Sickness red eyes

In the heart of Chicago, where the skyline pierced the heavens and the streets pulsed with life, there lived a man named Victor Kane. At 26 years old and a startling 6'3" in stature, Victor commanded attention effortlessly. His piercing gaze seemed to see through the very fabric of one's soul, and his knowing, flirtatious smirk hinted at secrets that few could ever fathom. Victor was a man of many faces, each one carefully crafted and expertly worn to blend into any situation, like a chameleon adapting to its surroundings. Each interaction with another human was as if it were another painting to be hung in the Art Institute of Chicago, a masterpiece of social maneuvering and charm.
To most, he appeared unremarkable, perhaps even a bit dim, an illusion he maintained with meticulous precision. Yet beneath this facade lay a mind as sharp as a dagger, honed by years of strategic thinking, manipulation, and the art of emotional deceit. Victor had learned from the best. His father, a man deeply entrenched in the shadowy world of organized crime, had mastered the art of bending reality to his will. A master chess player, he treated people like pieces on a grand chessboard, moving them at his whim, always six steps ahead. Victor had absorbed these lessons like a sponge, his young mind eagerly soaking up every tactic, every subtle nuance of control.
Battles with his father have left their scars, trailing off Victor like a snake's entrails as they slither through crowded streets, scanning for their next meal. They probe the aura of each passerby, tasting their energy, yet to their disappointment, they find no juicy, dirt-filled sponge of pain and suffering. They taste desires, yet nothing hits just right. Empty husks, devoid of the essence they crave. Living memories enshroud him in a cloud of black smoke, a spectral fog visible only to a witch. A demon, masquerading as a homeless man and muttering incoherent whispers, feels the snake's embrace tighten around him. He halts abruptly, turning to Victor with a knowing gaze. 'I see you,' he murmurs, 'Such discipline and composure may deceive the others, yet it's only a matter of time before they find you.' The homeless man continues his walk, pulling a black suitcase along, his tattered white shirt contrasting sharply with his black suit, and no tie to complete the ensemble.
Victor makes no comment, his mind a labyrinth of dark intentions and calculated moves. He viewed the world as a malleable entity, something he could shape and twist to suit his needs. The streets, the people, the very air he breathed; they were all part of a grand, intricate game where he alone held the key. He had no qualms about using others to achieve his goals, seeing them as mere tools in his grand design. It was a dangerous philosophy, one which required constant vigilance and adaptability. As he moved through the throngs of oblivious souls, he could almost hear the whispers of their deepest fears and hidden sins. The scars trailed behind him, living entities of their own, reaching out hungrily, desperate for a morsel of genuine suffering. Yet the city, with all its noise and chaos, offered little more than hollow echoes and fleeting shadows. Traces of happiness. Lost children in the never ending void of their own desperation. Victor's eyes flickered with a cold, calculating light. He was a master of this urban jungle, a predator in search of worthy prey. The demon’s warning lingered in his mind, yet it only fueled a burning hunger. He thrived in the shadows, where power and control were his for the taking. Each step he took was a step closer to his ultimate end goal, a twisted vision of dominance, only he could see.
In the distance, the city’s lights shimmered like false promises, yet Victor knew better. Beneath the surface, in hidden corners and forgotten alleys, darkness mirrored his own. In this abyss, he felt certain he would find what he sought: the true essence of his own hunger, the raw, unfiltered energy he could devour. Victor thrived on the underestimation of others, reveling when people perceived him as lesser. Such perceptions made his manipulations appear as innocent mistakes, acts of ignorance and oblivion. His favorite targets: those with inflated egos, individuals convinced of their invincibility.
"A person with a big ego is like an orgasm," he often mused, speaking as if to his shadow. "It's just so easy. Their first mistake: telling me we're not equals. Afterward, they reveal all the buttons and levers in their psyche. They hand me their own weapon on a silver platter, asking, 'Victor, please send me to meet Anpu. Please show me the gates of my own demise.' Their insanity begs to be freed from this curse of societal norms. Always the first mistake, then the rest follow." Laughter echoed from the snakes twining around Victor. As he whispered these musings, the words ensnared a group of Venezuelans nearby, inciting them into a frenzy of violence without understanding the spark. Victor watched, casually tossing a silver dollar their way as if to say, "Welcome to the sanctuary," his smirk a shadow under the flickering streetlights. He calls to the boys, 'there now before you boys get into trouble remember this, you're only seeing the lions teeth, yet you haven't seen what triggered it.' They stared at Victor, startled, as he bid them farewell with a two-finger salute from his left temple and continued wandering down the street.
A drone sliced through the air, its camera lens capturing the serpentine twists of the Chicago River below. Victor, watching its flight, was transported to his youth, to days spent cobbling together a demonic owl from discarded household trinkets and an owl decoy. He would pilot this macabre creation through his neighborhood, a spectral puppeteer orchestrating nocturnal ballets which both delighted and unnerved his unsuspecting audience. A sinister grin unfurled across his lips, a shadow's whisper, as memories of those simple machines mingled with the sophisticated arsenal he commanded today. In the digital age, Victor had become a maestro of manipulation, his tools refined yet no less mischievous. Social media platforms were his stage, targeted advertisements and spoofed numbers his actors, each one playing their part in his grand, deceptive symphony. With the deftest touch, he planted seeds of doubt, spun webs of misinformation, transforming allies into adversaries, stitching chaos into the fabric of daily lives with mere whispers masquerading as shouts. His schemes were crafted with such subtlety, woven so seamlessly into the warp and weft of reality, that his victims believed themselves architects of their own undoing.
The crowning jewel of his current machinations was a prototype drone, a whimsical homage to the contraptions of his youth yet imbued with the precision of modern technology. This drone, engineered to navigate from the chilly confines of his refrigerator to the steamy oasis of his rooftop hot tub, was a testament to his technical acumen. Crafted to be mended with mere baubles from any corner hardware store, it stood as a symbol of practical genius, a playful yet potent emblem of his enduring craft.
Victor glimpsed a universe of possibilities within this project, each drone a seed from which new opportunities might bloom. "Perhaps I could craft a model for a dive shop in Australia," he mused. "A sentinel to monitor the slow dance of decay among the coral reefs." Such a gift could forge pathways, perhaps even secure an internship, an opportunity to wield his 417 subclass visa before its flame flickered out. The prospect of traversing Australia's vast landscapes, of weaving his influence through uncharted territories and minds, sparked a thrill within him. Beyond the realm of circuitry and code, Victor possessed a profound mastery over the human psyche. He had the uncanny ability to read individuals, to delve into the murky depths of their insecurities and desires. With the finesse of a sculptor, he could mold a woman’s perception, convincing her of a soul-deep connection, crafting mirages of perfect compatibility. Yet, for all his prowess in the art of deception, Victor adhered to his own strict code. He eschewed physical violence, never staining his hands with assault; his dominion was the mind, his influence woven through the delicate fabric of psychology.
In Chicago's suffocating underbelly, Victor's father regarded him not with paternal concern, rather with venomous animosity. Their relationship was a battleground, devoid of affection or empathy, cloaked threats masquerading as concern. "Victor, if you don't see a psychiatrist, I'm cutting you off," he declared, his voice a cold hiss, a deeper wish for Victor's demise lurking beneath. Victor's laugh, hollow, echoing through the night, a sound devoid of warmth, knew well the true nature of the psychiatrist and the deeper machinations of his father's cruel intentions. His father viewed him not as a son, yet as a nemesis, a presence he wished to erase from existence. Surrounded by the oppressive cityscape, Victor stood alone atop his building, the L line screeching past, the lights below mere distant, watchful eyes. "Tomorrow, I bend reality once more," he whispered into the void, his voice merging with the cold wind sweeping the rooftops.
The relentless pursuit of his father's malice shadowed him into the darkest city corners where shadows moved with intent, whispering of ancient, sinister forces. Here, in the corner of his eyes an oozing of black liquid drenched an alley, a tar monster, a grotesque manifestation of the city’s darkest secrets, its gnarled face and gleaming teeth mirroring the twisted relationship endured. Against a backdrop of a city thrumming with malevolent energy, Victor pondered the fragile line between delusion and reality. "It's only delusional till it works, so is it really delusional?" he mused aloud, his words dissipating into the night where the distinction between madness and genius blurred by darkness.
Retreating from the alley, his figure melded into the shadows, each step deliberate, burdened with the weight of a cursed legacy. He was acutely aware of his dual role, both manipulator and pawn in a grander, more malevolent game, a game orchestrated by forces predating the city itself. Every movement influenced by the sinister energy pervading Chicago, a legacy of corruption and darkness intertwined with his own existence. Victor understood his every action overseen by the ancient entity had taken interest in him, an entity finding delight in his struggle, offering protection at a dreadful cost.
Emerging from the shadows back into the flickering city lights, Victor found no solace in the illumination yet his smile stretched reaching his eyes showing his gleaming razor sharp teeth. These lights did not offer hope only humor; they were beacons of a foreboding reality. He resolved to continue bending reality, wielding the cursed power both protecting, ensnaring him, and pointing out the irony of his situation. Day after day, he would play this dark game, a master of deceit entwined with an ancient force more profound and sinister than any could fathom.
With one final, lingering look at the alley where darkness reigned supreme, Victor Kane laughed, a hollow echo fading as he stepped into the nearby pub. Inside, the warm glow contrasted starkly with the night's chilling embrace, yet the shadows seemed merely to lurk at the edges, waiting. At their usual spot by the worn bar, he found Billy Smith, his old high school Basketball teammate, with two pints of beer ready. They clinked glasses, the sound slicing through the hum of conversations around them. "To the unexpected," Victor intoned, his voice laced with a hint of irony. As they settled into the rhythm of their catch-up, the conversation inevitably turned toward the unfolding news, the war in Ukraine, an event that had caught the world off guard.
"No one ever saw it coming," Billy remarked, his tone a mix of wonder and concern.
Victor's eyes flickered with a dark amusement, and raising his glass again, he offered a toast, this time in Latin, a language that carried the weight of history and secrets. "Ad profundis malorum," he declared, which translated to 'To the depths of evils.'
Billy paused, the words hanging between them like a veil being slowly drawn back to reveal a hidden scene. The toast was enigmatic, resonant with Victor’s acknowledgment of the chaos brewing both near and far, a chaos that, perhaps, only he could navigate.
As the night deepened within the grimy confines of the pub, where every corner whispered of misdeeds and the air hung heavy with the scent of stale beer and lost hopes, the laughter and chatter provided a deceptive cover for the profound game silently playing in Victor’s mind. His cryptic toast, "Ad profundis malorum," echoed a darker undertone amidst the jovial noise.
Across the bar, a woman with long jet black hair and piercing grey eyes watched Victor. Clad in a striking red full-grain leather trench coat, her presence was undeniably conspicuous, yet paradoxically, she remained unnoticed. Despite her short stature, she was fit, her features sharply defined, an attractiveness seemingly almost otherworldly amidst the grime of the pub. Curiously, not even the barkeep spared her a glance, as if she existed in a separate realm, visible only to those she chose to confront. As Billy excitedly shared his plans to open a dive shop with a taco bar on the roof, the woman’s lips moved in a whisper, her voice a soft, clear bell in the din, carrying a dire warning. "I know what you are. We found you." At that moment, a flashback surged through Victor’s mind, a haunting image of a colonial girl he once saw in the Fraser Experimental Forest. His girlfriend at the time had turned to him, her voice tinged with unease. "Victor, do you see what I see? The girl? Yeah, the girl. I can feel something following us. As if it knows what we are yet won't approach, yet I can feel it." This vivid recollection now seemed a prelude to the current moment, a chilling reminder the forces he had glimpsed back then were the same now declaring their presence.
The evening wound down with plans made and stories shared, yet the woman’s prophetic words and the ghostly memory of the girl hung unseen in the air, portending looming confrontations between the light she embodied and the shadow following Victor Kane. As the patrons began to drift away, the shadows reclaiming their territory within the pub, the mysterious woman’s figure faded into the background, her message delivered, her purpose yet unclear but undoubtedly intertwined with Victor’s fate.
The end.

