Im talking about the (i think) spankbang video thats supposedly more brutal tham the bme pain olympics. I searched for a while and only found a few people talking about it, nothing more

I'm kinda new to weightlifting (coming from a boxing and martial arts background with casual body building), having started learning the clean & jerks and snatch a few months ago. I have an Olympic-level coach who's gone to worlds but he's an old fellow, a little on the grumpy side whenever I come to him for advice on pains and weird stuff I feel. I'm no longer comfortable going to him for this type of stuff.
Can you guys please share some of the pains and discomforts you have as a weightlifter? It would just help to hear how others are handling their situation. I've been feeling anxious and scared about the smallest things like knee tightness/clicking, shoulder joint aches, and sometimes on/off tennis elbow. I'm not sure if I'm whittling away at my ligaments/tendons and whether I should stop certain movements for now. Luckily I've never had a true injury before, aside from schoolyard ankle sprains that were better the next few days.
My shoulder joint feels like I impinged it or almost pulled something; it's not painful and there's no loss in range of motion but it is uncomfortable and the occasional pangs are annoying.
EDIT: Just went through the rules. For the record, I'm not looking for medical or physiotherapy advice. I just wanted to know what you guys are going through and how you're coping with it because I don't know how common or expected some of these discomforts are.

So, does anyone else's Mom turn anything negative you bring up about yourself on to her? We both have chronic pain and sometimes my days are worse than others, so part of my way of coping is by telling someone, but also it's comforting to be supported through my pain. If I say "I'm not feeling it today, my back hurts" she will go and say how bad she feels and won't be sympathetic because she thinks her pain is worse. I've told her it's not the "Pain Olympics" but it still happens.

Flying home as I write this.
First don’t sweat the weather in May. We had what looked like 5 days of rain but we didn’t get a drop of rain until the last day. Got cloudy and looked like it might rain here and there but for the most part it was very pleasant weather. Don’t sweat it but pack some options.
Cash/credit. Almost didn’t need a euro. Paid with Apple Pay everywhere - taxis, metro, sites, restaurants, etc. one exception was the artists near sacre couer only took cash. Never needed or asked for a PIN.
Sites. Did all the major sites. Each and everyone now has heavy duty security, metal detectors and even body scanners. This makes it a very slow process to get in. Plan for that.
Arc de triumph was particularly painful when we were there. Eiffel Tower is also very painful due to the queueing at the elevators. Took us 2 hours minimum to get to top and back down. Louvre did a mad dash for the Mona Lisa at 9am and that worked out well with pretty small crowds. Then got to relax and enjoy the rest of the museum.
Funny - by the Eiffel tour you can go see the Olympic countdown clock. Ironically it was showing 101 days to the games when it was only supposed to be 67. Got a picture. It even made the news. Dummies. Makes me question how prepared they are for the Olympics. Hopefully they don’t think they have an extra month of prep time :)
Olympics prep - didn’t impact us in the least. Nothing we wanted to do was blocked by it.
Safety - no issues. Felt perfectly safe late at night, on the metro, Ubers, etc. only saw one clipboard lady at the Eiffel Tower and just walked away.
Trip highlight - Le Calife dinner cruise was amazing. I’ve been to Paris several times before but never did this due to seeming like a tourist trap - which I think most are. This one gets it right. It’s high end food and service on a boat. It was awesome - not cheap though. We were very happy with our front of boat seats. Great way to end the trip. Was from 8pm to almost 11pm.
St. Chapelle was an amazing first for me. Pretty incredible and worth the body scan to get in.
Ubemetro - took the metro to/from sacre couer just to let my son have the experience - it’s very easy to buy tickets and use. Otherwise mostly walked or did Ubers which were quick and plentiful. Official taxi from Cdg to Paris was easy to find - the trip into the city however was very painful and took close to 1.5 hours with the morning traffic.
Food - too much to report. We didn’t have a bad meal anywhere and refreshing to have good service regardless of price.
Recommend an after dinner stroll to a gelato shop every night.
CDG - I was really sweating coming home today with some kind of strike going on which mostly impacted the trains but also some airport staff. Showed up 3+ hours early to CDG but breezed thru security and passport check in under 30mins. Give yourself time but the horror stories seem overblown.
Edit:
Language - almost everyone we came across spoke English to a good degree. We tried our best with French but usually switched to English when they heard our attempts :). I do think a merci here and there is appreciated. We did have one taxi driver with very limited English but we made it work.
Holidays - many French holidays in May. We were there for Pentecost and whit Monday - both seems to be a non event for us and nothing we came across was closed due to this. So hard to tell which holidays are impactful or not for tourists, but this wasn’t one of them.

