I (29,f) feel the need to share this because reading posts on this sub, prior to going to Cairo, I was scared. I was mentally preparing for several bad experiences: 1. being hassled all the time 2. being groped 3. being scammed
NONE of these happened! Someone explain, what happened to Egypt in the past year that it’s that much more pleasant.

1. Only hasseling we experienced was at the Giza pyramids but it was just the first 500 m after you enter. We visited with NO tour guide. We simply told everyone “our tour guide is over there” and they would leave us alone. Maybe a camel guy followed us for 10/15 m but it was fun in a way. I’ve experienced far greater hassling in the Philippines for example, when I even cried 😅. All the other spots around town - no hassling really 🤷🏽‍♀️
   
2. No one even catcalled me 😆. Even when I was out alone. No problem whatsoever. To be fair, my boyfriend did get harassed by a guy who out of the blue started to feel around my boyfriend ear and was putting my bf’s hair behind his ear while we were walking. And this happened in Zamalek - what’s supposed to be a touristy neighbourhood.
   
3. No one tried to scam us and everything was really, really cheap. The only “tip” I had to give was to a Pyramids’ security woman who wouldn’t let me enter with my binoculars. Gave her the equivalent of 0.25 EUR
   

Now, I’m not saying Egypt is the easiest country to travel - far from it. But it’s not as scary now as people describe it 1 year ago.

The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”

⚠️TW, 22M
I hate talking about my trauma. I'm unable to clearly remember what happened to me and it is driving me crazy. I feel like I'm lying for attention or trying to get pity somehow, I don't believe myself and I'm just trying to make sense of it all because it all just seems too crazy. Every time I think about discussing my trauma a voice tells me “Stop feeling sorry for yourself you are pathetic”, and somehow this sentiment has been working very well for me up until now. I recently watched Baby Reindeer and I got the urge for the first time to write everything down. Just while writing all of this a lot of new memories have popped up, and I’m scared and not sure what to do.
For context, I have been diagnosed with c-PTSD (my ace score is 10) nevertheless, I am doing pretty well, graduating college now with two degrees and a near-perfect GPA. My diagnosis stems from extensive physical and mental abuse at home and in several foster homes due to drug and mental health-related issues my parents and foster parents were suffering from. Most of the trauma is unrelated to the trauma I'm seeking answers for in this post. It is relevant because I have very few memories from my childhood, not that I know what amount is “normal”, but I can't remember much up to the age of 11 years old, only fleeting memories, primarily traumatic ones. For some reason, I have managed to come out of all of my trauma very well, however, I have started to struggle more lately and I feel like I'm losing control of my mental health for the first time in my life.
I have memories of being held down and groped on the school playground when I was 6, while an adult was “keeping watch”. I also have memories of being locked in a room, but I don't have any specific memories of sexual abuse. I just have this feeling that it happened, I knew what a blowjob was, what anal sex was, and everything sex-related from the age of 5. I have memories of a guy making me blow him but it was all for fun, and he was my age, but in hindsight, I've realized that we were 6 years old and that is not normal behavior at all. This incident is unrelated to the others, and I'm not sure how we ended up in that situation, but it haunts me because we were having fun and laughing about it, it felt like a joke. It feels so wrong to think about it now.
Additionally, I almost had sex with a 24-year-old guy when I was 13, I didn't realize that this was abnormal until several years later. I freaked out and asked him to stop and he stopped, and in my eyes, he was a great guy for doing this, but I've come to realize that maybe he wasn't a great guy. This happened while traveling abroad with one of my foster families, she left me at some family friend's house in a very sketchy neighborhood while she was staying with their family. I was flirting with him, and I thought it was fun to try to get him to hook up with me, so I felt like it was my fault. While writing this I'm also questioning if this is normal behavior for a 13-year-old, I'm just realizing while writing this that I've had a messed up relationship with sex my entire life. My foster mom was yelling at me once because I was crying after my dad passed away right after our trip abroad (this was 6 months after, she said I had to get over it and stop crying) instead of saying this, I told her I was upset because that guy tried to have sex with me. She became extremely infuriated and said she was going to deal with it. A couple of days later, she told me she had “finished the business” with him, and said that her brothers had “dealt” with him and that he was gone from the city he lived in forever. I still have no idea what happened to him. He stopped posting on all social media afterward. I feel extremely guilty, and I'm still not sure what happened to him. Why did I tell her this?
Besides these memories, there is one incident (I don't know if it even happened) that has been tormenting me lately. The incident I'm about to describe triggered these memories. I hate writing about this more than anything. I was falsely accused by my foster mom, in the foster home I spent the most time in (several years, and the same one that left me stranded abroad) of sexually abusing their child. For context, she suffers from bipolar disorder and she would have breakdowns daily. This is just the tip of the iceberg, but I want to provide some examples of her behavior. She found porn on my foster brother's computer once and threw his computer out the front door, made him walk around a river for hours, and banished him from the house for two weeks to go live with his dad (her ex-husband, who she kicked down a flight of stairs which broke his arm).
She has not told anyone else in her family this, but she also confided in me that she was sexually abused by her uncle as a child. I feel like I need to provide context because I am extremely paranoid about being labeled as a predator, and have suffered extensively from paranoia (and still do) that people perceive me this way. I have never, and will never, and have absolutely zero urge to ever do anything inappropriate with a child. I feel like I haven't heard anyone going through this.
She took me out to a busy restaurant (the first time she ever did this) and while we were eating, out of the blue, she straight up asked me if I was sexually abusing her child. People around could hear our conversation, and their heads turned. I went into a state of shock, I was close with the child (he was born right after I moved in, three years old at the time) and viewed him like a brother.
After the shock wore off (I was 15 at the time) I just looked at her with teary eyes and said I would never do anything like that. Luckily, she immediately believed me and stated that she was suspicious because we fell asleep under a blanket together once, and she had noticed “weird” behavior from him (touching himself inappropriately, I was told later by my psychologist that this was normal behavior), and according to her because I was a foster child I had a greater likelihood of doing this. Afterward, she bought me a sweater and let me get dessert at the restaurant (this was a huge deal for me at the time, and I forgave her immediately, mostly because I was scared of her). She actually became extremely upset afterward and I had to console her.
(Side note, I was forced to live there for another year after, and she implemented specific rules for me. I was not allowed to be alone with him or be under the same blanket as him. This was extremely traumatizing, my relationship with him was ruined forever.)
On the car ride home, I was processing what had just happened and suddenly fell silent and felt an immense amount of anxiety, I felt like I was going to pass out. A memory from school, I was six at the time, of an older boy (15-16) who did extremely horrendous things to me, suddenly appeared. Feces and urine were involved. These memories are coming up again now, and I feel like I'm gonna have a panic attack every time they do.
My foster mom noticed that my mood suddenly switched, and asked me what was wrong. I told her I suddenly got flooded with all these memories of experiences I didn't know I had, and she told me that she was not surprised that her accusation triggered this. She also told me that she thought she knew what guy I was talking about (not that she did anything about it, she worked as a chef at the school while I was going there, but I was living with my parents at the time.) I have no idea if she is telling the truth, but this detail somehow made it worse.
I suppressed the memories and told myself that I was just making it up. I've done this my whole life, every time it pops up, it's not working anymore. I have this feeling a lot because I feel like what I've been through is unbelievable. That no one will believe me. I also remember that around this time, I had a complete shift in my personality. I went from being popular and outgoing to reserved and extremely shy. I became silent at school, I remember one day specifically, I didn't utter a single word all day, and I felt like I was out of my body. My teacher became so worried that she called CPS. I am not sure if this is related to the sexual abuse trauma (while writing this I still feel like I’m making it up) I may have gone through, or other trauma. I do not have a lot of other memories from this time, and I can't piece together the timeline of events. I'm not even sure what memories I have are real or not.
Another important aspect of all of this is that I had another foster brother who was the same age as me. We started having sex after I moved in at the age of 12. He would come into my room at night, without saying a word, and start doing sexual favors on me. I'm not sure and I don't remember what events if any led to this. He would make me do the same to him, even though I didn't want to, and told him no, I still did it. I didn't enjoy it and I didn't want to do it but for some reason I just did. I never enjoyed doing any favors for him, It made me feel disgusting, I hated it. We never kissed, cuddled, or did anything remotely romantic, no affection other than pure sexual acts. Was this sexual abuse? I don't understand. I'm so confused about all of this.
In hindsight, I guess I deeply suppressed it, I realized that the guy that made me blow him when I was 6, was him. We were in the same grade from 1st to 3rd grade. And now, I'm wondering if he was the one (if any) who did inappropriate things to my three-year-old foster brother. I've been suppressing all of this my whole life, and I'm shocked that I haven't realized this before writing all of this down. It happened in the same room when we were 6.
Recently, I've been feeling very depressed and anxious, and thoughts about all of this are coming back over and over again. I've noticed that I'm developing a weird relationship with sex, I can’t even put into words how I feel. Was I sexually abused or raped? How do I know what is real or not? I’m scared to go further into all of this because I don't want to uncover more memories, just while writing this I made several gut-wrenching realizations. Is there a specific type of therapy that helps with this? I just feel like it's getting worse every day. Thanks.

And I'm not just talking about your ordinary Orthodox parishioner. I'm talking about people who worship Seraphim Rose, who go on pilgrimages to Platina. Yet they've never heard anything about Gleb's activities, either during or after Seraphim's death.
For those who aren't familiar, Gleb Podmoshensky (later "Fr. Herman") was Seraphim Rose's closest friend and confidant, who co-founded the St. Herman Brotherhood at Platina with him, and who served as the monastery's abbot. He was also a notorious sexual predator who assaulted numerous young men, both while they were visiting Platina and while Gleb was traveling other places. He would grope them and try to kiss them, either while they were asleep, or he would just pounce on them when he was alone with them. When the allegations became too much for the ROCOR synod to ignore, they investigated and defrocked him. Instead of accepting his punishment, he took the monastery into schism, at times under vagante bishops, and at times under no authority but his own.
Damascene Christensen, who wrote Seraphim's biography, followed Gleb into schism, as did Gerasim Eliel, who eventually became abbot and brought the monastery back under the canonical Serbian church, and is now a bishop in the OCA (Bishop of Fort Worth, Texas). Even Gleb was allowed back into communion, and received this relatively glowing obituary from Orthochristian: https://orthochristian.com/71886.html
So essentially, no one was held accountable, and even the people who had the poor judgment to follow this predator are allowed to become bishops and held in high regard. And it's hard to even find this information - you have to do a little bit of digging. Basically, the whole situation was swept under the rug, and now Seraphim Rose is being hailed as a saint, despite either not knowing what Gleb was up to, or knowing and turning a blind eye. And there's no mention of any of Gleb's misdeeds in the biography (hagiography?) of Seraphim.
It makes me wonder how many other "saints" had their biographies similarly sanitized for public consumption. I know at least that the Ecumenical Councils were very nasty affairs, and the "official" Orthodox version of the history of them leaves out the terrible things that the Orthodox side was doing.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

I tried to post this in japan but automod took it down and the mods haven’t gotten back to me yet. So, this is probably the more appropriate subreddit. For clarification, this happened yesterday night.
I (26F) am traveling with my family in Japan. We were on a very crowded subway train cart on the 丸ノ内線 (Marunouchi Line) in Tokyo around 21:30. This is my third time in Japan and l've taken the subway and public transport many times, but this was a first.
I'm still sort of processing it, but I didn't quite realize what happened until I got off the subway cart. I just don't know if this is common, and l've never been groped before so l didn't realize what was happening until my brain was like wait, that was someone's hand/fingers groping the back of my thigh/butt on the subway car....
Just, uh, yeahh. Maybe it's just Tokyo? It's my first time in this city and I have always been in the Kansai region during my previous visits. Never ever have I had issues there.
I still feel it (and a little disgusted/shocked) and I want to know if anyone else has experienced something like this as some form of "I'm not crazy to have experienced this in 2024."
EDIT: Of course being 外人 doesn’t make any difference, I just didn’t know what to do once I fully processed what had happened.
EDIT 2:
Thank you all for your validating responses and those of you who also shared your experiences. I wanted to add a little more information for those who may want to use this post for reference.
First, yes, I know there are women-only cars, and I have used them in the past. They are great and I recommend them for gals to use if they would like a safe space. However, their times can be limited (for instance on the particular line I took, it said designated train cars were women-only before 9:30 during rush hour, and didn’t see any indication it was women-only in the late evening). Furthermore, I’m also traveling with my dad and brother. I’d prefer to stick with them so we don’t get separated, especially during more busy times since men aren’t allowed in the cars during women-only times. (Though young children, 12 and under are acceptable in women-only cars.)
Second, I truly appreciate those who gave advice. From what I gathered, yelling:
“chikan” 痴漢 (groper) “hentai” 変態 (pervert) or “yamero” やめる (stop)
while also clearly indicating who it is (if possible), maybe grabbing their hand and raising it, and making a fuss can get the behavior to stop immediately and provide intervention. Although, it can be hard to identity someone in a packed car (for instance I was groped from behind and I was carrying my backpack in front of me because of the limited space on the train) so I probably should have grabbed their hand first to help identify who it was and then yelled and make a loud fuss. Further, grabbing the culprit/assaulter and taking them to the police at the next stop will ensure they get in trouble for their behavior. They may go willingly after you’ve publicly shamed them and made a fuss. However, try to not physically assault or instigate a physical fight with the assaulter as it could result you landing in jail. I could argue depending on the circumstance they may “deserve it,” but it is probably best to not escalate the situation in a harmful way.