(Part 2 out now)
I woke up with a cough of blood and pain. I felt something metal with my hands as I looked down. A long stint of rebar poked out of my ribcage and through my chest plate, covered in a mix of my blood and the bile of a bug.
I reached down and grabbed my Senator, feeling its trusty weight in my hands. I haphazardly tried to place the barrel against the portion of rebar sticking out of my back. This had better work, I thought. I pulled the trigger once and with a loud Crack I felt the vibration from the shot in my stomach. I tried to choke down vomit and pulled the trigger twice more Crack, Crack. With the third shot the rebar gave way and I rolled to my side and collapsed on the ground. Agony shot through my body as I hit the dirt.
I realized then, Hmmph, they left me. During Extraction one of the other divers called in a 500kg as we were about to board Pelican 1. She had thrown it over one of those damned chargers in an effort to kill one last bug but... it started charging us. I was the last one in line and just as I was about to board... i was thrown 200 feet away from extraction site. I don't blame them. I'd have left me too. We had successfully evacuated a number of scientists and other military personnel, but we'd lost the planet. No hard feelings I guess.
I tried to pull my mind away from those thoughts and just focused on one. Survive. I pulled myself to my knees and looked at the rebar again. Cant park there bud, I thought tryna cheer myself up. I had dropped my senator when I fell and ended up with two free hands. I reached down and with the assistance of my servo-assited armor prepared to wrench the rebar from my chest. Alright, count of three, I thought. One my heartrate quickened. Two I adjusted my grip ever so slightly. Three I ripped the metal rod out and felt a hot stinging pain shoot through my body. I quickly grabbed a stim and applied it.
I winced as the stim numbed my broken ribs and began rapidly working to heal them and my open chest wound. After a couple seconds, I could stand.
I took quick stock of my inventory. My Senator with 23 rounds left, two ration packs, a canteen of water, 1 stim, a knife, and a bag of oatmeal. Oatmeal? Seriously? I'd rather have ammo but... beggars can't be choosers.
I looked around me. Snow and beaten down rubble surrounded me. This was some kind of research station, I think. Didn't bother grabbing the name. Cold as hell and nothing really around to get my bearings. Great. I thought. Im gonna die inside a freezer. I started looking through the rubble for anything useful. I found a corpse of one of the scientists that hadn't made it to evac. I grabbed the ID card off his jacket. Figured It'd get me inside a building if there were any left standing. I crawled out of the rubble and onto the snowy tundra.
The sun had set and with it most of the light I would've been able to utilize. I scanned the horizon for a blinking light. Blinking like meant beacon. Beacon meant possible radio, maybe some ammo. I clocked one to the southwest and began walking that direction senator drawn.
I spotted a few distant bug patrols illuminated by moonlight but they had no interest in me. I kept my head down and kept moving towards the light. Details started to take shape and I could see this was a research station. Perfect I thought.
I reached the door and used the key card. There was a Beep and the red light flashed green. The door cracked open before jamming. Oh no you dont, I thought and with one hand yanked the door open. I closed it behind me with the same hand to keep the wildlife disinterested.
Inside was dark and damp. I had lost the seal integrity on my suit so there was barely any oxygen regulation. Didn't need it on this planet but still, it's a bitch to fix. I turned my flashlight on and started scanning the room for a light switch. I found one but wouldn't ya know it... dead. At least the beacon had power. I walked over to the radio and pulled off my helmet. I wedged the flashlight in my neck and leaned my head to the side. I started flipping switches and turning dials to see if there was a response. Nothing. Id have to find the master terminal. I grabbed the flashlight and donned my helmet again. I began scanning the room again before I heard it. A little shuffle behind me. I turned quickly and drew my senator raising it at the source of the sound.
It was a small child. At least... thats what it appeared to be. At first glance I could see bindings on its legs and arms. A hospital gown with little ducklings on it and a teddy bear tucked under its arm. I lowered my senator as it spoke.
"Dr. Mehon told me to wait here. He said hed be right back."
Dr. Mehon was probably dead I thought. I knelt down and put my hand on the child's shoulder. "Whats your name kid?"
"3". I felt a rage build up. I swallowed it quickly.
"Well 3, what uh... why.. why do you have bin.." I stopped myself. Whatever those scientists were doing here...
3 looked up at me and I noticed it. A cat like set of eyes. Other little details started to click as well. Four fingers on each hand, slightly pointed ears, a discoloration of skin and a rigid scale-like spine on the shoulder.
"The radio doesnt work mister." 3 seemed to have understood their situation. "Dr Mehon destroyed it before he left."
I realized then that it was unlikely either of us would make it off this planet alive.
EDIT: Part 2 out now! (Part 2's a lil shorter) I Didnt think itd get this many upvotes and comments. Ill keep writing then. Feel free to suggest names for 3!

