Teenage rash and blisters all over body

No one expects someone who has never run in their entire life to suddenly get up and run a marathon. That’s my frustration with some diet plans, diet culture, and even many medical professionals who recommend starting with a 500+ kcal deficit.
As someone who is obese, my first successful step was simply reaching a point where I didn’t eat more than I needed for at least a few weeks. Then, I could gradually increase my kcal deficit.
I’ve been on diets since I was 7, without any success. However, the last three years have been different. I started working out, and even though I didn’t lose weight at first, I discovered something new: moderation in all my actions can bring me the results I want to see, just over a longer period of time.
In the past few months, I’ve been intensely educating myself on different approaches to forming habits and managing a reduction diet. I’m teaching myself daily how to let go, how to move on, and how to get rid of this all-or-nothing mentality. I’ve found influencers and medical professionals with Instagram accounts, and podcasters who have a totally different approach, and so far, so good. I feel like I’m doing better in life than ever, and the process isn’t even half as painful as I always imagined it would be, or how it was on diets like keto, Dukan, or the Copenhagen diet.
I just felt like sharing. I’m not saying my way is better than others, it just seems to work for me on more levels than just weight loss, impacting other aspects of my life as well.
**Trigger Warning: Negative Experiences with Doctors***
I’m so angry at my doctors, teachers, and everyone who put me down because of my weight, especially when I was too young to be responsible for my diet and weight—back when I was a toddler, kid, or early teenager. I’ve had enough of always having to keep my guard up because I can be hurt by anyone for no reason other than my weight. Especially by people from whom we expect help, like medical professionals, teachers, and adults in general.
I can’t stop feeling the pain and harm that has been done to me over the years. When I try to talk to my friends, they say, “Oh, you’re so pretty, it’s all in your head.” No, my dear friends, it’s not. I’ve been conditioned to think of myself as worthless (no matter my achievements) because of my body size. And ironically, none of those cruel remarks or insults ever did me any favors or helped me in the process.
Thanks for reading.

I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

So this post is gonna be longer and a bit more put together than my last post. I'm taking notes as I watch. I'm also following the Netflix season list so this will be me follow season 3.
Also, like before I am doing my best to stay spoiler free. I'm not looking up spellings as well so if I misspell something, oh well.

1. Naruto and pervy Santa's relationship is pretty weird man. Like my dude is lusting after a teenage boy who can transform in a woman. The whole "I'm an old, super powerful person but I act like a perv and a weirdo while I train the next generation." Is kinda over done. (Though this show is a bit old.)
   
2. Does Gaara have a demon like Naruto? Cause that would neat.
   
3. "Lee's injuries were too serious and he can no longer be a shinobi." If they think I would believe that, they can geeeeeeet fuuucked. No body puts Lee in a corner.
   
4. Is that what the 4th Hokage looks like? I swear to God if this mofo turns out to be Naruto's dad I will flip a table. That is waaay to cliche. At most I will accept a big brother, cause big brothers can be dicks. Like who puts a demon in a baby? Big brothers, that's who.
   
5. Ok Giant frog is absolutely the best thing in this show.
   
   1. I loved the scene between Naruto and shorti Hinata. So dang cute. I hope Naruto realizes that she wants to jump his bones eventually.
   2. Naruto vs Neji. Is it bad that I want Neji to win? Dude is so cool and it absolutely sucks how he was raised to be a bodyguard for Hinata and lost all choice in his life. #JusticeforNeji. Ok, my boy Neji got justice. I feel better now.
6. Kiba, Hinata and Ant-man's traineteacher lady is hot AF.
   
7. Again my girl with her fan. Shit gets me everytime. Riding in on it like the silver surfer. lol I think she is my favorite so far.
   
8. I think I've been sleeping on ol mate Shikamaru, dude is, as the kids would say, based. The music during their fight had me bopping. "Geez, I envy a cloud being so free..." -Shikamaru. Ok this dude is my new favorite so far.
   

I think since my post is getting long ill leave it here and do another part later. I would love to answer questions
Edit: Some spellings. Also, adding this was Eps 1-12 notes.
Stay fresh Cheese bags.

I'm looking for a Harry Potter that's not like canon obviously, and isn't rude or overly sarcastic and does not get into shouting tantrums. Basically unlike a teenager and not realistic in real life. I hate when he all the time shouts and people or is rude to people trying to help him. I prefer someone who is much more rational. Does not mean he has to be dark, though I don't mind that, just means he has a level head.
-Prefer Harry to be either overly kind or overly cold. (such as masks or him acting)
-It'll be great if he had some kind of angst or big secret or great power to keep things interesting
-NO BASHING (canon dislike of characters are different) please no Dumbledore bashing
-Mentors are great though not necessary, such as Snape and Dumbledore as my top options
-Prefer gen, but ships are tolerated, the only ships not tolerated are drarry, harry/hermione, and harry/bellatrix
-Open to any timeline, and reincarnation is great if you can find anyone that reincarnates as Harry!
-Adult Harry is fine, particularly War veteran Harry's are great, especially if he travels back in time either in a different timeline or into his old body
examples are:
Pureblood Pretense Men of War The Nexus Facade

More than a decade ago ThisGuy and I had a strong physical attraction. He was a normal non-gym guy with a normal body mass, I don't gym either, am curvy with a normal body mass. He noped out as he was searching a wife (and 2.5 kids) and I did not tick all the boxes in the wife section (as I later learned).
Fair enough. Nothing happened, no harm no foul.
Through the years we'd run into each other, chat and catch up, somewhere in a shop, side of the street etc.
We'd also work together once or twice and the old physical attraction flared up then. But all that happened is that my fantasy life became a bit more focused.
ThisGuy likes to talk so I could get an overall impression of his life. I tend to avoid discussing family matters with casual aquantances.
So the last few years he'd always drop a sideways comment/compliment about my body in the chat. I'd just ignore it publicly though I did note it.
Anyway, a few months ago he told me in a roundabout but direct way that he is just waiting for a "yes".
And I started wondering. What does he think? My house? Not a chance! His car or my car. Yeah, no. My teenage years are several decades ago. A hotel? Good grief, that'll get expensive. Not on my budget. His house? Over my dead body!!
And what? I sit around and wait till he phones? Or we have a weekly schedule? And then he goes home to wife and kids and have a nice supper. In office hours??????
But I realised something else. I'm somewhat lucky in the sense that I've maintained my shape without effort/dieting. He on the other hand developed a paunch and became slightly chubby. Don't get me wrong. Had I met him now I would have been attracted, but all I see now is a guy whom eats too much of his wife's food.
Meh..... Nope.
And the temerity. 15+ years ago I did not tick all the boxes. NOW I'm good enough? For the paunchy limp seconds of another woman!? Sorry mate. YOU no longer tick the right boxes! (Unattached being no 1)
I've never mentioned this to any person. Not important enough even when attached. But it keeps on running through my brain the past few months, my indignation needs to come out I guess.
As for him. I'm staying my inscrutable self. If he gets any more direct in his conversations I'll set him right. As it is now he can still say I misunderstood.
Thanks for listening.
Ps. Yes this is a thowaway username. I don't even want to say it aloud on my anonymous Reddit account.

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

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

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

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.”

Last week we went to urgent care because our babies cheeks had two main eczema spots (seemingly irritated from drool on cheeks rubbing against a sleep sack) that began to weep after trying a few at home remedies. The urgent care doc prescribed a steroid (Des) and mupirocin topical antibacterial ointment. We were applying both as directed and coming up on five days and there was some improvement especially with the antibacterial, some redness as we continued to use the steroid and yet seemingly increased eczema appearing higher on the cheek.
A rash started on baby’s torso so I called our primary care to be seen and the pediatrician changed the steroid that we were applying to the two main sites at the bottom of the cheek to hydrocortisone saying the original one prescribed was too strong and not recommended. She also advised to lubricate with some cream or Vaseline.
That night we applied the hydrocortisone to the two main sites and some eucerine baby eczema cream to the rest of his face and body.
BAM-TOTAL INFLAMMATORY RESPONSE on face and body. By midnight that night baby’s face was swollen, pimply, red, and warm. I think the colloidal oatmeal is a trigger for his skin as this whole thing really blew up after first applying Tubby Todd ointment which caused increase irritation at the two main sites on his cheeks.
I went into pediatric ER that next morning and they told us to stop the steroid and started an oral antibiotic. They suggested giving the skin a break from anything but also apply Vaseline and topical antibacterial, yet we’ve waited 24 hours after the ER visit before we applied anything else to the skin.
We do see improvement within 20 minutes of the oral antibiotic but when we applied Vaseline, the skin on his face just seems to increase in pimples and redness.
The two main sites seems like their healing but it’s hard to look at because it’s not all the great looking—like when you really bust up your skin on a fall and the yellow pus/scab begins to form. There’s an eczema rash all over his arms right now. ER docs say the body rash is unrelated—that it looks viral??
We’ve gotten a few different forms of information and instructions from urgent care, our peds clinic, and the ER. It’s so hard watching my baby in pain, to be itching his face, and the tumultuous turns for these two intense sites on his cheeks.
My last resort is hoping and praying the oral meds kick this out. We’re day 2 of 7.
All this to say, I am gluten, dairy, soy, and egg free. This rash has intensified over the last two weeks and I’m losing my strength and it’s hard to feel like this is going to end or heal and I’ll be able to see my baby’s skin clear again.

