The old family home stood at the edge of town, its once grand facade now weathered and worn by time. The town's whispers about the house had reached my ears many times throughout my childhood, but I had never given them much thought. Now, standing before the creaking gate that led to the overgrown path, I felt an inexplicable urge to discover the truth.
I had inherited the house after my great-uncle Nathaniel passed away, a man I barely knew but whose presence seemed to linger in every corner. The dusty heirlooms and musty bookshelves hinted at a long and storied history. It was a history I intended to uncover.
The first few days were uneventful. I spent my time clearing out cobwebs and sorting through old papers, most of which were mundane—bills, letters, old photographs. But then, tucked away in a hidden compartment of Nathaniel's desk, I found a bundle of letters tied with a faded red ribbon. The letters were old, the paper yellowed and brittle. They were addressed to my great-grandmother, Beatrice, from someone named Arthur.
The letters spoke of forbidden love, betrayal, and a pact made in desperation. Arthur's words grew increasingly frantic as he described a dark secret shared by the family—a secret that, if revealed, would bring ruin upon them all. My curiosity piqued, I read on, unable to tear myself away.
One letter in particular stood out. Dated December 3, 1923, it detailed a horrific event: a fire that had claimed the lives of several townspeople. Arthur confessed to starting the fire, claiming it was necessary to protect the family from something far worse. He mentioned a cult, dark rituals, and a promise made to an entity he referred to only as "the Shadow."
The more I read, the more I felt an unsettling presence in the house. Shadows seemed to move on their own, and whispers echoed through the halls at night. Determined to understand, I ventured into the basement, where Nathaniel's journals hinted at more hidden secrets.
The basement was damp and cold, the air thick with mildew. Shelves lined with jars of strange substances and dusty books filled the room. At the far end, behind an old trunk, I found a small door. It creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase leading further down into darkness.
With a flashlight in hand, I descended, my heart pounding in my chest. The air grew colder with each step, and a sense of dread settled over me. At the bottom, I found a chamber filled with symbols carved into the stone walls. In the center was an altar, stained with what I could only hope was old wax.
As I examined the room, I found more letters, these from Nathaniel to someone named Margaret. They described rituals performed to keep the Shadow at bay, sacrifices made to ensure the family's prosperity. Nathaniel's last entry was a chilling plea for forgiveness, confessing that he had failed to uphold the pact and that the Shadow was coming for him.
Suddenly, the flashlight flickered and went out. Panic set in as I fumbled to turn it back on. When the light returned, I saw them—figures standing in the shadows, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They whispered in unison, a low chant that sent shivers down my spine.
"Blood of the betrayer," they intoned. "Blood of the guilty."
I tried to run, but my legs felt like lead. The figures closed in, their hands cold as ice as they grabbed me. I struggled, but it was no use. They dragged me to the altar, their chanting growing louder.
As they forced me down, I realized the truth: my family had been protecting a dark secret for generations, a secret that had now claimed me. The last thing I saw was a figure stepping out of the shadows, its eyes filled with malevolent glee.
The pain was sudden and all-consuming. My scream echoed through the chamber, blending with the chants. And then, there was nothing but darkness.
The house stood silent once more, its secrets buried deep within its walls. The townspeople still whispered about the old family home, but no one dared to venture inside. They said the shadows moved on their own, and at night, if you listened closely, you could still hear the whispers of the past.
Years passed, and the house remained untouched, a dark mark on the edge of town. Then, one evening, a young couple, unaware of the house’s history, moved in. They had bought the property cheaply, charmed by its antique allure.
Their first night in the house was uneventful. They laughed, unpacked, and made plans to renovate. But as the clock struck midnight, the atmosphere changed. The house seemed to come alive with a malevolent energy. The husband, Peter, heard a faint whispering. At first, he dismissed it as the wind, but the whispers grew louder, forming words.
"Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."
He followed the sound to the basement, where the narrow door stood ajar. Against his better judgment, he descended the stairs. The flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The chamber at the bottom was as I had left it, but now there was something new—a fresh inscription on the altar: "He who seeks shall find."
Peter turned to leave, but the shadows moved. Figures emerged, their eyes glowing with the same unnatural light. He screamed for help, but the basement door slammed shut, trapping him inside.
Upstairs, his wife, Emily, heard his screams and rushed to the basement door, but it wouldn't budge. She pounded on it, calling his name, but the house seemed to swallow her cries. Desperation set in, and she ran to the phone, dialing the police.
The police arrived quickly, but as they approached the house, they felt an unnatural chill. Inside, they found Emily, frantic and pale. She led them to the basement, but when they opened the door, the chamber was empty. There was no sign of Peter.
Days turned into weeks, and Peter was never found. Emily moved out, leaving the house abandoned once more. The townspeople spoke of the curse, of the family’s dark past, and warned newcomers to stay away.
But the house never stayed empty for long. Curiosity drew people in, and one by one, they disappeared, claimed by the shadows. The whispers continued, a never-ending chant of betrayal and guilt.
One stormy night, a group of ghost hunters arrived, eager to uncover the house's secrets. They set up their equipment, cameras rolling, as they ventured into the basement. The air was thick with tension, the shadows seemed to watch, waiting.
As they explored the chamber, the leader of the group, Sam, found the old letters. He read them aloud, his voice trembling. The whispers grew louder, the shadows closing in.
"Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."
The cameras captured everything—the figures emerging from the darkness, the screams, the terror. But when the footage was reviewed, all that was visible was the empty basement, silent and still. The hunters were never seen again.
Years passed, and the house remained a dark legend. No one dared to enter, the whispers and shadows a constant warning. And yet, on moonless nights, the townspeople could see faint lights flickering in the windows, hear the faint whispers carried on the wind.
It was said that the house was a gateway, a place where the past and present intertwined, where the sins of the ancestors demanded atonement. Those who entered were lost, their souls trapped in a never-ending cycle of horror.
Then, one day, a young historian named James arrived in town. He was fascinated by the stories and determined to uncover the truth. Despite the warnings, he entered the house, armed with his knowledge and a sense of purpose.
He found the letters, the journals, the hidden chamber. But as he delved deeper, he uncovered something no one had seen before—a final letter from Nathaniel, hidden behind a loose brick. It spoke of a ritual to break the curse, to free the trapped souls.
With renewed hope, James prepared for the ritual, following the instructions meticulously. As he began, the house seemed to tremble, the shadows stirring violently. The whispers grew to a deafening roar, but he pressed on.
The final step required a sacrifice, a willing soul to take the place of the cursed. As James completed the ritual, he felt a searing pain. The shadows enveloped him, but he continued to chant the final words.
Suddenly, the whispers stopped. The shadows receded, and the house fell silent. The townspeople, watching from a distance, saw the lights go out and heard a final, blood-curdling scream.
The next morning, they found the house empty. The letters and journals were gone, the chamber sealed. James was never seen again, but the curse seemed to have lifted. The house stood silent, no longer a source of fear.
Years later, the house was sold and renovated. Families moved in and out, but the dark history remained a distant memory. The whispers and shadows were gone, but on stormy nights, the faint echoes of the past could still be heard, a reminder of the darkness that once lurked within.
And so, the legend of the old family home became a story told to children, a cautionary tale of curiosity and the consequences of uncovering secrets best left buried. But some say that on the darkest nights, if you listen closely, you can still hear the faint whisper: "Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."

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.

Last night I betrayed someone I cared about. Words cannot describe the bitterness and disgust I feel.
I am back home in Sydney, and I am safe. For those of you who have been following along, I found a way to resolve my situation with the Tremere Primogen. But I don’t think I was prepared for what it would cost me.
I had fled Australia a month ago for the safety of my sire’s haven in Valencia, Spain, travelling in secrecy in the squalor of unattended ship compartments. My return was a stark contrast, aboard the private jet I had chartered. No need for subtlety when you’ve already told the guy who wants you dead that you’re coming to see him. Would that the jet was the highest cost I paid…
When I arrived I was greeted by Thomasina, my Toreador Primogen, with whom I had arranged to set up a peaceful meeting with the Tremere Primogen so that I could negotiate an end to hostilities. Though, I was warned that if things went south my clan would not risk going to war with the Tremere just to protect me. No pressure. Also there to greet me was… my faithful assistant, Sophie…
We met the Tremere Primogen on neutral ground, at the Royal Botanical Gardens. The serene environment of the Formal Garden, where grand ceremonies are often held, bizarrely juxtaposed the tension in the air. The plan was simple; I had never practiced blood magic myself, only sold the services of Gregory, a former Tremere contact of mine, through BLVSH to other kindred. So, really, it was my contact who was disobeying the chantry and dealing behind its back. A contract who had betrayed me too, tried to kill me. For all anyone knew, I had no idea he was betraying the chantry and acted in good faith. Certainly, no one had proof I knew otherwise. And I happened to have that traitor staked and gift-wrapped, courtesy of Sandu. Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone involved if I just handed over Gregory to be executed for his crime?
The Tremere Primogen was as cold and severe as I remembered but, though he was initially skeptical, seemed to be in agreement. Upon handing over Gregory, he decided I was innocent of practicing blood sorcery outside of chantry control. But he was not yet satisfied. He said that selling the services of blood sorcery behind his back was still an injustice that needed to be righted. “I want to believe you,” he said. “I want to believe you’re an upstanding member of the court of Sydney. But I have records that BLVSH knowingly acted in defiance of the chantry. Only two people were involved in that side of the business. If it wasn’t you, clearly it was your ghoul.” Sophie… my dear Sophie…
I’m sure the Tremere Primogen knew it was me. He just couldn’t prove it. But he wanted to twist the knife, just to show who was in charge. My ghoul, he said, had endangered both our lives by putting us at odds with each other through her reckless actions. Justice demanded she be punished for it. And I… what else could I do but agree?
I saw the terror in Sophie’s eyes as they dragged her away from me. Sophie had been nothing but loyal, and yet here she was, being offered up as a scapegoat for my sins. My beautiful Sophie, she refused to turn on me, even as I turned on her. I stood there, powerless, as the Tremere Primogen reached his hand out to Sophie. Time seemed to slow as I looked on. And… all he did was touch her, and, jesus the horror of it. She practically melted before my eyes. Her skin began to drip from her body as her blood boiled. She clawed at her head as her hair came away in clumps and her eyes poured out of their sockets. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I needed to see the full extent of my betrayal. And the screams. God, the screams. I can still hear them in my head. If there is any justice, I always will hear them.
And… and I am free. All is forgiven. Business as usual in the uncaring nights I reside in. And all it cost me was my closest, most trusted friend. What a bargain. I’m a fucking monster, and a coward, and a failure, and a terrible friend. I was too weak to accept the consequences of my actions. I’m no better than Gregory. Here in my empty haven, with only my guilt and shame for company, I still see the hollow sockets where Sophie’s eyes were when my eyes close. I’m sorry, I failed you.
Oh, and when I got home I destroyed my garden in a frenzy of rage and self-loathing. It’s okay, I don’t deserve beautiful things. I can’t take care of them.

