So, I watched Toonami for the first time tonight. There were a bunch of warnings during the commercial breaks saying "Toonami contains mature content that may disturb some viewers". Why do they put this during Toonami. Toonami's pretty tame compared to regular Adult Swim. Smiling Friends literally pushes the boundaries of what's considered fit for airing on TV. Yet you put the warnings during Ninja Kamui?

It all started with the divorce. I moved into an apartment so close to my old house that you couldn't hear an entire song between the two places. That's because I have three great kids (16, 13, 8) and, yes, in a minute I know you're going to say that they need me, etc. but what they really need is a real father, not one who constantly never has any money and is constantly out of sorts with stress. I'm a freelance writer with an undemanding, intermittent contract role with a prominent employer. This ends at the end of next month. Then there's nothing.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
After I filed for divorce, I decided to file Chapter 13. This immediately rendered it impossible for me to get a car loan after I sold my vehicle due to cash problems. Drained my mom of her money keeping me in my apartment. Went to a treatment center for 5 days after I relapsed after years of sobriety. Lost my job at Chase in 2021. Couldn't afford my meds anymore so I got a DUI (dismissed), but not for drinking -- it was for driving under the influence of mental-health Rx withdrawal (not kidding - it was a thing). P.S. The meds went from $30/mo. to $210/mo. and I have four of them.
I then started dating a wonderful woman/friend. We got engaged. Happiness. Shortly thereafter, I fell out of a truck helping a friend move commercial-grade windows at a construction site because I'm uncoordinated. A freak, cartoonish accident. Shattered my ankle and leg. Lived on a couch for 3 months in excruciating pain.
I get up and try to work nonstop. Anything to get extra money. I barely sleep. I keep trying to move forward but life persists in pulling me back down. Whenever I have good news about something, 4 other problems rise up. I ask everyone what can **I** do to be better, what can **I** do to not be in this doom loop? No one has answers. "Hang in there" counts, I guess. I've cut friends out, as well as family members. I couldn't figure out the unemployment website. I am a black hole for everyone around me. I live by the grace of others and random, brief successes. I mean, **I** have compassion fatigue for me, so I can only imagine what others feel - even you, if you've been reading any of the above.
And guess what? That's not all. There's a lot more I won't detail. It's unreal.
Plus, last week, my fiancee of three years up and left with no explanation. Zero contact for 3 days. And once that shock wore off, I'm here a week later sitting in our empty house alone in the dark.
It's not that I'm sad. I'm done. I apply for thousands (and I mean thousands) of jobs per month. Nothing. Unless you count the time I accepted an elaborate fake job scam where they stole my identity when I gave them my banking info for W-9 info. **I** don't believe this tale of woe, but it's a domino game from hell.
But I'm empty now. I've got nothing left. I don't have the wherewithal, monetarily or for real, to handle this world anymore. I don't look at Columbus the same way, either. It seems darker somehow. It's not meant for me. The outside world seems shadowed more than I remember it being, as if everything out there feels like a greyed-out option on a website. "Unavailable" or "Out of Stock."
I can't afford (or need) to live in this house, even though I've paid rent in full 11 out of 12 months. I now have 12 days to find a new place to live and I don't have options beyond men's shelters or friends' couches for a day or two. This is surreal. She moved some of her stuff out today. How did I get here? I thought I had a place to stay but it fell through a few hours ago. I really don't know how I can ever get back to where I was before the last three years beat me down. And I have tried -- really fucking tried -- to stay on this side of things, but I don't think this world wants me anymore. I've gotten its message. If it's for some sort of life lesson via the universe, this 46-year-old man has learned that once you fall into the system, you're never getting out. I am always, like, $1500 away from being okay for good.
All I wanted was a real job -- not some part-time, bait-and-switch gig that wasn't what I was promised, but forced to accept. All I want is to sleep. All I want is to think of a future that has me in it. All I want is my fiancee to not leave abruptly and permanently, without warning or days of explanation (still waiting for that), and break my kids' hearts. Her leaving isn't even the reason for feeling the way I do -- it only confirms that I am the common denominator and that I am the problem.
What is the point of any of this anymore?
In a few days, it'll be my birthday. I can't see what that looks like.
I know many of you have problems and issues and conditions much worse than my life. But it's not about comparison for me. I've only detailed in writing 20% of what's happened/happening in my life so I could see it in writing. And I'm convinced more than ever there's no way out, no way back.

Hello potential friends! I'm a cis gay man from northwest Ohio who was born and raised here but spent the last 15ish years in southern Arizona near the Mexican boarder. A lot of things have happened in the last year and it's made me realize that, while I have queer friends, I don't have any friends who are also gay men and as such there's a certain connection and understanding that I've been missing in my life. I'm sure we all understand how difficult it can be to find people to share multiple large aspects of your life and I'm hoping to find that here.
A few quick answers to what I assume will be common questions.
Career: I normally work in medicine but had a rare medical event of my own last year that left me unable to work temporarily and I am still on the mend. Hoping to get back to working soon!
Family: I'm currently living with an old friend from high school and her family while I recover from the above.
Marital status: forever alone, lol
Pets: 3 dogs. They are my world and they also have the combined cognitive function of a can of spray paint
Interests: - Video games: easily my biggest hobby. I'm a through and through Zelda fan oh and love most RPGs. Recently I've mostly been in to more comfy game or open world games. Common evening activities are Minecraft/modded Minecraft, Stardew valley, Skyrim, the Sims, core keeper. Though recently my closest guy friend and I have been hoping to try some of the spooky co-op games like lethal Company as he does love his horror games.

• Science: my forte is mostly in human biology but I'm also quite fond of tech and gadgets even if I don't understand them
  
• Books: I love fantasy and made a commitment to myself a few years ago to avoid anything with sad endings (the depression and anxiety have enough fodder on their own, thank you) so I've also been consuming a lot of gay romance
  
• TV/Movies: I'm actually really bad at this. I tend to watch the same things over and over as background noise while I game rather than consume new media. So... If you like watching the great British bake off for the hundredth time...
  

