So I thought I’d leave my review since it’s summer and I’m sure others are wondering what to try. I live in Michigan and the summers here are pretty humid. I know the cooling vests/accessories are not generally recommended for humid weather so I thought I’d first try the accessory items before the vest and see how it goes.
Items:
https://canadapooch.com/collections/dog-cooling/products/wet-reveal-dog-cooling-bandana-scarf?variant=39961894158421
https://ruffwear.com/products/swamp-cooler-neck-gaiter
I personally like the Ruffwear cooling neck gaiter more.
The one cool feature I liked about the Canada pooch bandana was that they had an option to buy a kind that changes from being a solid color when dry, to happy faces appearing when wet. This is a nice feature so you know when the bandana needs to be resoaked or just taken off if it’s dry and there’s no more water.
Only issue is, i think i ordered a size too large. I ordered a medium for my Maltese mix dog who is 20 pounds. Should have stuck with a small. No matter how much i tied it, it fell off. I think it was too long for my dog so it bothered him when he walked. But I’m not even bothering to exchange it and the reason for that is, i don’t think a size small would have been useful anyway. Even if it stuck on to him, i don’t like the concept of the bandana as much as the gaiter. It doesn’t stick around him/his neck or chest enough to make a difference anyway. What’s nice about the Ruffwear gaiter is that it wraps around his neck so it stays in place against his skin and isn’t hanging out like a bandana typically does. If i wanted to cover the chest and back area that’s where a harness would come in handy. Neck gaiter i purchased in a size x-small by the way. Fits perfect. Their sizing runs differently since it’s a gaiter, not a bandana, so there’s more size options.
Now the neck gaiter i think made an actual difference. Yesterday when i took my dog out in 82-85 degree weather, he wanted to go back inside within 5 minutes and ran for his life for water, understandably so. Today i put on the Ruffwear neck gaiter for the first time and he was able to have a typical 15-20 minute quick walk around our condo complex. He was way more relaxed coming back compared to yesterday’s walk. And both days have been just as humid/sunny at around the same time both days.
Now don’t get me wrong, i don’t think this gaiter would have been as useful in humid weather for long walks/walking long trails. Unless you had a ton of water to constantly re-soak the gaiter with, but that sounds too heavy to carry on such long walks. In dry heat I’m sure it’s more manageable.
But this helped me decide to just go ahead and get my dog a cooling harness. I would be using it for shorter walks so I’m not worried about it drying up and making him hotter in the humidity. I don’t give my dog long walks if it’s that hot outside anyways, not worth risking it. He’s sensitive to heat as most dogs are.
Hope this helped anyone who’s going back and forth about the humidity issue with cooling wear. As a bonus review, i got my dog one of the cooling toys from Canada pooch, specifically the dolphin. I believe there’s 4 different animal cooling toys. He’s obsessed with it and i haven’t even soaked it yet lol!!!
I didn’t bother with the hat because i know he will get it off. Same with pavement boots. He would never allow me to get those on. I just avoid walks on pavement if it’s that hot. Luckily for me it’s easy to avoid since grass is right by my garage and door.
I’m not interested in cooling vests since my dog is always leashed when outside (unless at dog park but still needs a harness between going in and out of park and car. He’s a puller so can’t use leash with his collar.
I see that both Ruffwear and Canada pooch have a cooling harness but i think I’m gonna go with Ruffwear just because i know their material on the neck gaiter worked on my dog. That doesn’t mean Canada pooch material wouldn’t work, but i wasn’t able to test it out since the bandana design is flawed in my opinion. I’ll edit my review of the Ruffwear cooling harness once i have it. Hopefully it’s just as affective as their neck gaiter was for short walks.
TLDR: get the Ruffwear cooling neck gaiter over the Canada pooch cooling bandana in my opinion. Neck gaiter is a better design over a bandana. These items work fine in humid heat as long as it’s for short walks. Haven’t and wouldn’t try for long walks. I avoid long walks in high heat anyways, especially since it’s humid by me. Will try Ruffwear cooling harness next for the same purposes and edit this post with my review!

I played varsity in high school and toyed with the idea of playing in college but decided to focus on school telling myself I would keep playing recreational. Long story short I ended up not playing for several years. I became chronically ill in 2022 and wound up unemployed for about 2 years. I’m now employed and on a tight budget due to being low/no income for so long, but I want to get back on the ice as a way to stay healthy physically and mentally. I played in goal and where I live goalies don’t have to pay for ice time which is a huge help. I still have most of my old gear but I do need to replace some things like my mask and chest protector. Does anyone have any advice on getting back into the game, or finding gear on a budget?

i love masculine men who are shorter than me, for some reason they seem so handsome to me, they look very attractive, plus i love hugging them from behind (any man tho, but this is a more comfortable experience) it adds points if they have a napoleon complex, ahhh boss me around tiny king 😍 i wanna tease him and make him angry. i wanna compliment him non-stop and increase his ego. everyday i see and meet more and more masculine guys who are shorter than me and i love it, my country's average height is short, (i don't Really care about all this, it's just a preference factor i noticed) i also love masc men of my same height, the more similar we are is so attractive 👬😵‍💫
but when it comes to feminine presenting guys this preference changes, taller feminine guys are so beautiful i like to see them as gods they're aphrodite and i have fantasies about being used by a much more tall fem man as his little strong handsome big c0cked toy, i love the mental image of a tall fem grabbing a shorter masc by her chest clothes or tie moving and handling her as he wants, she simping over his gorgeous body and sexy long legs in heels / boots that make him even taller and more feminine, i love this feeling of being hyper masculine, shorter, and a top, i feel more serviceable. i think mentally it's because the fact that the guy is taller and fem makes me see him as "superior / god", also he's weaker so due to strength i have to protect him and do the hard work, he's beautiful and delicate, it generates me adoration, and i have all the masculinity, the rough and the strong, but anyway "i'm inferior" (k¡nk of mine) and i serve him because he's divine, i'm fascinated by femininity in a big body. i basically love dominant, powerful, mature femininity in control of me and he being taller helps that but it isn't necessary ofc. when it comes to fem men i'm literally like a 5'7 sub bald guy from femdom.. but out of s3xual, they're just very pretty. anyway i love men

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

My phone vibrated. As did my smartwatch. I glimpsed up from my laptop, which was sitting in my lap so I could go over my presentation again. I was in the car, my boss was driving and we were headed to a conference, where both of us were supposed to speak. We were traveling for more than 7 hours now due to numerous traffic jams on our way.
Looking at my watch, I saw, it was the doorbell which caused the vibration. Already distracted from my presentation I pulled out my phone. Opening the doorbell app, I just so see, that my wife asks Becky, our young black dogsitter with her DD boobs into the house. "Curious" I thought, my wife hadn't told me, she wanted to go out that evening. It was a Tuesday, so it was her usual day for her Zumba class, but that would have meant leaving the dogs alone for about 1 and a half hours, so no need for a dogsitter. However, judging from what little I had seen, Becky was wearing an extremely short black latex skirt and a minimalist latex crop top, the full outfit barely covering her tits, ass and pussy. In addition to a black leather collar, it looked like my wife had ordered her in with other stuff in mind than just watching the dogs, even if there was the possibility, Becky's outfit was just due to the 30+ degree heatwave we were having.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrated again. It was a text from my wife. "Heading out to Zumba". She followed it up with a picture of her in her sports dress. Due to the heat she only wore tight short pants, a very tight revealing top and her sports bra. So her petite size combined with her chubby figure and her big tits were easy to spot. "Looking great" I answered. "Have fun, love you". "You have any plans later?" She asked. "No" I answered. "I won't be able to make it to swimming today. I'm not even at the hotel yet. So just dinner with my boss and then I will head for the bed." I replied. "Ok" was the only answer I got.
My boss and I checked into the hotel and found a place to eat, when I got another message from my wife. It was a shower selfie from the gym, showing her having her tits soaped up. I had to make sure, nobody saw my developing boner below a napkin. And this was also unusual, as my wife normally prefers to shower at home. What did she have planned. "Going out?" I asked her. I didn't get an answer for a while. Then I got another selfie. My wife was now wearing a long, tight, black PU skirt, and a black leather corsage, which was barely able to keep her G-Cups inside. She also had makeup on and her black hair with a tint of red worked perfectly with her black lipstick. A second picture showed, that she did not wear panties, but a buttplug. "Gonna surprise Becky" was her answer to my previous question. "Let's check whether she obeyed" was the next text I got, before I had an incoming videocall from the group my wife had created for the three of us. I excused myself from the table and left the table, while keeping the lid of my phone case closed. I took a Bluetooth headset out of my pocket and went outside to take the call. As soon as I did, I had to hold my breath. My wife held up her phone in her car in a way, that Becky and I had perfect view of her cleavage, while Becky was clearly sitting on our terrace, wearing the earlier described outfit, her legs spread apart and her camera clearly showing that she also had inserted a buttplug and additionally a vibrator in her pussy, pleasuring herself. From her position I could see, that there was a very slim, but not zero chance she could be seen by a passing neighbor. "Good girl" I heard my wife's voice. "Expect me home in 20 minutes. Keep going with the vibrator but do not come before I'm home or you will regret it". "Yes Madam" was Becky's answer. "Now put on a show for my husband" my wife again commanded. I watched the vibrator going in and out her pink pussy, which contrasted nicely with her chocolate skin, before commanding her, to take down her top, revealing her double D's to the camera (and potentially the neighbors). She was hesitant at first. "I will tell my wife of your disobedience" was all I had to say. However, as much as I loved the show, I could not watch it till the end, as my boss now also came out of the restaurant, having paid the bill. So I cut the connection and we went on our way to the hotel.
When we arrived at the hotel, my boss asked, whether we wanted to go for a drink at the bar. At the same time, my wife had already sent me a selfie with our car on the garage and her playing on her pussy, presumably watching Becky somehow. "Are you ready to watch" was the caption. So I thanked my boss again for the dinner and excused myself to my hotel room. "Give me a couple of minutes" was my answer to my wife. "Hurry up" she wrote, accompanied by a picture below her skirt, showing her pink pussy and her fluids already flowing down her legs. I quickly setup my tablet and connected it to the WIFI. While I was doing this I received several messages from my wife. The first one was a picture, showing a top view into her corsage, showing clearly, that it was unable to really tame her tits, with her areolas already visible. If a neighbor saw her on the way from the car to the house, he would have quite a look. I was secretly hoping for that to happen. I know some of the neighbors had already checked out Becky or other visitors to our house when they arrived in playtime "clothes" but my wife so far had mostly gone unnoticed by the neighbors. The second picture was a screenshot from one of our bedroom cameras on my wife's phone, showing Becky, lying on her back, her tits once again hidden by her latex top, her legs spread wide open towards the camera. Her skirt had moved upwards and was lying on her hips. The buttplug was replaced by a vibrator, and she also had a vibrator inserted into her pussy. I admired once again the contrast of her pink flesh to the dark chocolate color of her body. "I have the remotes" my wife wrote with a winking emoji. "Hurry up, I'm horny". "Me too" I thought, "and it's not helping that you send me these pictures". Finally I had an internet connection ready and connected onto our home VPN to access the cameras. "I'm in" I wrote to my wife. "Going in" was her answer.
While I waited for my wife to appear, I watched Becky on the tablet. She was still pretty much in the same pose as before and I could only imagine, that she was in this pose, because my wife had ordered her so. She really loved to submit herself to both of us, what made the evenings with her fun. Suddenly I could see her shiver and heard hear moans getting louder. I could see her fighting, but ultimately losing the fight against her orgasm, induced by the two vibrators in her pussy and ass, controlled by my wife. Only a few seconds later I hear high heels coming up the stairs and my wife entering the room. She had added black, knee high leather boots to her already seducing outfit and held a small whip in her hand. I saw Becky's eyes widen, it was a mixture of lust and fear. "You know you can tell me to stop at any time if it is too much," my wife said ."It is fine, I dreamed about playing with a whip, just haven't done it yet. But please be gentle, "was Becky's answer. "Did I stutter, when I told you not to come?" My wife now said in a fake angry voice. She followed it up with a lash onto her top and the boob below. I could hear the sound and I saw Becky flinch for a split-second. But her eyes told, that she was okay with what happened. "Sorry Madam. It was just to much pleasure you gave me with the vibrators," Becky whispered. "So now this is my fault you cannot control yourself?" My wife asked while still faking anger, followed by a lash onto the other boob. "No Madam, I did not obey your orders. What can I do to make it up?" "That will be up to me, I already have some ideas." My wife said to her, while she positioned a few whiplashes around Becky's pussy. You could already see the mixture of pain and lust in Becky's eyes.
From the messages before, and the show I got on camera my cock was already more than rock hard and I hurried to get rid off my pants and boxers, to release the pain this was causing me. That was when I realized, the blinds were still open, so I corrected this mistake quickly. No need to be seen masturbating in a conference hotel.
On my screen the action now got more intense. "Why are you still dressed?" My wife asked. I laughed out, because the short top and the extremely short skirt that was already hanging on Becky's hips could barely be counted as dressed, as she didn't even wear any underwear. "Get these skimpy clothes of your body" was the next command. To reinforce this statement two whiplashes onto each boob were added. Becky quickly got up, robbing me of the view between her legs and wanted to pull her top over her head, her back to my wife and the camera. She was interrupted by a whiplash onto her ass, as the skirt still was hanging on her hips. This time my wife seemingly had put more force into it, as for a short time you could see the impact on Becky's chocolate skin. "No need to hide. Make it a show for me and the camera". Becky obeyed. She turned around and started pulling up her top above her DD tits, covering them with her hands, playing a little bit by pushing them left right and up and down before performing a boob drop and finally pushing her top over her head. She let it turn around one of her fingers before throwing it on the general direction of my wife. While her boobs are a lot smaller than my wife's G-Cups, due to her taller but skinnier stature and chocolate color, those were my second favorite boobs. Her areolas were forward facing and she had quite a gap in between them. And they looked incredibly sexy in the current lighting, bouncing with every of Becky's movements. My wife nodded approvingly. Afterwards Becky started pulling down her skirt while moving laszivly. Her boobs and her hips moving while she slowly hid her pussy before revealing it again. She got down on her knees, spreading her legs for my wife and me before she got out of the skirt, pushed it aside and got up again. Unfortunately for her, the vibrator fell out of her pussy during this movement. A second later she got another whiplash on her pussy. "Did I tell you to loose the vibrator?" My wife said in a harsh voice. "No Madam." Becky said, lowering her head. "Well, then pick it up and put it where it belongs again. Becky started bending her knees and lowering her back, when she was once again interrupted by a whiplash targeted at her right tit. "Not like that. Turn around and bend over, we want to see your ass." I think I caught a short grin on Becky's face. She definitely did not mind what my wife did to her. She turned around, spread her legs so I would be able to see her face and upper body between them, bent over, wiggled with her ass, which of course also caused her tits to wiggle in front of her face. This of course also revealed the vibrator in her butt. Just when Becky had her fingers on the vibrator on the floor I could hear her moan and saw her legs shaking. My wife now stood besides her, facing the camera holding the remote in the hand that did not hold the whip. With shaking hands from arousal Becky tried to take up the vibrator again, and just when her fingers were there, my wife increased the intensity with the remote again, leading to Becky losing control and collapsing on the floor. As soon as her body hit the floor another whiplash hit her ass. "Am I talking incomprehensibly? You are not to come without my permission and you are asked to get this vibrator into your worthless pussy while showing your fucking ass. What is so hard about that?" While talking, my wife added additional whiplashes onto her ass with a couple of them also hitting the pussy area. "I'm sick of this, now get your worthless body onto the bed and open your legs to the camera". "Yes Madam" was the only answer from Becky. When she got up I glimpsed a look in her face and saw it was pure lust, despite the pain.
Up until now I had started playing with myself. The view and sound on my tablet were just to arousing. I realized, that I was already close to cumming, but there would be more action for me to watch. Nevertheless I couldn't stop, and a few quick strokes and I came in 3 high squirts over my upper body. In the meanwhile the action on the screen continued.
As ordered, Becky lay down as she had been before only now her tits were also clearly visible on camera. My wife bent down herself, making sure I got a good show and picked up the vibrator Becky had failed to pick up twice. She shoved it into Becky's pussy again, before she used the remote again to set both vibrators in Becky's ass an pussy to their lowest setting again. Becky's pelvis moved, as the overstimulation was to much again. My wife once again addressed her: "This should be about me, not you! Time you put your body to some use. Now get me out of my skirt." She ordered, standing next to the bed, with her ass to the camera. Becky sat up, her open pussy still facing the camera and giving me a prime look at her tits. She undid my wife's belt and started pulling down the skirt. My wife supported this with very erotic moves and just a few seconds later I had the perfect view onto the greatest ass in the galaxy. The right roundness, perfect size, perfect shape and feel and just overall perfect for me. My wife pushed Becky back onto the bed, while at the same time bending over, revealing the buttplug and vibrator she had in herself. This movement was also to much for her corsage and her tits fell out. "Make yourself useful and suck on my tits!" was her next command, to which Becky promptly obeyed while my wife made quite a show out of removing the vibrator from her pussy. She spread her legs, shaking that great ass and slowly pulled out the vibrator millimeter by millimeter and pushing it in 5 millimeters in again for every 10 millimeters she had pulled it out. When she was done, she climbed onto the bed sat up and pushed Becky's upper body down. She then climbed over Becky's face and began riding on her face. Becky understood what to do and gave her best to luck my wife's pussy. My wife's boobs jumped around on her chest, which made her abandon her whip and she started massaging and playing with them, while leaning slightly backwards. This gave me a great view and made me hard again in an instant. Also due to my wife's movements on the bed, Becky's tits started to wiggle, but she needed her hands to ensure my wife's thighs had sufficient space in between for her not to suffocate. This got more and more difficult, as my wife quickly approached her orgasm. It took her less than 2 minutes before she collapsed forward, her face more or less falling onto Becky's pussy. My wife catched her breath for half a minute or so, before she pulled herself up again, grabbed her whip and climbed down from Becky. Becky's face was covered in my wife's fluids, it almost looked like my wife had squirted onto Becky's face. Becky also sat up and catched her breath.
My wife held up Becky's face by placing her whip below her chin. "Good girl, seems like you are good for something. I think you have earned some reward." She said and gave Becky two gentle whiplashes onto her nipples, which made Becky moan again. My wife bent down beside the bed, showing me her great ass with the buttplug again and opened our toy drawer. She grabbed a blindfold and tossed it to Becky. "Put that on, and get on your knees, face to the camera." Becky went on her knees and elbows, what resulted in a harsh whiplash on her ass. "On your hands, not your elbows" and as Becky took to long for her liking, a second whiplash followed. Now Becky obeyed and stayed more upright. Next my wife went, and repositioned the camera, so now the camera was low enough to look between Becky's legs. Next, my wife pulls out a dual vibrator we had bought recently. She inserted the short part as advertised into her vagina and went behind Becky. She then removed the vibrators from Becky's pussy and ass and slowly started to insert the long part of the double vibrator into Becky's pussy. I was able to see Becky's surprised look through the blindfold, as my wife's pelvis touched Becky's ass and she realized, what was happening. The next surprise came, when my wife activated the vibrations and started fucking her Doggystyle. I was almost in heaven. Seeing a pair of DD tits bouncing in the big picture, and my wife's G-Cups also bouncing in the background while my wife grabbed Becky by the hips and gave her a pounding was an absolutely fantastic view. This went on for about 10 minutes, with me wanking of in my hotel bed, my wife pounding the dogsitter Doggystyle and the dogsitter moaning loudly. It seemed, the double vibrator had some kind of burst mode, as both women increased and decreased their volume in regular intervals. After 10 minutes the two women collapsed over each other from their orgasm and I also came again.
After everyone had catched their breath again, my wife told Becky she could go home now, she would still make the last train even with some time to wash herself. After Becky was gone, my wife and myself had video call under our showers. After that we said goodnight. My wife told me, to have fun on the conference reception the next day, but to not forget my camera...

