Hello all, so the HSC board results are just round the corner and entrance exam results are also in line, I thought I'll jot down some words and mistakes which I did which may help you in living your college life to the fullest and at the same time focus on all round development!
(a) Make friends and spend good time with them:-
Nobody will remember your 6-10 LPA good packages and all that stuff. What people remember is the good time you've spent together, friendly banters and much more. Go places and explore the world. I made good contacts but was not able to spend good time with my friends due to the unnecessary academic pressure by my parents. They never allowed me to get out of my house. Thus, today nobody even checks on me lol. So friends and connections are very very important.
(b) Participate in maximum activities:-
Participate in each and every club you can! Do what you love! Focus on all round development. Believe me college is the best time for these things. Again due to the fuckery of my parents, I was not able to participate in these things. They believe it's just waste of time which is absolutely wrong! Don't be like me, go and participate even if you don't know shit about it.
(c) Be in good books of teachers:-
I followed this blindly. Trust me this will help in getting your internals and externals sorted even if you aren't good at studies. Ask them doubts, greet them whenever you meet. You'd be pretty much sorted. (Though you may study and upskill from Youtube :) )
(d) If you like someone, confess asap:-
Its better to get rejected than to regret. I had one crush in my college. She was from another department. We used to talk only formally like occasional greetings, festival wishes, etc. I tried very hard just to talk to her even if its only two sentences on messages. Later on I realised that I was too late. She was already in relationship with someone else. Anyways, it was a good learning experience for me. She'll be my secret crush forever if I don't get into these relationship and related stuff.
(e) You are NOT always wrong:-
Learn to defend yourself to the fullest if you believe you are absolutely right. Whether the person in front of you is anyone - your parents, friends, partner, etc. Till this date my parents curse me for no reason, like I earn decently, worked hard in my academics and secured good grades, still I face mockery. Everyday I beg for some freedom of which I am deprived of. I see people on Snapchat enjoying their lives, wandering all over the world and here I am sitting envious of them. Don't be over-submissive like me. It's your life, live it to the fullest.

Hi. I'm looking for a good reference book on agroecology. Would anyone care to share their thoughts on Gliessman's 4th edition of "Agroecology Leading the Transformation to a Just and Sustainable Food System"?

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

good morning/evening
i (20) want to start my studies again.i don't have any qualifications. i tried going through old grade books but I am having trouble with them..most of the words don't make sense and the questions in chapter are different from the one in past paper(when i study from grade, before moving to another i try solving some questions from past papesample papers)
i don't have enough to pay for school again. i am trying to look for some free online source but there are way many and i don't know which one should I chose. even I don't know how what my current level is. i just know some bits of topics here and there.
because of some mental health issue i took a long break(the last time I "studied" was 6 years ago). and I'm trying to get myself together.
edit - my main focus is maths. apart from maths, it's science (biology and chemistry to be specific), english grammar,polity and economics

good morning/evening
i (20) want to start my studies again. i tried going through old grade books but I am having trouble with them..most of the words don't make sense and the questions in chapter are different from the one in past paper(when i study from grade, before moving to another i try solving some questions)
i don't have enough to pay for school again. i am trying to look for some free online source but there are way many and i don't know which one should I chose. even I don't know how what my current level is. i just know some bits of this topic here and there.
because of some mental health issue i took a long break(the last time I "studied" was 6 years back). and I'm trying to get myself together.
edit - my main focus is maths. apart from maths, it's science (biology and chemistry to be specific), english grammar,polity and economics

I'm thinking probably not? The Powers book says that IJ/DR divides damage from an injury.
If I had two layers of regular damage resistance, with a layer of IJ/damage reduction below each of those layers, I'm not really getting properly "injured" until the damage source (a bullet, say) pierces the second layer of damage resistance without getting reduced to zero, right? And that's what gets divided, correct?
So in that case, there can really only be one version or instance of IJ/damage reduction on a character... I think. So multiple layers of damage resistance are possible, but only one layer of damage reduction at the bottom of the pile.
Does any of this make sense?
Also layering IJ/DR would be stupidly cheap mathematically. 25 points of damage divided by 5, and then divided by 5 again (1 remaining), vs. 25 points of damage divided by 10 (2.5 remaining). You spend more character points buying multiple layers of IJ/DR, but it's way more effective. Is my math right on that?
Damage resistance is much more straightforward. You can layer sources of DR; they just get added together, especially if they all have the same modifiers (tough skin, force field, etc.) If one layer has tough skin or whatever, and the others don't, I suppose that just adds an extra arithmetic step, but still it's all pretty linear and logical, yes? But that's damage resistance.
Injury tolerance is all about divisors. I can't remember if Basic Set has any notes about adding divisors together. Also I can barely remember if they taught that to me in grade school.
Anyway, this is probably a dumb question. Have any of you mulled this over in your heads before?

Hi everyone I’m new here and just start OZ May 11. Just took my second dose yesterday and I’m feeling all kinds of ways. First, the nausea, hot flashes, insomnia, and exhaustion I have right after I take it is not fun, but it’s manageable. Second, I have this weird fear about losing weight and wondered if anyone has this experience and how they dealt with it. I’ve been “overweight”, unhealthy let’s say that, since the 4th grade. I was very unhealthy as a teen and then had bulimia and lost a bunch. I was so sick. Then of course I gained. My highest was 340 and I’ve lost 30 on my own then started Oz. There was only a small part of my life like for a year I was at a “healthy” weight but I was so unhealthy from bulimia. So I’ve never been healthy. I’m doing everything I can to finally get there in a healthy way but I’m so scared about everything- sagging skin, wrinkles, being suicidal again over how I look, not knowing who I am as a person who isn’t unhealthy. I know this probably sounds crazy to some of you but I don’t have good mental health sometimes and I ruminate on these things. Like who will I be and what will I do. I have an autoimmune disease and have basically been sick for 9 years, I went into remission last year after having my gallbladder out which was a whole different issue. I was the sickest I’ve ever been last year. Anyway, any thoughts on this? Also I’ve already lost 6 lbs the first week so I am stoked, these are just thoughts that come and go and make me periodically cry in fear 🙃

The Nonstandard Book of Spells is another resource for Harry Potter fanfics. I started this because the HP Wiki is a pain to navigate but I've supplemented canonical information with fan-created material (new spells, missing incantations, etc.).
There are close to 300 spells right now. Spell info is listed under the name, but I've added hyperlinks so that if you looked up e.g. "Sonorus" you can just click through to "Amplifying Charm."
There's a lot more that I'd like to add in the future — adding more spells, elaborating on the spells that are already there, category indexes that group spells according to their type or the year that they're taught, finishing a reference system for describing wand movements — but there's enough at the moment that it should still be useful.
Here's an example so that you don't have to click through. Not all of the entries are this detailed.