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/Uncle-Barnacle. She posted in EntitledPeople.
Thanks to u/No-Mechanic-3048 for the rec!
Trigger Warnings: animal abuse; sexual harassment;
Mood Spoiler: Good ending for OOP
Original Post: January 27, 2024
As the title says, last week I kicked what I thought was a good friend out of my house because I can no longer handle her antics. Just wanna write it here just to destress and deal with the grief of losing a friend.
Kendall (25F) and I met in university in 2016, we studied different majors but were from the same department so we share many classes together and bonded over our passion for gaming and memes.
Upon graduation, Kendall moved back to her hometown due to covid and found a job there, we kept in touch online through Instagram.
About 3 years later, Kendall told me she found a better paying job in the city I so she's planning to move out from her parents place. When I asked her about her plans on her accomodations she replied with "That's the thing, I was going to ask if you have an extra bedroom that I could move into"
For context, I have inherited an apartment from my late grandfather which is a nice 3 bedroom 2 bath near the city center last year January and I currently live alone there since it is closer to my workplace and it has all the convenience of public transport.
After some thinking I thought that there's no harm in living with Kendall since I considered us as close friends. We discussed the terms and ofc the rent. A week later Kendall moved into my apartment. It was great at first, my home felt more lively than usual and the thought of going home to a close friend warmed my heart and gave me a sense of security. Things were okay for awhile and then sh*t goes downhill super quick.
Kendall started complaining about many things at home, about her work, her savings and how she feels homesick. At first I was very accommodating, thinking maybe she just needs time to get used to the city life. I offered as much help as I can, even to the point of if she's low on money I don't mind voiding a month's rent if it meant I could help her to achieve financial stability.
I taught her how I save money, how I live off with my then low salary with several commitments like my car, my dog and a student loan. I grew up where my parents expect me to be independent so I told her things I'd do when I'm low on cash, how to get freelance jobs etc but she always seem to have excuses for every suggestion I have. Finding a freelance job is too hard, or how she couldn't let go of her premium junk food, that she isn't willing to cook or meal prep, and I eventually decided to leave it as it is.
And after two months of living together, I realised Kendall started treating me as some kind of competition. She would constantly ask me things like how much money I make a month, how many job hoppings did that take. Anything that she thinks she's better than me, she'll definitely pop that question. She boasts about how she is loyal to her "sh#tty paying company" and how I would never be able to move up the corporate ladder as she called me "an industry frog" 🐸.
She once snooped my savings balance and asked how tf did I have so much saved up with commitments etc (mind you she didn't have a lot of commitments since her parents paid off her student loans and fully paid off a brand new car for her) and maybe I should stop collecting rent from her. I got mad, and told her if she isn't happy living with me maybe she should move out. Queue crocodile tears as she said it was a joke I didn't have to take her seriously she begged for forgiveness and promised to never snoop my personal items and details again. I let it go once, but she kept bringing things up like, "well you have the cash and a credit card" everytime I told her I rather stay home because I no longer have the budget to go out and "have fun". Comments like these became more frequent when I got a new job 6 months ago.
On top of that, she doesn't clean up after herself, tried to flirt with my boyfriend and at times parked in my parking space when our initial agreement was that she has to find her own parking space if she's moving in with her own car because my apartment only has one parking lot per unit.
The straw that broke the camel's back was when I caught her kicking my dog in his abdomen when I got home from work. I yelled at her and rushed to check my dog, luckily he was fine but I still rushed him to the vet for safety measures. I got home and she sneered that it was just a dog and as a friend I shouldn't treat her like that. I asked why she'd kicked my dog and she didn't answer me, she shrugged and tried to escape into her room.
At this point it was already about a year since Kendall moved in with me. I lost my cool and told her off, bringing up her problems and how I tried to be nice and accommodating. Then I told her I'm giving her a week to move out and that from then on I rather we keep our relationship casual or we don't ever talk at all. Kendall cried and begged me to not kick her out but soon it turned into her screaming back at me, calling me a bad friend because apparently in her words, I "didn't tell her off on how badly she was behaving" (like wtf?!). There was a lot of back and forth which I don't remember what I said, but I remember eventually calling her an entitled brat. She cried again saying it was uncalled for and stormed off to her room.
The next day I was bombarded with texts from other uni friends, some calling me selfish and others sympathize with me. Apparently, Kendall posted our argument on Facebook and Instagram, painting me to be the bad guy. I was upset at first but I decided that after Kendall moved out we would no longer be friends as well as those who took her side of the story and condemned me.
Last week, Kendall left, and I have changed the locks on my apartment. I curled up in bed and cried myself out, probably from the sadness of losing a friend or maybe I am finally letting out all the frustrations.
I am definitely still griefing about this loss of a friend as I've had many good times with Kendall. For now I wanna focus on myself and hopefully I eventually get over this.
Edit: The whole "teasing" that I have more money than Kendall gotten worse when I told her I was given an offer by an MNC as a Senior Designer, and I disclosed her the offered salary (as we always did, like I know how much she earns too) which was about 50% more than hers. That was dumb on my part, I now understand why my parents told me to never disclose/discuss salaries the moment I started working
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: Kendall should eat a whole bag of dicks. You did well looking out for yourself, and your dog.

OOP: Yea but it took me a year to see how my "friend" didn't treat me like one ☹️

Commenter: Per your post, I would think that Kendall is a user rather than an actual friend. You will need time to heal. I recommend that you seek short-term psychological counseling to help - and maybe find out how to more effectively set and enforce personal boundaries.

OOP: Im planning to look into those as well, if I could afford them. But for the time being I'll try to find comfort in spending time with doggo, my bf and drowning in my hobbies :))

Commenter: If I were you, I'd be telling everyone she was hurting your dog - that would probably swing some opinions real quick

OOP: I did but some still called me an AH for kicking a poor girl who has travelled far from her hometown out in a big city 😒 I got off fine but why can't she?

Commenter: Also, time to step back for just a moment. Your so-called friend had No Student Loans and a Brand New Car. She has parents who can help her out. They created this puppy- kicking monster; they can deal with her. You gave her plenty of opps to play nice.
You don't owe her squat!!! Hold your head high! You're a wonderful person

OOP: Yet I don't understand where her money went, her wallets are always empty near the end of the month. She once showed me her savings balance, which was two digits, she was asking if I could lend her money. Luckily I didn't lend her any, but that's probably why she was angry at me for a week lmao

Commenter: This type hates being told no. They often seek revenge. If they put a fraction of that energy into working for what they wanted? They’d be in great shape. May you think of her no more & enjoy your life!

OOP: Exactly what I thought, there were so many other things and ways she could have work around to be stable financially, it's true I probably didn't have to collect rent from her but I was glad I did, even if it wasn't a year's worth. I spent so much for that thorough checkup of my boii after she kicked him :((

Commenter: I would have thrown her out on her ass the second I saw her kick my dog. That is completely unacceptable. She's lucky you gave her a week.

OOP: It ain't easy out in the city where I'm from, but she moved out in a couple of days after asked her to move out, last I heard one of our uni friends who called me an AH allowed her to crash at their place while she finds her own place to rent. I wish them good luck for sure they gonna end up like me

Commenter: Change your accounts so all paper work is clear so she cannot pretend to be you. Social security office visit to be sure no new accounts have been opened in your name is mandatory to cleanse sociopath vibe from your life.

OOP: Oh no worries about that, where I'm from to make most accounts would need my fingerprints and my physical id which neither have been missing, but thanks for the heads up on that! I've never considered from this angle

OOP originally paid the dog tax but has since deleted the picture.
Commenter: Anyone who could harm such a sweet boi would instantly be dead to me. For this alone, you are absolutely in the right!

OOP: I was really worried, but luckily the vet said he's as fit as a fiddle and as sturdy as ever
(to a different comment) From the checkups and with my vet's assurance, it seems like I caught her hurting my dog for the first time. He has never shown any sign of nervousness or anxiety near Kendall up till the day she kicked him, then again I didn't have cameras installed at home so I'm not sure if she has every attempted anything prior to this.
The most important thing is my ol'boy is still healthy and happy, with a tiny bruise which dissipated after a few days

Update Post 1: February 14, 2024 (3 weeks later)
Hello everyone, I'm here with some updates about me and my doggo as well as my now ex-friend, Kendall.
Let's start off with the update about myself. I've been doing well and surprisingly as some of you mentioned previously, I had gotten over the lost of this friendship rather quickly. My boyfriend planned a trip to a pet friendly beachfront hotel and I spent a few days with just my boyfriend and doggo. We played in the sea water and I watched my dog played in the sand. Overall had a great time and we even had grilled fish together while watching the sun set. (Doggo had a deboned fish fillet)
I am also grateful for my friends who stood by my side regarding this issue, they check in on me from time to time and sent me funny content to watch during my free time. Some of them even told me their stories about Kendall and their discontentment with her behavior, which I will list some below.
Friend A: Kendall ridiculed Friend A several times because Friend A earned less than Kendall despite he has worked a year longer than Kendall.
Friend B: Kendall trash talked Friend B's company via instagram just because Kendall flunked her interview with said company with flying colors.
Friend C: Kendall always demands Friend C to be her personal driver during our college days. If Friend C refuses, Kendall will guilt trip her.
Friend D: Ruined Friend D's assignment by 'pranking' him. She actually formatted his laptop when the project was due in two weeks. When confronted, all Kendall said was 'oopsies'.
There are many more but these are the more icky ones I've heard from my friends.
And now with that out of the way, here is today's main course:-- after I kicked Kendall out of my house, one of my uni friends, let's call her Anne, stood by Kendall's version of events and has allowed Kendall to move in with her instead. Anne called me out of the blue this afternoon and her first question to me was: "How on earth did you managed to put up with Kendall for a year? She's driving me crazy!!" Long story short, whatever Kendall did when she's living with me, she now does it to Anne. Snooping Anne's personal items, leaving dirty laundry around...generally being a prick in the butt. Anne told me she's planning to force Kendall out of her house too. I didn't comment much since Anne were among those who called me a cruel person, but now it has came back to bite her.
But wait, that's not all, according to Anne, Kendall lost her job because she tried to ask for a 100% increment and assaulted her supervisor when the increment request was turned down two weeks ago. She was immediately escorted out of the office building by security. And she just texted me 20mins ago saying she needed a favour from me that she wants a job at my workplace.
I replied stating there isn't any vacancy. Tbh even if there is I wouldn't hire her lmaoo.
So yea, I hope this is the last time I will hear from Kendall and I'll only update if somehow , something interesting happened that involves Kendall 🤣
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: "Anne told me she's planning to force Kendall out of her house too." How in the ever loving world did you not reply, "Wouldn't that be cruel though?"

OOP: I went with a sarcastic tone of, "Oh wow really? What happened?" 🤣

Commenter: Bet Kendall applies to the company and uses OP as a reference anyway.

OOP: Regarding this I have no worries about it since hr has to wait for me to filter through candidates for my department before sending out an email invite for job interviews. I'll make sure to shred Kendall's if I see hers

Commenter: What about the other departments??

OOP: She only has skills for my dept, sadly. I'm working in an advertising agency it's either graphic designer or motion designer, Kendall can't for the love of God make good designs. She would only want my department. Even if she tried, I doubt she could get into my company since one of the requirements is to be able to converse in basic japanese and you are tested during the interview plus you would need to show the certification of JLPT.
Thanks for giving this advice guys, but no worries I doubt Kendall would be able to pass the first screening :D

Commenter: I can imagine her turning up on your door step wanting a place to stay do you have a camera doorbell. just in case she will be getting desperate for friends and a place to stay now people are realising how crazy she is.

OOP: I have set up a new doorbell cam, I live in an apartment and there's plenty of cameras in the lift and corridor. Plus, I wouldn't be that afraid of her appearing at my door step since the security would call me to verify if I have visitors. A simple "no" would render her plans useless.

Commenter: Please keep us posted if anything happens with Kendall going forward. This is too funny and she’s too crazy for this to be the end of it.

OOP: Man I can't believe I was crying over the loss of this friendship. Rn I'm laughing at everything she has done or tried to do to people.

Commenter: Shouldn't she have been arrested for the assault? [at work]

OOP: Maybe her employer didn't press charges? Idk

Commenter: How many days she stay with Anne?

OOP: I think it's about or almost a month? She moved in quite quickly with Anne after I told her she had a week to leave.

Update Post 2: May 5, 2024 (3+ months from OG post)
At this point I wonder if I should change the title to "The Kendall Chronicles" 🤣
Hello everyone, it's been about two months since I kicked my now ex friend, Kendall out of my home. For those who has read my story before, just wanna let you guys know doggo and I are well fed and happy.
If you guys remember last time, Anne, one of my friends who sided with Kendall, told me about all the horrible things that has happened while having Kendall as a roommate. Ho boy, Anne had to call the cops to evict Kendall.
I happen to meet Anne at a pet friendly cafe to enjoy a good book yesterday while my doggo gets to enjoy playing at the doggy daycare-ish kinda area. I did wonder if it was intentional on her side since all my friends know I love this cafe in particular. Anne greeted me and asked if she could sit and have a chat with me. We started out with some small talk but the moment she brought up about her evicting Kendall, I just sat there and listened.
I gave Anne a smile and prodded her lightly with a comment I borrowed from the previous comment on reddit, "Oh, so you're gonna really kick her out then? I remember someone last told me it was cruel to kick a friend out of their homes." Anne stuttered for awhile before saying how I should have made a post to counteclarify Kendall's social media claims about me. I simply told her neither have I the energy to do so nor I have the need to. Which in turn, landed us in some brief awkward silence before I asked what she needed from me. Anne told me she wanted someone to vent to about Kendall and didn't know who to turn to.
Anne told me she filed a police report against Kendall; for theft and destruction of property, and ultimately Anne needed the assistance of police officers to evict Kendall from her home. She is also in the midst of filing a restraining order as she mentioned Kendall looked completely psycho at that moment. Unlike me, Anne lives in landed property so I guess she'd be a lot more worried about Kendall coming back to find her.
Kendall apparently stole Anne's debit card and spent a whopping 2k$ in total. Anne only found out about the missing money when she found her debit card missing from her wallet. She checked the bank statements only to find that 2k$ went to clothes, expensive meals and clubbing activities. At this point, one might ask, how did Anne know it was Kendall that spent that money? Well, the answer presented itself when Kendall came home screaming at Anne for terminating her debit card. According to Anne, Kendall was shouting every insult in the book while flailing her arms around with Anne's debit card in hand which Kendall proceeded with slamming the card on the table before storming off into her room.
That was the first time Anne felt afraid of another person much less a friend. Since then, Kendall made Anne's life hell on earth. Kendall would leech off Anne's groceries, judges her choice of snacks, body shames Anne etc. Kendall also attempted to seduce Anne's boyfriend. She once kissed Anne's boyfriend, (let's call him Jason) on the cheek and giggled before running straight for her room during movie night. In another instance she groped Jason's manhood right in front of Anne but later claimed that she was drunk and thought what she touched was a couch pillow. The worst thing that Kendall did was throwing herself onto Jason and saying she has a fever and later guided Jason's hand to feel her breast in which Anne walked in at the same time Jason's hand was under Kendall's shirt. These incidents has since cause a strain between the three and Jason felt awkward to the point where he told Anne he would stop visiting her house unless Kendall moves out. Anne cried for a bit when she reached this part.
Anne then told Kendall to move out, and gave her a week to do so. Kendall then cried and ran out of the house only to come back later in the evening to lock herself in her room. Anne presumed that Kendall is packing her stuff and she decided to ignore Kendall for the time being. The next morning Anne woke up to the sound of some grunts and broken ceramics. She rushed out to her yard to see an unhinged Kendall swinging a rod against everything she could hit, a tree, flower pots, even the grass on the ground. This led Anne to immediately lock her doors and call the police fearing for her own safety. The police arrived and handled the situation swiftly and they took Kendall away. There were still a lot of screaming and shouting. Anne said she's not sure if Kendall is being locked up or has anyone who would've posted bail for her.
While I guess it was kinda nice sipping tea about Kendall but at how Anne described Kendall is behaving, I wonder if she'd actually needed professional help. I can't help but feel sad for her condition despite we have gone no contact for two months.
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: And why is this still your problem , Anne made her choice , why you still talk to her, she not a good friend , she is like Kendall, a two face snake.