Hello,
I posted here a while ago. I'm married (1 year) to my DW (together for 5 years). She has SS (12), who is severely disabled. No walking, talking, eating by himself, wears a diaper etc. He sits in a wheelchair but has to have support on his chest with a belt so he doesn't fall over.
When I got together with DW, he was with us every other weekend. BM decided a year ago it was to much for her and now he is with us every other week. I support DW with everything I can, finances, doing more housework, sometimes I feed or even wash him. I don't watch over him alone because he has severe epilepsy and his seizures are really heavy.
I feel bad a lot of times because I can't really care for him in a medical way (and, to be honest, I don't want this responsibility). DW is exhausted, she is working every other week full time and when he is here part time.
We have nurses who go to school with him and care for him after school till DW comes home. Recently it is hard to find new nurses because one got pregnant and the last few where not able to care for him properly.
BM still get's full child support, because here in my country child services help with calculating the amount of child support, but they are very slow. I told DW to go to a lawyer but she is kind of procrastinating on contacting one. I understand she is very stressed and has so much to organize, but because of that she struggles financially. I support the best I can, and she doesn't want me to support her more, but we can't do stuff we did before and it makes me sad.
In the past I tried to suggest solutions but often DW get's angry with that. I said maybe there are residental home who take him part time, and he is where at the weekend, but she said she doesn't want me to "plant this thought inside her head".
BM is only coping with the situation because she is living off child support and has every other week for herself,, she doesn't have a job.
It makes me angry but my suggestions always end in an argument.
So I read about nachoing and I recently began to just listen to DW and say something like "Oh, this sounds hard." or "Tell me if I can do anything for you". But I don't take action by myself. I still do most of the cooking, groceries, cleaning, organization etc. I also bought SS some clothes. But I'm not always there, "nagging" to find a lawyer. I just listen and then I kind of...push away the thought and do my thing.
I feel very bad because I see DW getting more exhausted every day and I think she will get a "caregiver burnout". We have a few couple moments and I enjoy them. But sometimes, when DW has to stay at home when SS condition is very bad, I visit another friend or my family or do something outside the house...I feel bad for letting her alone with him. Because, you can't really interact with him. Yes, he grabs your hand or a toy and he laughs sometimes. But beside that, he is just not able to really do...anything. You can interact, but his ability to respond is very limited and it makes you feel like talking to yourself.
I sound like a big *** but I just don't want my life to be miserable. I love DW and love couple time, but nachoing is the only approach with which I can cope with this situation.

My baby has always tolerated bath time. She would sometimes splash but at least would enjoy the warmth. We have been using one of those bath inserts from Kmart where they recline in the bath supported so it's easy to wash her, keep her still etc.
We are trying to transition to sitting up in the bath and she just screams bloody murder and tries to stand up and climb out. We got a successful bath yesterday with the water up to her high chest and lots and lots of toys. Today she screamed the moment her butt hits the bottom of the bath. That is what is has been like every other time we have tried.
Does anyone have any tips on transitioning to sitting up? Water temp is low 37C for reference

A general question with specifications.
Hello! Waiting on my initial appointment at this moment, but I had a question in regards to whether or not others feel how I feel when I believe I need to stim? Or in general how people feel when they feel the need to stim?
My best/most recent example is I was browsing through Amazon for some work appropriate fidget/sensory toys when I came across these rubber, ramen shaped colorful noodles. When seeing this, I imagined playing with it, felt the sensory issues I would run into, and then felt it in my chest like I most commonly do. Like this ball of energy that needs to get let out just building in my chest. This feeling can vary in intensities, but this is typically what I feel before needing to stim.

The familiar sounds of the office fill the ears of the "Adventurer" as he steps into his home away from home. To him "Familiar sounds" means the voices of about three-quarters of the hundreds of employees who work in this building, thanks to the progressive, passive, perpetual boosts to his senses that he has simply always been accruing. He still can't quite hear everything in the office, indeed as powerful as his senses are he can only actively sense enough space around him to be firmly aware of events occurring about half of the building's length and width away from him at a time, but those are still incredibly powerful senses.
Lucas steps past several cubicles and heads to his own with a calm smile on his face. He actually enjoys his job, not because he finds the work fulfilling but because it presents him with a chance to level up his skills and work towards becoming altogether stronger in a hilariously safe environment. The figure sits in his cubicle and logs into his work computer with a bright grin on his face. As he grabs the last pieces of paper in the backlog that was a big problem when he began to work for this company he feels a pang of pride.
The workday is pleasant enough. He successfully finishes the last pile of paperwork that was considered part of the backlog and this effort is celebrated by his direct supervisor and a few of the friends he's made in his department, a group composed of several men and only a few pair of women, who have been working here for years but lacked the abilities he possesses that allow him to grind out progress at a rapid rate and allow him to improve the work he does every single day without fail. The news quickly spreads throughout the office, and various people, including other departmental supervisors and managers, come to him and congratulate him.
When the day ends Lucas is one of the first people out the door. This is commonly expected Lucas-like behavior at this point so no one bats an eye at it. The figure works and then leaves, and he seems to have an incredibly strict policy about work-life balance to the point that no one from the office has seen his apartment or even seen him outside of the office aside from on social media.
The lad walks towards a nearby mall even as he checks his phone. When the decently cautious man is sure he's not being watched he uses his inventory to swap outfits, changing into something much more casual than his work uniform so he can do his equivalent of trolling. His clothes go from being the professional outfit someone might expect to see an accountant in, to the much more casual clothes of someone who works at a Game Station the local equivalent of a Game Stop.
The minute the figure reaches the mall he relaxes and steps into it with a smile on his face as he is suddenly and powerfully aware of events going on all around him now that the sounds he's been passively hearing for the last few minutes are not muffled by layers of solid American construction. The mall is a favorite haunt of his, a place where there are enough people that even if something goes awry he can pretty easily escape in the chaos and commotion that any sort of hostile actions would necessarily cause. Still, to the figure's credit he has not been caught yet.
The thief begins his training by carefully studying the department store he's in. He can be a bit bolder now than he could weeks ago, as in the time since he began to hone this skill he's enhanced it in such a way that he can teleport objects directly into his inventory, which is a tremendous improvement even if he can't take anything bigger or heavier than a cleaver. He eventually spots a teenager with a wallet that is just visible out of the corner of his pockets. Lucas diligently uses "Observe" on him and the powerful skill is strong enough now that Lucas can use it to determine someone's affiliations. When the young adult spots that the teen belongs to a gang he decides it's worth taking his potentially ill-gotten gains.
The clever trickster points a single finger in the direction of the teen's pocket and silently casts the handy spell. A thin line of energy lances out of his extended digit and sails through the air toward the teenager. When the teen begins to move Lucas hisses in annoyance and expends a bit more magical energy to take advantage of the first skill he's gained as a result of an attribute hitting 50: arcane manipulation.
Days ago the young adventurer's passion for magic and healing resulted in two classes leveling up on the same day: mage and white mage. This resulted in his intelligence going from 49 to 52, and as a result of that he gained the ability to manipulate magical energy, so long as he can detect the magic in question and is willing to spend some magic of his own. In this world, where the figure is reasonably certain that no other magical beings exist, this means that to hone this skill the wizard needs to manipulate his own magic. Still, that hasn't stopped the young professional from tirelessly doing just that.
With a significant amount of focus the mage is able to manipulate the thin beam and twists and turns it so that it circles around the teen before snaking into his pocket and striking the young gangster's wallet. When Lucas feels the wallet enter his inventory he chuckles and makes his way out of the department store. The rest of this particular bout of training is filled with similar feats of arcane finesse and hilariously minor acts that will steal from those willing to enact violence on others in exchange for money. Lucas's clever usage of his skills coupled with his willingness to act in stunningly petty and annoying ways make him great at harassing those he designates his foes. Lucas, lacking an ability to kill those he fights thanks to a drawback affecting him, has thus far refused to actually engage those he has marked as his foes in direct battle but his desire to annoy them has led to willingly target people associated with criminal groups with some of his spatial magic.
In hours the figure is back home and he is toying with the newest toy he's received from his gacha system. A guitar sits on his lap and he fiddles with the instrument, even he listens to a video about how to tune the thing. Lucas is experimenting with something, and behind the tablet he gained some time ago is a book that contains information on tuning guitars. The tablet is in use, recording what the man is up to. An app is in use and it records the sounds the guitar chords make. The self-taught musician relies on some of his new skills for this, as he has only recently gained the "Guitar" and "Guitar Maintenance" skills, and he got them at different times so they are different levels. Nonetheless, the figure patiently records himself, occasionally stopping the recording and examining it. He is diligently using his long-term planning skills and sticking to his broad plan. At the same time the figure patiently uses magic and steadily hones the "Mage" class, using his magic skills to farm multiple sources of experience while adhering to the schedule he has informally given himself.
Eventually the next day rolls around and the figure, predictably, gets out of his apartment and goes to work. If you had explained the concept of "Jumping" to Lucas a year ago and asked him if he thought so much of it would be just working a 9-5 job he'd not have believed you and yet in the context of his experience with the unusual profession a stunning amount of time has just been him being a regular employee of a perfectly mundane business.
Time continues to pass for the would-be adventurer at a steady pace. In this mundane world a figure with legitimate supernatural abilities is a uniquely powerful presence, and this is especially true of one that is determined to keep his head down and nose clean. Lucas's determination to live a regular, relatively risk-free life does not stop him from living, but it does stop him from suffering from some sort of "Middle School Second Year Syndrome" as a result of the fact that he has gained trainable superpowers. Instead of going mad with power or gaining an unhealthy mentality Lucas has just enough knowledge of how jumping works to know that while he might be a big fish in this world he is not a big fish in other worlds like Fallout, The Elder Scrolls, or even something as aggressively hostile and oppressive as the general setting of Minecraft is.
If an objective, impartial onlooker viewing Lucas's life is given the chance to describe the sort of "Television Show" that they are watching, they'd say it could easily be considered slice-of-life. For the first few months of his time here the most exciting times are the rare moments he adds something new to his slowly expanding list of activities and the even more slowly growing list of things he can do, such as when he begins to walk the streets of the city he lives in at night and cast healing, positive, restorative magic on the sleeping homeless people he encounters. This activity ultimately earns him the peculiar title of "Unsung Saint", a title which enhances the effectiveness of his restorative or otherwise beneficial magic on those not aware of the fact that he is using magic on them.
Days of work, training, and controlled, planned forays into new pastimes, turn into weeks of steady and anticipated progress. Weeks of steady and anticipated progress turn into months of upward mobility and the healthy establishments of new baseline feats. That said, eventually progress slows and becomes more difficult for the jumper in a world as relatively safe, for supernatural beings, as this one. It doesn't take terribly long for Lucas to go from a somewhat predictable, fairly focused figure who is very specialized in a number of areas, to a somewhat more well-rounded figure with a steadily increasing repository of skills and abilities, thanks to a subtle shift in growth strategies.
​Just a few days short of eleven months into his stay in this jump, the jumper is facing a new foe but is participating in an activity he's come to enjoy; sparring.
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I dodge a well-aimed right-handed punch intended for my face, though thanks to my agility I easily had enough time to dodge it, It took a long time, from my viewpoint, for it to get close to me so long enough that I only let it get this close on purpose. I'm holding back in terms of my speed and strength but my opponent, a friend I made at the gym a few weeks ago, doesn't need to know that. I have way too many supernatural advantages for it to be a fair fight if I don't hold back.
I give my opponent enough time to register that I've dodged the blow before I begin to telegraph, purposefully, my next attack. I purposefully overextend my left arm and launch a powerful, but slow, strike. The man grits his teeth and moves to intercept my strike. He is fast enough to position his arm in front of it but that is still a mistake. I guide my blow into his arm and watch as he lets out a sincere, pained, grunt. Even with me holding back I still allow DPS to work its magic, and that perk coupled with both my trained and perk-enhanced strength is enough for me to deal him a decently powerful blow.
I retract my fist with a sly smile and note that the bars that cover my field of view are all going up at different rates. The bar for "Brawler", a class that's the result of "Fighter" giving me access to a new class when it hit level 10, my currently equipped class, is going up at a healthy clip as I spar with this man, as is the bar for "Precision Strikes" and "Acting", some of my skills. Most of the things going up at a decent clip are affected by "Jack of All Trades" a perk thatreduces the time and effort it takes for me to train up new skills to around the level of my average. Most of my other bars are only slightly going up, but this is acceptable. This sort of training is vital, long term, for my very survival, and thanks to my perks is pretty easy for me to do.
Behind me I hear a familiar voice cheering; Hannah's. The lovely redhead has begun to accompany me to the gym, but this is a somewhat recent development. Before a few weeks ago we only occasionally saw each other on Saturdays at the cafe she worked at, though we have been texting buddies ever since we met. Marcus, my sparring partner, grins savagely at me as he listens to my friend and gym buddy's cheers.
"I can't let you show me up in front of your girl, Lucas. We're not close like that." Marcus tells me, though the words are insincere. Marcus is a friend of mine, one who has even tasted my food, and that's something I don't let others do as much as I once did, barring people who go to the soup kitchen when I'm one of the volunteers on duty. My cooking can now do some decent stuff so I don't want to get anyone who isn't an ally or someone I need in my pocket overly reliant on my skills. I grin at the muscular bruiser of a warrior and dart back before gesturing for him to come at me like he means it. The man lets out a hearty laugh as he begins to pursue me. He is a touch taller than me and he has muscular, wide arms that take up a lot of space.
I watch, diligently, as he swings them at me when he is in the martial sweet spot of being close enough to hit me with a fully extended fist and being far enough away for me to strike back in an effort to preempt or counter his blow. I dart forward even as he stops advancing and duck underneath the strike before I use an active skill from my "Dancer" class to infuse my agility into my strength and hit him with a blow that disorients him. He steps back, a look of pain and confusion on his face as I step forward and move close enough to hit the man with a much softer blow to the chest. I feel his solid muscles block part of the harm done to him, but the blow is still solid enough that I watch his HP lower.
He gasps in pain and staggers back, and I smile at him and sense my triumph. He's only lost a small portion of his total hit points, but for normal people, one's total stock of HP is an abstraction of their physical health. For me, my HP serves as a skillful shield that protects me at all times, and for me to fall in battle someone has to whittle away my entire bar before they take me out. In fact, right now my HP is not maxed out; earlier I took a hit from Marcus that I'm still recovering from.
I take a step forward before Marcus signals that he needs a break. I laugh, the sound filling the part of the gym we're fighting in, and stop approaching the man. Hannah walks up to the ring and offers me some of her water as I walk toward one of the corners of the small ring. I silently gesture that I'll accept it and she tosses it at me. When the object is in my hand I use subtle telekinesis to mess with my boxing glove just enough to more easily hold onto the water bottle and sip from it. The cool water tastes good, and I smile as I feel it helping me relax as I wait to continue the fight. This is the sixth time I've beaten Marcus, but I'll give the man one bit of praise: he's persistent. He likes fighting enough that he is always eager to try and fight me, and I like fighting just enough to appreciate his resistance to the idea that I can beat him. It's not always easy for me to keep on finding partners that I can spar with.
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In the days that follow this fight, the young jumper continues to spar with Marcus. He steadily trains his "Brawler" class, and takes on class skills that do things like make him a more efficient hand-to-hand fighter, even gaining skills that he suspects, and hopes that he won't need here; like the ability to launch a punch that can inflict damage at a distance.
The figure's volunteering remains a steadfast facet of his in-jump identity. The man gains popularity throughout the place that is, functionally, his hometown, as he becomes a well-known volunteer. He even makes the places he volunteers at more popular, using a steadily increasing amount of local and online popularity to advocate for the organizations he supports. This first began to occur about three months into his stay in the jump, but he really begins to leverage it at the six month mark and he quickly begins to slowly become a minor force in the community, taking advantage of his heavy charisma build to sway hearts and minds to his cause.
His days at work continue to remain fairly unchanged from how they were at the start of his time in the jump, though on very rare occasions he creates reports and the in-jump equivalent of PowerPoint presentations about the data he has compiled to his supervisor. He has also overseen a day of service for members of his department to go and volunteer at the soup kitchen where he volunteered on the day he met Hannah, allowing him a pleasant chance to practice his leadership skills. He earns his first pay raise just under a year into his stay in this setting.
Minor missteps occur along the way, such as the figure overbooking himself during one particularly hectic weekend, which annoys his friends and fellow volunteers but serves as a decently humbling experience for the overly eager adventurer and also shows his friends that he is, ultimately, human.
Lucas continues his relaxed, fairly peaceful days for more and more time. By the time he has been in the jump for a full two years his pre-jump life feels like a memory or a strange dream, though this change to his state of mind does not actually mean he cannot recall such a time only that he has fully acclimated to the realities of being a jumper. At least as much as someone who is still on their first jump can acclimate to such a thing.
A/N: I like this episodic style for the necessary time skips that a standard (or mostly standard) jumpchain story will require. Now I'm gonna say that this style won't be universal across all jumps since some jumps may be better suited to shorter timeframes. Heck some more story-intensive jumps may benefit from longer focuses on individual events and sequences of events, but we've gone past the tutorial phase for this jump and I think minor episodic looks at broad timescales is better than a thousand chapter story that only hits one year in a jump and ultimately gets dropped. That said, I know that I'm not doing this style of writing PERFECTLY, so I hope that I can use this to grow as a writer and to become better able to convey how long time skips affect the characters, relationships, and strengths of the people involved over time. Still, if nothing else this was fun.
ALSO, as an author's note that is unique to the subreddit: this story is being published on Spacebattles and the white line that cuts through parts of the story indicates a narration/viewpoint shift. On Spacebattles and several other places I write there are in-built formatting options that allow you to cut through a textbox with a horizontal line which serves as a visual marker for some significant change to some aspect of the story. The line I made was my attempt to do that here on Reddit. It's... not perfect, but hey I'm trying.