Does anyone know if it is possible for hsv 2 to suddenly erupt into rashes all over the body? I have lived with pretty predictably localized hsv2 outbreaks for over 10 years, but recently started having itchy, stinging, tingling and blistering rash clusters all over my body. I just realized that it feels very similar to my outbreaks, and considering I have been overwhelmingly stressed and depressed lately (usually stressors that bring on an outbreak) I’m unsure if this is a more pronounced outbreak to reflect my more pronounced mental state. Yes, I am aware I should see a doctor, but I live in America which means that a visit to a dermatologist will cost me $150 even with insurance 😵‍💫. I just started taking some of my acyclovir to see if that helps at all, but just curious if anyone has ever heard of something like this? Google searches just bring me to some very dense medical journals that I frankly don’t understand 😅

LATHANDER
The Morninglord, Commander of Creativity, Patron to Spring and Eternal Youth, Mentor of Self-Perfection, Bringer of the Dawn, Lord of Birth and Renewal
Greater Power of Elysium
Symbol Sunrise made of pink, red, and yellow gems, or a simple rosy pink disk
Realm Morninglory (Elysium/Eronia)
Alignment Neutral Good
Aliases none
Superior none (AO)
Allies Chauntea (lover), Deneir, Eldath, Gond, Ilmater, Kelemvor, Llira, Lurue, Mielikki, Milil, Oghma, Paladine, Selune, Siamorphe, Silvanus, Sune, Torm, Tyche (dead), Tymora, Tyr, Ushas
Foes Bane, Beshaba, Bhaal (dead), Cyric, Ibrandul (dead), Iyachtu Xvim (dead), Loviatar, Moander (dead), Myrkul (dead), Shar, Talona
Servants none
Servitor Creatures butterflies, celestials of all types, elysian dragons, hollyphants, radiant creatures, robins (normal and celestial), sanctified creatures, sun peacocks (normal and celestial), sunwyrms (good aligned only)
Manifestations an intense and rosy radiance that appears around objects to indicate special qualities or at confusing or dangerous junctures to indicate a safe or preferred path, and that causes those people it surrounds to be telekinetically pushed out of harmful situations, healed of all wounds, purged of any diseases, poisons, foreign objects, magical and nonmagical afflictions and deleterious effects, magical or psionic compulsions, fear, and curses, causes resurrection effects to be automatically successful, and transmits messages
Signs of Favor aster blossoms, an intense and rosy radiance with the same qualities as his manifestation, sun peacock feathers
Worshipers Aristocrats, artists, athletes, farmers, hunters of the undead, merchants, monks of the Sun Soul, peasants, performers, the youthful
Cleric Alignments LG, NG, CG
Specialty Priests Morninglord
Holy Days Midsummer morning, the mornings of the vernal and autumnal equinoxes
Important Ceremonies Song of Dawn; contracts, marriages and promises made at dawn, funerals for those not meant to be raised or resurrected
Portfolio Athletics, birth, creativity, dawn, renewal, self-perfection, spring, vitality, youth
Domains Community, Courage, Endurance, Good, Glory, Hope, Life, Protection, Radiance, Renewal, Strength, Zeal
Favored Weapon Dawnspeaker (heavy or light mace)

