Best rip tattoos

It was an online game that was on one of those game websites you see with crappy rip-offs of popular games but more for girls (like girlsgogames). You had 2 different tubes for each cat, a pink and yellow one, and when you clicked it it would add something to what you were making. I can't quite remember what you were making but something like a cake or cookie and you had to make a certain amount of these things in a time limit and the conveyer belt only stopped for a small period of time to press the tubes or whatever you needed before moving on. I found it again awhile back but I've forgotten the name now. There was only about 3 things you needed to do to make the cake/cookie which was pastry, icing and then the logo of which ever cat you were doing, there could've been more steps to it but I don't remember enough. It's also a fairly small game that I've never seen anybody talk about or play before. I've made a post in the past about this and some people have suggested Purble Place and I can confirm it isn't, kind of similar though. This would've been maybe 2014-2016 when I played it and around 2018-19 when I last found it so it's a possibility it may have been deleted.
This is only what I sort of remember and I tried my best to remember the details but since it was quite a few years back its hard to remember any small details but any key words, sites or things you may have about it would be greatly appreciated!

Hi, I have been reading through my notes, correspondence with my psych and reacquainted myself with this subreddit having made a little bit of progress. I realise how deeply personal and different our work with schema therapy can be. It is a fraught process that is really hard work at times. Having made unexpected progress though, I thought maybe it would be helpful to describe parts of my context, not so much that people find it familiar or relatable, but moreso that people grab the toolset that schema therapy gives you and run with it in your own way.
Background: It's probably been just over fourth months of fairly intensive schema therapy. I am in the fortunate situation of having regular appointments with a clinical psychologist. I would say I had two points where I generated schemas. First one was the same as everyone else: Early childhood. Second one was 17-21 when I became effectively bedridden due to chronic illness.
When I have talked about this second period, I describe it as "Having to rebuild who I was from scratch, entirely based around energy efficiency". I remember staring into the pitch blackness of my bedroom during this time, absolutely flawed that the one part of me that seemed to function right was what Schema Therapy might describe as "Demanding Critic". This would have been 18-19 years ago so I had no idea about schema therapy at all, I just had this constant internal dialogue tearing strips off me for not trying harder, not getting up, not fixing myself. I was completely exhausted otherwise, but this damn thing was as active as ever? What the hell, why was it the last thing standing? It was so different from the rest of me. "If you know how to fix everything, be my guest, I'm in your hands, here's the keys!" I remember thinking. Alarmingly, the internal dialog responded: "Fine, I will". "Good fucking luck" I thought, and passed out for several hours. I didn't realise it, but I had just given Demanding Critic a parental role.
Demanding Critic used a process of elimination to tear apart, kludge, re-engineer and jerry-rig me from someone who slept for 16-18 hours a day out of necessity into someone with a degree, a house, a family, a part-time job. It took a while. It wasn't easy. It's amazing what can happen when you give seething self-hatred the keys to your entire self. Punitive critic used to be a thing, but had it's parts ripped out and reconfigured for completely different purposes. Entire ways to simulate being a conscious, involved person in social situations were constructed. I trained myself to do very complex tasks by muscle memory so I could do them while completely exhausted. The complex effects of depressive episodes could be filtered and rewired to emulate happiness. Fatalistic pessimism was employed towards emulating initiative and drive. Their logics and mechanisms were set to fire off automatically according to the myriad of different contexts I found myself in, so I didn't have to consciously engage in the moment, I could just react according to programming. The "machines" as I called them were fine tuned over years. But it seems that entire parts of myself were deactivated having been deemed too difficult to regulate, or too energy intensive. Demanding Critic was as brutal at he was creative. Entire emotional spectrums were pulverised, or at best used as catalysts for the activation of certain mechanics. They weren't properly experienced, because that used up too much energy, and I couldn't trust myself to make it through the day. Same with speculative, ill-defined senses like 'Hope'. It wasn't worth the effects of disappointment. No one could know how much pain I was in, or how much I was really suffering, or how exhausted I really was. Press on you stupid meat-bag. In your state what good is hope or despair? You'd be a poor judge of either. Press on! Hurry up and succeed. It doesn't matter what has happened to you, what people say or do to you, you can barely feel it above the pain anyway. MOVE. MOVE. MOVE.
This process was refined until a semblance of normativity took place externally, and internally I had acclimated to the new approaches that were by now a pretty seamless, responsive system. Something still wasn't right though, and with investigation came the ASD/ADHD diagnosis, then the CPTSD diagnosis. Once again unto the breech, I pushed myself to understand and recover as best I could. Except doing so meant realising what was happening around me, what interpersonal boundaries were, how I was being treated by my loved ones, everything that had really happened to me for thirty-odd years.
Kaboom.
In the aftermath I'm in a difficult, but stable situation, and undergoing schema therapy. Learning about the modes my therapist asked me to talk about the ones I identified. Demanding Critic spoke directly through the keyboard as an intense character: The Machinist. It became obvious that the system of schema therapy lent itself to treating modes as characters within a narrative, and I have just ran with it. The Machinist, interestingly enough, set down his tools and deactivated many of his machines, because if my Therapist and I found a "Better Solution", he wanted in on it, being fundamentally benevolent, and concerned with a Successful Result. Without Schema Therapy lending itself to narrative and mythos, I doubt I could have so easily deactivated the system of "machinery" required to prop me up. It's led to all kinds of shocking discoveries: The missing (No longer presumed dead) Happy Child that has been carefully hidden away amongst the deactivated components of myself. The fact that I lived entirely in the Past or the Future. The present was deemed "Too energy consumptive". I didn't know whether I had a "Healthy Adult Mode", but weirdly The Machinist could fill that roll sometimes but obviously had his limitations. Then out of the void, deactivated parts of me started to come back online. Something started to assert itself in the Present. It was very interested in emotions. Instead of casting them aside and pushing past them to get on with what i was supposed to be doing, it insisted I experience them, decode them and experiment with them. New experiments in the real-time interaction with people were enacted, with the emotional fallout, good and bad, further experimented with. This present-based-thing has been curiously self-compassionate, and has guided me through the difficulties and risks of fully engaging in real time with my emotional spectrum when relating with others, my work, and my life. All for the sake of her experiments. She is The Scientist. She is getting all kinds of results and recording all kinds of functions I had no idea I was capable of. The Machinist is head over heels in love with her, having watched her working over the least two weeks. She's kinda started flirting with him, allowing a desire for perfection to be felt over some work I was doing. "Show me what you can do". I consciously disparaged the desire for perfection, looked down and my consciousness was shocked to discover The Machinist had taken over my motor skills and indeed had made something perfectly, and was having fun. It seems I have two self re-parents.
Now, it's bonkers to read, I'm sure. I apologise. But it's working. It really is fucking working. Take what you can from schema therapy and run with it. Make it yours, whatever that means for you. It's gonna be weird. It's gonna be wild. I reckon the easiest way to engage with it has to be it's propensity for character and narrative, but maybe the path of least resistance for you is some other aspect of it I can't detect.

Hello everyone, As a title say my new employer refuses to pay not just me but also 5 different workers who already "run away" from here, one by one every few weeks, because they haven't been paid. It's always the same pattern, the M. (Employer) Is always deleying signing a contract as much as possible with some weird "legal" bullshir arguments. Me and my girlfriend are pushing him about signing a contract for the last 3 weeks at least 3/4 times a week.
What happened already: -We already signed a document for a tax discount with all the details and pictures taken
-We have received one payslip with all the information of his company ours etc. but the amount was barley 50% of what he was supposed to pay us. (The same pattern appeared with all other employees who got paid for about 40-50% of hours they made, black and the best part, they got netto salary evenetho they paid them black without contract - explaining they need to pay taxes)
-We have an example of a contract, but completely wrong, with different pay that we agreed on and a duration for half a year except one month... Of course we did it sign it but yes, we are still waiting for the contract but I'm slowly losing hope
I'm conclusion I'm seeking any advice from people who might have been in similar situation. What can I do to secure myself and my girlfriend in terms of getting paid. M. just doesn't seem to be aware that it's illegal, wrong and just not fair to have people work for him and then not paying them. He literally speaks about it as all of there workers (whom I met and talked to) are trying to rip him off...
It's just sad and I'm a bit hopeless. I don't want to leave after working here almost a month with just getting paid for just one week out of four I've been here. Today I'm going to talk with him again and tell him that if he doesn't bring a contract for the next working day, sorry but we won't work for him anymore.
Don't get me wrong we're planning on leaving as soon as possible (probably next week) yet I want to leave knowing that we won't be fucked by him. That all. Thank you for reading this post mixed with a bit ot venting about the whole situation.
Any suggestions/advices would be appreciated🙏 Good day to everyone