• Alyx.

I had a reading once with a psychic and she told me I have a spirit guides. I kinda don't believe it because I haven't seen one nor I have a 3rd eye. Several days after that I dream about my spirit guides telling me that they're always by my side and that they love me. There were two of them 1 guy and 1 woman. They have buff bodies and the woman has long black curly hair. In that dream, it was also night and they talk to me a lot and when morning came they said they have to go since they have other works as well. I was sad and beg them to stay and even have them promise me to meet again at night, I woke up after that. The 2nd night, I can't sleep no matter what I do, I'm also skeptical wether what I dream was real or not so yeah no meetup in dreams happen again but that night I can feel like there's a static electricity at the back of my head just below my neck I don't know if it's related to that. There's also a scene one night where I was so frustrated because I couldn't bought the thing I badly need. So even though I kinda find it ridiculous, I keep thinking "If I really have a spirit guide, please help me get it, I badly need that" when I didn't get it, I really cursed them in my head and said a lot of bad things because of so much frustration. I sleep that night and when I wake up, I feel the static electricity at the back of head again (I don't really know how to describe it but it really feels like a static electricity and is tingling) and I was like where they trying to communicate with me again? That day I receive a news that I can finally bought it, when that happened my left ear feels hot all of a sudden like someone literally lit a match to close to my left ear . It was aggressively hot (I don't have tinnitus btw, it happened that one time only) and I laugh because I remember what I did last night. I think that's their way of telling me, "You get what you want, so don't curse at me". So when I apologize, it stop. There were also times were I feel a pressure in my forehead like some invisible hand is pressing against it and sometimes I can also smell ritual oils though we don't actually use one. I also think they're giving me signs specially when I'm about to do a bad decision like one time "I decided to skip my exam, because I'm prioritizing my other workloads, suddenly I smell ritual oils again and I feel like my forehead is getting cold. I didn't think much of it. I was on my way home, when my groupmates told me that the deadline for my workload was moved, that means I don't have to skip my exam, so yeah I went back to school again that time (that was a waste of money and time seriously). Do I really have a spirit guides or maybe it's just in my head? I don't know, If I do can you give me tips and advice on how to communicate with them?

34 AFAB 183lbs 5'4"
For the past 6-7 weeks, I've been dealing with what my PCP diagnosed as Candida Albicans infection. It started around the anal area. It has now moved to the entire genital area (vaginal and anal), under both arms, inside and outside my right ear, my stomach, neck, and face. I've taken 4 doses of Fluconazole and treat with Nystatin cream twice a day. I'm taking daily showers or a 15-20 minute bath with Domeboro soak. Nothing is working, I'm in extreme pain, and I would appreciate some guidance.
Other relevant information: Pregnancy w/ vaginal birth 12 years ago. PCOS w/ metabolic syndrome and insulin resistance 7 years ago. Taking 1500 MG Metformin daily. GSHV2 9 years ago. Taking 500 MG Valtrex daily. Depression/Anxiety. Taking Lexapro. ADHD-Inattentive. Taking 40 MG Vyvanse. Other supplements: Magnesium glyconate (sleep), prenatal multivitamin (low Vitamin D and Iron in the past). Former cigarette smoker. Current vape user. No new sexual partners in the last 5 years. No new soaps, detergents, etc.
The amount of pain I'm in is just miserable. I've been trying to follow my PCP's instructions to the letter, but nothing is working. I can barely walk around my house at this point and it's interfering with my job and being able to take care of my kid who was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes this past year and may have celiac's disease. I may just be impatient to have this clear up and I know my PCP has given what's considered the gold standard for Candida skin infections. I'll be talking to her on Monday about seeing a dermatologist.
My questions: Has anyone seen this situation in their practice before? What are the next steps usually taken? How can I stop it from spreading further? Is there any possibility the infection could have gotten into my bloodstream (I started having headaches, chills, fatigue, abnormal amount of gas, and dizziness w/in the last 3 days)? Is there some way to get some relief or speed up the healing process? Are there any best practices for this type of infection besides keeping it clean, dry, and medicated? Would anything described warrant a trip to the ER (asking bc my partner has been very worried about me and has mentioned it several times)?
Thank you for any feedback.

everyone I just want to vent about something
I am 16 years old and after a very toxic relationship I soon became very depressed it was a very serious depressive episode I would say I was in my bed just rotting for all of October 2022 is when it started and really that depression took a while to curb and is now back from my arthritis symptoms. I had completely lost my appetite and really, I would eat nothing all day. I don’t know how I did it, I had nearly 7 seizures last year.. but I was so extremely depressed from such toxic people who were still trying to crawl back into my life. I’ve almost lost or I have lost 20 pounds in a year from the depression. I was always perfectly fine for my whole life.. I don’t know how to feel this is really hard for me mentally. I feel disabled I feel like my opportunities are reduced. I feel like as if I’m still struggling with the denial. So my parents definitely noticed my weight loss last year but didn’t really do anything to help me like take me to a doctor and I also didn’t advocate for myself as I was in so deep into my depressive episode so I can also blame myself I guess. But that’s what my problem is.. my mother blames me for my arthritis and everyone in my life is denying at the moment I think everyone is in shock as well. I got into an argument with my father a couple days about something petty and I had told him my arthritis has given me a short temper and made me an angrier person, he said you don’t have sh*t and it made me feel very invalidated and angry and I told him the first stage is denial maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words but I know he might just be in denial and hurt as well as my dad so I am not thinking about what he said too much. My symptoms really started Nov 2023 once in the morning I was brushing my hair before school and I felt a very tight pain in my wrist when I had moved my hand a certain direction because my hair is curly and needs a lot of maintenance, I knew this was a big red flag as I had never felt that before. Then the real pain started the joint pain, aching, dullness, burning, tense pain I feel deep in my bones that i know is arthritis 💔 I am so scared and worried for my future . My symptoms were the worst in winter, where my body would hurt all the time in the cold!! I dropped from 115 lb to almost 96-97 now i know I am unhealthy and doing my best to gain it back I am also 5’1. Also, whenever I move in class my body pops so extremely loud.. to have arthritis at this age in the school setting is so incredibly humiliating and confusing and difficult… I always have to crack my knuckles to ease the pressure built in them after I’m done writing, sometimes I feel the worst of all is I’ve lost my beautiful body that people used to compliment me on, I have genetic cystic acne and wear glasses so it really was the only thing that did make me feel good enough which hurts me to say. I wonder when I go to school what people think of me, I’ve even lost my best friend and friend group because I’m not beautiful like them anymore. It sounds stupid but it’s true my hair being very short due to the shrinkage in curly hair does make me look a bit ugly I have short hair now but it’s growing as i try to gain weight.. how i feel is what is the point of life if I am always suffering 💔 and why me💔 my parents can’t afford even clothes and food for me now they have to buy me medicine i don’t even think they are taking me seriously unfortunately… as the oldest daughter in an immigrant household they always expected me to know how to raise myself and now when i need them they aren’t here😔 it’s hard to write in class and even stay awake, i was always a sleepy person but arthritis is a different.. exhaustion. I feel as if there’s nothing to live for, I am emotionally drained and numbed I almost feel like I’m losing it sometimes. I wish we had a support group for very young people dealing with arthritis because I feel like my life is robbed from me but i only have myself to blame I guess 💔😔

Not much to say here since I wanted to see what happened with the Weaver. Enjoy!
Ch. 21

• Oh how creepy is this…door shutting, handle gone, and the Weaver softly saying “who's in my house?”
  
• Holy shit why does she look like that?! Don't tease me with the young body but then have The Ring girl’s face attached to it. She's definitely a double bagger, absolutely terrifying.
  
• Omg Feyre, you go scorched earth and set fire to the entire cottage with a candle instead of using your flamethrower ability with your hands and torch the Weaver. SMH
  
• Escape through the chimney though, that's smart. This girl has some bright moments
  
• Wait, is the Weaver cooking faeries?! And is she weaving their entrails or flesh or something??? I mean, on the one hand that's just plain gross, but on the other, why don't you just weave you a new face???
  
• Isn't Feyre like super strong now? Why doesn't she just punch through the chimney?
  
• Weaver is gaining, please feel free to use your mind bullets at any time now Feyre. Also, feel free to step in at any time Rhys and help out lol
  
• Oh wow, the Weaver made her house of out of the bodies of her victims, this is the stuff of nightmares
  
• “What the hell did you do?” LOL Rhys just chilling on a tree, winnow the fuck out plz and ty
  
• Dude Amren can just vanish vomit? I think my question about fae plumbing has now been answered!
  
• So the ring was just a memento from his mom? Makes sense
  
• Thank you Feyre for finally coming to your senses and wanting to learn how to fight and how to use your abilities. It only took almost dying again to realize it
  
• Oooh diving into Rhysand's pensive! Let's see what he shows Feyre
  
• Damn, Ianthe wants some High Lord D!
  
• Oh interesting, so Ianthe does have ulterior motives…this is like some bene gesserit scheming going on. At least Rhys knows not to stick his dick in crazy. Much respect, he's channeling that Lucien energy again!
  
• Very cool developments!
  

Ch. 22

• Oooh some Mor backstory, thank you mommy
  
• Damn so faeries are just as petty as humans when it comes to selling off their daughters…BRUTAL
  
• Good guy Cassian always coming to the rescue, this guy chads
  
• Oooh Feyre chose Azriel to carry her, Cassian and Rhysand are like wtf
  
• Oh nice they're in the mortal lands now.
  
• Quick side bar: what's Tammy been doing all this time? Is there any palace left? I'm assuming it's rubble from all of his tantrums of losing Feyre. Or maybe he's going through all the bureaucratic faerie red tape to demand an audience with the night court. I'm surprised Lucien hasn't tried to make contact, but I'm guessing he thinks this is for Feyre’s benefit.
  

