Currently I'm a 20 year old male in the US Air Force. Recently I started getting curious again about what it would be like to be female. It's happened multiple times throughout my life for 1 or 2 days at a time usually. I've also had actual dreams about being female, more so when I was younger though. This time its been about a week long. I cannot get it out of my head this time. I keep watching youtube videos and reading reddit posts looking for answers, but I'm so unsure.
I've always been realtively comfortable in my male body and mind. I mean I struggle with depression and anxiety, and I go back and forth on whether or not I like my appearance. Overall, I'm not really sure if I experience dysphoria or not. I look at myself in the mirror and feel almost detached. Also I havent felt anything good from pleasuring myself in a long time. When I imagine myself in the future I can only imagine the person that I am now, but that isn't really the person that I want to be.
The idea of being on hrt and getting it's effects intrigues me. The possibility of being more connected to my emotions. The ability to grow out my hair and wear earrings. But I don't know I really want to "pass" as a female. I recently watched though all of F1nn5ter's trans content again. I really vibed with their decision to be genderfluid. I think I don't really want to go all in on the girl thing, but I feel like being a male might be dragging me down. Although being that I am in the Air Force I feel like I have to conform to one or the other.
A few days ago I decided to schedule an apopintment with medical to try and get a diagnosis of some sort. Originally the idea was to try to get on hrt. With that in mind I started taking better care of myself in prepareation for this massive change. I started washing my face twice a day and quit energy drinks as a start. It has been relatively successfull and I noticed my happyness increase slightly, but it all just feels like a rollercoaster. My mind is all over the place. I wonder if maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that this is the right thing to do. Or maybe I wouldn't be having these thoughts if there wasn't some sort of truth to them.
If any of yall have any insight it would be greatly appriciated.

Today I want to tell my story of how I self-advocated and what I did to achieve that goal. I'm telling my story to help those who are in a similar position to what I was in and to inspire those to self-advocate.
To recap from my earlier posts. I have ADHD and fell under the "multiple disabilities" characterization. My high school teacher claimed that I have autism (Not diagnosed). I personally don't believe I have autism or at the very least I have a high functioning autism. Throughout most of my school career, I was in a self-contained classroom with kids with severe disabilities. Even if I was in the general population I had a paraprofessional or peer tutor. I never believed that I should have been in that position. As a consequence, I never really learned any social skills, I was segregated, and felt like that people didn't want anything to do with me because I was sped. The reason why I ended up in this position was probably a combination of me having the "multiple disabilities'' characterization and me testing low in three year revaluation tests. If you want more info on this then feel free to search my profile. This is an alt account and is primarily used to ask questions about special ed so It's really easy to find stuff about me.
Before I get into my story I just want to make it clear that I'm not against special ed. There's good and bad people in every profession. I believed I was in danger for myself and for my future. I don't believe that my teacher was evil and had the best of intentions but he was putting me in a position that was hurting me and I had to act. If you have any questions or feedback feel free to let me know in the comments. Another thing is that this post has been really hard to make. It opened up some old wounds and as a result took several days to write.
Here's my story: So in late middle school I was tired of the placement that I was in. I was tired of not having friends, Not being able to socialize with my peers, not being able to date. I also was thinking about what my life will look like after high school, I was concerned that I was going to never have friends, Never be in a relationship, and not have the social skills to make those friends. I was generally very concerned for my future. So I decided that for my 8th grade year (2017-2018) I would do my absolute best for both my behavior and academics. Throughout the year nothing changed. I was hoping that me doing well would show that I didn't need any support but at the end of the year I still had paraprofessionals in most of my classes and was being pulled out for tests. In the summer between middle school and high school all I can think about is I want high school to be different. I wanted friends, I wanted a relationship, and I had dreams of me in the student council. When I got into high school I had peer tutors along with paraprofessionals (Peer Tutors are general ed students who sign up as an elective to help special needs kids. They basically serve the role as paraprofessionals with less responsibility). I did everything again and had the exact same result. In January of 2019 (freshmen year) I decided that my current strategy wasn't working. They also started making the peer tutors fill out behavioral checklists for their student(s) by grading them on how well they behaved/followed directions and gave them badges that say "peer tutor" which made me feel singled out. Because of that the peer tutors felt more like babysitters then someone that is an equal. So I went to my special ed teacher and asked him to remove the paraprofessional and the peer tutors. He told me no and said that I needed them. I changed my strategy again and I was going to ask for the Peer Tutors to be gone first, then focus on removing the paraprofessionals. I was more concerned about the peer tutors over the paraprofessionals because I was concerned that since they were part of the student body that this was going to affect me when I was running for the student council. I was worried that they'd tell others I was special needs then people would think I was incompetent. So every 2 weeks I would ask him again to remove them and each time he would give me a different excuse on why I couldn't be alone. Here's some of the excuses he gave me: "The peer tutors need to be there to collect data", "You need to prove that you can do the work yourself", "It's not up to me. It's the general education teacher that decides if you need a peer tutor or an aide", "Peer Tutors are supposed to represent a trainer for a job. If you refuse training then you're going to get fired". I brought it up again during my yearly IEP which took place in March. Once again my teacher said no, bringing up another excuse. As far as I can remember, my parents were neutral about the aide situation. Later one peer tutor was removed, what happened is that the peer tutor moved to a different town and they didn't bother on sending a substitute. A win is a win so I celebrated it. At the end of my freshman year I was pretty much defeated and didn't achieve the goal of being 100% independent. Over the summer I took a look at my situation and decided that my current plan is not working. I knew that when my sophomore year of high school starts I will have aides and peer tutors in classes. I knew that if I wanted to get what I wanted I would have to do something big. I knew that I would have to put up a fight, and put in a lot more effort. Over the summer I developed a war mindset inspired by two quotes from Sun Tzu:
"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win”
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
I knew that I can't be going into sophomore year blind, so I started drafting a plan. I created a Google doc outlining my goals and what I wanted to accomplish. I knew that I won't be able to win every battle and that I need to choose which fight is worth fighting for. I thought to myself, “Well the peer tutors we're given training on the first day of school and probably have strategies to deal with poor behavior but what about planned well organized protests?” So I began researching strategies on how paraprofessionals/peer tutors dealt with negative behavior and reverse engineered those tactics. I read forms, I Watched YouTube videos and found as much information that I could find. For the peer tutors I didn't know too much about them. I didn't know if it was something that only my school did or if other schools did it. I did some research and found out that other schools had a peer tutor program and some have uploaded training videos on YouTube. Some peer tutors told me that they did babysitting and did nanny work so I looked up babysitting tips. I reverse engineered all of those tactics and came up with strategies to counter those techniques and put all that information that I learned into a google doc that I can use for future reference. During this time I also researched how to become a better negotiator and started learning a little bit of psychology. The plan was to first negotiate and if that doesn't work I will protest and make demands and negotiate. Over the summer I got really good at negotiating and practiced a lot on my father and my sister (they were totally oblivious). To this day I use those negotiating tactics. After I created my document and was satisfied with all the information, I went to bed that night and knew that I have already won and that my sophomore year will be my last year that I 1-1 peer tutor or aide.
Fast forward to the first day of school, as expected I had peer tutors and aides assigned to me in classes. My sped teacher had a chalkboard On the back wall full of sticky notes that had everyone's schedules and a name of someone was assigned to that student for each class. This time around I only had one peer tutor outside of the special ed classes. This is a big improvement over the three I had before but I still have my original goal of having none. For the paraprofessionals I had 2 in Gen classes.The goal was to first remove the peer tutors then the paraprofessionals. Even though this seems to be an improvement I continued with the plan. Since this was the first day, the peer tutors were in another classroom learning policies and other stuff they needed to know so I was alone for the day. I walked over to my special ed teacher and ask him one final time to remove the peer tutor he says no and then I asked him to let me be alone for 2 weeks so I can prove I don't need help and he still denies me. I then tell him that I will allow the peer tutor for 2 weeks and after that she needs to go. My teacher doesn't respond. (To add context the peer tutor that I had, she was a peer tutor in my math class in the prior semester so I already know who she was. We used to talk a lot and was surprised when I saw that she was assigned to me.)
For 2 weeks she mostly left me alone with her occasionally checking up on me. For those 2 weeks I purposely close my self off and adopted a body language that would subconsciously discourage her from approaching me. I did this by keeping my head low and staying as focused as possible. The only thing she did was confront me when I start packing up 2 minutes before the bell rings. She tells me that I shouldn't be packing up and to pull my stuff out again. I tell her no and hold my ground. She writes in my planner that I packed my stuff up early and refuse to pull it out. That happened like 2 or 3 times. On Thursday on the second week my class was tasked to create a PowerPoint. FYI this was a mythology class, while I was doing this PowerPoint I decided instead of manually trying to type in the locations and people from this mythology which the names were very long and complicated. I decided would be easier just to copy and paste them in. My peer tutor sees me doing this and doesn't say anything. At the end of class she writes that I plagiarized in my planner and tells my special ed teacher in person what happened. My sped teacher pulls me out of class (I had his math class right after mythology) and starts telling me that my peer tutor has seen me copy and pasting paragraphs and goes on this lecturing on why plagiarizing is bad. I explained to him that I wasn't copying paragraphs It was only copying names and locations and explain my reason for it. He didn't believe me but he didn't make me retake the assignment. After that I was pissed off and the next day I confronted her about it. I forgot what her reasoning for not telling me was but I told her that she needs to look into things before she makes false reports. After that incident, I decided to wait a week before I ask my teacher to remove her. Also during those first 3 weeks I turned down help from peer tutors and paras if possible In the special ed classroom. I did this to prevent sending any mix signals. I personally didn't mind if I had to work with a peer tutopara or not In the actual sped classroom. I only cared if it was in any of the general education classes. I just thought it would look contradictory if I was accepting help in the sped class and then requesting peer tutors to be removed from my gen classes.
At the beginning of the fourth week I went to school early and went to my sped teacher's class before first hour starts and then I again asked him to remove the peer tutor and the paraprofessionals. He says no again and brings up that I was being academically dishonest by plagiarizing. I tell my side of the story once again on what happened and he still doesn't believe me. At this point I leave and more pissed off. At this point negotiations didn't work so I started small protests by preventing the peer tutors from filling out my planer and the behavioral checklist. Most of them didn't care since there was other students they can fill out and they only need to fill out one to be graded for the day. One peer tutor gave me the puppy dog eye treatment and I eventually cave and let her fill it out. I still let the one peer tutor that was assigned to me in the gen class due to me being the only student and my intention wasn't to ruin, her grade. During the fourth week I began brainstorming ideas on how I can do a massive protest.