TLDR; OP vents about feeling like an outsider in day-to-day life due to differing lifestyle choices and interests.
I (23F) have always felt different, from a young age. I grew up in Salt Lake City, in a devout Mormon family and always strayed from the norm. Never did I really rebel in the typical teenage rebellion way other than getting into heavy/emo music and dressing in all-black etc. but ever since I started developing my own opinions and desires for appearance, lifestyle, opinions on big-question things (I.e. religion, sexuality, etc.) it was always met with a fight and downright refusal of acceptance by my loved ones.
Fast forward ten years and I have since pursed (and failed) at a music career, gone no-contact (and got back in contact) and am now living at home with my family. The dynamic is strained and I’m trying to do my best to acquiesce to their wants but it’s difficult when we are on opposite ends of life expectation. For instance, a few days ago I told my mom I wanted to get another tattoo for my birthday to keep working on my sleeve, and she was indifferent and dismissive. Today, I wore a Lamb of God shirt (a band that I’ve been getting into the past few years) and she told me that I should never wear it again because it made her ‘sad for Jesus’ despite the graphic not being offensive or blasphemous. These are small details, but they compile on top of tension and resentment. In top of that, I’m planning on changing my birth name in the next few months and when I brought it up to my mom she just argued that I embody my given name more than I think (which I heavily disagree with).
I just want to be able to be myself. I want to be able to express myself and not feel judgement for saying that I want to go see Knocked Loose with my best friend for her birthday (an example). These things may all feel small, but I just feel like I’m sacrificing so much of myself and it sucks. I wish I could conform and be the ’normal’ version of me they all want, other days I want to be unabashed and not give a shit. Idk.

My fire station needs a logo for our station shirts and engine. Each station in our department has been tasked with creating their own, and ours has to be the best. I have combined everyone's wants, and l'd like to find someone to combine those ideas into a single design. The basic idea is a Mexican Catrina style sugar skull, with the objects inside the skull that are associated with firefighting. These could be halligans, axes, ladders, hoses, bugles...
The design is based on the Fire Department Coffee logo, which is linked. You'll notice it has hoses and bugles built into the design of the skull. In one eye, I'd like a four leaf clover, in the other l'd like the lAFF logo (our union). For the helmet shield, please add our station number (3). Above the logo, as a banner, the word "Westside" and across the bottom a banner that says “Bomberos."
I'd like it to look similar to the original photo of the sugar skull, but different enough that it's not a rip off.
Here is a link to the logo it’s based on: https://www.firedeptcoffee.com/collections/skull-gifts/products/skull-sticker

I just want to rant about my hobbies. My family is so supportive of everything I’ve ever wanted to try. When I wanted to play soccer they bought me the best cleats and the best gear. When I wanted to start singing, they found a singing teacher and I went every week. When I wanted to move to Alaska to start hiking, they bought me everything I needed from hiking boots to magnetic chess board to use when you’re out in the forest camping. When I wanted to start painting, they bought me 20 canvases and a shit ton of paint. When I wanted to start collecting chess boards, they bought me so many of them all super unique. When I wanted to try boxing, they bought me the best boxing gear. When I wanted to start tattooing they let me practice on them. When I wanted to start weightlifting they bought me a 180$ monthly membership. When I wanna learn a new language they buy me the best books to learn. The only one of these that actually stuck is my chess collection I keep collecting now I have like 16. I’m thinking about getting into gardening. Also I’m a girl I’m 22 I feel like I’ve lived many lives

I'm looking to get a tattoo that represents mine and my best friends relationship. We've been friends since grade school and are still over 15 years later. As far as interests go we pretty much have nothing in common haha. We are practically polar opposites but we get along well and we're both extremely loyal. We've had some fights and falling outs over the years but we always make up. We're not related but at this point we might as well be family. We've been talking about getting a tattoo together for a few years but never found anything that really suits us. I was wondering if anyone knows of maybe some weird things in nature that shouldn't work or be possible but is? Like a lion and a hyena being friends. Stuff like that

Every onewheel thread I go to, I see a comment that inevitably says “just VESC it bruh”
So I purchased a GTV with a high hope. But it has been a nightmare to find a consistent best practice config set up, I cannot even begin to open up my GT.
It seems like for every VESC version it changes. It depends on your controller model / battery config. Filled with jargons and acronyms. Have to follow a niche discord channel.
Look. I have a degree in electrical engineering. I am currently a software engineer. I feel comfortable soldering. I can navigate github. But I am not going to go through hours and hours of videos from surfdado or nico and still configure something wrong and eat pavement at 20 mph. Not ever.
If the community is going to pump up VESC so much, there needs to be an active community and consensus on how to configure this safely. Cuz the only thing I see are a bunch of YouTube videos of people ripping 30 mph on vesc without anyone saying what a safe config is.
This only proves Future Motion close gardening OneWheel.

I really want the unsub from the Appalachian mountains to get caught (S6E9 Into the Woods) I think that's one of the best episodes, but the unsub not getting caught makes it hard to watch.
I also hope Nathan Harris comes back, BUT not as an unsub. Maybe a witness or something. RIP Anton Yelchin

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

What are their SPECIAL stats? What skills do they have tagged? What traits? Which faction do they side with? Do they have a favorite weapon or armor set?
Let’s have fun with this! Be as detailed as you like. You can just give the broad strokes, or you can tell the tale of their whole journey from Goodsprings to the second battle of Hoover Dam. Did they just go straight through the main quest, or did they explore the rest of the Mojave, Big MT, Utah, the Sierra Madre and the Divide? Do they even survive long enough to make it to New Vegas, or do they get ripped apart by a Deathclaw on the road?
—————————————————
Here’s mine:
Zaphod Beeblebrox from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the radio series and novels, not the movie).
Strength - 3
Perception - 7
Endurance - 3
Charisma - 9
Intelligence - 5
Agility - 3
Luck - 10
Tagged skills - Speech, Barter and Survival
Traits - Logan’s Loophole, Wild Wasteland
After waking up in Goodsprings with 2 splitting headaches, Zaphod thanks Doc Mitchell for saving him, but before the Doc can give him a full personality test, Zaphod cuts him off and asks where he can get a strong drink. He blows right past Victor and heads straight to the Prospector Saloon, where he does his best to ignore the argument between Joe Cobb and Trudy, and just drink until he runs out of caps. Unfortunately for him, after spending about 12 hours getting drunk, Cobb and the Powder Gangers show up and shoot the town up, so Zaphod is forced to sneak away.
The next week or so is a giant haze as Zaphod is drunk for pretty much the whole of it. He gets a lot of stares from people who aren’t used to seeing folks with 2 heads and 3 arms, but they assume he’s a radiated mutant like the Brahmin. He’s not especially interested in following Benny. While he’s certainly pissed off at Benny for shooting him in his favorite head, he’d rather not get shot in the other and figures it’s a better idea to avoid the guy.
Zaphod keeps hearing about this New Vegas place, and he feels it sounds like his kind of place. With no hope in sight of getting to a working spaceship, he decides to make his way there to enjoy the prostitutes, drugs and booze until a spaceship finds him. And if one never does, well there are worse ways to live out the rest of your life.
Zaphod drunkenly staggers his way to the strip, charms his way past the securitrons, makes his way to The Tops (Gamorrah is a bit too aggressive for his taste, and the Ultra Lux is a bit too pretentious and uptight), and feels like he fits right in with the Chairmen. He spends a few days being the life of the party at the roulette wheel, when Benny notices him, and, ironically, decides he doesn’t want a confrontation either, so he high tails out of there before Zaphod can spot him.
Zaphod spends the next few months doing pretty much nothing except drinking, gambling and bedding every woman he can. He overhears news every now and then that sounds important, but he doesn’t really pay much attention, except for when someone mentions the president of a place called “California” got assassinated, and he muses about running for the job himself now that there’s an opening. He was, after all, president of the whole galaxy for a time, so how hard could it be to run just one country? (or was it a planet?). But he decides ultimately it wasn’t worth the effort.
Sadly, the party doesn’t last much longer as those freaks at Gamorrah set off a bunch of gas bombs on the strip, and then some dudes with no sense of style (skirts and hockey pads, really guys?) start marching in and rounding up all his gambling buddies. Zaphod manages to sneak away into the desert, with no money, no booze, and a terrible hangover. But, he recalls, he’s faced worse odds and still managed to find a good time. Plus, he further recalls that at some point while he was partying at The Tops, some hoopy frood with a gas mask, a really cool voice, and stylish braids told him something about a big mountain full of advanced technology. If he can track that place down, maybe a spaceship would be in the cards for him after all…