Ch. 23

• Oh shit it's Elain and Nesta! This must feel surreal for Feyre
  
• Damn Nesta is cold-blooded. No sympathy for Feyre at all
  
• Why doesn't Feyre just explain that they'll glamour everyone and ward their house so no one knows that the faeries will be in their town?
  
• I'm wondering if Nesta is jealous at all with Feyre. I bet she's waiting for some high fae to sweep her off her feet the way she talks to Feyre about bouncing from court to court
  
• Nice! No time to waste, let's get the meeting started
  

Ch. 24

• Oh interesting Feyre's last name is Archeron? Hmmm….Cursebreaker sounds better
  
• Also, is this meeting turning into a triple date???
  
• Lol Azriel doesn't want to be here at all
  
• Dinner too??? They just need to pair off now
  
• I'm sure there's meaning behind where everyone sits at a feast, but I'm ignorant to all that decorum.
  
• Cassian sitting next to Elain though, the first move has been made!
  
• Interesting, so human food doesn't taste good at all to fae? How is it different?
  
• “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” THE SHADE. Cassian choking on his water in response is hilarious
  
• Hahaha Cassian found his lover, he's sizing Nesta up and she's having none of it.
  
• Lol she's not even acknowledging him, this bro is in love.
  
• OH SHIT Elain mentioning Clare Beddor and both her murderers are in the house! And Rhys is just keeping his head down eating shit food lol. Peak awkwardness.
  
• Bro…Cassian is straight up imprinting on Nesta right now. He wants that mating bond BAD.
  
• Just two rooms? I bet Rhys and Feyre get the room with just one bed.
  
• LOL Rhys just side steps the awkwardness with his multi-dimensional closet, that's super handy
  
• “Nesta is a delight, by the way.” Bahaha I think deep down in his heart of hearts he knows Nesta has a hold on Cassian and he’ll be seeing a lot more of her
  
• Lol they're talking wages now? And they have banks??? Lines of credit? What's the APR on that Velaris Platinum card?
  
• Awww Rhys is butt hurt that he missed Feyre's birthday…I'm sure he'll make up for it somehow. Maybe his mother's ring???
  
• “My money's on Nesta…So’s mine.” LOL put me down for a dime on Nesta as well
  

Ch. 25

• FINALLY some element bending training.
  
• Feyre wants to train in private because Rhys is a distraction? Lol if that doesn't scream I'm into you I don't know what is
  
• “You could try rubbing it on certain body parts and I might come faster.” Hahahaha bro why don't Rhys and Lucien get along? These guys have the same snarkiness
  
• Oh cool, some inter-dimensional pen writing, NBD
  
• “I'm watching Cassian and Nesta get into it again over their tea.” lol can we get a chapter on this interaction? That sounds better than reading about Feyre staring at a candle for an hour and not asking for help
  
• “Life is better when you're around.” I mean, how long is this little Do-Si-Do between them gonna last? Just kith already
  
• OH SHIT it's the Attor!
  

These recent cliff hangers have been great so far! Let's hope Feyre taps into her abilities and freezes the Attor’s nuts off. Thanks for reading!

My baby is nearly 11 weeks old and I’m a single mum so co sleeping is definitely what I want to do I love it so much. I co slept with my first too but I’m finding myself more aware of risks this time around. Basically I cuddle curl around my baby and I have myself one pillow which my arm is under and I’m right on the edge of it. Baby is closest to my breasts as we breastfeed. On his side there’s no pillows or anything. Just his blanket which I keep low so he can’t wiggle down. I have my blanket up to the top of my legs pretty much.
The problem is I’m so cold and my body is aching from the one pillow. With my first I did the same but I had two pillows but as I said I’m more aware of risks now than I was before. I use an owlet which helps me so much though co sleeping. I feel like I can’t wear an oodie to bed to keep myself warm because my shirt is pretty much constantly lifted as my baby seems to most comfortable being on my skin. What’s everyone else doing?

It started with a whisper, a shiver of information that slithered through the corridors of the CIA like a cold, uninvited guest. I was a senior analyst, tasked with sifting through the static and noise of global intelligence. But this—this was different. It was 2009 when the first document crossed my desk, a classified report from the Global Access Program. The title was innocuous: “Unidentified Aerial Phenomena – Preliminary Analysis.” But the content… it was nothing short of extraordinary.
The initial report detailed sightings of craft with capabilities far beyond our own. These weren’t the erratic, drunken movements of weather balloons or the technological marvels of hostile nations. These were intelligent, deliberate maneuvers, the kind that hinted at minds far advanced from ours. It was chilling, but it was only the beginning.
As weeks turned into months, the trickle of information became a flood. Documents stamped with the highest levels of classification described encounters, recoveries, and, most disturbingly, autopsies. The recovered bodies weren’t the little green men of popular culture. They were eerily humanoid, yet undeniably otherworldly. Their skin had a silicon-like quality, translucent and tough, and their eyes—large, dark, and haunting—seemed to pierce through the veil of secrecy we so desperately tried to maintain.
I was part of a small, compartmentalized team, tasked with understanding the implications of these findings. The government’s approach was twofold: reverse-engineer the technology and determine the intentions of these visitors. But as our understanding grew, so did our fear.
One evening, after hours of staring at grainy footage of a UFO darting through the sky over a desolate military base, I received a call. The voice on the other end was panicked, speaking in hushed, frantic tones. It was one of our field operatives, stationed at a classified recovery site. They had just intercepted a transmission. It wasn’t human.
The transmission was a distress signal, but not one of desperation. It was a call to arms. These beings, it seemed, were not just explorers. They were scouts, and their mission was not benign. The transmission hinted at a hive mind, a collective consciousness that controlled these entities. They were here to assess, to probe, and to prepare. For what, we could only speculate.
Days later, another recovery operation took place. A craft was shot down over the Nevada desert, and the bodies retrieved told a horrifying story. They were connected, biologically and technologically, to this hive mind. When one entity was captured, the others knew. When one died, they all felt it. The implications were staggering. We were not just dealing with isolated visitors; we were confronting a unified front.
The more we learned, the more paranoid our superiors became. Orders came down to contain the information at all costs. Whistleblowers were silenced, dissenters disappeared. But the truth was too big to contain. The technology we recovered was decades, if not centuries, ahead of our own. Anti-gravity propulsion, energy sources that defied our understanding of physics, biological materials that healed and adapted.
And then came the darkest revelation. The autopsies revealed something even more unsettling. These beings had genetic material strikingly similar to our own. They weren’t just visitors; they were progenitors. We were their experiment, their creation. The implications shattered every paradigm we held dear. Religion, science, history—all of it was called into question.
As I sit here, penning this confession, I know my time is limited. They will come for me, as they have come for others. But the truth must be known. We are not alone, and we never have been. Our governments have hidden this from us, not out of malice, but out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the truth, fear of the inevitable.
To you who reads this, understand this: the veil has been lifted. The shadows hold secrets that are darker and more profound than we can imagine. And the truth, once revealed, will change everything.
This is my testament. Believe it, or don’t. But know this: the world is not as it seems. The universe is vast, and we are not the apex of creation. We are but a fragment in a grand, terrifying design.
The truth is out there, waiting to be uncovered. And when it is, the world will never be the same.
The progenitors, as we came to call them, had motives far more complex and far-reaching than simple exploration or conquest. The truth unraveled slowly, like an intricate tapestry revealing a grand design. It began with fragments of intercepted communications and culminated in a terrifying, awe-inspiring understanding of our place in the universe.
The progenitors did not come from a distant star merely to observe. They were architects of life, and Earth was their grand experiment. Our planet, teeming with diverse life forms, was a controlled environment, a living laboratory designed for a singular purpose: evolution.
From the ancient texts to modern scientific discoveries, we’ve always sought answers to our origins. The progenitors provided those answers, but they came at a cost. We discovered that they seeded countless worlds, each designed to test different variables of life. Earth was unique due to its biodiversity and its potential for intelligent life.
The genetic similarities between us and the progenitors weren’t just a coincidence. They were deliberate. By seeding their own DNA into the primordial soup of Earth, they ensured a certain path of evolution. Our intelligence, our creativity, our very civilization were results of their intricate design. We were, quite literally, their children, bred and cultivated to reach a specific level of advancement.
But why? The reasons were as complex as they were chilling. The progenitors were not just scientists; they were facing an existential crisis. Their civilization, once spanning galaxies, was in decline. They needed a solution to prevent their extinction, and their answer was found in genetic diversity and adaptability.
Earth and its human inhabitants were part of a grander scheme: to evolve a species capable of assimilating their consciousness, their essence, into a new form. Our rapid technological advancement was not just a natural progression but was subtly influenced to accelerate our development. They needed us to reach a level where we could understand and perhaps even merge with their advanced consciousness.
We learned through decrypted communications and rare encounters that the progenitors were a hive mind, an interconnected collective consciousness. Over millennia, they had lost individuality, becoming a singular entity spread across countless biological hosts. This form of existence had its limits, and they sought to evolve beyond those constraints. They aimed to create a hybrid species—humans with the potential to host their collective consciousness.
This wasn’t just about survival; it was about transcendence. By merging with us, they hoped to achieve a new state of being, combining their ancient wisdom and collective power with our adaptability and creativity. We were to be the vessels for their next evolution.
However, this plan wasn’t without resistance. Among the progenitors, there were factions. Some believed in the purity of their collective consciousness, resisting the idea of merging with what they considered lesser beings. These internal conflicts spilled over into their actions on Earth, leading to sporadic yet significant interventions in our history.
As our understanding grew, so did the dread. The government’s attempts to contain this knowledge were born out of sheer terror. How could they explain to the world that we were bred for a purpose beyond our control? That our creators intended to use us to save themselves?
The intercepted transmissions became increasingly desperate. The progenitors’ time was running out, and their interest in Earth intensified. Reports of sightings and encounters surged. The military engaged in numerous clandestine operations to intercept and study these beings, leading to an underground war of sorts.
And then came the ultimate revelation: the progenitors were already among us. Their advanced technology allowed them to blend in, to influence, and to manipulate. The rise and fall of civilizations, the sudden leaps in technology, the inexplicable events in history—they were all part of the progenitors’ intricate plan to guide us towards the inevitable merging.
The truth, when finally pieced together, was more than earth-shattering. It was paradigm-shattering. We were not alone, nor were we masters of our fate. We were pawns in a cosmic game, engineered for a destiny we had yet to fully comprehend. The progenitors, our creators, were not gods but beings driven by survival and evolution, using us as their means to an end.
As I document this, I know the implications are beyond comprehension. The world must know, not to incite fear, but to understand. We stand at the brink of an unprecedented revelation, one that will redefine our existence and our place in the universe.
This is the truth, unfiltered and unvarnished. We are the progeny of ancient architects, part of a grand design stretching across the stars. Our future is intertwined with theirs, and the choices we make now will determine the fate of both our species.