Banishing Charm

Incantation: Depulso. Light: Red or white. Taught in: 4th year.
Effect: Sends both objects and living things away from the caster, or "banishes" them.
Variability: Heavier objects may require greater precision or a deeper understanding of the charmwork, but with quick reflexes it is simpler to Banish an object in the process of being Summoned. With precision, it is possible to vary the direction and destination of the object, or banish unseen objects. One ought to concentrate on the desired outcome while casting this spell.
Other information: The spell is easily deflected, but can be more effective if the target is distracted (e.g. by casting their own spell), so it's an effective parry. It interrupts casting, creates distance, and provides space for a follow-up spell. Incorrect timing, however, can leave the caster open.
Source(s): Canon, with observations from Blood Crest, by Cauchy (ch. link), and some elaboration from Witchcraft & Wizardry and Hogwarts is Here.

The dungeon master described the party stepping through the wizard's portal into the plane of Elemental Chaos. "Before you lies a tempestuous sea of ever-changing terrain and clashing elements. The portal has opened onto a planetoid floating in the sea of shifting energies. Standing a ways away is a giant humanoid figure that seems to be made out of some of the same energies."
"Giant?" Sara asked?
"Yeah, it's like fifty feet tall. Looking upon its face makes your gut wrench as its face is a pool of ever-churning distorted energies. Make a save versus fear."
The players snatched up dice bags. Twenty-sided dice were rolled all around the table, but Mary, sitting to the right of Sara, noticed that Sara hesitated.
"What did you call these things again?" Sara asked. "Primordials? I didn't really imagine that they'd be so ugly or terrifying... or big."
"Oh, fine," the dungeon master responded. "Ambriel the rogue can have advantage on this check. What is your roll?"
Sara picked up an extra dice, tossed them into the bowl on the table and squinted at them in the dim light of the basement. "I got an eight." she said, frowning.
"Sorry, Ambriel and anyone else that got below a ten is afraid of the figure and will be at a disadvantage for initiative. The figure lets out a scream that sounds like an avalanche in a hurricane. Roll initiative!"
"Nineteen!" the boy across the table said. "Fifteen!" said another after rolling some dice. "I have a plus two, and I only got a twelve." said Mary.
"What about you Sara?" the dungeon master asked.
"Um, I don't want to fight it. Can I try talking to it?"
"I guess so," said the dungeon master, frowning. "What will you try saying to it?
"Well first," Sara started, "Is it at its house?"
The dungeon master and the boys across the table erupted into laughter. The dungeon master managed to stop laughing and reply. "These things don't have houses. They just live outside in the chaos."
"Oh." Sara looked disappointed. "I thought they would have houses." and then quieter. "Maybe a family."
The dungeon master laughed again. "What are you going to say to it?"
"I guess I'll say: 'Greetings friend! Do you know which way it is to the Dark Wizard Malik's tower?'"
The dungeon master laughed yet again. "It doesn't seem to understand what you're saying. It screams again and then attacks. Do you have your initiative number yet?"
Mary had been glaring at the dungeon master. He finally noticed her expression and slouched down, a sheepish look crossing his face as if he knew he was going to be in trouble.
Sara frowned, rolled her dice, and then stated "Six."
The party proceeded to fight with the primordial and Sara participated but wasn't really enjoying the situation. After the beast fell the party raced to loot its corpse.
"What did we find?" the boy across the table asked eagerly.
"Nothing, of course!" the dungeon master announced with some glee in his voice. "The primordial's body has evaporated and merged with the endless chaos around you."
"Well that's at least one thing you got right." Sara said.
"What do you mean?" Mary asked.
"Oh, forget it." Sara responded.
The end of the combat signaled the end of the evening since it was already past eight. The friends scooped dice and character sheets back into their bags, cleaned up the snacks, and said their goodbyes for the evening. Sara walked up the stairs and into the front yard with the other two boys. Chris's mom was there to pick up him and Tyler. She waved at them as they drove away and then started toward her own house just down the street.
The walk was only five minutes, if she took her time, and she had walked this street a hundred times before. She was enjoying the breeze and the crisp night air and didn't notice when the footsteps behind her started. When she noticed them she'd picked up her pace but they grew uncomfortably close. Sara spun around and was faced with a figure in the shadows behind her. It was only a few feet away but she couldn't make out a face.
"What do you want?" She asked the shadow. It did not respond. It did, however, step forward into the glow of the nearby street light. Still, its form appeared like a pitch black hole in the world; a torn place in space the shape and size of a man. The shadow reached toward Sara and she knew that this was an undead being. It had been hoping it could claim the life force of a human this evening; to pull her into the shadow realm and keep her there till she had faded away and become another shadow. Unfortunately for the shadow, she was not a victim that could be claimed so easily.
Sara dropped her book back and grabbed the shadow's arm, glancing down the street to make sure it was clear. Then she released her human disguise and pulled the shadow closer. She stared into the colorless void where its eyes should have been and the shadow stared back into the ever-changing distortion that her face had become. Lightning arced across Sara's skin that now appeared to be made of a roiling mass of stone and waves of pure water.
Sara's outline blurred and her humanoid form faded almost completely, leaving a cloud of elements ever fighting for position, yet she didn't let go of the shadow. The shadow was in a panic now, struggling and desperately trying to free itself from her grasp, to no avail. Sara pulled the shadow inside her cloud and it was ripped and torn by every element until it was gone in just a moment.
Sara concentrated for a moment and reached a human hand out of her cloud of chaos, and picked up her book bag. She formed an arm and shoulder to put the bag on, then a head and some feet and finally squeezed the last bit of her cloud into the shape of a green jacket. "Was she wearing a blue jacket before or a green one?" she asked herself. "I guess it doesn't really matter." she answered, and changed the jacket to blue.
***************************
Sara, Chris and Tyler walked up the stairs out of the basement, leaving Mary and the dungeon master still sitting at the table. The dungeon master was shuffling some papers, his mind racing with ideas for the next session. Mary stared at him, arms crossed and after a moment she finally spoke. "That was mean, Brian."
Brian looked up from his papers. "What?" he asked defensively with a worried look on his face.
"The primordial we met tonight in the game. That wasn't cool." She mocked an imitation of Brian: "It just lives outside in the chaos. Its sooooo ugly and scary." She crossed her arms again and stared daggers at him. Brian was silent and just looked down at his lap.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I thought we were supposed to act like we didn't know..."
"You know she's not going to keep playing with us if you keep being an asshole, right?"
Brian frowned and was quiet.
"Don't you like her playing with us?" Mary continued. "She's a way better rogue than Johnathan was. If she leaves and Johnathan finds out we have room at the table then we might have to let him join the party again. Is that what you want?"
Brian shuddered. "No. I do like her playing with us. She is a pretty awesome rogue." They sat in silence for a minute. "I'll make it better next week. I have some ideas."
"Good." Mary stood up and walked to the stairs. "We'd better not be fighting a changeling or a dragon next week." she said with a laugh.
The outside air was cool and crisp; the twilight had faded already and the streetlights were on. Chris and Tyler had left already; their mom always picked them up. Sara lived at the end of the street. Mary looked down the street toward Sara's house and near the other end of the street she saw Sara, almost home. Mary shivered as she watched as a shadow approached Sara. Mary then watched as Sara discorporated into a chaotic mass of lightning arcs and flame over a roiling mass of rocks and water. In another moment she had absorbed the shadow and it was gone. Those shadows gave her the creeps and she was glad another one was gone. Mary's parents had told her many times how they were lucky to have the Smiths living on their street. "Good girl." Mary whispered as she watched Sara pick up her book bag and put on her human disguise for the rest of her walk home. Mary walked back into the house.
***************************
Sara reached the end of the street, hopped up the porch stair to her front door and walked inside, locking the door behind her. Inside, her mother and father were lounging on the sofa watching a reality TV show together. Her dad waved a friendly tendril of water at her and turned his attention back to the show. Sara's mom floated up and across the room, her pattern of fire and stone indicated concern.
"Is everything okay honey?"
"Well" Sara started slowly. "In tonight's game we finally met a primordial, but the party just killed it. The dungeon master thought it looked scary." Sara dismissed her human disguise, released a small puff of smoke and slouched a bit. "Are they ever going to accept us for who we are?"
Sara's mom wrapped her in a hug. "Your friends do like you dear. It doesn't matter that you don't look like they do."
"Yeah, I guess you're right mom. Thanks." She brightened up a bit, her waves of water crashing in a happy whirlpool. She started up the stairs to her room but halfway up she turned around and said "Oh yeah, I got another shadow on the way home." Her mom, who had already returned to the sofa, crashed a tiny avalanche of stone in approval and then returned to watching the show.