What are their SPECIAL stats? What skills do they have tagged? What traits? Which faction do they side with? Do they have a favorite weapon or armor set?
Let’s have fun with this! Be as detailed as you like. You can just give the broad strokes, or you can tell the tale of their whole journey from Goodsprings to the second battle of Hoover Dam. Did they just go straight through the main quest, or did they explore the rest of the Mojave, Big MT, Utah, the Sierra Madre and the Divide? Do they even survive long enough to make it to New Vegas, or do they get ripped apart by a Deathclaw on the road?
—————————————————
Here’s mine:
Zaphod Beeblebrox from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the radio series and novels, not the movie).
Strength - 3
Perception - 7
Endurance - 3
Charisma - 9
Intelligence - 5
Agility - 3
Luck - 10
Tagged skills - Speech, Barter and Survival
Traits - Logan’s Loophole, Wild Wasteland
After waking up in Goodsprings with 2 splitting headaches, Zaphod thanks Doc Mitchell for saving him, but before the Doc can give him a full personality test, Zaphod cuts him off and asks where he can get a strong drink. He blows right past Victor and heads straight to the Prospector Saloon, where he does his best to ignore the argument between Joe Cobb and Trudy, and just drink until he runs out of caps. Unfortunately for him, after spending about 12 hours getting drunk, Cobb and the Powder Gangers show up and shoot the town up, so Zaphod is forced to sneak away.
The next week or so is a giant haze as Zaphod is drunk for pretty much the whole of it. He gets a lot of stares from people who aren’t used to seeing folks with 2 heads and 3 arms, but they assume he’s a radiated mutant like the Brahmin. He’s not especially interested in following Benny. While he’s certainly pissed off at Benny for shooting him in his favorite head, he’d rather not get shot in the other and figures it’s a better idea to avoid the guy.
Zaphod keeps hearing about this New Vegas place, and he feels it sounds like his kind of place. With no hope in sight of getting to a working spaceship, he decides to make his way there to enjoy the prostitutes, drugs and booze until a spaceship finds him. And if one never does, well there are worse ways to live out the rest of your life.
Zaphod drunkenly staggers his way to the strip, charms his way past the securitrons, makes his way to The Tops (Gamorrah is a bit too aggressive for his taste, and the Ultra Lux is a bit too pretentious and uptight), and feels like he fits right in with the Chairmen. He spends a few days being the life of the party at the roulette wheel, when Benny notices him, and, ironically, decides he doesn’t want a confrontation either, so he high tails out of there before Zaphod can spot him.
Zaphod spends the next few months doing pretty much nothing except drinking, gambling and bedding every woman he can. He overhears news every now and then that sounds important, but he doesn’t really pay much attention, except for when someone mentions the president of a place called “California” got assassinated, and he muses about running for the job himself now that there’s an opening. He was, after all, president of the whole galaxy for a time, so how hard could it be to run just one country? (or was it a planet?). But he decides ultimately it wasn’t worth the effort.
Sadly, the party doesn’t last much longer as those freaks at Gamorrah set off a bunch of gas bombs on the strip, and then some dudes with no sense of style (skirts and hockey pads, really guys?) start marching in and rounding up all his gambling buddies. Zaphod manages to sneak away into the desert, with no money, no booze, and a terrible hangover. But, he recalls, he’s faced worse odds and still managed to find a good time. Plus, he further recalls that at some point while he was partying at The Tops, some hoopy frood with a gas mask, a really cool voice, and stylish braids told him something about a big mountain full of advanced technology. If he can track that place down, maybe a spaceship would be in the cards for him after all…

Hi Reddit,
I can’t believe I’m writing this post, but this has been on my mind for the past few months and I really need some external input. I need help to figure out if I’m in a toxic relationship, if there’s something I can do to fix it, if I’m over sensitive, or is it time for me to end this?
Context: I ‘M26’ and my girlfriend ‘F25’ have been together for 2.5 years, and known each other for 8 years. We both live in the U.S. but I’m from Europe and she’s from Central America, met in college. Issues started 2 years ago but when things are good she’s amazing (funny/beautiful/caring/makes me feel unconditionally loved/etc) and I always thought the issues were friction we could iron out together. With time I have grown increasingly skeptical of that. This is my first relationship (longer than 3 months) so at the same time I’m worried that maybe I am overly skeptical, that I only see my perspective and fail to see hers. I want to be fair to her, because I love her and care deeply for her as a person, I am just starting to resent the relationship.
History of issues: To me the issues are all centered in my girlfriends anxiety. Frequently, rather than being vulnerable, she projects her anxiety on me and accusing me of all kinds of things. I have both tried to shake off those moments, to recognize that this isn’t her but her anxiety talking, but it still affects me deeply. Not only when it occurs, but when I am doing something and she seems fine I still worry that maybe I will do something wrong and she will snap and this moment will turn to a life or death situation. I have also obviously communicated my concern over this behavior repeatedly, and every time after she takes things too far she apologizes and takes ownership and we come up with a strategy to avoid the issue from repeating. This all sounds very healthy, I think, but the problem is that we’ve had these issues and conversations 25+ times and here we still are. Some things have gotten better for sure but it still feels unbearable to me. Let me provide three examples to illustrate our issues (from my perspective).
Example 1 - 1.5 years ago My best friend and I were victims of attempted robbery from people affiliated with organized crime, the event went to court, and after the trial we wanted to get away from everything. My girlfriend and I had planned to go to a Caribbean island shortly after, so I invited my friend to come a week before my girlfriend and leave the day she arrived. We were both pretty shaken up and just wanted to talk things out and enjoy a tropical paradise. The first night my friend and I arrive (girlfriend still in the US) she starts texting fervently that my friend and I shouldn’t see any of the sights so she and I can see them together for the first time. I get where she’s coming from but this is also a challenging time for me and my best friend so I am not willing to completely sacrifice his week with me to appease my girlfriend. Things escalate and she demands my attention all the time. When my friend and I is out she is calling me 50+ times in a row, texting me that if I love her I would respond and that I am ruing hers and mine vacation and though I’m trying to deescalate I don’t see how to. I end up turning off my phone, although she begs me not to, but I’m still in my head unable to enjoy the night. When I turn my phone back on next day there’s a picture of herself with a cut (very shallow but still) saying I made her do this. This event is the low point of our relationship, and I told her if she ever hurts herself or threatens to hurt herself I’m out, and to be fair to her she has not once since hurt herself. Nonetheless, the calls continue after this (50+ a day) and I spent 3-4h a day on the phone with her and neglecting the trip with my best friend. Damn writing this out really makes me ashamed for not standing my ground back then. Anyways, this really colored the trip with my childhood friend and I think I still resent myself and her for making that happen.
Example 2 - 0.5 years ago I visited a close childhood friend in South America for 2.5 weeks. Because of the events that transpired in example 1, my girlfriend was nervous for my trip. She expressed worry that she would act out in the same way as my last trip. I really appreciated this self-awareness. We therefore talked extensively about how to avoid issues. The first few days were alright, with her being anxious but being vulnerable about it and we managed well, calling once a day and texting 15-20 messages a day (more than I’d want, but that’s a compromise I’m okay with). At this point I make a mistake, but her reactions to it is (in my head at least) not proportional. I told her I was going out with my friend and his friend that weekend, and she expressed that this would make her anxious that I would cheat on her. So I asked what can I do, and we decided I’d send her a text once I left the pre-game, once I left the club, and call her once I got back to my friends place. A little bit much I thought, but I love her so a fair compromise for now. Unfortunately, I got caught up in the moment at the pre-game, and forgot to text my girlfriend. I realized as I was walking home from the club with 25+ missed calls and a bunch of emotional messages about how I forgot because I was around beautiful women and how I don’t love her. Here I understand her pain. She was vulnerable, I agreed to a compromise and I didn’t fulfill my end. 25+ calls is never productive but hey I had some blame here. The following day I call her for 1.5 hours apologizing and we talk things out, and it feels like though she is feeling anxious that she accepts my apology and we have now managed to resolve my mistake. The same night my friend and his friends are going to someone else’s house for a BBQ (which I told my girlfriend about days before). An hour before we are about to leave my girlfriend starts telling me to talk to her on the phone, because I hurt her so bad and when I say I can’t because we are 10 people having a beer before we head out she says she doesn’t care and that I hurt her and now she “wants to make my life miserable”. I tell her “hey I understand you’re upset but I never want to hear those words from the person I love. I know I hurt you but never intentionally”. She says she doesn’t care and keeps calling me non-stop for 40 minutes and I’m worried that if I don’t pick up she will start to call my friend. I try to deescalate and beg her to take a step back and that she is pushing me away by doing this. The whole thing culminates by me getting out of the Uber towards the barbecue and telling my friends that I think my girlfriend and I are breaking up and I need to deal with it. I am crying as I say this and feel so damn embarrassed. Even writing it now I can’t believe this actually happened. Damn. Anyways, as soon as I tell her that I am no longer going to the bbq and I left my friends car she becomes a different person (the person I love) and tells me she is so sorry and realize she took it too far and begs me to order an Uber to the BBQ. She says she’ll pay for it and begs me to go. At that point I’m just so embarrassed at the whole thing and tell her something along the lines of “why the fuck did you push me this far then. I told you you are pushing me away”. I head home, and wonder how someone who loves me so much can intentionally cause me so much harm and I seriously begin to doubt if her and I will ever work. I tell her I don’t think I want to be in the relationship, but that I recognize I’m emotional so I need 7 days without contact to process my thoughts. I won’t block her, but if she reaches out I will. She does reach out (albeit with a nice message) but I still block her.
I probably should have left the relationship here, but damn I love her, we live together, and at this point she was depending on me for her visa to stay in the country. I don’t want to rip all that apart from her. So I say I don’t know if we’ll ever feel okay, but I’m willing to give this one last chance.
To her defense, she take a lot of new steps at this point. She tells her mom and sister everything that happened (including her trust issues and jealousy), she starts with anxiety medication and starts being more vulnerable with her therapist. I am still skeptical that things will actually be okay, but I recognize the effort she puts in and I really appreciate it. The frequency of our arguments decrease, and more disputes now end before they become arguments.
Example 3 - Yesterday My GF flew to Vegas with three of her girlfriends (I know two of them very well) and I know it’s a high risk trip for someone in a relationship but I honestly have complete trust in my GF. I decided to do a dinner with 3 of my friends (who my GF knows equally well, we’re all in a group chat together and do things regularly together) and they invited a 4th person who was part of our sports team (my girlfriend met her 2-3 times, just like me).
She texts me from Vegas asking who’s coming to the dinner and once she finds out this 4th person is coming she asks nicely if we cannot be in someone else’s apartment. When I say hey I’m sorry but I already said we could be at my place she asks at least don’t smoke weed together (my friends are stoners so 100% chance they’ll bring weed), and I say “I’m sorry but I won’t tell them not to and I’ll join In too if they bring it but you have nothing to worry about. I love you and I’ll call you as soon as they leave?” My girlfriend then goes into panic mode and calls me nonstop throughout dinner. I go to the bathroom and begs her to stop, tells her she is ruining this for me, and ask her to trust me. She still calls nonstop until they leave. I try to keep a brave face but again it really ruins the dinner for me.
At this point I have told her how actions like these makes me feel uneasy and prevents me from enjoying life. I told her I need her to trust me. I told her that I won’t have it anymore. And if anything the idea that she doesn’t trust me around 3 people she knows well with a 4th stranger while she’s at a pool party in bikini in Vegas just seems so hypocritical it makes me ever more frustrated.
In her defense: - Her dad cheated multiple times while she was growing up. I understand this makes it excruciatingly difficult to trust a partner. - She started seeing a therapist ~8 months ago. - She now takes medication for her anxiety. - She now has told her mom and sister about her trust issues for the first time in her life. - She began attending codependency meetings regularly. - She says she doesn’t want me to limit my life just for me to communicate better what I’m doing (I think it’s really possible that I’m bad at communicating, because to me this request feels like it comes from a lack of trust).
She is putting in immense effort, but I just feel like I can’t do this anymore. Even when things are good I’m worried that she’s going to explode and that prevents me from enjoying the good times too. I love her and she’s amazing in many ways, but I don’t like feeling responsible for her suffering. I know that by trying to end things she’s going to suffer so much and she’ll beg me to give her another chance. I don’t want to but in those moments I feel like she’s the rational version of herself and that maybe she’ll never explode again. Can I solve my relationship with her? Is it time to leave? Is it fair to leave when she is putting in so much effort? How do I find the courage to go through with it?
Thanks so much in advance, and I’m sorry for such a lengthy post.
TL;DR I think my relationship is toxic and I don’t know if it is fixable, or if it’s time for me to end it? Is it fair to end it when my partner is putting so much effort into the relationship?