25F, had the flu ~ 3-4 weeks ago and was on antibiotics + Sudafed pseudoephedrine
Hello! Would appreciate any guidance here. So a few weeks ago I was struck down by a horrible flu which resulted in antibiotics for a week. On Wednesday I started to become congested horribly and had body aches. The body aches have passed now (lasted 1 day) and my congestion has cleared up by using decongestants (pseudoephedrine) where I can now breathe through my nose, though I’m finding my ears to be muffled and there’s slight pain in my left ear. I don’t have any swelling, and not a lot of pressure in my face/nose headache, No green mucus or anything like that. I’m wondering if this will pass on its own? Or if I require antibiotics again 🤥😥 I just hate the feeling of my ears not being clear especially after battling a flu for 2-3 weeks already!!!
Thank you

Now that I discovered this community I am pretty confident what is happening to me is all tied back to this lovely little jaw muscle. I see my GP Monday 8am . Hoping for any advice - better details - corrections on my wrong assumptions or statements and ultimately a little reassurance and validation from yall , That what is happening to me right now is all connected and I am not crazy.
10 months ago I had my last 2 upper molars pulled the "ol fashioned" way with the wiggling and the tugging and the ripping and the "Okay now you're going to feel a bit of pressure" followed by the feeling that your jaw is in fact being ripped out of your mouth.
Things started mild 6 months ago intensified around the 3 month mark and now these last 3 weeks I can barely function. I feel the definition of "Malaise" hits perfect. I'm afraid to leave my house the head pain / brain fog has me feeling like I could blackout any second, And the whoosh / vertigo / world spins has me terrified of driving.
So here is what I'm feeling in order of how they hit , everything is on the left side if that matters
Shoulder Blade - Everything is felt along the bottom of the blade.
Jolt of fire and burning on the skin -- A tearing and ripping under the skin on the muscle - Starts to vibrate a tingling fire sensation outward in a semi circle
When I put my tens unit on there the flexing caused pain on the top of shoulder and collarbone.
Always strongest when I lift or carry, random bursts when I'm sitting doing nothing and now even the weight of my phone sends it to 11
Muscles Weakness and Tremors
When the blade pain is bad, I can barely grip anything with my hand, Hands tremble and different arm muscles randomly will twitch and flex.
My jaw is now (2 weeks) shivering / chittering (IDK wtf it is) as if im cold. Digging my fingers into the facial knots will stop it. Always hits when I first get out of bed, then a few times during the day no pattern in the trigger
Eyes/Ears
Couldn't keep my contacts in more than half day , left only felt cloudy hazy blurry - They are brand new lenses and Ive been use the good "eye juice" with no changes. Tried yesterday had to take em out within an hour.
Sharp twinge zap inside the ear - cold trickling sensation down the canal - ends with a punch of pain behind ear on the thick neck tendon
The Whoosh (Is this brain fog? Something else?) Zap / Jolt of electricity on top of my brain but under my skull - The whoosh when i see everything spin a 360 for a second - And ends with me "off kilter' for minutes to hours, As if there is a delay between what my eye sees to when my brain processes. During the spell ill feel "wonky" "Out of body" "tunnelly vision"
The Exploding Head
Its a constant feeling / sensation that my head is filling with sludge.
Forehead & eye have waves of intense dull aches, This part is killing so bad right now, even with NSAIDS it never stops having pressure just relieves it slightly. When it kicks hard and throbs my eyes go really fuzzy and that im going to blackout feeling hits. I have not actually passed or blacked out thank god - my cats would eat me alive in a day -
Jaw/ cheek & gums are twitchy with tightness/fullness and pointy pain shockwaves. The M in the TMJ is a ball of rubberbands and it is so very tender. My face does not appear to have anything swelling outwards from here but poking around in there i find tons of lumps I can break up.. Opening and closing i have full range I think and right now no popping or pains when i do. The area by my ear where the bones connect is so tender, but I dont feel lumps much here. I feel such relief when I hit here with my point tool.
Side of my Neck has small mushy lumps just under the skin and some big daddies deeper in and these ones get stabbyy pains that pulse with my heart.
Back of my neck the bottom half is gravel I can break up pretty easy but I think 3 more come back in their place.
Base of skull I have golf balls burried deep,. They dont throb but when I rub them it is painful but in the best way because I feel such release everywhere else but then they hurt for days. When I rub them to hard and deep oh man sore for days.
All this ends at my upper back and this area is awful. It burns on the surface level 24/7. Icy hot tricks my brain for about and hour. I did some scraping massage here and it sounded like rice krispies and I think hese are adhesions vs knots. .Deeper is full of thick knots, I have the trigger point hook to dig in there and sometimes magic happens and the ache everywhere else gets better for a bit.
The floating bone
It was mild discomfort, odd feelings of tightness inside my actual throat, tingles and a dry feel. It started wiggling around on its own pretty often and when I felt that first water balloon pop inside yikes I was scared AF. Now it just moves whenever it wants. I barely touch it and it "shoots" to the other side. Massaging in here hurts so GOOD! Looking all the way up and feeling from chin towards throat I have many bumps all different sizes. And lastly when I move my head certain ways it feels as if there is a leak happening and almost mucus-y like I could cough but usually dont need to
If you are still with me many apologies this got longer than I thought it would. Today has been my worst day so far, all the pains I mentioned are now hitting at once. Today I was sitting here sobbing in pain it because I was at 13 / 10 and wouldn't ease no matter what I pressed on . 3 Naproxen with 3 ibuprofen gives me about 3 hours of refief right now. I know posture is a part of my pain levels and ive aready ordered some tools so I can correct.