LATHANDER
Male Sentinel 20, Cleric 20, Morninglord 20, Master of Radiance 5
NG Medium Outsider (Extraplanar, Good)
Divine Rank 17
Init 44 (+16 Dex, +8 Superior Initiative); Senses 17-mile-radius; Listen 77, Spot 77; remote sensing (20 locations), portfolio sense
Aura divine aura (DC 78), courage (100 ft, +8 saves against fear), radiant 3/day; Languages can communicate with any living creature; Words of Creation
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AC 105, touch 57, flat-footed 95, undead 107 (+18 armor, +20 deflection, +10 Dex, +17 divine, +30 natural)
hp 1,860 (20d10 + 45d8 plus 1300), fast healing 74; divine shield 23/day (170 hp); renewal 1/day (if fall below 0 but less than -10 hit points regain 1d8 +20 hp); DR 40/epic, evil and adamantine
Immune ability damage, ability drain, banishment, death effects, disease, disintegration, electricity, energy drain, fire, imprisonment, mind-affecting effects, paralysis, poison, rebuking, sleep, sonic, stunning, transmutation, and turning
Resist acid 37, cold 37; SR 81
Fort 111 Ref 101 Will 105; +2 against evil outsiders and undead, +4 against mind-affecting effects from evil outsiders, +5 against evil spells or spells from evil characters
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Speed 60 ft. (12 squares)
Melee dawnspeaker 115/110/105/100 (55 plus 18 fire plus 18 holy plus 1 negative level vs evil plus 48 vs evil outsiders and undead plus undead disruption [Fort DC 79 or die]/19-20/x2 plus 36 fire plus 36 holy plus 2 negative levels vs good plus death [Fort DC 79, evil outsiders and undead] plus undead disruption [Fort DC 79 or die]), +8 atk vs evil outsiders and undead; or
Melee spell 80 or
Ranged spell 76
Base Atk +43; Grp +63
Atk Options Awesome Smite, Cleave, Holy Potency, Power Attack; smite evil 24/day (+20 atk, +455 damage)
Special Actions alter reality, divine blast (444 damage) 23/day, feat of endurance 1/day (+30 Con for 1 minute), destroy evil outsiders and undead 27/day as a 66^th level cleric (turning check 73, turning damage 105; Heighten Turning, Intensify Turning, Multiturning, Quicken Turning), protective ward 1/day (+65 resistance bonus to one saving throw for one hour), surge of hope 1/day (when failing a skill check, attack roll, or saving throw, add 1d6 to the result), touch of life 1/day (1d6 +65 temporary hp to a single creature for one hours), zeal 1/day (take 20 on a skill check, except on checks are not normally allowed to take 20, without increasing the amount of time needed to make the check); Battle Blessing, Corona (Will DC 62), Divine Censure (Will DC 62), Epic Divine Might, Epic Divine Vengeance, Sacred Vengeance
Combat Gear dawnspeaker
Divine Spell-like Abilities (CL 65^th; +1 good spells; all [fire] and [light] spells are intensified)
At will – aid, animate objects, animate plants, antimagic field, atonement, bear’s endurance, bigby’s clenched fist, bigby’s crushing hand, bigby’s grasping hand, blade barrier (DC 53), bless, bless weapon, bolt of glory, bull’s strength, charm person (DC 48), cloak of bravery, color spray (DC 48), commune, consecrate, crown of glory (DC 55), death ward, dismissal (DC 51), dispel evil (DC 52), disrupt undead, disrupting weapon (DC 52), endure elements, enlarge person, widened faerie fire, flame strike (DC 52), fire shield, fire seeds (DC 53), freedom, gate, globe of invulnerability, good hope, greater cloak of bravery, greater dispel magic, greater heroism, greater planar ally, greater restoration, greater status, greater teleport, heat metal (DC 49), helping hand, heroes’ feast, heroism, hide from undead (DC 48), holy aura (DC 55), holy smite (DC 51), holy sword, holy word (DC 54), hypnotic pattern (DC 49), iron body, lesser restoration, lion’s roar (DC 56), magic vestment, mass bear’s endurance, mass heal (DC 56), mind blank, mordenkainen’s magnificent mansion, plant growth, plane shift (DC 52), polymorph any object (DC 55), prayer, prismatic sphere (DC 56), prismatic spray (DC 54), prismatic wall (DC 56), protection from energy, protection from evil, rary’s telepathic bond, rainbow, rainbow pattern (DC 51), refreshment, refuge, regenerate, reincarnate (DC 51), remove disease, remove fear, repulsion (DC 54), righteous might, sanctuary (DC 48), scintillating pattern, searing light, sustain, spell immunity, spell resistance, status, stoneskin, sympathy (DC 55), summon monster IX (good creatures only), sunbeam (DC 54), sunburst (DC 55), tongues.
1/day – calm emotions (DC 51)
Master of Radiance Spell-like Abilities (CL 56^th; +1 good spells; all [fire] and [light] spells are intensified; only usable during aura of radiance)
1/round – beam of sunlight, searing light
Morninglord Spell-like Abilities (CL 54^th; +1 good spells; all [fire] and [light] spells are intensified)
1/day – daylight, searing ray (as searing light, but automatically empowered against undead)
Cleric Spells per Day (CL 54^th; +1 good spells; all spells are energized and maximized; all [fire] and [light] spells are intensified)
20^th (3+1/day) – heightened intensified end to strife (DC 63) (x2), heightened last judgement (DC 70), enhanced heightened intensified mass heal (DC 59) (D).
19^th (3+1/day) – heightened miracle (DC 69) (x2), consecrated intensified purified sacred storm of vengeance (DC 59), enhanced empowered heightened sunburst (DC 63) (D).
18^th (3+1/day) – consecrated enhanced heightened purified flame strike (DC 62) (x2) (D), intensified quickened righteous smite (DC 57), enhanced intensified righteous smite (DC 57).
17^th (3+1/day) – heightened holy word (DC 67) (D), heightened know true name (DC 67), empowered intensified lion’s roar (DC 58), heightened quickened miracle (DC 63).
16^th (4+1/day) – intensified mass heal (DC 59), intensified righteous exile (DC 59) (x2), intensified storm of vengeance (DC 59), enhanced quickened sunburst (DC 58) (D).
15^th (4+1/day) – empowered intensified blade barrier (DC 56) (D), enhanced quickened searing erupt (DC 59) (x2), intensified mass cure critical wounds, heightened righteous glare (DC 65).
14^th (4+1/day) – enhanced fire-substituted fiery searing lion’s roar (DC 58) (D), heightened quickened holy word (DC 60) (x2), empowered quickened sunburst (DC 58) (x2).
13^th (4+1/day) – enhanced quickened flame strike (DC 55) (D), quickened implosion (DC 59) (x2), quickened sublime revelry, intensified weight of sin (DC 56).
12^th (5+1/day) – empowered enhanced blade barrier (DC 56) (D), empowered enhanced cometfall (DC 56), intensified divine retribution (DC 55), consecrated purified sacred firestorm (DC 58) (x2), quickened visions of the future.
11^th (5+1/day) – quickened amber sarcophagus, consecrated purified quickened cometfall (DC 56), sacred searing erupt (DC 59), quickened greater shield of lathander, quickened light of purity, quickened sunbeam (DC 57) (D).
10^th (5+1/day) – quickened crown of brilliance, consecrated fire-substituted searing earthquake (DC 58), quickened heal (DC 56) (D), empowered fire-substituted stormrage.
9^th (7+1/day) – heightened eternal rest (DC 56), quickened flame strike (DC 55), feast of champions, gate, mantle of the fiery spirit, prismatic sphere (DC 59) (D), summon elemental monolith, undeath’s eternal foe.
8^th (8+1/day) – chain dispel, holy aura (DC 58) (D), illusion purge, know true name (DC 58), mass restoration, mass valiant spirit, spread of contentment (DC 58), shun the dark chaos (DC 58), consecrated purified wages of sin.
7^th (8+1/day) – bastion of good, control weather, fortunate fate, quickened light of Venya (DC 53), rain of embers (DC 57), radiant assault (x2) (DC 57), rejuvenating light (DC 57), sunbeam (DC 57) (D).
6^th(8+1/day) – chasing perfection, consecrate battlefield, quickened deific vengeance (DC 52), heal (DC 56) (D), fiery vision (x2), ghost trap, light of courage (DC 56), vigorous circle.
5^th (9+1/day) – atonement, blistering radiance (DC 55), chaav’s laugh (DC 55), condemnation (DC 55), crown of flame, divine agility, divine retribution (DC 55), searing meteoric strike (DC 54) (x2), valiant fury (D).
4^th (10+1/day) – aligned aura (DC 54), assay spell resistance (x2), aura of the sun (x2), channeled divine health, cure critical wounds, holy smite (DC 54) (D), recitation, sacred haven, sunmantle.
3^rd (10+1/day) – cure serious wounds, fell the greatest foe, find the gap, flamebound symbol (x2), forced manifestation (DC 53), heart’s ease, mass align weapon, phieran’s resolve, prayer (D), protection from negative energy.
2^nd (10+1/day) – detect aberration, eagle’s splendor, healing lorecall, make whole, mark of doom (x2), mark of judgment (x2) (DC 52), master’s touch, share talents, shield other (D).
1^st (10+1/day) – bless water, conviction, detect taint, divine favor, endure elements (D), exorcism (x2) (DC 51), nimbus of light, ray of hope, ray of resurgence, vision of heaven (DC 51).
Orisons (6/day) – create water, cure minor wounds, guidance, light, purify food and drink, read magic.
Epic Spells Prepared 6 divine, up to Spellcraft DC 122
Epic Spells Known epic mage armor, epic repulsion, epic spell reflection, global warming, glorious light of renewal, greater ruin, hellball, nailed to the sky, nimbus, rain of fire, ruin, superb dispelling. Lathander has additionally created many epic spells that bring light and life, as well as bring ruin to the undead.
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Abilities Str 50, Dex 42, Con 50, Int 36, Wis 51, Cha 50
SQ avatar, bane of the restless, celestial fortitude, celestial minion 1/day, creative fire +20, divine grace, divinity, immortality, lathander’s light, resist fiendish lure
Feats Awesome Smite, Battle Blessing, Cleave, Consecrate Spell, Corona (Will DC 62), Divine Censure (Will DC 62), Divine Might, Divine Vengeance, Empower Spell, Energize Spell, Energy Substitution (fire), Extra Turning, Fiery Spell, Heighten Spell, Heighten Turning, Holy Potency, Improved Critical (heavy mace), Improved Initiative, Improved Turning, Maximize Spell (B), Power Attack, Purify Spell, Quicken Spell, Quicken Turning, Sacred Vengeance, Sanctify Martial Strike, Searing Spell, Weapon Focus (heavy mace), Words of Creation (B)
Epic Feats Enhance Spell, Epic Divine Might, Epic Divine Vengeance, Epic Spellcasting (B), Great Smiting (x2), Improved Heighten Spell, Intensify Spell, Intensify Turning, Multiturning, Positive Energy Aura, Superior Initiative
Salient Divine Abilities Area Divine Shield (170 hp in a 170 ft square or a 17 ft sphere or hemisphere), Automatic Metamagic (energize spell), Banestrike (evil outsiders), Banestrike (undead), Call Creatures (17 celestials with up to 37 HD), Divine Inspiration (hope), Divine Fast Healing (x2), Divine Paladin, Divine Spellcasting, Divine Weapon Focus (heavy mace), Divine Weapon Specialization (heavy mace), Earthmother’s Boon (unique salient divine ability), Energy Burst (170 ft, 136 fire damage), Energy Storm (170 ft, 17 holy and 17 positive), Gift of Life, Indomitable Strength, Life and Death (Fort DC 79 or die, 340 damage on a successful save), Lord of the Dawn (unique salient divine ability), Mass Life and Death (any number of creatures no more than 17 miles apart, Fort DC 79 or die, 340 damage on a successful save), Power of Nature, Rejuvenation (-17, -34 in Morninglory), Undead Mastery (17 creatures)
Skills Appraise 70 (78 paintings and sculptures), Bluff 82, Concentration 125, Craft (painting) 138, Craft (sculpting) 138, Diplomacy 143, Gather Information 72, Heal 125, Jump 84, Intimidate 86, Knowledge (arcana) 80, Knowledge (history) 92, Knowledge (nobility and royalty) 118, Knowledge (religion) 118, Knowledge (the planes) 118, Listen 77, Perform 145, Ride 62, Search 75, Sense Motive 82, Spot 77, Spellcraft 122, Survival 67 (75 extraplanar), Swim 82, Tumble 67
Possessions +8 full plate of the celestial battalion, dawnspeaker