OOP: I have went no contact since Anne's last call two months ago but I believed she went to my favourite cafe spot to try to bump into me and well I have a hard time turning others down so I decided to serve myself some Kendall tea I guess
After this I would probably not want to hear anything about Kendall, Anne or anybody that decided to take in Kendall

Commenter: What about Anne's bf ? He's not naive to the point of having his hand led under shirt iniit

OOP: Anne only told me about the things Kendall did to Jason, maybe she did mention his reaction but I just don't remember the entire thing she told me (I have bad memory)
The gist of it is that these "interactions" had affected their relationship. She didn't further elaborate I didn't probe.

Commenter: While these stories are interesting to read, I wonder how true they actually are. If her parents were so wealthy and paid for her education and car, then at what point has anyone called them and informed them to her behavior? I’m not buying it

OOP: I never had her parents' contact so it didn't really cross my mind to call her parents. While it is hard to believe, it is true, some of us had long severed ties with Kendall since her incident with me.
Kendall also didn't say much about her parents. For all I know was that she moved out of her parents' place because she wanted a better paying job.

For the first 2 months this stuff was constant. I was afraid of losing my job but I finally spoke up and my manager made him stop but she said ”it’s just jokes”. I stayed cause this was a really good job. I don’t trust him cause of other things, he’s a liar, but for 7 months he hasn’t said weird stuff, at least.
He’s been here 17 years and they fought to keep him and are friendly with him.
-——
It’s just me, the manager and him in one small office.
For the first 2 months he’d find any excuse to say “porn” or “pussy”.
Like, he downloaded an excel sheet while showing me how to do something, and he said, "oop, downloaded into the porn stash.” This started like week 1 into the job and he said it on multiple occasions.
Mentioned a random name and told us two women in the office, “you know who that is? He opened a porn academy. HARD school.”
Mentioned randomly some scandal about a priest with a porn addiction.
Referred to hand lotion as lube and asked us if we want lube cause i mentioned having dry hands. Then he said "the women don't want lube but the only guy needs it! Haha.”
He’d tell the manager "Do you want me to water your bush?" And she’d also say it back in reference to watering the office plants. Then he‘d say "I like wet bushes.”
He was showing the manager some work on his PC and pretended to read from a popup, "you are caught watching gay porn!" She laughed.

Like recently he told her “hey dirty woman.” They’re both married.

At a point he was next to her while she explained something. He said "can i touch you?" And she was like jokingly "aaaah get away from me".

He read out his shopping list to us and said "condoms!" at the end.
I mentioned that my coworker's mug was cute (it has a cat on it). He said his daughter chose it as her christmas gift, "mug with the PUSSY".
Another time, we were talking about pet cats and he said “I get distracted when we talk about pussies!”
He mentioned some new law in Italy that made groping legal if it lasted less than 10 seconds. But he said it in a disapproving way trying to appear the good guy.
He played the song "insomnia" by faithless and only sang along to the "TEARING OFF TIGHTS WITH MY TEETH" part so we both could hear him.
He was talking to a young male colleague in front of me and told him (i have to translate) to find some "dirty woman" now to take her with him travelling.
He told the manager "i'm gonna show it to you. No not **that**. ;) i'll show that when we're alone together heheh" “stop sending dirty pics at night hahah”
He was speaking with his wife on the phone (who he tells ILY everyday), and out of nowhere mentioned how stressed he was and that "there's 2 women here i'm gonna start beating them" i waited for the call to end and told him half-jokingly, "did you forget ur outnumbered?" What a weird thing to say.
After another lame joke which I ignored, he said "Fuck you ladies! :D" and i said "right back at you".
He made a dumb ”ur mum” joke - made a weird sound and said "That's how ur mum sounded yesterday".
—
I have a text where I gave my manager examples of things he said and she somehow admitted to being complicit, she replied that it’s just jokes, “in fact even i go along with it.“ said he’s a respectful guy. ”But if you’re uncomfortable i’ll tell him to stop.”
—
Recently I made a big mistake due to him not giving me good info and he lied in front of my manager and kept saying he did tell me and that i went against an agreement. He’s trying to make me look bad. So from now on I’ll ask for stuff to be communicated by email until I leave.
—
Now recently a few other things. They continued, the dumb shits: she showed him how to use piratebay and they repeated like 3 times how sometimes “naughty pictures” come up.
They were ordering pizza and she said “this is sexual.”
She offered some protein balls and I took one and said it’s good, a little dopamine hit. He jumped in and said he needs an aphrodisiac not dopamine.
Then she started singing some eurovision song that goes “aphrodisiac”.
On 10/5 today i was alone with him. He was calling his wife and at a point he said “is it bigger or smaller than mine? Hehe” in an obvious weird way.
—
Usually they’re normal and friendly and obviously I MUST make conversation and laugh if it’s an appropriate joke. But then they do this weird shit.

I'm a guy looking for a frequent partner to meet for friendship and pleasure. I love breastplay and nipple play so if you enjoy suckling, groping, titjobs, and massage I'd love to chat!
- I'm good looking, fit, white, single, and young looking. In my personal life I work in art & design for videogames and simulations.
- Looking primarily for erotic experiences. I have some optional kinks in nursing, lactation, pregnancy, and breeding(roleplay only).
- Able to both travel and host on any day of the week with an open schedule. My location is directly in between Richmond and DC. I am open to traveling to both areas.
I do not respond to messages that don't at least list your age, sex, location, and what you're looking for in terms of the personal. I will ONLY respond to Reddit chat requests as comments and inbox messages are more often than not spam/bots.

Preface: "Don't you ever dare to think you can escape me, Dalia. You're mine to love, mine to hate, mine to protect, and mine to destroy. You belong to me, you've always been." His words were nothing but a mere whisper as the man who clutched onto me once again savored my lips as if he'd been famished his whole life for this very moment. His tongue danced with mine in a game neither of us understood. Were they fighting for love or fueled by hate?
One of his hands secured me in my position, as if he was scared I'd escape. And his other hand took its sweet time caressing and teasing my skin as it traveled to its destination. His lips never left mine, even as my lungs burned for air and I wriggled my body to make him stop. But he didn't. It was as if he was intent on making it my last kiss, and is determined to make it worth it. The moment he found my burning core, he cupped it, squeezing it until I withered in pain.
I bit onto my bottom lip, sinking my teeth so deep that drops of blood dripped from it as I tried to hold in the loud, throaty moan daring to escape. There was just a thin wall keeping us apart from the horde of media who were standing outside eagerly waiting to get their hands on something that would tear us to shreds. If there's something better than a scandal, it's a celebrity scandal. And an affair of a newbie actress with Hollywood's heartthrob is definitely news worth telling. It could ruin his career and my life, yet it didn't matter to him. All he wanted in this moment was to claim the woman he's loved all his life and who destroyed his love within a minute.
"Do you know, Dalia, what you mean to me? I love you so damn much that I could write your name all over my life. Yet I hate you just as much that I'd burn down everything I am to wipe you from existence," he breathed against my lips, finally allowing me to breathe. I took a lungful of air, only to have my breath catch in my throat as his fingers ruthlessly slid into my folds.
"Altair, stop! It... it hurts," I barely managed to speak the words when another of his fingers slid into my burning core, stretching me to a point I'd never experienced before.
But my pleas had no effect on him; his three fingers continued to torture me, sliding to the depths of my womanhood and then pulling back, only to fill me to the brim once again. The sensation of his fingers sliding against the sensitive walls of my core set my skin ablaze, yet I couldn't get enough. I've always hated when a man touched me, but why does my body betray me when it comes to him?
What makes him so special? Is it the love he once had for me? Or is it the fact that he's become my only salvation in this godforsaken world? But does it even matter? It's a tale of love, hate, and revenge. Whether love wins or hate does, it doesn't matter, because all I want is my revenge.
Episode 1: If I were to tell the joke that's stood the test of centuries, it'd be the one and only...
Love!!!
Yeah, I'm talking about those jittery butterflies in your belly doing the cha-cha like it's spring break in there, eyes locked on their face like they're the last chocolate chip cookie in the jar, heart pounding like it's trying to escape your chest, and you doing all sorts of wacky things – like ditching that sweet gig in Paris and hauling ass through the airport like your butt's on fire just to win them back. Let me tell you, all these feelings are nothing but a big ol' scam, like pyramid scheme-level scam.
Now, before you happily-ever-after believers start throwing fairy dust at me, hear me out. I might sound like the president of the anti-love club right now, but sweetie, I've been dealing with cheaters practically every damn day for the past 90 days.
When my friend Maeve and I, both broke as jokes, launched 'Siren's Call,' our very own loyalty-testing agency a year ago, we never imagined we'd be drowning in cases. And, now it's my bread and butter, catching those sneaky snakes red-handed, gathering evidence so their poor suspecting partners cash in on a jackpot of karma during divorce settlement.
And, at the moment, I find myself in the company of my client number 47, Julia's husband David, who seems to have mistaken my waist for a decorative armrest. Ah, the joys of being treated like furniture. This man didn't bother to ask for my consent. Ughh, I hate it... I absolutely loathe it when they touch me. And my body isn't holding back from showing him just how much it detests his touch.
Sweat drips down my forehead, my hands tremble with nerves, my knees feel like jelly and I fear I might collapse any second, and my stupid heart twists painfully in my chest. 1... 2... 3... I silently count, reminding myself of the hundred damn reasons why I have to put up with this. But it's not doing much to help. I feel bile rise in my throat, and I have this overwhelming urge to hurl all over this guy. Gross, I know, but so are his words.
"I figured a classy dame like you would have good taste," he slurred, leaning in closer like he thought he was being suave. But all I wanted to do was smack him upside the head.
"Well, my taste buds are alright, but when it comes to men, they've got a history of bad choices" I gritted my teeth, struggling to keep my cool.
"Let me guess, your heart's been shattered, huh? Man, who in their right mind would break the heart of someone as stunning as you? I swear on my mom's lasagna, if you were into me, I'd get my eyes laminated. So that, I wouldn't even think about checking out anyone else but you," He licked his lips, his gaze descending to my breasts, as if he's suddenly forgotten the art of subtlety.
"Aww, you're so loyal, just like my neighbor's dog, Jimmy," I cooed, feeling sick as his hands started wandering. 'It's all for Maeve's sake.' I chanted in my head again and again, praying, hoping my fear just doesn't win.
"Bet Jimmy's a real cutie, just like me," he tilted his head, poking his fingers in his chubby cheeks, trying to look adorable. "Kill him, his wife will thank you later," And now my inner voice was beyond over this guy.
"Mhmm, you two could practically pass for twins. He barks too much, just like you" I quipped, unable to hold back any longer as my patience wore thin.
Alright, maybe that's not the textbook way to flirt, and more likely make any boy run away. But, I'm telling you, I'm a freaking expert at flirting game. Check out my track record – I've charmed 46 men out there. But for some reason, this dude's really getting under my skin.
"Hahaha, a babe with a sense of humor, deadly combo, I swear." And ladies and gentlemen, we have a contender here who clearly left his self-respect at home, all in the hopes of scoring tonight – either that or it never made it into his wardrobe to begin with!
"You know, I've got some tricks up my sleeve too. How about we bounce to my place, and I'll show you what I've got? I bet you'll be impressed..." His spiel got cut off by his wife's ear-splitting voice, which unfortunately blasts painfully loud through my cheap Bluetooth earpiece lodged in my other ear.
"Ha, is this guy seriously trying to flex his skills? What skills does he even have, airing out the same dirty skivvies for a month? This freeloader's been mooching off me for a decade, and now he's out there two-timing me. You know what, Dalia? Just break it..."
"Break what? His eggs?" My bestie Maeve chimed in. This girl just loves violence I swear.
"Eggs... his noggin, break whatever needs breaking. Personally, I vote we send him packing. We'll stash this motherfucker in the backyard cemetery; nobody will bat an eye if one more schmuck vanishes." Mrs. 47's fury practically singed my ears.
"Yeah, but if the cops catch wind, we're toast, right, girl? We're only on the hunt for proof of your heartbreak, not to bust your hubby's skull." Maeve and Mrs. 47 are both lurking outside, tasked with keeping an eye on us, but it seems they missed the memo on stealth.
"Excuse me? What did you think? My place..."The man raised his voice, clearly annoyed by the fact that I've just ignored his proposal. And at this point, to be honest, I just want to get it over with.
"Sure, let's roll." I could still hear Maeve and Mrs. 47 squabbling, but I'm too wiped to care. So I tagged along quietly, praying I get the dirt I need ASAP, so I could crawl back into bed with a wad of cash and maybe hopefully with the last remaining threads of sanity
*****************************
The car ride with this idiot has been nothing but pure torture. He's been trying to grope my legs, hands, waist, hairs – heck, he even made a play for my toes – don't ask me how, trust me, you don't want the gory details.
I swear, I was so close to jumping out of the window – not because of his pervy touching habits, but because of his awful flirting skills. Someone needs to sit this guy down and give him the lowdown: to pull off a "baby girl," you've gotta be either Massimo-level hot daddy or Christian Grey-grade charmer, and sadly, he's rocking neither the Italian stallion vibe nor the billionaire allure. He's more like the guy who brings store-bought cookies to a bake-off – well-meaning, but totally missing the mark. But the good thing is, we've finally made it to his lavish two-story house.
And when I say lavish I so damn mean it, this blue white building is a perfect blend of modern chic and classic. The front yard is so vast, you might need a GPS just to navigate your way to the front door. The façade screams "I've made it" with its grandiose columns and a front porch spacious enough to host a block party. And this... meticulously manicured lawn – damn it's so green! is this even possible? I'm sure as hell it's Photoshopped.
But all those good vibes flew out of my brain the moment we neared the front door and it freaking swung open in our faces... by itself, and there was pitch darkness in the house.
Mrs. 47, aka Julia, made sure that none of the staff was at home when we came here. She's with Maeve a few blocks away, waiting for us to go inside, so how the heck did the door just magically open? Mr. Clueless over here must be as lost as me, by the way he's standing there staring into the abyss.
I had a bad feeling about this dude, an even worse feeling about this house, and the absolute worst feeling about this whole damn night.
"No one... should be home at this hour. So why the heck is this door...?" He gulped nervously. So, now he's sweating bullets about getting busted?
"You sure this place isn't haunted?" My serious tone freaked even myself out.
"N-No... I mean, the only ghost I've seen in this house is my wif... wi... widow sister." His words came out slower than a whisper, as he took a few steps back.
"Why don't we go inside and check? I'm sure your widowed sister won't mind me crashing your crib." With a flick of my finger, I motioned for him to follow as I strutted confidently inside. I've seen this kinda stuff go down in horror flicks a million times. It's very first warning from the demons hiding out in the house. And even though I'm pretty sure I'm way smarter than those clueless teens who bite the dust first in horror movies, because they gotta know what the ghost looks like, when it comes to curiosity, I'm just as dumb as 'em.
☠️⚠️Warning: First things first, do not, I repeat, do not enter a strange house with an unknown strange man, kiddo. He could turn you into tomorrow's newspaper headline. Secondly, when you see a door open by itself, pray to God, Buddha, almighty, and burn that darn house down before the ghost catches up to you.☠️⚠️
Back to the story... the house was painfully silent; the only sounds were the 'tick-tock' of some ancient million-dollar antique grandpa clock and the 'clip-clop' of my borrowed, worn-out dollar store heels. Not a soul, ghost, or even a hint of a breeze in sight... until the silence was shattered by a loud, over-the-top laugh. Whoever's trying to be a monster needs acting lessons ASAP.
"Who- Who are you?" Mr. 47, shaking like a leaf beside me, yelled out with whatever ounce of bravery he had left.
"Me? You're asking who I am? I'm your sweet-sweet death, loser. Hahahaha!" That darn fake laugh again. Whoever they are, they really need to stop now.
"I'm your sweet-sweet death, loser! Hahahaha!" The mystery voice cackled again. I swear, they either forgot their lines or missed the memo about subtlet. Their silhouette is now slightly visible in the darkness; they're standing on the head stairs, descending one step with each passing minute. And guess what they did next? Yep, you guessed it right: that man screamed 'I'm your sweet-sweet death' one freaking time again.
"Alright, Mister Mystery, zip it. If you belt out those cringe-worthy lines one more time, I'm gonna hit you where it hurts – real bad." I shot him a warning glance, trying to keep my cool. And surprisingly, he actually listened.
He didn't repeat those god-awful words, but this time, he screamed at the top of his lungs "You worthless, good-for-nothing Jojo! I trusted you with one simple task and you botched it up royally. Congratulations, asshole, you've single-handedly sabotaged my grand entrance. Didn't I specifically instructed you to flick the switch the moment I dropped my killer line, didn't I?"
And just like that, the lights flooded the house. For a second, I was blinded; it was so darn bright. But once my eyes adjusted, I wish I hadn't seen what was in front of me. In all my 27 years, I've never been scared, but in that moment, I screamed like a banshee.
"Holy shit! whoever's on the clock right now – God, Buddha, or even the intern – I'm officially calling in that favor. Save me!"