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

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

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

I don’t support the making of descendants 4 IN THE SLIGHTEST
Story was wrapped up
Cameron Boyce (rip) will be missing and he was a main character and one of if not the best characters in the movies
None of the main characters are returning at all (even then wouldn’t make a difference to my opinion but it shows Disney doesn’t care about the opinions and just wants more money)
I myself won’t watch it but I wanna know if anyone is? Like are we doing a mass boycott to ensure a 5th one doesn’t happen or what, I also still haven’t watched the animated movie but I did watch the animated shorts
I just find it so weird how they took a completed trilogy who also had a main characters actor die and still wanna make a fourth one? Without the other main 3???? Like what?!

Hey 20m here from California, im 6’2 and covered in tattoos over my chest, I have a good amount on my right arm but I want to fill up a sleeve haha and maybe get more on my legs.
I like cool spooky tatts or anything kinda freaky lol. Give me your best suggestions I can show my tatts I just want more suggestions and any opinions.
Dm with age and sex and lets chat!

Eliminated - Hugo (2011), shot by Robert Richardson and directed by Martin Scorsese - 14.8% of all votes. Hugo won Best Cinematography at the 84th Annual Academy Awards, as well as Best Sound Editing, Best Sound Mixing, Best Art Direction, and Best Visual Effects. It received a total of 11 nominations, including nominations for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay. The other films nominated for Best Cinematography at the 84th Annual Academy Awards were The Artist, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Tree of Life, and War Horse. Hugo also received nominations for Best Cinematography at the BAFTA Awards, Critics’ Choice Awards, and ASC Awards. The Director of Photography for Hugo, Robert Richardson, was also the DOP for Platoon (1986), JFK (1991), Kill Bill: Vol. 1 and 2 (2003 and 2004), The Aviator (2004), and Inglorious Basterds (2009), just to name a few. His Academy Award for Hugo was his 3rd of 3 Oscars for Best Cinematography.
First elimination so far that honestly surprised me. If you’d like to vote, fill out the form by just selecting the winner you want to be next eliminated the most, and then click submit. The more people who vote, the more competitive and fun the competition will be!
Remaining contestants:

• Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Peter Pau)
• The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (Andrew Lesnie)
• Road to Perdition (Conrad L. Hall)
• Master and Commander: Far Side of the World (Russell Boyd)
• The Aviator (Robert Richardson)
• Memoirs of a Geisha (Dion Beebe)
• Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo Navarro)
• There Will Be Blood (Robert Elswit)
• Slumdog Millionaire (Anthony Dod Mantle)
• Inception (Wally Pfister)
• Life of Pi (Claudio Miranda)
• Gravity (Emmanuel Lubezki)
• Birdman (Emmanuel Lubezki)
• The Revenant (Emmanuel Lubezki)
• La La Land (Linus Sandgren)
• Blade Runner 2049 (Roger Deakins)
• Roma (Alfonso Cuarón)
• 1917 (Roger Deakins)
• Dune (Greig Fraser)
• Oppenheimer (Hoyte van Hoytema)

Ranking So Far:

1. Hugo (Robert Richardson)
   
2. Slumdog Millionaire (Anthony Dod Mantle)
   
3. All Quiet on the Western Front (James Friend)
   
4. Mank (Erik Messerschmidt)
   
5. Avatar (Mauro Fiore)
   

So, I posted this theory a while back but it seems that most people didn’t read through it due to it being too long. So here I am back again with my best to briefly summarize the theory with the major points of evidence from the comics that I have found. It’s still going to be a lot but, hopefully, this will help get the broad idea across. Then if you have any specific points you can hopefully find them answered in the sections beneath it.
For context, you only need to read the Basic Premise section to get the basic gist of the theory, all the remaining sections are where I outline the evidence to support it.
~Basics of the Theory~

Nightcrawler is the Winding Way is basically the idea that X-Men’s Nightcrawler got his soul ripped in half when he was a child by his adopted mother – Margali Szardos – who used the magical half of Kurt’s soul to form the source of her power, the Winding Way.
Nightcrawler would have inherited this magical power from Azazel, who he is still technically biologically related to, as well as potentially the combination of genes from Mystique, Destiny, and Baron Wagner.
Amanda Sefton – after seeing Margali use Illyana’s Soul-Sword to obtain power in the Winding Way, took over Limbo to study it before fusing it with Kurt’s soul in the hopes of being able to use the Soul-Sword to undo her mother’s work and restore Kurt to being whole again.
Ultimately, Destiny gave the baby Kurt to Margali knowing full well she would do this to him to hide his true power from Enigma (the Nathaniel Essex that became a Dominion), who she had Kurt concieved in order to defeat.
Additionally, she told Margali of a prophecy about a Soul-Sword falling into Margali’s hands knowing that Margali would attempt to steal Belasco’s Soul-Sword, that Belasco would turn his attention to Nightcrawler to steal that magical power for herself which would result in Illyana being kidnapped by Belasco after he gave up trying to steal the power from Kurt and thus create said Soul-Sword as well as – eventually – the Hope-sword.