On Thursday of the fourth week of school, a walk into the mythology class and it started out like any other day. Class started and my teacher starts talking. I pull up my phone to respond to some messages and my peer tutor sees me. She asks me to hand my phone over to her and I tell her no. She tells me that I can't be on my phone and I tell her okay but I'm still not giving it to you. She then pulls out her phone and puts it on the table. She then tells me to put my phone on the table. I tell her no again. A few minutes past and the teacher finishes up talking. She passes the assignment and immediately my peer tutor begins to try and help by reading the questions. I slide the packet over closer to me and start ignoring her. I was hoping that she will get the hint and leave me alone. She doesn't so put on my hoodie and tried to mentally block her out. I don't remember what she said during all this since I was blocking it out but I do remember her touching me and the general ed teacher coming over and start assisting the peer tutor. It was a lot of pressure and I was actually about to give up because it was too much. But they both gaved up before I did and I was very relieved. After that, the class was pretty much quiet. The peer tutor wrote an entire paragraph on what happened. I walked to my math class and sat down. I then see my peer tutor walking into class and ask for my sped teacher. I already knew it was about me. I see them talk for 2 minutes and sure enough I see my teacher calling me over. I walked outside the classroom and me and the teacher begin to go at it. We end up saying the same things we have said before. However, my teacher this time mentioned that if I keep up my behavior that he's going to call in a meeting with my parents. The rest of math class was pretty much the same. However, my English class with the same teacher he went on a rant about using accommodations seeing that he had a disability growing up which was tourette's and he were love to have a peer tutor. I was quiet for the whole class since I was already exhausted because of everything else that had already happened. For the rest of the weekend, I've been coming up with plans on how I would be able to pull off a massive protest.
Now for the good news. On the fifth week of school, I noticed that my peer tutor was missing. My teacher pulled me aside again and told me that he decided that he was going to pull her for 2 weeks to see how well I would do without her. I told him thank you, that's what I wanted since the beginning of the school year. After those 2 weeks he didn't reinstate her and I didn't have a peer tutor or paraprofessionals in gen classes since. The deal moving forward was as long as I had a D or better he wasn't going to send any support unless I asked for it. My relationship with that sped teacher also had improved significantly. Later in my Junior year of high school I ran in my school's election and won. I was given the social media position.
In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't have to pull off a big protest. But the same time I wish that this situation could have ended in a different way.
Everything that I just told you is only the tip of the iceberg. There's so much detail that I had to leave out just to make this story shorter. Lot of it I'm still processing even though I found great strength in myself fighting back against a system that I believe was ruining my life. That war mindset hasn't left my mentality yet. I'm still dealing with the consequences of me being in special ed. Everything I told you happened 5 years ago and I'm still living through it like it just happened. I'm mentally recovering and eventually I will recover. Right now I'm in therapy and I'm writing down everything I can in a Google doc to process everything emotionally. Maybe one day I'll give that story to a writer and make a book out of it.
If you have any questions feel free ask them, I would love to answer them.

Today I want to tell my story of how I self-advocated and what I did to achieve that goal. I'm telling my story to help those who are in a similar position to what I was in and to inspire those to self-advocate.
To recap from my earlier posts. I have ADHD and fell under the "multiple disabilities" characterization. My high school teacher claimed that I have autism (Not diagnosed). I personally don't believe I have autism or at the very least I have a high functioning autism. Throughout most of my school career, I was in a self-contained classroom with kids with severe disabilities. Even if I was in the general population I had a paraprofessional or peer tutor. I never believed that I should have been in that position. As a consequence, I never really learned any social skills, I was segregated, and felt like that people didn't want anything to do with me because I was sped. The reason why I ended up in this position was probably a combination of me having the "multiple disabilities'' characterization and me testing low in three year revaluation tests. If you want more info on this then feel free to search my profile. This is an alt account and is primarily used to ask questions about special ed so It's really easy to find stuff about me.
Before I get into my story I just want to make it clear that I'm not against special ed. There's good and bad people in every profession. I believed I was in danger for myself and for my future. I don't believe that my teacher was evil and had the best of intentions but he was putting me in a position that was hurting me and I had to act. If you have any questions or feedback feel free to let me know in the comments. Another thing is that this post has been really hard to make. It opened up some old wounds and as a result took several days to write.