add about cough/possible bronchitis
My SOs health is starting to bother me
We’ve been together 2 years. She is obese. I’m no doctor; I just know she’s about 250 and is 5’5”. I understand people can be healthy at different sizes but she isn’t. She’s almost always has some kind of health problem. It seems like every week she has some sickness and/or pain. To be fair she does work kids but It’s to the point I’ve kind of accepted it as part of the norm of our relationship. She did struggle with an eating disorder before we met (still has tendency to binge currently) and does deal with dismorphomia.
Background of the eating disorder:
she was (imo) heavily abused as a kid. Her mom physically abuse, emotionally abused, and financially abused (later in life) her. Her mom also forced her to do and compete in gymnastics at near Olympic level even though she never wanted to do it at all.
Speculating: I think her childhood is why she (imo) struggles living healitly and has an aversion to exercise especially. I understand it’s up to to her and if shes happy she’s happy, but she isn’t. She is always (warrentedly) complaining. In terms of pain she has a bad back, frequent headaches, she avoids bending down, and more.
I’m understanding though. Some people have health problems. For me, as long as someone is doing something about it I’m fine, but she doesn’t and when she does it feels like she does it for me rather than for herself. I myself deal with depression and bipolar disorder, and Crohn’s disease. I’m in therapy and im taking my respective medications. I also try to watch what eat and take care of my physical health
I love her, there’s no doubt. She so generous, pretty, and loyal. I love all the fun we have together and have we’ve grown a lot together. I’m worried about how her weight will get in the way of us enjoying life together. I like walking, running, yoga, lifting, and generally keeping myself fit and healthy
Now I’m no Dwayne Johnson myself. I’m not saying these things to be condescending. I’m 5’3” and 130 and I have my flaws. I wasn’t really exercising for a long time while I was depressed and with her for the first year. However it’s always been something I’ve wanted and tried to do even when I struggled. In the the last 6 months or so I’m become medicated for my mental health, been going to therapy, and I’ve made fitness a lifestyle. I lift twice a week and run and do yoga five days a week. I know she wants to lose weight too so I’ve offered a few times for us to do it together. I’ve offered for us to do yoga together, she never wants to. I’m not pressuring her, mind you. I suggest these things only if I think it would helpful for what’s she going through and/or it’s for us to spend time together. Personally, I also try to look for what I can do and try to be positive in generally but she seems to have developed a defeatist mentality. I’ve suggested small exercises that she could do even while on the couch, she doesn’t want to. She and I have gone on a walk maybe a hand full of times since we met (ironically our first date was basically a hike and to be fair people mostly drive where I am) and each time she can’t last 10 minutes before she’s in immense pain. One time she cried because she felt so bad about not being able to do a simple walk with me for a 5 minutes without immense pain.
Her weight wasn’t a problem for me before but overtime this being a problem for her and her not doing anything about it has made it become a problem for me. I can be attracted to almost any body type, my first girlfriend was also overweight (maybe obese). I’m usually more focused on confidence in this department. She’s said herself that doesn’t like looking at herself in the mirror and she “doesn’t believe I would have pick her in real life” (we met via OLD and it is not true). I like personality more than looks; I like her generosity, I like her work ethic, I love silliness, I love her loyalty, we have such great times together, I miss her always, we communicate well, and even when we have problems we work together to address it, I love her.
She wants to have kids one day; she said would have a kid now if I wanted to too. I’m not sure about having kids but she knows this and is ok with it. I’ve started to often think “if you’re struggling with all this stuff now, how are going to handle being pregnant and everything that motherhood require of you?” Despite her health, financial struggles, and having a very toxic family she would have a kid tomorrow if she could. It’s fine to want this but during our relationship we got pregnant and we had an abortion. After that happened I only wanted to have sex with condoms and/or contraceptive but she continues to push for without and “just being careful”.
Additionally, just recently she had a bad and persistent cough. No idea what was causing. I advise her to put a pause on smoking weed because the smoke could make things worse. She didn’t do that. Its her life and she can do what she wants but I just don’t think it was a smart choice, who knows if the cough wouldn’t have last a week if she did, and overall this is another example of her not taking care of her health
In the beginning things felt so much better but idk if feels like these aforementioned unaddressed problems (coupled with depression and having a hard life) has changed her. In the beginning what attracted me to her was her happiness, her self worth, her, and her ambition. Now she’s usually stressed and or not happy, doesn’t see much value in herself, and I don’t see her ambition anymore except when it comes to our relationship in a way

I am so happy I managed to swimming 14 Length of an olympic swimming pool today🥳🥳🥳🥳 I haven't been able to do that for 14 years due to 3 slipped disks , had back surgery 2 years ago this is also the first time in 14 years with no pain. I just had to share I'm so happy 😊