~Part 1 – Margali Szardos is the Worst Adoptive Mother of All Time~
Margali Szardos is a powerful witch in Marvel comics who has shown being particularly hungry for magical power – doing everything from manipulating her daughter, Amanda Sefton, into getting her Illyana’s Soul-Sword so that she could use it in a killing spree to obtain magical power from her victims (Excalibur #85), to attempting to steal the power of a demon living under London nearly destroying it in the process (Excalibur #100), to forcibly mind-swapping with her daughter to save herself leaving Amanda to be tortured by Belasco (revealed X-Men: Unlimited #19), opening a magical rift to the World Beyond to obtain its power which forced her daughter to sacrifice herself to close it (4^th Nightcrawler series #1-4), to finally selling Nightcrawler out to ORCHIS to obtain the Hope-sword that was lodged in Kurt’s chest (Legion of X #7-10).
All of these villainous actions raise an important question – why did Margali adopt Nightcrawler? After all, it’s not like Margali went around adopting children – only Nightcrawler. In fact, outside of Kurt, the only other child that Margali has ever displayed an interest in obtaining was a young Scarlet Witch (Mystic Arcanum: Scarlet Witch) which is concerning given just how magically powerful Scarlet Witch is.
This all points to the idea that Margali only took Kurt in because she got something out of it – very likely magical power. This wouldn’t be nearly so concerning if Margali Szardos wasn’t also the Sorceress Supreme of one of the most mysterious and unexplained magical systems in all of Marvel.
~Part 2 – The Winding Way is WIERD~
So, I’m just going to come out and say it - the Winding Way makes no sense in the current understanding of magic in Marvel Comics. Even characters like Dr. Strange – one of Marvel’s masters of magic – has basically no idea how the Winding Way actually operates. There is a data page in Legion of X #9 that outlines the basics of what the Winding Way is and how it operates.
According to the data page, the Winding Way is an exocentric magic system – that is to say a form of magic that is powered by an external source to the user – which its various wielders experience cycles of power and powerlessness. As far as characters like Strange are aware, it remains unclear if there is a physical “Way” or if that is simply metaphor.
The strange thing about the Winding Way is that there is no other magical system in Marvel where this cycle of users having powers and being powerless is even a thing. Whenever an exocentrically powered sorcerer loses their powers, it is always a form of punishment. This is true with Dr. Strange when he lost 99% of his powers back during the War of the Seven Spheres story. This is true with Juggernaut who loses his powers whenever he and Cyttorak – the entity that powers the crimson gem that Juggernaut uses for his powers. It’s even true for someone like Thor and his hammer. No where else in Marvel is there a system of magic where cycles of power is a thing.
All of this raises the question of whether the fluctuating cycles of power the Winding Way are actually a natural part of the Winding Way or whether they due to something else – like, say the power source of the Winding Way trying to continuously punish the various practitioners but being unable to due to their attention being split up.
Ultimately, the only truth that we can glean about the Winding Way is that nobody but the practitioners of the Winding Way ultimately know how it works and even then, characters like Margali and Amanda have proven time and again that their word cannot be trusted.
~Part 3 – the Szardos Family, Cthon, & Wundagore Mountain~
Interestingly, a different Sorcerer Supreme Sgt. Sebastian Szardos – the Sorcerer Supreme of World War II – has his own insights about the Winding Way, though they are rather vague. Firstly, in the 8^th series of Avengers #50, Sebastian claims that the Winding Way has ties with Mt. Wundagore – which was famously the tomb of Cthon before Scarlet Witch absorbed him. This seems to suggest that the Winding Way originates either via Cthon or his creation – the Darkhold.
What is more interesting is that the Winding Way doesn’t seem to be practiced during the time of the Second World War as Sgt. Szardos states that only his great grandmother on his mothers side even knew about the Winding Way – Sebastian himself clearly wasn’t a practicing member. This is peculiar as Margali Szardos demonstrates an unusual amount of familiarity with the position of Sorcerer Supreme in Uncanny X-Men Annual #4 when she stole the Eye of Agamotto off of Dr. Strange with a mere gesture. Given that Sebastian and Margali share the last name and Sebastian was a known former Sorcerer Supreme while Margali – as far as I can tell – has never been, this would seem to suggest that there is some sort of familial connection between Margali and Sebastian. This in turn seems to suggest that the Winding Way experienced some sort of revival with Margali.
My theory is that the Winding Way started out as a sort of ritual that originated with the Darkhold and was initially practiced by the Szardos family over the centuries to siphon power off of Cthon to keep him in check and imprisoned - hence why there are other Szardos clan members such as Theodosia as shown in that run of Avengers. This would mean that if my theory of Nightcrawler being the Winding Way is true, then it would mean that he is only the current source of the Winding Way.
~Part 4 – Nightcrawler is still related to Azazel (and Azazel is a demon)~
Now a major aspect in this is that Nightcrawler is where exactly would Nightcrawler’s magical powers come from? After all, he’s the son of Mystique and Destiny – two mutants with no sort of magical capabilities, right? Well, that’s… complicated.
Firstly, it’s important to note that the X-Men Origins: Blue retcon is… frankly, not very well thought out. There are a bunch of things that it just gets plain wrong and contradict a bunch of previously established X-Men lore – everything from the fact that Destiny would have been too old to give birth to Nightcrawler, to Rogue’s age being way too young (she was adopted by D&M when she was 13 not 5), to the fact that Mystique canonically cannot mimic mutant x-genes - meaning Nightcrawler shouldn’t have teleportation with this retcon, and much, much more. On top of all that, the fact that the only evidence supporting the idea that it ever even happened is from Mystique and Destiny – two of Marvel’s most notorious liars – and you got yourself an extremely messy and rather dubious retcon.
Putting all that aside, going based on what the retcon has established there are a few ways in which Kurt might have inherited some sort of magical power.
Primarily, Kurt is still technically related to Azazel – yes, Mystique “mimicked” Azazel’s DNA in Kurt’s conception but given that in genetics it is the sequence of DNA that matters and not the source of that sequence, Mystique’s “Mimicked” DNA is still ostensibly Azazel’s DNA. Azazel is an established master of dark magic – specifically soul magic – and used to rule over a legit Hell Dimension during the time of Kurt’s birth – making him a legit hell lord similar to Mephisto or Dormammu. Given that Hell Lords are also considered the Sorcerer Supremes (as in the strongest) of their respective dimension, this would suggest that Azazel once held some major power, regardless of if he’s a demon or not. And as it has been established, magic is inheritable as shown with Clea (the daughter of Umar), Daimon Hellstrom (son of Marduk Kurios), and at least half the cast of Strange Academy, it would stand to reason that Nightcrawler could also inherit magical power from him.
Now, I know what you are saying – “But, Azazel isn’t a demon! Chuck Austen said so!” And while, yes, Chuck Austen has clearly gone on record to say that Azazel is only a demonic looking mutant instead of an actual demon, it’s been kind of invalidated by the thing that every other writer for Azazel – including the likes of Chris Claremont – have referred to Azazel as a demon at least once either on-panel or in interviews. And frankly, there’s nothing in the lore that says that Azazel cannot be both a demon and a mutant – after all, Magik is both a demon and a mutant at the same time. And let’s be real here, Chuck Austen doesn’t deserve nice things when it comes to the X-Men.
However, Azazel is not the only DNA that Mystique apparently mimicked – Baron Christian Wagner was also added onto that list for some reason. This is odd as why would Destiny and Mystique feel the need to include Baron Wagner at all in the genetic makeup of Nightcrawler unless there was something special about the Baron. However, the only uniquely genetic thing we learn about him is that he’s seemingly infertile – which may suggest that there is some sort of genetic anomaly going on with him, such as maybe a repressed X-gene.
~Part 5 – Amanda Sefton/Jimaine Szardos history in Marvel Comics~
Another aspect of this theory is that – if it is true – it suddenly explains a lot of what Kurt’s ex, Amanda Sefton has been doing in comics since she was first introduced in 1976. You see, Amanda Sefton followed Kurt back from Germany and began dating him under a different name – which Kurt was not aware of. She only reveals the truth after the events of Uncanny X-Men Annual #4. This unfortunately supports Kurt’s accusation in Uncanny X-Men #206 that Amanda used a spell to make Kurt fall in love with her to begin with – an accusation which Amanda has never confirmed nor denied.
Amanda’s peculiar behavior continued into Excalibur where she was manipulated by Margali into obtaining Illyana’s Soul-Sword from Kitty Pryde – who had previously given the Soul-Sword to Dr. Doom and then Darkoth, with it returning to her both times. Upon obtaining the Soul-Sword, Margali then used it to go on a killing spree against the other members of the Winding Way to obtain their power for herself. Following this, Margali’s failed attempt to steal the power of a demon beneath London, and Kurt and Margali rescuing Amanda from Belasco after Margali body-swapped with her daughter to save her own skin – Amanda ended up taking over Limbo, supposedly in the name of protecting earth.
However, then we have the smoking gun of Amanda’s meddling – during the 3^rd Nightcrawler solo series, it is revealed that Amanda fused the Soul-Sword with Nightcrawler without telling him. Her reason for doing so? “To protect the Soul-Sword from falling into the wrong hands.” This lie is so glaringly bad that not even Nightcrawler buys it and he calls Amanda out for not being honest with him.
~Part 6 – Amanda’s Bad Lie and What it Means~
