"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.

[~.｡ﾟ+..｡ Quirk Information ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+~]
[Quirk Name]: Collapsing Void
[Quirk Type]: Emitter
[Quirk Range]: 40 feet
[Quirk Description]:
The user of this quirk is "blessed" with the ability to create a physics defying energy,this energy manifests as a colourless (often percieved as a colour somehow darker then Vanta black due to the quirk's absorption quality) miniscule (.5 inch×.5 inch×.5 inch) sphere surrounded by surrounding waves of blue energy that spiral around the black orb at the centre.
The user can produce two of these orbs at a time,either able to fire them out or keep them locked upon their limbs to amplify melee strikes.Once these orbs are produced the surrounding blue energy acts as a "Dead space" absorbing matter around it and condensing it into the central orb at a maximum range of 20 feet around the orb,however the user can cause this orb instead to "Detonate" increasing the absorbing force by infinitely compressing the inner sphere causing the removal of space and thus collapsing the space around it to a range of 50 feet rapidly compressing everything into the sphere
[Quirk Strengths]: Amplifies user's movement,melee and is overall a fairly versatile little ability
[Quirk Weaknesses/Limitations]:
More as a safety net for the user,The quirk is incapable of effecting living targets to it's full extent instead treating the entire body as one part when in range of the collapsing space preventing the tearing of limbs
There is a 10 second delay from when a new orb can be made
The larger the orb,the more energy draining it is
The user may suffer joint pains from using the quirk to drag them around
The orbs can only last a max of 2 minutes before detonating
[Quirk Drawbacks]:
The user must consume high levels of Ethyl formate (found in berries,teas,grainsand coffee) to maintain proper control of their quirk cause FUN FACT: Space,theoretically tastes like raspberries due to their Ethyl Formate content

Showdown should follow the multiplayer route of online games. You want to pause? Leave the game. I could even live with 2.5 minutes if it constantly counted down. How much time is spent in a flash version Childs games figuring out if body slam will do 34% damage? All of it. Might as well be American football: most of the time spent isn’t actually on playing the game. Thanks for your time.