call me names.
I lock myself in a room, small dusty room - the dust is mostly dirt blows in through the open windows. pollen. it makes you sneeze, me sneeze, even after I close the windows, when it's getting too cold. call me 'sniffles', that's a name you could call me.
someone is afraid, long time they've been afraid and their fear makes them called 'fraidy cat'. they're shuddering. i look over at them in the corner and they shudder harder - i step closer, they shudder harder - like excited atoms, the friction, they start to glow. fire is burning in the corner of the room with them, in them, around them, and now the wallpaper (pale blue with little pink roses here and there) is charred black. hold out a hand (to offer them comfort), but the time is past (for comfort) and the soot blackens your fingertip. i wrote something in the soot like a dirty or a foggy car window (outside or inside, warm or cold). the wall was warm from their little inferno fire burning fire fire but it was years ago (the two steps across the room were years) and your finger doesn't burn, cold like a wall is cold. close the windows. the ashes make sniffles sneeze.
call yourself something big: you can be 'ace' or 'joe cool' or 'the fonz' or 'bullit' or 'brainy smurf' or 'indiana jones' or 'mr. creosote', point is that you've got a lot to give. I'm you. I know i'm you because in mirrors you look me right in the eye. I look over your shoulder. I push a boulder. The moon is like a boulder in space, weightless, and the earth and the sun are pushing it together. One does more work than the other. Rumor has it the moon's just an affectation the earth came up with to impress the sun. instead of reading this you should read that calvino story about the moon.
anyway, the moon's something big. all the dogs howl at it - of course they would. they're just a piece of the earth same as all of us, so it's a kind of arrogance then, the moonhowl, it's look-at-me look-how-great-I-am. I have some barbed wire too, the two dogs on opposite sides, one that's free and the other that isn't, the free one gets stuck below in the middle of the night and bleeds to death, the unfree one runs in circles pointlessly, digs a rut in the ground that matches the fence - the clever observation would be that the one with the name, 'fido' or 'rex' or 'killer', that despite being trapped in the boundary of the fence he's the one who's really free, and the one who has no name (he never had any use for one) is imprisoned in his own way, not by the fence but by his exclusion from the things that matter, the naming of things, etc. that's what you might write if you were trying to be clever.
instead of being clever, you could write the most obvious thing in the world. you could recite it, out loud, in public. you could read and write and recite to delight, the light that burns twice as bright, scribble with some graphite, at night. the persistent rumor (as advanced by the koyannisqatsi guy (that word, so mysterious and alien, of course actually just swiped like everything else from the people it once belonged to, belongs to him now)) that television rots children's brains has little basis in reality. i spent half my life watching television. if i remember correctly the gimmick in this film of his was that the kids were all zombies staring at the television, and the television was showing the disney adaptation of pinnochio or something. maybe it was dumbo. these are both films about being a prisoner. (sniffles might have been that disney dwarf, call him 'sneezy')
the thing i was getting at is that the cathode ray tube is where electrons go. your brain, your personality, it's all the same thing, electrons. they're stuck in your brain. some people believed that x-rays or gamma radiation or something were leeching out of the CRTs and this was why everyone was 'getting dumber', and they believed also that the programming itself was to blame, that if only we made the television more Moral and Upright and Proper things would finally fall into place. it never occurred to them that television was downstream of society itself, that is, them and their actions, the ones they do on purpose as well as the ones they do without thinking. in the cartoon, the wolf goes bananas because of how much of a hard-on he has for red riding hood, everyone is laughing when a train whistle comes out of his head or his eyes bulge out of their sockets, or his tongue is suddenly 50 feet long and unrolls like a red carpet, they laugh and the thought process which produces this hilarious moment is "sometimes desire is like your tongue unrolling like a carpet", "sometimes sex is like steam coming out of your ears", "sometimes your heart beats and every pump it's jutting ten feet out of your chest"
more and more quietly you walk up some stairs. they're creaky and you don't want to wake anyone. i say more and more because the first time you climb them, many years ago, it's too loud and you make the neighbors angry, and even though they don't tell you about it with words, you get the message. (one day you'll build a house with stairs that never creak or stairs that always creak, and this will solve the problem once and for all) the same goes for the heart-beats. heart beats too loud or too quietly. softly the heart beats. beats me.