I googled, but didn't find many people talking about this, so I decided to make a thread myself. To start, the Halo Devices come from, as the name would imply, the Halo Stars.

Halo Devices are so named because they come from worlds within the volume of space known as the Halo Stars—a dangerous and illomened region that is bordered by several barbarous voids of space as well as a number of Imperial sectors including Scarus and Calixis.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

An interesting detail we see in the 3rd edition codex for the Necrons is that during their first encounter with the Old Ones, they were pushed back to a specific system.

The Necrontyr were pushed back until they became little more than an irritation to the Old Ones, a quiescent peril clinging to the outer dark among the halo stars, exiled and forgotten.

• Necron Codex, 3rd Edition

We are told that the Halo Devices are from a xenos race that's older than the Eldar.

The race that made the Halo Devices is believed to have existed thousands of millennia ago and may even predate the Eldar.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

And the only races we know of that are that old are the Old Ones, and the Necrons.

Just as the stars gave birth to creatures fitting to their ilk, so the planets eventually gave rise to life which began the long climb to sentience. First to cross the sea of stars was a race of beings called the Old Ones.
... As the Old Ones spread across the galaxy, younger, fiercer races struggled in their wake. The Necrontyr were such a race, born under a fearsome, scourging star, which uncaringly Grove their evolution forth with atomic winds and plasma storms.

• Necron Codex, 3rd Edition

The race that would become the Necrons began their existence under a fearsome, scourging star, billions of years before Mankind evolved on Terra.

• Necron Codex, 8th Edition

So the Necrons seem to fit both the location of where they are found, and general time time frame (I use that term loosely).
One of the Necrontyr's characteristics is that their raison d'etre is their all consuming search for immortality. Which they sought to extend through their sciences to no avail.

What little information is known of the Necrontyr tells that their lives were short and uncertain, their bodies blighted and consumed by the searing caress of their cruel star. They were a mercurial, morbid folk, their precarious lifespans riven from cradle to grave with constant loss.
The Necrontyr sought control of their destiny through science, but learned that they could not conquer the curse that had been encoded into their bodies. They persevered, yet still their accomplishments gained them naught. Their star still reigned over them as life-giver and death-god combined. Their cities were built in anticipation of their demise, the living becoming temporary residents hurrying through the sepulchres and vast tombs of their ancestors.
Unable to find peace on their own world, the Necrontyr blindly groped outward to other stars. Using stasis crypts and slow burning torch-ships, clad in living metal to resist the age-long Journeys through the void, they began to colonise distant planets. Sometime into their slow expansion, the Necrontyr encountered the Old Ones. The colonisation of these ultraintelligent mystics had been immeasurably swifter than that of the Necrontyr. That, and their immense longevity (nigh immortality) kindled a burning hatred in the Necrontyr, which ate at them spiritually as much as their hideous cancers consumed them physically. Why should one race be granted such long lives while their own were cut so cruelly short? Jealousy begets hatred and the Necrontyr turned their entire civilisation towards destroying the Old Ones and their spawn.

• Necron Codex, 3rd Edition

And one of the main properties of these Halo Devices is giving immortality to it's user.

The truth, however, is that the devices will indeed grant their possessor what he seeks—youth, vigour, and undying power, but in such a manner only the most deranged would choose.

​

They are believed to come from ancient and dead worlds and are said to grant immortality to those who possess them.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

Although whether this is their intended effect, an unintended side effect by fusing to an organic being it wasn't made to be fused to, or something else, is unclear. It does, however, at least hint to us similar themes to the Necrons.

Whether the effects of these devices on human tissue is deliberate or not is unclear; if they were deliberate, it would indicate a callous genius as well as a farsighted malignancy. If the effects of the devices are accidental, it speaks of a terrifying power that could cause such a by-product unrelated to their true purpose.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

One small detail caught my eye in regards to the shape of the Halo Devices.

The form a Halo Device takes has no influence over its powers. Some commonly encountered forms are spheres (also called “halo oculus” for their resemblance to eyes), flat ovoids the width of a human palm, broad hoops varying in size, or small scarab or fossil-like objects.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

Which is a peculiar detail, considering the scarab is a very Egyptian-esque symbol, and Necrons are abundant in Egyptian aesthetics, not to mention scarabs. Though it could mean nothing.
Another interesting detail is that the Halo Devices seem to be a very anti warp technology, as they cannot bond with someone who is corrupted by chaos/uses the warp.

A character with a Dark Pact, who is possessed, or who is a psyker (or the like) cannot bond with a Halo Device—the device will accept no master or influence but itself.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

Which is very interesting, as the only race that we know of that's known to be anathema to the warp are the Necrons. To the extent that their grand plan is to seal the Warp completely from the Materium.

At the same time, and in response to the opening of the Great Rift, anti-Chaos protocols have released a long-imprisoned sect of Crypteks known as the Technomandrites. It was the command of the Silent King himself that saw these beings interred, for their sheer brilliance eclipsed that of all their rivals and - by forming a single, united guild - they risked becoming a power bloc that could eclipse the Triarch themselves. Yet now Szarekh seeks to implement a plan so vast in scope and ambitious in scale that he has chosen to treat with the Technomandrites and attempt to win their favour.
In the case of many - though by no means all - he has succeeded, for the Silent King’s scheme is a master stroke. By employing arrays of immense, negatively polarised noctilith pylons, he seeks to create zones that Humanity - in their dawning terror and ignorance - have christened Pariah Nexuses. Each of these regions span interstellar gulfs, their malign energies radiating out through the webs of pylons from one world to the next, and blanketing swathes of the galaxy in a shroud of soul-crushing energies.
Where the cyclopean pylons rise to the skies, entire regions of realspace are cut off from the warp as though by a fractured wall of glass. Though the effect is not absolute, warp travel and translation, astropathic messaging and the manifestation of daemonic or psychic energies become vastly more difficult. Should the scattered nexus sites extend until their fields merge, Szarekh believes that the threat of Chaos could be defeated for evermore.

• Necron Codex, 10th Edition

Now that I, have hopefully, established a plausible enough connection between the Necrons and the Halo Devices, brings me to the crux of what gave me this idea in the first place.
The way the Halo Devices work, is that, when they bond with you they cause you to go through various stages, each degrading you more and more. You begin to act erratically, develop an uncontrollable taste for flesh and even your finger bones grow into large talons.

He no longer sleeps, eats, or drinks normal food, but as he slips further into madness, he develops strange addictions and insatiable hungers that he must regularly indulge or grow increasingly unstable and sickly. These addictions often include spending long periods in total darkness or immersion in solar radiation, and the hungers are often for substances like human tissue—such as blood, flesh, and cranial fluid.

​

Instances of burning, radiant eyes, corpse-like flesh, distorted gaunt features, mottled or armoured hide-like skin, and even a fine beetle-like carapace are all recorded, and almost invariably the fingers of the hands transform into long talons of exposed bone.

• Dark Heresy: Disciples of the Dark Gods

Which, consequently, is exactly what happens to the Necrons cursed by Llandu’gor's plague, when they turn into the Flayed Ones.

Their curse was the parting gift of one of the C’tan: Llandu’gor, the Flayer. It is said that when the Necrons turned upon the C’tan, the Flayer was not merely splintered as were his brothers, but utterly obliterated. Yet, in his dying moments, he called down a terrible curse upon his betrayers, tainting them with an echo of his fearsome hunger. ... A Necron over whom the flayer curse has taken hold suffers a slow and tortuous erosion of sanity. It begins to revel in the bloody ruin of fleshed foes, and is driven to claim gruesome trophies of skin, sinew and bone. As the madness progresses, the victim becomes compelled to feast upon the fallen. It cannot actually digest or consume flesh in any sense – the blood simply seeps through the gaps in its exoskeleton to clog its joints and pool at its feet – yet still the Necron is driven to gorge itself upon gore in a doomed attempt to sate an unquenchable lust. Physical changes occur shortly thereafter, wracking and twisting the afflicted Necron’s form into something as warped in body as it is in function.

• Necron Codex, 8th Edition

The living metal of their bodies becomes corrupt, working physical changes that usually include the emergence of long metallic talons.

• Necron Codex, 10th Edition

There's too many coincidences for me to look past here. I like to think that the Halo Devices are a result of a cult of Necrontyr devoted to Llandu’gor, or maybe remnants of experimentation the C'tan did to his Necrontyr followers.
What do you guys think?