TLDR: Is there such thing as a life boot camp with ppl with high-functioning ASD? An intensive, hands on, and or immersive type "experience" where one could learn "simple" things like how to open your mail, pay bills on time, make checklists for yourself, keep your room clean (make a bed, fold laundry), etc? It would be such a great bonus if there was ANYTHING that could teach basic intimate relationship skills too either in addition or separately. I have been overcompensating for my husband for almost a decade and a half and Im getting worn out. I don't want to do it bc not only do I think it wouldn't work but it would have me "playing mommy" and no one wants to f*ck their mother. At least they are not supposed to ;)
My apologies if I am in the wrong place.
I love my husband, I do. I don't want to get divorced, we have 2 kids F 13 and M 12. Our parents got divorced and we never want to do that our kids. That said, I have been pretty unhappy for YEARS. I posted in the deadbedroom bc our sex life ground down to a halt and someone there thought my hubby sounded ASD. It made so much sense the more I looked into it. Both of our kids have been diagnosed ASD and ADHD (both my hubby and I are diagnosed ADHD-He takes meds and sees a psch, I don't bc I don't feel the need). Ive told him many times you are either ASD or an a$$hole? Which is it or is it both?
ITB his parents got divorced when he was 6 months old, he never had a romantic relationship that lasted longer than 5 months, and the fact that he is a "geek" (works in tech and has a master's in Physics-he got on a full merit scholarship), he has little to no life skills and or understands what is involved in a healthy happy intimate relationship.
When we 1st met, he was living in squalor. Like never cleaned his bathroom for 13 yrs, only owned 1 fork, had only a bed, a desk, and a book shelf in a 1200 sq ft apt. Stacks of books everywhere and piles of old clothes, shoes, etc. I tend to be a fairly "dynamic" person and had owned my own company for almost a decade. My profession requires a HUGE level of organization, people skills, etc and utilizes all my positive attributes of ADHD. It seemed at the time I could take the guy out of the squalor, give him a beautiful home, children and a great life. But I guess I did not understand that you cant take the squalor out of the guy?!?!
We met when I was turning 40 and he was 42 going on 43. I got pregnant the 1st time we had sex, so we got married, bought our 1st home and other amazing milestones happened easily and quickly for us. For the 1st 5 yrs we were married, it wasn't perfect but things worked and I was happy. I now realize that I just overcompensated for him in MANY ways, thinking that he would get the hang of SOME things and learn how to pitch in and or be more of a partner. We have tried marriage counseling through the yrs but nothing seems to have any effect on him. He goes through the movements or just says what sounds good at the time but just reverts back or doesn't do anything that would be or lead to meaningful change.
He operates on this lvl where if he thinks things are fair or good, they are...even though they so arent. He LOVES playing the semantics game where he will claim things like he IS "trying" bc he does X (that is a very small baby step type thing) for X amount of time and I guess I am supposed to understand and take whatever he is doing bc....reasons and he is "trying."
Besides doing his job that he was doing for years before we met (he is the same "lvl" and has not taken on ANY advancement in his career) to earn the $ that supports our family (we agreed I would give up my company and career until our youngest went to the 1st grade and I have made some savvy investments to bring in considerable $) he does practically NOTHING. He works from home since 2020/Covid and at 1st it was good bc it offered us more freedom in where we could live but now he is around 24/7. I would LOVE to return to my beloved career, but I have nothing left energy and time wise between our kids, the house, and him. He wont even get our mail out of the mailbox, let alone open it and or deal with LIFE.
He is seeing a psychiatrist and says he doesn't suffer from depression. He has terrible sleep hygiene and we sleep in separate rooms. We have cleaning people in once a week but his room is almost constantly dirty, disorganized, and cluttered. He constantly maintains that he doesn't really see what the problem is and plays the "semantics game" like "I empty out the dishwasher" ( a task that I have timed myself doing in less than 2 min) or "I take out the trash" when I bring up that I feel like Im drowning in a sea of tasks.
I have told him that I am unhappy. I have screamed and yelled. I have tried being sweet and accommodating to ask that he be at least semi-accommodating in return but he doesn't seem to care that our relationship is not mitigated. I have tried letting things get so bad that he would HAVE to do more but he just lets things get so bad like when our water gets turned off due to lack of payment, he goes to the store and bought a few gallons of water so "it buys us some time" getting the water bill paid the next day. It is NOT like we don't have the $, he just doesn't "like" paying bills and or "dealing with drudgery" LIKE I DO!?!?!
I have asked him to live in a hotel bc I told him that if he didn't, I would go to a hotel bc I need a break from him AND I want him to know I am SO SICK OF HIS SH*T. He agreed and is supposed to be trying to find help. He has tried life coaches (he simply did not do any work that they gave him to do and they charge 1k a month) and allegedly is trying procrastinators anonymous but I see no real effort. I have asked him to get diagnosed with ASD but he claims he spoke with a therapist that specializes in ppl with ASD and the therapist said that "it wouldn't matter" if he got a diagnosis. I asked if he is telling ppl that his marriage is on the rocks and he told me that he did say that his "lack of effort has put some strife in his marriage." Some strife in his marriage?!?! Did he elaborate and or tell them about how unhappy I am? No. He is "concentrating" his efforts on improving "executive functioning" and I guess this is supposed to help make the MEANINGFUL CHANGE I so desperately want and need him to make.
I think that something like boot camp or a life skill clinic or a halfway house for separated/divorced dads would stand the best chance of having him make the changes to his life he DESPERATELY needs to make. If not for me or even more for him but for our kids. They are picking up his bad and destructive habits. In his defense, he doesn't know how to do most things. Both of his parents were highly toxic ppl. His father died in his apt and it wasn't until his body started to smell that anyone noticed. The fire dept had to climb in through the window-fire escape bc the apt was so cluttered/hoarded. His mother is anorexic, keeps no food in the house, will sleep in her clothes on top of a made bed rather than "do all that laundry," and lives in squalor. So, he never learned it at home.
Is there anything where a grown man could learn basic life skills and or how to be a halfway (Id take 1/8) decent partner? Maybe if he could gain some life skills and or the ability to deal with life's demands, he would be happier, healthier in mind, body, and spirit, and in turn me and our family.
ANY suggestions besides "just get a divorce" or "put up with it bc you have for over a decade" it would be helpful. Thanks for reading my BOOK.