What I'm about to talk about is extremely graphic. Please don't take this as a "woe is me" kinda thing, but as a warning. I withhold this story because when I tell it it makes people cry, and I really really hate doing that to people. So I hold it tight, only my closest friends know about it and I've never truly gotten to go into detail about what I went through. I need my story to be heard, keeping it a secret eats me up and I feel knowing that it is out there somewhere will bring me some peace.
When I was 8 years old I was abducted. I was out sledding alone when I was approached by a man, in his mid to late twenties, ripped jeans, wearing one of those douchey beanies with the brim that were so popular back in the mid 2000's. He stood with me and chatted while I was sledding, smoking his cigarettes and making himself out to be my friend. He invited me in to watch the winter Olympics with him and his friends, he said they were watching the bobsledding and I should come watch with them. I knew stranger danger, I was taught not to go with strange adults, but I did. I don't fully understand why I went with him, I was never allowed to say "no" growing up, if an adult told me to do something I was taught to do it no ifs ands or buts is the best reasoning I can think of but I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I went in with him and he was telling the truth, he had his 2 friends with him, and they were in fact watching bobsledding. I remember this moment so clearly, the image on the TV his hand on the back of his neck, as he guided me in. His house was filthy, empty beer bottles everywhere, he had an old dark green couch, the fabric of the couch really sticks with me for some reason, I can hardly remember it but it feels so vivd, I believe it was corduroy, and a matching armchair. It gets so fuzzy from here, there's so much I can't remember, I've just pieced together the best I can, trying to make sense of it. I tried to run and hide, i tried crawling under the couch to get away from them, I think I was half dressed at this point, I think remember the sensation of my long underwear around my ankles, I think. Because what sticks with me the most is the feeling of terror in that moment, looking up at him as he flipped the couch to get me out. I think it was Donald in this moment, but I can't be certain, I can't remember the face, when I look back at it he just looks like some sort of monster. I so clearly remember the feeling of his hands on my ankles, as he ripped my out of my hiding spot, it's one of the first sensations I get in my flashbacks. I felt so helpless, so overpowered, but I fought back, kicking, flailing, screaming. I feel so brave for that, so strong for even being willing to try, but no matter how hard I fought back, I still didn't stand a chance. Once I was completely unclothed, they started to "stretch me out", I don't even know if thats how they said it, but the phrase truly haunts me, it gets stuck in my head, hearing it over and over again. They used the scattered beer bottles first, and eased the bottle into me. As weird as it sounds the bottles weren't the worst part of this moment to me, shortly after getting pulled out from under the couch to shortly after having something inside me. Sometime within that timespan was when they broke my will, I gave up, I just wanted it to end, I wanted to die. I quit fighting back. The next part.i remember Donald laying on top of my back, I remember I was doggy position on the coffee table, I remember his breath on the back of my neck, and how he felt inside of me. I remember Donald and his friend using both my back and my front. All three of them used me, but the rest of it is empty space. Next thing I remember I was laying naked on the floor, I feel the child inside of me died right there. Not physically but emotionally, spiritually. I was still, frozen, empty inside, and left that way. I put my clothes on, grabbed my sled and walked home. I got home, told my step dad I had fun playing outside, and that I met a new friend. I didn't have the words to say what happened to me, or the capacity to even understand what happened, to know how wrong it was. I just went to bed and told myself it never happened until I believed it. Looking back I think the way they were hurting me was a big part of their fun, I remember laughter a lot it, while they were doing this to me, like it was just another fun afternoon for them. I was not a human being, I was a toy.
The years passed, and the memory was deeply buried, I couldn't remember any of it for most of my life. My PTSD symptoms, were present but I didn't experience flashbacks and it was too mild to notice. It took my parents 4 years to notice something was wrong, and by then it was too late.
It essentially lied dormant for 15 years, it all came back to me when I was 23. My mental health had hit an all time low, I started having panic attacks which is unusual for me and became extremely agitated. Id always known I had something buried deep, some piece of me I was hiding. I felt I needed to do something, so I started going through childhood memories, trying to remember the source of my pain. I was at work when it hit me, I realized oh my god it's real, that actually happened to me. I fell to pieces, my PTSD suddenly became severe, my world flipped upside down. I couldn't handle the pain and I lost everything, over the next few months. I realized that if I dont improve my life for the better drastically I will die, suicide was my only other option life was truly unbearable, I didn't understand what happened. For the sake of ending on a lighter note I got into therapy, and have been healing, this was far from the only abuse I suffered and have had a long, messy journey healing. But now I am the happiest I have ever been, I am healing and overcoming the pain and damage they did to me.
If you made it this far, thank you.