Here's my story: So in late middle school I was tired of the placement that I was in. I was tired of not having friends, Not being able to socialize with my peers, not being able to date. I also was thinking about what my life will look like after high school, I was concerned that I was going to never have friends, Never be in a relationship, and not have the social skills to make those friends. I was generally very concerned for my future. So I decided that for my 8th grade year (2017-2018) I would do my absolute best for both my behavior and academics. Throughout the year nothing changed. I was hoping that me doing well would show that I didn't need any support but at the end of the year I still had paraprofessionals in most of my classes and was being pulled out for tests. In the summer between middle school and high school all I can think about is I want high school to be different. I wanted friends, I wanted a relationship, and I had dreams of me in the student council. When I got into high school I had peer tutors along with paraprofessionals (Peer Tutors are general ed students who sign up as an elective to help special needs kids. They basically serve the role as paraprofessionals with less responsibility). I did everything again and had the exact same result. In January of 2019 (freshmen year) I decided that my current strategy wasn't working. They also started making the peer tutors fill out behavioral checklists for their student(s) by grading them on how well they behaved/followed directions and gave them badges that say "peer tutor" which made me feel singled out. Because of that the peer tutors felt more like babysitters then someone that is an equal. So I went to my special ed teacher and asked him to remove the paraprofessional and the peer tutors. He told me no and said that I needed them. I changed my strategy again and I was going to ask for the Peer Tutors to be gone first, then focus on removing the paraprofessionals. I was more concerned about the peer tutors over the paraprofessionals because I was concerned that since they were part of the student body that this was going to affect me when I was running for the student council. I was worried that they'd tell others I was special needs then people would think I was incompetent. So every 2 weeks I would ask him again to remove them and each time he would give me a different excuse on why I couldn't be alone. Here's some of the excuses he gave me: "The peer tutors need to be there to collect data", "You need to prove that you can do the work yourself", "It's not up to me. It's the general education teacher that decides if you need a peer tutor or an aide", "Peer Tutors are supposed to represent a trainer for a job. If you refuse training then you're going to get fired". I brought it up again during my yearly IEP which took place in March. Once again my teacher said no, bringing up another excuse. As far as I can remember, my parents were neutral about the aide situation. Later one peer tutor was removed, what happened is that the peer tutor moved to a different town and they didn't bother on sending a substitute. A win is a win so I celebrated it. At the end of my freshman year I was pretty much defeated and didn't achieve the goal of being 100% independent. Over the summer I took a look at my situation and decided that my current plan is not working. I knew that when my sophomore year of high school starts I will have aides and peer tutors in classes. I knew that if I wanted to get what I wanted I would have to do something big. I knew that I would have to put up a fight, and put in a lot more effort. Over the summer I developed a war mindset inspired by two quotes from Sun Tzu:
"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win”
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
I knew that I can't be going into sophomore year blind, so I started drafting a plan. I created a Google doc outlining my goals and what I wanted to accomplish. I knew that I won't be able to win every battle and that I need to choose which fight is worth fighting for. I thought to myself, “Well the peer tutors we're given training on the first day of school and probably have strategies to deal with poor behavior but what about planned well organized protests?” So I began researching strategies on how paraprofessionals/peer tutors dealt with negative behavior and reverse engineered those tactics. I read forms, I Watched YouTube videos and found as much information that I could find. For the peer tutors I didn't know too much about them. I didn't know if it was something that only my school did or if other schools did it. I did some research and found out that other schools had a peer tutor program and some have uploaded training videos on YouTube. Some peer tutors told me that they did babysitting and did nanny work so I looked up babysitting tips. I reverse engineered all of those tactics and came up with strategies to counter those techniques and put all that information that I learned into a google doc that I can use for future reference. During this time I also researched how to become a better negotiator and started learning a little bit of psychology. The plan was to first negotiate and if that doesn't work I will protest and make demands and negotiate. Over the summer I got really good at negotiating and practiced a lot on my father and my sister (they were totally oblivious). To this day I use those negotiating tactics. After I created my document and was satisfied with all the information, I went to bed that night and knew that I have already won and that my sophomore year will be my last year that I 1-1 peer tutor or aide.
Fast forward to the first day of school, as expected I had peer tutors and aides assigned to me in classes. My sped teacher had a chalkboard On the back wall full of sticky notes that had everyone's schedules and a name of someone was assigned to that student for each class. This time around I only had one peer tutor outside of the special ed classes. This is a big improvement over the three I had before but I still have my original goal of having none. For the paraprofessionals I had 2 in Gen classes.The goal was to first remove the peer tutors then the paraprofessionals. Even though this seems to be an improvement I continued with the plan. Since this was the first day, the peer tutors were in another classroom learning policies and other stuff they needed to know so I was alone for the day. I walked over to my special ed teacher and ask him one final time to remove the peer tutor he says no and then I asked him to let me be alone for 2 weeks so I can prove I don't need help and he still denies me. I then tell him that I will allow the peer tutor for 2 weeks and after that she needs to go. My teacher doesn't respond. (To add context the peer tutor that I had, she was a peer tutor in my math class in the prior semester so I already know who she was. We used to talk a lot and was surprised when I saw that she was assigned to me.)
For 2 weeks she mostly left me alone with her occasionally checking up on me. For those 2 weeks I purposely close my self off and adopted a body language that would subconsciously discourage her from approaching me. I did this by keeping my head low and staying as focused as possible. The only thing she did was confront me when I start packing up 2 minutes before the bell rings. She tells me that I shouldn't be packing up and to pull my stuff out again. I tell her no and hold my ground. She writes in my planner that I packed my stuff up early and refuse to pull it out. That happened like 2 or 3 times. On Thursday on the second week my class was tasked to create a PowerPoint. FYI this was a mythology class, while I was doing this PowerPoint I decided instead of manually trying to type in the locations and people from this mythology which the names were very long and complicated. I decided would be easier just to copy and paste them in. My peer tutor sees me doing this and doesn't say anything. At the end of class she writes that I plagiarized in my planner and tells my special ed teacher in person what happened. My sped teacher pulls me out of class (I had his math class right after mythology) and starts telling me that my peer tutor has seen me copy and pasting paragraphs and goes on this lecturing on why plagiarizing is bad. I explained to him that I wasn't copying paragraphs It was only copying names and locations and explain my reason for it. He didn't believe me but he didn't make me retake the assignment. After that I was pissed off and the next day I confronted her about it. I forgot what her reasoning for not telling me was but I told her that she needs to look into things before she makes false reports. After that incident, I decided to wait a week before I ask my teacher to remove her. Also during those first 3 weeks I turned down help from peer tutors and paras if possible In the special ed classroom. I did this to prevent sending any mix signals. I personally didn't mind if I had to work with a peer tutopara or not In the actual sped classroom. I only cared if it was in any of the general education classes. I just thought it would look contradictory if I was accepting help in the sped class and then requesting peer tutors to be removed from my gen classes.