I (25F) grew up in Montana, I don't remember enjoying my time in it much, but I think a lot if it had to deal with childhood trauma. About 3 years ago I moved to California, I went to school and I have a career path in it and make okay money. But after 3 years, I'm absolutely miserable still. I can't seem to connect with anyone in CA, I unfortunately do not enjoy my job and I'm in online college to switch careers, overall I'm very over California and nothing is keeping me there anymore.
I've been considering moving back to Montana, likely somewhere other than my hometown, but I'm afraid it'd be a step back. I've grown and learned a lot in my years away, but I feel uncomfortable letting myself make the decision to come back. But I can't stay where I am any longer, I feel like a line needs to be drawn for my mental health. And I also don't know where else I'd go, I feel like I don't have a place that truly feels like home.
Does anyone have advice or stories that you've gone through during times like this? How do you know where to go? It seems like the vast majority of people just know and don't think twice about it.

I've been thinking about how my family mainly my sister who is less white and friends get really disturbed whenever I bring up having various other genes existing as something when the topic of people's genes get brought up. My grandpa is very clearly Hispanic and indigenous while my grandma is also indigenous but also Scottish; never did ancestry because I kept putting it off, but I assume that the percentage isn't much but it shows especially with my skin being darker than my parents, and my facial features especially because most people who I've had intimate relationships and are not under 35 notice it.
This isn't me trying to look for actual validation as much as a patient answer or events and out as much as I wonder what is so upsetting about this because this isn't me trying to be a vulture. I guess I just want to know what the mindset with this is because it seems like people are wanting me to just say white like some job application; I know that it's not a culture thing except for like a few friends because most of the people that care grew up like me and are from suburbs or small towns.

I mentioned some time ago online about Ai will and have taken jobs - even met a guy who was a sports writer at MSN for over 10 years, and he and his team of writers were replaced by Ai, yet the only comments were, "nobody uses MSN," being snarky (yes, MSN has over 600 million visits a month)... . So, I started keep track of trends, and here is a small portion of my list. After aggregating data, I was surprised how quickly Ai is being implemented to replace workers.
Small taste of the list:
Enovix = 170 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Cue Health = 230 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Luminar = 140 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Sprinklr = 116 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Peloton = 400 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Getir = 6,000 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Ola = 180 employees fired and replaced by AI.
True Anomaly = 30 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Nike = 740 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Take-Two = 579 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Tesla = 14,000 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Criteo = 140 employees fired and replaced by AI.
TikTok = 250 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Checkr = 382 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Apple = 614 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Ghost Autonomy = 100 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Byju’s = 500 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Synctera = 17 employees fired and replaced by AI.
ShopBack = 195 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Chipper Cash = 20 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Turnitin = 15 employees fired and replaced by AI.
ONE = 40 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Project Ronin = 150 employees fired and replaced by AI.
EA = 670 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Bumble = 350 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Sony = 900 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Expedia = 1,500 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Finder = 60 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Cisco = 4,000 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Toast = 550 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Instacart = 250 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Mozilla = 60 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Grammarly = 230 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Polygon Labs = 60 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Okta = 400 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Thinx = 95 workers fired and replaced by AI.
Proofpoint = 280 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Block = 1,000 people fired and replaced by AI.
iRobot = 350 people fired and replaced by AI.
Salesforce = 700 workers fired and replaced by AI.
Microsoft = 1,900 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Swiggy = 400 jobs fired and replaced by AI.
eBay = 1,000 full-time employees fired and replaced by AI.
SAP = 8,000 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Brex = 282 workers fired and replaced by AI.
TikTok = 60 jobs fired and replaced by AI.
Riot Games = 530 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Wayfair = 1,650 employees fired and replaced by AI.
YouTube = 100 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Discord = 170 people fired and replaced by AI.
Twitch = 500 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Treasure Financial = 14 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Unity = 1,800 people fired and replaced by AI.
Orca Security = 60 employees fired and replaced by AI.
Frontdesk = 200-person workforce fired and replaced by AI.
If this is the trend right now, as I type, "How Pervasive Are Jobs Being Lost to Ai?" I don't know the full scope of it's impact, or pervasiveness, but if you have any clues, feel free to let us know.