My MIL told me "You got rid of yours! so how would you know !" (typo in title. wrote this on my phone)
Hi there this is my first post ever and Though this happened a few years a go I feel like i need to write this out for cathartic reasons . so apologies if this is confusing and goes back and forth .
Background : me (28 F) and my S/o , let call him John(29M), have been together 11 years this October, being some what high school sweet hearts we have gone through most and if not all of our major moments in our 20s and now entering our 30s . When we first got together i was fully aware John and His mother dont always get along. And thats putting in nicely . In reality they get in to Full screaming and cussing fits. These can be started from a simple discussion, think "what color is the sky?" and the most unhinged argument would start. MIL is a divorced, awful narcissist who gaslights John and mentally and emotionally abuses both John and his sister , my SIL , we will call her Kelly. My SIL Kelly is also just as bad and if not worse than my MIL in some ways . In the past i tried very desperately to get them to get a long and bury the hatchet , my MIL and SIL would loudly talk about how they loved me and appreciated me and my MIL started calling me her DIL almost 3 months in tot he relationship. (Probbaly Red Flag #12 but i was young and was brought up being told its the most important thing to have your S/O family like you and you do what ever your S/O family ask of you .) Now my SIL being possibly worse than my MIL would be her anger issues on top of her own narcissistic and gaslighting behavior modeled after her mother .SIL also has 3 children by 3 different men, never married and has protection orders agaisst all these men, and dragged all of them to and from court in the same fashion as MIL divorced John and Kelly Father .Also as she had the relationship end with her first Babby daddy we inherited her dog as she couldnt keep him and he is now OUR dog has he as lived with us for almost 8 years now, he is our dog as i pay for his food and all vet needs, he is 100% a house dog and lives happily with all of us and his dog sissters . Over time both MIL and SIL obviously became comfortable and thats when i started seeing their disturbing behavior towards John and his Grandma then later to myself . MIL and SIL have abused Grandma by using her as free child care (Gma is 80) and would berate her and use the Kids against her, if Gma did anything SIL didnt like . By using the kids i mean SIL would send long text messages telling Gma she the worst and worthless, bringing her to Tears and she is banned from seeing the children untill SIL decided shes no longer upset or had no other options . As of Current she is still banded from seeing her grandchildren and we have no idea what she needs to apologize for. Next we escalated to being screamed and kicked out of Christmas Dinner , my MIL stelaing $2,500 from Johns Saving account and stealing Gmas credit card info to use on Amazon orders to just show a few more examples.
Now back ground about story in question: Myself and John found i was pregnant when we were 19 at the time we decided to terminate the pregnancy as we both heavy believe in having children only when we are economically comfortable enough to do so and both agreeing that being so young this was not the time to do this. We both strictly believe in this as we have had many family members pop out children with out any though and that disturbs both of us. Then Going to Plan Parenthood i was told i had an ectopic pregnancy and they then was rushed me to the hospital to schedule my termination . Understand this was a very scary situation for myself as i was told one of my ovaries could be removed and due to the placement fluid was building up and stuck near my hip that caused my to start losing feeling in my leg , but the surgery was scheduled for the next day . Thankfully I had some Great doctors and both my own family and John overwhelmingly supported me during all of this and i didnt have to lose an ovaries . Yay! Now i am actually a pretty private person when it comes to my heath and due to feeling some misplaced embarrassment and shame i asked John to no speak to his mother about this i wanted to keep this between us . He agreed though obviously this was stressful and devastating to us at one point he did confide in his mom for support . At the time i was pretty furious at this but understood that as my family knew and gave us all the support we could ask for i understood he did long for his own mothers support . At the time she was extremally understanding and supportive and was everything John needed emotionally at the time and she respectfully gave me space and didnt bring up any questions. I deeply appreciated this at the time as it was what i needed.
Fast forward to the day in Question: 2020
It was a bad day for me , i was very sick dealing with ,at the time, an undiagnosed Gallbladder disorder that caused sever vomiting and abdominal pain that wasn't corrected untill late 2022, and i went home early with an hour dive back to the home myself and john share with his Gma. When i arrived home SIL and MIL with the kids were at the house just visiting . During this SIL keep speaking about OUR (Myself and Johns Dog ) still being hers. During a moment i was unable to hold my tongue and said something along the lines "well he isnt your dog thats why ." she then screams "YOU BITCH!" in our home in front of the kids . I then promptly and calmly told her " You can leave now . " she then continued to cuss me out but i had blocked most of that out as none of that needed to escalate or be said in front of the kids .At this Point john was also loudly telling both MIL and SIL the leave and they will not speak like that in the house . We were then told we couldnt tell them what to do as it was Gmas home and now ours . I looked and Gma and as she went to say something MIL started screaming at her telling her to "Shut up and mind her business" By this point the argument then escalated to a point of SIL taking the kids out of the house telling us we "are wothless and we could all fuck off ". MIL was still yelling and i couldnt tell you what but then as i loudly told MIL that their behavior was unacceptable and they needed to leave our hosue and SIL behavior infront of the kids was also Unacceptable in this home and since we all live under the same roof we have just as