And frankly why would anyone believe Amanda’s claim? Amanda is a sorceress – which means that she is infinitely more qualified than Nightcrawler to keep the Soul-Sword safe than he is. Even if she couldn’t do so, why didn’t she take the Soul-Sword to someone like Dr. Strange?
On top of that, Amanda took the Soul-Sword away from Kitty Pryde claiming that Kitty wasn’t qualified to keep the Soul-Sword safe due to her not being a trained sorceress. Well, guess who’s also not trained in sorcery and thus – by Amanda’s own logic - would not be able to keep the Soul-Sword safe? Nightcrawler.
Except, Kitty technically was able to keep the Soul-Sword out of the wrong hands – back during Excalibur #37 she phased the Soul-Sword into a rock which even Rachel Summers channeling the power of the Phoenix Force was not able to remove it from – it wasn’t removed until Doom came knocking and got Kitty to willingly remove it for him. So why couldn’t Amanda do something similar? Why fuse it with Kurt and endanger him?
And to top it all off, Amanda still needed the Soul-Sword. She was ruling over Limbo – a dangerous hell dimension full of power-hungry demons. Her magical powers are of the Winding Way – meaning that they wax and wane. So quite literally, Amanda needs the Soul-Sword – a weapon which every demon in Limbo fears – to keep herself in power; something which was proven in New X-Men #37 when Belasco walked back into Limbo and ousted her.
~Part 7 – Amanda took over Limbo to learn about the Soul-Sword~
So, what was Amanda really up to? Well, to understand Amanda’s actions in the 3^rd Nightcrawler series, we first need to go back to Amanda’s actions in previous series. What’s interesting is that Amanda’s interest in the Soul-Sword was first manifest through Margali – who reveals in Excalibur: Minus One that there is a prophecy that the Soul-Sword would pass first into Margali’s hands and then into Amanda’s hands but would result in both of their dooms.
However, Amanda doesn’t really demonstrate any sort of interest in the Soul-Sword until after Margali used it to obtain power in the Winding Way during Excalibur. While she didn’t get the opportunity to act after the events of Margali’s failed London project due to her mother mind-swapping with her, Amanda’s actions in taking over Limbo after X-Men: Unlimited #19 was more likely due to Amanda wanting to obtain and learn more about the Soul-Sword than about her trying to protect earth.
You see, as Limbo was in no position to even threaten earth until Belasco had obtained the Soul-Sword following Margali ending up there – meaning that if Amanda had simply obtained the Soul-Sword and left Limbo, Limbo would not have been able to endanger Earth. Instead, Amanda stayed. Why? Because if there was anywhere in the universe where you wanted to learn about a Soul-Sword and how it works, Limbo is the dimension to do so.
~Part 8 – Nightcrawler and Magik are… Soulmates?~
So, why did Amanda fuse the Soul-Sword with Nightcrawler? Well, ultimately because a major function of the Soul-Sword is that it can be used as a countercharm which can undo other spells – potentially meaning that Amanda could use it to undo the Winding Way and restore the two halves of Kurt’s soul back together again.
However, another aspect of the Soul-Sword is that it is dangerous to magical creatures and Kurt’s magical soul would already be weakened after years of being separated. Amanda must have figured that if she bonded the non-magical half of Kurt’s soul to the Soul-Sword would allow for her to bypass the more dangerous aspects of the Soul-Sword and allow her to restore Kurt.
And as a result of Amanda’s meddling, when a demonically possessed Pixie ripped the Soul-Sword out of Nightcrawler during X-Infernus, it left behind a void in Kurt’s Soul as established in Legion of X #10, which allowed for the Hopesword to later form. This also seemingly gave Illyana’s Soul-Sword a new ability to damage Techno-Organic beings which it did not possess before. This also means that Nightcrawler and Magik are… soul-mates(?) for the lack of a better term, as they are both bound together through the Soul-Sword after Amanda undid Illyana’s bond with Kitty, though this fact has never been established or confirmed in the comics.
~Part 9 – Destiny caused Magik to be kidnapped by Belasco~
Now, I noted in an earlier section that Margali’s fascination with the Soul-Sword was as a result of a prophecy – one that has at least partially come true. The prophecy as laid out during a flashback in Exalibur: Minus One was that the Soul-Sword would pass from into Margali’s hands and then Amanda’s but would result in both of their dooms. Illyana’s Soul-Sword was indeed obtained by Margali back in Excalibur #85 before she lost it to Belasco after falling to Limbo and the Soul-Sword was obtained again by Amanda after taking Limbo over in X-Men: Unlimited #19.
Now, this whole situation is peculiar as Margali herself is not a precog – outside of this one time, we never even hear her do anything similar ever again. However, we know that Destiny is a precog and we also know that she was the one who gave Kurt to Margali, as per the X-Men Origins: Blue retcon, meaning that this prophecy more than likely originates with Destiny. And really, this shouldn’t be a surprise – Mystique hinted at having some sort of a connection with Margali as far back as UXM #142 when she first met Nightcrawler, it was just never clarified what that connection was.
However, this prophecy would have been given to Margali before the Soul-Sword was ever made and before Illyana was even born, which means that either Destiny could predict Illyana being kidnapped by Belasco and creating the Soul-Sword as a result… or she caused Belasco to kidnap Illyana and create the Soul-Sword as a result.
Now, you may question how that’s even possible? After all, how could Destiny cause someone like Belasco to do something when the two haven’t even canonically met?
Well, for this, I would like to point out the unexplained animosity going on between Margali Szardos and Belasco. This is a rivalry that has been mentioned quite a few times – such as back in Excalibur: Minus One, X-Men: Unlimited #19, and the 3^rd Nightcrawler series. For some unexplained reason, Margali Szardos and Belasco have a lot of enmity for one another.
So, what’s the cause of this rivalry? Well, during the Dark Web event, Mary Jane Watson and Black Cat were captured by Belasco and sent to retrieve his Soul-Sword – which, as it is explained in the story is something that Belasco could not potentially use up until the events of Dark Web.
So here’s an idea – what if Destiny didn’t specify which Soul-Sword would end up in Margali’s hands, causing Margali to immediately assume that she was talking about Belasco’s (as that would have been the only one in existence at that point) and try to steal it from him.
This then drew Belasco’s attention and caused him to realize that Nightcrawler was somehow the source of Margali’s powers. This would be why Belasco even had his eyes on the X-Men to begin with and why there was a soulless Nightcrawler back in the original Magik series – Kurt was Belasco’s original target. However, the soulless Nightcrawler and Belasco’s obvious shift in attention to Illyana clearly points to the idea that whatever experiments Belasco tried to use to obtain that magical power from Kurt, it only ended in disaster – causing him to turn to Illyana as a replacement.
~Part 10 – the Big Picture… stopping Enigma~
So, if Destiny was ultimately the cause behind all of this – from orchestrating Kurt’s birth, to handing him off to Margali, to telling Margali the prophecy about the Soul-Sword, what is it all ultimately for?
Well, what it is almost certainly not for is the given answer of defeating Azazel. Simply put, Azazel has never been so major of a threat that creating a super special prophecy child was needed. Heck, he was killed in Dark X-Men by the demonic version of Nightcrawler, so how difficult would it have been for Mystique and Destiny to do it? No, Azazel’s defeat was a bonus that Irene used to justify Kurt’s birth to Raven, not the focus.
Ultimately, there’s only one answer as to who Kurt was conceived to stop – Enigma. The original Nathaniel Essex who transcended space and time and who Irene knew to be an existential threat to all Mutantkind.
This answer even explains some of Irene’s other past actions, such as why she was involved with the Black Womb project – yes, she was keeping an eye on Sinister, but she was also learning as much about the mutant x-gene in preparation for Kurt’s birth.
It also explains why she handed Kurt over to Margali at all – the Winding Way is described in the datapages of Legion of X as being something akin to a No-Place – something that Enigma and other Dominions famously have trouble seeing into. Thus, by hiding Kurt’s magical half in the No-place until the time was right and creating the means by which to release him from that prison, Destiny ensures Enigma’s defeat.
Or does she? Because as far as the current X-Men comics have been going, there is nowhere near the development needed to have my theory take place. At this point, only the Hopesword is established which begs the question of whether the Winding Way is meant to be the thing to stop Enigma or if the Hopesword is. As of this point in X-Men Forever (2024) #4, the Hopesword is what was needed to stop Enigma… for some reason. So far, all that the sword has accomplished is being handed off from Kurt to Exodus to Hope… who was then killed by the Phoenix and sent the Hopesword back to Kurt. We’ll have to wait and see if anything else comes of it.
Personally though, I kind of like the idea that everything Destiny did in orchestrating the creation of the Hopesword and/or the Winding Way was kind of a pointless thing in the end. It’s kind of poignant for Destiny’s character – being the same woman who thought that killing Senator Kelly would prevent the Days of Future’s Past Timeline when she was in fact going to cause that very timeline to happen – to have all her manipulations and schemes to create this weapon against the existential threat that Enigma presented… only to have that threat be dealt with in some other way, leaving Irene to deal with the consequences of her own actions and question whether it was worth putting Kurt through all of that. Maybe that’s just me though.
Conclusion
So yeah, that’s most of the evidence supporting this theory. There are a few other things – such as Margali potentially being the reason why Kurt was killed during Second Coming and potentially causing his mental break down during the Extraordinary X-Men story, but those are more auxiliary to these major points.
But yeah, let me know what you guys think down below. Do you think this theory is onto something or is it way off base?