At the beginning of the fourth week I went to school early and went to my sped teacher's class before first hour starts and then I again asked him to remove the peer tutor and the paraprofessionals. He says no again and brings up that I was being academically dishonest by plagiarizing. I tell my side of the story once again on what happened and he still doesn't believe me. At this point I leave and more pissed off. At this point negotiations didn't work so I started small protests by preventing the peer tutors from filling out my planer and the behavioral checklist. Most of them didn't care since there was other students they can fill out and they only need to fill out one to be graded for the day. One peer tutor gave me the puppy dog eye treatment and I eventually cave and let her fill it out. I still let the one peer tutor that was assigned to me in the gen class due to me being the only student and my intention wasn't to ruin, her grade. During the fourth week I began brainstorming ideas on how I can do a massive protest.
On Thursday of the fourth week of school, a walk into the mythology class and it started out like any other day. Class started and my teacher starts talking. I pull up my phone to respond to some messages and my peer tutor sees me. She asks me to hand my phone over to her and I tell her no. She tells me that I can't be on my phone and I tell her okay but I'm still not giving it to you. She then pulls out her phone and puts it on the table. She then tells me to put my phone on the table. I tell her no again. A few minutes past and the teacher finishes up talking. She passes the assignment and immediately my peer tutor begins to try and help by reading the questions. I slide the packet over closer to me and start ignoring her. I was hoping that she will get the hint and leave me alone. She doesn't so put on my hoodie and tried to mentally block her out. I don't remember what she said during all this since I was blocking it out but I do remember her touching me and the general ed teacher coming over and start assisting the peer tutor. It was a lot of pressure and I was actually about to give up because it was too much. But they both gaved up before I did and I was very relieved. After that, the class was pretty much quiet. The peer tutor wrote an entire paragraph on what happened. I walked to my math class and sat down. I then see my peer tutor walking into class and ask for my sped teacher. I already knew it was about me. I see them talk for 2 minutes and sure enough I see my teacher calling me over. I walked outside the classroom and me and the teacher begin to go at it. We end up saying the same things we have said before. However, my teacher this time mentioned that if I keep up my behavior that he's going to call in a meeting with my parents. The rest of math class was pretty much the same. However, my English class with the same teacher he went on a rant about using accommodations seeing that he had a disability growing up which was tourette's and he were love to have a peer tutor. I was quiet for the whole class since I was already exhausted because of everything else that had already happened. For the rest of the weekend, I've been coming up with plans on how I would be able to pull off a massive protest.
Now for the good news. On the fifth week of school, I noticed that my peer tutor was missing. My teacher pulled me aside again and told me that he decided that he was going to pull her for 2 weeks to see how well I would do without her. I told him thank you, that's what I wanted since the beginning of the school year. After those 2 weeks he didn't reinstate her and I didn't have a peer tutor or paraprofessionals in gen classes since. The deal moving forward was as long as I had a D or better he wasn't going to send any support unless I asked for it. My relationship with that sped teacher also had improved significantly. Later in my Junior year of high school I ran in my school's election and won. I was given the social media position.
In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't have to pull off a big protest. But the same time I wish that this situation could have ended in a different way.
Everything that I just told you is only the tip of the iceberg. There's so much detail that I had to leave out just to make this story shorter. Lot of it I'm still processing even though I found great strength in myself fighting back against a system that I believe was ruining my life. That war mindset hasn't left my mentality yet. I'm still dealing with the consequences of me being in special ed. Everything I told you happened 5 years ago and I'm still living through it like it just happened. I'm mentally recovering and eventually I will recover. Right now I'm in therapy and I'm writing down everything I can in a Google doc to process everything emotionally. Maybe one day I'll give that story to a writer and make a book out of it.
If you have any questions feel free ask them, I would love to answer them.

In the other thread regarding the novel Lord of the Flies, u/dasoskoritsi kindly posted an article which William Golding wrote in the Guardian in 1974.
I must say I was quite shocked by how unimpressed he was by the Andes survivors, so I'd like to address and discuss this. It's worth reading the whole article but I'll just point out a few passages.
A few parts of his article:
(about the book Alive): "If the whole thing were a fiction, Mr Read's prose, simple, direct, unadorned, would put him straight into the class of Stevenson. But this is supposed to be fact. Mr Read implies that these young men were trapped in a terrain from which they could only escape by the most desperate bravery and endurance. It may have been so; and in fiction we would accept his word that it was so. Yet when we look closely at the fact of the terrain, it dislimms."
Then he writes about how the position of the tail and the fuselage and the distance between them and the altitude difference doesn't add up to him. Then goes on about supposed houses and a village in the vicinity and that "the "maps" may have been designed to conceal the relevant information rather than give it."
Does he mean that the survivors should have been able to find houses and a village nearby and it was their fault that they didn't do so? What does he even mean by this?
And here comes the part that is the most shocking to me:
"Of course the accident was horrible. Of course the young men were in deep shock and became enfeebled by altitude, exposure, and hunger. But they did stay by the wreck for ten weeks before they made a real effort to get themselves rescued. Why must the epigraph invite us to pose in solemn admiration?"
Excuse me? Does he even know what he is talking about? What circumstances were the boys in, how cold it was during the nights, how much snow there was in the first weeks? Does he know about the snowstorms? How they didn't have anything to protect them before they made the sleeping bag? And it is not true that no effort was made in the first ten weeks, they did have various expeditions, and the expedition to the tail was also an attempt to escape from the mountains originally, but anyway, they definitely would have frozen to death without the sleeping bag if they had had to spend more than one night outside.