Music: I can enjoy most music but left to my own devices I tend to cycle between alt rock from the 1990s/early 2000s, soundtracks to musicals (currently obsessed with Hazbin Hotel), and crooners from the early to mid 1900s
I just realized how long this is getting so I think I will try to wrap up. I'm a nerdy gaymer just looking for similar people who want to have fun and be there for each other. As you can see I tend to be long-winded, excessively verbose, and stupidly sarcastic. Fair warning, I'm currently basically following an Australian time zone as my best mate lives in Melbourne and it's easier for me to talk to her this way so don't be surprised if I'm not conscious during the day. Hope to hear from some lovely folks soon!

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

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

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

A year and half ago one of my sons childhood friends was in a very difficult situation. She had two teenage children, a dog, two cats and had no where to go. I'll refer to her has Sheila. I'm “retired” while my husband says he's retired ( but never stopped) and we have grandkids; when my son was complaining about how he wished he had space for this friend ...I volunteered. We had the extra rooms for her and the kids, we also had the acreage for additional animals except for the cats. My husband is deathly allergic to cats. Regardless, I talked to my husband, and we then offered her the extra rooms for free. So long as Sheila finds someplace else for the cats. She agreed and she was very appreciative while also being honest with us. She has an autoimmune disease (JRA) and the youngest is autistic while her oldest is trans; she’s a chef at heart and we're retired so she'll take care of the meals. As she already had a job to work from home, those checks would go into savings.
We had a few weeks of near daily talks hashing out how this would work. I'll give the highpoints but these were the general rules:
Her rent is paid via meals. Her children do chores as they’re capable of doing them (cleaning their bathroom, vacuuming, dishes, keeping their room clean, and helping my husband to maintain the main lawn [which is maybe 1000sf] and help as requested with the farm.) She had 1 year to save up for a place of her own. To be rediscussed every 6 months.
We’ve had 3 discussions since, and no she doesn't have the money to move out in this economy. Most of this is due to the 3 hospitalizations through no fault of her own (and the way the economy keeps raw dogging everyone who doesn't have a 6 digit bank account)...we are fine with her and her kids being here. I managed to help the autistic one get into general Ed and he's on his way to graduating. I'm so extremely proud of him, he entered my house as creature who did everything he could to make himself small and acceptable to everyone else. Today, me and him can argue about moral ideologies in an heated manner and after the cool down still wants to sit with me while I watch my brain watch TV. Just the fact that he’s willing to be vocal is my pride in him; he's worked hard to get here and I'm so happy for him. I'll answer questions about that relationship if needed as I'm rambling.
After 3 months of Sheila being here I cook all the meals. She in effort at the start but now after a year and half, I'm do all the meals myself. In the times where I just can't my husband does. I think the last meal she put into this house was for the day after new years which was warming up left overs. Which is what's contributing to my attrition and may make the asshole.
My AITA is about her damn dog. I told Sheila not to give her dog a specific food. Bunny is now older and I just burried my baby boy at 20 years; 7 years after the vet said he'd live a month, I went psycho on his diet and kept him going happy and energetic for 7 years. Sheila has been fine in letting me control the animals diets. And I have become a but of a Nazi; there are some foods that a dog can have young that they can't have when they're older. Garlic is one of them. Bunny is now 7 years, I nevere let her have garlic. Sheila dropped some garlic pita chips into the flow tonight and called Bunny to eat them to clean it up. I screamed
It's a great Dane and Belgium Malinos mix and was 5 years old when I first met it. It's father was a Great Dane and the mother a Malnous-(I'm not spelling it right but I cannot get autocorrect to make it correct)-a bug lazy giant mixed with a hyper working dog. It's friggin neurotic. The first day I met it it jumped up into my face and broke my nose. To be honest she warned me it was a jumper and I didn't respect that warning.
I don't want to be disrespectful but...I broke that dog of jumping in a month of it being in my house. Not because I'd make it negative, but because I’d say no and crowd her her immediately and when she greeted people without jumping I'd get excited and give treats. As my son says, “It's the smartest dumb dog I've ever met.” It is extremely intelligent but...I feel bad for saying this-Sheila has only ever had cats. She doesn't give it direction or jobs beyond sleeping with her. When it doesn't have a job it is loud and destructive, giving itself guidance that it wants from Sheila.
In the first 6 months it destroyed our back yard fence every time Sheila left the property. I feel the behavior is because she's trained it to be by her side at all times. When she wasn't near, the Dog (named Bunny) didn't know what to do with herself and attacked the fence to try to find her. I've managed to get the dog contained, compliant, and sweet.....when Sheila is not around. If she wasn't so big I'd make her my own.
I know there are two sides of a story and I will try to account for Sheila’s but I am going to advocate for my side.
This dog entered my house barking, jumping, chewing, and spazzing as a puppy would but was actually 5 years old. Shiela just told me Bunny is now 8 years old. As long as Sheila is not around Bunny is calm, response, nondestructive, she has jobs in the house (specifically to chase squirrels out of the garden) until Sheila returns and then no matter what is going on Bunny will scream and cry to get close to Sheila.
Sheila works from home and it's generally fine except for the times when Sheila chooses that Bunny should be outside (arbitrarily). I have to deal with Bunny crying and screaming: Sheila is inside, Bunny is out, I think Bunny is neurotic because she knows Sheila is home and that her job is to be BY Sheila. Sheila’s response to this is to either ignore, scream at her, or give treats-but leave bunny outside while Sheila returns to work. Sheila is very talented at focusing on work regardless of what's going on out side. While Bunny is loosing her mind to get close to Sheila, Sheila doesn't doesn't notice unless I interrupt.
The whole goal of Sheila working is for her to save enough to get a house. I'm committed to this, so I've taken over Bunny during work hours which means two of three meals I feed Bunny. I've been feeding bunny for past year while Sheila works.
Today is apart of a two week vacation Sheila has taken for her oldest graduation. Sheila made food for bunny with Garlic in it. I saw it, and I told Sheila that Bunny is too old to have anything with garlic in it as Bunny is now 7 years old (70 years old in human years, they don't deal with toxins like they used to). Sheila got very upset with me and was very verbal that Bunny was not my dog and I had no voice it what bunny ate.
I feel that Sheila has only said this because I have spent so much time in the last year working with her dog, correcting Bunny to get positive behaviors. This summer Bunny has become very nervous about the new automatic sprinklera we have and I've been the one working Bunny through the fear she has darn near sun up to sun down.
Let me be clear, I'm only doing this now because Sheila simply removes bunny from the yard when the sprinklers start, while I have been sitting in the patio (that the sprinklers don't touch) and been trying to get her comfortable with them. They are new and scary for a dog-Sheila is too busy on the computer to work Bunny through her fears so I'm doing it.
When I work through the day with Bunny, by the afternoon timer that sets the sprinklers off Bunny is having a blast chasing and jumping through the sprinklers.
I'm a bit PO’d at Sheila's outrage and need to assert control over Bunny when I said the dog couldn't have garlic any more. I've shared my house for a year an half with 3 people and dog who all seem to have some sort of behavioral issues. I've exterted control where I can with Bunny to have nice days with own my home with her, her children, and her animals. But Bunny is Sheila's dog so....I don't have a voice.
Please don't placate or disparage; AITA and how do I move through this? It's not my dog, they’re not “famil”y, but I honestly want to continue to help all of them. Including Bunny. I need to find a way to get Sheila on board; she doesn't seem to have the time or patience for Bunny beyond bedtime.
P.S. knowing how reddit commentors can go: I don't argue structure or consequences in regards to her children and I've adapted as Sheila has requested. She simply doesn't have any structure for Bunny, while she enjoys the consequences my structure on Bunny.....she now seems to resent that. As it's only resently she's been putting her foot down about Bunny.
While I'm of the mindset: Bunny is her very first dog, her words, she had only had cats before hand. Sheila did pick a mixed breed but...my god did she pick an unpredictable mix. I've adapted as much as I can to help this dog find calm and connectedness. I love Bunny and I've spent so long working on her poor behaviors, editing her diet, giving her a job and a space that belongs to her inside and outside the house. I just want Bunny to live as long and happy as possible but feel if I put my foot down, I'm the asshole.
Mind the Autocorrect. I've re-read 3 times now and still find crappy misspelling and worse grammar as I've only used Reddit on mobile and make a mash of it every time I do. My apologies.
Edit: I'm sorry, I wrote this while having an argument with Sheila. Bunny is 7-8 years old per Sheila just a it ago; she's unsure of the digs age and has only guessed when talking about Bunny. Sheila said she thinks Bunny was 1 to 2 years old when she got her. My jumping in ages of 7 to 8 to 7 is just me being inaccurate as me and Sheila yell at each other and me typing In here in the lulls.
This is a very active argument. That does NOT end in be evicting them.