Book Your Free Consultation Today! > Discord @ shelbion

About Me

My name is Shelbion and I've been an avid League of Legends player for over a decade. In Season 4, I reached Challenger for the first time and even considered pursuing a professional career. However, after much reflection, I decided to pursue other challenges within the game.
Some of my notable achievements as a player include:

• Reaching Challenger on multiple positions.
• Participating and winning in numerous SR and 1v1 tournaments.
• Playing for various teams(Amateur and Semi-Professional).

Coaching

With over 7.000 hours of coaching experience, I fall into the category of one of the most experienced individuals in the field. My experience, passion, and ability to identify your flaws and tailor each session to your needs make me stand out as a Coach.
I've studied the techniques of renowned coaches, such as LS, MagiFelix, and others, and I've developed my unique coaching approach. So far, my approach has helped countless individuals, and over 20 teams advance their competitive play, across 5 different continents, including members of various College and University eSport Teams.
Some of my notable achievements include:

• Assisting a Diamond 2 player reach Challenger in just five weeks.
• Helping a Silver 2 player climb to Platinum in three weeks.
• Guiding a Diamond 3 player to Grandmaster in six weeks.

I am dedicated to continuously honing my skills and providing the best coaching experience possible to all of my clients, regardless of their rank or location.

Subscription Based Coaching

• One Individual Session (Monthly)
• Group Sessions (Weekly) x2
• Priority Coaching - Price: 99.99 > 49.99$.

Verifications & Certifications

• Certified IFOEC (International Federation of eSport Coaches) Educator & Coach.
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Community

In addition to my experience as a Player, I am also the Founder of Noxus Coaching - a rapidly growing, educational community on Discord. Our community is a great place to find new friends to play with, have a good time, and most importantly, improve your skills.
We hold various events on a weekly basis, including 1v1 & 5v5 tournaments, meme contests, and more. There are plenty of rewards to be won, including free coaching sessions with me. To join our community, visit https://discord.gg/RHW9BMxRd5 and message me upon joining to receive your role.

Podcast

• Podcast Appearance > https://youtu.be/4jn4FXOaOlE?si=98POLUJdJeSNnbiW

How Does it Work?

We will schedule an initial Interview during which we can discuss your goals and I can provide a more detailed explanation of my coaching services. This interview will typically last for 3-5 minutes.
The First Session is designed to assess your current level of gameplay and identify areas for improvement. After conducting an analysis, I will create a Personalized Coaching Plan tailored to your specific needs. This plan will outline a series of sessions designed to maximize your improvement.
The Coaching Plan may include various session types, such as:

• Theory sessions: These sessions will cover key concepts such as wave management, vision, decision making, and more.
• Practical sessions: These sessions will either be VOD reviews or live games, and will be used to put theoretical knowledge into practice and analyze gameplay.
• Reviews: These sessions will occur periodically and will be used as checkpoints to track your progress and identify any additional areas for improvement.