I’m a 15yr female Freshmen and have a crush on a guy even though I have a boyfriend. I know it sounds wrong, because it is, but I’ll explain further. Over this past year I have started developing feelings for a guy in my 6th period World cultures class. I’m just gonna use his initial, F. F is 15 turning 16 this summer and is the class clown. He’s so cute and in the beginning of the school year we would make eye contact a lot. He has messy blonde hair, which he’s always fixing in class, and two pretty blue eyes I love to get lost in. He’s so funny and though I was going to switch from World cultures in my 2nd quarter I chose not to just because of F being in there. In December I got his snap from my friend A and started trying to befriend him. I admired him a lot cause I was supper shy and seeing him just be himself was fun and wanted me to try and loosen up more. I swear he would walk into class and the room would brighten up. Whenever he gets embarrassed he hides his face in his hoodie and keeps that stupid ADORABLE smile on his face! In February I Gifted him a valentine to show my appreciation for him being such a nice guy and he was sweet about it. But then apparently this girl named Kate who he was talking(?) to at the time found out. And she hated me after. I didn’t know of this yet but her friends would sit by my locker eat day and when I went to go get my stuff from it they would make fun of me. I felt so upset cause I really have a hard time with my insecurities and Since I’m sensitive and would cry often because of it. I eventually just decided to just carry around the extra pound of stuff in my bag every day so I wouldn’t pass them. Then out of the blue F had blocked me. I felt so hurt and upset because he was the first friend I ever made by myself and I really valued him as a person in my life. I spent the week in tears and it didn’t make it better that he would then stare at me in class, almost like he was waiting to see how I would react to it. A week later I contact him on titkok and tell him that I was sorry if I made him uncomfortable and that I could switch classes if nessasary(due to my 504 i would’ve been granted permission to do so) He replied that I did nothing wrong and it was just he started talking to someone and they had him block me. I wished him luck on a concert he had coming up and then left him completely alone for days because I just couldn’t face him. I didn’t know what I had done to his girl but I felt so guilty I would get sick, I have a pretty weak stomach, I would throw up in the bathroom and cry a lot throughout the weeks. What made it worse is that my friend Z had at the time recently passed away, and since F was one of my favourite ppl to talk to that I trusted I was even more upset that I couldn’t talk to him. Then two weeks later as I’m finally trying to get over it Mr F unblocks me, throughout that whole week his friends had been snapping me stuff about how Felix was upset and wanted to unblock me but was afraid to(which I don’t understand it’s not like I bite). When he did it was a Thursday and he had a school concert I watched. He was on electric guitar. It was firefly’s by owl city, aka one of my fav songs. I loved watching him play, I was happy as a puppy😁 but then when I went to the bathroom to check my hair, my ex friend Madi came in. She asked if I liked him and I just got flustered. She then said he had said he liked her so it didn’t matter and she might say yes to him. I was confused because I had JUST been blocked because of his last talking stage! So how would he have also recently confessed to Madi? I go in 6th period and walk right up to him, I was a bit nervous cause I had to look up higher to meet his gaze. I asked if he had recently told Madi he had a crush on her in the past 2-3 weeks and he looks me in the eye and says no. I said “alr thanks“ and went back to talk to my friend. Either him or mad was lying, and I assumed madi but then oohhhhh then after school he admitted to confessing to her. It's 3:00am(quiet literally) and I'm at 10 percent, this is part one but I'll complete the rest tomorrow

I have mental health issues like depression and anxiety and have worked at this place for 3.5 years (England)
Since I came back from the mat leave, my line manager was off with me due to my 1 year old getting sick on the nursery as she just joined it.
My line manager shouted at me, that led to depression relapse. Please note that I was admitted to mother and baby unit when my post-partum depression was quite bad 1.5 month after my baby was born.
I went on sick leave for 12 days and when I came back, I told HR that my depression is getting worse due to my line manager as I was much better and off medications before I joined the work after mat leave.HR was being very rude towards me and forced me to make eye contact with my line manager.
HR was still not changing the line manager and I got pissed off and told them that why are you not understanding, she is harming me by her volatile nature and my child is suffering as I can't even play with her.
Line manager said that I am a bully and aggressive. So an informal investigation was conducted in which she retracted her bullying allegations and said I was aggressive when I asked them (HR) for changing the line manager.
Eventually, the line manager was changed and I mended relationship with my previous line manager as I got to know she was suffering from menopausal issues, that explained her behaviour and I moved forward.
Since I completed all my goals, I got good end of year review by the interim manager. I changed the nursery and got my child into a childminder setting for less sickness.
In January, I got a new line manager who seemed really level headed and kind. Owing to my depression and anxiety, I was seeking validation from him (like job well done etc.) by showing him my data (I am a researcher), he was always humble and nice and we brainstormed.
Then after three months, I suddenly had a performance review and was told that I do not show enough independence in performing my work, I seek help from my line manager (who is not even trained in my field - it is a matrix management). The project lead said that I share too much data with them - I over communicate via teams. The project lead made a teams group in which he added my line manager and I, and made me prepare weekly plans for the work package. I thought, if I share my data with them, they will see how hard I am working and how everything is according to the timeline. Several (not all) colleagues feel that the project lead is a narcissist.
But no, my line manager ambushed me with this sudden performance review in which me mentioned that if I don't improve within three weeks, I will be put on PIP.
I had such a bad depressive episode that I got suicidal. My anti--depressant dose got increased and my psychiatrist said, it is the work which is causing you issues, no dose will help you. This issue needs to be sorted.
I am on sick leave now. The attitude of my line manager has shocked me. He never gave me any feedback before, if he did, I would have happily changed myself according to what they wanted. But he rather started a performance review with director and HR involved. This broke my trust and me. He was writing all the small points throughout those three months. Most of the things he are saying are false. He misunderstood my humbleness to be lack of independence or knowledge. I always had good performance reviews, this is the first time I am listening to this when I was working so hard.
I am thinking of going the legal way - preferably a settlement. What would you suggest? Does it look like discrimination to you?

(Sorry for English, it's not my first language.) When we met it was love on first site and from the 5 years together we've lived together for 1,5. I always felt like it was meant to be and had never any doubts about her, no fights and nothing to hide from each other.
During our relationship it became clear that she was not the person to take initiative. A lot of plans and ideas to do something together came from me. From baking together to going on vacation. If I didn't come up with an idea to do something together, it was never going to happen. I didn't really mind since I just accepted her for not being initiative. In my eyes she is perfect the way she is. But the past year I got more and more busy. Leading to us not doing a lot of exciting activities together
The past year I have been very busy with school since it's my graduation year, and can understand that I haven't given her the same amount of attention as i've given the years before. She was busy with school as well, until she quit in January because it was too hard. Since then it has gone downwards between us. She had a lot of time on her hand and time to think, while I was completely stressed out for delivering my thesis for the deadline.
Well about two weeks ago she says she doesn't know if she wants to continue the relationship. She says she loves me and misses me and thinks we're perfect together, but has a feeling in her stomach that she doesn't know for sure. She was staying with a friend at that moment and texted me. She didn't want to see me at the time because I was very sick and infectious. So after about a week, she came back home and we talked. She said she didn't know what to do and it was best to just take a break for about two months.
Now I wouldn't mind giving her the space and time she needs for her feelings. Feelings can be a tricky thing, and not something you can control. But I have to deliver my thesis in a week to graduate uni. And I can't stop feeling overwhelmed and betrayed that she does this two weeks before I finally finish my education. I don't know if I can trust her anymore. Is it even okay to think about going back together or should I protect myself and break up myself. I just don't know what to do.