She was used to disturbing dreams. For a while after the… incident, they’d been full of clowns. Clowns with sickly green eyes, in bad boaters and garish Hawaiian shirts. This one was different, disturbing in a less placeable way.
The room is pristine white and clean. It should be full of light, but something about it is dim and dingy. Large windows line the walls, but outside there is thick smog or mist; only a few slender fingers of light can make it through. There is a seat at one of the windows. A boy sits on the seat, dressed all in white. Somehow she knows to call this boy ‘brother.’
The brother stares out at nothing in particular, unless it is merely the world beyond the walls. She decides to take a few steps closer to him, then stops dead, blood running cold. The brother turns in his seat to look dead at her. He seems almost entirely like an ordinary boy until you see his eyes. They were full of something like hate. Actually hate seems too mild a word for what is in those eyes. Hate is human. These eyes are full of a murderous intent, guided almost it seems by a higher-lower power. It transcends anything human.
In her mind’s eye she sees fat specks of blood spatter on a pitch black surface like drops of rain.
Barbara Gordon jerked half-awake in her hospital bed. Whoa. Damn sedative. She was embarrassingly aware of a puddle of drool next to her mouth and was grateful to see Dick was not around. So where was everyone? Pitch black out. What time was it? Eight? Nine?
Easy, Barb. You nodded off. Dick decided to go do something besides watch you sleep. Nothing to panic about. She was aware of her legs again. Or still, rather. Before the ‘incident’ she would have guessed that paraplegics lost all feeling in their legs. Even after making a hundred new adjustments, relearning how to pull on her pants, coming to terms with how screwed she’d be as a wheelchair-user with a second-floor apartment, even after all that, she still felt phantom pains going up and down her legs some nights.
Well. If everything went alright tonight, that might change. A doctor flown in from South Africa, a quick surgical technique that was younger than she was, and Barbara Gordon could walk again.
Damn, she was tired. Her eyes were stinging from the effort of keeping the lids open. She let them close. Not to sleep. Just a little rest… what was she dreaming about before she woke, anyway? Something about a brother wanting to kill his sister. The details were already slipping out of her mind.
She sighed comfortably. Not sleeping. Just a little rest.
***
Dick Grayson sipped from a cup of truly awful coffee (he had been warned) and grinned. Inconvenient delays aside, he’d managed to kill an enjoyable couple hours in the commissary with a pair of nurses named Pieter and Asa while Kadaver’s Mystery Theater played Thing From Another World. Dick was fairly certain, despite his best efforts, he was hitting it off with at least one of them.
“So you really grew up in a circus?”
“Yep.”
“Sorry, you just don’t seem the type.”
“To bite heads off chickens or balance a ball on my nose?”
“I mean. For example.”
“I was an acrobat. In an act with my parents and my Aunt Harry. We were the Flying Graysons.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. It was pretty normal, really. I had a teacher who traveled with us, I had chores, friends. And when we were on the road we had coffee even worse than this. Tastes like nostalgia.”
Easygoing chatter was interrupted by a noise from a nearby table, the only other one occupied. An orderly was seated there, one whose demeanor rather aptly conveyed ‘sleazeball’ without requiring too much consultation with his appearance. He was, to put it mildly, engaging a coworker standing slightly behind him, with a good deal more physicality than was strictly indicated professional ethics. The object of his affections, evidently accustomed to it, stalked off acidly while the seated orderly smirked.
Turning to his two new acquaintances, Dick raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“That’s Morty Drake,” Pieter murmured, distaste evident. “Not really the most popular guy.”
“Wouldn’t be here if we’d had even one more person apply for the job,” Asa added.
Morty Drake, still unabashed, was now singing softly to himself. “Ohhh, my love, my darling, I hunger for your pie. Oh, IIII’ll be theeere-” Abruptly, Dick made up his mind.
“Hey,” he called across the room. He was aware of Pieter and Asa looking alarmed but pressed on. “That was a bit much, don’t you think? Might want to think about apologizing.”
Drake shot him a murderous glance. “Might wanna mind your own business, dicklick.” To punctuate the suggestion, he pulled a switchblade that certainly wasn’t part of the standard uniform.
Wonder if he came up with that before or after hearing my name. Dick idly noticed a rather skillfully-done tattoo of a skeletal Musketeer on the man’s neck. He found it somehow uplifting to look for redeeming features in unpleasant people. He realized with a start that he still had ‘Maid of Honor’ tucked away in a pocket.
Dick heaved a deep, theatrical sigh. “Oh, I’d really rather not do this. But since you’re testing me. You want to take this outside?”
Drake sneered. “You’re on.”
As Pieter and Asa watched in horror, both men stood, and both sauntered languidly and insolently towards the exit door to the back alley. Dick popped the door open, then was shoved aside haughtily by Drake, who walked out first.
Dick gently shut the door behind him, let the lock click, and walked back to the table, where Pieter and Asa were staring, stupefied. He tossed Drake’s artfully-swiped security pass onto the table.
“Told him I didn’t want to do it.”
***
It took Mortimer Drake a few seconds to realize he’d been locked out, after which he immediately began seething with rage. His keycard wasn’t in its usual pocket, either, leaving him stuck with a few king-size dumpsters. A few moments’ pounding on the door met with no response, though it made him feel marginally better. That goddam skinny pretty boy fruit. Gonna kick his ass.
Mortimer Drake gritted his teeth and stomped in a random direction, trying to orient himself. Nothing looked familiar in the dark. And damn, it was cold. He fantasized about pounding the fruit’s face inside-out in the vain hope that sufficient anger could make him feel warm.
He had walked along perhaps thirty minutes when he suddenly felt a strange feeling that he was being watched. Instinctively his hand went for the switchblade in his pocket, and he stopped to look behind him. Nothing there. But the hairs on the back of his neck were still pricking. He shrugged and moved on, muttering.
It occurred to Mortimer that he wouldn’t be able to get in through the usual entrance without getting a chewing-out for losing his ID. They’d blame him for something like that, never mind the punk in the cafeteria stole it from him. But… there was a window in the hydrotherapy room that was sometimes left unlocked. He might make a discreet entrance through there.
He picked up his pace a bit, cramming down the sensation that the thing watching him was now following him.
***
Harvey Bullock drove rather faster than was advisable through the Old Gotham. Even flooded with light, the city seemed dark tonight, and the darkness seemed to be staring at him, dark like a pair of empty eyeholes. Out in the darkness was the Shape.
Gordon had been right. Bullock had been something very close to a good cop, once. Maybe he’d taken money, when it was offered. In this town, who hadn’t? But he’d known where to draw the line. He’d never roughed up anyone who didn’t have it coming and he’d never turned a blind eye to anything that would keep him up at night.
The first night Michael Myers had run amok in Gotham City, Bullock had been on duty. In point of fact, he had run the bastard over in a car. And then Myers’ insane psychiatrist had given him an unneeded tracheotomy via pen-knife. Hits had kept coming through weeks of recovery. All of a sudden he didn’t have a job anymore, and neither did Montoya. Took a shot, turned out to be the wrong target, and out on her ass. Accusations like that stuck with a cop all their lives, even ones who kept their jobs. Shoot the wrong person, and ‘extenuating circumstances’ were just two words in a dictionary.
Bullock had been lucky enough to land on his feet. But somehow he’d never left that night behind. The nightmares had started not long after he left the hospital. Even though it hadn’t been Myers that slashed his throat, in the dreams it was always that pale mask-face. Some kind of darkness had gotten into him that night, through the wound in his neck, and it had spent the last few years festering.
“I got you now, you bastard,” Bullock muttered to himself. “Evil dies tonight.”
Tonight. By his hand. No need for Gordon, no need for the Bat. This was between him and Myers. Harvey Bullock drove faster than was strictly necessary, into the darkness.
***
The hospital really was quiet for a Halloween night. Even in small towns, you could normally expect a few minor disasters on a Halloween. Evidently the lengthening string of local disasters was persuading Gothamites in the East End to stay indoors after dark. That should have been a relief to Dr. Kinsolving; with staff begging off early to go to parties, they were short-staffed by now. Instead the emptiness felt oddly disquieting. Her footsteps seemed to fill entire hallways.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she rounded a hallway and came face to face with Dick Grayson.
“Sorry!” the young man said, almost a whisper.
Kinsolving realized with a little embarrassment that she’d yelped, and grasped for her composure. “No. I- it’s Grayson, isn’t it? You were with Barbara Gordon. Are you still here?”
Grayson looked apologetic. “Sorry,” he said, voice still low. Kinsolving guessed that the Gordon girl must have been asleep. “We were waiting on some test results and never got them. I kind of lost track of time, I was-” and there he abruptly cut himself off, blushing slightly. “Actually I’ve been trying to get ahold of someone.”
He said it perfectly patiently, but to the doctor it sounded like the kind of patience that was just impatience trying to be polite. With another touch of embarrassment she realized how long they’d been kept waiting. On a slow night, too. Old Thompkins would have been furious.
“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know what could be taking so long. Normally I would get some kind of notice from a technician-”
“Would his name be Morty Drake, by any chance?”
“Well… yes. How did you-”
“Never mind.”
“In any case, I’ll go along to the lab and see if the results are ready.”
“I’ll come with you,” Grayson said, innocently enough but clearly brooking no argument. Something about him seemed slightly on edge.
Kinsolving didn’t feel much like arguing, in any case. She was on edge herself. A little company would not be amiss. She walked briskly and Grayson kept pace with almost insolent ease. He had an undeniable charisma about him; Kinsolving was fairly certain he’d spent the last hour or so flirting with nursing staff.
Come to think of it. Where could Drake have gotten to? The doctor pursed her lips. Some day she was going to have to file a report on that one.
“Here we are,” she said at last. “If you could just hold on out here for a moment.” Grayson nodded obligingly.
Kinsolving poked her head into the lab, entering quietly, not quite tiptoeing. It was surprisingly dark. Too dark for anyone to be working. But she could make out someone sitting in the shadows. Judging from the hairstyle:
“Drake,” she said, relieved but annoyed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
It did not occur to her, in that moment, that Drake was unusually quiet for almost anyone and especially for Drake. It was only as she got closer to him that she began to realize something was wrong. Shondra Kinsolving had been a doctor in Gotham City a long time. She, it must be said, had seen some terrible things- things done by patients, to patients, to doctors, on occasion even by doctors (she still had nightmares about what had happened with Giggling Rendell in Surgery). Nothing had quite prepared her for what had happened to Drake.
It was the smell that reached her first, but she didn’t fully process it until she felt Drake’s shoulder. It squelched. He was soaking wet. And his skin, she could see by the little remaining light, was angry, blistering red, outermost layers peeled and torn away from musculature. Drake had been boiled alive, or drowned; either way his head had been held under scalding hot water- the hydrotherapy tanks, she realized- until he died.
Kinsolving’s hand started to go over her mouth, either to stifle a scream or hold back vomit. She wasn’t sure which. But before her hand could reach her mouth, another one was there. A wet, warm hand with strength like an iron bar. She tried to scream, couldn’t. Thrashed desperately, to no avail. Out of the corner of her eye, through panic, she saw the face of the man behind her, covered in a leathery clown mask of human skin. And she saw, clamped in the other hand, a syringe inching towards her eye, thumb slowly depressing the plunger. It was close now. Closer.
And suddenly the iron grip relaxed, and she could kick free. As she did, she could hear a grunt of surprise and the flapping of pages as a book hit the Shape in the side of its head. Less than a second later the Shape’s legs came out from beneath it, and it plummeted to the floor. She felt something grip her hand, and heard Dick Grayson’s voice. “Come on. Hurry.”
By some miracle her legs began working.
They were nearly out of the room, away from Drake’s mangled body and the nightmare in the clown-skin mask. A short distance that felt like an infinity. She heard a gasp of pain from Grayson, turned around- the Shape, lunging across the floor like an animal, had pulled a scalpel from somewhere, gashed the young man’s leg. A balletic kick to the masked face sent it sprawling once more.
They made it. Out of the room. Safe. No. Not safe.
Sheer survivor instinct was numbing her senses. She could barely comprehend what Grayson was doing as he pulled something- a short metal rod?- from a pocket, and jammed it through the door’s handles.
“What was that thing?” Kinsolving said. Shrieked, really. Her voice was not under her own control.
“Mask’s different. But I’m pretty sure we just met Michael Myers. Serial killer with very messed-up ideas about Halloween pranks.” Grayson said, grimly. He was leaning slightly, sparing a leg; the scalpel must have caught him. Kinsolving half-noticed a second layer of clothing under his jeans as he groped in his pocket.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I… When he stabbed me, I think he somehow got my knife.”
She barely paid attention to that. “Is that going to hold him?!”
Suddenly the door dented outwards. Once. Twice. Again and again. The brace in the handles bent from the strain.
“Smart money says no. Run.Not ideal conditions to be facing an unstoppable serial killer, he reflected, drawing the other one. Not that facing unstoppable serial killers is ideal itself.
Nothing for it. His thumb squeezed a button on a hidden button in the stick’s base, feeling it extend and hum. Not just a stick anymore. Now it was a stun baton. That ought to at least give Myers a headache. There wasn’t much use in getting into costume now. The opportune moment for a dramatic Nightwing entrance was officially past. So, time for another tried-and-true tactic. As the Master said, ‘if your opponent is of bad temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, so that he may grow arrogant.’
“Heeeeey, Mikey Mikey Mikey,” Dick called out, as he moved through the halls. “Didn’t hurt your face too bad, did I? The clown look suits you, by the way.”
He rounded another corner, carefully. Focus. Like Bruce taught you. What can you sense? At the moment, it was the lingering smell of Drake’s boiled flesh. Smelled like guilt. Sorry, Drake. All things considered, you didn’t deserve that. Along with the smell, there was sound-
Dick Grayson whirled out of the way just as a knife, pink-handled and engraved with MAID OF HONOR, stabbed through the air. A nanosecond from piercing his neck, the wicked curved blade gouged straight through the wall next to him. Dick felt his neck muscles tense as he imagined what that blade would have done to him.
He got his first good look at Michael Myers.
The Boogeyman did not look like a knife-wielding lunatic in a pair of coveralls. He looked like a shadow that had come to life, undying hatred in its black, black eyes. The preserved clown-skin mask, wrapped around his head on leather straps, gave his face a nightmare grin, and those black eyes peeked out now through the holes, alive with naked hate. Looking at him.
“Hi, Mike,” Dick breathed.
The Shape, of course, said nothing. But suddenly the knife was moving again, whistling through the air. Dick leapt. As the knife swung wildly he vaulted the monster’s shoulder, running across the wall and landing behind. Pain! lancing through his wounded leg as he hit ground. Ignore.
The stun baton struck Myers once, twice, before Dick flipped backwards out of reach. Just in time; another wild swipe came less than inches from slicing open his belly.
The Shape staggered slightly, only slightly. A hit from the baton should have left even a strong man curled up on the ground in agony. The Shape seemed barely annoyed. Oh, that’s a bad sign. Dick saw the muscles tense. The Shape did his trick well, but it was his only trick- lunge and slash. The day a Flying Grayson couldn’t dodge a knife was the day to hang up the tights.
Again. Alley-oop. Toro! Ole!
This time, ducking down and around, under the knife blow. Another few strong blows with the baton, and something like a grunt of pain this time. Oh, dear. Am I wearing you down?
Again. Again. Avoid the knife, hit him where he was weak. Zap. AGAIN!
The baton had struck Myers no fewer than a dozen times when he/it finally collapsed to one knee, heavy breathing agonized behind the clownface mask. The head dipped, and finally the Shape collapsed to the ground hard enough to shake the hallway. He was beaten.
Dick Grayson sighed. Huh. Okay. Not so tough after all, then. Though for a moment there…
The clown-mask still looked disturbing plastered across Myers’ expressionless face. Dick realized with a start that his hand was reaching out to remove it, almost entirely unbidden by his conscious mind. Time for that later. Get his knife and get some cuffs on him. He undid a spare pair from his belt and reached out, slowly.
Slowly…
He wasn’t sure what alerted him first. Something must have. When Myers stopped playing possum, when he sat upright with mechanical stiffness, he did so fast enough to finally get a good slash in. If Dick hadn’t suddenly sensed it coming it could have been his throat instead of his hand.
He heard himself swear. Felt himself stumble on his wounded leg.
And suddenly the Shape was on its feet and was grabbing him by his jacket, charging forward to pound him into a wall. Dick kept one hand on each of the Shape’s, the one near his throat and the one bringing the knife down at him. The strength was amazing, muscles like steel. Myers slammed him again, twice, vengefully.
Gotta flip him around. Or trip him. Get a foot around his leg-
Somehow Myers sensed his intention. They wriggled, struggled. And before Dick knew what was happening he heard broken glass and felt something sharp brushing his face. He plummeted backwards out the window into the cold night. Falling. Like Mom. Like Dad. Need my grapple.
Only a floor or two up. A short fall. Thought never got the chance to become action. The sickening smack into the ground. The thud against the back of his head, and his vision giving way to blackness.
From the broken window, Myers looked at the ground below, and at Dick Grayson’s quiet, still body sprawled out upon it. He tilted his face, either quizzically or admiringly. This one had surprised him. Come close to defeating him. No worries now. On to the main course. He turned on his heel and stalked for Barbara Gordon’s room.
***
The room was as quiet as a grave. There was not even the sound of footsteps on tile hallway outside, nor was there any creaking as the door opened. It still breezed open, silently, and a horribly patient shadow filled the doorframe. It moved across the floor, still silent, savoring. The low light of the room was simply swallowed up by the shadow, but a small gleam of it glinted off the knife’s blade.
The shadow reached the bedside. The blade rose over the shadow’s head with a terrible slowness, and it struck, plunging deep into the bedclothes. The shadow kept stabbing, almost frantically. And suddenly it stopped. The shadow ripped the bedclothes free and found, not Barbara Gordon’s mutilated body, but a neat line of pillows tucked into the bed. If the Shape felt anything like human emotions, it was probably feeling rage, now...
And down the dark hallway, struggling to crank the handrims both quickly and quietly and keep her breathing steady at the same time, Barbara Gordon was making for the elevator.
Come on come on come on come on.
Maybe the bad dreams had awakened her to the sounds of fighting. Or maybe the fighting itself had awakened her. Either way, the second she was awake, Barbara had been aware that something was wrong. Every instinct in her being screamed at her to run. After a quick push of the nurse call button had failed to raise anyone, she felt inclined to listen to instinct.
Come on come on come on come on. Why the FUCK didn’t I grab my phone? It was still in the pocket of her jeans, back in the room. It had seemed like too much wasted time to retrieve it as she fled. Now she was cursing herself. Phones on the wall. Stop to make a quick call?
Barbara turned her head over her shoulder. Someone was behind her. Something. Some Shape. Different from what she remembered, but horrifyingly unmistakeable.
Nope. No stopping. Barbara’s arms, raked with muscle, began working the handrims even faster. And Michael Myers, with his terrible patient determination, followed.
The elevator was at the end of the hall. Myers was moving slowly, toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Somehow the space of that single hallway seemed to stretch on for an eternity. She dared another glance over her shoulder.
In the half-light she saw Myers was no longer wearing the mask she remembered from those years ago. The pale emotionless face with the ratty hair and black hole eyes was now a tattered, lined clown face, ugly red lips drawn taut in a hideous grin. She had seen a face like that before, leering at her before a hammer pulled back and a trigger was pulled-
Her breath was in her throat again. Just go. Fast as you can. Just go. Just go. Come on come on come ON.
It seemed miraculous that she reached the elevator, almost unreal. Primed for flight, Barbara’s mind barely processed the corpse of the nurse stuffed in, limbs twisted and back bent backwards. The name tag read “Asa.” Don’t think about it. For now, survive.
She leaned overthe arm of the chair, hand slamming against a button almost at random. Ground floor. Most space to run. She hit it again. Again. Again again again. The clown-faced Shape was still striding towards her. The empty eyes, the malicious grin. Close close close come on come on COME ON. He was nearly on her.
The doors slid shut with barely a second to spare, and Barbara heard a hand slam against it furiously. About an eternity later, Barbara felt the elevator descend, and her heart begin to beat normally. The immediate fight-or-flight fear ebbed away, replaced with a sick, horrified feeling for the dead nurse she was sharing an elevator with. Dick, she thought, suddenly. Have to find him. He could be- no. He’s still alive. Find him. No. Prioritize. First get help. This fight isn’t on your terms. So first get help. Easy-peasy. Nearly there, in fact. You’re on the home stretch.
***
Michael Myers, normally silent, grunted with effort behind his new mask. His fingers jammed between the sliding doors of the elevator like crowbars. His muscles strained. The interlock groaned from the effort, then deformed, and, finally, with strength that was beyond freakish, Michael Myers pulled the doors apart. There was a heavy, sick breathing as the black eyes watched the cables of the elevator. Then, with swift and terrible movement, Michael Myers raised his knife and sliced through the cables.