I don't want any smart features, I don't wanna just "not connect it to the internet". I want a TV that doesn't have any smart features, that I can plug in an aerial and DVD player, and enjoy.
If you have any links, that would be appreciated. Unfortunately, I live in Australia, so it's really hard to ship things here, but it is what it is. Even if you can only find US links, still give 'em so that maybe I can go based on the model number and get lucky.
Don't care about size, don't care about price, don't wanna see comments like this, this, or this. Just gimme some links to something.
Also please don't just say "yeah I got mine off Kogan/Aldi/JB Hi-Fi" without giving me a link. Because that's not helpful at all. I've been crawling around looking for them for about an hour and I've read far too many comments with that for my liking.
Cheers for the suggestions for commercial signage TVs and links to buy them, I've got a few options to look at. Thanks to those who gave links!
Cheers.

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

Weird title, and weird story, but I have to get this off my chest and tell somebody about it because it upset me so so badly.
My grandpa is in the middle stages of dementia, and he likes to watch animals. Birds outside, the neighborhood cats outside of his window, squirrels, live cams of animals on TV, all that kind of stuff keeps his attention and make him less antsy for a long time. So for his birthday in early April, I got him a 20 gallon fish tank to keep on the table next to his recliner. Now, I did some research into fish, and found out it was best to run the tank for a while before putting fish in it. Ok, so I set it all up on his birthday, put some aquatic plants in it, and let it run until I got home from college, about a month later.
The other day I decided it was finally time to get some fish. Although I could have done this without my Papa, I decided it would be good to get him out and about, and get his say on what color of fish we were gonna get. We talked about what fish we wanted before this, and decided that wanted at least 4 Tetras, so we could name them after the Beatles.
We get to the big chain pet store, Papa picks out a little yellow submarine to put in his tank, all is well, until we get to the actually getting of the fish. A worker comes out and asks me what type of fish I want, I point out the exact fish, and ask my Papa what colors he would like. The worker stops me, and asks me who exactly the fish are for, and seeing no reason to lie, I tell the worker that they are for my Papa. Who, at this stage of dementia, it is quite obvious he is not at 100% mental capacity. Suddenly, the worker gets all strange, and begins interrogating me on my tank. What size it is, how long the filter has been running, etc. Again, I see no reason to lie to him, so I tell him everything already covered. The worker says that my tank is way to small, that I need at least 30 gallon tank to hold any fish, and that my filter hasn't been running for long enough, blabbers on for about 30 minutes about how irresponsible it would be for me to have this fish, an insists the only thing that can live in my tank is plants. He says he will not sell us fish, any fish. He then proceeds to practically force us to buy a plant (picked one off the shelf, put it in my hand, and walked us to the register). I buy the plant and my Papa's yellow submarine.
At this point, I am fuming. I kind of caught on to what this worker was about-he assumed my Papa couldn't take care of this fish. But I'm trying to keep my cool, not wanting my Papa to see that I was upset. Papa is of course confused when we get back to the car as to why we have no fish, I tell him that they just didn't have the ones we wanted (now usually I tell the truth but in this situation, I knew he would have stormed back in and demanded the fish if he knew what had happened)
I knew for a fact fish could live in the tank I set up, so I did what I should have done in the first place, go to the local fish store. The reason I didn't do this in the first place is because it is not disability accessible, like so many small business are, unfortunately.
I go to the local fish store, leaving Papa in the car with the Beatles playing (of course), explain to the fish man my situation. Asking him if there are any fish that could live in a 20 gallon tank
"Of course, I've got the perfect fish for you"
You know what they were? Tetras! The only warning the fish man gave me was to keep the food hidden from my Papa as him may over feed them, no problem was gonna do that anyways. Plan was for me to be the fish caretaker in the first place.
So now John, Paul, George, and Ringo are happily living next to my Papas chair with their yellow submarine. My Papa couldn't be happier watching his fish. I'm just so mad we were seemingly discriminated against by the worker at the big chain store, I assume he thought my Papa would be the sole caregiver of the fish, which is an unfair assumption, especially since he didn't ask me who would be caring for the fish-just who the fish were for.
Sorry for the long post, this whole story has had me fuming for days, I though writing it all out for you lovely internet people would help me calm down about it.
TLDR: Big chain store wouldn't sell me and my Papa fish because worker assumed my Papa wasn't capable of taking care of them, local business to the rescue. Paul, John, George and Ringo are now very happy fish.

There have been a number of posts lately asserting that characters from TV commercials before 1989 are in the public domain due to a missing copyright notice.
This is not correct. Notice is not a reliable indicator in this case.
The real story is found in the Code of Federal Regulations, at 37 C.F.R. 201.20(h)(2):
"In the case of an untitled motion picture or other audiovisual work whose duration is sixty seconds or less, in addition to any of the locations listed in paragraph (h)(1) of this section, a notice that is embodied in the copies by a photomechanical or electronic process, in such a position that it ordinarily would appear to the projectionist or broadcaster when preparing the work for performance, is acceptable if it is located on the leader of the film or tape immediately preceding the beginning of the work."
In other words, the notice only needs to be visible to the broadcaster, not the general public.
This myth is busted.

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/JazzlikeOriginal358. They posted in AmItheAsshole
Trigger Warning: discussions of transphobia
Mood Spoiler: moving in a positive direction
Original Post: March 22, 2024
I'm having a bit of family drama and need a reality check about if I am being unreasonable here. I really need the perspective of LGBT+ sensitive individuals because the drama surrounds transphobia perpetrated by JK Rowling.
My step daughter is going through a pretty tough time. The last couple years have been really rough on her. She has been dealing with bullying at school, being held back a year, not getting along with her mom's new husband, self harm and identity issues. Lots of questioning of her sexuality and gender. (We have been working on getting her a good mental health team of doctors and therapists to help her navigate all of this, please know we aren't throwing her to the wolves or internet to deal with it all herself).
I've been in her life since she was 7. We've always had a pretty good, though not terribly close, relationship. I have not taken on a parental role, but have always tried to make myself available for her.
Until last year, her mom had primary custody and her dad had weekends with alternating holidays. Last year due to the issues with her school and mom's house, my stepdaughter requested that custody arrangements be changed.
Since she came to live with my husband and I full time, there has been quite a bit of friction between the two of us. One of the biggest points of contention is my Harry Potter fandom, particularly "The Bookcase", and my supposed transphobia (due to my apparently "wrong" stance when it comes to the politics regarding trans issues in our country)
I grew up in the hayday. So many of my childhood and teen memories are tied to the franchise. My friends and I were all really into it. We attend midnight book releases, dressed up in costume for movie releases, threw HP themed parties when we wanted to hang out, etc. In many ways it shaped the course of my entire life, those same friends and I joined our high school's botany club because herbology. That unlocked a lifelong passion of mine and my career is working with plants.
Over the years I've collected quite a bit of memorabilia, many of which are gifts, and they have always been displayed on my most prized possession. A monstrously large custom bookcase my grandfather, a former woodworker, built for me when I was a teenager. I love this thing. The shelves are live edge black walnut slabs. All around the casing my grandpa carved beautiful HP themed imagery. Owls, cauldrons, shooting stars, lightning bolts, an adorable little rat at the bottom and nibble marks from said rat, etc. It's both sentimental and valuable (the slabs of walnut for the shelves alone would be pushing a grand, let alone attempting to value the hand carved craftmanship). The bookcase has always been proudly displayed in my home. It currently lives in our living room.
During one of our family therapy sessions, my stepdaughter expressed that seeing my HP shelf made her feel really uncomfortable because of the author and that she was really disappointed in me and her father for being so supportive of a biggot. I apologized for making her feel uncomfortable in her own home, and said that I would take down the HP stuff.
So I packed up all the HP themed merch off the shelves. Made sure I didn't have the books or anything on display that said "Harry Potter" anywhere. I bought some LED grow lights and converted the bookcase into a plant shelf to display succulents. I bought some witchy, but not overtly harry potter, themed pots for the little guys so they'd go with the shelf.
This was not an acceptable compromise for my stepdaughter and has remained a point of contention. With my stepdaughter hurling that I/we (referring to my husband) broke a promise by saying we would get rid of the Harry Potter stuff. I tried to explain to my stepdaughter that, while I do not agree with JK Rowling's political stance at all, the media has a special place in my heart because of my childhood association with it and that the shelf was very important to me because it was a gift from my grandpa, but she maintains that none of that should matter because in 2024 it is nothing but a symbol of transphobia and hate.
At first my husband was supportive of me and my desire to keep my bookcase, but lately the arguments are wearing on him and he asked me if I would reconsider keeping it in the living room. Suggesting we rent a storage unit to house it in.
After the most recent blow up about it, I kinda lost my temper. I didn't yell or anything, but I did very firmly tell my stepdaughter that this is my home and my bookshelf stays. If it is such a big problem for her, she can always go back to live with her mother.
I knew it was a low blow pretty much as soon as I said it. I quickly apologized but it was out there. My stepdaughter has been on an emotional downward spiral.
My husband and I have been arguing almost nonstop. I think it is mostly stress because he is at his wits end with how to help his daughter but he is becoming pretty mean and nasty towards me. Telling me to "grow up and just get rid of the fucking bookcase"
I know I was a dick for saying my stepdaughter could always go back to live with her mom (and I suspect that will be the main topic at hand in our next family therapy session).
But am I really being unreasonable in wanting to keep my beloved bookcase?
EDIT: Thank you everyone. Honestly. Thank you for those who shared their insight and advice and thank you to the people who have asked me hard questions that made me think. Especially those who asked what matters more, a bookcase or a/my child?
I've been reflecting really hard on what my bookcase means to me an why it is so important. I'm hitting some deep truths I don't think I was ready to recognize about how I really feel about my relationship with my step daughter.
All in all I think we just need to shelf things until our next therapy session. (I'll see myself out...)
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: Can you temporarily put it in storage until she’s off to college, then take it back out? That way it will be safe, and everyone can take a deep breath and calm down a little.