Aura of Radiance (Su) The light of Lathander shines perpetually. No matter how dark it is, the Morninglord sees as though the conditions were identical to the outdoors at sunrise. This ability functions like darkvision out to 60 feet, except that he sees in color. Lathander also has a +2 sacred bonus on saving throws against spells with the darkness descriptor and a +2 sacred bonus to Armor Class against attacks from undead creatures.
Beam of Sunlight (Sp) Lathander can evoke a dazzling beam of intense light (the equivalent of a beam from the sunbeam spell) once per round as a full-round action as long as his radiant aura is active as a 56^th level caster.
Blessing of Dawn (Su) The sight of the morning sun is an inspirational vision for the Morninglord. Lathander gains a +2 morale bonus on Will saves from sunrise until noon. This ability is in effect only while he can see the sun; the effect is suppressed any time he is deprived of the sight of it during this period.
Celestial Fortitude (Su) Lathander’s endurance and fortitude are enhanced against fiendish attacks. He has a +2 sacred bonus to all Fortitude saving throws against effects from evil outsiders and evil spells. Additionally, if he makes a successful Fortitude saving throw against an effect from an evil spell or evil outsider that normally deals half damage or partial effects on a successful save, he instead takes no damage and suffers no partial effects.
Celestial Minion (Sp) Lathander may summon a Medium or smaller size celestial animal (with the celestial creature template) as a standard action usable once a day. This celestial minion carries the same responsibilities as a paladin's special mount and gains the same bonuses to its HD, natural armor, Strength, Intelligence, and other special abilities that a paladin's special mount has, but only remains for 20 hours before returning to the outer plane from whence it came.
Creative Fire (Ex) The Morninglord is a creative, expressive deity. He has a bonus equal to his morninglord level on all Craft and Perform checks.
Divinity Lathander is an embodiment of ancient divine power. As such, reality is his to shape as he sees fit.
Alter Reality: Lathander may alter reality within the bounds of his portfolio. This functions as a wish spell that requires no XP or material cost. The limits of this ability are fully described in Deities and Demigods. He can additionally alter his size from Fine to Colossal and may additionally alter up to 100 pounds of objects in the same manner.
Avatar: Lathander can have up to 20 avatars at any given time. The Morninglord appears as a golden-skinned athletic male of exceeding beauty who has just fully entered early manhood. He wears noble robes constructed in the colors of the dawn, carries himself proudly, and dresses in the finest golden plate armor if attending to matters that might turn violent.
Divine Blast: Lathander can create a ray of divine power that extends for up to 17 miles, dealing up to 444 points of damage, as a ranged touch attack with no saving throw. Lathander can unleash a divine blast 23 times per day, and alter the visual, auditory and sensation-based qualities of his divine blast as he desires. Lathander’s divine blasts generally take the form of rays of fiery sunlight.
Divine Shield: As a free action 23 times per day, Lathander can create a shield that lasts 10 minutes and stops 170 points of damage from attacks. Once the shield stops that much damage, it collapses. Any damage Lathander is naturally immune to does not count towards the shield’s limits.
Earthmother’s Boon (unique salient divine ability) Chauntea is Lathander’s lover and has bestowed a degree of protection over her consort. By her grace, the Lord of the Dawn cannot be harmed by any nonmagical plant or any creature with less than 33 Hit Dice with the plant subtype. Epic creatures and creatures with equal or more than 33 Hit Dice must succeed at a Will save (DC 79) to harm the Morninglord.
Greater Turning (Su) Six times per day, Lathander may use greater turning as the granted power of the Sun domain. This is superseded by his Lord of the Dawn salient divine ability.
Lathander's Light (Su) Whenever Lathander casts a spell with the light descriptor, its area is doubled.
Lord of the Dawn (unique salient divine ability) Lathander is the sun. He is the light that drives back the darkness, the brilliant spark that lights the way out of night and the creative brilliance within every artist. His dominion over light and the sun, both physical and metaphysical, grants him a variety of powers as listed below:
Fires of the Sun: The light of the sun shields Lathander’s body. This protection renders Lathander immune to all forms of magical and nonmagical fire, with searing effects only dealing half damage. In addition, spells and spell-like abilities cast by Lathander from the Sun domain, or with the [fire] and [light] descriptors, are similarly enhanced and are always intensified.
Radiance of the Dawn: Lathander can shed light equal to full sunlight in a 17-mile emanation from his body that counters and dispels all Darkness effects unless created by a higher ranked deity. Undead and evil outsiders caught within the radius must succeed at a Fortitude save (DC 79) or be destroyed and turned into dust. Creatures vulnerable to sunlight suffer a -17 penalty to the saving throw. A successful saving throw still deals 17d8 points of damage, while creatures vulnerable to sunlight suffer 17d12 points of damage.
Spark of Creativity: Lathander is the commander of creativity, the inspiration and muse for craftsmen and artists throughout the Realms. 17 times per day, Lathander may bestow a +17 divine bonus to any Craft or Performance check, or the Efficient Item Creation feat, to up to 17 creatures for the next 24 hours. Performances and non-magical items crafted beneath the aegis of this ability always earn three times the normal gold amount and have three times the listed market price in cost. Magical items crafted with the benefit of this ability add +17,000 gp to the listed market price and increase any numeric benefit (enhancement bonuses for the purpose of attack and damage rolls, armor and save bonuses and so forth) by +4.
Spurn the Profane: Lathander uses the totality of his character level to determine the effectiveness of his ability to smite evil, turn outsiders and undead as well as any of his feats that affect the undead. His turn attempts resolve as greater turnings (as the granted power of the Sun domain). In addition, Lathander adds his paladin spells to his clerical spell list, using the sum of both lists to determine his caster level.
Wrath of the Dawn: As a standard action Lathander can generate a ray of scorching light that extends for up to 17 miles and inflicts 17d6 points of damage, half fire and half divine. As a full attack option, he can generate up to four rays, and undead and evil outsiders suffer 17d12 points of damage. In addition, Lathander can duplicate the effects of any spell with the [light] descriptor as a standard action. (CL 65^th, DC 50 plus spell level).
Maximize Turning (Su) Once per day, Lathander can automatically achieve the maximum possible result on a turning damage roll. This is superseded by his natural divine powers.
Radiant Aura (Su) Three times per day, Lathander can emanate an aura of brilliant light that weakens undead creatures for one minute. The aura provides bright illumination in a 30-foot radius around him, and shadowy illumination for an additional 30 feet beyond that. Creatures that take penalties in bright light also take them while within the radius of the bright aura. In addition, undead creatures within the radius of bright light take a —2 penalty on attack rolls, damage rolls, and saving throws. Activating the radiant aura is a free action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity. While his radiant aura is active, Lathander casts spells with the light descriptor at +2 caster level. The radiant aura is the equivalent of a 5th-level spell with the light descriptor for the purpose of interacting with spells and effects with the darkness descriptor.
Rejuvenation of the Morn (Su) Dawn is a powerful symbol of rebirth and renewal. Once per tenday, Lathander may spend one uninterrupted hour before dawn in prayer. As soon as the sun rises after this prayer ritual, he gains one benefit of his choice from the following list.
· Healing up to full normal hit points (self only).
· Removal of any poisons or diseases (self only). This effect does not restore ability damage or ability drain caused by poison or disease.
· Full restoration of ability damage due to one poison or disease.
If his prayers are interrupted for even a single round, the attempt is ruined, and he must wait a full tenday to try again.
Resist Fiendish Lure (Su) Lathander has a +4 sacred bonus to all saving throws against mind-affecting attacks of evil outsiders.
Possessions
Dawnspeaker, Lathander’s gold-and-ivory mace, is a +10 fiery blast ghost strike mighty disruption heavy mace of holy power and evil outsider and undead dread. When held by the Morninglord, it also functions as a holy devastator. The DC of the weapon’s disruption and dread abilities is 79, and creatures vulnerable to sunlight suffer a -17 penalty to saving throws made to resist Dawnspeaker’s abilities. Lathander is known to loan out Dawnspeaker to questors and warriors he deems worthy and can call it back to his hand from anywhere in the cosmos.
The Morninglord also occasionally wears a set of golden +8 full plate with the powers of an armor of the celestial battalion. The bonuses are not reflected in the above statistics.
Other Divine Powers As a greater deity, Lathander automatically receives the best possible result on any die roll he makes (including attack rolls, damage, checks, and saves). He treats a 1 on an attack roll or saving throw normally and not as an automatic failure. He is immortal. Senses Lathander can see (using normal vision or darkvision), hear, touch, and smell at a distance of 17 miles. As a standard action, he can perceive anything within 17 miles of his worshippers, holy sites, objects, or any location where one of his titles or name was spoken in the last hour. He can extend his senses to up to 20 locations at once. He can block the sensing power of deities of his rank or lower at up to two remote locations at once for 17 hours. Portfolio Sense Lathander is aware of any event under the light of the sun, competition or act of artistry of the number of people involved up to 17 weeks in the past and 17 weeks in the future. Automatic Actions Lathander can use any skill related to his portfolio as a free action if the DC for the task is 30 or lower. He can perform up to twenty such free actions each round. Create Magic Items Lathander can craft any magical item that associated with heat and light, aids in self-empowerment, preserves or restores vitality or harms the undead, including artifacts.
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Eternal Rest [Ravenloft: Legacy of Blood 71]
Necromancy
Level: Cleric 6
Components: V, S, DF
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Effect: Ray (see text)
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will partial (see text)
Spell Resistance: Yes
This spell creates a ray of golden light that destroys one undead creature’s material body (if it has one), causing it to crumble to dust, which is then wafted away in a swirling breeze. This spell affects incorporeal undead without the usual incorporeal miss chance, and such a creature merely winks out of existence if it fails its save. If the target makes a successful save, it still takes 6d6 points of damage. If the creature has a special quality that allows it to return after destruction (such as a vampire’s fast healing power or a ghost’s rejuvenation power), the creature gains a bonus equal to its Charisma modifier on its saving throw. If such a creature fails its saving throw against this spell, it must make a successful Will save at the same DC (also with its Charisma modifier as a bonus) to return. If the creature’s method of return normally requires a saving throw (as a ghost’s rejuvenation power does), the creature must first make that saving throw, then make the Will saving throw against this spell.
You can improve your chance of success by presenting at least one object or substance that the target hates, fears, or otherwise finds repulsive or painful (such as a mirror and bud of garlic for a vampire). For each such object or substance, you gain a +1 bonus on your caster level check to overcome the target’s spell resistance (if any), and the spell’s saving throw DC increases by +1. A particular creature’s history might suggest additional objects or substances that would make the spell more effective.
This spell can also be cast when an undead creature has been physically destroyed and its remains are not present. In this case, the spell must be aimed at the spot where the creature was destroyed, and it must be used within 1 minute of the undead creature’s destruction. No attack roll is required for this use of the spell.
This spell can destroy an undead darklord’s physical form, but it cannot prevent the darklord from returning.
Rainbow [Dragon Magazine 321 68]
Conjuration (Creation)
Level: Cleric 6, Radiance 6
Components: V, S, DF
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Effect: Rainbow bow, quiver, and arrows
Duration: 1 hour / level
Saving Throw: No
Spell Resistance: Yes
A rainbow-hued longbow appears in your hand, along with a full quiver of arrows fletched with different colors. The longbow is considered a +1 longbow that the caster is proficient with. The quiver holds an endless supply of seven different colored arrows, each being made of a different material and having the following effects:
Red: +1 elemental-bane adamantine arrows.
Orange: +1 construct-bane silver arrows.
Yellow: +1 plant-bane evil-aligned arrows.
Green: +1 magical beast-bane good-aligned arrows.
Blue: +1 undead-bane lawful-aligned arrows.
Indigo: +1 aberration-bane chaotic-aligned arrows.
Violet: +1 dragon-bane cold iron arrows.
Only the caster is able to use the bow, quiver, and arrows. They appear immediately back in the caster’s possession if dropped or given away, though the caster may drop the bow and quiver to use another item, but can rematerialize them at will, as a free action. The bow, quiver, and arrows have no weight and cannot be disarmed or sundered.
Know True Name [Kalamar: Player’s Guide 3.0 177]
Enchantment (Compulsion) [Mind-Affecting]
Level: Cleric 8
Components: V, S, DF
Casting Time: 1 action
Ranged: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft. / 2 levels)
Target: One fiend
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates
Spell Resistance: Yes
You force a fiend to tell you its true name. Once you know a fiend’s true name, all spells that you cast at that creature have their save DCs increase by +4. You also gain a +4 on all checks to penetrate the creature’s spell resistance.