In kindergarten (sorry I'm from singapore so we follow British but if im not wrong its like 5-6 years old) I already accepted Christ into my life. But my mom is a "I hate Christians!!" kind of person so I didnt dare to tell her anything. I didn't really have a good relationship with my mom cos to her studies are everything and she made me (until now) think that I'm never good enough. And I was only in primary school thinking my mom doesn't like me. I'm worthless, I want to kms. I made plans to grab the knife from the kitchen, jump off and things like that. Eventually I resulted to scratching my own skin cos I feel most pain when it's right at the nerve uk.
My whole life was until the end of primary school (12) was only to do things to make my mom happy. I wouldn't mention a word about Christianity to her. And when my mom was out at night, me, my dad and my sisters would worship. The moment the door opens, I scramble into the room. This also make me walk far from God and I would curse, swear and stuff. One day in P6, the last year of primary school (12 years old) I thought "Hey, I'm Christian so why am I swearing? Isn't this a sin?" So I stopped cursing. Of course, my mom wouldn't want me going around cursing but I didn't really do it for her, but rather for God. But I still didn't want to tell her about it.
When I graduated from Primary school, in Secondary (Sec) school, I finally got to bring my phone to school (13 years old), but my mom still could track me. Anyways I got to listen to some worship songs my dad sent to me and because I didn't have a music player downloaded and wasn't allowed to download any apps, I would listen through the WhatsApp audio player thing😭😭 on the way home. Usually on Sundays whene my mom isn't home,my dad would bring me to church. Then of course my mom would find out and scold me and this continued until sec 2 (14).
In Sec 3 (15 years old), I had whole control of my phone so I would listen to worship music on the way home. One day in, my dad brought me to church. My mom saw my location and immediately got mad because she knew where my dad's church is and also because my older sister attends service too and my mom was not happy. Since then, I was afraid to go to church. My mom even cornered me one day and made me promise not to go to church or I can forget calling her my mom. I kept crying that night and never dared to go to church (mind that i dont even cry often).
But towards mid year(?) I just decided ok Imma go to church. She can get angry but it won't really stop me. Because I got to know God through worship songs and now I wanted to know him more.
I regularly started praying in the morning on the way to school. Eventually my prayers became a ritual and dry. I felt no emotion and no pull towards God. Only on days when I was really upset/angry then I would feel Him comforting me. One day I really wanted to be the captain in my CCA (it's like after school activities but still part of school programs) and I didn't get it. I was so upset I cried on the way home because I actually put in so much effort into it. Then I became vice captain so ig that counts.
Anyways I became really upset and got frustrated because I didn't prove myself enough. I had so low expectations of myself, got depressed again, but I couldn't vent it out because I couldn't hurt myself anymore after learning my body is a temple of God. So I got super frustrated. I prayed for guidance decided to free up my Saturdays I went to church. Youth services for Secondary school students were on Saturdays and not Sundays so yeah. Towards like October last year I cleared up my Saturdays so I could go more regularly to church, and my mom was defo not happy AT ALL that I went with my own initiative. She ignored me for several weeks and of course I felt lonely and all buy eventually I felt okay because she doesn't even know me sooooo.
I'm still trying to patch up my relationship with her. Honestly, it's so strained I don't know what to do. I've prayed that she would accept Christ everyday but uhh nothing. This doesn't mean I don't believe in God if not this would not exist
One day I was fellowshipping with my dad. Why we did that is because of a long story that would be saved for another day.
But this is the part where it's important
Previously I had dreams and I shared with my dad because he is more experience in deciphering gifts and stuff (I'm sorry if you don't believe in gifts but I do!) And he told me to pray about it because I somehow knew these dreams had meaning and relation to God. A number of dreams had direct inference to God. I did pray about it, and also asked God along these lines; "God, give me guidance. I have strayed and I know. Lord please let me understand, and let me also be close to You. I want to know You, and I know, I haven't read the word. Lord, motivate me to read the scripture, and while reading let me also understand the dreams I have been having my whole life."
I can't remember what I said exactly. The one 9f the church sermons on one week talked about how God is not far, but we are far. And I felt that that was for me. Then one day my dad said to me and my older sister "I don't care you have to download the Bible rn" so I downloaded it but did nothing with it. Finally, one day I was late for work (yes I worked when I was 15 because I actually want an electric guitar) and it was New Year's Eve. My colleague texted me saying she'd pick me up and I said and quote "Isokkk I walk over" (me) ... "Give me your block" (colleague) "Omd tyyy" (me)
Part of me didn't want her to fetch me because it would be troubling her. But I don't know why I waited and was thinking "bruh I could've reached by now but she's late" but I just waited. I was wearing full white that day. And this woman must've thought I was going to church because it was a Sunday morning.
And she asked "Hello, are you going to church?"
I said "oh no no, I have church at night because it's countdown service. (basically the youth services brought our church service from Saturday 4pm to Sunday 8pm because we wanted to countdown service together)"
She said," Oh! So you're Christian! Do you read the Word often?"
I blushed because so many signs and I haven't read a single word. "No," I was so embarrassed
She continued "I used to be a teacher, a lecturer in a University (if im not wrong) There is a website called 7 minutes with God. It was originally created for Harvard students because they were busy and didn't have time to spend time with God." Then I couldn't hear what she said because she was talking so fast. All I knew was she was summarizing the website and encouraged me to read it.
I read it like on January 2nd this year on the way to school ( I'm 16 this year!!! But not 16 yet because as I said, it's not my birthday yet or anytime soon)
I was so inspired that I kept on reading the Word and devoted mornings to not only prayers (that I allowed God to guide me and not just pray for the sake of praying) but also for reading the Word!
See, when I prayed to have motivation to read the Word more, God gave me the sign THREE TIMES which I did not pick up until the 3rd sign, the lady. The first time during the sermon I was like "Yes God, I will do it!" but did nothing. The second time when my dad asked me to download the app version of the Bible, I said "Yes God, this is the sign!" and did not do anything. I got discouraged because my dad thinks I'm funny and wouldn't take my words seriously omd 😭. But the third time, God literally sent a random woman I don't know and told me to read. And I read, praise God!
this is the part where it relates to the meme
Because when I went to the shower I kept laughing because I thought of this meme. I didn't read the word or get touched because it was a coincidence. So coincidence? I think not! It's a miracle ❤️❤️❤️
I finished Mark and the New Testament, I'm currently at John right now.
Just now, after a meeting with my cell group (a small group for easier prayers etc in church), I was listening to worship music, and my grumpy dad was like "GO AND SHOWER" liek chill brou. So I went to the toilet with my headphones on and sat on the floor and just continued listening to worship music. Then my dad sent in the family group chat (just me, my older sister and him, my mom got mad and left) an article about this man called Patrick Lee/Bezalel. He is a local artist faithful in Christ
But reading halfway I kept crying because I was so touched (again I do no lt cry, but I related so much I cried even though nothing had to do with me, but it was like my mother's story where she had a hard of stone towards God) and then my phone went flat 😐 So I risked it and ran out to get my charger but thank God (like actually) my dad didn't scream like he would. Then I sat at the toilet floor and continued reading. Tears kept flowing down my face because Patrick Bezalel's story was such a miracle, and God kept giving him signs that God existed! And removed the layer of stone that surrounded the man's heart and made it soft and open to God again!
After that I continued worshipping God and was listening to worship music (yes in the toilet because I literally have 0 privacy because none of my parents think I need it). I kept crying because the songs were so related. Can you imagine? It went in this order:
1.Presence,Power,Glory 2.Hosanna 3.Promises 4.Holy Forever
Again, coincidence? I THINK NOT. It was so planned, like it was in my playlist for so long and I haven't really thought much about it. Tears kept streaming down and kept going and through sobs I silently prayed to God
"Oh my dear God you have been so so good to me, and so faithful to me Lord. You have guided me, guided my heart and nothing has gone wrong in Your hands Lord. I've been through the turning point I've prayed for. You have sent people, songs and my family members to come after me to open up to You Lord. Lord, I was having a CG (cell group) meeting and something just touched my heart. I am now sitting on the toilet floor and typing this, because Lord you have made a way to touch my heart, guide me through a prayer that came deep down from inside of me Lord, thank You for providing. Thank You God for the miracles You have did in my life, and all that I prayed for has came through Lord. The turning point I prayed for was when that lady had spoken to me about how to set aside time for You and the Word. Lord let me not forget this incident, this turning point, this miracle Lord. Let me put my trust in You Lord, and let You take my hand and let my life be walking next to You faithfully Lord. Lord I pray that I would not waver, and I would not take my eyes away from You. Even when I am crossing and walking toward You on water in the sea, let my eyes be on You, and the works You have done for me, and not be distracted by the worls around me, but to keep my eyes on You diligently Lord. Lord, I am a sinner, and now, I was, for You have sent Jesus Christ, Your Son, to die on the cross for me. Lord, I believe in You and I want to accept You in my life Lord, no matter what situation I am in. Lord, let people around me see Your love, joy, and faithfulness in me, and not let them see the girl I was before. Let them see change, and the love and desire I have for You, Lord. Let them see Your greatness, Your goodness and You. I thank You for everything You have done, and in Jesus's name, I pray that I will walk faithfully alongside You, and will not fail to continuously pray and worship You God. Thank You Lord for the miracles, for this turning point. Thank You God for guiding me, and let me be the branch that bears fruit, and let me be the branch that has life only through Jesus, Who is the vine, Who the reason I live Lord, Who is the reason I have life. Praise the Lord! Amen!"
This is the first time I prayed for so long and every one word was truly from deep down fron the depths of my heart. I couldn't stop crying. I really couldn't and I can't emphasize more that I don't cry often! Either it hurt me so much or that God moved my heart. This time was tears of joy.
I hope this could inspire someone out there, because in another prayer I prayed for those who needed God, even if I didn't know them.
Pray. Pray and ask God to help you seek Him. One thing I learnt from a sermon is the fervency in your prayers. I didn't mean to add this in but I suddenly saw this note I wrote on 25th February.
Title: fervency in prayer Fervency: being excited about something keen on something
At the heart of revival is the spirit of prayer • pray fervently • pray with faith
"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed"
To be fervent in prayer is to pray tenaciously despite our struggles
Hopefully this helped someone out there, inspired you and is one of your signs to start giving your life to Him! It is actually proven 1 in 3 people are Christians. Isn't our goal to have this faith to reach all four corners of the world? It could sound impossible in the past, but now there is social media, anyone could read and realize "Hey God is actually with me!"

Note: I do not encourage any self harm or dangerous ideas, don't ban me thanks.
If you want the truth about the toxic alcohols, here I am.
Methanol is roughly twice as toxic as Ethanol but also causes mild and temporary to severe and long term vision damage at the same time.
Despite what everybody says, I'm going to be genuine about this topic.
Pure Methanol, ingestion at 3 ml or less will be harmless long term in adults, as long as the exposure is not constantly repeated.
A one time oral dose of 60 ml of 20% Methanol in adults will be harmless long term, but short term will cause bodily aches, mild visual disturbances and a tight feeling.
But not to be fooled, if an adult human were to treat Methanol like Ethanol and get intoxicated off it, they would go blind and would die...
Do not drink Methanol at home!
Similarly, Ethylene Glycol ingestion in adults can be fatal, but if an adult human were to ingest 20 ml of pure Ethylene Glycol or less, in most adults this is not a medical emergency if this exposure was a once off..
If someone were to drink enough EG to become intoxicated, they would eventually have seizures and die of either heart or kidney failure.
In terms of Ethylene Glycol...
Ethylene Glycol itself is a harmless CNS depressant but in humans, Ethylene Glycol is metabolized to Glycolaldehyde which is also a CNS depressant and is even less toxic than Acetaldehyde aka Ethanal, but... Glycolaldehyde is rapidly metabolised mostly into Glycolic acid which is processed very slowly in humans hence would build up to toxic levels, which would lead to seizures and possibly cardiac arrest.
If the victim survives this stage, the Glycolic acid will be slowly converted into Glyoxalic acid which is in-between mild to moderately toxic, then the Glyoxalic acid in large quantities will metabolise into Oxalic acid which binds to Calcium to form Calcium Oxalate crystals in your brain, liver and mostly kidneys, resulting in lethal kidney and other organ damage and would lead to brain death.
Despite what Google has to say.. in adult humans, Ethylene Glycol is harmless in very small amounts as our body can deal with its metabolites in tiny amounts, but in large amounts this chemical becomes extremely dangerous.
The only types of intoxicating alcohols that are safe for humans to ingest in larger amounts are: Ethanol if it's non-denatured and is diluted, or Butane 1,3 Diol which is also a Glycol.
I'm not going to mention anything more about 1,4 butanediol... don't drink that shit but there is only two safe forms of drinking Alcohol that I have listed above.
If a child has ingested wiperfluid, antifreeze, racing fuel, or any potentially dangerous chemicals, Immediately call emergency services or take them to the hospital right away.
Other toxic alcohols are DiEthylene Glycol, isopropanol, propanol and some others.