helloo i’m currently completing my A levels to study psychology.
i’ll be having a month long sem break in july (starting 29th june) before uni applications start and i want to get into and learn a bit more about the field so i can build a good personal statement. does anyone know of any research groups that are looking for pre-uni students to volunteer or just any jobs/internship roles that i can take up as a 19 y/o that might help with my experience/understanding of psychology. preferably anywhere in johor (malaysia) or online please, thank you sm!

Hello,
So i decided a few months back to buy myself a roadbike. I did get a body measurements by a bikefitter BEFORE deciding which bike to get.
It seems i have 'long legs, short torso' for a dude: 174cm body height, 82,5 inseam. I did get a suggestion to get a 540 toptube length. Stack: 565mm Reach: 382mm
I found such a bike, an Endurance bike.
But when cycling for a few km, it seems to me that the reach is to far for me. I tend to put my hands before the hoods. If I want to reach for the hoods, it feels like I overstretch bit.
Also getting some discomfort during short rides 20km, in my lower back/SIG.
This isn't normal, right? My legs aren't tired after a ride, I mostly stop because of that discomfort after some miles.
Now what? My stem is already a short 100mm. If I bought a smaller frame (extra small) my stack would also decrease a lot.
I know, that my hamstrings are to tight, because of having a desk job.
Any suggestions?

Hello everyone,
I going to be an incoming freshman in GCU starting in September of course, and I was wondering about the jobs. What is the easiest jobs to apply for, what is the job application process like, and how many hours should I work a week?

The days are short, the nights are extensively long. Those who survive, do so thanks to the endless charity of the ruling class, but none thrive. Those who are mighty, get inducted. Those who are a threat, get ended. Bounty hunters are aplenty, and all those who are scorned from all corners of society are welcomed under the embrace of Lenssle's darkened skies.

Campaign Info

• Scheduling - Scheduling is fairly flexible around GMT timezones. 5 PM GMT and after is generally the go to. Thursdays/Saturdays/Mondays are the available days. The time is fairly flexible, and the day/time of sessions will be determined based on the availability of attendees, that's to say, once the players are decided, we'll figure out a consistent schedule.
• Requirements - A working mic, a computer, and time.
• Campaign - The campaign is set in a homebrew city adjacent to Faerun. It's a city cursed with ancient, inexplicable magic that forces it to only ever get about two hours of shitty sunlight a day, and the rest is just clouds and general darkness. This has made it a haven for all those rejected by society, whether due to taboo or due to their nature or afflictions. It's ruled by a set of noble vampire families, a mercenary company, and a family of cutthroat werewolves. The city serves as a central location for bounty hunters, loreseekers, and those interested in arcane arts that are banned everywhere else.
• Rulings - As a DM, I'm incredibly flexible with game rules as I tend to favour fun a lot more. I also have a habit of homebrewing absolutely insane magic items for my players and my general goal is to let each player "do the cool thing" so to speak. I don't actually give much of a damn about official rulings if they get in the way of people enjoying the game.
• Questions - If you have any further inquiries, feel free to either leave a comment or text me directly. I will respond to things as soon as I can, however do not expect a very swift response.

________
The Setting:
The setting is largely centred around subverting the general themes of what you'd expect from a high fantasy campaign. This isn't exactly dark fantasy, but it leans very heavily into the themes. There is also an aspect of cosmic horror attached at higher levels.