All sessions will be personalized and created specifically for each student's needs. By following this plan, you can feel confident that you are taking the most effective steps to achieve your goals.

Personalized Support (Available 24/7)

In addition to the structured coaching sessions, I offer personalized support to my clients on a 24/7 basis. Whether you have a specific question or just want to debrief after a tough game, I am always available to help. Simply message me and I will respond as quickly as possible.

AvailabilityPricesPayments

I am able to cover any server and any timezone! Rates for both Private and Team coaching are negotiable. We will easily get the sessions to fit your budget and your needs.
Payments are usually done through PayPal, however other forms of Payment such as Direct Transfer can be discussed.

Contact

Main form of contact is Discord on which you can find me at shelbion (Or Shelbion#8832)
Feel free to message me either on Discord or through a Direct Message on Reddit and I will come back to you as quickly as possible.

I don’t even know where to start. From the first day that I met my in-laws a decade ago, they have been entitled, demanding and generally very difficult and frustrating to deal with. I love my husband very much, and we very rarely have problems or fights unless it’s concerning his parents and his sister.
Some back story, my husband and his mom are Eastern European, while my husband’s stepdad and I are Chinese, and we all live in China. His half-sister is mixed European and Chinese. I can barely believe that he’s related to these people: he’s independent, competent, helpful, generous and logical, whereas they are none of these things.
Even before we got married, my in-laws constantly asked me to do favors for them, and I think they treat me like a servant. They’ve even ruined two of my birthdays in a row with some demanding tantrums over stupid shit, and my MIL tried to commandeer my wedding, she even called it her wedding.
One of the problems is that both of them are terrible communicators: my MIL, despite having lived in China for three decades, does not speak Chinese, whereas I don’t speak her mother tongue. Her English is quite poor and she constantly misunderstands me when we try to communicate in English. Even something as simple as organizing a meet up is riddled with frustrations because she has absolutely no communication skills, and she doesn’t even know how to use GPS or other basic Chinese apps. She is the most helpless person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. She hasn’t had a job since she came to China and she is incompetency personified.
On top of that she is snobby, she looks down on most Chinese people and whenever we socialize she is always complaining about something or someone, and she thinks all Chinese people are out of scam her. She lives in a total expat bubble and does not understand most Chinese customs or way of life. My FIL, ironically being Chinese himself, is also a terrible communicator and has a bad case of untreated adult ADD. He’s always spewing bullshit conspiracies at me, or putting me down, or going on about some complete non-sequitur. They’re both demanding and entitled, and if you help them with one favor, they’ll ask for ten more immediately, they’re both total choosing beggars.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was that about 2 years ago, my sister-in-law was getting ready to apply for university in the US. Since I had gone to college in the US, they both asked my husband to make me help her with her college application and SATs. I didn’t want to do it, because I knew there would be communication problems and misunderstandings galore, but after much pleading from my husband, acquiesced in the end.
From the get-go, it was a total nightmare. They both knew absolutely nothing about the US university application process, but whenever I tried to explain it they both talked over me and didn’t listen at all. On top of that they were delusional about my sister-in-law’s grades. She is a mediocre student at best and has absolutely no hobbies or extracurricular interests other than video games, and she acts bratty and immature for her age. Despite this, they thought she could get into Colombia or NYU. Eventually I found them an agency to help them, but as usual my MIL thought the agency was out to scam her and started complaining about them to me and my FIL right away. He, being the entitled twat that he is, told me he was going to sue them for not delivering, even though he didn’t even bother to read the contract he signed with them, and told me to read it, and resolve the situation otherwise he will sue.
On top of this, my SIL, being lazy and spoiled, hated going to them and took it out on me personally by being excessively rude to me everyone I saw her. She would often roll her eyes at me, complain about the agency loudly, or otherwise pretend that I didn’t exist. She has also taken to texting me 40 messages in a row on WeChat in the middle of the night, demanding help with her college application. My MIL witnessed some of this behavior and said nothing. I got so fed up that I started to avoid them completely, and quit our group chats. After a few months they realized I was avoiding them, and started complaining about me and badmouthing me to my husband for “disrespecting” them.
Last September, my husband forced me to go to a dinner with them, after I had managed to avoid them for half a year. My MIL and SIL were both incredibly rude to me and cold-shouldered me all night. I was very upset and honestly didn’t want to ever see them again. Around Thanksgiving they decided it was time to “forgive” me, and I was forced into another dinner with them. The favor-asking started again after this, this time my MIL wanted help changing the wallpapers in her house, which I had done for them before. I was honestly beyond done with them at this point and never wanted to help them with anything again, but as usual my husband begged and pleaded. After I helped them, my husband told his mom to text me to thank me and tell me she was satisfied with the result. Instead she texts (the first time she has texted me in over a year) that she wants to change the wallpaper in every room of their house and wants me to find her new wallpaper books, and help them some more with this.
At this point I am furious. I honestly don’t ever want to see or talk to them again. They never apologized for any of their behavior, never even realized how awful they have been to me over the years, and have gotten comfortable enough to demand favors again. I want my husband to tell them that it’s not okay to treat me this way, and how their past behavior hurt my feelings, but my husband thinks his mom is too sensitive, will misunderstand, and doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. I also offered a face-to-face meeting with her to tell her myself how offensive I find her and my FIL and SIL’s behavior to be, but my husband thinks that her English isn’t strong enough for this and thinks I will offend her and she will misunderstand as usual.
I don’t know what to do at this point, all I know is I can’t stand any of them and can barely bring myself to be civil at this point. I feel allergic to them. I’ve talked about this endlessly to my husband, but he thinks I’m overreacting and that they aren’t that bad to me. He thinks I should just take it. He works for my FIL, and he’s used to them badgering him to help them with basic things. He thinks it’s okay that they treat me like an extension of him, but I’m not okay with it anymore.
I cut ties with my own mother a decade again for abuse, controlling behavior and treating me like a servant. I honestly can’t believe I’m experiencing this with my in-laws all over again, it triggers me like nothing else. I don’t want to leave my husband, and we have a very happy life together otherwise. He’s such a good person, but he’s also caught in the middle. I know my thoughts and complaints about his family hurts him a lot.
I’ve tried searching online for advice on how to deal with entitled and demanding in-laws, but I can’t find any specific to my case. They don’t interfere with my life otherwise, they only reach out when they want me to do something for them. I feel like they only value me for what I can do for them, and I’m hurt that my husband thinks his mom’s feelings are more important than mine. Every time we talk about them it leads to a massive fight between us. He simply cannot see it from my point of view, and constantly tells me to get over it, and that their behavior isn’t a big deal. What do I do?