Hello,
I am 24F, 135lbs, 5'7" and of Caucasian race. I have hypothyroidism, Graves disease (treated with RAI) and adhd.
Two weeks ago I began getting itchy hives all over my body. I thought it might be a newer laundry detergent I had bought so I rewashed everything with my previous detergent. After a week, the hives had gotten worse. They were unbearably itchy and my scratching had caused swelling and bruises to form. I was prescribed betamethasone steroid ointment by a pharmacist. It helps, but has not resolved the issue. I've used it twice daily for 5 days now.
Two days ago, the corners of my lips began cracking and blistering. It looks like a mild case of angular cheilitis from what I saw online. The hives on my body have improved but I know have petechiae which I am assuming is from scratching but there is some on an area that hasn't been very effected by hives so I'm unsure.
Yesterday, my gums began peeling.
I have no idea what is causing this. I haven't changed any products or food, I haven't done any new activities. I'm at a total loss of what this is. I've got a doctors appointment on Tuesday but I was just hoping someone here might have some insight as to what is going on as it's starting to freak me out how quickly it's getting worse.

Often we hear the saying of picturing the future with multiple children around the Christmas table etc. On the other hand there is the consideration of the mother's long term health and the toll that pregnancy, childbearing and childrearing take on your health. I'm 36F with an almost two year old and I am 100% at my limit with a husband who works incredibly long hours and zero local family support because they live in another state. I could have another one but at what cost to my health, both short and long term? The next few years of insane exhaustion and demands of parenting young children and then menopause hits, bringing more health challenges. I actually don't know anyone with more than one child who is in good health. My own mother had two kids, a useless husband, no family support, and developed an autoimmune disease and later cancer. My best friend has 6&8 year olds, a demanding job, a useless husband. She has gained 45 pounds, developed a stress rash all over her body and lives in a continual state of stress and exhaustion. I could go on with examples but I won't. Just wanted to throw this out there for discussion. How many mothers have more than one child at the permanent expense to their own health?

I, 26f am dating my boyfriend Stan (fake name) 37m, for 2 years and 3 months. I live with him and have for 7 months now.
When I first moved in I noticed sexualised images of women like, Chi chi, Ren, And a bunch of others most of which I am unaware of their names. I was uncomfortable with this but it hadn't fully bothered me, as our sex life was absolutely perfect. We have no children, and we were free. 3 months into us living together, I noticed the sex slow down. I have a skin issue, which I've had for a few years where it comes up in rashes then will disappear then come back ect. I first thought this was the issue but, we where still having sex, so it clearly wasn't. It began to get worse until recently when we haven't had sex in months.
This brings us to my issue. I started to become paranoid that he was cheating on me so, while he slept.. I went through his phone. I know I am an ass for that, but I couldn't take it anymore. I opened his Gallery first. It was COVERED in hentai and porn pictures and videos, all of which where slim large breasts, large bottom, ect. I, am no such woman. I am overweight due to my disability. I have sagging breasts due to how large they are and my butt is nothing magical. So, This hurt. I continued though his phone. Messages, games. Everything. Then I came across "Replika" where he had a "Ai Wife" based off of Ren. Blue short hair. Large breasts. Wearing a bikini. This, Broke me. Wife?... He needed it that badly?... I teared up and once he was awake, I walked to the dining room, slamming the phone on the table in front of him yelling "Is this why we aren't having sex?" And he went silent. Guilt filling his face.
This caused a fight. A huge one. Where he basically tried defending it. I told him I hate it because I am not that body type and he's always seemingly found more attraction to those types, even when I'm the opposite. He yelled about how he has stuff on his mind, mostly about work and said that these pictures and bots help him. I asked if I did and he screamed at me that I'm over reacting and the argument got heated. I asked if he even liked me. This was a mistake. He screamed that right now no, and basically went on to tell me he'd rather have the hentai and porn, and the ai bots, than me. Because they wouldn't nag him so much or complain so much... This killed me. I drove to my aunts and I've been staying here for a week. What do I do?! Do I go back?... or is it over..? I need help... I apologise for the length of this... I couldn't leave a single thing out

I followed a vegetarian diet for about 4 years from ages 10-14. I was then on a cooked carnivore diet for about 10 months and slowly transitioned to a raw diet that I now have been on for 3 weeks. I am 16 now. I have a lot of severe things wrong with me:

1. My lower legs are full of eczema. They're extremely dry and have many red scabs that I can literally pick off.
2. My upper legs are extremely dry and have pretty bad ichthyosis (fish scales). I literally could sit there for hours picking off huge flakes of scaly, dry dead skin.
3. My upper arms/torso is full of peeling off scaly skin.
4. My scalp is dry, yet oily at the same time. Large pieces of dry flakes fall out just like on my upper torso.
5. My lower arms are fucked up. Ingrown hairs, random red bumps everywhere, extremely dry, some red eczema scabs, peeling off skin. Literally everything wrong everywhere else is on my lower arms.
6. The right side of my right hand has the worst eczema/psoriasis/skin rash that is extremely dry and itchy. It's gotten so bad it doesn't even look like a hand anymore.
7. The last ring of my fingertips's skin is not even there. It's so dry and cracked all over my fingertips.
8. Overall, extremely dry skin everywhere. I'd tell you other things wrong with my body but everything else gets ignored because my bad skin is far more prevalent. (gyno, lack of motivation, body odor, a persistent chalazion on my right eye, etc).

The majority of my issues went away in only about 1-2 months going cooked carnivore last summer 10 months ago but never fully went away. Then winter came around (I live in Illinois) and everything came back full fashion and it hasn't really healed much since.
I currently eat 80/20 raw ground beef (grain fed but fresh and never frozen), raw pasture raised eggs, raw milk (whole), and some bananas. Ground beef I usually eat around 1-1.4 pounds per day of with about 10-12 eggs. Raw milk I'm all over the place with but multiple glasses a day as it is my only source of hydration and I'm thirsty if I don't drink it (literally I'll have to buy a melon if I'm out because I need it for hydration). Bananas I usually only eat one a day with some milk as it tastes pretty good. Lately I somehow created a yogurt like consistency with one of my older raw milks and will eat my banana with that like yogurt (it's just soured raw milk that clumped up a bit). I understand some of my portions may be small but it's just my father and I and we aren't the wealthiest.
Fresh raw milk I notice does make my stomach upset but drinking soured, older raw milk is fine. Although fresh milk is fine as long as it eat it with some raw beef/eggs.
I pass gas throughout the day and randomly will get cramps in my stomach. I got some extreme and frequent diarrhea after a week on raw for about 4-5 days and have no clue where that came from. Ever since then i still will get cramps in my stomach.
I'm pretty fucked up overall and I need genuine advice. I am trying to find raw honey but it's not easy. Plus, I don't want to be told I need to incorporate all these different fancy things in order to get healed. If this diet really is the real deal, then it shouldn't be able to be failed. You can't make the same excuse as the vegans and say "you didn't do it correctly".
Please help.