(NOT ASKING FOR A RATING!!)(16yr old sophomore)After I spent this entire school year loosing weight and changing my style and hair completely I came to the realization that no matter how much fat I loose, how cool my clothes look or how smooth my face is, I will always be ugly because of my face shape. I have a long face, My forehead is average size, my nose is long and hooked, my lips are small in size and is pretty far away from my nose and I have a 2 inch long chin. I wear glasses that make my eyes look smaller bc I have prescription glasses, but without them I look off since they help take away from my huge eyes with barely any eye lashes. My face looks pretty androgynous but not in the hot way. I look like the combination of a little boy and a women. On top of that I have a soft jawline so my side profile is atrocious. No matter what bathroom I’d walk into you’d question if I was a women or a man. When I dress feminine I’m told I look like a trans women by one of my friends. When I dress masculine I get told I look like a little boy. As of right now, my face is still a little bit chubby, and I’m kind of skinny fat.
I’m trying hard to be able to get even more fit so I at least look bearable to look at. I hate that I complained for 2 years abt my looks and didn’t make a change until this school year, so I practically wasted my teenage years being ugly. But what even is the point now tbh I’ll always be deemed unattractive no matter what I do. I wish that what was ugly about me was simply weight or acne. I’m jealous of people who are for that reason because once you loose it, you’re pretty. What is ugly about me cannot be changed unless I get surgery. Id like to consider getting it some day, but then when I’d look in the mirror it wouldn’t really be me. Or, what if it makes me worse?
(I added pictures of how I look as of rn the last one is from little over a year ago, In the first 2 photos though I’m wearing concealer(and contour) to hide the pigmentation on my skin because my face is naturally pretty red. Might delete this post later since Idk how to feel about sharing my face on the internet)

There’s a cute guy that I work with. We always make eye contact and smile at each other, recently started talking a bit more. I have him added on Instagram but we don’t talk there at all.
So recently my dad bought me some flowers because I was sick so he wanted to cheer me up. I posted these on my story. My colleague walked up to me and asked me “hey, do you have a boyfriend?” I said no I don’t. He asked me who the flowers were from that I posted. I told him who they are from and he said “wow! That’s a relief. I don’t want any competition” we had a bit of a giggle and he asked me if I’d ever date someone I worked with. We were flirting a bit because I said “if it’s you, then maybe.” He said “that’s great, I definitely need to get a move on cause I’d really like that. I’ll be speaking to you soon.” Then we had to get back to work.
Next day at work I felt like he was kind of avoiding me, like he didn’t speak to me at all and barely even looked at me. I feel a little embarrassed because I gave him clear signals, like I literally told him I would date him. Now I feel a bit stupid.
What should I do?

Once the grisly hunt had ended, we waited until the hunters were over the hill and gone. As we sat in the Reina del Cielo, we processed everything. Not only were the Pullman-Seldano people here and messing up the place, but were going as far as to commit wanton murder on the wildlife. “Ok, guys,” Calderon said, breaking the tense silence. “I know that was awful to see - and take it from me, I’ve seen some shit across the world, all kinds of shit done to animals - but we’ve got to keep going. What if they come back?” We reluctantly agreed, and off we went, initially silently as we feared there may still be some people in the area. We continued northwest along the Yaku River, and as another hour ticked by, we found ourselves at yet another tributary. This time, the one that connects the Yaku, Utjawi, and Kasike Rivers. “Hold on, we gotta do a quick reorientation along the current here,” Calderon announced as he started to prevent the plane from drifting off down the wrong river. But then, as we started our cross, an explosion shook the water, and we were briefly tossed up into the air, landing back down with a tremendous splash. “What the hell? What was that?”
Then the whole river system started to shake, the water bashing against and spilling onto the shores like an overflowing bathtub. As this happened, over the sound of roaring, agitated water came the sound of stone crumbling. Then, as Calderon tried to maneuver to where the river continued to our northwest, one of the hydrofoils made contact with the shoreline, and we were briefly stuck. Once the hydrofoil was dislodged, then our whole right side began to sink, and we saw that the shoreline was collapsing, sand and silt falling into a large space below. With our left side in the air and the water pushing us, we found ourselves falling downward. We fell surprisingly not far down, only about 15 or 20 feet down. We landed in a pool of brownish water, and as the river water and falling sand and silt above followed us down, we looked around to see just what kind of cavity we fell into. Surprisingly (or perhaps not, at this point), it was manmade.
We had landed in a large tunnel dug into the bedrock. The ‘river’ we landed in seemed to be a stream of dirty runoff following the main path of the tunnel route next to us. The end behind us led on into blackness, and the end in front of us was shut away by a steel gate. 30 feet away sat a large vehicle next to stacks of steel crates. This vehicle resembled a massive bulldozer, with several clawed metal arms tucked on the side, giving it a somewhat insectoid appearance. The main blade was divided into two parts, which resembled enormous metal claws then they did a bulldozer blade. As my eyes wandered around the area, I noticed that the vehicle was restrained by chains, with a small sign nearby reading in big red letters: “OUT OF ORDER.” We reluctantly disembarked the plane to assess the damage, and while it wasn’t severe, it was yet another blow that stopped our progress. We had resigned ourselves to our little inconvenient fate when we heard a snarl above us. Looking up and peering over the edge was the head of a toothy gulper. The aquatic dinosaur clearly took an interest in us, and even though it seemed to be deciding whether or not to follow us down, the river made its choice for it, the water shoving the animal down with us, thankfully next to the plane instead of on top of it.
The enormous animal flopped around upon landing and tried to go for us. Running back inside the safety of the plane, we were shoved into the rock wall to our left, and Calderon and Missy aimed weapons at the creature, but didn’t fire yet. As this happened, the toothy gulper tried to wrap itself around the plane. “What are you waiting for? Fire!” Mary Ann yelled. Missy shook her head. “Not yet, it has to line up.” Mary Ann looked confused, approaching Missy’s station. “Now?” Missy shook her head. The creature was now bearing down on our right wing, its elongated body lining up to around the gate. “Now!” Missy exclaimed, and the electrical guns fired. The toothy gulper was shot backwards, flying back at great speed as it’s enormous body collided with the gate, bringing it down with a loud clash. With this came the sounds of further objects clattering. As the dust cleared, the path ahead was shown to be dimly lit, with a row of weak yellow lights along the ceiling. Shelves collapsed as tools and other objects rolled out into view. One of these was unlike the others: a yellow crystal that caught the light as it rolled out, with bits of stone still stuck to it. Then the appearance of the crystal made sense. Viracochite. This was a mine. And the smoking gun? The label on the vehicle not far away, and logo proudly emblazoned on various tools and other items spilling out? Pullman-Seldano.