OOP: I looked into storage units when my husband suggested it, for the size and climate/humidity control we would need it would cost us approximately $7,500 to store my shelf until she goes to college.
It's cost prohibitive.

Commenter: Why can't you just move the bookcase into the primary bedroom?

OOP: It's 7' x 4' x 1', made of solid wood, and we have a L shaped stair case.
The only way it is going upstairs is if it is completely dismantled and rebuilt. I don't have the skills, knowledge or tools to do that and hiring out a task like that is cost prohibitive especially because it would have to be done again when moving the bookcase back out.

Commenter: NTA. You need to put that bookcase in a room with locks, because your husband is going sell it or damage it.

OOP: My husband isn't an emotionally unstable monster. I don't believe he would ever do anything like that to me. I wouldn't have married him if he was that kind of person.
(to another commenter): I have absolutely zero concern about my husband doing anything to it. He isn't that kind of person. He is incredibly stressed out about all of this and has said shitty things in anger but this isn't some tv show where he and my stepdaughter are going to have daddy and daughter bonding time with a sledge hammer.

Commenter: I think he was just frustrated and worried about his daughter. Hopefully you can talk it out with him and he will apologize for the "grow up" comment.

OOP: That is my impression in regards to him too.
I can't imagine how hard it must be to see your child suffering and not being able to fix that pain.
I've been doing my best to give him grace due to the circumstances.
It is something we will address when he has the spoons to do so.

Commenter: One question: who owns or rents the house you are living in? If it is yours you can suggest that your husband move out and get a place of his own to his daughter liking

OOP: My husband and I purchased it together. We are both on the mortgage.

Commenter: Then time to figure out who stays, who goes, and how the equity...if any...is split.

OOP: I don't intend to divorce my husband and throw away a decade plus long relationship because he said one shitty thing to me during a period of great stress for him.

Commenter: If he destroys the bookcase to show solidarity with his daughter, what will you do?

OOP: Have him pink slipped.
That is not the action of a reasonable adult. I would be very concerned for his mental state.

Commenter: I wonder if she made similar unreasonable demands in her mother’s home or at school that lead you to the conflict there?

OOP: Part of the issues with her homelife with her mother involved my step daughter demanding that her mother choose between her now husband and her because mom's husband's political views.
So, this isn't exactly left field behavior.

Commenter: Your stepdaughter needs a massive reality check and probably different therapists.

OOP: oof. We are on our 5th

More on therapy:

Yes. She meets with a psychiatrist as well as her therapists.
(to a different commenter) We are in family counseling already. Couple's counseling is likely to happen if there isn't a resolution to this current bookcase issue in the very near future.

Commenter: Info needed: what is your ‘wrong stance’ when it comes to trans issues?

OOP: I'm kinda middle of the road when it comes to the trans political issues, and mostly take the stance of "I don't know, I have my own feelings about the issues but as it is not my area of expertise I am not beholden to them and I will leave these big problems up to the people who have made learning about them their focus of study"
Like, I get my feathers ruffled when medically uneducated politicians try to interfere with any kind of health care. Like seriously ruffled.
I believe that people facing gender identity issues should have free and easy access to health care and therapy to navigate those issues.
I believe that society in general should strive to use preferred pronouns if only as a matter of politeness.
But when it comes to things like trans people in sports or having afab only "safe spaces" - I see both sides of the argument and refer back to my "I think this should be left up to the people who focus on this and not form a super strong opinion either way based on my lay opinion"