much say in the home as Gma. MIL then proceeded to say "How would you know how to take care of children !" you got rid if yours !' It took everything in my body to not jump over the living room sofa and beat the ever loving shit out of her. I did take a step forward and said "Do you want to repeat that ?" she looked at me in horror, not because of what she said but because she probably saw the rage in my eyes and i was not acting my "normal submissive self " with her so she was not prepared for my response . John then proceeded to tell her to "Get the Fuck out of this house ! How dare she and she was no longer welcome in the home. I couldnt really tell you what i was saying at that time or if i said anything at all after that as i was in a blind rage . She stormed out of the home and slammed our front door. funny part was they left the kids water bottles so she had to come back and knock on the door to get them back. I opened the door tossed them at her and slammed the door so hard in her face the entire front door area shook and almost dropped some frames off the wall.
I apologized to gma as i know i should of held my tonge when they were over but i just couldnt . She told me to not aologize and she is so ashamed of both MIL and SIL behavior and she didnt even know what to say or do to make me feel better. At this time i was unaware i was shaking violently and and tears just free flowing out of my eyes . Both Gma and John did everything they could to comfort me but nothing quiet helped. I think i just disassociated for the rest of the day or else i would if spiraled out of control. We went NC very quickly after this as John couldnt believe that came out of his mothers mouth and was just taken a back and devisated as i was . Gma was still baby sitting and told gma i would never tell her what to do but please dont speak of me over there or anything about my family or me and John. she agreed that was best and kept her promise. though Months later i found out i was still a topic of conversation at MIL and SIL home, about my behavior that day and my "unplanned and outrageous choice to get rid of my child ." Gma came home and explained what was going on to John when i over heard and then suddenly spiraled into a nervous break down . Johna nd Gma came over to calm me and she apologized as she wasnt trying to keep it from me but didnt want to upset me further so she believed telling John was a better what and have him speak to his mother about this but he was also spiraling . after a few days i sent MIL a 4 page educational Fuck you text message and link included so MIL and SIL could better educate themselves as i did not "just get rid of it" i had a medical emergency that could i had last effects on my life. She then responded with no apologies no remorse , just blamed Gma for speaking when she shouldn't and that i "owed her" for being taken to Disneyland (which was a fully planned family trip she invited me to and was upset that John didnt propose to me during trip at disney) and i also "owed " her for her taking me to a doctors appointment. I responded and told her that was the sadest text message i have ever read and that i was so sorry she was just sad narcissitic woman who cant live her life with out blaming the world an her mother for her problems. Going forward MIL and SIL were blocked via phone , and all social medias as i will not allow people like them in my life. John also went NC and he was aware i was sending the message and if he would like he could read it himeself . He politely declined and explained going NC was the best to do as he couldn't stand to look or speak to her anytime in the near future, and with the horrible comments made about me i was allowed to say what ever i wanted to her .
(now since 2020 , we did have an accidental pregnancy around 2022 near the end of covid. All the stress led us to also make the decision to terminate as i was mentally not healthy enough , covid still going on, john lost his job it was another instant where this is not feasible for us, this was a very hard choice for us that put us at the lowest of our relationship and i even had complications after the termination which put me on bed rest for a week. MIL has no knowledge of this as it is not at all her business)
Since the house argument we went NC has been heavily inforced, with the occasional reach out demanding to speak to her son and now her refereeing to Gma by her legal name. SIL forbid gma from seeing the grandkids but will ask John to come see the kids which 9/10 times he declines. It breaks our hearts to not be apart of the kids life's but there is no more fake smiling through their BS . They have stopped by the house less than a handful of times for brisk interactions with the kids . MIL and SIL will try to engage me in conversation but they dont get anything besides the occasional "uhuh " and "oh wow" comments . They reccently invited us to the kids soccer games but sometimes the thought sends me to full blown panic attacks nd melt downs even thinking of engaging with them . I do speak to a therapist about all this and other things in my life, i do suffer from extreme anxiety and depression but as me and John have been getting better financially we have had more relaxed conversations about having kids soon which has brough up a lot of anxiety for me again with some flash backs to mentioned fight with SIL and MIL . They do occasional wiggle back into our lives like this which at times i could care less and other times cant leave my bathroom due to fear. John and myself haven't had much conversation about my anxiety for it lately but if i tell him "No" having to deal with his mother and sister , he never argues , never makes me feel bad for not engaging. He has always been extremally supportive with any of my decisions i make which makes me love him more . I understand that was a lot and i could go on forever about the crazy shit MIL and SIL do with their sad life but i just needed to get this out there . sometimes i think no one agrees with me about their behavior and after losing 2 best friends to ODs and Toxic life styles i dont have really anywhere else to express this emotion or ask for a ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on that isnt my S/O .
Well thats the general story thank you for lasting this long and reading my story today . If you have any questions or comments im happy to reply if anyone has anything to say.