Then he adds the following quote from the Bible, which became famous in the movie by Numa:
"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." Nobody lay down his life. They cared for the injured as best they could, they prayed and argued and quarrelled and made it up and fiddled with the radio."
Really? Nobody risked their life? Has he heard about Nando Parrado, Roberto Canessa and Antonio Vizintin? Even experienced mountaineers were shocked when they found out how Nando and Roberto got out of the mountains, climbing and hiking for 10 days in the Andes, down from a 4500 mountain, in a very weak condition, after losing 30-35 kg of their weight, starving, sleep-deprived and exhausted? In Nando's case, with a broken skull, after being in a coma for days after the crash?
And we also have:
"These young men were the pampered children of the Uruguayan upper classes and ignorant of practically anything but the rosary."
Again, excuse me? Yes, they came from well-off families, but most of them were really intelligent, well-educated, the majority of them were university students preparing for serious careers and they did have meaningful interests and knowledge about lots of things.
About their religious beliefs:
"Yet when the price of survival was the breaking of a massive taboo, they not only broke it, but contrived to make a virtue of breaking it. They invested the eating of their companions' bodies with the mystery of Christ's last supper."
I guess he means Pancho Delgado's words at the press conference a few days after the rescue. Well, by then the boys were literally harrassed by journalists and there were a big number of articles calling them cannibals, they had to give an explanation and they were criticised so badly that I guess they made the Bible analogue to make their deed as acceptable as possible even to religious people.
Well, as we know, in Golding's book the Lord of the Flies, the survivor boys stranded on an island have a different attitude; they turn against each other and by the time rescue arrives, they are torn into two tribes who are at war with each other, and children are even being killed. This fiction is very different from what happened in the Andes in real life, perhaps Golding was frustrated that his book would have a worse reputation because it was proved by real life that human beings can be compassionate and loving even in such dire circumstances?

I have this fantasy, y'know. of having some sort of secret admirer. maybe a stranger, maybe a friend. he would just slowly get to learn things about me and I would grow into his heart like that. no sexual motivations, no interest in getting to know me so they can manipulate me into their laps. one day, he knows my favorite color, the names of my cats, he knows what I do when I'm alone and what I doodle when I'm bored and he just realizes he might be in love with me.
I think my wish is to be loved the way I love. everytime, it happened like this. like when I overheard a guy tell his friend he learned to crochet with his granny and when I talked to his friends he made sure I was being heard despite being a quiet talker and I've been heart-eyeing from afar ever since. or the one who was an acquaintance to my acquaintance, sat next to him and cracked jokes non-stop and I couldn't stop smiling. he told us about his mom, his dad, his brother and sister, about his childhood mischief. he made weird, nonsensical and off-putting questions and jokes but I would just feel so happy when he looked my way first to check if I was having fun. and then I had to fight every cell in my body to not follow his around like a puppy just so I know a little more, spend some time more around him. of course I'll see a guy pass by me and think "oh, he's cute" but it's a fleeting thought, not even close to infatuation.
I wish I could have someone to like me like this. not like just some piece of meat served on a plate, you eat away and throw the bones and the skin off once you had what you want. it feel so fucking impossible. it seems like too little men can even differentiate love and lust. have you seen how they talk about us? what they think of us? incels say women only care about looks and if you're not on the best half of the bunch you're not even acknoledged by women, and all women go after some weird ideal man who looks like this and that. hasn't it been historically the exact opposite? seriously, how many men do you know have married someone uglier than them in opposition to someone more good-looking?
for the vast majority of men is all about the sex, the looks. it's all about mentally ill pussy feels the best. it's all about having the old guy having the barely legal girl not because he likes her but because she's barely legal and thus better than any woman his own age or a bit older. it's about the male fantasy of the hot, servile latina/black wife, the male fantasy of the submissive and impressionable asian girlfriend, the innocent virginal blonde, the sensual redhead. this is all projection. after they're done crying about how they're not 6'0 or whatever, turn around and moan about how fucking disgusting would be existing next to a fat woman. if feels so incredibly gross to be in their circles and see what they say.
and I guess that's where I fucking enter. I look and act good enough to fulfill a male fantasy. sure, I guess I could go and pick a random to hook up with me. he will eventually get bored of the novelty, realize I'm not a sex toy and they don't actually like anything about me but sexual favors. suddenly I'm used goods.
at the same time, this is all there's left for me. because the good ones, the ones who care, the ones who are respectful and interested, don't want me. maybe I'm just not interesting enough, maybe I'm just too fucking broken to be deserving of being loved and love back. they have better options, because they always do. god, when was the last time an (available) guy sat next to me and asked about me? not my name or year. me. I can't recall.
I crave love so bad it crawls under my skin, it enters the pores in my bones, between the cells of my muscles, it runs my faces. I feel it with my whole body, I track the smallest sign of love like a hungry dog in everywhere I go, in everything I hear and see. I lay down and let my mind wander to the phantom sensation of a body over mine. my hand running on soft locks of hair, counting freckels and tracing marks, running my thumbs on dark circles. I dream of being clingy and affectionate and it's not annoying or something I should be ashamed of. I dream of movie dates where the movie actually matter, back rubs, gift exchanging. I dream of cooking something good and seeing eyes light up. I dream of hugging the hurt away after an argument. I dream of getting along with his family and him getting along with mine. I dream of a running toddler giggling their way to our bed. I dream of sitting down with a heavy photo album, reminiscing as we turn pages.
and then I realize all there's gonna be for me is being a male fantasy. something flimsy, fragile and bound to end. a toy you get for christmas and by easter it's in a donation box. someone to practice on before they find the one they want. that's all people like me get. and if I gain some pounds, cut my hair and stop giving so much attention to my acne and body hair, trying so hard to be funny and agreeable, probably not even that. ha.