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.

I have a female Balinese cat that got an eye infection today. She’s about 2 years old and we have a male cat that’s about a year older. He fights with her often but I’m unable to see any lesions on her eye or around it. Her eye is just swollen and red (but still open and she can see) and there’s tears and a bit of red coming from her eye. Could this be allergies or something else? She hasn’t been exposed to anything unusual.

I don’t like anime that sound like they're written by 13-year-olds; they make me cringe.
This is the one I started with: - Death Note
Things I don't like in anime:

• Power fantasy (the anime has to have a story aside from making a harem and gaining 100 levels per kill).
• Very friendly, always-be-good, don't-do-anything-bad MCs. For example: (I respect everyone's taste, so don't be offended) One Piece, Reincarnated as a Slime (the story was good), Demon Slayer, SAO (it was terrible). A great example of an MC I liked (in this category) is FFF Class Trash Hero.
• Harem for no reason (the whole plot is to build the biggest harem possible while working towards the nonexistent demon lord).
• Femdom (“I gotta do whatever I can for my mistress”).
• High plot armor. I don’t want to know what would happen if a weeaboo suddenly gets a ripped body with black hair, red eyes, and infinite power which he uses to find lost cats and free slaves.

These are the ones I liked:

• KonoSuba
• Higurashi When They Cry
• Another
• Stein's Gate
• Code Geass
• Death Note

Things I like:

• Isekai
• MC aged 15+ (don't like 13-year-olds, black hair, red eyes MCs)
• Comedy
• Normal MC (like Kazuma)
• Realistic story (come on, if a person who was lazy, stupid, not hardworking got reincarnated or had some twist in life, I don't think they would suddenly change and become a giga-chad working 25 hours a day, planning one year ahead of life; it's unrealistic. Like Kazuma, they would look for joy and explore their desires while living a peaceful and wealthy life. People who gain power will likely seek more comfort if they didn't attain the power through hard work; they won't work hard to improve it).

I chug what little nasty warm energy drink I got left sitting in the consul of my truck and head to the ER. I get there and they have a room for me almost immediately. I sit there in agony as they get the info they need. Que the Dr. she walks in sees my face and looks at my BP 187/113 just says… “I’m really glad you came in” (I low key think this is funny cause the way I dress and talk I thought of all the farmers memes about them going in and Dr.s instantly freaking out over it)
I instantly get hit with morphine and finally pass out for a-little. An hour passes they get me into a holding room for admitted patients. Then hit me with more morphine once it’s safe. I’m in and out of consciousness, they keep hitting me with pain killers and my BP is finally around a stable level 130-150/ 60-90. The pain is still there but the stress response is gone. They finally get me to my room maybe 4-5 hours after admission. Whole time I’ve been getting hit with morphine and finally IV antibiotics as well as some type of steroid. ENT Doc comes immediately says “listen… the IV antibiotics are going to stop the spread right now but your eye is already becoming inflamed and you have a huge abscess. Suggests he drain it, and no fucking shit I’m all for it. An hour passes or so it’s around 2:45p they roll me into surgery. Hit me with fucking fentanyl and I’m fucking gone. Wake up and the pain is gone the pressure too I’m floating… and can’t fucking swallow for about 30 minutes. (Fuck it beats the agony.)
This was fucking Tuesday… Wednesday was spent all in the hospital but because of bed space they ask if they can discharge me. Tell me to stay with the antibiotics I got and I’m free. (On this front I’m finally clear.)
I get home. Instantly I’m met with demands from my wife. I try to fulfill them but I’m fucked. Entire fucking time she’s locating about how I need to rest but pushing me in all the directions. My puppy who is an absolute snuggle tyrant causes chaos whining at night so I wander downstairs where he stays over night and end up sleeping down there keeping her calm. Occasionally woken up to a cold nose but n the leg.
Next day. Also may I add my mom came up in a fury to help out even though she has nearly no PTO and it’s the busy time of year for a corn geneticist. (They plant and do shit at weird times). My wife disappears for the first time this whole experience. (Please note also on top of all this shit my infant son has been home sick from daycare) my mom hold my little tyrant all day keeping him happy. I finally get some rest slept about 6 hours that night and then 7 during the day. I wake up and try to be social as possible. My son appears to be doing better so my sickly mother in law comes over. To help out, I’m awake and able to do things alike be it very slowly.