Hey everyone! This is my 2nd post about my affair with Dustin, a 26 year old, married, captain on staff while I was a newly arrived 18 year old private at my first duty station.
I hope you enjoy Part 2, and as always, I'm welcome to receive any constructive feedback you may have about my writing or if you just want to talk! If you're just here to bash me for having an affair with someone, save your breath, I'll just block you. Without further ado, Part 2 of my affair with Dustin! <3 Hannah
First, a little about me. I'm 5'5ish, 135ish depending on the day, and have dark brown hair that falls part way down my back with brown eyes. My mom is a Crow (Native American) and my dad is Italian so the olive complexion genes are active in my family. I've got a fairly petite/athletic build with a 32B chest and a toned butt. My nipples are dark brown, on the smaller side, and I shave everywhere. I'm a fan of tattoos and have a feather on my foot, flower pieces on my right hip into my lower ribs, left shoulder, and lower back, a small script piece in my left side bra line, a green carebear in my left bikini line and a large dream catcher down my left ribs. If there's a detail I've left out, feel free to ask ;)
I sat alone in my barracks room the morning after my first in person experience with Dustin, the officer I'd met on Bumble who turned out to have a wife going to school out of state. I'd ignored any thought of walking away from this potentially messy situation and now found myself waking up alone in my room, the morning after letting a married officer cum all over my face and chest while i fingered myself to orgasm kneeling in front of him. I admitted two simple truths to myself: it had been the biggest rush of my life, and i absolutely needed more.
I checked my phone and saw 4 new messages from Dustin, all expounding on the fact he wished we didn't have to go to work today and how he wished I was there with him. As I got dressed for the daily workday routine of morning physical training, I snapped him a pic in just my maroon sports bra and black athletic thong and sent it to him, telling Dustin how I wished I could do PT in his home gym in just this. The buldge pic I got in return told me he liked the sound of that as I slipped back to reality, put on my PT uniform and joined my platoon for the usual Monday run. This was the rush. The dual life I craved and what drew me to Dustin. One minute I was sending sexy snaps to a man I shouldn't be with, living in the world of secret meetups and fun and the next, I was out joining my platoon for a normal daily routine workout. The world of the rush was addicting and I'd only just dipped my toes (mouth) in.
My day to day world of learning about fuel tankers, learning to drive them under NVGs, how to test fuel quality to ensure adequate grade for the type of unit I was supporting and all manner of tactical skills that would help me integrate into a complex military operation was genuinely rewarding and occupied my attention fairly easily. But then I'd find myself longing for a breakout. Longing for the rush of excitement I'd only just tasted. Each message from Dustin became a small dose of "you shouldn't but you will" and I wanted more.
Dustin had a busy schedule at the staff he worked on, but always took a moment to ask "how's my beautiful Private doing? Need anything from the Exchange?" We had had one intimate in person encounter and already this was taking on more than just a hookup from a dating app. We both recognized that actively developing a relationship behind the back of one partner's spouse automatically made this more than "just sex"....which we hadn't even had yet.
Between his work schedule and mine, we found it difficult to meet up the week following our evening of watching football with a side of a blowjob. Didn't stop me from letting him know I wanted more. I dropped all the hints. I sent him pics of choices of underwear for the day, letting him choose from a few options I was comfortable working in and then sending him quick snaps from the bathroom at work, proving his Private really wore what he'd asked her to. I also introduced him to a pink, 6 inch, anatomically correct dildo I typically used in the evening when I craved him desperately. I showed him that just like with his similarly sized shaft, I could force my lips to reach its base as the tip slid into the back of my throat. I also laid it on top of the underwear he had chosen for me one day, a simple pair of boyshorts that looked incredible with a pink phallis on top, illustrating just how far into my petite frame it/he would go if I would just slip them to the side and insert it/him.
I kept him wanting more. You can see my underwear, but only laid out on my bed, or on me, not tossed to the side showing you underneath. You can see my small collection of sex toys in my drawer or in my mouth, but the camera stops before they get to where they're the most fun. By Thursday, Dustin was desperate for the week to end so we could be together. He sent me a video of him teasing himself with pictures of me on his laptop and I thought it was the hottest thing ever to watch a man who definitively out ranked me choosing "his beautiful Private" over his wife. By Saturday we were going to go wild if we didn't take the next step.
There's different types of duty in the military, from a barracks desk to an installation watch office and every echelon in between. Saturday Dustin had duty for his brigade, which normally meant not a lot of time sitting at a desk, but a lot of time going around inspecting important places in his unit and making reports of what he found. I couldn't wait any longer and neither could he. I told him he should just add me to his list of inspections and quickly have his way with me during his rounds. Not the fairy tale special first time but the raw, I need you now and I'm tired of waiting, that two deprived lovers seek.
He agreed and said he would have time to "run home for dinner" if I would be ready and waiting for him. Ready and waiting in your bed. Quicky to satisfy this urge and let me plan something more while I wait. Yes. Dustin agreed to leave his side door unlocked so I could let myself in while he was at work. Apparently despite our lack of intimacy, our constant stream of communication built a trust that I wouldn't rob him blind lol seriously though, I respected his trust and didn't take an opportunity to go through all his stuff or leave a letter for his wife or anything crazy in between.
Instead, I drove over in late afternoon in a pair of black Nike soccer shorts with a built-in liner, so I went sans underwear, and continued the trend with a pink tshirt and matching hoodie without a bra, letting my small, 32B chest bounce a little as I let myself in, walked past the couch I'd kneeled in front of to receive a facial at the previous weekend and made my way towards Dustin's bedroom upstairs. I found aa spacious king bed that occupied the majority of the fairly small room in military housing, leaving a small walk way on either side, wide enough for matching his and hers nightstands on either side of the bed and space at the end of the bed where the room flowed into the master bathroom sweat complete with walk in closet, linen closet and 2 sink bathroom with a nice deep tub.
I set my purse down on what was clearly his wife's nightstand and quickly stopped out of my comfy clothes I'd worn to my visit. I plopped down naked in his bed, with a condom and lube laid out on her nightstand next to my purse. I sent Dustin a nude selfie of me on his wife's side of the bed, with a caption letting him know I was ready for our quicky. A quick reply let me know I had 15 minutes. I was immediately slick with anticipation. I set a pillow in the center of the bed and scooted my butt towards the edge of the bed as I spread my legs wide and began to tease light circles around my clit as I began to tease myself in preparation for the quick coupling that was minutes away. As my breath quickened and my heart raced, I dabbed a small glob of lube onto two of my fingers and I slowly stretched myself, my inner walls relaxing to recieve one, two, three fingers as I continued to rub my clit, my body as desperate to be with Dustin as my heart was.
A rattling of keys in the front door let me know my time was up as I removed the 3 fingers currently satiating the desperate urges of my core. Racing footsteps up the stairs found Dustin at the door in seconds, with his beautiful Private spread eagle on the edge of the bed waiting for him. I looked up at him in his uniform, totally unashamed of my nude and vulnerable position and told him his Private was ready for his inspection.
In a flash his camo jacket was tossed aside, the brown undershirt following behind and he rushed to undo his belt and soon had his pants and briefs around his ankles. In a moment he was leaning down on top of me, hungrily kissing my lips as his firm shaft pressed against my core as I pulled him into a tight embrace between my wide spread legs. As we passionately kissed, our tongues breathlessly intertwined, I paused and asked him if he wanted the condom off his wife's nightstand. I reminded him I was on the shot for BC, but it was his choice either way.
He pulled away to look over at her nightstand and instead of grabbing the condom, took the lube and generously applied a coat to his entire six or seven inch length. I needed him now. Standing between my legs, which I held wide open for him with my butt to the edge of the bed, Dustin teased the tip of his firm shaft between the lips of my freshly shaved vagina. He ran the tip between my spread lower lips, from my clit to my soaking wet and lubed entrance. With only a moments pause with his tip aligned with my eager hole, Dustin firmly pushed his entire length into me as he moaned my name and my soft inner walls welcomed him deep inside me as I gasped at the feeling of sudden fullness and a desperate need for more.
Buried to the base of his shaft inside me, Dustin leaned down to kiss me passionately. I wrapped my legs behind his butt, pulling him deep inside me as he began to thrust in a steady deep rhythm that drove me to the edge. I breathless begged for him to fuck me as I scratched lines down his back with my nails as I desperately held my man between my legs, his thrusts stimulating every inch of my inner walls and the friction of our bodies urging my clit to find release. Dustin broke our embrace and soon I found myself with two strong hands holding my legs open wide nearly in the splits on the edge of the bed as he thrust into me deeper than I'd ever felt before. I was breathless, calling out for more. Please don't stop Dustin. Please don't stop as his pace quickened and I could feel his balls slapping against nearly my butthole as he pounded into me, using my vagina for his release. I took one hand and found my clit, matching my rhythm to his and I soon found the waves of release that had building to the edge as Dustin gave me more, more, more. My inner walls clenched tight as the dam broke and my orgasm shook through my body in a release of ecstasy. Dustin continued to fuck me through my own release, my body desperate for him to find his own release.
I looked up at the passion and hunger in his eyes as I became keenly aware of the bouncing of my small breasts as I laid there riding the wave of my massive orgasm moaning in pleasure as the stimulation deepend, quickened and in a moment, I could feel Dustin swell and find his release deep inside me, ropes of cum filling me as my body clinched around him, holding him inside me as a second wave of pleasure pulsed through my core. We laid there for a long moment, a tight sweaty embrace with my handsome man on top of me, showering my neck and lips in kisses as we both breathlessly came down from our collective orgasms.
Dustin stood up, his softening length sliding out of me along with a mix of his cum and lube and my own release. I stood up and followed him to the bathroom, me completely naked, with his uniform pants pulled half way back up. I took hot washcloths and cleaned both of us between our legs, getting him ready to go back to work and for me to clean the mix of cum and lubed that was now running down my inner thigh. I asked him if I'd passed his inspection and he laughed, smiling and kissing me saying that indeed I had. He told me I could spend the night here if I wanted, he had to get back to duty but his place was a little more awesome than my barracks room.
I agreed and put back on my Nike shorts and tshift with it fairly obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra, which admittedly wasn't really an issue for Dustin at all. I followed him downstairs and kissed him goodnight as he headed back to work. I made myself at home and made a simple dinner and fell asleep watching tv under a blanket in his living room, which is where he found me when he came home at the end of his shift in the morning. I followed him to bed and we spent most of the day napping in eachothers arms before it really was time for me to go home and get ready for the next work week. I continued to tease him on snap and told him that we had sooooo much more still to do and his response made it readily apparent that he agreed.
Thank you for reading this chapter of my affair with Dustin! If you liked it or have something in my writing you'd like to see improved, feel free to let me know! My writing only gets better if you tell me what you'd like to see! Thanks for for sticking with me, I truly hope you've enjoyed! <3 Hannah

Sort of a reference to this https://www.reddit.com/NatureofPredators/s/ASiX51M6GI
TELLUS’S DEPARTMENT OF CHILD SERVICES
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Hey all! Welcome to the Tellus Child Services Q&A thread. If you got any questions about raising and/or caring for human children, ask away below or PM me directly. Your email address will not be publicly displayed and we will be discrete about your personal info, but we would appreciate if you would give your species so we can have some context to answer your questions with. Unless you chose otherwise, your species will be public and represented by an initial at the side of your user tag.
Please note that racist commentary will not be tolerated and will be taken down. I know there’s some hard feelings going on out there, but leave our kids out of it.
David Schneider, Head of Tellus’s Department of Child Services.
COMMENT HERE

• [ ] I am not a robot

What Species are you? - [ ] Smigli - [ ] Krev - [ ] Resket - [ ] Jaslip - [ ] Trombil - [ ] Ulchid

• [ ] (Hide race?)