1330 Terran Front Fleet Time
On the Turinika homeworld, the first signs of unrest began to manifest like a wave, The broadcast of the most esteemed Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata, Taratanti of the roost Kazatalak, openly performing the act of Kavsa had been met with shock. The last Taratanti who had voluntarily performed Kavsa had done so in protest of the treatment of the Kulorn caste, nearly two thousand years prior. It was an ancient rite, one that signified rejection of the greatest shame. Even more shocking than the act itself was the evidence that had followed it. Visuals of species, brought into the Conclave, not as migrant workers as had been believed, but as slaves, was met with an almost immediate attempt at censorship. This attempt failed spectacularly, mostly due to those who had been tasked to censor the information not only refusing to follow the command, but openly declaring that they had been ordered to do so. A situation that was already, as the humans would say, out of hand, spiraled completely out of control. Within only twenty minutes of the ending of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s broadcast entire cities entered a state of absolute anarchy. Two planetary capitals were stormed and taken by the furious civilian population, demanding the location of those who had been enslaved. The Turinika Armada, which even then was in the middle of a training session meant to prepare the fleet to withstand the Terran Front’s assault, began to cease operations. Within the hour, the entire armada would be recalled to the turnika homeworld. Those who did not take to the streets simply stopped whatever work they were doing and went to their homes to be around their brood. Images of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata with his stripped wings spread wide in front of the human fleet commander were on every news fed of the Conclave, as was the sound of his thunderous voice, and the wails of despair from a turinika female that couldn’t be seen. Close ups of the human fleet commander’s face were shown, with analysts remarking on the shock, horror, and sympathy. Since the outbreak of the Seventh Orion War, the female human known as Simmons had been reported to have made several threats towards the turinika, she had quickly become seen as a warmonger, ready to take revenge against the turinika for refusing to go to war and violate their principles of pacifism. Now the images of her lunging forward to stop the violation of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s plumage, the agonized expression of her face, and the true reason for her threats against the turinika were rapidly reversing her image. On far flung deep core mining stations and agricultural stations, on deep space stations dedicated to material processing, and in other areas hidden from the sight of the normal turinikan population, overseers and taskmasters felt their hearts run cold at the knowledge that very soon, their part to play in the willful enslavement of another species would be known to the wider Conclave. As the data package transmitted alongside the broadcast were fully decompressed and the scale of the Conclave’s government’s involvement was revealed, the entirety of the Conclave itself was teetering on the verge of absolute pandemonium. The image of a member of the kolra species, from the look of it barely a hatchling, quickly was becoming the face of the entire incident. The picture was absolutely damning, and the sight of the image had sent any who saw it instantly into contorting and painful displays of shame. The young kolra was sprawled on it’s stomach, looking to the one taking it’s picture with eyes that had no life in them. It’s shell covered it’s back, and despite the age of the kolra it was already dulled and scuffed. The foot pressing down on the shell was unmistakably familiar to those who saw it, the clawed feet of a turinika. Within the hour, billions of winged figures stood in streets, the normally soft spoken and passive species demanding action, demanding justice, on the hundred worlds of the Turinika Conclave. The bulk of the Taratanti caste, most of whom had been left in the dark of the truth of the situation, quickly went public with their own declaration of outrage, and the eyes of the entire species turned inwards to the mountainous homeworld of their species.
Hakuri Watanabe looked down at his helmet before putting it on his bed, the stylized SEVEN seeming to stare at him. He sat down in his chair and picked up a small cloth from his buffing kit. No one knocked on his door, in fact, mostly he and the rest of his squad were left alone before a major operation. They were just given their time, time to mentally prepare. Some of his squad would go over their mission briefing, some, like him, would spend their time doing something to relax themselves. Hakuri always found that taking care of his suit calmed him considerably. Granted he could simply turn it over to the squads armorers to be tended to and they would do as good of a job as he could, but he preferred it to be done by his own hand. The symbol of a triangle was on his form fitting shirt, the symbol of his special operations command unit. He was known as a Myrmidon, but the official title of his unit was Section Three. He knew this, his superiors knew this, and as far as Hakuri knew, most of the Terran Front was aware of his unit’s existence, but past that, they knew very little about what he actually did. As far as his mother knew, Hakuri was a pencil pusher onboard the TFS Berlin, the troop mothership that all of his letters were sent from. He thought about writing her, but then again, he only liked to do that when he returned from a mission, not when he was expecting to go to one. If he tried to write her when he was waiting, he would just get anxious, and homesick. That wouldn’t do when he was dropping into a combat zone. That wouldn’t do at all. Hakuri instead started to buff his helmet, waiting for the word to come down which meant they were prepared to jump. A glance at the clock made him pause in his circular rotations. The clock said 1330. Operation Naked Sun was about to begin.
Tika was on his side, Kzia standing at the end of the medical bed that had been adjusted for his turinikan physiology. He felt cold in more ways than one. For his people, clothing was more of a decoration than a necessity, but without his protective plumage he felt the cold stabbing him through to his hollow bones. His diplomatic access was already gone, his privilege access revoked. He heard the broadcast for a preparation to jump, but he wasn’t truly listening. There was no question in his mind he had made the right decision. There was no question at all. One of the humans, a nurse, came to his side and gently laid a heavy blanket over him. The human’s hand lingered on his trembling body for a few moments before it was removed, and Tika glanced in their direction. The female was one of the ones who had responded first to the call for medical service for him, had heard what had happened and why. Tika had gotten very used to being glared at on this ship. He was hated, and he knew it. He knew he had deserved it. He was a party to the vral’s enslavement of the humans, the chua, and far too many others. When he had come to Thermopylae station, he had not even given that fact a single thought. He was born into power, being of the Taratanti. He belonged to the most powerful species and government in the entire quadrant of the galaxy. His people, while mighty, did not seek to use it. To him, they had simply been above it all. When the vral had approached him with the offer to sell captured species at first TIka had wanted to reject it out of hand, but a few had told him to go through with the sale. Such was the nature of this galaxy, or so he had believed. The weak were at the whims of the strong, and one’s place in the galaxy was determined only by the power they could wield. The turinika were not nearly the first to have taken a species and used it for slave labor, and while Tika did not approve of the deal, he had not fought it either. As he looked back to the wall, he remembered what the humans had taught him these last days. When he had arrived in Thermopylae he had assumed he would find the chua species to have been at the very least regulated to a subservient role, if not outright enslaved. Finding them sharing power was a curiosity. He had expected to be treated with all the honor and dignity that his station demanded, that the power of his government demanded. Fleet Marshal Simmons had disabused him of that, and had left him humiliated and shamed. As he had laid in the dark as Simmons had declared the Seventh Orion War, covered in his own filth, feeling as if at any moment he was going to be killed he knew true fear and horrific uncertainty for the first time in his life. He had never faced these emotions, these sensations before. He had always been in power. He had stood with the full might of the Turinika Conclave behind him. He had never known anything other than the superior position. Now, as he lay in the hospital bed, staring at the wall, he was ashamed of how arrogant, how blind, and how short sighted he had been. After he had risen from his own filth, he had desperately tried to convince his leadership of the strength of the Terran Front, how it matched or eclipsed their own. The Conclave was not the unchallenged power in the quadrant anymore. The terrans, the human and chua, had somehow defied fate. They had not fallen to the vral after ninety years of near constant conflict, and now if Tika was right they had come out of it nightmarishly stronger than before. Tika had actually begged to be heard by his superiors, and he had never come close to that once in his life. The chua homeworld however, had fully broken him. If he had not been on the Antares, had not been humbled beforehand, he knew that he would have just clapped his hands together and said that it was delightful. As the transmission from the chua homeworld had come in, and the rescue effort had begun, he could only wallow in his own shame. He had profited directly from the chua’s suffering, the human’s suffering. Again he had tried, and failed, to convince his people, and again he had failed. Being on the Antares, for him, was torture. The lights were too dim, every human and chua looked at him with nothing more than loathing and contempt, his entire worldview had been shattered from the way he viewed the galaxy to his own place in it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shadow of Simmons standing over him, her voice cold with a lethal rage, hearing her voice echo in his mind, seeing the glint from flashes of light shining in her eyes. ‘We Know.’ echoed in his mind in his sleep, the voice of the terrifying Fleet Marshal transforming into the sound of a vengeful god demanding compliance and promising retribution. Then he had watched the humans and chua, who he knew were preparing to go to war with his people, celebrating the return of the shesvie. Once more he had expected them to be integrated into the Terran Front, but as soon as he learned Simmons offer to them, and what it had entailed, he had been called to his room to answer the latest message from his people. Once again, his people had doubled down, the knowledge of the enslavement of the humans had been suppressed, and once more Tika found himself, and his people, standing against a Terran Front that had every justification to declare war, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. All the while, he knew something else. He knew that, after everything he had seen, that his people would lose. The turinika had not been to war for nearly two thousand years. His people were not ready for what the Terran Front could do, and after seeing what they had done to the vral so far, he knew his people were not ready for what the Terran Front would do. He was afraid of the dark. Tika was absolutely terrified of it now, because now he knew the monsters were real. Simmons had shown him that, but the humans, the chua, they were not the monsters. He was. He had refused to be one any more. He had announced his intentions to his staff, who had squalled in rejection, all but three. Kzia was the first to step to his side, Kikumot and Tziki had stepped forward as well. Never, in his most nightmarish dreams, did he ever think that he would stand in front of Simmons and voluntarily have his plumage stripped from him, performing the act of Kasva. He never thought that his staff would have ever compiled and transmitted the data package they had sent. He had never thought that he would betray his people, if only to save them. Simmons had changed that, the humans had changed that. He knew the terror of the dark, he knew fear for his people’s safety, he understood the horror of war, and for the first time in his long life he could truly look back at every interaction he had had, with every species, that had asked for help in their struggle for survival against the vral and truly understand their fear and desperation. Now he lay, his plumage stripped from him, his station revoked, his status removed, surrounded by a people who despised him. He wouldn’t have it any other way now. He knew that they would listen now, if not to him, then to the civilian masses of the Conclave that would not stand for what they had done. He prayed to the Great Mother often now, shivering in the dim light, hoping that it would be enough. He had been wrong, and in his error he had sullied his own people. He had made them complicit. Even now, he did not know how they would ever be forgiven, because right now he wasn’t quite sure he could ever forgive himself. As he heard the broadcast calling out on the ship, announcing one minute to jump, he felt a hand on his side, and looked up to the human nurse. She was smiling at him. Not a smile born of malice, or anger, but a genuine smile. She patted his side lightly, then turned to walk out of the room. For not even the twentieth time since he had come onboard Thermopylae, he was mystified by these people.
The bridge of the Dhampir was thrumming with music and the vibrations of the reactor and Conrad leaned forward in his chair mount, his eyes almost feral as he looked at the empty space that was the mandeville point. He was positively chomping at the bit. Batz was positively roaring the lyrics to the song that was blaring over the ships speakers. Rev and Dev sat side by side in their mounts, throwing their hands up in time with the pounding bass beat of the sound. Towns was the only one besides Conrad that was quiet, both of them looking towards the mandeville point with complete impatience. Conrad felt like jumping from his skin. Fidget, well, fidgetted, holding his hands over his headset and listening as if he were trying to hear secret messages in the music. They were ready, their pulses were racing. The crew of the Dhampir was positively vibrating. Conrad looked to the shipboard clock, seeing 1330 displayed, and his head snapped to Fidget, waiting for the word. They were going to run, they were going to chase, they were going to hunt.
Vicky sat back, looking towards Jess and Kukat as they slept. Jess was in her chair, Kukat in her medical bed. Vicky glanced back at the block print on the paper and read it for the fifth time. She read the individual lines, one at a time, cursing their existence. After reading through the message printed she let her hand hang again. Kukat would be released from medical tomorrow, and both her and Jess still thought they would be boarding the Thumper to join the Vellacore once more. Jess had talked non-stop about her quarters on the Vellacore the past few days, how she just wanted to be back in her room. Kukat was equally excited. Only Vicky didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know yet. They didn’t know about their battlefield promotions, they didn’t know about their reassignments, they didn’t know the days of them working together were functionally over. Vicky looked down at her hand holding the paper again, and felt like crumpling it. She had lost her crew. She had lost them not due to negligence, or time, she had lost them to fame. Kukat was to be promoted to ensign, and was to be the sensor officer on the destroyer Hadrian, Jess was getting the same promotion, her station on the cruiser Victorious. Vicky? She was the sparkling new commanding officer of a destroyer that was arriving at Thermopylae in two days, the Quarrel. She never wanted this. She had turned down promotion after promotion that would take her from the cockpit of the Thumper, away from Kukat, away from Jess. She wanted to serve in this war in her own way, as a pilot, with the two who had made her life so enjoyable. Now though, they were to be split up, and there was nothing she could do about it. These promotions hadn’t come from simple seniority, they had come from High Command, as had the orders. Tomorrow, when Kukat was released, they would be ushered into the hanger bay of the Barrowmore. They would all three be awarded the Star of Terra, then they would be reassigned. Tonight was the last night they would all be together. Vicky wanted to wake them up, she wanted to tell them, to give them a chance to process it. As she looked to Kukat and Jess she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She held up the letter again, reading the first few lines, then she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, her heart panging with sadness, and stared at the wall. The clock read 1330.
Corporal Brandy was sitting on the small rack, with Janet Shippen sitting between his legs using his thighs as armrests. They were both dressed for the first time in the last few hours, both of them staring at the clock. This close to the reactors they could feel them beginning to spool up for the trip through hyperspace. When the news of the operation had come down they had elected to spend as much time together as possible, which Brandy had enjoyed to no end, and he had made sure Janet had as well. Brandy had even taken some time to reach out to his sister Victoria, a rarity for them both, as since they were children they were often barely able to speak to each other simply due to schedules. He had even told her about Janet, and although he hadn’t gotten a response from his sister yet he already knew what she would say. Janet nestled back against him, but he could feel her body was stiff. Neither of them knew what the next few months were going to hold. Their time together might be constricted, in fact, this might be the last few moments they were together for quite awhile. Brandy’s Ghouls were specialists, ship boarders. Chances are he was going to be extremely busy, as was she. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Janet, but he did know that beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be away from her. Judging from how she was acting, she felt the same as him, conflicted about her relationship with him, but not wanting to be apart. He knew what he needed to tell her, that he had to get up, that he had to leave. The Ghouls were going to be assembled at 1345, ready to board. Her unit was going to be prepared at the same time, to begin taking on salvage. Her hands were like clamps on his legs, and from how tense she was, he wasn’t going to get up until she was good and ready. The clock on the wall switched to 1330. He stared at the clock, feeling like the clock was mocking him, when suddenly Janet leaned up and turned. Her hands took hold of his shoulders and she threw her body against his, her lips finding his own. Her arms wrapped around her frame and he tightened his grasp on her.
Simmons spread her hands over the panel in front of her, looking at the table. Seven points connected the recently reclaimed chua space to what was former Shesvie territory, and beyond that, the heart of the Vral Empire. Her lip curled in a wicked smile, On the digital display of the table the hyperspace lanes, and more importantly, the avenues of attack her fleet was preparing to take. She held out her hand, all five fingers splayed over the lanes, envisioning the war as it stood now. The war to come. Seven hyperspace lanes, seven systems, branching out into sixteen, branching out again to another twenty. The Antares herself was going to link up with the Barraki, and was set to simply plough through the next five systems to do so. Slowly she tightened her hand into a fist as she looked along the hyperspace lanes, seeing task forces lined up and ready to jump. Drones had already been sent through. The vral had forces along the border, but nothing that could withstand what was to come. Her fleet was ready. She was ready. The Seventh Orion War was at the end of it’s first month, and had taken back six systems. The first moves of Operation Naked Sun would double that and exceed it, then double it again. She had already given her speech, her task force commanders were ready. High Command had taken it’s time making this decision, and while she had railed against the delay that didn’t matter now. All along the front, individual task forces were joined into larger fleets, ready to jump into the next system and eliminate any vral defenses, but unlike now, they simply would not wait. Naked Sun was to be a lightning strike to cut off as much of the Vral Empire as possible, to deny them their own space, to imprison them on their own worlds. Task Forces were designed around three types of vessels combinations, Lighthammer Task Forces were comprised of corvettes and fast destroyers, the fastest vessels in the fleet, meant to take systems quickly, to devastate unprotected infrastructure, and to eliminate light resistance. Simply put, they were going to swarm into vral space, determine pockets of resistance, and move on. They were going to rip entire sections of vral space from them, calling in other task groups if needed. Thunder task groups were the primary capital fleets, meant to be sent into those pockets of resistance, and neutralizing them, joining with the Lighthammer groups if needed. The cruisers, carriers, battleships, they all belonged to these task forces. Her own task force was called the Nova task force, and it comprised only the Antares and it’s sizable fleet escort. Simmons glanced up at the clock, the time was 1329. She breathed in slowly, then unbidden the thought came to her head and she looked to the report from the two habitable planets that had been scanned by the drone cutters, the information having been relayed to her almost twenty minutes prior. She was not worried about the ground campaign, in fact a reserve fleet from Thermopylae would be the ones to escort the landing ships from planet to planet that her fleet left behind in it’s wake, isolated and defenseless from the wider Vral Empire. Fleet escorting was no longer her job, protecting ground invasions were no longer her job. Simmons was positively growling now, as her only job was to take her fleet and use it to rip the vral out of the stars. Still, the thought nagged at her. On both of the planets that her fleet was set to overrun, there were Vral ships in orbit. On the first, there was evidence that the Vral had been bombarding a small area of the surface, extremely similar in size to the hole that now existed on Zvitia, the planet that even now was being integrated into the Terran Front. In the second system it showed Vral ships in orbit, but whatever they were doing during the time they had taken the scans, whatever they were covering up, they didn’t seem to have gotten to it yet. On the radiological scan of the planet a massive bloom of electromagnetic energy painted a broad region of the planet blistering white. She had sent the images back to Earth, back to High Command, but no one seemed to know what was happening. The one thing that every analyst agreed on so far that was that whatever the blooms represented, it meant nothing good. She took another long look at the radiological scan, seeing the intensity of the radiation, and her lip curled in a snarl. She couldn’t think about that right now, but orders had already been given to notify her the moment that they had taken a planet that still bore the radiation signal. The vral were being damned fastidious about it though. She pulled her thoughts away from it, looking back to the hyperspace lanes. The slow grin entered her features again. She glanced at the clock. 1330. Her hand took hold of the receiver next to her station and she pressed the transmission stud, knowing that Hazard had already opened a channel to the wider fleet.
“Commence.”