Hello! So I've (18) had a crush on this girl (18) for a few years now. I'm a girl as well by the way. I've honestly been so torn about this for the past few weeks and I have no idea what to do.
I've liked this girl since we were in grade 8 and in grade 9. We talked like everyday about everything and anything. Then when we went to separate high schools, we stopped talking as much then eventually we didn't talk at all. I think we talked like maybe three times just asking each other how we were doing and stuff. We're both in our first year of uni and she went abroad. Then, I found out that she was back for the summer.
I truly thought I got over my crush on her until I heard she was back. Like all of the sudden, I'm in grade 8 again blushing over this girl. Throughout the time we didn't talk, she was always in the back of my mind. Like I dated some people but she was always hidden in the back of my mind even then (writing this just really sounds evil, I know). So now that shes back, its like shes at the front of my mind now.
Recently, I texted her how she was again and now that shes back, we should hang out. She said yes. We just snap back and forth now. Now I'm wondering if I should tell her because it's driving me insane. I feel like if I don't tell her, my feelings will stay with me forever.
We are both girls and I'm not exactly sure if she's straight. We talked a lot about wlw books and other things that make me have an idea shes not straight? I want to tell her honestly but my biggest fear isn't even rejection. It's the possibility that she will be disgusted with me or think im weird or be uncomfortable. Because we haven't talked in so long that I'm wondering if she'd be weirded out because its been so long. IF I tell her, I would plan to meet in person or if we dont get the chance to meet, maybe through text?
Any advice at all would help please because I am so conflicted about this!! So sorry for the long post, but this has been my crisis for the past few weeks.

I don’t even know where to start. From the first day that I met my in-laws a decade ago, they have been entitled, demanding and generally very difficult and frustrating to deal with. I love my husband very much, and we very rarely have problems or fights unless it’s concerning his parents and his sister.
Some back story, my husband and his mom are Eastern European, while my husband’s stepdad and I are Chinese, and we all live in China. His half-sister is mixed European and Chinese. I can barely believe that he’s related to these people: he’s independent, competent, helpful, generous and logical, whereas they are none of these things.
Even before we got married, my in-laws constantly asked me to do favors for them, and I think they treat me like a servant. They’ve even ruined two of my birthdays in a row with some demanding tantrums over stupid shit, and my MIL tried to commandeer my wedding, she even called it her wedding.
One of the problems is that both of them are terrible communicators: my MIL, despite having lived in China for three decades, does not speak Chinese, whereas I don’t speak her mother tongue. Her English is quite poor and she constantly misunderstands me when we try to communicate in English. Even something as simple as organizing a meet up is riddled with frustrations because she has absolutely no communication skills, and she doesn’t even know how to use GPS or other basic Chinese apps. She is the most helpless person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. She hasn’t had a job since she came to China and she is incompetency personified.
On top of that she is snobby, she looks down on most Chinese people and whenever we socialize she is always complaining about something or someone, and she thinks all Chinese people are out of scam her. She lives in a total expat bubble and does not understand most Chinese customs or way of life. My FIL, ironically being Chinese himself, is also a terrible communicator and has a bad case of untreated adult ADD. He’s always spewing bullshit conspiracies at me, or putting me down, or going on about some complete non-sequitur. They’re both demanding and entitled, and if you help them with one favor, they’ll ask for ten more immediately, they’re both total choosing beggars.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was that about 2 years ago, my sister-in-law was getting ready to apply for university in the US. Since I had gone to college in the US, they both asked my husband to make me help her with her college application and SATs. I didn’t want to do it, because I knew there would be communication problems and misunderstandings galore, but after much pleading from my husband, acquiesced in the end.
From the get-go, it was a total nightmare. They both knew absolutely nothing about the US university application process, but whenever I tried to explain it they both talked over me and didn’t listen at all. On top of that they were delusional about my sister-in-law’s grades. She is a mediocre student at best and has absolutely no hobbies or extracurricular interests other than video games, and she acts bratty and immature for her age. Despite this, they thought she could get into Colombia or NYU. Eventually I found them an agency to help them, but as usual my MIL thought the agency was out to scam her and started complaining about them to me and my FIL right away. He, being the entitled twat that he is, told me he was going to sue them for not delivering, even though he didn’t even bother to read the contract he signed with them, and told me to read it, and resolve the situation otherwise he will sue.
On top of this, my SIL, being lazy and spoiled, hated going to them and took it out on me personally by being excessively rude to me everyone I saw her. She would often roll her eyes at me, complain about the agency loudly, or otherwise pretend that I didn’t exist. She has also taken to texting me 40 messages in a row on WeChat in the middle of the night, demanding help with her college application. My MIL witnessed some of this behavior and said nothing. I got so fed up that I started to avoid them completely, and quit our group chats. After a few months they realized I was avoiding them, and started complaining about me and badmouthing me to my husband for “disrespecting” them.
Last September, my husband forced me to go to a dinner with them, after I had managed to avoid them for half a year. My MIL and SIL were both incredibly rude to me and cold-shouldered me all night. I was very upset and honestly didn’t want to ever see them again. Around Thanksgiving they decided it was time to “forgive” me, and I was forced into another dinner with them. The favor-asking started again after this, this time my MIL wanted help changing the wallpapers in her house, which I had done for them before. I was honestly beyond done with them at this point and never wanted to help them with anything again, but as usual my husband begged and pleaded. After I helped them, my husband told his mom to text me to thank me and tell me she was satisfied with the result. Instead she texts (the first time she has texted me in over a year) that she wants to change the wallpaper in every room of their house and wants me to find her new wallpaper books, and help them some more with this.
At this point I am furious. I honestly don’t ever want to see or talk to them again. They never apologized for any of their behavior, never even realized how awful they have been to me over the years, and have gotten comfortable enough to demand favors again. I want my husband to tell them that it’s not okay to treat me this way, and how their past behavior hurt my feelings, but my husband thinks his mom is too sensitive, will misunderstand, and doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. I also offered a face-to-face meeting with her to tell her myself how offensive I find her and my FIL and SIL’s behavior to be, but my husband thinks that her English isn’t strong enough for this and thinks I will offend her and she will misunderstand as usual.
I don’t know what to do at this point, all I know is I can’t stand any of them and can barely bring myself to be civil at this point. I feel allergic to them. I’ve talked about this endlessly to my husband, but he thinks I’m overreacting and that they aren’t that bad to me. He thinks I should just take it. He works for my FIL, and he’s used to them badgering him to help them with basic things. He thinks it’s okay that they treat me like an extension of him, but I’m not okay with it anymore.
I cut ties with my own mother a decade again for abuse, controlling behavior and treating me like a servant. I honestly can’t believe I’m experiencing this with my in-laws all over again, it triggers me like nothing else. I don’t want to leave my husband, and we have a very happy life together otherwise. He’s such a good person, but he’s also caught in the middle. I know my thoughts and complaints about his family hurts him a lot.
I’ve tried searching online for advice on how to deal with entitled and demanding in-laws, but I can’t find any specific to my case. They don’t interfere with my life otherwise, they only reach out when they want me to do something for them. I feel like they only value me for what I can do for them, and I’m hurt that my husband thinks his mom’s feelings are more important than mine. Every time we talk about them it leads to a massive fight between us. He simply cannot see it from my point of view, and constantly tells me to get over it, and that their behavior isn’t a big deal. What do I do?