"Reality? To me that was reality. I don't know about this place. What makes you certain you won't find yourself tied here, trying to explain yourself to people who look like you? I was pretty sure that was reality. Now, well now I just don't care. This is all a dream, so do whatever you want to me. I'm not kissing the cross. Just light the pyre." Shawna told the nogs. They shuffled forward on their trunklike legs, one of them offering her a cross with a figure of a crucified nog with a golden crown and its lips puckered.
"I said I'm not kissing it. Burn me." Shawna grimaced at the horrid little nog. The nogs shrugged in unison and lifted the buckets of icy cold water at their feet. One by one they walked up to her and doused her in cold water, soaking her t-shirt and hair and making her shiver and blow water off her lips while the rest ran down her chin.
"Is she dead?" One of the nog asked.
One of them shuffled forward and waved its hands back and forth in front of her staring, lifeless eyes. "No reaction." the nog confirmed. They'd done it, they'd finally slain the Wicked Witch of the Stars. Some of the Ethgar were saddened, crying big sticky nog tears that left streaks on their faces.
Shawna held perfectly still, trying not to laugh. They really thought she was dead, they thought they'd burned her alive with their buckets of cold water. Stupid nogs, just a few moments longer and she could break free from their braided bonds and be on her way, richer than John Godson.
"I just worry her soul wont reach the Likeliness, We should hold the jesus-nog to her lips, just to be sure." A nasty little Ethgar suggested.
"We should all just shuffle off." Shawna tried some ventriloquism.
"Who said that?" Ethgar were asking each other. The nogs suddenly all looked back at Shawna, their little devil eyes glowing in the starlight.
"Oh fiddle cakes!" Shawna swore.
She didn't usually use such foul language, but she was at her wits end with the Ethgar. First, their ridiculous test of faith to learn about Red Raven, and the treasure of the Seven Wonders. Then she had to climb Mount Velvet while nogs slung biffy sludge from their blow tubes while singing insults to her. With her knuckles bloodied and fitz in her hair, she'd reached the summit only to be accused of heresy, for she'd forgotten to remove her shoes. She'd have to climb the whole mountain again, just as penance.
After the six recitals of the Bindinfingin's half a dozen holy books, the extinct lizards granted her a one-hour library pass in their sacred underground grottos. Was it enough time to memorize enough of their holy scripture to be able to compete in the junior nog bible quotation contest and become a wearer of the golden crown of the most kissable-crucifiable? It was, because Shawna really applied herself and memorized no fewer than three verses, which was two more than any junior nog had ever quoted. With the golden crown on her head, she could at last learn the last part of the legend of Red Raven, and find out where the treasure was hidden.
Wealth unimaginable, seven wonders, that's a lot of moolah.
Bindinfingin ghost-holograms followed her around with sad expressions. The long dead intelligences expected better of her.
"We've waited your return for fourteen thousand trine. Red Raven will you not reveal at last the eighth wonder? We have so waited to know the final answer." The Bindinfingin said to Shawna, but she ignored them. They almost sounded like they thought she was someone else and that the treasure was one of those 'the treasure was the adventure' or 'the treasure was really just friendship' or someshit.
Shawna wasn't going to eat an adventure-friendship treasure, not after the nog figurine got smoochies from her. "Jesus, give me the strength of patience not to kick all these nogs."
"Do dead humans talk?" A nog asked.
They began arguing and discussing whether humans could talk when they were dead. Shawna put her two cents in, insisting that she could indeed talk while she was dead.
"Thou shalt not speak to the dead." A nog zealot drew his putty maker. Others pulled out their blow tubes, spit ball launchers and bald makers. One or two had forgot to pack weapons to the witch burning ceremony, but scooped up some dirt into their empty buckets.
"Thou shalt not fart from thy mouth." Shawna said in the dark, mimicking a nog-sounding voice. Then, as she blew a raspberry, the nogs went berserk. They had divided into two groups, each with opposing religious views, although none of them were sure what religious view the group they were divided into was seeing. The sound of the raspberry was like a starting bell, and within minutes the nogs had annihilated themselves, dead nogs scattered everywhere. The last of them finished itself off. Nogs were perfectionists.
"Now for that treasure." Shawna said gleefully. She followed the path through the empty nog village and found their sacred grotto. It was unguarded, and at last, she'd done it, found what she was always told wasn't even real.
"Reality, Shawna." A familiar voice said from the silent swamps all around.
"Who said that?" She asked.
"Reality is the treasure. I just want you to come back to me. I know you're in there. I can feel you dreaming."
Shawna shook her head. "I know what's real."
A few glowing bugs floated lazily on the air past her, going off to some hollow log to party. Shawna felt watched, like someone was holding her hand. It was going to be good, when she didn't find the treasure, what a weird feeling. Shawna shook it off. The treasure was hers.
"You think you can take my treasure?" The space pirate captain's hologramatic ghost stood in her way.
"So, you're Red Raven. Notorious brigand, mutineer and baroness. I'm here for your treasure, I knew it was real, I knew it all along." Shawna smirked. "The aliens, they worshipped you, but I know you're just a criminal." Shawna told her. "You even almost had me fooled with the Bindinfingin holograms making this sound like some sort of morality scam."
"Yet you made it all the way here." Red Raven smiled, proud of Shawna.
"Of course I did. You think I don't know what's real and what isn't?" Shawna laughed.
"The treasure is real. You just have to go through that door and accept what's on the other side." Red Raven pointed. "It's the treasure."
"See? You're still trying to psych me out. I'm abouts to be richer than John Godson. Sick of this." Shawna grabbed the handle, but something felt wrong.
"Just go through." Red Raven urged her.
"I can't." Shawna felt her eyes watering. "I just want to stay here. I'm not ready."
"You'll never be ready to be rich like John Godson. Nobody ever is. Just go in there already. I gots to get my wings, Shawna." Red Raven made 'go on in' gestures, shooing Shawna with the backs of her hands waving up at her.
"If this is any kind of treasure that isn't money, I swear I'm coming back here for you, and even though you're dead, I'll choke you out anyway." Shawna told Red Raven.
"Yes-yes, all that. Now go through already, the hour draws late." Red Raven seemed to have unlimited patience, despite her efforts to urge Shawna into the treasure behind the weird creepy disembodied door floating in the swamp. The door that looked suspiciously like her bedroom door as a child, growing up. Not liking this one bit, no sir.
Shawna took a deep breath, closed her eyes, turned the handle and went through.