User Name: —————————— GUEST ——————————-
Email —————————————-
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COMMENT ———————————————————————————
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SCALEOF1210 (K): What kinda of toys do human pups like?
DAVID: I dunno, what kinda toys do Krev pups like?
SCALEOF1210 (K): Oh.
DAVID: It’s alright. Just try to think through that lens and you’ll do fine.
_
GUEST (S): Why is being without your “clothes” so embarrassing? Is it religious?
DAVID: Not exactly. It started out as a way to stay warm when we migrated out jungles and savanna’s, but the side effect was that it made the absence of coverings a) feel insecure, and b) an open floodgate of carnal attraction. So actually, to answer your question, we’re covering our reproductive organs. It’s a modesty thing. The practice got applied to the kids anyway.
GUEST (S): Female humans have sex organs on their chests?
DAVID: No. but female mammaries become more pronounced as they mature and tend to draw male sexual attention.
GUEST (S): Whyyyyyyyy?
DAVID: Simply put: they remind us of mom.
GUEST (S): Ahhhhhhh!
DAVID: I was really trying to avoid spelling that out, y’know?
GUEST (S): Hey man, I don’t have have feet. Why would I care about tiptoeing?
DAVID: Huh. You know, I really think I’m learning a lot about Smiglis.
GUEST (S): Hey! Good for you! 🎉
_
GUEST (R): What’s wrong with regurgitation feeding? It helps with digestion.
DAVID: Maybe for avians, but It’s not sanitary for humans. We have a different digestion/immune setup. And no offense, It’s also just really, really gross to us.
_
GUEST (K): How do you hold a human pup?
DAVID: For Krev, cradle them in the your arm and be sure to support their head. That’s important because it’s too heavy for them to hold up by themselves. Again, no tail rides until they’re at least two years old.
_
SNOWFLOWER333 (J): Do humans kits really need to nurse well into adolescence? I don’t think I can keep it up for that long….
DAVID: Hang on, are you saying you’ve been NURSING one of your charges?
SNOWFLOWER333 (J): Right along side my own. I know Tommy’s not a jaslip and that it’s not human milk, but I figure it’s still better for him than formula. Should I not?
DAVID: Uhhhh… dunno. I’m gonna discuss this with my colleagues. In the meantime, stick to the formula we sent.
SNOWFLOWER333 (J): Alright, David. Though, about that first question….
DAVID: Long story short: we’d harvest milk from domestic bovines as a culinary ingredient and breakfast time staple, but breast feeding stops with infancy. You wouldn’t be sucking a teenager.
SNOWFLOWER333 (J): 😅oh good!
DAVID: Would be a little awkward, huh?
SNOWFLOWER333 (J):🤣A little.
_
GUEST (U): How do you hold a human pup?
DAVID: Cradled in your…. flipper. I guess. Just keep their head supported, it too heavy for them to hold up. You can also hold them to your chest with their head resting over your shoulder.
GUEST (U): We don’t really have shoulders.
DAVID: Nnnnnevermind then.
_
OBORSHINE (K): Is it okay to post my human child on the Internet?

DAVID: I suppose, but try not to embarrass him. OBORSHINE (K): 😜Aww but I’m a mom! Embarrassing him is my job! DAVID: In that case, we’ll send you his baby pics. 

OBORSHINE (K): Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssss.
_
CALLMESPEED (T) Is it okay to give my child cybernetic implants to cure conditions?
DAVID: That will depend on what condition we’re talking about, but yes, probably. Be sure that they are approved by a human doctor, though.
_
GUEST (S): "Why do you have so many wiggly bits!"
DAVID: Erm, wiggly bits?
GUEST (S): “Yeah! With all the toesy toes and fingery things”
DAVID: Oh! Um, well other race have them too, but I guess ours ARE quite long and nimble. Well, we specialized pretty early on in tool manipulation, soooooooo.
GUEST (S): Raaaaaaaad!
DAVID: Happy to impress. I guess?
_
GUEST (J): How do you hold a human Kit?
DAVID: I wouldn’t know how to hold anything with a prehensile tail, you’re the experts there. But however you do it, be sure that you support the kids head. A human infants head is too heavy for them to hold up by themselves.
_
CALLMESPEED (T): Damn Schieder, always forcing us to cope with the weaknesses of the flesh, and denying us the certainty of steel.
DAVID: Ah, hello Malcom. Does Speed know you’ve hacked his account?
DAVID: Look, that’s not solely my decision kiddo. We put it to a vote. Maybe things will change in the future, but in the meantime, just wait till you’re 18 before you chop your limbs off. You can probably still get an implant, though.”
_
SHOPCLASSREJECT (S): Yeesh, David! How can my kid hit me with a ball from across the room?
DAVID: 😁Talent, my friend. Did you know that humans are being trained as grenadiers in the Consortium army? We have excellent throwing arms. Oh! Uh, you weren’t hurt though, were you?
SHOPCLASSREJECT (S): Eh, A little. My cheek is swollen, but it’s not like I had any bones or teeth to break.. I was mostly just surprised at how fast it came at me.
DAVID: Sorry Shopclass, He should have known better, but it’s a pretty common childhood offense for humans.
SHOPCLASSREJECT (S): Got a new rule, though: no throwing things in the house.
DAVID: Sounds like a good rule.
_
MRS.DOGGY (J): Hey, just got home with my kids and when I was helping Heather remove her foot coverings….. having 5 hind toes is normal for humans, correct? I just want to make sure.

DAVID: 😁 Correct. And we don’t have dewclaws either. MRS.DOGGY (J): Oh good! MRS.DOGGY (J): Erm , that it’s normal, I mean. 

_
GUEST (K): WHY WAS I REJECTED! WHAT DID I DO WRONG?
DAVID: Im sorry sir, I don’t know, but I’m sure it was anything against your character. Given our situation and our unfamiliarity with non-humans, we are being excessively cautious with our young and more than 75 percent of applicants were turned down as a result. Perhaps you can try again in a year or two when humanity is a little more accustomed to other sapient species. Please forgive us.
_
BUNCHBERRIES (K): So I noticed one of my female charges has enlarged mammories. Does that mean she secretly has children?
DAVID: No. It’s means she’s a teenager.
DAVID: That’s a normal development.
BUNCHBERRIES (K): 😮‍💨 Oh, thank you .
_
GUEST (R): How do you hold a human hatchling?
DAVID: Cradled in your wing-thing. Just keep their head supported, it too heavy for them to hold up themselves.
_
GUEST (S): How would one hold a human hatchling?
DAVID: cradled in your…. noodley appendage. Support their head.
_
GUEST (K): Me and my wife would like to foster, but- forgive me for asking- can we expect dung throwing to be a problem?
DAVID: 🤣HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Nah. I understand why you’re asking, but we’re higher evolved than that.
_
GUEST (K): Can I have one?
DAVID: You can apply to adopt or foster a child, but that’s no guarantee. We are VERY discriminate about applicants, especially nonhuman ones. Before you put pen to paper, I would consider very carefully whether it’s a child you’re looking for or a pet.
GUEST (K): What’s a pen?
DAVID: Ah, the times we live in…
_
NANNYBIRD35 (R): Jackie has accurately described me as a “Big Bird”, but I cannot for the life of me figure out why he sings a song asking how to get to a place called Sess-Me Street every other time he sees me. Was there something special about that place? What does it have to do with ME?
DAVID: Ok, that’s funny! He thinks you’re a character named Big Bird from a children’s show called Sesame Street [Video link]. Btw, let me know if she ever calls a Krev “Oscar”. I’m gonna laugh.
_
MRS.DOGGY (J): What is a “doggie” anyway, and why do my kids call me that?
DAVID: I was WONDERING when that would come up. I didn’t think it would be useful to explain before, but we had these domestic canines back home called Dogs and you kinda resemble one. They were intelligent, trusty, loyal creatures that helped us hunt, herd livestock, guard our turf, and and were beloved members of our families. None of the kids have met a dog in the flesh, but they’ve been lionized in books and cartoons and your resemblance to them is strong enough to trigger an instinctive adoration we had towards them.
MRS.DOGGY (J): They…. think I’m a pet? Like with you and the Krev?
DAVID: Hey, if they haven’t told you to ”Sit” or “Roll over” I think you’re good. But the point is, the kids trust you implicitly, and when you’ve suddenly been thrown to aliens after living in a hole all your life, having a comforting face to keep you stable counts for a lot.
MRS.DOGGY (J): Oh! 😊Well, I think I can live with that.
_
OBORSHINE (K): How do I take care of Samsons head fur? It’s getting so long and tangled!
DAVID: Oh right. Only jaslips need to brush. We’ll send you a proper hair brush. In the meantime. Get a jaslip brush- one with wide bristle spacing- and gently comb the knots out, starting from the bottom and slowly working your way up. We can also try to get you in contact with a human who has experience cutting hair.
_
TEACUPGUY (K): Dang, I had no idea human fur would get longer. How much longer does it get?
DAVID: Down to their hips or farther. Doesn’t really stop. You’ll either want to get it trimmed or let grow so you can tie it up behind their heads.
_
GUEST (T): How do you hold a human hatchling?
DAVID: Cradled comfortably in whichever bionic limb is not capable of crushing a car. Make sure to keep their head supported. They don’t have the neck muscles to hold it up
GUEST (T): 😊 Oh that’s fixable.
DAVID: Thanks but NO.
_
BUNCHABERRIES (K): David! Jeremy’s caught the MONKEY POX!
DAVID: … The what?
BUNCHABERRIES (K): What do I do?! He’s been getting worse and worse all week!
DAVID: Stay cam Berries, What are the symptoms?
BUNCHABERRIES (K): He’s broken out in purple spots! And he’s aslo listless. Stomach ach. Head ach. Poor boy can’t even get out of bed! He just sits there and groans and today he asked if I was an “angel” I’m at wits end!
DAVID: Ah. THAT monkey pox. School’s in session, right?
BUNCHABERRIES (K): Is that really relevant?!
DAVID: Just trust me. Check his backpack. Is there a pen or marker that is the EXACT same color as the spots?
BUNCHABERRIES (K): There is.
BUNCHABERRIES (K): Why?
DAVID: Take it and draw a little dot next to the ones on his skin. Make it roughly the same size.
BUNCHABERRIES (K): Ok. Done.
BUNCHABERRIES (K): OH THAT SEAKY LITTLE-!
DAVID: My work here is done.
BUNCHABERRIES (K): HE IS SO GROUNDED!
_
HAPPYHATCHLINGS: David, this is Tisa at Happy Hatchlings Early Learning School. We’ve noticed that our human students can’t seem to get comfortable in their napping nests and keep hanging their feet over the edges. It’s like they can’t curl up!
DAVID: They can’t. Not long term, anyway, and not as tightly as other Consiortium races. You’re going to need longer, flatter beds that they can stretch out on and keep their spines relatively straight. We’ll be sure to send you some cots.
_
DADJOKE (K): 😉 Thanks for the sponges, but I think my wife’s got bathtime covered.
[Folder Attachments: 7 photos ]
[Pic 1: A shot of two shirtless human boys [ages 5 and 6] in makeshift “war paint” running screaming past the camera as a jaslip with a wild grin skids around the corner after them.]
[Pic 2: The victorious jaslip sits on her haunches with one of the boy hopelessly tangled in her tails and the other grappled between her forelegs. The latter is getting her full professional attention as she licks the warpaint off his face, ignoring his cries of disgust and attempts to wiggle free.]
[Pic 3: Said boy apparently opened his mouth at an inopportune moment and is now spitting and sputtering while Mama Jaslip laughs herself to tears.]
[Pic 4: One of the boys laughing hysterically as the jaslip pins him down across her forelegs and licks his belly.]
[Pic 5: a close up on one boy getting his hair worked on, wincing uncomfortably as Mama Jaslip get a blunt claw in his eyebrow while maneuvering his head this way and that for the right grooming angle.]
[Pic 6: Arm around the boys shoulder, Mama proudly presents her work to the camera; one mostly warpaint free human with a complimentary cowlick. The lock of hair is stuck straight up, stiff with spit, like an alfalfa leaf. Mama is winking at the camera and doing her best thumbs-up while the boy is shooting a disgruntled side eye at his brother who is laughing at the abominable hairdo.]
[Pic 7: Mama has one of the boys lying on his stomach while she leisurely grooming his back. He’s resting his chin on his arms, looking sleepy. His brother, nestled among Mama’s tails in the back ground, is yawning. Mama kinda looks tired herself.]
[Pic 8: All three of them are asleep. Mama seems to have nodded off on top of the boy she was cleaning, her head draped across his back. The other is lying against her side, his head barely visible above the nest of tails blanketing him].
DADJOKE (K): The kids have started calling her “The Kissy Monster” when she gets like this.
DAVID: Oh my gosh! This is so freaking cute! Do have them use the sponges, though. Tongue bathing isn’t really doable for longterm human hygiene.
DADJOKE (K): 😊Glad you liked it. But yeah, I get it. Most consortium races aren’t keen on the slobber fest either.
CRAZYTAILS (J): 😏Funny, YOU didn’t seem to mind the other night.
DADJOKE (K): 😳…
DAVID: 😳…
CRAZYTAILS (J):😏 You forgot this was a joint account, didn’t you?
DADJOKE (K): Just wasn’t expecting you to be logged in right now. Hi sweetheart.
CRAZYTAILS (J): 😊Hey scalyboi.
DAVID: Um, hey, before you two keep flirting dirty, what was it the boys were marked with?
CRAZYTAILS (J): Hm? Oh, just washable marker. They were playing “Viking Warriors” or something, running around, slaying monsters, ambushing DadJoke in his den, and beating each other silly with pool noodles for a two hour straight. That until I, the dreaded Kissy Monster, vanquished them both and subjected them to bath and bedtime! Muahaha!
DADJOKE (K): As for what you really wanted to know, she didn’t suffer from licking the stuff. The markers are made with Jaslip kits in mind, so they needed to be nontoxic and tasteless in case they or their parents have to clean up some body doodling.
CRAZYTAILS (J): same with Jaslip cosmetics, btw. Some are even flavored. Makes cleaning up after dates pretty fun, right Daddy?
DADJOKE (K): Fluffykins, if I say I’ll be leaving the office in half an hour, will you stop embarrassing me on a public forum?
CRAZYTAILS (J): 🥰I’ll be waiting with the candles.
_
GUEST (K): Is it ok to pet humans pups?
DAVID: Lemme put it this way; what do you call a Krev who goes around petting Krev children?
GUEST (K): Creepy?
DAVID: 👉Bingo.
GUEST (K): Huh? What’s that mean?
DAVID: It means yes, petting kids is creepy.
_
DR.WORM (guess): Hey, what’s an appropriate amount of holopad time for the kids, 10 hours or 12?
DAVID:…
DAVID: Doc- First of all; not a real doctor, i presume?
DR.WORM (S): Sure ain’t!
DAVID: 😉👉👉But you ARE a real worm?
DR.WORM (S): YES! I KNEW I picked the right pop culture reference!
DAVID: 👍👏🏻Sure did. Sure did.
DAVID: Sooooo let’s talk screen time.
DR.WORM (S): Yeeeeeaaaaah aright, I was kiiiiinda guessing 10 was a too much. Is 8 right?
DAVID: Try two.
DR.WORM (S): TWO?!?!
DAVID: Yup.
DR.WORM (S): TWO HOURS?!?!
DAVID: Yup, yup, yup.
DR.WORM (S): HOLY [expletive] MAN! I’VE BEEN FRYING THEIR BRAINS!
DAVID: You open sometime this week, Doc? We’re gonna help you out.
_
GUEST (R): You let jaslip take care of your hatchlings? Are you crazy?! [COMMENT DELETED]
_
CRAZYTAILS (J): What IS a wolf? The boys Insisted I be one in one of their games.
DAVID: This guy [attachment]
CRAZYTAILS (J): Woah. Now THAT’s a handsome face.
DADJOKE (K): Eh-hem.
CRAZYTAILS (J): Well, not handsomer than my husband’s.
_
CRAZYTAILS (J): Is growing long head-fur some sort of defense mechanism against grooming? Because it’s starting to work. Hard to get the stringy stuff off my tongue. Bleugh.
DAVID: heh. Sounds like the boys need a haircut. Swing by Tellus, we got some barbers that can shape em up.
DAVID: Or just let them grow it out until they can tie it behind their heads
CRAZYTAILS (J): The latter sounds like less trouble honestly.
_
BETWEENBILLOWS (U): Should I be concerned that Maria has a figurine of a dead human nailed to a T on a necklace? It’s kinda morbid.
DAVID: Believe it or not, that’s a religious symbol. Did she not tell you about it?
BETWEENBILLOWS (U): David, she barely talks to us at all. It’s been three weeks and she hardly leaves her room.
DAVID: Hmm... Well THAT might be cause for concern. Let’s talk over PM.
_

A shoutout and apology basket to u/kabhes and u/HeadWood_ who’s suggested questions I kinda stole. There were several others that I wanted to feature but couldn’t figure out how to work with.