Hello! So I've (18) had a crush on this girl (18) for a few years now. I'm a girl as well by the way. I've honestly been so torn about this for the past few weeks and I have no idea what to do.
I've liked this girl since we were in grade 8 and in grade 9. We talked like everyday about everything and anything. Then when we went to separate high schools, we stopped talking as much then eventually we didn't talk at all. I think we talked like maybe three times just asking each other how we were doing and stuff. We're both in our first year of uni and she went abroad. Then, I found out that she was back for the summer.
I truly thought I got over my crush on her until I heard she was back. Like all of the sudden, I'm in grade 8 again blushing over this girl. Throughout the time we didn't talk, she was always in the back of my mind. Like I dated some people but she was always hidden in the back of my mind even then (writing this just really sounds evil, I know). So now that shes back, its like shes at the front of my mind now.
Recently, I texted her how she was again and now that shes back, we should hang out. She said yes. We just snap back and forth now. Now I'm wondering if I should tell her because it's driving me insane. I feel like if I don't tell her, my feelings will stay with me forever.
We are both girls and I'm not exactly sure if she's straight. We talked a lot about wlw books and other things that make me have an idea shes not straight? I want to tell her honestly but my biggest fear isn't even rejection. It's the possibility that she will be disgusted with me or think im weird or be uncomfortable. Because we haven't talked in so long that I'm wondering if she'd be weirded out because its been so long. IF I tell her, I would plan to meet in person or if we dont get the chance to meet, maybe through text?
Any advice at all would help please because I am so conflicted about this!! So sorry for the long post, but this has been my crisis for the past few weeks.