In my comedic anime-style worldbuilding project known as: "Highschool Of Hierarchy", there are 4 different power systems.
These 4 power systems are known as: Bloodlust, Vigor, Pataphysics and Faith (or Placebo to be exact). They are abilities that any human can learn and grant their users incredible powers.
Here's how each of them work and then tell me which one suits you the best.
Note: You instantly receive the type of power at its initial level and don't have to work too hard for it.
Bloodlust:
"Think conqueror's haki from one piece but on an acid trip..." -Bart Samson
Bloodlust is the primal ability within all organism that are capable of dominating others with sheer presence through projecting intense spiritual fear.
However, humans are the only ones who are truly able to master it. Specifically, this power is more prominent in the form of traces when it is subconsciously used by serial killers, hardened criminals and expert assassins.
But when one learns to control it, they not only gain the ability to dominate their foes to the point of forcing them to submit or pass out. But advanced practicioners can mold their Bloodlust into unique forms that grant special properties such flames or even the ability to manifest weapons.
The strength of a person's bloodlust is based on aggression such as rage, hate or envy.
But it's ultimate form is realised through a special ritual, where through the usage of special strong hallucinogenic herbs, one can bind a Yokai (or any mythological creature) to their soul and gain a massive boost in power as well as a new ability.
Vigor:
"Bro! Vigor is all about the drive! The rush! Not the power!" -Jack.
Vigor is possibly the most hardest power to obtain as it requires a person to obtain the stamina capacity of an olympic level marathon runner while also holding immense determination in heart.
By itself, Vigor is just literally vast amount stamina condensed into the body in form of an energy. All it can do in it's raw form is just reinforce the body and negate pain. But when it is channelled into a passionate sport, does it's true power shine.
By flowing one's vigor into their beloved sport users can accomplish impossible feats of such as "creating afterimages when playing basketball" or "shattering thick reinforced concrete walls with just a metal bat".
It is necessary for one to possess any kind of sportmanship which they truly enjoy when utilising vigor, in fact, any kind of sport can function including martial arts, exercising or even power walks.
Complex techniques such as creating constructs do exist but they are difficult to find as most sports only lead to physical enhancement and as such rarely produce something esoteric.
Faith/Placebo:
"Have faith in the goddess, Hatsune Miku! And she shall bless you with her voice in battle!" -Eugene McKinley.
[Warning! This information is restricted for any person who is a user of the power "Placebo", caution is advised.]
Placebo, is the psychic phenomena when intense faith and belief generated towards an idea causes the believer to manifest incredible new abilities.
For example: simply believing that today would be a lucky day due to finding a lost coin on the ground would result in the emission of subtle-but-potent psychic energy into the environment which alters the probability to their favour.
The stronger the faith a believer has in towards an idea, the stronger they become. Although their abilities are initially restricted to physical buffs and powerful regenerative abilities.
But some people with absurd beliefs can create illusionary constructs, inflict debuffs and pain onto targets and even use heals or buffs on allies.
It all depends on what they faithfully believe in, without question or wavering. For this reason this is the most easiest power to obtain and strengthen but has fragile versatility.
Pataphysics:
"Just because I don't have a degree doesn't stop me from beating my enemies with the power of SCIENCE!!" -Tom Hutson.
Pataphysics is similar to the Placebo as in they both originate from a psychic phenomena except in the case for the latter, instead of simply believing in what may be false, users of pataphysics create ENTIRE new artificial formula and laws and place them onto the universe.
This strengthens their hold on their powers allowing them to bend science to their will. Skilled users of this power have infinite versatility at the cost of needing strong creativity, open mindedness and exceptional intelligence.
At higher levels, users can build special inventions that harness the powers of their artificial laws of physics and even bind those inventions to their very soul, allowing one to manifest additional special abilities of their own.
Examples for Pataphysics abilities include: a formula that helps an enemy's strength using their height and reflex time. An invention could be created that measures the results more accurately and upon soul binding, they can adapt their own height and reflex time.
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There are multiple reasons why I love this fandom, it is definitely one of the most wholesome ones here. But one reason that particularly stands out to me is the fact that, regardless of who our favorite characters are, regardless of who we root for, we end up giving Oikawa his Olympic win (at least in every single post-canon fic I've read, and trust me I've read many.)
I like that we all decide that Hinata roots for the Grand King in his own way. I like that Iwaizumi trains the whole team to defeat Oikawa, yet stands proud of Tooru's wins. I like that Kageyama and Oikawa have grudging respect for each other. I like that we all know that Oikawa will definitely gloat to Ushiwaka-chan and Tobio-chan. I even like that we all have head cannons on how Atsumu will meet Oikawa and whether they will get along or not.
I love the fact that no matter how well Japan plays, Argentina is slightly better. Japan wins bronze? Argentina wins silver or gold. Japan wins silver? Argentina definitely wins gold. No matter how many Olympics the Monster Generation play against each other, I love that we all, unanimously, decide that the first win is for Oikawa.
This is the first fandom in which I was involved where I felt understood, where I could relate. Oikawa is so fucking relatable to so many people, and I felt so validated when I could see his struggles and I saw the fandom responding with so much love for him. No matter how much pain he goes through, we all decided that he was going to win. That he will win, that not going to Nationals doesn't matter.
Honestly, you all are the best fandom out here. Love you all.