Long story short, due to bad habits in wfh and a cluster of bad situations at work causing whole team to be overworked and stressed. I got acute lower back pain along with an overacting nervous system.
I've never had this before but I could notice something wrong from a couple of weeks back when on my usual Saturday morning coffee run, I can still feel my nervous system going full bolt like as if it was middle of a working week day.
The last week things god pretty bad and I had to take a week off work. Even started to have small panic attacks.
I had to double down on my practice just to keep relaxed, but the mind was in overload and it was a tough battle that I didn't come out on top on a few sessions. Meaning the usual Shamatha techniques like breathwork and being mindfull weren't working as I couldn't shutdown the mind and or the nervous energy in the body.
Lucky with some light exercise, yoga and more practice it seems to have chilled out now and I'm feeling back to normal.
To not lose an important lesson here. So even if you have a stable practice and can relax the mind and body after a stressfull day, the stress accumulated during the day doesn't just go away and It takes a toll on the body, especially when this goes on for months/years. Also my practice should have involved addressing symptoms which caused the stress and be able to apply the antidotes during the day and not just after work during the evenings.
Anyone experience anything similar here keen to share their story?

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So I've been looking to transition for a while now, however every time I begin the process the drugs seem to have the opposite effect. Just as an example, I started taking 200 mg spiro for 5 days (this was last month) and I thought it was too early to experience any effects but it seemed to have made me MORE androgenic. Raised sex drive, hair loss (I've been on finasteride and minoxidil for a long time now so hair is especially important to me) I stopped after getting a blood test and realizing it was NOT in my head because my DHT went UP! And no the meds aren't fake I'm getting them from inhouse.
I've read that estrogen on its own can act as an anti androgen so I began taking 2 mg estradiol valerate tables. Same. Thing.
And now I started taking 12.5 mg CPA a few days ago. First two days nothing. But now it's starting to be the same thing. I know I'm wrong for stopping these meds so soon after starting them but you guys have to believe me they are having the opposite effect in my body that they are supposed to have. They are making me more androgenic. Every damn time my sex drive goes up and hair loss increases. I don't know what to do. I feel like crying. Is it possible for some people to just be incapable of feminization? Should I try anti androgen + estrogen at the same time? I was planning on starting with an anti androgen and adding estrogen later on. I don't know what to do and seriously need advice. Am I just screwed? This is honestly making me want to die.

What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.

I came across some mention of this characteristic of some autistic folk a while back but, frankly, haven't been able to remember the rhetoric or wording or phrasing used to describe this phenomenon. I was interested in more information or insight on this because it crops up constantly in my life.
Effectively (and I'll have to speak from personal perception); If I want something that typically takes time and effort to achieve (like a better body by working out, something expensive that requires saving, etc.), in lieu of actually accepting the time stretching in order to achieve it, I'll start to almost convince myself that I've already done those things. So I'll start to think of myself as someone who has put in hard work to do something I haven't done. It's not for most things; usually I just do the work to feel good about myself. But if it's something really out of reach, I almost can't accept that. I'll have to start thinking like someone who is much closer to that goal than I am now. But often; that mentality is what gets me to achieving those things.
Is this anything? It feels like: [Goal] > [Plan] > [if plan takes too long or is too hard...] > [Totally convince yourself you did it anyway] > [Pseudo-become someone that is capable of doing the Goal] > [Finally able to do Goal, but might not because why do it again if I already did it? But might anyway just to feel good about myself] > [Not learn anything or achieve anything that I can utilize again]
I also really really struggle with impossibilities. I think my frustration kicks up more than I realize when they get thrown around and I just really can't understand how anything could be impossible. Maybe there is a correlation between my not liking the notion of impossibilities and my wanting to be impressive. In 3rd grade, for a talent activity in Music class, I told the teacher I could play Beethoven on piano. When it was my turn, it wasn't until I sat down at the piano and looked at the piano and put my hands over it that I realized how HOLISTICALLY INCAPABLE I was of playing BEETHOVEN! on piano in 3rd grade, having NEVER played piano before.... ...so after what felt like 3 weeks of sitting there in a catatonic state of embarrassment, she ushered me away like a washed-up Vaudevillian.
Childhood was fun.... ....shout out to all those teachers that let me dangle....
(Fun side-note: I'm actually a teacher now. I teach ECE k-5 prep and can honestly say that the let-downs of teachers in my past have taught me how to tend to and be mindful of my students. If a 3rd grader tells you they can play Moonlight Sonata, maybe don't challenge them to prove it in front of their classmates. They might not holistically understand what they're saying...)

My relationship doesn't have passion. I [27f] have been dating my bf [34M] for almost three years, living together for 2.5 years. We are best friends and almost never argue. We can talk about anything and sort through any disagreement with time and conversation. I love him very dearly and I see a life with him being very happy--we want the same things, want to live in the same places have the same lifestyle with travel and kids. BUT I don't feel any passion anymore after years of being shutdown when bidding for sex.