Hi Reddit,
I can’t believe I’m writing this post, but this has been on my mind for the past few months and I really need some external input. I need help to figure out if I’m in a toxic relationship, if there’s something I can do to fix it, if I’m over sensitive, or is it time for me to end this?
Context: I (M26) and my girlfriend (F25) have been together for 2.5 years, and known each other for 8 years. We both live in the U.S. but I’m from Europe and she’s from Central America, met in college. Issues started 2 years ago but when things are good she’s amazing (funny/beautiful/caring/makes me feel unconditionally loved/etc) and I always thought the issues were friction we could iron out together. With time I have grown increasingly skeptical of that. This is my first relationship (longer than 3 months) so at the same time I’m worried that maybe I am overly skeptical, that I only see my perspective and fail to see hers. I want to be fair to her, because I love her and care deeply for her as a person, I am just starting to resent the relationship.
History of issues: To me the issues are all centered in my girlfriends anxiety. Frequently, rather than being vulnerable, she projects her anxiety on me and accusing me of all kinds of things. I have both tried to shake off those moments, to recognize that this isn’t her but her anxiety talking, but it still affects me deeply. Not only when it occurs, but when I am doing something and she seems fine I still worry that maybe I will do something wrong and she will snap and this moment will turn to a life or death situation. I have also obviously communicated my concern over this behavior repeatedly, and every time after she takes things too far she apologizes and takes ownership and we come up with a strategy to avoid the issue from repeating. This all sounds very healthy, I think, but the problem is that we’ve had these issues and conversations 25+ times and here we still are. Some things have gotten better for sure but it still feels unbearable to me. Let me provide three examples to illustrate our issues (from my perspective).
Example 1 - 1.5 years ago: My best friend and I were victims of attempted robbery from people affiliated with organized crime, the event went to court, and after the trial we wanted to get away from everything. My girlfriend and I had planned to go to a Caribbean island shortly after, so I invited my friend to come a week before my girlfriend and leave the day she arrived. We were both pretty shaken up and just wanted to talk things out and enjoy a tropical paradise. The first night my friend and I arrive (girlfriend still in the US) she starts texting fervently that my friend and I shouldn’t see any of the sights so she and I can see them together for the first time. I get where she’s coming from but this is also a challenging time for me and my best friend so I am not willing to completely sacrifice his week with me to appease my girlfriend. Things escalate and she demands my attention all the time. When my friend and I is out she is calling me 50+ times in a row, texting me that if I love her I would respond and that I am ruing hers and mine vacation and though I’m trying to deescalate I don’t see how to. I end up turning off my phone, although she begs me not to, but I’m still in my head unable to enjoy the night. When I turn my phone back on next day there’s a picture of herself with a cut (very shallow but still) saying I made her do this. This event is the low point of our relationship, and I told her if she ever hurts herself or threatens to hurt herself I’m out, and to be fair to her she has not once since hurt herself. Nonetheless, the calls continue after this (50+ a day) and I spent 3-4h a day on the phone with her and neglecting the trip with my best friend. Damn writing this out really makes me ashamed for not standing my ground back then. Anyways, this really colored the trip with my childhood friend and I think I still resent myself and her for making that happen.
Example 2 - 0.5 years ago: I visited a close childhood friend in South America for 2.5 weeks. Because of the events that transpired in example 1, my girlfriend was nervous for my trip. She expressed worry that she would act out in the same way as my last trip. I really appreciated this self-awareness. We therefore talked extensively about how to avoid issues. The first few days were alright, with her being anxious but being vulnerable about it and we managed well, calling once a day and texting 15-20 messages a day (more than I’d want, but that’s a compromise I’m okay with). At this point I make a mistake, but her reactions to it is (in my head at least) not proportional. I told her I was going out with my friend and his friend that weekend, and she expressed that this would make her anxious that I would cheat on her. So I asked what can I do, and we decided I’d send her a text once I left the pre-game, once I left the club, and call her once I got back to my friends place. A little bit much I thought, but I love her so a fair compromise for now. Unfortunately, I got caught up in the moment at the pre-game, and forgot to text my girlfriend. I realized as I was walking home from the club with 25+ missed calls and a bunch of emotional messages about how I forgot because I was around beautiful women and how I don’t love her. Here I understand her pain. She was vulnerable, I agreed to a compromise and I didn’t fulfill my end. 25+ calls is never productive but hey I had some blame here. The following day I call her for 1.5 hours apologizing and we talk things out, and it feels like though she is feeling anxious that she accepts my apology and we have now managed to resolve my mistake. The same night my friend and his friends are going to someone else’s house for a BBQ (which I told my girlfriend about days before). An hour before we are about to leave my girlfriend starts telling me to talk to her on the phone, because I hurt her so bad and when I say I can’t because we are 10 people having a beer before we head out she says she doesn’t care and that I hurt her and now she “wants to make my life miserable”. I tell her “hey I understand you’re upset but I never want to hear those words from the person I love. I know I hurt you but never intentionally”. She says she doesn’t care and keeps calling me non-stop for 40 minutes and I’m worried that if I don’t pick up she will start to call my friend. I try to deescalate and beg her to take a step back and that she is pushing me away by doing this. The whole thing culminates by me getting out of the Uber towards the barbecue and telling my friends that I think my girlfriend and I are breaking up and I need to deal with it. I am crying as I say this and feel so damn embarrassed. Even writing it now I can’t believe this actually happened. Damn. Anyways, as soon as I tell her that I am no longer going to the bbq and I left my friends car she becomes a different person (the person I love) and tells me she is so sorry and realize she took it too far and begs me to order an Uber to the BBQ. She says she’ll pay for it and begs me to go. At that point I’m just so embarrassed at the whole thing and tell her something along the lines of “why the fuck did you push me this far then. I told you you are pushing me away”. I head home, and wonder how someone who loves me so much can intentionally cause me so much harm and I seriously begin to doubt if her and I will ever work. I tell her I don’t think I want to be in the relationship, but that I recognize I’m emotional so I need 7 days without contact to process my thoughts. I won’t block her, but if she reaches out I will. She does reach out (albeit with a nice message) but I still block her.
I probably should have left the relationship here, but damn I love her, we live together, and at this point she was depending on me for her visa to stay in the country. I don’t want to rip all that apart from her. So I say I don’t know if we’ll ever feel okay, but I’m willing to give this one last chance.
To her defense, she take a lot of new steps at this point. She tells her mom and sister everything that happened (including her trust issues and jealousy), she starts with anxiety medication and starts being more vulnerable with her therapist. I am still skeptical that things will actually be okay, but I recognize the effort she puts in and I really appreciate it. The frequency of our arguments decrease, and more disputes now end before they become arguments.
Example 3 - Yesterday: My GF flew to Vegas with three of her girlfriends (I know two of them very well) and I know it’s a high risk trip for someone in a relationship but I honestly have complete trust in my GF. I decided to do a dinner with 3 of my friends (who my GF knows equally well, we’re all in a group chat together and do things regularly together) and they invited a 4th person who was part of our sports team (my girlfriend met her 2-3 times, just like me).
She texts me from Vegas asking who’s coming to the dinner and once she finds out this 4th person is coming she asks nicely if we cannot be in someone else’s apartment. When I say hey I’m sorry but I already said we could be at my place she asks at least don’t smoke weed together (my friends are stoners so 100% chance they’ll bring weed), and I say “I’m sorry but I won’t tell them not to and I’ll join In too if they bring it but you have nothing to worry about. I love you and I’ll call you as soon as they leave?” My girlfriend then goes into panic mode and calls me nonstop throughout dinner. I go to the bathroom and begs her to stop, tells her she is ruining this for me, and ask her to trust me. She still calls nonstop until they leave. I try to keep a brave face but again it really ruins the dinner for me.
At this point I have told her how actions like these makes me feel uneasy and prevents me from enjoying life. I told her I need her to trust me. I told her that I won’t have it anymore. And if anything the idea that she doesn’t trust me around 3 people she knows well with a 4th stranger while she’s at a pool party in bikini in Vegas just seems so hypocritical it makes me ever more frustrated.
In her defense: - Her dad cheated multiple times while she was growing up. I understand this makes it excruciatingly difficult to trust a partner. - She started seeing a therapist ~8 months ago. - She now takes medication for her anxiety. - She now has told her mom and sister about her trust issues for the first time in her life. - She began attending codependency meetings regularly. - She says she doesn’t want me to limit my life just for me to communicate better what I’m doing (I think it’s really possible that I’m bad at communicating, because to me this request feels like it comes from a lack of trust).
She is putting in immense effort, but I just feel like I can’t do this anymore. Even when things are good I’m worried that she’s going to explode and that prevents me from enjoying the good times too. I love her and she’s amazing in many ways, but I don’t like feeling responsible for her suffering. I know that by trying to end things she’s going to suffer so much and she’ll beg me to give her another chance. I don’t want to but in those moments I feel like she’s the rational version of herself and that maybe she’ll never explode again. Can I solve my relationship with her? Is it time to leave? Is it fair to leave when she is putting in so much effort? How do I find the courage to go through with it?
Thanks so much in advance, and I’m sorry for such a lengthy post.
TL;DR: I’m I overly sensitive, can this relationship be fixed, or is it time to breakup? Is it fair to breakup if the other person is putting so much effort in?