• The City - The central focus of the campaign. Technically there is a main storyline to follow, however if the party doesn't wish to stick with that, there's a quest board and a bounty board. The environment is highly reactive, and the goal is to build a narrative centred around the PCs and not the other way around.
• The Story - Beyond the introductory quest that gets everyone together, the story follows a web of lies, questions, and secrets untangle themselves as the PCs explore. The idea is that each portion of the city has its own reasons to tie into the story, so ultimately the experience wouldn't be lost, but a lot of angles are provided to come at the story from.
• The People - Most NPCs aren't meant to be generic. Everyone in this city has a story and a reason to be here. Be it that they were born here, escaped a previous life, or have chosen to settle down somewhere less temperamental than the average village or city within Faerun. Each family has its own history and lore, however I'll only dive into those if asked. Lore dumping isn't to be expected unless prompted.

The campaign will likely stay within the confines of the city, but I'm open to suggestions about going beyond at higher levels.
________
About me: Name's Yusuf. I'm 23 years old. I live in Egypt. I've been running 5e consistently (1/2 sessions a week save for skips) for the past 4.5 years, and have experimented a lot with other systems. The reason I like 5e is because it offers a lot of flexibility for both player and DM, allowing a curated experience outside of the Intended Game Design™ of most TTRPGs. Having said that, it comes with an ungodly amount of jank that you have to weave through. Funnily enough, that is a very fair description of me as well, since I have a fairly fringe sense of humour but I do dabble into most things in life if just to try them. Ultimately, I don't judge anyone for doing anything long as it isn't too degenerate or outright criminal.
Application link: https://forms.gle/MddwwowQ5m9otW7BA

Thought this may help someone out there who can’t remember what to buy so here is basically everything I bought - [ ] Zip up pajamas - [ ] Velcro swaddle - [ ] Baby carrier - [ ] Diaper bag - [ ] Rocker - [ ] Play mat/gym - [ ] Bassinet - [ ] Teething toy - [ ] Rectal thermometer - [ ] Electric nasal aspirator - [ ] Pacifier clips - [ ] Crinkle toy - [ ] Car seat - [ ] Stroller - [ ] Baby bottles - [ ] Electric nail file - [ ] Infrared thermometer - [ ] Sensory toy set - [ ] tummy time Baby mirror - [ ] Tummy time high contrast toy - [ ] Tummy time inflatable mat - [ ] Portable breast pump - [ ] Baby wipes - [ ] Vitamin d drops - [ ] Baby toothbrush - [ ] Baby lotion - [ ] Baby bath thermometer - [ ] Postpartum recovery kit (witch hazel pads, disposable underwear, perineal ice packs, perineal cooling foam) - [ ] Onesies - [ ] Mittens - [ ] Diaper rash cream - [ ] First aid kit - [ ] Baby wash - [ ] Baby oil - [ ] Baby laundry detergent - [ ] Petroleum jelly - [ ] Gas relief drops - [ ] Infant Tylenol - [ ] Manual breast pump - [ ] Hokka milk collector - [ ] Pacifiers - [ ] Diaper rash cream applicator - [ ] Diapers - [ ] Socks - [ ] Baby pants - [ ] Baby bath - [ ] Baby wipes - [ ] Bibs - [ ] Muslin swaddle blankets - [ ] Receiving blankets - [ ] Baby towel with hood - [ ] Baby wash cloth - [ ] Baby clothes hangers - [ ] Burp cloths - [ ] Baby swing - [ ] Breast milk storage bags - [ ] Tooth and gum wipes - [ ] Breast pump wipes - [ ] Portable breast milk cooler - [ ] Bassinet mattress protector - [ ] Nursing/pumping bras - [ ] Pajamas - [ ] Bassinet sheets - [ ] Baby cap - [ ] Peri bottle - [ ] Dermoplast spray - [ ] Lanolin cream - [ ] Cooling gel nipple pads - [ ] Menstrual pads - [ ] Portable changing pad - [ ] Bottle warmer - [ ] Baby wipe warmer
Things I have not yet bought or other things I haven’t bought but may help you - [ ] High chair - [ ] Sound machine - [ ] Silicone dish set (suction bottom) - [ ] Push pop feeder - [ ] Hemorrhoid cream - [ ] Sitz bath - [ ] Pacifier medicine syringe - [ ] Oogiebear booger picker - [ ] Nursing pillow - [ ] Sleep sack - [ ] Soothing gum gel - [ ] Gripe water - [ ] Car seat safety mirror (or camera) - [ ] Baby monitor - [ ] Owlet dream sock
Things to consider including in your hospital bag - [ ] Clothes for baby - [ ] Bibs - [ ] Burp clothes - [ ] Recieving blankets - [ ] Diapers - [ ] Baby wipes - [ ] Diaper rash cream - [ ] Petroleum jelly - [ ] Baby bottles - [ ] Formula - [ ] Pacifiers - [ ] Shampoo - [ ] Conditioner - [ ] Body wash - [ ] Face wash - [ ] Feminine wash - [ ] Postpartum essentials - [ ] Pajamas - [ ] Underwear - [ ] Shirts - [ ] Socks - [ ] Pants - [ ] Deodorant - [ ] Toothbrush - [ ] Toothpaste - [ ] Hairbrush - [ ] Ponytail holder - [ ] Makeup - [ ] Folder for documents - [ ] Menstrual pads
Install car seat