Just another fun little story idea I had. I am still working on Humans are the violent ones but I like to bounce around and experiment with ideas to see what I really like. I also suck at writing more casual stories, as they give me severe writer's block as I try to map out how to make a scene feel genuine in my head, but I promise I'll update that soon. If you like this story and want to see more, then like and comment. I'll gladly continue this series as well.
Start of Personal Log
Humans don't like being told what to do. They don't like being commanded, put in their place, or snubbed. It was an inexorable, inalienable trait of humans, at least any noteable humans, to go against any authority that they believed was against their interests.
Humanity would not fit amongst the stars. Few ever did. It was a trait of most successful species to be willful, ambitious, and to desire more. But once they reached the stars the new (and simultaneously very old) pecking order either quashed any spirit such species had or simply eradicated them. Countless tomb worlds and diaspora served as painful reminders of what became of the nails that chose to stick out. The hammer of order would always strike. There could be no compromise, the very soul of the authority that held the Jurisdiction together relied on a show of unmatched power, or at least the illusion of item.
In reality, the Jurisdiction was an old, fat, and lazy beast. It filled its belly on the corpses of empires far and wide, and sated its bloodlust on the shattered dreams of hopeful cubs. It had every right to, for none could challenge it: there were no new frontiers to explore, nor were there any other enemies to conquer. The Milky Way, as humans had so strangely dubbed our cradle galaxy, as well as Andromeda, had long since been warred over and settled for millennia before humanity had arrived, bright-eyed and with familiar yet otherwise foolish dreams of cooperation and prosperity. The Jurisdiction did not cooperate, nor did it ensure prosperity. Oh, it claimed it did, but in reality it simply took. The rest was just the peace that came with not being the direct target of the biggest fish in the pond. The humans didn't like that, but they had no choice.
Slavery was a common tribute. The Jurisdiction had no use for other resources: it simply took. No, it wanted those who could facilitate that unequal exchange, those raised in a world where the only morality was the one set by your lord. The Jurisdiction was held together by expectations, obligations, and dury more than any kind of shared dream, so when you were ordered to take you did so without question. Humanity was new: they had no niche or value that set them apart, but they had a penchant for killing and taking, so the Jurisdiction gave them a taste of how the galaxy worked. They killed and they took. The humans didn't like that, but what choice did they have?
Humans were strange. They learned, but not in the way most species learned. Most species learned to adapt in a passive way, to adhere to the world around them. They flowed like water, moving past and around obstacles and confirming to the boxes they were assigned too. Humans didn't confirm, nor did they adapt: they made their circumstances fit their desires. They would not move around obstacles, but rather smash through them, and they refused to stay in one box for too long. The Jurisdiction merely saw them as a particularly loud nuisance, but those who faced their wrath knew better.
It is said that when a beast seeks to make an example, it shall humble its rival by killing it's cubs. Children were one of those universal constants that brought entire communities together: the Sok’klar saw their hatchlings as gifts, shaped by the fruitful currents of the universe in perfect harmony. The Yarrack saw each and every newborn whelp as an uncut gemstone, ready to be shaped into something magical. Humanity oftentimes referred to their offspring as angels, or spirits of unbridled good sent by the gods themselves. Children were seen by most of the galaxy as gifts.
The Jurisdiction saw them as a lever to inflict suffering. It had become quite effective at enacting psychological punishments on those that stood up and spoke out. You dare to disobey? You believe you can speak out? Your gifts shall be taken from you, and you shall be without joy.
Humans didn't like this, but the Jurisdiction would have their pound of flesh, and humankind would kneel. And they did. But humans were patient creatures: most species who retained that trait of willful spit also lacked patience.
I had long since become desensitized to the Jurisdiction’s actions: it was simply how the universe worked now, as if it were a constant akin to gravity. Cruelty was the unspoken rule of this seemingly unending age, where our lives never appeared to move forward or backwards, only lay dormant. The Jurisdiction had been the unyielding authority that ruled the galaxy for thousands of years, venerable yet feared all the same.
And for the longest time I was just another cog in its wheel. My name is Kalnuracht Sedjuur-Noumar VII, and was the scion of the noble house Sedjuur-Noumar. I was born into what most would describe as veiled apathy, living a life that could be attributed to the privileged class of feared scribes that enacted the will of those above. I was an administrator and nothing more. And now I am doomed to be far less than that in the eyes of my former constituents within the endless administration. I am the only scion, as is tradition, and without an heir I am the last of my house, our name to be scrubbed from the records, worthless, meaningless, and forgotten.
I am merely Kalnuracht, nothing else and nothing more. I have seen from their eyes, the eyes of the downtrodden, and it makes my crimes of association with the Jurisdiction feel all the more damning on my worthless soul. I am worthless to the world, and this is my story.
End Personal Log #1
Start of Neural Lace Narrative Log #1
They came from the black like carrion birds in the night, encircling our convoy as if it were a dying animal ready to be picked clean without remorse. There was no warning, no list of demands sent out as civilized peoples did, nor was there either any requirement for unconditional surrender nor chance to parlay, as was done so under letter of marque: this was an unmistakable call for violence and nothing else. They sought to reduce us to slag and scavenge the rest.
So, as one would expect, the entire bridge of the ship was nearing a panicked state. This was not the actions of those practicing civility, but rather the common behaviors of despoiling barbarians, the kind that tore their way through the dark reaches of the galaxy as if they owned it.
“Wayfinder, what do your probes see?” Shouted the ship’s sovereign. He was an older Kar’Rowmach, an amphibious cephalopod species with a venerable history within the Jurisdiction going back thousands of years. Normally one such as him would be above me if it weren't for the fact that I was under the authority of the Jurisdiction’s seal of office. He didn't like me very much, but most of his kind shared the same sentiment.
“All dark, honorable Sovereign: the sensor arrays are wailing but the feedback we're reviewing is beyond incomprehensible,” the wayfinder replied with a certain restrained temper in his voice. The Sok'klar wayfinder swayed gently, his tentacled limbs grasping different metallo-liquid braille output arrays, the liquid gallium flexing and reshaping unnaturally to allow him to to take in multiple different sources of sensory output at once, with the primary navigation computer plugged into the cybernetics surrounding his opaque, gelatinous head and plugging directly into his tube-shaped brain.
The Sovereign cursed in Loskat and pointed to his bridge crew while I simply sat in the back, near the Sovereign’s symbolic throne. “Prepare countermeasures and spool up the warp drive, we cannot allow the amanuensis to be taken! He carries sensitive information that only he can translate and transcribe!”
As the bridge crew nodded and began fiddling with their own systems, I preened my feathered hide anxiously. I wasn't a fighter: us nobles of the cloth were the educated minority above all else, not those who waged war or partook in hard labor. Special cybernetics in my brain allowed me to translate triple-encoded messages that usually took a ducal signet codekey or above to parse, but even without that I was a skilled mathematician and logician. I had terabytes worth of knowledge stored within the hardware installed in my head, all well protected of course, but if I were to die it would still be a waste. I could only imagine the damage any malcontenders could do with it if they were able to get their filthy hands on me.
Suddenly, the ship rocked, and the gallium overhead display began to form crescendos like I'd never seen before. “Sovereign, decks A-3 through C-12 are venting atmosphere and our coolant systems have been obliterated,” the Wayfinder spoke in an almost serene voice, as if he was completely unconcerned by current events. I knew they were simply incapable of tonal displays, but it was unnerving nonetheless. “Once we jump, we will not be able to risk another until the vacuum of the void can reduce temperatures to acceptable levels within the plasma capacitors.”
“Damn them,” the armored nautiloid hissed, his barbed feelers coiling in frustration, “May the currents take them. What are our options? what can we see? This fleet cannot fall to the void today, not with such vital cargo.” My hackles rose lightly at the Kar’Rowmach referred to me as some object rather than an esteemed amanuensis of the Jurisdiction, but I bit my forked tongue. Now was not the time to squabble with the sovereign over who was what and what titles I deserved, not while he was so desperately attempting to keep what semblance of order within his fleet that he had left.
I could not blame the crew for being panicked either: wars were practically mythologized now, having been long since rendered obsolete with the rise of the Jurisdiction, and that felt like an eternity ago. Now, either being levied into or joining a ducal naval force was simply another career, more akin to serving as an officer of the law rather than a fully fledged soldier. Minimal training was required, most of it being the technicals of one's duty rather than any kind of combat conditioning, so expecting a fleet to actually be prepared for a combat scenario in a universe where peace was the norm was laughable.
“We are practically blind, Sovereign,” stated the Sok'klar Wayfinder, “our probes are offline, and shipboard graviton displacement sensory arrays have been rendered unreliable at best.”
“What about the particle emission array? Has there been a spike in radioactivity where we were hit?”
The Wayfinder seemed to think for a second, his gelatinous form flexing and morphing a bit before answering. “Affirmative, a jump from negligible to forty billion becquerels along decks A through E-5 on our starboard side.”
“Torpedoes…” the Sovereign hissed, stroking his barbed feelers, “Human Torpedoes. Only those primitives would rely on crude nuclear warheads.” He then turned to his militant leaders on the ship. “Noddos, Rel’ads: organize your phalanxes and prepare to repel boarders. We are bound to be assailed by those rancorous primates, and I want their skulls piled at my feet if they dare set foot on our ship.”
“Your wish is our command, Sovereign,” the two militant commanders spoke as one. Noddos, a large bipedal with multiple sets of curved spines running down his back, a pair of graceful horns sprouting from his head, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in his snout, bowed first, followed by Rel’ads, a marsupial with long saberteeth and thick fur. They both must have been fierce warriors in their own right to each lead a phalanx. They wore thick, semi-powered armor and held dueling polearms alongside their usual plasma casters, and seemed completely unfazed by the situation we were in. As they stomped out of the brightly lit bridge, I let out a quiet squawk of discontentment. “Sovereign, why haven't we jumped again? We are wasting precious time.”
“I am working on it, you spineless beaurocrat!” He warbled back, his feelers tensing in anger, “besides, it's not as if you're the one who will be spilling blood today, amanuensis, so flatten your wretched beak or I shall weld it shut with a plasma torch.
I was about to reply with something indignant, but the ship rocked again, this time causing the lights to flicker and the air to become… thick. The skin under my feathers began to blister, and I became lightheaded and confused. “Seal the damnable vents, initiate radiation scrubbers, and activate secondary life support!” Shouted the Sovereign, “Their nuclear weapons are rendering the ship inhospitable!”
I coughed up magenta blood accidentally, and I could feel more seeping from under my eyes. Some of the crew was in a similar position, but others were more resistant to radiation than I. The Sok'klar seemed completely at ease as he ran his tentacles across his morphic braille arrays before calmly announcing the ship’s status. “I've regained some control over our probes: ten, twelve, and seventeen are active and fully functional, the rest are either still malfunctioning or permanently inoperable. A rapid rise in localized radiation is also interfering with the detection of graviton displacement; we can't sense photon redirection, thus readings will remain inconclusive.