I (44 M) have always been a weak and timid person. I was palpably small in size, quite thin and delicately-built, hence I always got bullied and harrassed by all my peers, especially in college, most men were bigger and stronger than me. Growing up with abuse, I grew to fear all men (especially the ones who were well-built, they came across as very intimidating to me) and avoided them as much as possible. I was very uncomfortable in an all-male setting and always looked for women to be in the mix. I have gone through life with a rather constant feeling of dread and fear. I walked down the streets differently than my peers. I would park my car near lights, avoid poorly-lit basement parkings, I would watch other people when I was walking, avoid desolate streets and I was always aware of potential threats. At times, I found myself wishing I had a strong masculine figure, such as a brother, to be there with me who could protect me and take me under his wings
When my son grew up to become quite big in size and strength, I somehow started viewing him as that figure who could protect me. Despite being a teenager, still in his adolescence (19 M), he was visibly strong, muscularly-built. He was nothing like me, contrasted me completely. While I have always been treated unfairly (even abused) and people walked all over me and I tolerated all of it because I was too scared to confront men or stand up for myself, he's someone who will never tolerate even the slightest of injustice and is always the one to take charge of the situation. I sensed his competence to rise to an occasion. He was also very caring and sensitive, was very mature for his age and exuded robust capability to protect and provide. He started being protective towards me and my wife (his mother).
For a long time, I have faced groping and inappropriate touching by male passengers in public transport - the city trains. It happened many times and every time I was left frightened. But I had no choice but to commute again because my work demanded me to. I suffered silently because I was ashamed to disclose it to anyone. My daily commute to work was nothing less than a nightmare. I was trampled, mauled and constantly pushed around. Tired of daily nightmarish experiences, I floated this thought that my son and I could commute together since we travelled at almost the same time and same route because his college was a stone's throw distance from my workplace. That's where it all started and I ended up requesting him nearly every day. Initially it was just the drop off in the mornings, but eventually I even started requesting him to come and pick me up in the evenings adjusting his schedule. He started sensing my fear towards males and also saw me getting trampled and struggling to navigate through the crowded trains on my own. He started helping me and we ended up having a tacit understanding that he has to provide me a drop-off and pick up every day and hand-hold me through the crowds shielding me from prowlers. Over a period of time, his body language became quite evident that he viewed me as weak and fragile and had placed me under his protection, not just for my workplace commute but for every aspect of life. This arrangement and understanding is a secret from everyone, especially my wife.
There are times when I feel alarmed at the rate at which I am getting dependent on him for my most basic needs. I fear that I will end up overburdening him at this young age. A role-reversal has already happened unfortunately and I am looking up to him more and more as a nurturing and protective figure while in reality I should be the nurturing figure to him. The fact that I am living a sheltered life in the safety of a teenaged boy makes me feel emasculated. Further, I am very worried that I am parentifying him and possibly ruining his youth. Due to my incompetencies, he has to invest a lot of time shouldering my responsibility, a time which he would have otherwise invested in social and academic pursuits. He never complains, acts like a responsible adult. He invests a lot of time in ferrying me everyday and manages all this along with his studies. Whenever I broach this subject, he says that he will always find time for me because safety comes first, rest everything next. Sometimes, I do worry about exposing him to a possible threatening situation but at the same time, I am also convinced about his physical formidability, because despite being adolescent, he's heavily-built, enough to intimidate even a fully-grown adult. In fact our physical contrast has been attracting ill-humored comments from our relatives and friends.
I have tried a lot to become independent, but I am finding it impossible. Every time I go out there on the menacing streets, I get so frightened that I end up running back to the safety of my son's refuge. While I am placed in the safety of my son, the same menacing streets and crowded public transport appear different, it appears safe and I feel confident to walk the same space as my peers. When he's around, it feels like the load is off me and I am not required to worry about anything or what to do next. In his hands, my life has literally completely transformed. Maybe it's just my perception, but I have actually noticed a difference in other people's attitude towards me. People don't infantilize me or don't treat me unfairly when they see me with a big strong male. When he's around, all my worries disappear. His sheer familiarity makes me calm, it is a very soothing and relieving feeling, it is like coming home. Also the fact that I am getting protection from a close kin ensures that my vulnerability is not known to any outsider. For a very long time, I have lived my life with a constant dread and in abject fear – fear of being vulnerable to all men, fear of being picked off a desolate street and raped, fear of being bullied, fear of being treated unfairly, fear of unwanted fondling in public transport. Honestly I don’t want it anymore in my life. It's just that I have suffered for so long, that now I am desperate to seek a sheltered life even if that means going through the humiliation of role-reversal with my son
I am worried
Please advise

The world is such an unsafe place for women and when women do have the courage to speak up, they are shut down and their feelings and experiences are invalidated.
I recently posted about being assaulted in Naples and was attacked by multiple men (and women) saying how I misinterpreted the situation or how it must have been my fault. I have been personally messaged by guys telling me I'm playing the sad victim looking to just get attention and have ppl feel sad for me when I literally just posted to let people know abt something that happened to me despite taking all precautions and in broad daylight. I have been messaged by men saying what happened is a result of my actions because I chose to travel alone, stay in hostels, that I must have no father figure (???) based on how I am acting, that it was okay for the stranger to kiss me and at least he didn't rape me, or that I should have just "kissed him back" to give him what he wants to leave me alone.
People, WHY are we victim blaming here? People say they're not victim blaming but then go ahead and do. I've had women even tell me that it must be my fault that it's happened so many times and that "they didn't experience even though they went to X, Y, and Z. But there are SO many different variables here with each women. Some men only target women that are young, those that are alone, those that are showing skin which they can't resist, or it's simply just a woman they wanna fuck. Why are women bringing down women and failing to realize that all this shit happens to women even though it may not have happened to you? I have had so many women message and tell me that they saw a sudden shift in this when they got to their 30s. I myself have noticed that I am only harassed when I am alone. The days that I travel with a girl I met at my hostel - those days are totally fine. Not even a catcall. But on other days - in the same cities, same clothes, same everything, I have been harassed like catcalled, groped, held inappropriately, or assaulted. The only variable between all the times I was harassed and not harassed was whether I was alone or not.
Also, saying "it's part of the culture" is just insane to say because I've also had both men and women question whether it was assault or not. But I'd like to point out - sure you may hug and greet friends and family or people you have been talking to, but you don't just go up to a stranger and hug and kiss them. And before anyone goes telling me this is just italian culture, please know that I've met multiple italian men along my trip whom I've still met with and they have also agreed this is not normal. A no means no. You don't force yourself onto or hold a women close to you against her will when she is literally telling you to stop.
On top of all this, it feels as though the a lot of the world and our entire legal system is just against women. There is the whole 10 second grope law. Pepper spray is bannned in so many countries, making it harder for women to fight off men because let's be honest, women are physically weaker than men and just telling them (as I have been told multiple times) to learn self defense isn't the solution. I would feel so much safer being able to walk around with pepper spray. Yet I know that if I use it in my country as self defense I could be jailed. Men also just fail to fucking realize that women don't have it the same when it comes to traveling and just existing in this world. I've had conversations with multiple men who tried to persuade me that I'm gonna have the same experiences as them and be safe doing things they did because it was okay for them. Why can't men realize we face a different reality?? We don't have the privilege of being able to walk alone at night, travel alone, dress how we want without feeling violated or attacked for when we are violated saying it was our fault. We can't just go trekking or biking along countryside and do all these trips we want to because we have created a world which is unsafe for women. It is to the point where a woman even telling her personal experiences is rebutaled with "you did something wrong" or "oh this country is safer for women than xyz". I've had women come at me with stats saying how the country I got assaulted in has low crimes but what they don't see is the number of incidents that go unreported.
I am sick and tired of all this and I just wish there was something we could all do to make this world a better place for women. To make it so that the law and the system is on our side. To make it so that women aren't afraid to speak up due to the backlash they may receive. To make it so that we can walk somewhere or go somewhere without being in imminent fear that something bad is going to happen to us.
TLDR: Sharing my assault experiences while traveling alone. I faced victim-blaming and invalidation from both men and women. Despite taking precautions, I was told it was my fault for traveling alone and being harassed. Victim-blaming culture is rampant, fueled by misconceptions and excuses like "it's part of the culture." The legal system often fails women, with laws like the 10-second grope rule and bans on pepper spray. Men need to acknowledge the unique dangers women face and not go against and actually take the time to understand us when we so speak out rather than saying "it's more unsafe for men".
EDIT: The issue is not that culture. I am okay with that greeting. I have done that with men before in that culture. The issue is me telling the man to get off me and physically removing myself from the situation yet he still wouldn't let go of me and instead held me tighter when I tried to leave. I am also not saying we have progressed so all those men telling me about the time when it was worse for women or places that are still bad, are completely missing the point. Just because it got better doesn't mean it is good. It is still not acceptable.
ALSO: Not that it should matter but it was not a lonely ass empty street. It was 4 pm. I was literally 5 seconds away from crowds. You could literally see the crowds. I'm not dumb enough to go walking on a lonely ass empty side street if it looks and feels unsafe. I have had far too many bad experiences with men to do that. Men that continue to argue with women and try and tell them that their experiences are exaggerated or that "men have it just as bad" are just shallow minded and never gonna fucking try to even understand how we live in this world.