I'm doing an online program at WGU and wondering if going to a non well known college would have any effect on my chances of getting a job?

I’ve never wanted to go to college before this year, but i decided i wanted to be a teacher. I really want to live on my own after i graduate highschool though. so i was just wondering if i got my degree online, whats the chances i actually get hired? when i moved schools my principal told me if i went online for highschool id go nowhere in life (i had to i was in the middle of moving across the country) so idk just wondering. major in education and undergrad in biology

We received a grant from the Library of Congress Teaching with Primary Sources program. YAY! We'll be offering online two-hour professional development for teachers in North and South Dakota in August before school starts up. There will also be additional workshops during the school year - an onsite one for which we pay travel expenses, and a second online workshop. Teachers who attend get graduate credit. My question is - what time should we schedule the summer workshop? I was thinking somewhere around 4-6 pm or 6-8 because teachers might have summer jobs, be doing activities with their kids, etc. What would be your preference?

To give a little background, my (42f) last long term relationship ended after 10 years, three months before our wedding.
Everything was booked and planned and paid for. He picked me up from work one day and confessed he couldn’t marry me because he wasn’t in love with me anymore. There was no discussion, no attempt or willingness to try to work things out. It was just done.
I was broken. After that, once I started to recover I found myself reconnecting with my childhood sweetheart. The more time we spent together the more we discovered we still loved each other. The problem was he was with another girl. I will strongly emphasis that at no point did we ever do anything physical with one another. No kissing, no inappropriate touching, nothing.
He strung me along for a year telling me how unhappy he was and they were sleeping in separate bedrooms and like an idiot I believed him. I know, I know. 🫣
Eventually I told him he couldn’t keep on having what I considered an emotional affair and not tell his gf. He agreed and went home to do exactly that.
Turns out (according to him), that he told her, she broke down and he decided to stay with her. I’m sure everyone else here is not in the least surprised.
After that I decided I’d prefer to be alone than experience the kind of pain and shame of those two “relationships” again.
Along comes my now husband (36m) We met online and bonded instantly. We met in person a bunch of times, flying to and from each others countries until I quit my job and moved to his to be together.
After a few years we bought a house together, then had a baby and then god married. We’ve been together six years now and have been so so happy. We joke about how alike we are and how we’re practically the same person just of the opposite sex.
He’s not perfect, neither am I but we’ve always made it work and we might disagree and snap at one another occasionally but we’ve never had a massive blow out fight.
I’ve been sick for a while and it’s made me depressed, I’m also not working because we’ve also moved to yet another country where I’m not fluent in the language and am six months pregnant with our second child.
Now here is the problem. We’ve grown distant, he’s stressed and tired, I’m stressed and tired and / or sick and our son is a wonderful, kind, animated little soul who has endless endless energy but we both have struggled with him because we don’t have the energy to keep up with him. He’s not got any issues that we’re aware of, nothing has been highlighted by his kindergarten teachers except a short tempter but everyone admits that he’s a handful due to his boundless energy, endless chatter and somewhat wilful nature.
I’ve started to feel as though my husband doesn’t love me anymore. He’s admitted he feels put off from penatrative intercourse due to the pregnancy and honestly that’s quite common. He’s also told me how he feels like he never has any alone time.