“Wayfinder, damn you, get me some kind of out here! We're easy prey until we can respond in kind!”
“Negative, something has gone awry with our processing hub, I am attempting to troubleshoot-”
And with that, the Wayfinder’s bulbous head exploded in a cascade of opaque lavender blood, covering the front half of the deck crew like a morbid art piece. Some of the crew screamed and shouted in terror before removing their cranial adaptors and choosing to interact with their displays manually. Others died just as quickly, unable to unplug in time as their brain stems fried or their blood boiled. It was a horrible way to go, having your insides neutralized by your own cybernetics, so I was glad I wasn't connected to the system.
“Cybernetic warfare! All systems are to be considered compromised, switch to manual settings or you'll be killed!”
The lights in the bridge flickered again, and the displays went haywire. The bridge crew, which obviously weren't acquainted with working without being hard-linked into the mainframe, moved at a much slower pace.
“Launch missile pods A through F and set to self-target after five hundred kilometers, then rely on their ballistic coordinates to begin firing broadsides! If we can't see the humans due to their meddling, we'll just have to feel them.” Shouted the Sovereign, “and got me a detailed report on the ship’s diagnostics readings. I need to know if this flagship is still capable of escaping or if we'll have to scuttle it and retreat on another.”
“Acknowledged, Sovereign, launching now,” affirmed another deck officer as he swiped across his own gallium output array. I could hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of missiles pushing out of their pods before racing off to their intended targets, then the mechanical whirring as the pods rotated to be reloaded by slaves in the lower decks. I was regaining my bearings as the many horrible sensations of being overwhelmed by radiation poisoning were beginning to subside, but I still felt as if I had been microwaved. The air was stale, the crew was horribly sick as well, and even the sovereign himself seemed to be on his last leg. I was beginning to believe that I might die here.
“Sovereign, a message from the lower decks,” shouted a communications officer, his chitin scraping against itself as he turned quickly, “they're requesting reinforcements, something about being overrun.”
“Impossible,” the Sovereign hissed out in a vain attempt to exude confidence, “We must outnumber the humans, they always go for bigger targets out of arrogance.”
“I've received reports that it's not just humans: the primates seem to make up only a third or so of the assailing force, along with some Phaeldaer and Vrex.”
The commander slammed his clawed hands down on his own output array in a fit of rage, obviously overwhelmed by the circumstances, “Then this wasn't just a typical assault, but something more sinister!” The nautiloid warbled, blood seeping from his shell as the full effects of the radiation took hold, “Get Rel’ads on the line, have him divert all spare lances to the lower decks or else we'll lose the only offensive capabilities we can use.”
“Rel'ads has gone dark, Sovereign, his vitals are critical.”
“Then either get me Rel'ads tail-leader or get me Noddos!” He screamed in rage, “don't give me this nonsense! If we don't pick it up we're all going to die, is that what you want?”
“No, Sovereign, I'm simply overwhelmed-”
“We're all overwhelmed! By the tides, I'm dying of radiation poisoning you nincompoop! Get me something I can work with!”
The officer didn't even acknowledge the Sovereign after that, simply turning back to his display. Eventually, the Sovereign was able to get Noddos on the line.
“Sovereign, two thirds of my phalanxes have been decimated by combat with the primitives and the radiation, the rest are in shambles. We must retreat and fortify elsewhere!”
“Then the ship is compromised! Rel'ads is unresponsive and the lower decks are swarming with intruders. We must evacuate the amanuensis to another ship.”
Just as the Sovereign spoke, I heard several gentle thumps rattle against the bridge’s door, and it made me uneasy. Some of the bridge crew seemed to feel the same, as they looked incredibly nervous and some even drew their sidearms. Just as the sovereign turned to give further orders, the door blew inward with a deafening explosion, followed by shouting and gunfire. Several of the bridge officers were dispatched quickly, brain matter and blood splattering against the delicate electronics. Others were shot in the legs, the torso, or in any other exotic yet non-vital body parts. The humans poured in, brandishing primitive ballistic firearms and jury-rigged energy weapons while wearing scavenged, legion-grade powered armor.
The Sovereign was the next to go, but he wasn't afforded an honorable death. He was shot along the arm with a particularly potent plasma caster, burning off his clawed hand and cauterizing the wound, the acrid smell of roasting chitin filling the already hot and cramped bridge. He fell back against his output array, the gallium reaching new highs and lows as more diagnostics and casualty reports were delivered, and he clutched his stump angrily. “I'll burn every last one of you in the foundries! I'll tie you to stakes, cover you in wax and set you alight! Your screams will be broadcasted all over the galaxy!”
One human warrior stomped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the sovereign’s face, shattering his facial plates and causing blue blood to splatter across his section of the bridge. “Shut the fuck up, you mutant lobster,” the human said before dragging him by both antennae towards the center of the bridge and receiving a stained breeching axe from one of his comrades. “Emmanuel, start recording. We need proof.”
The other human nodded and pressed a button on his armor before lifting up his gun again. The rest of the humans fanned out, holding everyone else at gunpoint. I tried to get up and sneak out, but a human grabbed me by my neck and nearly wrung it out as he forced me to my knees and pointed a sidearm to my skull. “Get down, you piece of shit, before I blow your brains out too.”
“Damnable primate,” I hissed, but he bashed me in my skull with the base of his sidearm’s grip and sent me sprawling, making my already pounding headache worse. Another human shouted at him in a language I didn't recognize, but he sounded furious. The first brought me back up to my knees again, and I complies with a hiss and a groan, blood still leaking from my eyes and mouth and my world was spinning.
The Sovereign struggled, but he was weak from the radiation poisoning and he couldn't exactly resist on account of his lost arm. The human with the breaching ax kicked the Sovereign down and forced him to kneel before lifting up the breeching ax and splitting his chitinous head down the middle with one powerful swing, sending more blood and brains across the floor. “Execution confirmed, take his antennae just in case and we've got ourselves a bounty. Now all we need is that ugly cat’s teeth and the fat hedgehog-thing’s grimy spines and we'll be in business. Although, they do have skulls… we might as well just take their heads.”
The real horror of the situation dawned on me at that moment: they were going to kill us all, or maybe worse. They mentioned a bounty for the commanders, and multiple of the higher ranking ship officers were already dead, their brains splattered against the walls or their bodies torn apart by gunfire. I wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean much since I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Alright, round them up and bring all the grunts to the hanger bay, then kill the rest,” the leader of the humans said in such a lackadaisical manner that his complete disregard for life almost made me sick… almost. I had seen worse from the Jurisdiction before, but usually that was from me delivering some kind of ordered judgment on a world that had sinned against order. I might have simply been the messenger, but I had seen many of the outcomes. “And make sure to collect whatever proof of bounties you can, we'll need to deliver them to the office to get cashed out. Don't let this be a repeat of last time where Juarez fucking forgot to take a few heads and it ended up cutting our profits in half, the fucking retard.”
Some of the humans chuckled at that as they dragged more of the senior officers away, out of the room and into the hall,where I heard gunshots. The rest of the bridge crew froze in place, different fear instincts kicking in. The remaining Sok'klar corralled together into what seemed to be a singular, semi-congealed mass as if to try and trick the humans into believing that they were much bigger and much more threatening than they actually were. The one Thei’chi on the bridge, an ensign who had clearly thought this would be a simple mission, bore her curved fangs at the humans and growled as they approached, her hackles completely vertical and her eyes dilated. They quickly muzzled and bound her before beating her over the head with a gun stock, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Many others simply cooperated, eyes wide and yet simultaneously empty, as if they couldn't quite process that the ship had been taken and the commanding officers were being executed as the rest were escorted to the hangar.
“Get the damn messenger down to the hanger as well, we need whatever data's in his ugly lizard head, then we can decide on what to do with him.”
I spat at him in spite, as if to try and seem brave, but it was clearly an empty gesture. “You won't get anything, primate! You couldn't possibly crack the encryption!”
The human holding me seemed to wind up for another swing, but the commanding officer simply held up his hand to stop my tormentor before strolling over to me. He knelt down and removed his helmet, revealing a beige-colored face covered in scars, wiry black hair cut down to the scalp, and multiple tattoos. “You're really fucking mouthy for a hostage,” he said before punching me across my beak faster than I could register. I heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and my head spun again as the metallic taste of blood pooled into my mouth. “I'd advise you to shut up, but I'm sure you won't listen: you aristocratic types are so full of yourselves. Maybe I should have you flogged in the public square until your vocal chords give out once we rip those cybernetics from your head, huh? How's that sound?”
“It won't matter… it won't change anything… the Jurisdiction will hunt you down.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it will happen for some time: they really suck at doing anything that requires effort, even when they're mad enough. They just keep sending their rabid lapdogs to try and smoke us out, and they always end up full of holes,” the human officer said with a smirk, his yellowish-white teeth and green eyes sending shivers down my spine as he drew his knife. “They're just horrible at their job, you know? You've all gotten so lazy and incompetent after being able to just take what you want without resistance, and now that you've met people who are angry and crazy enough to fight back you act as if we're committing some grave injustice,” he placed the knife against my throat, the flat just underneath my now bent beak, “No, we just took a few pages out of your book, ‘cept we've got standards. No kids, for one…” he seemed to look off into the distance as his sneer deepened, “but it's more than that, we don't attack the defenseless in general and we still win against you all in fair fights.”
I went to say something else snarky, but he quickly grabbed my thin tongue with his fingers and yanked it out, blood from my mouth pulling to the floor as he held the blade of his knife against it. “No no, none of that. Say one more thing and I'll cut that rancid little tongue of yours out of your mouth and feed it to you,” he hissed at me, pressing the blade down just hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what it's like to see a planet turn into a tomb?" he asked me, gritting his teeth, “Do you know what it's like to see everything you've ever known crumble to ash and glass, all the life and the green stripped away leaving nothing but bones? I do. I've seen it happen to countless worlds, and my grandfather always told me stories of how you bastards did it to Earth. He still prays in its direction five times a day, to Mecca, but he knows the Kaaba is gone now, or maybe it's still there, buried in the bones of those who sought refuge there.”
I didn't care for the human’s nonsensical beliefs, but I did care to correct him. “I've seen it before, and I'll see it again. And so will you, it's inevitable. The Jurisdiction will always have its judgment fulfilled, there is no alternative.”
“One day, I hope we can rectify that,” he said, then he sheathed his knife and slammed my head against the metal floor with enough force to nearly knock me out. As I lost consciousness, I could hear him speak. “Take him to the Chop Doc, and make sure the cybernetics don't get damaged: they're supposedly more valuable than any bounty on this ship.”
Warning: Severe radiation poisoning detected. Flush system immediately.
Warning: Neural Lace removal detected, chance of neurological damage high. Proceeded with caution.