Has anyone else had almost every medication they’ve tried cause muscle twitching in various parts of their body?
Or have intolerances to medication and the side effects are bad?
When Im not on any psych med, my muscles in my body don’t twitch. As soon as I start psych meds and continue taking them, my muscles twitch. The twitching is similar to as if I just did a full body workout out, but I haven’t.
It seems every drug I try, causes EPS/a movement disorder. Latuda caused my eyelids to twitch and facial tics. Serequel caused muscle twitching throughout my body.
Caplyta makes me physically ill and have flu like side effects that don’t go away. Im currently on the lowest dose (dropping from 42mg, to 21mg, to 10.5mg), and it still makes me feel shitty and isn’t even therapeutic anymore.
Lithium really messes with my thyroid and landed me in the ER.
Mood stabilizers for me don’t work because of the birth control interaction. I have endometriosis, and without birth control, I am constantly in debilitating pain. I don’t want to get an IUD because of how incredibly painful and traumatic it is to get one inserted, and the side effects. To be fair, my current oral contraceptive amps up my depression a lot and has side effects. But I can’t mentally handle being in excruciating pain all the time and not able to move. I also can’t mentally handle this depression either. Having to decide which to deal with — being in debilitating pain and be on a mood stabilizer to help my mental health or have a very bad mental state and not be in physical pain is a truly shitty decision to have to make as a woman. There is no winning if you’re a woman. (I do want to state that being in excruciating pain all the time DOES NOT help my mental health, regardless if Im on a med or not)
I’ve already tried Lamictal, while being on birth control. Lamictal made the BC ineffective and made my hormones not be stable and go up and down everyday, and I was in hell. And the BC made the Lamictal not effective.
Depakote is the only mood stabilizer that doesn’t affect birth control, even though birth control makes depakote less effective. Depakote makes my arm muscles twitch, and makes my leg muscles twitch more than they do now. It’s only 250mg of depakote too, so not therapeutic. I did run a lil experiment. I stopped the depakote for a week to see if some of my muscle twitching subsided.. and it did. My arm muscles no longer twitch. My leg muscles still do and it drives me INSANE.
I just.. I don’t get why my body is like this. There was a point when I was on 200mg Lamictal, 60mg Latuda, and 100mg of Serequel and the muscle twitching was so bad. My whole entire body was constantly spasming and moving.
Prior to July, I tolerated psych meds really well! Until a psychiatrist (who can rot in hell), cold turkey cut me off of a very high dose of klonopin. I went through a 2 month withdrawal and couldn’t get water or food down for at least a month and lost 30 pounds in 3 weeks. My body has never been the same again, and I now have severe GI issues because of the trauma my stomach went through during withdrawals.
After being cut cold turkey off of benzos.. my body and brain do not tolerate psych medications at all. experience EVERY side effect and they don’t go away, on top of movement disorders.
Im desperate for a medication to work and Im hopeless currently. Everything that seems to help me somewhat mentally, makes my muscles twitch and jerk!
I don’t know what to do and how long I can last with my current mental health! I don’t know if anyone would have advice or have gone through similar things? Has anyone else experienced numerous psych meds causing movement disorders?