Spoilers ahead.
Bollywood’s roster of adult films is a barren wasteland, dotted by the occasional Tusshar KapooMilap Zaveri release. Yet, there may be hope for the genre as long as trailblazing production house YRF keeps churning out experimental masterpieces. For well before there were Kyaa Kool Hain Hum, Masti, and Ragini MMS, there was Mohabbatein. As on several other occasions, YRF embraced the role of innovator and at the turn of the millennium brought to Bollywood what is till date the industry’s only sex-ed film. Unlike Bollywood’s other attempts at adult cinema, Mohabbatein seeks to educate—not titillate—as moustachioed maestro Aditya Chopra examines attitudes towards male masturbation, specially amongst adolescents. To avoid offending conservative sensibilities, this sociological examination is cleverly hidden within a family-friendly romantic drama tale and presented in allegorical terms.
Mohabbatein features an ensemble cast, led by Amitabh Bachchan and DDLJ background actor Shah Rukh Khan, with Aishwarya Rai as a guest star. Although the cast also includes celebrated thespians Uday Chopra, Jugal Hansraj, and Shamita Shetty, a complete listing is omitted here for the sake of brevity. Bachchan plays Narayan Shankar, headmaster of the prestigious Gurukul boys’ college. Shankar is a stickler for rules, and imposes upon his students the need for tradition, prestige, and discipline. His rules extend to a blanket ban on romantic relationships, which forms the crux of the film’s conflict. SRK plays Raj Aryan, a music teacher and disgraced Gurukul alumnus who has returned to the institute under anonymity, with the single goal of melting Shankar’s icy heart and impressing upon him the power of love. Finally, Aishwarya Rai plays the deceased Megha, Shankar’s late daughter and the love interest of Raj Aryan.
In a figurative sense, Gurukul—with its forced confinement, all-male student body, and rigid rules—is a portrayal of restrictive societies that enforce adolescent sexual repression through gender segregation and harsh oversight. Narayan Shankar, as headmaster, is the enforcer of said oversight and abides by his oppressive regulations to set an example. Gurukul’s official motto—‘Parampara Prathishta Anushasan’—may be shortened to ‘PP Anushasan’, the word ‘PP’ being slang for a man’s meat pole of love and ‘Anushasan’ meaning discipline or regulation. Thus through its motto, the institution reveals its intention to exercise total control over its students’ genitalia.
Metaphorically, Narayan Shankar’s rejection of all things romantic/sexual, and his stubborn opposition to any form of change—stated by him multiple times throughout the film—is an allusion to his opposition to puberty and the sexual changes it brings along with it. His choice of garments throughout the film—dull black trousers coupled with matching black sherwanis—prevents viewers from getting a view of his lush curves and adds to his thoroughly sexless demeanour. Additionally, Shankar takes pride in his habit of staring right at the sun for several minutes every morning, which is a clever allusion to the popular myth about masturbation causing damage to eyesight—a lifetime of total abstinence from masturbation has prevented Shankar’s eyes from taking any damage, and therefore he can stare full-bore into the sun for as long as he pleases. Given all this, it is unknown how he fathered a daughter in his state of permanent prepubescence, so it may be deduced that he somehow reproduced asexually. In sum, Shankar is a man struggling to indefinitely delay his own sexual maturity, and thereby desperately clinging on to a simple, childlike innocence of all sexual matters.
Raj Aryan exists as the foil to Narayan Shankar, having arrived at Gurukul with the singular purpose of altering Shankar’s stunted outlook towards sexual maturity. In an allegorical sense, he portrays the biological agents and changes that act as messengers of puberty and sexual maturity, such as gonadotropin-releasing hormones and testosterone. Visually, his urbane, well-dressed appearance, along with his suave and cultured manner, stands in contrast to the dull cluelessness of Narayan Shankar and his wards, and is indicative of his sexual confidence and maturity.
Furthermore, his choice of musical instrument—the violin—is hardly coincidental. A violin requires precise, well-timed stroke-like movements to be made using a long, cylindrical piece of wood. The sight of Raj Aryan lounging comfortably in a chair and playing the violin with long, languid strokes, whilst wearing an expression of both contentment and pleasurable exertion, is certainly suggestive without appearing crass. The fact that his lover Megha is deceased does not decrease Raj Aryan’s passion in the slightest, as she makes an appearance in his imagination every time he leans back, closes his eyes, and handles his violin. Through such a combination of clever visual double entendres, the film conveys Raj Aryan’s use of masturbation and masturbatory fantasies as a healthy outlet for sexual expression and release.
To Gurukul’s ignorant masses, Raj Aryan is nothing short of a revelation. Like a masturbatory Pied Piper, he draws the ignorant, curious, and hypnotized students to his lessons, where he impresses upon them the need to break free of Gurukul’s restrictive confinements and open their hearts and prostate glands to the power of love. In a metaphorical sense, he encourages the students to accept the changes coursing through their bodies, and let puberty begin to run its course.
To best educate Gurukul’s students, Raj Aryan organises a secret dance ball, inviting over students from a neighbouring women’s college. Considering the allegorical nature of storytelling in Mohabbatein, the college and its students are likely imaginary, and the secret dance ball is actually an educational musical lesson on some of the more practical and logistical aspects of masturbation. YRF films have always been renowned for making their song-and-dance routines an integral part of the story, and Mohabbatein is no exception to this tradition of artistic excellence. As Gurukul’s students shuffle into the dance ball, Raj Aryan takes the centre stage and croons, ‘Aankhein khuli ho ya ho band/Deedar unka hota hai/Kaise kahoon main o yaara ye/Pyaar kaise hota hai’, with the lyrics making it clear that while there are many paths to self-pleasure, the path one takes does not matter so long as the destination is the same. With sufficient practice, a master of the art may hone his skills to the point where imagination is all that is required. Meanwhile, the less-skilled are free to keep their eyes open and rely on whatever visual aids they may prefer. Bearing in mind the wide variety of means and techniques employed, it is not for one man to tell another how best to beat his meat.
This educational demonstration, however, is cut short upon the surprise appearance of Narayan Shankar, who discovers Raj Aryan's attempt to arouse Gurukul’s pupils to rebellion against his rules. Shankar uses his authority to turn Raj Aryan’s movement temporarily flaccid, but a defiant Raj Aryan takes up Shankar’s opposition as a challenge, and vows to bring about love in every heart, a cramp in every right hand, and a scraggly hair sprouting from every smooth chin. Raj Aryan begins his campaign by asking Gurukul’s pupils to each write a love letter upon orange maple leaves. The orange maple leaf is a common visual theme throughout the movie, and for good reason—a maple leaf with its five lobes bears an uncanny resemblance to an outstretched palm with its five fingers, coloured an inflamed red perhaps due to excessive use. Thus, the act of writing a love letter upon an orange maple leaf is a clever visual metaphor for the students actually expressing gratitude and affection towards their own hands for the newly-discovered joys their hands have provided them with.
However, the ever-vigilant Narayan Shankar eventually catches onto Raj Aryan’s actions, and realizes that his fearsome gaze is no longer capable of wilting students’ defiant boners. Faced with this prospect, a desperate Shankar begins expelling students, hoping to discourage their peers and Raj Aryan, and therefore stave off the advent of puberty and sexual maturity amongst his wards. This leads to the film’s climax, wherein a gratuitously dripping-wet Raj Aryan meets Shankar, and defiantly tells him that whilst he may have won the battle, he has lost the war, for despite all his authority, Shankar will be forever left alone, because he lacks the powers of imagination and fantasizing that Raj Aryan possesses. Raj Aryan then reveals to Shankar that despite the death of Megha (Shankar’s daughter, it may be remembered), he still fantasizes about her with perfect clarity. However, as previously mentioned, Shankar had likely reproduced asexually to sire Megha, and asexual reproduction leads to genetically-identical offspring. A horrified Shankar realizes that therefore, by masturbating to Megha—his clone—Raj Aryan has been indirectly masturbating to Shankar himself for the past several years. Left shaken by this discovery of the transitive properties of masturbation, a broken Shankar is unable to recover from his shock and resigns as headmaster of Gurukul, leaving Raj Aryan to take the helm and finally bring about his purpose to a glorious conclusion.
Over two decades after release, Mohabbatein stands alone in Indian cinema. Few films have ever attempted such deftly-layered storytelling in treatment of such delicate subject matter. Indeed, if the bar were ever raised, it was only by YRF’s own other creations in subsequent years. No other films, however, have ever had the courage and wit to portray sex-ed as Mohabbatein so well did, and if the subject shall ever make an appearance in the educational curriculum, there can be no doubt that Mohabbatein shall be required viewing for all students, educators, and educational policymakers.

So there's a girl I really had liked for many years but I never said because I didn't wanna ruin the friendship, I started liking her probably around when I went into secondary school, but for some stupid reason I decided it would never happen so l distanced myself from all my previous friends, around a year later she left my form class and went to a different one for a whole year, I asked why and she said she just felt like she needed it, then 1 and a half years later she just disappeared. That was probably around 7 months ago now, I asked her on any socials I had with her and so did all her friends but there was no response from her, I asked her sister who was in school too and she said she's just sick, but now her sister is gone from school too because she's too old, I always thought she had some kinda depression if she left but I don't understand why, in mine and everyone else's eyes the was the prettiest, funniest and smartest person in the class and never had any problems back home, so l'm really confused on what to do now. I messaged her on whattsapp but it says she was online but never reads my messages, I was thinking of messaging her on Snapchat instead so she can do that half swipe thing if the problem is she dosent want us to know like she's there yk. So if anyone has any idea at all on what I should and shouldn't do I'd be very greatful

Never had allergies before in the US but suddenly in Norway I wake up every morning with itchy red puffy eyes. No other symptoms. I know its spring time so likely some pollen related thing. We have been all along the coast from Bergen to Trondheim. Just curious what allergy I might have (and happy its not an issue back home)!

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