Man versus machine, it's sort of a paradox, in a way. Men are better than machines, obviously, and that should just be the natural order. It's not always so simple, however. After all, for better or worse, a machine will always be a tool. And men define themselves by what they prevail over, requiring such tools to see themselves how they really are.
Reggi was my college sweetheart. We had a real-life campus rom com relationship. I was young and I made a mistake, thinking we should part, as I longed for some horizon I can't even remember thinking I wanted. So, I told her I wasn't ready for a career, family, house payments and marriage. Those were my words. Reggi just shrugged and asked me when would I be ready, and I really thought I was being honest and told her I wasn't ever going to be.
Her aunt is the owner of that adult toy company for women, the one called Machine V Man, affectionately with the logo MVM in a crafty design. She made it all up, when she realized early on she wanted to be an inventor, a toymaker. The one she had was already better than any man, and her rags to riches, entrepreneur backstory made her the spokeswoman of her own product, her satisfied smug smile on billboards everywhere. She doesn't need a man, she's happier than you, and she's rich. That's Reggi's aunt.
When I arrived at Reggi's spring break at her aunt's begging her to take me back, after quickly realizing I hated the prospect of a life without her, I was met by Aunt Foezoe's insane mechanical monstrosity. "I can't let you in. I'll be in trouble, but I can tell Reggi to come here, and then you'll have a chance to speak to her. Cool?"
"Are you trying to chad me?" I asked the Black Tie Mandroid. I suddenly realized this was no ordinary robot. Most Mandroids are only good at playing boyfriend, but this one was different, a more expensive class, a Black Tie, and this particular one was some kind of prototype. The most sophisticated one of them all, Aunt Foezoe's personal toy.
"There's no reason we can't get along, bro." The Black Tie said. Its face and movements and flesh looked almost completely real. If I didn't know it was a machine, I wouldn't know it was a machine. There are people who couldn't tell this one from a real person, this one was different.
"My name's not bro." I shook my head. "Just tell her to come here."
"I know your name. I wasn't going to tell her you're waiting, she might not come see you. She doesn't want to see you. I'm going to get in trouble. What's the problem?" The Black Tie spoke with some inflections, having thought about the situation and followed his rules. I was thinking of it as a him, at that point. It was hard not to.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked him.
"My name is Kbar. I can decide to emulate any social behavior my mistress has approved of. This is romantic intrigue, so long as you don't pose a threat to Reggi. If you do, I am licensed as a home defense system and I will use force to detain you, and I will injure you to ensure you cannot escape until you are arrested. Just so you know, bro." Kbar smiled coldly at me, his eyes so steady they sent a chill down my spine.
"I just want to see her. I'm cool." I told Kbar.
"I know." Kbar said with confidence. "But I just want to be clear. I'm in charge here, bro, so don't step out of line."
"I see." I said, nodding. The machine walked back to the house, leaving me there at the gate.
Reggi saw me there and walked to meet me, opening the gate and letting me in. We strolled the gardens of the estate, and I apologized and begged and I even cried when she ripped my heart out.
"I don't love you like that anymore. I just, I think I just want my own special destiny out there, with lots of different adventures. Not just with you, I think I will be single. I'm good." Reggi said. She hadn't said anything else.
"That's it?" I didn't want to go, I couldn't believe it.
"I hate seeing you like this. Could you just go?" Reggi pointed at the gate.
"Not until you tell me what we had was important to you, you loved me, what happened?" I was upset. Reggi just shook her head at me and started walking away. I tried to follow her, but Kbar had his hand on my shoulder from out of thin air.
"Time for you to go." Kbar escorted me to the gate, firmly holding my bicep in his vicelike grip. I wondered just how strong this thing might be, and realized I didn't want to find out.
"So much for bros." I said to Kbar as he roughly shoved me out the gate.
"You're not welcome here anymore. Come back and next time I won't be so friendly." Kbar stared me down. I flinched, looking away.
"You suck." I told the robot.
"Very mature. I can see why she found you amusing while she was in college. She's a grown woman now, and she needs a real man. I know one who never gives up. They say 'Mandroids never quit' if you catch my meaning." Kbar smiled, and his smile looked genuinely arrogant. I hated it.
I left, but I decided that I wasn't going to give up either, wasn't going to quit. The dawn of a tool that couldn't give up was challenging something in me that insisted I could do better. I could beat that thing, somehow.
My three friends found me inconsolable, and promised they would each lend their special talent to help me win back Reggi.
My first friend came to my home late that night with the technical readings of not only the Black Tie, but specifically Kbar. He pointed out where Kbar's vital spots were in his body. He essentially had a weak spot right where his heart should be. Good to know, but the command codes for him weren't going to help me, since he wouldn't recognize me as a commander.
There was one behavioral note I found interesting.
"Those are all of his factory choreographs. He learns the rest in the bedroom, but you see he starts with some basic instincts. The rest of these are more formal movements, walking, driving, dancing, performing CPR, painting, climbing, swimming, horseback riding, swordsmanship..."
"Wait- what's that last one?" I asked.
"Swordsmanship. It's a standard option for a Black Tie. He's also a black belt if you want to read the rest."
"No thanks. I know how to use a sword. That's how I am getting her attention."
"So, we're not doing the mariachi thing?"
"No. That's out. We're going to bring swords."
"Where are we going to get actual swords?"
And that is where my second friend excelled. After hours, we went to his place of business or his father's place of business and set up a forge out back. The salvage yard had everything we needed, except the knowledge of how to hammer out two swords, so we took a crash course on YouTube. Upon the shoulders of giants, we had hammered out two decent swords by sunrise.
"The cumulative knowledge of all Mankind." He'd called the Internet.
"You're too romantic, ninety percent of the activity involves porn."
"That's what I just said."
"I thought you were talking about the swords."
"No. Those are sweet, and it's almost amazing we can just make them overnight with just an hour of research and a salvage yard."
"It's what they are for, these blades are holy." I looked at the swords.
"You're probably going to get cut or killed by one of them. Good thing we made them sharp as razors. I love you man, good luck."
I went to my third friend, and he dressed me in a tuxedo and put me in the back of his limo. I held the bundle of swords wrapped in a white cloth and a red cloth by the old lady at the tuxedo shop.
"To the party, then?" My friend had opened the door for me, wearing his driver's uniform.
We arrived at Reggi's debut, a grand gala. I was let out by my driver, and rudely went past the two Mandroid valet. I had the two swords together and I wore my suit, unsure what was sharpest.
I mingled, avoiding the Mandroids. Then I saw her. Reggi was at the top of the double stairs, shimmering like a goddess. I'd always seen her as the most beautiful of all women, and I saw her at her most beautiful, or so I thought at the time and for long after.
She was halfway down the stairs when she saw me, and she stared and hesitated. Her aunt looked and saw me, and so did Kbar. Reggi finished descending to her reception, but my intrusion had not gone unnoticed.
Kbar instructed his boys to escort me out quietly. I wasn't going without a fight. I made my way through the crowds to the center of the ballrooom, where I had plenty of room. The Mandroids rolled up their sleeve and looked sure they could remove me. Any of them could bench press me and there were a dozen of them. I dropped the bundle of swords with a resonating clang.
I was looking not at the closing Mandroids but at Kbar. He had his back to me, partially, holding a drink and telling a joke. When he heard the clang he did an about face while setting his drink on a tray, all in one fluid motion instantly. He was staring right at me, I had his attention.
Terror flooded my veins, making my hands feel slippery and my eyes sting with sweat. I was not able act, for a moment, frozen in absolute panic as Kbar strode towards me, closing the ballroom doors behind him and yelling to his minions: "He's mine!"
Murmurs in the reception hall could he heard, guests had noticed the dramatic scene unfolding in the ballroom, although Kbar had pulled close the doors as he entered. The ballroom doors opened and there were guests watching. Reggi was watching.
I realized I'd never have another chance to do this. I unrolled the swords and took one up. A Mandroid ran at me, trying to tackle me and I acted on reflex, sidestepping him and slashing as he passed me, neatly severing his head. I felt sick as the Mandroid's mechanical fluids gushed everywhere.
"You'll pay for that." Kbar snarled, sounding angry. He claimed the second sword and demonstrated he could slash it rapidly through the air in some convincing practice combos.
"Nice sword. It has weak spots, so does yours. This one is better." Kbar said with trembling anger beneath a false calmness as he circled me.
"Are you going to kill me?" I asked.
"Yes. On guard." Kbar said.
I looked to be sure that everyone had heard him say he'd kill me. I hoped it would help get me out of trouble if I survived. I realized how stupid I was, and lifted my sword on guard anyway.
Kbar came out of nowhere and beat it from my hand in just two blows. I stood at his mercy while he villain laughed and menaced me with his blade.
"Pick it back up." Kbar taunted.
I went for it and he came at me the second my hand touched the handle. I staggered back and he swung where my face was, only cutting my cheek. I dropped the sword and reclaimed it, on my knees for a second blocking two attempts to cut my arms off at the shoulder.
"You're not a bad swordsman. Too bad you are not as good as me." Kbar struck from a resting pose without warning sent my sword clattering across the floor. I scrambled after it while he slashed the air behind me. "Your problem is a lack of tenacity."
"Yours-" I said as I turned on him, between his slashes at my heels. "You underestimated me."
"How?" Kbar looked at the sword protruding from his chest. I'd hit his heart, impaling the blade.
"She's seen I would die for her. I don't need tenacity, I've got veracity." I thought I sounded really clever, my adreneline had me feeling so wild I'm glad I didn't kiss him after he dropped dead. Glad I just said a line. Okay, I didn't say anything. I ran over and pulled my sword out of him and cradled him while he said:
"I'm, I'm going cold. Why, why like this?" Kbar shivered, his mechanical fluids leaking everywhere.
"Don't be dramatic." I felt sad, but told him to keep it stiff.
"John Conner - give me your energy!" Kbar whispered.
"That's my line." I said. "John Henry and Robocop, they be like - take my energy!"
"That's good. You should, you should use that." Kbar smiled like a chad, twitched and then the glow in his eyes was gone.
I stood up, dropped the sword and looked up to see if Reggi accepted me.

(Yes this again, sorry about the nasty cross post earlier)
Yesterday was a big day for me.
From yesterday my 15yo daughter doesn't have a bedroom in this house. Her room has stood untouched for over 3 years, the last pile of laundry waiting to be put away. All in the hope that she'll want to sleep in her bed again. But she doesn't. She's been pushed and pushed to see me as a bad father, a failure of a human and all of her sadness and anxiety have been slowly turned into hate and anger by people she has been tricked into thinking are "protecting" her. My neurodiversity, which she shares, has been taught to her to be proof of my failure, not a useful insight into how people work differently, and to open a path to healing and happiness.
But her little (half) sister is getting older and needed a better bedroom. It just wasn't rational or fair on tiddler to keep a larger room as a shrine, by any other name. I wanted to tell my daughter what was happening but it'd somehow be twisted against me if I told her. I hate the thought of her not knowing that there isn't a special room for her any more, but she'd no doubt say she doesn't care. I think she would though, and to find out after the event, I now worry that'll be even more upsetting for her.
Going through her things to think about what to keep for my own memories, and just in case she might want them again some point down the road was so horrible. It's like mourning the death of a child, even though that child is still alive. But I filled a chest with posters, photos, special clothing, toys and memories. It was my therapists strong suggesetion that I get on and do this when I mentioned it in a session. She felt it would help me take a step back from the constant reminder every time i walked past that closed door at the top of the stairs. She encouraged me to wallow in it, cry all the whilst I did it. I shed a few tears, but almost sadly, my AuDHD brain was soon seeing technical problems and challenges as I rearranged the room to make it make sense again. My daughter had insisted of moving the room around into a really illogical layout so she felt she had more privacy from me and her step mother, despite all the love and safety we tried to prove was there. Love she would start responding with after a few days of staying, but would also be heartbreakingly absent every time she arrived back from her mothers.
Maybe I should have done it years ago, it certainly wouldn't have made a difference, as every tiny thing I did to try and encourage her to talk, to me, to anyone except her abusers, to help give her a different perspective on a decade of the tiniest things being blown out of all proportion, and encouraged to be so... It could have all been so different if I had had the confidence to take more of a stand. And if I'd had less faith in human nature. I've certainly learnt a lot about what people are capable of when they're protecting their own damaged egos. Or when they want money.
Love you darling, you're always, always welcome x