But even typing this, it doesn’t feel real. I still have hope tonight that he can change. I feel so stupid.
I am 38F and he is 39M.
I am devastated. I would do anything and everything to be married forever, but it’s no longer an option and hasn’t been since the fourth month of our marriage. I was 8 weeks pregnant with his child and he assaulted me with a metal cup in the car while he was driving on the freeway because I wouldn’t stop saying why he was upsetting me. The fight continued when we got home and he had called the police, lied to them and had me arrested. Eight weeks pregnant. With bruises up and down my body. I got arrested. I spent the night in jail and had to listen to my baby’s heartbeat for the first time from a county jail exam table.
Somehow, through that, we stayed married. Abuse makes you do wild things. It changes your brain. Abusers purposely make you confused. Through counseling, I am coming out of the confusion now, though.
I could go on and on about the abuse I have suffered. I am here today because typing this makes it real that I am leaving. And I am here today because I need support in understanding that he is not going to change.
This morning things escalated by 8am. This is typical weekend behavior. I discovered that he has been smoking cigarettes in one of the vehicles that is in my name and that I pay for, and that I have asked him not to smoke in repeatedly. I do not smoke. I think it’s gross. And it has ruined the interior of this vehicle that is expensive. Not only that, but our child has asthma. Most likely because he IS a smoker. Anyway, I grabbed something out of the vehicle for his 6yo and I came back in and simply said “please don’t smoke in the truck anymore. Please don’t tell me that you haven’t been either.” This sent him into a spiral. He called me names and said that I am controlling. He started following me around the house screaming behind my head. He is nearly a foot taller than me and this is physically intimidating to me. So much so that my hands start to shake, my heart races and my thoughts become blurry when he does this. I knew at this point it was best for me to get our child and leave. So I was doing that. But this morning he would not let me leave the bedroom and was blocking me from leaving with our child with his body in the doorway. I told him I was going to call non-emergency if he didn’t move. And he would not. So I was trying to figure out how to call but my hands were shaking so bad and my brain was so jumbled I gave up and called my sister on speaker. I asked her to call the police. As soon as he saw her name on my phone he moved and let me leave. He yelled at me and our child out the door and to the neighborhood “see - I’m so scary - I’m letting you leave”. I got our child in the backseat and drove down the street to park and get them dressed. They were only in a pull up. I saw the officer coming down the road and flagged him down. I told him what happened and he went and talked with him. I left with our child and went to my sisters. Eventually we came home and he has been upstairs ever since. This is also typical. He will have an outburst. And then go upstairs and not speak to me for a week. And then one morning he’ll just wake up and decide that it’s time to be normal again. And generally comes to me and says “have you calmed down”. Which, as you can imagine, perpetuates the situation further. And drags it on. He does not understand accountability.
We have been married 3.5 years, together for 5 total. We have one child together (2yo) and he has two other children (6yo and 14yo).
We moved in together after 9 months of dating. That is when the abuse started. The first time he was physically abusive, he broke through our bedroom door. Broke. The entire door - down. Somehow, I decided to continue.
From the start, I’ve known it was never going to last. He is unstable. He has a long and dark history of mental illness (both himself and his immediate maternal and paternal family). In addition to struggling with substance abuse his entire life. His childhood is tragic and full of heartache. It shaped the man he is today, and not for the better.
He is in the trades industry and has a GED. I am a director level professional and have a college degree. His father was in prison for the last half of his childhood and eventually took his life when he was released. My father is a retired architect, Vietnam vet. We grew up completely different. Both of our parents divorced. He then suffered verbal and emotional abuse from his step father. I suffered verbal, emotional, and physical abuse from my mother.
I believe my mother is a narcissist and undiagnosed. And I believe my husband has narcissistic tendencies and/or is one. But I am not a medical professional. I am going on what I’ve experienced with both of them.
When we first met, he was 34 and I was 33. He was unemployed and really not doing well. Drinking in access. A lot. Everyday. But I did not know. I was doing very well. I had spent my 20s creating a fulfilling and financially successful career. He spent his 20s job hopping and, quite honestly, messing around. But we had fun together. But having fun together is not real life.
Here is where the manipulation began. He was upfront about his upbringing and past. And was genuinely making steps towards a better life. He is a born again Christian. And as an educated person, I believe he has grabbed on to what is actually important in the Bible. However, he is unable to abide by what a husband biblically should be. He does not love, protect or provide for me or our child. We joined a church, I became involved and made friends, and we went there as a family for multiple years. Until one night he showed up drunk, and I never went back.
I am the breadwinner. I pay for ev. ry. thing. He keeps his entire paycheck and will not give me money to pay bills. He will also not physically pay the bills. I manage and pay all bills. But not because I don’t want him to. I have begged, cried, and tried a million different systems (both digital and analog) to make him involved. And he flat out refuses. He abused our shared checking by taking money out to “pay bills” from his personal checking account and then did not pay those bills and spent the money. So I would then have to pay multiple months and late fees to catch up. Many. Many. Times.
In addition to not contributing financially, he does not contribute to the household upkeep or yard maintenance. Literally nothing. If I want the yard kept, I do it, or I pay someone to do it. If something on a vehicle goes out, I make the appointment and consult with the technician. But again, not because I want to, but because he will not participate. Or if he does, it’s half assed and more work for me. He does not grocery shop or cook. He has never cooked one meal for me. I think he’s maybe gotten a bowl of ice cream for me a couple times? He does not clean. He has cleaned the bathroom in our home two times. We have lived here 4 years. We live in separate bedrooms because he won’t pickup after himself. His room is squalor. Clothes on every square inch. Fast food wrappers. No sheet on mattress. I have cleaned it for him many times in hopes that we could make a drastic change and start sleepin next to each other again. But he refuses. I know this sounds insane that I have stayed married. It sounds insane to me.
He verbally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, sexually and financially abuses me. Maybe not all at once, everyday. But one of them most likely daily now. Or a couple. It’s been a very long time since there has been a long stretch of stability or peace.
However, I am changing all of that this year. I have hired an attorney and am climbing through the paperwork right now.
On Christmas morning last year, before we hosted family that day, he threw a (heavy) laundry basket full of dirty clothes at me as I was going down the stairs because I asked him for help with something. And after the first one hit me, I sat down and covered my head so I wouldn’t fall, and he threw another one at me. I don’t know how I masked my raw emotions through the rest of the day with family over. I ate not one bite. I pushed my food around my plate and tried to make my face contort into normal emotions for the day.
But I stayed. Again.
Mother’s Day morning this year. Just one week ago - I spent it locked in my bedroom with our child paying the divorce attorney retainer fee on the laptop as he screamed at me what a piece of shit mother and wife I am. I honestly don’t even know what I did or remember why it escalated. Most likely because it was a holiday - and not about him.
I am exhausted. I have lost close to 30lbs since January. People are beginning to notice.
I wanted a family more than anything. I adore my child. I spend my days and nights dreaming up ways to enrich their life. I wanted family vacations and world travel. I wanted to host, big, extended family holiday gatherings. I wanted my little baby to know what it felt like to have a mom and dad at home together every night. But not at this cost. The very worst part of my parenting is staying married. I am a bad parent every day that I stay here.
I wish I could file the petition and fast forward a year. I know I’ll be okay. It’s ripping off the bandaid that hurts.