I did an Olympic yesterday. On the bike, a little over halfway, I got sharp pain in the same place as a side stitch would be, but it felt a lot more like GI issues (breathing out made it worse instead of better, and the rest of my stomach was a little tight, although not painful). I started taking breaks on the side of the road, which didn’t really help, then ended up biking down the hills without pedalling and walking most of the flats/ climbs (pretty hilly course) to T2 - the pain from pedalling and not standing perfectly straight was just too sharp. The pain went away less than 5 minutes after I started running - I took a gel halfway though the run which went down fine.
I have done a few tris and countless bike rides before and this had never happened to me. Two things I did differently that may have caused it: - I ate a mix of bars and gels, which is my usual for bike rides, but first time in a triathlon (only used gels before). I also ate the bar on an uphill part, so maybe it didn’t land well or didn’t mix well with the bit of lake water I swallowed on the swim? - On the first half of the bike, I used the drop bars a lot more than I do on regular rides, so maybe that put pressure on my stomach? - My abs are stronger on the side where I got the pain, so maybe that made it worse?
Any guesses or personal experiences on what may have caused it and how to avoid it in the future? I have a 70.3 later this year and would rather not have to walk 30 miles if this happens again…

As a follow on from Noah Lyles' post race interview from Atlanta, where he said he isn't depressed heading in to this Olympics (vs Tokyo where he was dealing with some problems), I'm curious as to the impact of depression on performance. Obviously we have seen stories shared by the likes of Adam Gemili, Matthew Hudson Smith etc.
I myself have been going through a bit of a tough time over the last 6 months, with a bad job situation and social life, though I'm far from a professional athlete. Can't help but notice increased aches and pains, reduced performance, increased tension and fatigue in the body, and just overall poor training tolerance and motivation. It hit me after my first few races of my last season and my performances just got gradually worse as the season progresses (Ran 10.96 early on, regressed to 11.26 later on)
I took a month break after a few minor injuries, but the above issues have not subsided. Half the time I don't really want to train and the sessions have been so poor, but I keep training. I still love the sport, but just feel like all these background problems are tarnishing it for me. Anyone have similar experiences, how did you get yourself back on track?