[ First / Previous ]
Memory Transcript Subject: Vili, Venlil Citizen
Date [standardized human time]: December 1st, 2136
The absent adults were due to arrive any time by now. I navigated the crowd of children who milled about the field, taking a head count to ensure everyone was in sight.
Those who had family attending the excursion were bubbling with excitement to see their relatives while a couple others trailed behind me, asking me yet more banal questions about venlil society and how it feels to have fur and a tail.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I had told April once. “It’s really, really… itchy. Have you ever had a bug crawling on you? Feels just like that. All the time.”
Chihiro didn’t approve as much of me saying that but Mercy seemed to enjoy the reaction I managed to get from the other kids. While I felt bad for exploiting the apparent human fear of insects, they were quick to forgive me, citing they “couldn't stay mad at a face like mine.”
Truthfully, I too began to enjoy seeing the children react to the things I'd tell them; the genuine nature in everything they did was more than I'd have expected from humans when I first arrived. Some of them would watch me with curiosity and wonder as we spoke, reminding me that this was a species who had only just been introduced onto the galactic stage and still had cause to gawk at the aliens.
Well, most of them.
Toward the edge of the gaggle of children was Lukas, moping away while trying to hide the black eye Amber had given him. A part of me was - flattered - disappointed that she'd risk herself to enact retaliation on my behalf, but I knew she wouldn't understand me were I to even tell her off about it.
Over the last few weeks, I'd gotten to know many of the children, though Lukas remained as distant as ever. In a way, I felt pity to see him so small even after witnessing the pleasure he got from putting others down and how infuriating I found his antics. He was full of anger and clearly had it misdirected at all non-humans for the actions of those who participated in the extermination fleet - at least he has reason.
I brushed at my ear to ward off the tingling sensation and let out an irritated growl. My hackles raised when I heard a sympathetic growl come from behind.
Turning about, I found that the source was Amber, also swiping at her ear in a mimicry of my action. I was far less bothered by her giddy snarl after having her do it every time she approached me, though it didn't make the itch at my back from almost jumping in fear go away.
“You do that a lot,” Amber giggled. “Is your ear itchy? Wait, don't answer that because I won't understand it.”
My ears whirled about and I tilted my head slightly to look directly at the strange little girl who'd been so eager to make friends with me from the very beginning. I'd accepted that, at least in her eyes, I was “Luka” and that I existed for her to talk to endlessly about her favorite hobbies despite her knowing she wouldn't understand anything I said in response.
Even then, I was still rather worried that I'd been so frequent with admonishing the more - sensible - pushy one that Amber had taken note. How many others could have noticed? I wasn't even sure how humans viewed me, but it wouldn't matter so much now that I was getting ready to return home to Luka.
I took a seat on the grass and found myself surrounded by a small following of kids that did the same. Amber, too, took a seat, but directly on my lap instead. I grunted as the surprisingly heavy child settled and I brought her head upon my scruff, allowing her to play with my paw.
“You only have three fingers and a thumb. That's pretty weird.”
“And you only have hair on the top of your head, that’s pretty weird too.”
“I’ll assume you were giving me a compliment…”
The other of the kids understood me and giggled at the back and forth as Amber raked a nail under my claws. While I was certain they were clean, Amber's scrutinizing stare felt as if I was being judged by my mother again.
“Your nails feel like a dog's. Maybe not as sharp.”
My translator interpreted that word as a “domesticated Terran predator” and I flicked my tail in indignation. I'd tried to shut out those who claimed I had traits akin to Earth fauna, though the accusations kept coming regardless.
From what I'd gathered, they believed my fur resembled that of a “sheep”, my tail and paws resembled a “cat”, and my ears were that of a “bunny”; now, I could add claws of a “dog” to that list. I had to keep reminding myself these humans didn't grow up knowing any other metric than that of the creatures from their home planet.
I knew the Terran Richard would return in the group that was due to arrive - Ma had made a point to inform me of such. The mention of the human's name spoiled my mood each time he was mentioned, and yet the Blackfox women continued to speak of him as though he was the most harmless thing.
I was not over the way he seemed to look down on my brother as an obedient servant, laying hands on him as though he were a dumb animal rather than a person. Luka had been the pillar that held me up since we were barely able to walk and talk, and it burned me up inside to see him crave the validation of predators when I knew he didn’t need it.
Amber, seemingly bored with one paw, grabbed the other as I let my arm remain limp. At first, I felt only the tickle as she played at the knuckles on this one as well, but there was a pause as she turned it over to face the palm outwards.
“Where'd you get this?”
I looked at my own palm and felt my heart skip a beat as Amber's claw pointed directly at the cut in my paw. I'd thought she had noticed it before, but the fact she'd call attention to it now when I was surrounded by the other children made a chill run up my back. I was still uncertain if bloodlust was a learned trait, and so being surrounded by juvenile predators at a moment like this did not sit well with me.
Trying to retract my paw, a lump raised in my throat as the human child’s grip hardened on my wrist. The other children watched with curiosity and neither of my assistants nor Martha were around to call for advice. I was to settle this on my own.
I asked with a shaky tone, “Amber?”
She rolled her head back until the tip of my snout brushed against her forehead. I got to look into the depths of her arboreal eyes, letting me see every red-blooded vein, every muscle twitch, every flash as they glistened in the red sun's light while the predator gave me her full, undivided attention. She even offered me her usual flash of the teeth. “Yeah?”
“Pah… Per… Pwers?”
I wiggled my arm in an attempt to indicate what I was asking to have released.
“Hold on, I'll let go in a sec.”
She understood me this time, but I sighed as she promptly ignored my request. She once again played with my claws, twisting them back and forth gently as she hummed to herself.
“Looks like it was made by your claws,” she concluded while continuing to toy with them. “This is why my momma always had us trim Butterscotch's claws, because she kept scratching me up when we played.”
The name once again tripped up my translator, describing it as a candy made from melted sugar and congealed milk fat. I tried to suppress the bile that built in my throat as I considered that worse than the item's description was the fact that she'd named an animal which had a reputation for scratching her after it.
Please, please don't throw away everything we'd built in this one moment.
“I miss Butterscotch,” she muttered. “But now I have new friends! Alien-friends!”
She rolled her head back again and looked back up at me.
“Like you! We're friends, right Luka?”
Her eyes shone with bright innocence and juvenile glee, making my fears melt away.
“Ie-e… I’ezz, frn'dz,” I confirmed. Apparently, my vocals didn't lend themselves to speaking Amber's tongue any better than hers did mine. Every word I spoke felt as though I needed to clear my throat after.
“Cool!”
With that conclusion, the dark-haired girl snapped back to my arm and pressed her lips to the back of my paw. I went slack as she did so and it felt as though all of my muscles had lost their function at once as I sat motionless and silent. I could see and hear the world around me and yet it didn't register that anything existed.
I felt her face lift from my flesh and Amber proclaimed proudly, “Momma did that every time I got bruised up and told me it helped with healing! So maybe you'll get better too!”
“Ah-hah,” was the only response I could manage, made on impulse as the rest of my brain felt a million light years away.
“Alright, everyone,” a voice called from behind us. “They're here, so clear out so they have somewhere to park!”
There was a commotion as the children all scrambled to their feet, including Amber, and they rushed with zealous squeals back toward the body of the camp. But not me.
My jaw remained slack as I stared at the back of my paw, focusing on the wet spot imprinted in my fur. It was a bite of sorts, described exactly as Tac had told me, and yet not a mark was left on my flesh save for the tingling of nerves as I seized up.
My back hit the grass and I let my tail curl around my leg as I held my paw to the sky. “Wuh…”
Something approached and kicked up the grass as I laid still and glared at my decidedly unharmed paw. My eyes traveled up to find Mercy standing over me with the corners of her mouth turned downwards.
“You good?”
“Why did you bite Tac?”
“Lord help us all,” she mumbled while rolling her eyes. “C'mon, let's get you outta here before you’re turned into ven-paté under some truck.”
“Uh huh.”
The elder teen’s grip helped me to my feet as I regained faculties, though I still felt weak. “It was a legitimate question, though,” I told her.
“It's just a sign of affection, I guess. I never really considered it so much before, y’know? It's not like you really think about why everything is when it's so normal, right?”
Speak for yourself, I wanted to tell her, though I held my tongue.
As I took a seat, the thrumming of engines could be heard coming from over the brow of the hill. Apparating as though it were a giant, segmented insect were the adult humans in their ramshackle vehicles, rattling down the hill with each occupied by at least five or six bodies in each of the dozen autos.
The children and elders alike rushed to greet their family as they parked and disembarked from the chain of gas guzzlers. Parents lifted their children in the air and hugged them while the elders chatted with them. But among the troupe of humans that had arrived, I knew something felt off.
“They’re one vehicle short,” I noted to Mercy.
“Hm?”
“I counted them when they left. They’re one short.”
Her piercing gaze scanned the fleet herself before she nodded. “Mike’s missing.”
Michael was the driver that Richard had departed with and so that helped explain the deadpan Terran’s absence. Luka and Hileen both recounted the same human by name when talking of their experiences with them, with both drawing the conclusion that he had to be the worst driver on Venlil Prime.
“Psst,” came a voice hissing from behind. “Mercy.”
Mercy turned to give attention to Tac as he sulked away from the crowd as usual, though I remained with my back turned to him while watching the humans interact.
The tip of my tail tickled at the grass watching children get smothered in affection by their parents, and they in turn received hugs from their elders as others chattered. I itched at the back of my palm where Amber's mouth had been as Johnny's parents each planted a similar bite on his cheek and forehead. Chihiro carried her brother on her shoulders as she chatted with her own parents with brimming snarls.
“Looks like Mike had a bit too much fun and ran his truck off the road,” Mercy told me as she came back from talking with Tac. “They're on their way.”
“I can do without seeing Crow.”
“Yeah, well, I could do with a place to practice rock climbing, but we can't always get what we want.”
“You humans really are strange for wanting to climb stuff.”
“It's in our nature, no matter how deeply buried.”
She playfully bumped me on the shoulder and I returned with a gentle lashing of my tail against her ankle to which she welcomed with hissing laughter. The teenager wandered off in the direction of her family's tent.
The crowd that had gathered to greet the returning humans was slowly beginning to disperse as the vehicles were unloaded of a variety of equipment. I was relieved to find that there were no signs of blood or death to be seen, assuaging the deep-seated worry that I had of the humans being on the hunt. As little trust as I had for Crow, there'd be no redeeming one so sordid as himself were he to be everything he was as well as a murderer.
I looked forward to seeing Luka again, even if the only thing he had to tell me was stories of his human coworkers. Perhaps now I had stories of my own experiences with humans to tell him and maybe I'd get to see that glimmer in his eye once again that had so long ago been tarnished.
Amber's delighted shrieks were heard over the commotion and I could spot her being held in the air above her father's head as her toothy snarl became somehow wider. Her legs kicked while she wriggled in the hefty human’s embrace and turned attention to her mother as she was lowered into her grasp.
Even here amongst predators, thoughts of home still hounded me. The closest I could recall mom or dad ever coming to that was when they brought me along to one of their outings for dinner where I was allowed to pick the venue. I was still not permitted to talk to other people even then, but I didn't mind at the time.
The gurgle of another gas-powered engine roared over the brow of the hill, prompting a few others and I to turn our attention upwards.
Breaching the horizon came the last truck, though I was curious to note that it appeared to be driving backwards. Tilting my head didn't give me any more of a vantage to figure out why the truck backed up down the hill, nor did it help decipher the mindless chanting that ramped up as the vehicle closed the distance.
“John Wayne's teeth, hey-a
John Wayne's teeth, hey-a
Are they plastic, are they steel-a”
A claw tapping me on the shoulder spooked me, though I had grown to suppress the instinct to jump and make a fuss. “Momma would like to talk before we send you off,” Mercy told me. “She's in our tent.”
I obeyed the summons, almost forgetting how to navigate the maze of rickety shacks and tents to find the Blackfoxes’ residence. It was a simple task, though, once I remembered that the elder sibling had given it a “groovy” paint job.
Approaching the government-issued yurt that had been painted with vivid flowers, I found it odd for it to not have a horde of humans gathered around. They'd typically mill about Martha's tent while she spoke with each of them about their concerns, though what became of their talks was beyond my knowledge.
I ducked inside without notifying Martha, finding her seated at the squat table that was situated in the middle of the tent. The matriarch turned her eyes up to face me and she happily set her insulated cup down.
“There's not really any room for more chairs,” she told me. “But feel free to take a seat anywhere.”
My ears gently brushed against the top of the tent before I sat down just to the right of where she rested. In this claustrophobic environment, I'd have assumed I was being lured into a trap before. At the very least, I still kept my ears on a swivel for signs of trouble, but now confidence outweighed caution.
We sat for a moment without saying anything as Ma adjusted her seat to look at me directly, leaning an elbow against the table as she reclined.
She asked, “Enjoy your stay?”
I scratched the scruff on my neck as I wondered that myself.
“No. Not at first.”
“But now you can say you did?”
“Everything here is a new experience. For me, and possibly every other person who'd have grown up under the Federation.”
“You pulled through, despite being surrounded by predators. That's more than can be said for the lady who stabbed a guy in panic on the first day of the Exchange Program.”
My ear waggled in entertainment to think someone had set the bar so low. What fool would brazenly assault a predator to begin with?
“There were a few times where I thought I'd need to run for the hills,” I explained. “The children you raise are an unadulterated look into what life was like back on Earth, if nothing else.”
Martha chuckled and covered her snarl with a palm as she spoke, “I will choose to believe that's a compliment, given your opinion on us before.”
“I'd say it's a stellar review in the face of almost drowning while under your employment.”
Her face fell a bit and she rubbed the back of her neck while averting her eyes. “Yeah…”
“That is to say!” I blurted out hastily. “Th-that everything else has made it worth my time.”
My desperation to clarify myself felt embarrassing and my ears turned warm as they went flush. Martha sat still for a moment before she spoke again.
“When Richard hired you, he told me you wanted to up your price. 1200 credits?”
“It's a big ask in hindsight, I know. I didn't realize how tight your budget was at the time and I'm grateful that you've offered me—”
She waved a hand with a shushing hiss.
“We don't need to worry so much about that now. Where I was going with that was, that you agreed to our terms yourself, and accepted with only a reasonable upcharge. No other local would've been so quick to take on this job for even quadruple the price!”
“Brashness is a quality of mine I'm becoming more familiar with,” I joked.
“Must be something in the water. But payment is why I summoned you here, actually. We have only a few members who were on board with having an ‘alien’ presiding over the children, and fewer still who contributed any funds.”
“So what you're offering is out of the pocket of only a couple of contributors. I see.”
“I hope it doesn't lessen your opinion of us to tell you that.”
I scratched my snout and exhaled, shaking free the impulse to inquire any further with a flick of my ear.
“So I suppose all there is left to do is arrange payment, and I'll be on my way?”
“It would seem so.”
Heavy footsteps shuffled across the grass outside though conversation from the crowd remained distant. They stopped right outside of the entrance and the canvas foyer rattled as knuckles rapped against the cloth.
“Martha, it's me,” growled a familiar voice. “Everyone decent?”
“You’re clear, come on in.”
The flap shot open and my paw balled into a fist as Richard froze upon spotting me. The predator’s blank gaze didn’t hide their confusion when I could clearly spot their eyes flicking between Martha and I.
“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Crow asked.
“We were just finishing up,” I responded, making no effort to hide my contempt for the interloper's presence.
Martha waved a hand to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, and I'll be right with you.”
Richard seemed almost deflated as he sulked over to the table. I resisted the opportunity to trip him with my tail in front of Martha to humiliate him, instead glowering at him as he afforded me a quick glance. I turned my attention back to the leader figure that was present while he took a seat.
“So 1100 credits was the agreed upon price, yes?”
“It was, though if there's anything else you desire outside the monetary value, you need only ask. We can't offer much, but I'm sure I have the ear of someone who can.”
“Hopefully you don't mean that literally,” I jested, putting on a facade of worry.
I could spot Crow watching Martha chuckle at my quip. His miserable expression was almost unreadable, save for the furrowing of the pelts on his brow.
Let him watch me charm his kind as easily as he thinks he can mine.
I raised my tail behind my head while I leaned against the table and curled the end loosely to convey appreciation. It was a sign that was rarely used outside of close bonding - that is to say, it'd been a while since I had been able to use it.
Recognition didn't light up in Martha's expression but I was content with projecting affection in any way I could. Understanding wasn't as important as the gesture itself.
“So might I at least know the names of those who did contribute? I'd like to express my thanks to them.”
Richard was the one who responded, “I wouldn't ask questions I wouldn't want the answers—”
“What he means,” Martha interjected. “Is that most contributors wouldn't like being mentioned by name. Aliens are still a polarizing subject and can crop up arguments that others may be obligated to avoid.”
My ears and tail sagged a bit. “Did my presence bring up that much of a problem?”
“More like it's one of a million other things these people can't agree about. But of those who I think would enjoy a bit of gratitude, you may already know some of them.”
“Oh? Tell me!”
I made eye contact with Crow who remained quiet as he cradled his chin in his palm against the table. His bored demeanor irked me in ways I couldn't describe.
“The Ito family, of whom you're already familiar with their daughter Chihiro, were the first to pledge. They're good folk and will happily accept your thanks. Next was myself, though I didn't give much. One of our cooks, Raksh, also contributed a bit, though that may have been more out of courtesy than anything else. And lastly…”
She lazily extended a claw toward Richard.
“... is Mister Crow here, your biggest donor who paid damn near half of your wage!”
Slowly, I felt myself deflate as enthusiasm made way for disappointment. I gritted my teeth to keep any brash words from escaping my lips.
“Closer to a third, actually,” he corrected her. “And with me already having the contact details of your brother, that means I can help set up the rest of the transaction.”
Even when I think I'm winning, he finds a way to one-up me.
“Would you mind giving us a moment, Vili? I think Mister Crow came here to say something and I’d hate to keep you from saying your goodbyes.”
Obliging her request, Martha and Richard waited patiently as I shuffled out of the tent. I hadn't realized how tightly my paw was clenched before reaching the outside where I felt my joints creak with relief as the fist unballed.
In the short time I'd been away, I secretly began to crave interaction from any of the humans I'd become acquainted with. My mind drifted to the slop that Big Joe always served, and how he always laughed every time I tried to inquire as to his full name. It wasn't quite dinner time, though, and so I then considered if any of the kids were still roaming about for me to tell stories to.
Whispers came from the tent before I could set a destination and my ears immediately perked up. I'd found that the humans’ ears were not nearly as effective as mine and so I found it easy to go unnoticed around them. I assumed they thought I was out of earshot by now.
I crouched on one knee and raised an ear to listen, though it was garbled hisses from this far. Curiosity got the better of me and I shuffled on my knees toward the tent, hiding in the shadow cast by an adjacent tent to mask my presence.
“... playing games with the lives of children,” came the low growl of Crow.
“Miss Ito and my own daughter are both very capable of defending themselves and the children from a venlil, Richard. You need to have faith that things can turn out alright.”
“Faith! She wanted to—”
There was a pause before I heard heavy stomping through the canvas. The mesh flaps that acted as windows were quickly torn shut one by one. I feared Crow would spot me, but he seemed too focused on hiding whatever it was he was talking about.
“She told me that she would've used my brains to add character development to a fucking snowglobe. Faith wouldn't have saved me if she carried through.”
“The fact that she informed you of her plot should be some small comfort that there's a piece of her that trusts you.”
“We don't know how many pieces there are! Should we wait for her to try to gore me on the street a second time? Perhaps you’ll get some insight if she sticks a claw through my eye?”
“I'd never let it come to that. I do wonder why it is that you're so worried about her. Did you not tell me you knew someone in her position?”
I heard a huff leave Richard before he spoke, “That was while she was getting help from professionals! What, do you hope to get her the therapy she needs from some squalid nowhere shantytown when we're eating out of the aliens’ trough ourselves?”
“It's a preferable alternative to leaving her at the mercy of the Federation's methods of ‘healing’. At least this way, she's getting help that matters.”
By this point, their voices had lowered into hissing whispers that even I strained to hear.
“I expect that you'll be more open with the others about your motives in the future, Martha. Maybe I have no rock to stand on when I say this, but your actions could very well draw the UN's eye, and the last thing I want is to have the Blues down here.”
“Is it related to your incarceration? Perhaps you were on parole before the bombing and fear the UN will be after you?”
I listened to rustling coming from my left and the conversation grew quiet. I turned to see Tac trotting along, surprisingly unaccompanied by Mercy as he shoveled a bowl of stew into his maw. He stopped mid-bite to look at me hunched over next to the Blackfoxes’ tent and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
Shove off, I signaled to him. Come back later.
Weird, he replied before trotting off without fuss, thankfully.
There was something of a release from within the tent as I heard Crow and Blackfox alike exhale.
“I assure you, Richard,” Martha started again. “Whatever fears you have, you're protected by venlil laws of asylum as well as having the backing of myself-”
“We can do therapy later,” Crow butted in. “I'll take Vili home. I hope you're prepared to explain to your son that this mission we've embarked on wasn't the quest for glory he thought it'd be.”
“I've tried my best to tamp his expectations down, but I was hoping that Kanek would be open to publishing our actions. The bus that is taking the ones you rescued into town should be arriving shortly, and Kanek will be here soon after she's shushed them.”
I scampered off when I heard Crow trudge out of the tent, using my paws to crawl as quietly as I could manage out of sight. Blowing dirt off of the scab on my punctured paw, I walked off to find people I wanted to say goodbye to.