Either myself or our son are always home and he feels stretched thin and over stimulated. As a loner, I totally understand those feelings but part of me worries he’s also falling out of love with me.
He admits that a spark has diminished and he hopes it comes back after things settle down and assures me that he still loves me.
We have a friend couple who we’ve recently started chatting to more and spending more time with and we both seem closer to the girl of the couple. I’m finding myself feeling insecure and jealous that he may be developing feelings for her.
She and her boyfriend seem happy and committed. They’re buying a house together and she’s talking about wanting kids with him. But when we’re out or hanging out as a four she and my husband still seem to be more interested in what they’re doing than their partners.
She’s younger and a very giggly bubbly girl and I like her but I’m stressed and don’t have that same happy energy I once had.
I suspect I’m over reacting and hormonal from the pregnancy but I can’t get past these feelings and I’m now almost in tears some nights and actually cried the other night when I told my husband how I felt.
I know he won’t cheat on me but that doesn’t mean his heart won’t want someone else.
What can I do to get over my insecurities?
TL;DR I’m worried my husband has fallen out of love with me, based on my past experiences and probably pregnancy hormones. How do I work on myself to get over this?

I have a part-time job at a local university cutting up big 1-2hr presentations into smaller chunks for people to consume online after they've been given. The position was essentially created for me to try and get some experience (my wife works at the university, so that's how I got the connection). Because of this, most of the decision-making when it comes down to edits is up to me. There was some questions I had to ask here and there in the beginning, but now that I know what they want to keep and what they are fine with me editing, I just mostly get the videos, cut them up, and reupload.
I noticed, however, that the more I've edited, the more I have decided to really edit hard and trim out basically all long pauses (anything that would seem longer than a breath needed to start a new sentence) and presenters saying "Ummmmmm", as that actually tends to happen a lot. My reasoning for this is that I actually think the removal of the extra pauses and filler sounds makes the presentations sound a lot smoother and well-prepared, and if I was a listener to a recorded lecture, I'd certainly want to have things be as clear and concise as possible (but that's just me).
My concern is that maybe I'm spending too much time removing stuff that doesn't matter. Overall, on a good video (little-to-no extra pausing or noises), I might save like 10min for every hour of presentation. On bad ones, I've saved 15-20min over the course of 70min or so. Unfortunately, this usually means that 60-90min videos take me around 6-7hrs to cut through (this includes adding title cards, trying to throw in a matte color background to make the Zoom calls appear less bland, and exporting individual parts from the whole). This feels excessive, but since I have no real industry experience besides a short internship and this job, I don't really know for sure. If I asked my supervisor, he wouldn't have a clue since he's giving me the work as somewhat of a proverbial bone-throw.
Obviously, if I have more billable hours, I get paid more, but I also don't love spending so much time on what ends up being like 60min of cut-up footage, especially when I'm not even doing animations or any major editing. I also don't want a reputation for being someone that takes far too long to do something that should/could be simpler. It's mostly just trimming things up and putting on a nice bow in the form of logos and title cards.
In this scenario, do you think removing most/all extra pauses and filler sounds makes sense? Or am I putting way too much effort into this? Being able to trim 10-20min off an hour or more seems like something people would probably benefit from, especially if I'm chunking things up to make them easier to watch after the fact. I'm just not sure if it should be taking me 7hrs to go through 90min of footage and trim out all the bloat.