Hello everyone, I'm gonna start this off by saying thanks to anybody who will read this as it will be a long one, and anybody willing to offer me any advice.
PS. This post started as a post where I was asking for college advice, but as I wrote more I realized any advice would be really helpful so I changed the title a bit, Thanks in advance again!
[[ Beware: My whole lifestory coming up combined with tired midnight grammar 😅 ]]
To get to the point, I currently live in Croatia and just turned 19 a couple of months ago and a time has come when I am again thinking about college. Some background on me, from when I was very little I was always interested in engineering and art, it all started when a teacher of mine in the 5th grade of primary school introduced me to programming and robotics. From then on I was in love with everything to do with electronics, robotics, mechanics programming, and fundamental sciences, maybe even math itself, but that's beside the point. During those years the passion for all of that really grew. I went to countless robotics competitions during my time at school there and even won lots of prizes. One time I almost came to world-level competitions but sadly missed the first place by a point. When I was home I sadly didn't have much equipment for any of these interests except a computer. It seemed limitless what I could do with it, whatever I wanted to do I could make it. It's not like electronics where as a kid getting parts was difficult except from old salvaged electronic devices. I could learn and make whatever I wanted, as long as the old family computer could run it. So I started learning a lot about computers during these times like basic algorithms and some basic games random Python scripts etc. In terms of computers, I was no genius, but for the age, I'm grateful I took the time to learn even the basics of it. Other than that I was a somewhat weird kid because I couldn't really take picking off some classmates as a joke and got annoyed at it quickly when they started interrupting me while I was drawing ( My dad was an artist in his youth so I picked that up from him, been scribbling every day in primary school when class was either boring or some kind of recess ) but even though they were picking on me, I to this day still really don't mind them, we were a pretty close class at the end of the day. And that's how most of my primary school went by, me being social with only a few friends and my informatics teacher as well. Other than that I was pretty sad during those years, I couldn't understand people and was contemplating the meaning of life as well, and that combined with me inheriting some stubbornness from mom, she and I were always fighting for homework, screentime, etc. Right now we are in a very good relationship so I'm greatful for that aswell. Seeing how I didnt really talk outside of school to many people expect a few friends ( I do live in a small village so if they were the same age as me they were in my class ) i basicly spent most of my time while not staying after school in a computer club we had for few hours every couple of days a week, i was cooped upped inside my house, playing with legos, being with grandparents or my cousins or being on computer and doing some programing, scripting, photoshoping and other things you can reasonably excect a child to do. And so passed most of my primary school.
When time came to plan for highschool, I originaly wanted to go to art school, but was quickly turned down by my mother because she thought it wasnt a smart idea. Personaly didn't like it at first, but she is a smart woman so in time i understood. Basicly other then liking to draw and paint, I wanted to go there bacause my best friend from class was going there and he also wanted me to come along. ( Funny how me the least popular guy and the youngest guy in class and he the most popular guy in class while also being the oldest were best friends, but thats a story for another day ) As my mom turned down my suggestion for art school she suggested I go to a school for a Mechatronics Technician. I didnt not like the idea as well I loved everything related to it. Other than that another option was Computer Technician ( basicly a programming oriented path ) but I decided mechatronics because i said to myself i can learn programing at home because the only tools i need are a computer, and mechanics, electronics and robotics is something I dont have at home so it will be really cool to learn all of that here and so, highschool started.
Oh how fast has the reality come crashing down as I understood what the whole mess of the education system actualy was. Most of the classes didnt have any equipment to actualy do anything practical, the other small portion that did the rest lf the 95% of class didnt understand anything so we couldnt do much or what was the more often scenario is that the proffesors just didnt really care at all so we would come to class and do absolutly nothing, like literaly nothing except waiting for the bell to ring. After i realised that I just started not coming to school most quite a bit. Mostly was not comming on fridays, some wednesdays etc most of the times I was actualy abit sick, but every time i was sick i exadurated it so my mom would let me stay home. Even though i was missing quite a bit of classes, if a class had something to do with math or logical thinking ( which most were ) i would usualy either be best at it in the class or almost the best for the pure reason I was actualy really interested and loved all the cool engineering stuff. On the other side if a subject was about 0 logic, full random name memorisation like the croatian literature class, I was almost if not the worst in class managing just barely to scrape by. Other than that there was one proffesor who I admired so much for his style of teaching, as he tought me so much during the only 2 years he lectured me ( my fourth year of highschool he was out because pention ). In simply half a year we went from 0 knowledge to designing, printing, creating and soldering a whole circuit on a pcb, I was always there for his classes. On the other time we were doing something else, he always had some cool stuff prepared when i was finished with work early, he was a great guy and still respect him alot. Other than that i was really disapointed how there existed zero after school activities that i could do that had to do anything with electronic, mechanics, robotics or programing.
On the side of my social life, the summer just before starting highschool I realised this was a great opportunity to redeem myself as i really didnt want to get picked on like in primary school. So what other kind of persona would somebody come up in this situation than one being supported by my pride itself, other than that i was basicly a "chameleon" aka adapting to every person around me which was probably the reason i made some friends but it usualy tired me out completly. And so it started really great actualy, nobody was picking on me, i was socialising ( only inside of my class usualy, other than the people who went to this town from my village that i already knew, but it was a big step up for me ) and learned how to shrug of others banter by pretending it didnt effect me. It was definitly in a better possition then primary school alright, but i did realise alot of people just moving away sometimes because of how i just increased pridefulness as i got more vulnerable. I think i was able to keep my pride to just below some overflowing point as i still managed to make a few friends.
And so some time passed, at home watching more videos about everything to do with engineering, getting a 3d printer and messing with it, programing some more and even trying to learn some business, economy and more about money. I even developed a game for the school as some special thing I got by talking to a teacher of mine. Other than that at the third year, thanks to a profesor i was able to get in touch with a software development company and was able to secure an internship for basicly the whole summer, which was a blast. I learned so much new things that opened doors to alot more things. After that i focused my random "Jack of all trades" learning to be mostly focused on modern used technologies, and the needs of possible job recruiters, and well it in general. That is the point i feel i truly started learning proper programing.
More on my development of pride, in highschool and in primary school i was actualy praised quite alot and being actualy abit good at something maybe was the thing that allowed me to get even some friends by being prideful. We can call that being lucky as the stars alligned, but anyways. During those years i also had two experiences with me falling in love for the first time. The first one didnt last more than a 4ish months maybe, it was basicly a crush thing that ended in a broken heart, but o boy it was a good waking called. I wonder what would happen to me without this realisation. Then the next one lasted basicly 7-8ish months in the 4th year of highschool, and this one was much more complicated and longer, but after it i learned quite a new few things. These two things really awoken me to who i am today, as i try to live each day with as much virtue as I can. I threw out the pride out of the window, and dont really care too much of somebodies bad opinions on me, if there are currently any. I came to terms with alot of things and am just able to accept things for what they are, without judgment.
As im writing this its quite late and am tired so sorry for bad grammar i want to shorten this abit. Basicly my whole life i loved scientists, engineers and the idea of colledge. Was always dreaming of becomingba "great scientist" like albert einstein or nikola tesla but the older i got, the more things i learned, the more that dream of going to colledge got shattered by reality. As i realised the giant flaws in the education system, after learning about money and realising colledges are just big businesses trying to earn alot of money, and that that is their main motivation, combines with seeing that scientists basicly to get any money and recognition these days need to literaly hop from trend to trend, research what is "in" currently or well no bread on the table just made the academia route of my life shatter before my eyes. Seeing how i knew quite abit computers i thought i could atleast land something, but after seeing people who were much longer in the industry praise me for a impressive knowledge on alot of fields and my ability to almost instantly grasp any concept thrown at me, i actualy got a job. Well this was how I decided to start working immediatly instead of going to colledge. After weighing the options combined with the additional knowledge i got about the job market, this was an obvious choice. I believe that my key to being objective is me being realistic, so sadly i know am not some do it all genious and know i need to rely on whatever i have to use as leverage to enhance my life, so learning from Warren Buffet that out of everything I got, my time was my biggest asset. Simply being young with the above average skills i have, I believe i have a reasonably good chance to have a virtous and fulfiling life.
But i still have that burning flame in my chest, i still love the idea i had of colledge, of becoming a scientist, an engineer. I tried looking for ways to convince myself otherwise and see that i was actualy wrong about it all, but each time i look, more and more i realise my initial assumptions were right. The world is slowly moving away from official education like colledges as everything can be learnt online, because of ai the next few years are going to be revolutionary in all of these fields so either the colledge courses are going to be very outdated or just some concept of a job will not simply be needed as a diffrent one apears. The posibilities and their volatility is just so high that i dont feel even 1% safe actualy going to colledge, seeing how devoting like 5 years to it will mean loosing the onlx advantage i can use, and that is me starting out young. And as a bonus because i have a job i actualy have more time than colledge to persume my other interest like mechanics and electronics as well as actualy funds.
Thanks for reading all of this, I can trust it was quite a journey reading everything i written basicly half asleep but i hope you were able to understand everything. Im really confused what to do, as I love both options but knowing that one has a much better chance of being useful to me than the other. Any advice you can give me will be greatly appriciated, be it about college like is there an actualy good colledge in europe thats is worth it in my place, or general life stuff, about work etc. Once again I cannot thank you enough for reading this and helping me. Thanks!
Edit: I havent said much about my job because this is more of a general reddit but for people who are in the field I am a backend developer, with some freelancing and opensource contributions on the side

