTT for our sessions and we use BeyondDND for our characters.
I already have 3 players and I am looking for 2 more players. We are a laidback group that tends to be a little chaotic during our sessions. Our ages range from mid 20s to mid 30s and we would prefer to play with people of similar ages, but its not a requirement. We are accepting of newer players as well!
I have been playing board games since I was a child and DMing DnD5e for about 4 years now. I am fairly flexible and open to the rule of cool, but only when it makes sense. I am always looking to improve my game and I am open to criticism if you feel like the game isn't going the way you expected.
This will be a 5e campaign starting at level 3 or 4, set in my homebrew world with a focus on roleplay. We generally have combat every session or every other session. If we are in a dungeon, you can expect the number of combat encounters to go up. This is intended to be a shorter campaign (3 to 4 months).
Synopsis: The Shadows of Clearwater
Welcome to the Free City of Clearwater, where power is traded in secrets and shadows dance with danger. In this sprawling metropolis ruled by guilds and gangs, every street holds a story and every alley conceals a plot.
Aric Blackthorn, once a feared and respected rogue, now languishes in the shadows as a broken man, drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. Desperate and destitute, he seeks out a group of unlikely heroes, promising them riches beyond their wildest dreams in exchange for their aid in one final heist.
As the adventurers reluctantly join forces with the washed-up drunkard, they soon discover that their journey will lead them into the heart of Clearwater's darkest secrets. With enemies lurking around every corner and betrayal threatening to tear them apart, they must navigate a treacherous maze of lies and deceit if they hope to survive.
In a city where trust is a luxury and survival is a game played by the cunning and the ruthless, the adventurers must rely on their wits and each other to see them through. For in Clearwater, the final score is never what it seems, and victory belongs to those who are willing to risk it all in the shadows.
If you are interested in joining our game, please fill out this application here: https://forms.gle/yKEg3vhXJjbttRHk9
Once the slots are full I will update this thread.
Let's have a great time rolling dice together!

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

Hi not sure if this is the best place to ask but any help would be greatly appreciated. As a child I had a hernia operation when I was 5(male). I'm not sure why I had it and now as a 32 year old everybody in my family has given me a different story. Hurt myself in a soccer game, wrestling at day care or that I was born with it and they had to wait until I was bigger for surgery.
Is it common to have operations at that age? What causes them as I don't believe I was doing any heavy lifting at that age.

The game was a masterpiece. I loved everything about it. The ending scene made me very emotional because of the relationship between makoto and majima. But I forgot everything about the watch unfortunately. Even the fact that it was broken. When did majima get the watch from her?
It appeared suddenly in his had after she told him to get the takoyaki. Did the homeless guy give it to him ?