Hi everyone My name is shirali 48 married. Son 22 daughter 21.
I was born to a Coorgi mother and a Tamil father. So my features were mixed with glass skin cat eyes and smooth body 38 30 36 D cup bra and L panty. Take the Omphie bust.
I was used by some relatives and neighbors both boys and girls during school time.
Even now my urges increase and I indulge in deliberately seducing others and I am happy when people look at me.
Mostly I wear casual clothes to work. I work in advertising marketing and my job involves many meetings with clients and office or client parties.
My husband owns a luxury car dealership abroad, he rarely visits or calls us. So I don't have to worry about the future.
Childhood
I was 5.4 feet tall in the school and had an athletic body and played many sports including cricket and tennis.
It got me involved with the boys at school and local sports clubs. The boy drooled as my breasts bounced as I ran. They grabbed me by my nipple pokies on my sports shirt sticking out. I used to wear sleeveless tops that showed off my cleavage and areolas while playing tennis.
Every week I clean my son's room Although he occasionally cleans my son's room, the maids do the other rooms. I realized he was staring at my hanging breasts without a bra
The next week I caught him downloading porn and he subscribed to live porn sites. I was surprised to find that he also subscribed to incest porn sites, although a common trait for boys. And a lot of money was transferred from his bank to many women of my age I wondered why he dated older women more than younger ones. I was praying that he should not have sex with them. Fortunately, I was relieved to know the reason later.
A vdo made me freeze in which a mom and son incest. Though I thought it is doable for the moment I thought it's not normal and unrealistic.
That made me think about behavior of young boys towards aunties like me. I started noticing my son's friends behavior with me. So far I never felt bad when they shook hands or embrace speck a kiss during celebrations like birthdays etc.
One day I overheard a conversation of boys boasting about their misdemeanors in public busses and trains with women. How they grope rub flash in public. It induced me to take a bus or train ride to see what really happens. So one day I took a train ride in general compartment. I found majority were men and very few ladies.
I was eager to see any male making advances to some female. After 30mins of travel everything was normal and nothing happened. I got bored and decided to get down at next stop.
As I was about to exit the compartment a middle aged female who was wearing sleazy dress gaudy makeup strong perfume entered the compartment and immediately most men were goring her with their eyes. So I stayed back to watch what happens.
A 50 something man got up from his seat and it to her and other men were ogling at her. He asked her which station does she want to get down and the lady answered with a slur some station. He said that he is also alighting at same which seemed far off. She replied in local accent without diction, telling him share the seat. The man glowed and addressed her as Madam n thanked her n sat along with her. As I wanted to see what happens, I got up my seat went to a girl who was seated opposite the lady n man told the girl to take my seat and offer me her seat she obliged.
Sitting in front of them I observed both of them very keenly. The told her something which was not audible and immediately the female laughed loud and told him to give 3000 rupees in an incoherent speech which made me think she is drunk. The agreed by nodding and she immediately started squeezing his crotch in public to which the man never objected. By the time some the train stopped they both got off the train holding each other's waists.
I got aroused seeing this and took a bus ride the same evening in a transparent lowest waist saree low cut sleeveless blouse in full makeup. The bus conductor asked me for ticket I told him that I get down at last stop. While he gave the ticked he held my hand and scratched his nail on my palm. I kept aloof as he is on duty but he kept on walking past me and brushing his body against mine whenever possible until the bus got crowded. I stood holding a a railing atop one by my right side. This made every male in the bus who got down had to ask me for passage. Heat n humidity made my bra n erect pokies visible. After a while I felt someone almost on me in the crowd brushing their body on mine. I got wet in between my thighs to know that 3 men, one ahead one by side one more on my back were rubbing on me. By the time I could move the man facing me groped my breasts and started to squeeze it. My erect nipples pained by it but he continued to my pleasure. I felt erect cock rubbing my ass from behind and another hand kneading my butts. I felt drugged bliss by three on me at once closed my eyes and relishing the moment.
The man in front took my hand to his dick area. I was shocked when I touched his dick going naked for me in a bus throbbing in my palm. I cud feel his sweaty cock and a mild odor emanating which made me pump him vigorously till he leaked in my palm. Without shame it took it to my nose smelt and licked it too.
I took regular bus rides during peak hours in the crowd.
Contd

Anyone who thinks traveling (or just traveling and honestly just existing) for women isn't hard - I urge you to think about the millions of women who face harassment. I myself have been either sexually assaulted, harassed, groped, catcalled heavily or followed in: Madrid, Barcelona, Paris, Brussels, Toronto, Waterloo, London, Lisbon, Rome, and Naples. I was recently assaulted in Naples and posted about it to let people (esp women) know what can happen and instead I received messages from tons of men telling me I'm "playing a sad victim" and that I'm crying about it (I was literally hugged, groped, and kissed today by a total stranger on the street while walking)
It's not easy being a woman and still enjoying things worry free like men can and it sucks we've created a culture and a world where this is prevalent. I'm not saying men don't have to be worried about solo travelling, but women have to be worried about everything men do AND assault on top of that. It's to the point where I can't even go out at night when I have paid to travel to cities, or go to famous landmarks, or bars/clubs, or even take public transport at night.
On top of that, things like pepper spray and such are illegal in so many countries and harming the other person (as self defence) may even result in the woman being punished if the law deems so. But we need to understand that women cannot defend themselves like men can in situations such as being attacked. We are simply not that strong physically. I know for a fact that I and many other women cannot get a man off us if we tried to. So why are we expecting the same "self defense" efforts from men and women? Knowing that using a pepper spray will get me in trouble with the law but the man who raped me can walk away if proven innocent blows my mind.
I'm tired of following endless precautions yet still being targeted for things like this and assaulted. People are always blaming women too like "oh you must've dressed wrong" or "you must have smiled at him" and if not blaming women, people will only be giving tips out on what women can do to make sure that they are not assaulted. But WHY are we pinning everything on women and making it their responsibility? Why can't we teach guys that this is not okay by having stringent laws and punishments and just realizing the human factor when it comes to making laws regarding "self defense" because unfortunately, women are physically weaker.
I'm tired of hearing that "this is the culture with [ ] men" or that my clothes made it seem like "I wanted it". Traveling and just this world seems unfair for women and men need to acknowledge their privilege and advocate for changes too. It isn't cool if your buddy assaults me and then you just laugh as if it wasn't a big deal. It isn't cool for you to say that I just shouldn't travel if it's like this. It isn't cool for you to assume that anything I did caused this.

This will be my first time visiting the Philippines for 5D4N on the way to visit my home country (Korea). Before I book my flights and hotels, I have a few questions:

1. Hotels around the airport (NAIA).

Right now, I am looking at Hyatt Regency, unless there are other recommendations around the area preferably cheaper and of decent quality?

1. Airport staff/security.

I will be travelling with a film camera and a bunch of 35mm rolls. In most countries that I've been to, I usually ask the airport securty to hand-check my film because the x-ray scanners might damage it. I was wondering if there's a policy that is similar to the TSA in the US where you are allowed to request a hand-check on your film. Or is it up to the airport staff's discretion? IF this is not possible, are there any physical stores that sell 35mm film locally (preferrably around the airport area)?

1. General courtesy and respecting the local customs/culture.

I will be taking a lot of pictures of the place, the streets, and the people in it. My Filipino friends tell me that most people are very friendly and nice, but better safe than sorry. I will be shooting in film, and if a person that is in the frame comes up to me and asks me to delete the photo, that would be impossible. Is it frowned upon to take candid shots of people on the streets? Any law-based restrictions? Also, I am somewhat young. Are there any age-based customs that I need to be mindful of? General dos and don'ts to not antagonize the locals?

1. Food/restaurants/night life recommendations.

Mostly going on this side trip blind, so I will need recommendations. My friends have already given me a few mainstream touristy places to try, but I was wondering if there are any places that are lesser known or "only the locals know" around the area? Also night life, any cool places that has a nice view and good drinks for night time relaxation (no loud dance music, no dance floors, just good views and drinks)?

1. Transportation.

I was adviced to NOT rent a car because apparently driving there is not very pleasant. And I'm totally on-board with that idea. I really want and prefer to go around the area on public transportation to feel like I'm actually in there. I was told to just use the Grab app for transportation, but I really want to ride a jeepney at least once for experience.
My Filipino friends told me that if I really really want to, I must follow these: don't wear jewelry, wear enough clothing you might get groped, don't bring your camera, dont bring your purse just bring enough cash, hold on to your phone like your life depends on it. They told me to do all that, and just use Grab back to my hotel, get everything I need and proceed on my day. I don't want to waste my time going back and forth, and I don't believe it is that bad. Is this real advice? Or are my friends exaggerating?

1. General safety guidelines.

My friends have given me a lot of precautions and warnings (almost excessive imo) about travelling to the Philippines. I understand where they are coming from because I (22 F) am traveling to a foreign country alone and I don't speak the local language, but I feel like they are exaggerating a little bit. I am very extroverted and friendly. I like socializing and talking to the locals in my travels because I think that makes the trip so much more fun. BUT my friends told me to tone it down and to watch myself.
Basically I was told: dont be too trusting, dont be too friendly and touchy to the men, watch your words they might misunderstand you.
How do I interact with the locals safely? What are the general telltale or known behaviour for scammers? (I was reading Philippines today and it seems like there are a lot of random scams going on?)

I (27F) met this guy (32M) on a dating app recently… and I felt like I manifested him.
He was so intentional and caring in his pursuit of me. Super attractive. Smart and spiritual. And he checked off a lot of my other boxes.
We had our first date about a week after connecting, and it was great. We spent like 3 hours talking and getting to know each other. During that time, I learned that we had been in similar professional circles and knew a handful of the same people — despite never meeting. I also learned that he didn’t drink.
Before I left, he asked if we could set up our next date. So we did … and even though he didn’t kiss me, he verbalized after the fact that he was attracted to me and that when it came to physical intimacy — he wouldn’t do anything until I gave him persmission.
The next day, we’re talking on the phone like lovebirds — and he ends up asking me out again for an impromptu casual hang (think ice cream or coffee) the following day. Normally, I wouldn’t see someone so soon after connecting with them, but it was really cute the way he asked and I was really excited about him.
It was then that I called my guy friend who knew him and asked about him — he couldn’t really tell me much except that the guy was independently wealthy and was known for traveling and tricking off — so he advised me to take things slow and be careful.
Our second date was wonderful — it ended up being so romantic like fresh out of a movie or something. He gave me a long hug and kinda gripped my neck as he made a joke about how he’s “still not gonna kiss me”. I laughed along saying that he didn’t have permission yet but come our next date (that we had already set up) I’ll be ready.
Our third date didn’t go super perfect — I showed up an hour late despite pushing the time back multiple times. He was pretty peeved but in that moment I got to see how he handles conflict — he sat me down, we talked about it, and then he gave me a hug. It was honestly a perfect way to handle that and it made me like him more. Instead of moving forward with the plans we made, we went to a local juice bar and chatted and then we went back to his place and cuddled. As it started to get late, I asked him to spend the night, given that I had a morning obligation nearby. He agreed and we talked over boundaries — I told him he was allowed to kiss me but no sex. He asked if he was allowed to grope me or touch my booty — and I told him he could.
Later, I’m in his bed in my body suit — after taking off my make up and brushing my teeth. I could tell he liked the sight of my ass but he didn’t comment on that.
He followed a really strict bedtime routine and once we were in bed it appeared that we were just gonna go to sleep. So I jokingly asked if we were just going to go to sleep? “No smooches?”
He laughed and instructed me to lay a certain way so I could cuddle him. I did and eventually we fell asleep. I turned over after that and went to bed — I was awoken in the morning because he had asked me to change positions cuz I guess I was snoring.
He woke me up again once it got close to the time I said I needed to leave the night before. I jumped up, got dressed, gave him a hug and left. Again, no kiss — even though it’s clear he “has permission” or whatever.
And our communication hasn’t been the same since. I was trying not to think too much about it. After all, we’d only known each other for a week — and to see each other three times in one week is kind of a lot. So I figured it was natural to want space but as this second week of knowing him has gone by… I wonder if he’s decided to pull away. Earlier in the week, he was pretty responsive albeit taking a 12-24 hours to respond. At first he was apologetic and said he was busy working, but I told him I trusted that he’d respond when he had time. He told me he appreciated me understanding.
But yesterday, I told him that I missed him in a cute/playful way and got no response at all. I’m taking that to mean that he’s decided that he doesn’t want to pursue me after all. I don’t know if that’s really true because before I sent the message he had said he was on his way to large event.
Anyways the change in pattern is eating at me because I really liked him and wanted this to work out in some way. I’m not saying I thought we’d get married but I at least wanted to explore where this could go.
Idk what I did that was so wrong where we wouldn’t have a conversation. It’s bringing up a lot of insecurity and fear of rejection. Am I overthinking all of this?
If you agree that it sounds like he’s not interested in me anymore, can you provide some words of wisdom? Especially when it comes to coping? I’m journaling, praying, meditating and more but my heart hurts. And I know that’s ridiculous cuz I barely know this man.
I know it sounds so silly and insecure but I was excited about finally being excited about someone who appeared to like me back. For whatever reason, I have a pattern of dating guys who like me very much but I feel a bit more ambivalent. This felt passionate despite the lack of physical intimacy.