OOP is voted NTA
Update Post: May 12, 2024 (1.5 months later)
Some one asked if I could update this situation, and I'll try my best to summarize the past several weeks.
My husband and I spoke about the situation. He apologized for being snappish with me, and agreed that SD was being unreasonable about the bookcase. He ultimately agreed to back me about it. He and I are just as tight as we ever have been.
I once again apologized to my SD for the remark I said out of frustration about her moving back with her mom. I reiterated that our home is her home too and she is always welcome here. That even though families sometimes fight and disagree we ARE family.
But the general argument about HP, JK Rowling, and my bookcase continued to escalate for a couple weeks. And then the discontent about that started to bleed over into complaints about me. She started to be more disrespectful and sarcastic.
During all of this we were still attending our family therapy sessions. Our therapist was pretty certain that the misbehavior was anxiety related and didn't suggest that we give in to the demands to have the bookcase removed and wanted to just keep working on the things we all have been.
Well, SD's disrespectful attitude hit a climax. She called me the c word and some other choice things within my husband's ear shot. My husband honestly kinda lost it on her. I don't think I have EVER seen him that angry before. He was bright red and vein popping angry as he marched her to her room and declared "YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO MY WIFE IN SUCH A WAY".
This was probably the first time my SD had ever seen her dad angry, let alone anger directed at her. It left her pretty shook. Like that was her rock bottom. We ended up needing to do a couple emergency session with her counselor because there was concern about her relapsing with some self-destructive issues she has been working on.
But that incident lead to us having a break through. Her counselor invited my husband and I into one of her sessions, and she had a bit of a break down. Basically she was dealing with a lot of existential dread and a lot of fear due to politics and it being an election year.
That ended up being an excellent opening for us to bond. This is gonna sound silly but I was able to pull up my social media timelines back from 2016 and I showed her some of the things I had written or had shared with me back then.
She was able to see that I shared a lot of the same fears that she has.
So we have all had some really big talks about things like feeling helpless when things are out of your control, about disengaging from the media machine for your own mental health, etc.
Things have been on the upswing since then. Before she left for her mom's this past weekend she even gave me a mother's day gift. An adorable little planter that says Caution: Mandrakes.
I love it. I put one of my favorite props in it and it is front and center on the bookcase now.
Relevant Comments:
To a downvoted commenter:

your continued support of JK Rowling through fandom will likely be an issue for other LGBT people in your life

The only other LGBT person in my life sent me bertie botts every flavor beans in my christmas package this past year...
Commenter: This poor girl is terrified of being kicked out from another set of abusive parents and is forcing herself to buy merchandise to support someone who wants her dead to make her stepparent happy. This update is horrifying, for real.

OOP: Hope you stretched before this reach.
SD was not kicked out of her mom's home. That was a choice she made. She is in no danger of being kicked out of our home either.

Alfred Nobel, the namesake of the well known Nobel prize for people have conferred the greatest benefit to mankind, Invented afew things in his life, but His biggest accomplishment was that he was the first person to invent dynamite in 1866. When he was doing his testing of this explosive he adopted a safety practice that is still used to this day.
Most people will know what this was if they have ever watched a movie or tv show before.
This is the practice of blowing a horn to warn anyone in the area 1 minute before the explosion,
For many years people have wondered why he chose a horn to warn people, rather than a loud church bell.
They wondered this because in 1866 mechanical horns needed to be transported by trailer and were extremely expensive and impractical to operate, while loud church bells were being sold everywere as part of the christion revolution.
In the last few years a group of award winning scientists have been studying this case to try figure out why he made this crucial decision and last year they finally worked it out, the answer was so simple it shocked everyone.
Click black square to reveal spoiler
HE HAD NOBEL

I know a lot of producers have talked about unsolicited feedback in the past but this post isn't about that. It's about feedback for various projects and feedback that gets requested and given. This also applies equally to original production in many cases.
A good number of mashup producers do not tend to master or don't apply limiters on tracks, or just make them softer compared to commercial levels. When albums get mastered, loudness will usually be adjusted through various plugins (EQ, multiband compressors, limiters, clippers, etc.) to shape masters so that one track is not significantly louder or softer than another especially back-to-back and groups of tracks follow a certain sound.
What this means is that once your softer mashup of -14 or -15 LUFS or softer is amplified to commercial levels in the -7 to -11 LUFS range or more depending on genre and how the overall track should sound given peaks and valleys with softer and louder parts (LUFS stands for loudness units full scale, look that up), small issues may stand out like thorns when amplified. Bottom line: Don't take the small or big issues personally; we're all human, we all miss things, and we can all improve. You may learn something new!
Think of it like how you ask to proofread writing to check for spelling or grammar and have it work for the audience.
All this to say, feedback I give or others give based on small details may come across as nit-picks at first. Don't completely discount them. You never know who will want to play your tracks, and this could range from personal playlists all the way up to DJ gigs and big festival stages.
In the case of a club DJ or performances on festival stages, volumes will be significantly louder than what you may have worked with when you created the track. I've given the restaurant food analogy before but I'll give it again: If something clearly doesn't taste good, people won't usually know why. But an experienced chef who knows how the ingredients interact sure will.
Just something to think about as you improve on mashup production and production in general.
Here are some issues below that experienced mashup producers could point out. Note that a lot of the "don't do this" stuff is really code for "don't do this unless you really know you're doing and it sounds good":