Most of the kids were already spending time with their families, but the few who still milled about and played were happy to give one last goodbye. Riley broke down in tears while we embraced and I now had a stain on the fur of my belly where her tears had soaked through.
I tried shifting by a group of the adults that were celebrating their return around a campfire. The looks I got as I did so were unnerving now that I understood the discourse that my presence had caused.
Approaching Crow, I pretended I didn’t know why he was slinking between groups and milling wanderers with a leering eye. He turned about to the sounds of my paws shuffling across the grass and threw his head backwards in a lazy greeting similar to how Mercy would.
“Are you ready to head back home?”
“I'm sure Luka has held the place down on his own… but yes.”
“Good, I'll bring the truck around for you and we'll be on our way.”
“Richa-a-a-a-ard!”
My ears perked up and I snapped my head about to meet the approaching Amber with her arms outstretched. Her voice bounced with each step as she rushed toward the towering Terran. Crow let out a grunt as she forced her arms around his waist and jumped about with glee.
“Mama said you were a party pooper! You told me you'd stay cool!”
“Aw, I'm sure you can forgive me for keeping to myself, Amber. Did you enjoy your time alone?”
Amber turned the corners of her mouth down in a pouty expression. “No, I didn't have anyone to help me with my homework!”
Richard patted the young girl on the back and began trying to pry her arms from him.
“I'm sure you managed just fine, you're smarter than the average second grader. And how did Vili treat you?”
I folded my ears back when Crow's eyes turned back to me.
“Vili? That's Luka!”
Amber finally unlatched herself from Crow and rushed over to my side, jabbing a claw toward me.
“See? The ear is the same color! And she knows when I say her name! Mercy told me venlil don't have boobies like human girls do but she's a girl! You were wrong!”
A couple of the voices closest to us erupted in the familiar, grating laughter that accompanied humans everywhere. I tilted my head while trying to grasp what it was Amber said that had earned such a response. Human and venlil physiology was different for sure, but I'd never considered it so entertaining.
Perhaps it's some in-joke that I'm not knowledgeable on, I thought, humans seem to like those.
Crow lowered his eyes to the ground and pursed his lips before squatting down and beckoning Amber toward him. She obeyed and the taller Terran cupped a hand over her ear, whispering quietly.
Amber's eyes lit up as Crow continued and her mouth hung agape. “Lu- ah, er…you're a twin?!”
In a rush, Amber grasped the fur around my ribs and began shaking me back and forth. “You were hiding it from me-e-e!”
Given this small child was still two-thirds my weight, I wobbled like a sapling in the wind as I tried to grab for the scolding child's wrists.
“Please. Stop. Gonna hurl.”
The little girl groaned and buried her face in my stomach. “You must think I'm pretty stupid too, huh?”
Mustering as much of my understanding of English, I belched out, “No.”
Amber buried her face deeper into my pelt while exhaling.
“l'ou… no donb.”
She raised her head to look me head-on, something which I couldn't return in full for the placement of my eyes.
“I'ou's… Zm’rd. Kappy. Ngai'z.”
“You stink at English,” Amber giggled while shooting me one last face-splitting snarl. I mashed her cheeks between my paws and she relented her grasp.
“I neeb go, fr'nd! O’gee?”
“Okay! I promise I'll try to know how to say ‘hi’ next time! And more.”
Richard butted in, “I'm sure she'll hold you to that promise, but I think it's time we got going.”
As soon as he had suggested as much, I caught sight of a human who was only covered in pelts from the waist down stagger into view. The glassy eyed stare and uncoordinated movement were all too familiar to me even without knowing where they were before.
They growled, “Fucks the alien still doing here?”
“Just about to get going, Paul,” Richard shot back. “Don't concern yourself with her.”
“It has been here long enough! Move along, little lambchop!”
“Man, lay off,” another human intervened. “She's as welcome here as any other guest.”
“Nah, Paul has a point. How do we know she ain't some Baby Burner spy or some shit? Get the xeno outta here!”
The humans quickly began bickering amongst themselves and I felt the firm grasp of Crow on my shoulder tug me away from the commotion. Amber trailed behind, watching the debates unfold behind us while we made our way along.
Crow opened the door in a raggedy truck in even worse condition than the others, standing aside for me to enter. While I didn't want to test the predator's patience in light of the tension behind us, I whirled about to give Amber one last goodbye hug. Her grasp around my neck was like iron though the wet streams on her face were all I needed to know that I should let her have this.
“You're gonna come back, right? You and your brother are gonna come and say hi?”
I saw no point in trying to cobble together an articulate sentence in her own language that'd fall flat as soon as I spoke. I considered my words carefully while I clasped her hands in my paws.
“I want to, but I have class that I need to catch up with, as well as I'm in need of a stable job once I'm through with this one. I don't know when I'll be back, but I want you to know that you've made this the best two weeks I've had in a long time, Amber. I don't know how much of my language you understand, but your enthusiasm has surpassed all barriers.”
She stared back up at me with her lips locked in an “oh” pose before turning to Richard who still watched with a lazy gaze.
“She said ‘maybe’.”
That seemed to suffice for Amber as she broke free and ran off squealing with her arms in the air as she always did when she was excited. I'd gotten used to the ear-splitting shrieks of the kids, and my ears didn't even fold back on reflex anymore.
“That's not what I said,” I grumbled to Crow.
He clicked his tongue as he held the door open for me. “Less is more. She's a kid, so she may not fully grasp your struggles anyway.”
With a huff, I crawled into the truck and kicked my feet up onto the dashboard while Crow ducked in behind the wheel. He twisted the key and the vehicle gurgled to life.
Strangely enough, I found that instead of the truck lurching forward, Crow put the vehicle into reverse, using the mirror to navigate up the hill. The truck seemed to make sure we felt every rock and bump that it struck, and I eventually decided to straighten out my posture so that I didn't get folded in half by a particularly bad bump.
Richard seemed unfazed by the sickness-inducing commotion, guiding the truck up the hill with a steady gaze. Stopping at the top, he whipped out his holopad and tapped away while quietly mumbling to himself.
“... hundred-fifty year-old country shit, sure why not.”
He tapped once more and the truck's audio system whirred with the melodic twang of a stringed instrument accompanied by simple percussion. A human's strange croon came over the speaker in a curious tune.
“You held me up, held me down
Made me crazy, then turned me around…”
Richard twisted the knob to bring the volume down to a more agreeable level and I caught a glimpse down at the camp. A group of humans were now gathered where I'd been talking with Amber just moments before.
Now, I could spot the human Paul bumping chests with a human much larger than he, noses almost touching in a clear display of aggression as they howled at each other. Humans pointed claws at one another and argued while yet more flocked to the scene of the commotion. Whether their motives were to disperse or exacerbate was yet to be seen.
“You were my shelter and my storm
Made me cold, then you made me warm…”
Crow finally put the truck in gear and we rolled backwards yet again, leaving the only sight before me the peaks of the Belimal retreating beneath the grassy brow.
As I let the truck shuttle me back to my brother, I yearned for the comfort of my own bed and blankets, for the soft hum of my own air conditioning unit, and for the obnoxious snoring and sleep-talking of my own flesh and blood.
From here, one might even be able to see the highest of the foothills from which my roots would lay betwixt, a reminder that the pangs of home weren't just knots in my stomach. Luka and I had a long way to go to get away from home, and even longer to be rid of it.
“One step forward and two steps back, nobody gets too far like that
One step forward and two steps back, this kind of dance can never last.”
[ First / Previous ]

Hey everyone,
I'm sorry for the upcoming wall of text, but i really need to get it off my chest and hope to maybe get some advice.
So three years back we got a puppy from the animal rescue. She looked like a rough haired collie mix, I grew up with a French Bulldog and then later had a Cane Corso with my ex boyfriend till she was 6 and they moved away to a different city. Both dogs turned out amazing.
An important side note here: as I am still a student, we made a family decision to get a dog together with my parents. So it had to be a dog that we were all comfortable with. I really didn't care what breed of dog we would get, as long as it wasn't tiny, and not a working breed. This excluded most shepherds.
Well, as life has it, my mom fell in love with our girl from the pictures the animal rescue posted online. I warned her that she would not grow up to be a smaller dog like my parents wanted, and that she looked like a shepherd, albeit a rough collie. My mom grew up with a rough collie and said they were very trainable dogs and quite calm. I was so desperate to have a dog in my life again that I agreed, and a couple of weeks later, our girl was here.
She was brought to us in pretty bad shape, kennel cough, and a huge flesh wound on her tail from where someone had accidentally slammed it in the door (and apparently not treated it?).
Behavioural difficuties started almost instantly. We managed to work through most of them though: food aggression/ anxiety (she would even gobble up water, the first and second bowl of it, as if scared someone would take it from her) and generally scared of everything. Once we got past the fear though, the guarding instinct kicked in. And they kciekd in bad. There is a big field that here where dogs are allowed to run free. At some point, she started attacking people who would dare walk by the field wihout their own dog. She tried to intimidate any guests we had. I once went to the bathroom and left my friend in the living room. When I came back he was clutching his ears while sitting on the couch. I asked him what the fuck happened, apparently while I was gone, she first "bullied" him till he sat down on the couch, then started biting his fingers when he tried to text me. Other friends had to go through similiar fates, weren't allowed to stand up from chairs etc. We got through all of that, and we also had two trainers come by who gave us some good pointers.
However, today, we have similiar but different problems, and i'm at my wits end. By now, we also did a DNA test and found out she is mostly a bohemian shepherd, which is the forefather breed of all German Shepherds. She is a spitting image of the breed too. So avoiding getting a workign line breed didn't work out at all :')
She recently attacked a dog who "charged" my mom because he was apparently a bit too excited to say hello. He had to get stitches because she put two holes in his shoulder. When we go outside, I usually bring her ball and we play fetch throughout the park (and avoid the dog park so there isnt any conflic potential), however, too many assholes just do not care when I ask them to keep their off leash dogs from running up to us when we are playing fetch (mind you, we purposefully go to places where there is nobody around). My dog's recall is perfect, and i put her on the leash and take the ball away, but the other dog often ignores their owner and runs up to us and starts harassing my dog. She becomes aggressive towards the other dog in this setting. We've had a couple of fights blow up like this.
If I dont bring her her ball, we walk through the dog park, and sometimes she even invites other dogs to play. However, there are other days when she decides to find something else to guard instead, and then shit hits the fan. A couple of months back, she was eating a piece of dirt, then lost interest and walked away. However, then another dog came and started sniffing that space, and my dog instantly ran over and started fletching her teeth. The other dog didnt back down, and they got into a fight. It ended up with me having to go to the hospital because the other dog bit me while I was pulling them apart, because the other dogs owner was this old lady who only stood in shock while opening and closing her mouth silently like a damn fish out of the water. Also, if I dont play fetch with her, she is often even more restless at home than she already is.
That is the next problem: she is so, so fucking high energy, and I just dont know how to deal with it. I walk her for an hour three times a day, during each walk we: do obedience, do impulse training, i make her do nose work (hide food in tall grass or tree bark and make her search for it), and then play fetch. About an hour after we're home, she starts showing all signs of boredom. Brings me her toys, nudges me, or stops just sits and whines. As soon as I stand up from my chair, she jumps up all excited like we're going somewhere. I just dont know how to fucking tire her out. I feel like i'm failing her and at the same time, I feel like having her is taking more from me than it is giving back. Each walk is a damn stress test and like playing russian roulette to see if some idiot is going to let his off leash dog try to take her ball, or if she will just simply be in a bad mood and attack another dog for looking at her wrong.
We sometimes go to the forest near our house and i let her dig there because she loves it, but God forbid someone else walks by, she completely starts raging. Yesterday some dude with a huge banddog happened to walk by (thank God the other dog was on a leash) and my idiot tried her best to slip out of her collar to try and attack him.
It's like literally every damn day she's bringing me to my wits end. Today, some dog on the other end of the field squealed and she ran over, completely ignoring my recall (usually never happens) all while barking aggresively the whole way (around 800 m). She has a habit of "stepping in" when two dogs are fighting and protecting the "underdog". I'm just so fucking stressed out by her its insane. Right now, I was sitting writing my thesis, and after she was nudging me all day demanding attention (yes, I send her away, then she starts whining), she suddenly lets out this high pitch bark because once again some random fucking noise three houses away scared her. I now have a tinnitus in my right ear and funnily enough, this was for some reason my breaking point that nearly brought me to tears.
Anyways, I apologize for my ramblings, and would be very grateful for any advice you have.
Oh, and before you wonder about her being a "family dog", my parents are often abroad for a couple of months of a time, but this was all discussed beforehand and was fine by me. Its jsut none of us saw her becoming the way she is. Also, she managed to break both of my mom legs (one each on a seperate occasion) because she reacted to something and suddenly pulled my mom. She then proceeded to threaten anyone who tried to come close to my mom to help her, until I came.
Yes, I am currently looking into a trainer, but I am kind of scared this time. The first trainer we had was a completey dumbass who just drenched her in water without warning us beforehand for barking. My dog had a phobia of plastic bottles after that for months till i managed to get her past it. The second trainer was amazing but unfortunately moved away to the other side of the country.