I'm 15f and for my 16 birthday my friend suggested we should have a sleepover and read together7 I agreed I'm so scared her family is really sexist and Christian which I am neither but I've been illiterate for like 14 years of my life and she doesn't know bonded over our love for books and I can't even read without Google so I guess I can pretend like I did when I was a kid in elementary school but what if she asks me how my book is what am I supposed to say? I supposed to lie? Or just get the most basic amount of information I don't know and I'm terrified and if I lie I'm going to feel like a horrible friend but I guess I already lied about being able to read BTW I've known her since 8th grade so we've been friends for 3 or 4 years I haven't seen her in person in 2 years and I have social anxiety I really don't know what to do she doesn't even know I was in special needs classes at school and I don't think she'll judge me or anything but I'm scared she's going to treat me like I'm stupid like everybody else has done my entire life and she's like my only friend right now so what am I supposed to do she is the only person who doesn't treat me like an idiot
Ps sorry for the lack of punctuation I haven't learned that part yet

Can you find please
Some of us definitely has exseed book in grade 1or2 those books artwork was quite good as a memory can anyone name the lessons of our grade 1 grade 2 English or EVs or maths or any other subjects lessons.
Here some that I remember and can't remember which grade: 1. Tinu sweets 2. Aanya and the dragon 3. Ben's Christmas 4. And what I rememberd is sleeping ox black colour sleeping and releasing 💤 from his nose I definitely remember this is from kindergarten or Upper Kindergarten 5. A monkey not able to sleep because of it's family I can't remember clearly lesson name
I hope you also name some lessons:-)

Just a quick warning I’m putting it all out here about our friendship, i just want to tell the truth.
I 19f had a messy relationship with my ex best friend who I’ll call Tina because she was tiny.
We met in our 7th grade math class after she was having a panic attack because of multiple things going on in her life. I comforted her and helped her escape a toxic friendship and introduced her to my group of friends. We called every night and gave each other ther the support we both needed as I was sheltered and new to everything and she was coming out of some serious mental tolls.
I was there for her even though she wasn’t always for me. I helped her through when her dad nearly died and his entire personality changed, when her mom became a single mother and Tina felt the need to step up as the other parent, and fully supported her in everything she did.
Everything was great until we hit high school. She demanded we talked everyday at school and at least an hour on the phone. I don’t mean to say she told me outright but she definitely forced my hand to keep the friendship. She would guilt trip me with fake panic attacks and swear I was being terrible to her. She also pretty much had to approve every friend I had not to mention boyfriends. The first two, granted, were asses to say the least. However, she’d look for reasons for me not to explore friendships outside of our little group.
I talked to several friends about how much this time affected my grades, love life, and other friendships and they all said the same thing, I went from cheerful and playful, to scared and there being no light in my eyes when Tina was around.
A couple years into high school I met my now boyfriend and we hit it off big time. She did everything to chase him away and even convinced me to break things off. Luckily he and I never grew apart and decided that we’d try again, but help make each other better and to keep a more open line of communication.
She tried to use the same tactic on my other friend from theater but didn’t succeed.
To add insult to injury, I wrote a children’s book and it went to a national competition and all she cared about is that she became a published author in a poetry book before I even started binding my book. I told her about my success in the hallway of a hotel while my club members celebrated all our national placements and all she had to say, “that’s cool but I won that poetry contest and I’m published now! I’m getting copies of the book on Saturday, aren’t you proud of me!”
When I confronted her about this, she said she was also proud of me but she felt I was being selfish. I won a trip to Florida and get to present the book I worked so hard on. But apparently, that’s not as important.
Now for the big conflict, in the summer of 2023, I left my parents house the night before my college orientation. I’ll do a separate story on that. The point is, I left.
She herself yes was there for me holding me as I cried about leaving my sister and helping me but what I need to couch surf for a while.
She had a plan, move me from the campus I was registered for to the one she was going to and have me split door-dash money with her and hopefully not have to live out of her car. She also wanted me to pull a hearty loan from the bank her mom worked for to pay for all this. I personally cannot do that as I’m in the middle of getting a name change and it was hard for me to even get a driving permit.
A couple months pass and the house I had stayed at for that time kicked me out. From the stress of college and getting a job I’ll admit, I wasn’t the nicest.
The day before I was told I needed to find another place to stay I got a call from Tina. She called me crying because she was worried I was going to commit suicide and I talked to her about my feelings and future. How I have so much left to do and see. Including marrying the man I love, my boyfriend. She cried about that and said I should have listened to her. I pretty much ignored it as we talked about it serval times.
I was served my eviction notice, apologized to my friends parents, and began packing my things. I get a FaceTime from her and I’m thinking that my best friend might have some words of comfort or something.
I answer the call and with my friend in the back, she starts in on me saying that no matter what, I never listen. I only don’t when it happens that I can’t or it goes against my wishes and boundaries I’ve set. She went on yelling after what seemed like hours as I zoned out and packed with shaky hands and blurry eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore so I hung up with saying, “we can talk about this when I’m sure where my next meal is coming from and I’m not scared I’ll be on the streets.”
From what my friend told me she blocked me immediately and never wanted to speak to me again. She’s blocked me everywhere even tiktok and it makes me feel bad.
It’s been months and I’ve been told that I’m not the a-hole however, I think I need an outside opinion.
AITA??

"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.

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