As the ball lightning soared towards me, I came to life. It soared through the air with the speed of a cannonball. I heard the screams of Bear and Stephanie behind me, but it all sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. I jumped to the side, but it was far too late. The glowing ball of energy seared the flesh on my right arm. I smelled my skin cooking in its own fats. I landed on the ground as a bolt of agony shot through my body.
Bear had reloaded and sprinted forward towards the broken body of the creature. I raised my head and saw with horror that it had already started to heal. Tiny black veins like worms stuck out of the wounds on the creature’s head and legs, restitching the repulsive bony growths that composed its exoskeleton. They jumped and danced as they worked, the rounded ends of their tiny, leech-like heads performing a miracle before our very eyes.
The dark, fetid blood that gushed from the abomination on the ground had also started to slow significantly. As Bear ran towards it, I saw with horror that it had begun to try to push itself back up on its still-healing, shattered legs. It failed, stumbling like a baby deer taking its first steps, but I knew at the rate it was healing that it wouldn’t be long until its wounds were fully mended.
As Bear raised his .45 ACP pistol, ready to try to blow the creature away again, more green light began to form around its mouth and luminescent eyes. While Bear was preparing to fire at it, it had been preparing its own weapons in return.
Bear shot it point-blank in the face as pieces of the mass of light rippled into a cyclone. The bullet entered through its right eye. Like a jack-o-lantern being smashed, light poured from its ruined skull. The back of its head fragmented as bone splinters and pieces of flesh splattered the stone ground underneath it. The green light disintegrated. It felt like a flashbang had gone off. I was blinded by the overwhelming light that poured from its destroyed body. I also noticed a strange combination of smells- ozone mixed with the fetid reek of a slaughterhouse.
Bear stood there, panting heavily, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. He looked down at the abomination on the ground. New veins and tendrils the size of a pencil reached out like fingers through the massive hole in its face. I looked down at my arm, wincing as I saw the deep wound. There was a charred, blackened spot about the size of an egg surrounded by patches of angry red tissue that spread out like groping fingers.
“How do we kill it?” I screamed, ignoring the pain. “What if it just keeps regenerating?”
“We should cut off its head,” Stephanie said calmly, a steely gleam in her eye. “Cut off its head and move it far away from the body, so that way they can’t rejoin.” She slung her backpack around and came up with a gleaming buck knife, its freshly-sharpened blade keen enough to shave with.
The creature still lived somehow. It had gone into some sort of seizure, kicking its thick, vampiric legs in violent jerking motions. I noticed it had thirteen fingers and thirteen toes, all crooked and inhumanly long. Sharp black claws grew out of the ends. It shook its head violently from side to side as if it were saying “No”, spattering its dark blood all over the floor and walls. I noticed how its blood glistened in the beam of the flashlights. It shone with oil rainspots, an iridescent pattern of colors gleaming as it streamed from the creature’s broken head.
“Are you sure?” Bear said, still hyperventilating. He looked at Stephanie standing there with the buck knife as if he had never seen her before. I must have given her a similar look. She had a sadistic pleasure in her eyes as she nodded grimly. She stood over the abomination’s writhing body, each one of her feet planted firmly on a side of its head, like a boxer standing victorious over his opponent after a knockout.
Bear and I each stood on one of the creature’s wrists so it couldn’t claw Stephanie out as she completed her grisly task. She knelt down, inhaling deeply. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the blade into the thing’s twitching neck. It gave an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as it spewed black blood like a fountain. Its jaw unhinged, and the dark blood flowed out of the center of the green electricity like a waterfall descending from an impenetrable mist.
But Stephanie kept cutting and slicing, her face a grim mask of determination. I heard a rending sound as its flesh tore. She had a problem with the spine, but, at least by that point, all the flesh had been sliced through and its movements had ceased. Its chest still rose and fell erratically. It gurgled as it choked on its own blood.
“Here, let me help,” Bear said, pushing her aside. With his thick arms, he twisted the creature’s head, which now only remained connected to its body by the vertebrae and a thin layer of gore around it. With a sound like a tree branch snapping, the head separated from the body. The green light brightened, faded to nothingness, then came back weakly for a moment before finally disappearing forever.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.
***
Bear held the decapitated head in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. The nightmarish visage seemed to stare up at him accusingly, the empty holes of eye sockets sunken and black in the bony face.
“What are we going to do with this?” Bear asked, shaking the ugly bastard for emphasis. I shrugged.
“Use it as a soccer ball, I guess…” I started to say jokingly, but my voice cut off as a soft, angelic singing reverberated down the hall. It was singing in some language I had never heard before, a resonant, humming language that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
As the singing abruptly cut off, a figure came around the curving street. I saw it hovering over the ground. Enormous, leathery wings spread out on both sides of its body, extending fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. They ended in sharp points like the wings of a bat. Narrow bones ran along the lengths of the wings, supporting the dark webbing.
It wore a black satin robe with the hood pulled back. When I saw what it revealed, I gasped.
Its head was twisted around 180 degrees. The skin on the neck spiraled around in purple bruises. In the place of hair, it had dozens of writhing, black eel creatures with circular white eyes and dripping fangs. They snapped at each other like wolves fighting over food.
I watched as the approaching figure hovered towards us, feeling slightly hypnotized as the creature bobbed up and down like a buoy on a lake. It moved in a smooth, elegant way.
I stood there in a daze, hoping it would finish its song. I wanted so badly to hear that beautiful voice again. I glanced over at Bear and Stephanie. They both stared in open-mouthed wonder, Bear still clutching the decapitated head of the abomination under one arm.
But that little voice in the back of my head quickly pulled me out of my reverie as I realized that this was the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death glid through the air, its skeletal feet hovering a few inches above the ground. It would fall and rise slightly as it moved. As it got closer to us, the eel-like creatures growing from its scalp started to get more violent, snapping and gnashing their sharp teeth on the empty air, their jaws clacking together with a sound like a gunshot.
Stephanie was actually the first one to break out of the trance. She whispered as if afraid to draw the attention of the angelic abomination.
“There was a rule about this,” she hissed at us under her breath. “We need to cut ourselves and give an offering of blood.” I jerked like a man waking from a nightmare. The Angel of Death had closed in on us now, its face still looking away from us. But I knew without a doubt that it sensed our presence and had likely known we were there for a while.
As if to show us how it was done, Stephanie pulled her folding knife from her pocket and slid it across her palm, opening up a narrow slice that instantly began bubbling up with thin rivulets of blood. She held it up, letting it stream down her arm as the angel got within a few steps of us.
Bear and I quickly followed suit, flicking open our knives and raising our hands. I felt a quick, burning pain as I drew the knife across my palm, holding it up as the eel creatures snapped and hissed. Then she stopped, and the strange snake-like beings growing from her head went quiet. For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence seemed absolute.
“What do you seek?” she gurgled in a low, slowed-down voice. “Why do you foul this holy site with your mortal bodies?” I wondered how she saw us, unless she was able to see and feel through the eels emerging from her scalp. Actually, the more I thought about that, the more likely it seemed. If true, it meant she would be able to see in all directions at once. I imagined no one would ever sneak up on the Angel of Death- as if anyone would ever want to.
“We… we came here by accident,” Stephanie stuttered, stepping forwards as she spoke. “We seek a way out.” The angel went quiet for a long moment. The white cataract eyes on the eel creatures seemed to regard us with a strange intensity.
“What is that delicious offering under your arm, Son of Adam?” she asked. For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or Bear. But the eel’s blank white eyes all focused on Bear, snapping to attention like dogs begging for a treat. They stopped their writhing and gnashing, going very still and looking at him for a long moment. I glanced over and saw he still held the decapitated head from the Mark of Cain abomination. He hesitated, looking uncertain. I nodded at him, urging him on. He held the head up high above his head.
“It is for you,” he said in a diffident voice. “We brought it for you as well as our offerings of blood.” The Angel of Death spun around, revealing a skeletal face with worms and larvae eating away at the rotting chunks of flesh still stuck to her cheeks and chin. Her eyes glowed with an inner white illumination like two pale stars spinning in the void. There were no physical eyes in her head, only these strobing and pulsing pits of blinding light.
“It smells… delicious,” she admitted, floating forwards slowly. Her decaying skull of a head drew within inches of Bear’s face. He flinched away, blinking rapidly. I could see him breathing fast as trickles of sweat ran down his face. I could smell the Angel of Death as she drew near- a smell like old leather and rancid meat. But underneath that, there was a sweet, pleasant odor, like an undertone of lavender.
“Your offerings are accepted. I will grant you a single boon for this,” the Angel of Death gurgled in a deep voice. She bent her face towards Bear’s bleeding hand and stuck her black tongue out. I looked at it with horror, seeing its putrefying sores and necrotic tissue. She used the fetid, rotting thing to lick the blood from his palm and wrist. I saw Bear shudder and go pale as her tongue ran over his skin. Then she went to Stephanie, repeating the bizarre ritual. Stephanie didn’t show a scrap of emotion during it, however. Then finally, the Angel of Death came to me.
Her tongue felt cold and soggy against my bleeding skin. Small pieces of the decomposing flesh and larvae were left on my wrist and hand as she moved up and down, sucking the blood caressingly, almost like a lover. I repressed an urge to vomit. My stomach did flips. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, spinning around and putting her claw-like hands out to Bear.
“Your tribute,” she demanded. Reluctantly, he gave her the head. Her arms bent backwards in a way that no human arm should bend, twisting and popping with soft cracking sounds. She threw the decapitated head up to the eel creatures growing from her scalp. They cracked open the bony exoskeleton with a sound like a walnut shell breaking open. It revealed the spongy, pink flesh underneath. It seemed infused with some kind of green growth, almost like tendrils of mold that ate its way through its brain and muscles. The eels quickly stripped it clean, sticking their pointy snouts in and snapping up the meat with rabid hunger.
“Mmmmm,” the Angel of Death said in a resonant voice that made her sound almost human. It was as if she could taste the meat and blood that the eel creatures stripped from the decapitated head. Perhaps she could. A chill ran down my spine.
After they had finished stripping the meat from the offering, their gnashing and writhing calmed down. She turned her face back to us and I saw, to my horror, that the offerings of blood and meat had revitalized her skeletal face somewhat. It now had fresh growths of pink skin around her cheeks, mouth and eyes. I heard Bear and Stephanie gasp in unison as they saw her regenerating face.
“Your boon,” she demanded impatiently, the bones now almost covered with new growths of skin that spread out over the rotten flesh underneath. I looked at Bear. He instantly nodded. We were all on the same page without having to speak it aloud.
“We want to know the way out,” Bear said, stepping forward and speaking in a loud voice. “We want to return home.” The Angel of Death nodded as if expecting this, the eel-like creatures on her head drooping lazily as if they were tired after their meal.
“The only way out is farther in, through the center,” she said. “But the true king of the bottomless pit will not let you pass without a struggle. His name is Abaddon, and he is a demon of the worst kind. His kind has always been against mine- since beginningless time, we have fought. For the followers of Abaddon wish to bring about the Apocalypse. They wish to unleash God from the bottomless pit, so that he can destroy his creation before fading into oblivion. They believe that, when the universe topples, they will become gods themselves. I believe Abaddon is insane, however. I do not know who promised him godhood, unless he promised it to himself.”
“And we must not look at his face, right?” I said, smirking. The Angel of Death nodded.
“Mortals must not gaze upon the face of Abaddon. It will melt the flesh off your bones if you do. There are things in the dark that are not meant to be seen by human eyes.”
***
As the Angel of Death led us farther down into the pit, past more ancient towers and statues of angels with cruel, arrogant faces, I heard something far away. It sounded like people shouting and guns firing.
The Angel of Death floated above the ground in front of us, her backwards face always staring at us. It gave me the creeps. Her eyes never seemed to blink, and every time I looked up, I always found her staring right at me.
After a few minutes of traveling, she pointed to a dark side street with a long, skeletal finger. The stone road ran steeply down into darkness. It looked slick with moisture, and I saw a small subterranean stream flowing down the side of it. But as I looked closer, I realized the stream wasn’t water at all. The smell of copper and iron in the air was overwhelming as I knelt down, running a finger through it and pulling it up to see the red stain it left.
“Is this blood?” I asked, horrified. The Angel of Death did not answer me, but only continued to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes.
“The center is further down. Follow this road until the end. I wish you good luck, but I think I will see some of you again very soon. The last sands are flowing through your hourglass as we speak. So it is with mortals. Weak, pitiful things, they are. A mere breath of my power could destroy all three of you in an instant.” I couldn’t tell who she was looking at when she spoke these words, but they filled my heart with a sense of dread.
She drifted away slowly, almost lazily, hovering above the ground as she rose and fell in gentle waves, bobbing like a leaf in the wind. Within a few seconds, she had turned back down towards the dead city of Bloodstone, population zero.
***
We quickly realized the source of the shouting and gunshots when some agents dressed in gas masks and tactical black SWAT uniforms sprinted towards us. They all had automatic rifles as well as dark green M67 fragmentation grenades attached to their belts.
They froze when they saw us, but they didn’t raise their guns. Their leader walked forwards, hesitantly looking each of us up and down without speaking.
“Sir?” one of the soldiers finally asked in the back after a few very long seconds.
“Let them go,” he said, motioning his troops on. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Wait!” Stephanie cried as they started to run away without giving us a backwards glance. “Are you with Agent Garland?” Their leader froze at the name, turning to face her.
“Yeah, we met your guy in the city of Bloodstone,” Bear said, keeping his hand near his holstered pistol.
“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but shit is going downhill fast,” the leader said, his voice distorted and eerie through the gas mask. “We’ve lost most of our company down there. We are trying to call for reinforcements. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. Going down there is suicide.”
“Why are you calling for reinforcements? What’s so important that you would want to sacrifice the lives of your men and risk having even more killed?” I asked. His body stiffened.
“We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse,” he said, turning away and motioning for his men to continue following him. Within a minute, they were gone from sight around a bend in the steep, narrow tunnel. More gunshots echoed up from below. Bear and I looked at each other, exchanging worried glances, but Stephanie seemed unfazed.
“We need to keep going down,” she urged. “It’s the only way out.”
“I wish we had more weapons,” I said regretfully, following her down into the darkness below.
***
After a few more minutes, the tunnel started to open up, the river of blood flowing into a swampy mess at the bottom. Strange, writhing vines twisted on its surface. Long, blood-red thorns spiraled around their thick stems.
A bridge made of bones led across the blood-red subterranean lake. I saw arm and leg bones stacked vertically, bound together with narrow strips of silver. Human skulls embedded in the bones formed a pattern, a symbol that seemed familiar. It looked like a backwards seven with a diagonal slashing line through it.
Across the bone bridge, I saw Agent Garland, his face sweaty and pale. He was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, some of them in gas masks and riot gear, others wearing plain black suits. All of them had automatic rifles, and most of them also had grenades and pistols as well.
“Agent Garland!” I cried. He jumped, spinning around and pointing his gun at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it.
“You goddamned idiots,” Agent Garland screamed. “You could have gotten yourselves shot! What are you even…” But his voice was cut off by a terrifying roar from behind him.
It sounded as if thousands of demonic voices shrieked together in a cacophony of alien tongues. It was a language of strange hisses, a language of hundreds of disparate voices screaming in low, slowed-down hisses.
“Another attack incoming!” a man in a black suit yelled, and the soldiers all turned away from us. Across the bridge, past the group of soldiers, I saw a tunnel that looked like a giant, hungry mouth with sharp stalactites and stalagmites sticking up and down like deformed, dripping teeth. An abyss of shadows cloaked the passageway, as dark as a midnight funeral. From the darkness, I saw silhouettes of creatures emerging that would have been at home in Dante’s Inferno.
There were more of the flying locust creatures we had encountered earlier, the ones with hairless child-like faces and dripping stingers. Their wings beat like helicopter blades, slicing through the air in a deafening cacophony. Their strange, white eyes seemed to change into expressions of pleasure and hunger as they drew nearer, their stingers dripping poison faster and faster as they got nearer to their prey. Dozens of them streamed forwards, grouped in packs of three and four flying in tight formation.
Behind these scorpion-like abominations, I saw something huge crawl out of the darkness, its skin the color of a black scab. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was of rat kings, when dozens or hundreds of rats get their tails intertwined and become, in effect, one body with countless skittering legs.
This was a conglomeration of many burnt, blackened bodies melded together with dozens of arms and dozens of legs sticking out of it. Multiple heads on top moaned in agony, their open, toothless mouths drooling blood and black fluid onto the burnt mass of skin below. Their lidless eyes had faded blue irises surrounded by bloody sclera. They constantly cried crimson tears.
These demonic conglomerations towered over the soldiers, each one fifteen or twenty feet tall. Their dozens of legs twisted in peristaltic waves, resembling the movement of some giant millipede. It propelled the entire mass forwards at a superhuman speed. I saw it scuttling towards us in a blur. And even though this happened years ago, I still see those abominations in my nightmares, and I regularly wake up screaming.
The agents opened fire. Bear pulled out his gun, and Stephanie and I took out our knives. My burned right arm shrieked in agony as I reached into my pocket.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time the three of us would stand together in this life.
Part 4
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/19b1q7o/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/