So for context, I have a sensitivity to weather events and air pressure changes that can give me headaches in a day or hours before oncoming storms, tornadoes or hurricanes warnings watches give me intense ear pressure pains. During normal storms, I’ll have a headache beforehand sometimes hours or a whole day beforehand, next, a couple minutes or even mere seconds before it rains, I’ll get shiver cold chill tingling and shake like I’m shaking off excess energy, and then in 15 to 20 min or so when it releases and rains, the headache goes away and I will get the sleepy, drowsy, content, peaceful feeling and have this cold chill tingle pitter patter feeling that feels like misty rain drizzle sprinkling but fainter. When lightning is very intense or particularly colse, my skin will tingle and my hairs will stand up but it’s not as close as others have reported when this happened to them. During last week, I had a bunch of different little things happening to me all at once that all started about the same time, last Wednesday, maybe Tuesday, and peaked last Friday and have thus far prolonged but have been slowly dropping off. I have had super vivid lucid dreams. Out of body experiences are ridiculously easy at the moment when normally they are more difficult to attain. Prolonged hypnogogic states between awake and sleep are happening every time I fall asleep and wake up and my sleep schedule is abruptly all out of wack all last week. The super relaxed mindless drifting morning meditative like relaxation and peacefulness you get when first waking up is lasting most of the morning instead of just 15 to 20 mins. Empty mind and mindful meditation peacefulness and serenity are coming to me absurdly easy when normally I have to gradually quiet and focus my mind. I am very sleepy relaxed content-at times almost very scattered, confused, or spaced out, difficulty focusing or mustering up willpower to do stuff-it almost makes me think of how I am when tipsy drunk but no physical effects of alcohol and I haven’t started any new medication or diet changes that could cause side effects-, and wanting to just do no work, just sit, lay, and immerse myself in my surrounding environment or the empty mind. With no rain, I have had tingling cold chills like excessive energy or mild electrical potential feel in the air like when near big Tesla coils I saw once on a school field trip and goosebumps on and off over that last week, and it’s more often and intense when I’m outside, same for the headaches. In extreme weather, I will have an instinctive feeling urge to take all my pillows and blankets and snacks and water and will “nest” hunker down in my closet and I’ve felt that urge last week-more so out of an almost winter hibernation feeling sleepy drowsiness and comfort rather than the usual instinctive urge to hunker down-yet no extreme weather. I have an old hip bruising from a playground incident in middle school that acts up when it’s cold and we’ve been getting 70s F weather and yet it’s acting up. I am wanting to sleep or try more lucid dreams or out of body experiences to the point it’s more an urge than a meager want, and my interest in spiritual stuff has increased abruptly to an almost laser focus obsessive compulsive I-want-to-know-everything-I-possibly-can level to where I’m doing one completely different thing and I derail back to spiritual stuff. So all these physical and mental things I’ve experienced last week were very similar to what I experience during storms or extreme weather, but we didn’t have any extreme weather in my area last week, and the before and during storm symptoms happened at the same time while being amped up ridiculously intense, and all this extra spiritual stuff, all starting, peaking, and decreasing all happening at the exact same time, leads me to suspect that something out in the world triggered all this, but the absence of any usual triggering bad weather in the area plus the spiritual stuff is confusing. If anyone actually read this and has any ideas or has or is going through something similar, any theories or ideas would be helpful. Body sensitivity, chemicals, hormones, brain wave stuff, ESP, bioelectric field, chakras, any spiritual or scientific theories are welcome at this point if it means I might get some answers.

I posted in this sub a few times last year when I was really going through it. Brain fog, anxiety, fatigue, vision issues, debilitating headaches and hyper sensitivity (“mini” concussions from small bumps of the head). I had 4-5 concussions over the course of 3 years, with 3 of those occurring within 2 months of each other. Outside of some lingering neck issues, I’ve made a full recovery and want to share what worked for me.
Please don’t let this long list stress you out though. There were days when getting out of bed in the morning felt like an accomplishment. Every recovery is different and only you can know what your body and brain are feeling.
Commitment After my most recent injury I decided that getting better was the most important thing in my life and I completely dedicated myself to my recovery. That’s why this list is as long as it is — I decided I was going to try everything.
Research Learning about concussions is a great place to start! It really helped me plan my course of action and think rationally about recovery. This sub is a great source of knowledge. Complete concussion management on YouTube has some great intro videos too.
Exercise I think that exercise was the #1 most important factor in my recovery. I started by going on short daily walks and doing light yoga in my house and eventually built up to 2x cardio 3x weightlifting 2x yoga every week. I got in the habit of exercising early in the day and felt like it really helped with my mental energy throughout the day.
Diet I tried to eat an anti inflammatory diet but it was hard (I really love to eat lol). I couldn’t go completely keto but I cut out carbs where I could and made an effort to cook all of my own meals with a lot of protein and vegetables. Avocado and olive oils give you omega 9s which are important for omega 3 absorption. I also didn’t really drink at all.
Supplements I don’t know exactly what worked and what didn’t but you should definitely be taking omega 3 (and probably creatine). My stack: - 4000 mg Nordic Naturals omega 3. Can cut down to normal dose after a couple months - 5 mg creatine monohydrate - 2000 mg magnesium l-theronate - 1g ImmPower AHCC (mushroom-based immune supplement) - 125 mcg vitamin d3 - Multivitamin - Dietary fiber + probiotic (gut health is important)
CBD Only way I could get to sleep for a couple months. Great for headaches. It’s also a nice substitute for alcohol when going out with friends.
Concussion clinic + Neurofeedback I went to a concussion clinic in NC shortly after my last concussion. Most of my problems were cognitive so my doctor recommended a neurofeedback program. I was super skeptical at first but it definitely improved my screen tolerance and I felt like it helped with teaching my brain how to switch off.
Neurologist + Nortryptoline Neurologists are really only good for one thing: prescribing meds. There’s a good chance you don’t need to take an SNRI but I had nerve damage at the site of impact that, whenever touched, would cause me a lot of pain and trigger hours of concussion symptoms. I think that my meds (prescribed for nerve pain) helped get some of this hypersensitivity under control.
Meditation There are people on this sub who can speak to this better than me but after a concussion your autonomic nervous system can be in an “always on” mode where you’re constantly in a state of fight or flight. Meditation while concussed is very challenging and won’t immediately zen you out but it will help you notice just how overactive your brain is and help you train yourself to redirect your attention when your mind runs wild.
Physical therapy + dry needling If you have any neck pain at all, go to PT. Seriously! It might be causing most if not all of your headaches. A few months of stretching and strengthening exercises helped resolve most of my headaches. Also, if dry needling is legal in your state, seek it out for really intense neck tightness. My PT offered needling and it was a godsend on my worst days.
Brain challenges I’m a computer programmer so getting back into work was challenging enough but I also made an effort to try to learn a new language and do some daily puzzles to help foster some new neural connections.
Try to relax when I bump my head Idk I still freak out when I bonk. I probably have had 30-40 “flare ups” over the past 2 years. No one on the internet seems to have a great answer for why this happens. I think it’s probably some sort of learned response from the brain in response to a stressor. I recently took the approach of doing everything in my power to chill out when I bump my head on something (including taking cbd immediately after). Not sure if this helped or I just needed time but I hit my head on a cabinet pretty hard last week and experienced no symptoms! That’s honestly what encouraged me to write this post.
I hope some of this will be helpful to someone. Feel free to comment or hit my dm’s if you want any more detail on anything.

This isn't necessarily a theory I believe, I just find myself thinking about this case often, and the perplexing body of facts surrounding whatever happened that night. Given we will never know the true story - we can only base our speculations around things that have been documented in one way or another, I have a theory on why this case is so confusing: Everyone involved was blackout drunk.
Let's try to imagine this from all perspectives:
-Let's say you're Brian Albert
You're at the waterfall bar. Everyone seems to be having a good time. You're hanging out with your extended family, who are all close. It's your son's 23rd birthday and he's hanging out with his friends, several of which are family as well. Basically life is good. Then you don't remember much. Jen McCabe wakes you up the next morning telling you John is dead on your lawn. You have no idea why. You see that you apparently called Brian Higgens that night at 2:30am, AND he called you back and you picked up. You don't remember this happening. Holy shit, what the fuck happened?
-Let's say you're Jen McCabe
You're at the waterfall bar. Everyone seems to be having a good time. You're hanging out with your extended family and your neighbor and his girlfriend. Everyone is having a good time. Then you don't remember much. You wake up to a call from John's Niece, who says Karen is freaking out about John. Karen grabs the phone and is completely frantic. She keeps screaming and saying John didn't come home and they got in a fight and they had to find John. Since you blacked out, you check your phone's history to try to piece together the night. You realize you made a bunch of calls and texts, and searched how long it would take for someone to die in the cold. That's weird. You decide to delete all this information because you have no idea what happened, and perhaps just from a psychological standpoint you find it a bit concerning.
-Let's say your Karen Read
You're at the waterfall bar. Everyone seems to be having a good time. You're hanging out with your boyfriend and his friend group. Then you don't remember much. You wake up at around 4am and John isn't home. You send him some texts and calls and he doesn't respond. You vaguely remember getting into an argument with John. What if something bad happened to him? Panic starts swelling inside and you realize you need to get in touch with someone from that night. Your niece has Jen McCabe's number, so you ask your niece to call her. When Jen picks up you quickly grab the phone and say you need to find John. You're panicking. As you leave John's house in a panic, you accidentally crack your tail light. When you get to Jen's house you notice the broken tail light and start freaking out. Now it really looks like you hit John. At this point you're in a state of complete panic. You insist the group head to the Albert home, where you find John's body. You have no idea what happened, but you're worried you hit him with your car because you saw that your tail light was broken. You're devastated.
I know this sounds like a silly idea, but I think it explains why the testimony is all over the place, and why it feels like we don't really know what could have happened. I can only type so much so feel free to post your own juxtapositions of witness testimony with this theory in mind to see if we can piece it together.

I don't really know how to start this, but I'm an overall healthy 30 year old female, and is an issue I've had all my life but was never severe enough to mention to my doctor. As I've gotten older, however, the symptoms have ramped up/ its been brought to my attention no one else really experiences these things.
My feet can sometimes go through periods of being uncomfortably hot. It's almost like all the heat in my body is coming out of my feet. My feet aren't red, itchy, or swollen at all- my skin is just hot. At first I was worried it was in my head/ a nerve issue, but other people around me have commented that my feet are extremely hot to the touch and can feel the heat radiating off of them during these spells. It happens randomly and doesn't seem to have a consistent duration; sometimes it can last for 2 minutes or 20. The only thing that really helps is letting it go away on its own or putting my feet on something cold/running them under cold water. It's quite uncomfortable and can keep me from falling asleep at night sometimes. I can't wear tight pants that trap the heat in my legs for too long or my legs and feet will get hot.
I can't find anyone else who's had this type of experience, and I'm super curious if anyone on the sub would be able to at least point me in the direction of a potential explanation