Big issues

• Out of key (OOK): This refers to wrong key signature (e.g. mixing A Minor with B Minor), not blue notes from modes or short moments of modulation. Key rule of thumb: If you're going to use key databases, verify by ear. Tunebat is the least accurate. If you must do so, use a reliable key database like the ones in this post. DJ software can work, but some automatic key detection performs better than others and are far from perfect. Above all, databases are not perfect and some will be far from it, so ears will be the final judge of whether a pairing sounds good.
• Out of tempo/time (OOT): this usually refers to wrong tempo (e.g. mixing a 116 BPM track with a 118 BPM track) or not constant tempo and going out of time. Key rule of thumb: Sync your tracks and if you need to use any form of warping (see Ableton), be prepared to do so.
• Too much going on (a.k.a. playing both songs at the same time): This happens when playing multiple main elements at the same time to the point where multiple elements or entire songs played together clash in key, progression, or other things to make the combination sound unpleasant and hard to listen to. Sometimes this can sound really good if the progressions are compatible, but generally, less is more.
• Incorrect/bad beat alignment: This is more for when a vocal or element is offbeat enough that it really sticks out as a trainwreck when mixed together
• Wrong beat/out of structure/off structure/bad phrasing: This is when a vocal or other element is placed on a beat that doesn't make sense for what it's combined with (e.g. placing the first word of a vocal over an instrumental on beat 2 when it was meant for beat 1). Mileage will vary, sometimes the vocal beat placement only makes sense for the original song and makes less sense on others.
• Distortion from going in the red: This is when the overall mix or elements sound distorted because the volume of each track channel is too loud and either alone or combined goes well above 0 dBFS (a.k.a. into the red). Key rule of thumb: Start your track volumes at -6 dB (not 0 dB) and then adjust to taste. Don't go into the red unless you absolutely know what you're doing.
• Elements way too soft or loud: This is more along the lines of not being able to hear the added vocals or elements at all or they're too loud that you can't hear the other elements in the mix.
• Big mood mismatch: This tends to be less egregious, but if sources don't cooperate at all to a point of completely ruining the vibe, the mashup could stick out like a sore thumb from the start. Mileage will vary, and sometimes your audience would appreciate this especially with genre clashes even to the point of creating memes. But it depends on what you're going for, and sometimes you want consistency for certain albums and groups of tracks.

Smaller issues

• Fifth traps/not picking the right keys to use: This is a specific version of another problem I'll touch on, but this happens when you mix keys fifths or fourths away (e.g. F Major and C Major) and the chord progressions don't cooperate. What makes this a trap is that the pairing might appear to sound good at first glance, but when you look back at what you made, you probably could have made a better sounding pairing if you had just picked sources in key, relative key (e.g. A Minor and C Major), or parallel to the mode type (i.e. A Minor with A Dorian since Dorian is a minor mode). This Berklee Online article is a really good starting point to modes. With modes, mileage will vary.
• Out of progression/blue notes: This can happen when there are short moments where the element clashes on top of other elements (e.g. modes or short moments of different modulation). Sometimes the tracks may not be compatible, but other times it's just a part with notes outside the scale. This can be fixed by doing small note changes, but be careful not to make it too obvious, otherwise it might sound like you're forcing the pairing to work. It may also follow the same theme as fifth traps, where you could have made a better sounding pairing if you had just picked sources in key, relative key (e.g. A Minor and C Major), or parallel to the mode type (i.e. A Minor with A Dorian since Dorian is a minor mode). This Berklee Online article is a really good starting point to modes. With modes, mileage will vary.
• Low quality sources: This happens with YouTube or other rips where the elements are lower quality due to a lower frequency cutoff (YouTube is usually 15.5 kHz for AAC, other platforms may be 15-16 kHz for 128 kbps MP3, etc.). Bottom line: Get the highest quality sources you can, and use Spek or another spectrum analysis software to check rips or record pool sources. Your ears and processing algorithms will thank you. Again, you never know who will listen to or play out your track, could even be a big sound system.
• Stem separation artifacts: This can take several different forms, but can happen when either the invert or stem separation algorithm being used adds noise or other unwanted high end artifacts like high hats that once amplified, will absolutely stand out in a mix. This also includes artifacts from stem separation algorithms like Utagoe which make vocals sound like they're underwater at default settings. Key rule of thumb: Remember that the instrumental and original could be mixed and mastered differently depending on the production environment and how masters spread. If an invert makes a vocal stand out more but just needs extra cleaning, don't be afraid to combine the invert technique (original + instrumental) with stem separation. When using multiple stem separation techniques or using different sources (like remix + remix instrumental), think about how they sound on parts of the instrumental and consider picking the best extraction for a given part; remember that this includes using the original song (this is called comping in the production world). If there are parts of vocals intended to be silent and there are artifacts, don't be afraid to replace the reverb + delay with your own. Keep up to date with stem separation algorithms by keeping up with developments on the Audio Separation Discord server: https://discord.gg/wY3AAaTvHT