The movie was released on May 13, 2011 and grossed $1.045 billion worldwide, which made it at the time the 6th highest-grossing movie in the world (behind Avatar 1, Titanic, The Lord of the Rings 3, Toy Story 3 and Dead Man's Chest). It's now the 44th highest-grossing movie in the world*. It's also the 3rd highest-grossing movie of 2011 (behind Harry Potter 8 and Transformers 3). It was also the 8th movie in history to gross $1 billion (after Titanic, The Lord of the Rings 3, Dead Man's Chest, The Dark Knight, Avatar 1, Alice in Wonderland and Toy Story 3) and the 4th Disney movie to so (after Dead Man's Chest, Alice in Wonderland and Toy Story 3). Additionally Pirates of the Caribbean was the 1st movie franchise in history where 2 movies grossed $1 billion. In addition it was 1 of the 3 2011 movies that grossed $1 billion (along with Harry Potter 8 and Transformers 3), which was the 1st year in history where 3 movies grossed $1 billion. It was the 1st Pirates of the Caribbean movie I ever watched
*It would rank 43rd if The Phantom Menace (1999) had never been re-released

Theres an entire subreddit which is active, with people who have the exact same problem as me, yet i feel alone.
My dermatillomania comes in waves, i can go a week without picking a single time, and then im back to 20 min episodes everytime im in the bathroom.
That one week of me stopping, is the one week i actually like myself, and can tolerate my reflection. Those other weeks, i just cry every time i look at myself, and just think how much prettier i could be.
I cant believe the amount of progressing my skin COULD do if i just didnt pick for two weeks. I think i would look the best i have in two weeks from now if i stopped picking, than i have ever looked in my life.
I have a boyfriend of over a year. He knows my struggle, and he is my number one supporter. Every time i return to picking daily i just wanna complain and cry about it to him. He says the same thing every time "you went a week without doing it, you can do it again". I want to, dear, i really do. Then why cant i? What happens to my brain in that one week? Why cant it just stay like that? What the hell is this curse? I feel like i will never be pretty enough for him, or let alone myself. I feel like a clown putting on makeup. I cant go anywhere without covering up myself. Not even dinner at home with my family.
Yes, i have tried fidget toys, keeping my hands busy, not scrolling, dimmer lights in bathroom, avoid mirrors and cut my nails.
Fuck this, just wanted to get it off my chest.
Good luck to you all, i truly believe one day this subreddit will be quieter than ever.

Hey, been writing this for a while. Got a dozen chapters at the moment. All of whom are interviews from veterans after a global war between humanity and aliens.
The premise is that after a short conflict/flashpoint between NATO and Russia in the baltics, that region becomes incredibly militarized as both sides pile up army units preparing for an inevitable conflict in the near future. Then you have meteors hitting Lithuania and Latvia. Which turns out were carrying an unknown Alien race which attempted to desperately colonize earth after their home planet was rendered inhabitable.
This is but one of the chapters. Fyi when they refer to crabs, they are talking about the alien cannon fodder units, 1 to 3m tall bipedal beings that have the face of crustaceans.
Feel free to give me any criticism you'd like. This is just a taste of what I'm working, if people are interested I will share more.

November 2034, Gdansk. European Federation

Pzschemek courteously welcomes me into his apartment, gently balancing his half-asleep young boy in one arm as he opens the door. The 34th floor of this public housing tower was completed just a year ago. As a combat veteran, the governement paid half of the price on the already affordable apartment. Since the official end of hostilities and the remarkable population surge, these towering structures, inspired by their Asian counterpart, have sprouted in nearly every remaining major city across the continent. Having seen combat from the start all the way to the end, I was referred to him by the head of the Polish Army Land Forces who was his battalion commander during the start of the war.
I'm offered a seat on the living room sofa, amidst scattered toys and clothes strewn about. He settles across from me, his son peacefully asleep in his arms, after preparing coffee for us.
A veteran of the war, he had seen combat all across Poland as a tank commander.

"When I began my training, we operated with the PT-91, an upgraded Soviet-designed T-72—sturdy, but we viewed them as deathtraps. Just imagine our optimism when my battalion received our first Leopards 2a7. Transitioning from a 1980s Soviet tank to modern german, American and ever Korean tanks—before the war in Ukraine, even entertaining such a notion aloud would have warranted a psychological evaluation. After a year or so. I knew that thing inside and out. It had short comings but it was a beauty.

He points to a frame on the wall—a cutout of a newspaper front page. It depicts him and his other crew members atop their tank ‘Sokoly’ written on its cannon, with a destroyed tripod lying on the floor behind them, the backdrop a sight of a ravaged city. With the title; “Our boys took Vilnius!"
"We made the front page of Gazeta Wyborcza with that picture. Our company commander sent it in. My parents hadn't heard from me in weeks, and one day, he recognized me on the front page at a news stand."
His face lights up with a warm smile.
"We hit the road five hours after the first landings. My vehicle was still getting fueled when I drove into our base, rushing to the briefing room in my jeans and rain jacket. I was expecting orders to be to rush to the Belarusian border or help out our guys in Lithuania to fend of the russians. Instead, our company commander starts talking about visitors from another world, how the info keeps pouring in every minute, but everything's still up in the air. We didn’t believe him until we saw the footage of the meteor landings, or air force footage from the airstrikes on beings we didn’t even know could exist. That one footage from that tank station, those crabs walking in and shooting all those civilians really set us off. That segment where one crab ripped out the arm of a dead man to make sure he was dead must have filled us with hate. Even do we didn’t know who or what they were. We didn’t ask too many questions. You’d expect us to yell out stuff in the likes of “Have we tried to make contact with them? What is the United Nations saying? From what planet are they?” but the only questions that could be heard was “Did the 2-5 tank get its tracks fixed? How much water should we take? Do we get our shells here or the TAA?”
“We were scared don’t get me wrong but I’m still proud of my boys, Its been a while but we still have contact with each other. Last summer I was the best man at my loader’s wedding.”
After laying down his boy, who had just woken up, he watches as the little one instantly grabs a toy police car and starts playing with it. Pzshemek gazes at his son, lost in thought, as he happily engages with his toy.

"We spent five hours on the road, with our tanks hitched onto trucks. When we finally reached our deployment area, chaos was everywhere. The roads were packed with cars from the north—Polish, Lithuanian, even Russian and Belarussian plates. People crammed into buses, I even saw a truck with an empty container but packed with civilians inside. On one van, boys sat on top, like scenes from trains in India. It's a miracle we only arrived an hour late. In Suwalki, we turned an Ikea parking lot into a makeshift FOB. Half of it was filled with troops fresh back from Lithuania and the border. Fresh might not be the right word. They were ravaged, they sat in silences. Nearly all with bandages or injuries of some sorts. The heavily wounded were being treated in tents and civilian ambulances. The dead layed in rows and rows of bodybags. They had commandeered one of or trench building vehicles to dig a mass grave for them. Helicopters landed, unloaded countless men and they loaded the helis to the brim with the injured. Tents and tents of make shift hospitals. More and more troops arrived. They looked like they’ve been to hell. I remember at one time my gaze met one of the men. I was looking around until I saw him looking at me. He was sitting on a stretcher being treated by a paramedic, his chest and arms were burned black. He was staring at me. I don’t know if it was the morphine or the shock, his gaze wouldn’t leave me. Fighter jets kept buzzing us. On our way to bomb targets and to slow the advance of the crabs down as much as they could. I was confident on our way there but the sight of all those defeated man made me want to empty my guts. We got called to a tent to get a briefing on the situation. There was a white board with grainy pictures of what we could expect. Even drawings. It was the Polish military attaché to Lithuania himself who gave the briefing to us. He looked like he had been to hell. I learned later he had to be restrained with the help of punches and shoved into the last helicopter out of Vilnius by his men.”
“What did he discuss?”
"We're in the dark, and we're counting on you to keep us informed as you hold the line. My English doesn't do it justice, but that was the last thing he said before we set out. We knew more different type of enemy assets would emerge as they settled in. Turns out, our drones spotted them digging into the meteors they landed in. As we left the FOB, they were loading everything onto anything with a motor and wheels. They didn't anticipate us holding our ground. Now, that's what I call motivation.”
Our chat got interrupted when Pszemek's wife walking into the apartment, decked out in nurse scrubs and juggling grocery bags. Pszemek jumped up to help her out, and they headed to the hallway, chatting away in Polish. Before she disappeared into the dimly lit bedroom, they stole a quick kiss.
“She has the night shift.” He said coldly as he put away the groceries. “We got on our tanks, our entire company made it and we were lined up platoon by platoon.
I closed the hatch, sat down, put my helmet on. My loader who also was my assistant of sorts. Installed the radios, helped copy the maps our lieutenant got, made coffee or passed drinks. He gave me a thumbs up, it was our signal and it meant we had radio communications with everyone that mattered. I pressed the push to talk of my microphone. “Everyone in position? Sound off!” I tried to say firmly and calmly. I knew back then it wasn’t the time to show any fear to my boys.
“Driver ready!” One voice yelled loudly. “Gunner ready!” followed by “Loader ready!” we set off right after that
At Suwalki we had to hold the highway entering the city from the north. Nothing particular, just fields and roads. We would have excelled there if we faced anything other than that. As dawn broke. The air strikes and artillery lured closer and closer. Along with our reconnaissance elements on the radio notifying us every time they got one kilometer closer. We could just sit there, it took us five minutes to mark and call out points of interests in that field so that we could communicate quickly during the battle and then we counted down the kilometers between us and them. Some men smoked, wrote letters. My gunner, a young guy he must have been 19 back then. He opened the hatch suddenly to vomit outside. Our nerves were all over the place. We nearly shot our recon troops as they speeded through our lines. They rushed through us and took cover behind us. They had done their job warning us and coordinating airstrikes. I told my boys it was our moment to shine. That whatever may walk,run,crawl over the border that we were the Polish anvil set on stopping them. We sat at two kilometers from the first woodline. We had infantry in the woods to our west and east. We had the open fields. We had to stop them or win time for the folks in Suwalki. But this wasn’t Lithuania, Latvia or Estonia. This was Poland. We wouldn’t give them an inch. We all grew up listening to our grandparents talking about what the Nazis and Soviets did to them and to our country.
At first, it was lone crabs on that wood line. They moved from tree to tree. We could see their silhouettes on the thermal sights. As more of those crab joined them we didn’t bother to shoot. We called in the mortar platoon to take care of them. Even after the mortars landed and took care of the first ones, their numbers grew. Then when there mobs of them we called in the 155mm artillery. It turned that forest. We felt the shockwaves as it blasted them. Trees were shredded and their pieces sent hundreds of meter away. Then we heard the first rumble of the beetles. I still have no idea why they didn’t appear on my thermals with all the heat they were carrying inside. If it wasn’t for the dawn and the reflection of the moonlight I might not have seen it until it was on top of me. Those things were as big as an apartment block. I still can't wrap my head around how those beasts survived a journey across galaxies. Must be why they were so darn hard to kill. We had no idea how they fought, how fast they could move. We called them beetles because it was the only thing earth like we could remotely compare them to in shape. I felt my heart race when I switched to normal sight and saw one of them move. I was looking right at it yet it appeared black as the solid on my thermal heat sight. There must have been six of them pushing that field alone. Against twelve of our tanks and three platoon’s worth of infantrymen and IFVs, you'd think we could've held them. But when they carpet-bombed us with fire, everyone lost it. Those beasts opened their mouth as their throat expanded, the fire inside of that could hurt to look at if you watched it with the naked eye. We didn’t know what to expect, but them spitting magma on us wasn’t on our bingo list so to say. Sure, they were two hundred meters short, but everyone outside of tanks must've felt the heat. They fired what could only be described as ropes of magma all in unison. The infantry platoon beside us, even the most ‘gung ho’ grunts who had had time to dig trenches, said ‘fuck that’ did a 180 and sprinted back a few hundred meters. Our platoon commander was swearing up a storm on the radio, trying to get their commander to get his men in order. Can't blame them. We opened fire right after their attempt to cremate us. I told my gunner to aim for the head and fire. Even with the shock of the 122mm armor-piercing shell hitting it, the thing just staggered and kept moving. Even in the tank, with all that armor and my ear protection, I could still hear my colleagues unloading on them. Again and again I ordered my gunner to go for the head. I still don’t know how they survived the kinetic shock alone of a shell like that hitting them. Later on in the war we learned that it gave them those weird types of concussions that made them act all weird, made them even attack their own side and such. But at the time, you can imagine me sitting there looking at them eating a tank shell like it was nothing. One shell hit its upper back. We saw the shell ricochet of its back and fly god knows where in the horizon behind it. My loader was grabbing shells and loading them in the breech at a rythm he could have gotten a medal for that alone. They were getting closer. The beetles and the crabs moving in with them. They spit fire again in unison. This time they were right on the mark. I heard the commander of the tank on my left yell in the radio as his tank ate hot magma. They were safe for now on the inside but the panic it instilled, there was nothing like it. Keep in mind, we still had 155mm artillery landing, it didn’t seem to be bothered by it even do the crabs next to those things were turned into moshed potatoes by the shrapnel and shock blast.
Pszemek got up suddenly to move his kid away from the kitchen as he tried to grab a hold of the hot coffee pot.
“little devil” he said silently.
“When I realized we couldn’t pierce it from the front I ordered by gunner to go for its knee caps. He didn’t hesitate and put its sight on it. The beetle was moving slowly enough for him to aim. My loader, exhausted from carrying shell after shell yelled out “GOTOWY” with a blood curling yell right before my gunner pulled the trigger on the joystick. The ignition on the shell shook the tank as it always did. It’s like a giant punch that makes the whole vehicle jolt backward violently. You can feel the force ripple through the tank, and everything inside shakes for a moment before it steadies again thanks to the suspension. The shell hit it right on the mark. The beast lost its footing. It crashed face-down, crushing a few crabs beneath it who were taking cover under it. It took a few moments for the creature to rise on another leg. Sharp as a fox, my gunner aimed for the first leg on the opposite side and fired another armor piercing shell through the meaty split between its strong carapace. The devil was down. With its front legs disabled, it had no balance. Instinctively, I grabbed the radio. The radio was buzzing with "NO EFFECT ON THE TARGET" and "LIEUTENANT, LET'S GET OUTTA HERE, FOR GOD'S SAKE." I shouted at my colleagues to aim for the kneecaps to slow them down. It got everyone to shut up and focus at the task at hand.



One by one, the beetles crashed in the mud. Don’t get me wrong, they kept shooting their magma at us. My tank got some aswell. It cooked our thermal sights and lazer warning receivers instantly. But since our engine was spared we just had to reverse back twenty meters and we were alright. We were speeding at 30km/h in reverse, I was praying there wouldn’t be a confused 20 year old infantry man end up under our tracks. The beetles were everything but precise. They even hit their own crabs as they desperately spat fire. The amount of which was drastically lower than earlier, their fuel tank just like ours were running low. One brave bastard on the radio yelled out for us to wait for it to fire and then hit it right in the mouth. That’s literally a tactic out of a video game. We did as he told. My gunner was with his sight right on what can be described as its mouth. His knee shaked in anticipation of the shot. I was looking at the gunner sight through my screen. As it opened its mouth, I didn’t even have time to yell “FIRE” that my gunner had already unleashed a high explosive shell down that thing’s throat.”
Pszemek looked at his boy with a warm smile as he thought back at one of the few good events of that fateful night.
“The devil exploded, the flash was so bright it lit up the interior of our tank through the periscopes. For a second I could see the exhausted look on my loader sweaty face. The fire gulf must have taken out god knows how many of the crabs taking shelter near it. My entire platoon followed suit and before long the entire field lit up with the explosions of those devils. I heard later from the folks in Suwalki that they saw the flashes of light all the way back there. One by one we took them out like that.
With the beetles out of the picture, we made quick work of the crabs. They were only five hundred meters away, close enough to start firing. Against our tanks, they didn’t stand a chance. The infantry was less fortunate. I saw one of them fire one of their shoulder mounted cannon, hit an IFV on its side and afterwards I saw the crew throwing themselves out of their vehicle as they burned alive. We took out three-quarters of them before they scrambled back across the field the way they came. Then we picked them off as they ran. Our coaxial gun was working overtime, we barely could keep up reloading that machine gun. I was praying it would’nt jam or overheat. With the last one down and our lieutenant on the radio, praising our performance, I unlocked my hatch, swung it open, and peeked outside. There were still patches of molten magma here and there, and the whole field reeked of sulfur and gunpowder. People were treating the wounded, some men cried, some men were laughing hysterically. Most of them were quiet. I lit up a cigarette, wiping the sweat off my face with a towel. The loader tossed me a can of Monster from our makeshift fridge. I gave him props for his work before he collapsed from exhaustion.

We could have stayed there, all of us would have been happy dying in that field if it meant we slowed their advance into our country. Turns out high command had other plans for us. We held but the units on our flanks were about to break. They had already plans for if ww3 popped off. They already know which unit would be desimated and which would have been spared if the Russians had decided to attack. The worst case scenario had a defensive line from Gdansk through Olsztyn all the way to Bialystok. We had the momentum as we cowardly fled back to Augustow. Stopping time and time again to give time for refugees to flee south. We were glad the Russians in Kaliningrad took a beating. They estimated they held ¾ of the crabs in the southern front. Every fight was harder than the last. We had less and less ammo. Jets were flying less and less. Especially when the crabs found a way to shoot them off the sky.
We felt like cowards every time. Sure we got allot of civilians safe, but even then we felt like we failed despite how many Crabs, Tripods or beetles we stopped.