Hey all,
Hope you're doing well!
I'll be quick. I keep seeing the same mistakes over and over and over again and it's driving me mad.
If I see one more "Five Guys" "Online Transformation Coach" for "Busy professionals", I'm gonna bloody lose it.
I think what started out as a good idea, perhaps inspired by Alex Hormozi's GymLaunch, has now turned to a Madras of sameness and mediocrity.
If everyone is a transformation coach specialising in Busy Mom's/Dad's, frankly no one is. Your message is lost, your engagement will suck - whether it's paid ads, DMs or organic content. And I'm sure you've noticed this and think the above channels for acquisition don't work.
Boulder Dust!
Let's go back to Marketing 101. And actually identify and research a genuine niche. By the way, one thing most people don't realise when they clone GymLaunch marketing is that their niche was also 3 miles from the physical gym location. Not very helpful online!
The best way to shortcut a proper niche relevant for online marketing is to use a method called "Dream 100". It's actually not new, but nothing's golden but oldies.
The idea is to specify and research your Dream 100 clients. NOT CUSTOMER PROFILE. But your exact Dream100 clients in your niche.
Let's think of targeting High Performing Realestate Agents (there's lots of them and they earn good money). Whom are the dream 100 real-estate agents we'd like to sign up?
Identify them and research them. Great - Grant Cardone.... Who else? Make a list of 100.
What do they talk about? How do they talk? What do they care about? What problems do they have? How can we help? Where are they found (platforms etc)? What's similar?
With our dream 100 researched and identified, now you can create a genuinely compelling and unique marketing campaign that goes a bit deeper than "Busy 5 Guys."
Now we can promote our service in the right messaging, speaking about specific problems (on the road much Mr. Realestate Tycoon?), and in specific online locations.
Now we can create an ad that is engaging and relevant.
Now we can target Grant Cardone's followers with our ad.
Now we'll actually have a chance at gathering engaged leads that are more interested in buying from you than the next guy.
Food for thought. I hope this helps!
David from ScaleFit.
Edit:
To add a little more detail on how to do this, I'll take you through the process I use.
First, what niche should you even invest time in researching?
I like to first start with my own interests.
I like video games, I like powerlifting, I like cooking, I like data analysis, I like software engineering, I like cars.
With these interests I then consider what professions can I think of that I could market to related to those interests?
Pro Video Gamer? Powerlifters, strongmen, Olympic weightlifters... Maybe bodybuilders? Chefs? Private chefs? Line cooks? Programmer? Tech startups? Etc...
Then I create a matrix. Ranking my understanding of each of those professions from High, Medium, to Low.
I also ran each profession by how much they likely earn (it's easier to sell to wealthier customers.)
And one final question I ask myself is how valuable would a community be to those individuals as that's a potentially attractive value add to the service, depending on the profession.
So take "Programmers".
My knowledge is High, Their Income is High, and benefit in community would be High to these people.
Chefs? - Knowledge: M - Income: L - Community: L
Do it for everyone you can think of. Clearly, it'd be best to select for the avatar you score as many H's for as possible.
So great. Now I'm gonna select Programmers. Now I need to identify my Dream100. I'm a big fan of YouTube, so I'll start with some simple searches on everything related to Programming. I'm gonna find people with the biggest followings and most engagement and write them all down in a list.
I'll search for blogs on Google, finding bigger ones. Maybe Reddit and Apple podcasts too.
These days I could use ChatGPT for help finding them.
Create your list of identified Dream 100 Programmers clients.
Now it's research time. For each of the 100.

1. Demographic Information
2. What is their age?
3. What is their gender?
4. Where do they live (location, urban/rural)?
5. What is their education level?
6. What is their marital status?
7. Do they have children?
   
8. Professional Information
   
9. What is their current job role or title?
   
10. What industry do they work in?
    
11. How many years of experience do they have?
    
12. What is their career trajectory?
    
13. What professional achievements have they accomplished?
    
14. Business Goals and Challenges
    
15. What are their primary business goals?
    
16. What challenges are they currently facing in their business?
    
17. What solutions have they tried, and what were the results?
    
18. What do they consider success in their business?
    
19. Behavioral Insights
    
20. What are their daily habits and routines?
    
21. How do they prefer to consume information (blogs, videos, podcasts)?
    
22. What social media platforms do they use regularly?
    
23. Who influences their decisions (mentors, influencers, peers)?
    
24. What types of content do they engage with the most?
    
25. Psychographic Information
    
26. What are their core values and beliefs?
    
27. What motivates them (e.g., financial success, personal growth, helping others)?
    
28. What are their biggest fears and pain points?
    
29. What hobbies and interests do they have outside of work?
    
30. Purchasing Behavior
    
31. What types of products or services do they purchase for their business?
    
32. What factors influence their purchasing decisions (e.g., price, quality, brand reputation)?
    
33. How do they prefer to make purchases (online, in-person, via recommendations)?
    
34. Communication Preferences
    
35. How do they prefer to be contacted (email, phone, social media)?
    
36. What tone and style of communication do they respond best to (formal, casual, inspirational)?
    
37. How often do they check and respond to their messages?
    
38. Current Relationships and Networks
    
39. Who are their key professional connections?
    
40. What networks or associations are they a part of?
    
41. Who are their main competitors?
    
42. What events or conferences do they attend?
    
43. Feedback and Pain Points
    
44. What feedback have they given about similar products or services?
    
45. What are their specific pain points that need addressing?
    
46. What gaps do they see in the current market offerings?
    

After I've completed this for everyone on my dream100, I then will pipe all my answers into ChatGPT and ask if to create summaries for each.
I will then ask it to compare for what's similar across the greatest number of them. What's common amongst all these prospects and influencers?
What's common can form the core of my messaging style, etc.

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

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

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