• A little too much going on: This happens in many cases when looking at megamashups, megamixes, and even simpler overlap of vocals where too many elements are competing for space at some point (e.g. two vocals at the same time competing for mono or midrange). Key rule of thumb: In production just as in life, leave elbow room! With vocals, this can be done by overlapping a lead source that's more mono (e.g. lead vocal) with a background source that's more stereo (e.g. background vocals or vocal pad). When transitioning, it's also really useful to slightly pan or automate pan and volume of the vocal you're trying to brief in, which can include repeating the first word or few words of a phrase. Volume and EQ may also be useful here to properly convey space.
• Weird time-stretch and pitch-shift artifacts: This can happen when using a lower quality time-stretch or a time-stretch that can destroy transients/drum hits (Audacity or Elastique Efficient on vocals, older Elastique Pro on full instrumentals) or pitching too much and/or with too much/little formant preserve. The best way to reduce these effects on instrumental is to think about combining stem separation with ways to improve quality (pitch everything BUT the drums unless tonal, experiment with different time stretch methods on different elements, etc.). For too much pitch or formant preserve, either pick sources that are closer in key (+/- 2 semitones is a good rule of thumb) and try to control the amount of formant preservation and/or envelope (in Ableton) to make the vocals sound more natural. Formant preserve is usually a good idea for pitched vocals, but can sound bad for pitched instrumentals especially drums depending on the track.
• Pops or clicks while editing: This tends to happen when elements like vocals are cut off when not at zero volume. Key rule of thumb: Edit to zero crossing and/or use fades to cut off regions or when combining different regions together.
• Flanging, phasing, or flamming while editing: Sometimes these effects are on purpose, but oftentimes when crossfading between different parts of an instrumental, both parts of the edit don't align on beat. Flanging and phasing applies for sample level edits (ms or more), flamming for tenths or hundredths of seconds (e.g. 0.05 sec or 0.1 sec). Flamming is a drumming term for when the same part of the drum kit (usually the snare drum) is hit twice with different sticks at close to but not exactly the same time.
• Vocals or other elements end too suddenly in an edit: You may want to get different vocals to interact with each other or edit out of artifacts from vocal stem separation, but the other vocal (or elements) sound like they were cut off. Key rule of thumb: Have a reverb effect handy, and if you're working in a DAW, take advantage of wet/dry automation and combine the reverb with delay afterwards in the effect chain for vocals and other elements so when you crank up the wet the decay helps fade out the element gracefully.
• Vocals or other elements start too suddenly or out of place when connecting them or transitioning: This also considers getting different vocals or other elements to work together or going to a new part, but refers to a new part using vocals or other elements sounding out of place at the beginning of a region in a transition. Key rule of thumb: Watch your crossfades and when you're in a pinch and want to start the next part gracefully, don't be afraid to use reverse reverb or other effect like a riser to introduce a completely new element or different part in a pinch. Reverse reverb is exactly what it sounds: Adding reverb to a short snippet of an element like a cymbal, vocal note, or pad, and then applying reverse on it. Often this is done by choosing a tonal center to transition into, choosing a small snippet to add reverb to, choosing reverb with a long decay time and big space (usually I do a Cathedral reverb), reversing it, and then carefully aligning the reverse reverb so the end of it hits the beginning of the next region. Whew that was a lot! Tutorials will do this much more justice but this is the general idea.
• Vocals too dry or too wet for the instrumental: Usually this depends on the instrumental's genre. For genres like pop or EDM, vocals tend to have some reverb applied to make them shine. For others like alternative and some classic hip-hop, the reverb might be less or no wet or a completely different type. This issue usually refers to too little reverb (too dry) or too much reverb (too wet). Key rule of thumb: Don't forget to have reverb handy. You might need it. Keep your wet low in the middle of a vocal depending on what you're trying to do (think 3-5% wet or - on the low side
• Vocals or other elements slightly too loud or soft: Self-explanatory, this is usually an issue where elements should be the right volume for elements to work well together.
• Vocals or other elements drowned out/don't gel due to hypercompression: This usually happens when using a vocal not from an EDM, hyperpop, hard rock, or other genre where there is hypercompression but no matter how much volume amount you try elements like vocals don't gel and compete for space in the mid range. Two common techniques take the form of adding more compression to a vocal to stand up to an hypercompressed instrumental and/or reducing mid band EQ of the other source (which could come from sidechaining). For the added compression, it tends to be done with either multiple compressors in series (e.g. two compressors using low threshold + high ratio and high threshold + low ratio) or through various guitar distortion plugins on settings meant for vocals (e.g. Camelcrusher with British Clean or certain presets of OTT). Don't be afraid to experiment.
• Master too loud or soft for the genre: This usually takes the form of using limiters and other effects to make certain tracks too loud for the genre intended, or not using anything at all and the track is too soft for the genre/commercial sound. This can come down to taste, but how a track was produced can affect how loud you master. Mileage will vary; listen to how loud tracks are made and emulate your favorites assuming nothing too egregious.
• Stereo issues: This can happen if there are elements out of phase when trying to combine mono and stereo or applying other effects. It's a bit more difficult to diagnose, but one rule of thumb is to test your overall track on different playback systems (from headphones to big speakers and even your phone or small bluetooth speaker which will effectively test mono depending on the device).