27 weeks with second baby! Last night I woke up vomiting, went to L&D and noticed a red rash all over my body. I got fluids and Benadryl, they took labs and all were normal except white blood cells. They determined it’s a viral infection and I went home. All day I haven’t had an appetite, my skin is burning and tingling with no red rash, tingling lips and occasionally just feeling my face flush. Haven’t vomited since last night but I’m so uncomfortable and worried. Anyone have similar symptoms or know what this could be?

The artist is extremely fucking talented and it’s by far the best tattoo I have. It’s fine line work. It’s impeccable. The artist told me straightaway that for the inner bicep I wanted it on, I should mirror image it bc it’s a figure and it looks better facing out rather than facing in towards my body. For some reason seeing the mirror image head on looked really wrong to me so I immediately declined. Then we went ahead with sizing, etc and I was happy with that, then I was looking at the purple stencil in the mirror, in the “correct” orientation I had asked for, and wondering why it looked wrong. (Because I was seeing it backwards anyway in the mirror and I’m a fucking idiot). I get extremely anxious asking to adjust the purple stencil and I had already asked once so I was not about to then be like actually let’s start over and flip the image and print out a whole other stencil (it would have been fine I know). So I went with it, the artist is incredible and the tattoo is so fucking gorgeous, and I can’t fucking see it bc it’s facing in towards my arm so I have to twist my whole arm basically overextended to see the incredible detail AND when I look at it in the mirror, it’s backwards which is what I didn’t want in the first place.
It looks great, it healed almost immediately, I’m only a day out from having gotten it, please tell me it’s not worth it. Are fine lines easy to laser off? Do they blister? I have ocd and I’m going a little insane. It’s such a gorgeous tattoo and it feels like a waste to me that not only can others not see it but I can’t even see it the way I wanted to. All that i can see is the back of the figure, facing into my body. I’m such an idiot I just get so anxious worrying about annoying my artist by taking too long to deliberate placement. I would have lost nothing by being like “actually you were right in the first place!” And taking literally three mins to flip it and print a new stencil. I just can’t stop beating myself up about it and it’s making me want to cry seeing it just barely peeking out and facing the wrong way like wtf was the point. Other than that it was the best tattoo experience I’ve ever had, barely hurt healed well the artist is so talented. It was literally just my own stupid fucking brain and the artist tried to advise me (but didn’t push me) and I didn’t listen. Would I even be able to recreate a fine line tattoo over laser removal or would it leave ink behind anyway that would make it look messy?

27 weeks with second baby! Last night I woke up vomiting, went to L&D and noticed a red rash all over my body. I got fluids and Benadryl, they took labs and all were normal except white blood cells. They determined it’s a viral infection and I went home. All day I haven’t had an appetite, my skin is burning and tingling with no red rash, tingling lips and occasionally just feeling my face flush. Haven’t vomited since last night but I’m so uncomfortable and worried. Anyone have similar symptoms or know what this could be?

I’m 42, early perimenopause, and I want to celebrate giving less fucks and having more playfulness and pleasure in my life.
It’s the long weekend and I’m so happy to have 3 free days stretching ahead of me. Even though we are just staying at home, I feel like I’m on vacation. And that’s because we haven’t formally planned anything….we’re just going to putter around and see where our weekend takes us. And isn’t vacation just a dedicated time to rest, play, explore and enjoy yourself? Literally follow your pleasure.
I never would allowed myself to do this before. I would’ve looked at the housework that needed to be done and the projects on the list, and decided that I better use this lovely long weekend to do perfectionistic work, because I didn’t allow myself to rest until all the work was done or I was on vacation.
Instead, I had a really fun workout being playful and weird and dancing to an awesome playlist (I’m obsessed with jungle’s back on 74) and shaking out the stress of the workweek, then stretched and rolled out my muscles which felt like releasing all the bullshit of the week - I felt so clear and grounded after. Now I’m having a chill day and just had a lovely self massage session where I felt close to orgasm for about 20 min before a beautiful release (!) while listening to poetic sensual songs by my man, Hozier and now I’m happily eating nerds and writing this so I don’t forget.
I organize my life when I’m not at work around rest, creativity, playfulness and pleasure and life feels like vacation most of the time. Has to be said, There is a lot of privilege in this…. I have a modest house, an old car that runs. I have enough money to pay the bills, I don’t live an extravagant life, but I don’t worry about meeting my basic needs.
It was slow but I built this life over the past five years. Like so many, the journey started with the lowest of lows - the death of my mother (which was v. complicated but that’s a story for another time) and led to me slowly but surely unlearning everything I thought I knew about how to be a good human and live a good life. I deconstructed from Christianity and processed some complex trauma and that opened up my nervous system to be in a calm, connected state more often rather than in fight or flight or shutdown most of the time.
I’ve stopped striving for some perfectionistic vision of success that was given to me by other people. I think this might be what people mean when they say that in your 40s and 50s you stop giving so many fucks?
I gave so many fucks because I really wanted connection and belonging and and because of complex trauma I was always trying to be the person that other people needed me to be so I could maintain connection with them.
Now I’m deeply connected with myself. I listen to my body most of the time. I feed myself and care for myself better because I really do love myself more wholly than I did before. I had so many conditions on accepting myself in the past, so I was always unhappy. I had a pretty toxic relationship with myself and it took a while to repair that.
I’ve learned to be the kind, encouraging fiercely, motivating, and encouraging friend to myself that I am to other people in my life. my inner critic is still there, but not nearly as loud as she used to be. I’ve now got another voice in my head….i like to think of her as myself when I’m a grandmother, holding my hand and comforting me when I need it and pumping me up and pushing me when I need it. It sure beats that mean inner critic…who I sometimes visualize as my teenager self, yelling at me and shaming me all the time!
Now me and the kind voice in my head roll through life seeking pleasure - the excitement of a new garden, the sun on my skin, a warm bath, chopping up veggies and making a fancy salad. I want to enjoy my life and that leads to all sorts of caring for my physical, mental, relational, and spiritual needs.
I’m just so happy I got to this point in my life, I didn’t think I could ever feel a sense of ease like this.
Anyways, here’s to my perimenopausal and menopausal friends who are on the journey of giving less fucks, learning you are and what you value, and untangling the chokehold of perfectionism and people pleasing (capitalism and patriarchy) and following your pleasure.