Wow that was a lot and I know it's very overwhelming who don't produce a ton. There might be more issues I didn't mention here, so let me know if there's anything else that could be useful.
Update 1: Added "bad phrasing" under the off structure issue, this is the DJing term for it
Update 2: Added two variations of "too much going on" to the bigger and smaller issues

I am curious to be able to change these videos using OpenIV but I have obtained few results like a Family Guy mod but the question is, How can I replace these videos with others without risks or errors using OpenIV?

video link
In this i tell a story of my school it is a very funny and entertaining story of my life to watch with friends
Is video mein mene apni school ki story ke bare mein btaya hai ke mene kis tarah se cheating ki or pakra nahin gya ye bht mazedar video hao apne doston ke sath dekhne ke lye
Why i not caught for cheating
Best way for cheating
Commentary/Voice Disclaimer: Please don't go out of your way to or hate on anyone I talk about in my videos, this channel is to entertain people andl usually focus on joking and criticising about what the people are doing not the individual themselves, please don't go spreading hate it's all for laughs.
I Make Entertaining Reviews About Pakistani and indian social, Youtube, instagram, tv industry, tiktok and other famous topics . And These Reviews Are Under YouTube Community Guidelines Policies. These Are Fan Made Entertaining Videos For Just Entertaining Purpose So Keep Smiling)
Copyright Disclaimer: The Use Of This Title and images Given In This Video Under The Fair Usage Policy For Review Of Drama and other social topic That Allows To Use For Comments, Entertainment And Positive Criticism Purpose Qualifies As Fare Use Under US Copyright Law Because These Are 1) Non Commercial 2) Transformative In Nature 3) Does Not nagetively affected The Original Content
Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use. Source Of Images:Google
Thanks For Visiting:) Source Of Images:Google

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Hello! Looking to have some nice conversations with a new friend. No n s f w profiles. Just looking for sfw chats. If you’re looking for anything non-platonic, move on.
Now that we got all that out of the way….I like movies, TV shows, cooking, reading, nature walks, etc. Just a warning, my taste in things is rather alt but I’m open to talking about any sfw topic that interests you. Having a sense of humour is important - I don’t take myself too seriously and neither should you.
Some possible ice breakers - what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t been able to do yet? This could be a bucket list thing or something as simple as trying a certain dish. What is your favourite genre to read? What’s your favourite movie or show?
If interested, please send a chat request and include your age, location, and basic interests. Thanks!