I have always had a higher sex drive than him. My ideal amount of sex would be 1-2 times weekly & his is about 1-2 times monthly. We usually have an average of 1x per month. Part of this is due to crazy schedules, I work full time and am in school part time and I sometimes travel for work, and part is that every time I bid for sex, he's not in the mood. He says that sex (specifically ejaculation) makes him tired for the next few days--this being due to his age. I find that hard to believe, as I know of others his age with great libido, but everyone's bodies are different and I am not a man in my 30's, so what do I know?
He claims we only have sex when he is the one that initiates bc he claims I never initiate sex, but that is blatantly not true. I make very clear and pointed attempts to turn him on and he just laughs me off. I've stopped trying in the last 1.5 years and I'm just happy whenever he initiates. He has even asked me why I stopped trying and I told him bc he shuts me down. I offset this with solo masturbation whenever I'm feeling horny, which he is okay with and even suggested.
In the last year, we have had many conversations about this and we have been trying different sex toys and other things to work on the issue together. I don't feel it's working very well. I think I am putting in most of the effort (finding toys, reading books, trying things to be sexy for him). Sometimes I think he feels it's a me problem, not a him problem, therefore I should put in more effort, or he just doesn't care enough.
Honestly, when we do have sex at this point, I think of other people who have been good lovers in my past. I would never cheat on my partner, but my imagination is not at all loyal. I once had a sex dream while on an airplane about the person sitting next to me.
I love him so much and I don't want to lose my very best friend, but I'm afraid I will never be fully happy in the relationship despite the mountain of amazing qualities he has and our overall compatibility. I'm afraid he has some emotional blocks about sex due to a strict catholic upbringing in Mexico.
There is the added layer that I am bisexual but I have limited experiences with women. I would like to explore that more, but I was willing to put that on pause when I started dating my bf because of how fast and hard I fell for him. He's suggested threesomes could help, but I think that would stress me out because I'm a people pleaser and I would be too anxious worrying if everyone else was having a good time. I don't think he'd be willing to let me explore that on my own, but I haven't asked due to him having a bad reaction to a tentative question about open relationships early on.
I feel terrible because we've been planning our life together. I own our house but he puts a lot of effort into maintaining and doing house work. We get along with each other's families really well and he hangs out with my mom to help her on the farm whenever he can. He's older than me and I think the pressures of age & starting a family weigh on him heavily.
Is it normal to feel this way in a long term relationship? Is his age really to blame for the lack of libido? Or are we better off experiencing heartbreak now to find something better down the road? How do I bring this up again?
I am young(ish) and hot. I want to feel worshipped in the bedroom, not like I have to work for both of our pleasure.
tl;dr My [27F] bf [34M] of 3 years claims he's too old to be having sex more than 1-2x per month & I have a high sex drive. Should we keep trying to find ways to make our bedroom spicier or just move on despite our amazing comparability in literally every other area?

(Android)(2015-)2d Dragon ball z pixelated rpg game
I remember playing this game after super aired it was an rpg type game where u could roam the world in the game you could go to namek and could go to the tournament btw universe 6 and 7
In this game npc of characters like Android were at different places of the map There were 2 modes of the game one was story mode where u played as the story character other was an rpg mode where you could choose between 4 different characters all 4 had different stats and different special move like one could use a hand blade one character threw ki blast around his body and one had a seeking ki blast that would track the target
In the rpg mode you unlocked transformations at certain levels and there was super saiyan 1 till super saiyan blue(idk if there were any more transformations as i deleted the game at that point)
You could also go to the elders planet by talking to the supreme kai
There was a cell arena somewhere with a cell npc u could fight and one place at Android 17 in the overworld
I have been trying to find this game for a long time it was on playstore and It was deleted I forgot the name tk the game aswell I will add anymore details if I remember so please help me I really wanna play this game as it was rly fun

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Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!

He is begin accused of rape and Afterlife of more things. The woman post, who is accusing is very long but interesting. Source: https://www.instagram.com/p/C7EylYDgjSX/?igsh=eXF1MTY5aGpndGV4
I translate here:
"What happened, CARMINE MRAK CONTE? Have you already forgotten how you drugged and raped a woman? Have you already forgotten how you touched someone without their consent? I know I’m not the first woman to go through something like this and I wish I were the last. It was so painful when I woke up and saw blood between my legs when I walked. Have you already forgotten how you begged for forgiveness through messages when I sent you the medical prescriptions for the tears you caused me? You won’t get away with what you did to me. Today, I decided not to stay silent anymore! I have all the necessary evidence of my rape. Real-time locations, photos with your team, medical prescriptions from the doctor who attended me and who is a witness to my sexual abuse, photos from the hotel where we all stayed. Today, everyone will know the sexual abuser you are! To give a little context on how I met you all. I had some doubts about the party you held, "AFTERLIFE". I wanted to know the real meaning behind the visuals you used and the message behind them... that was and was my only intention. So I was contacting you for a while on Instagram until on February 26, 2023, you played at a party in CDMX, and that's where I met "TALE OF US". They were staying at the Four Seasons, and I happened to be in CDMX, so we met for dinner and then went to that party. I never imagined what I was getting into...
They were in Argentina for a few days, to be precise from April 4 to April 8, 2023 and they invited me on those days.
On April 7, at the end of the AFTERLIFE party, Carmine Mrak's animal, because I can't find any other way to call that person, drugged me and sexually abused me.
I had lost consciousness and didn't even drink alcohol.
I woke up and I was torn, it hurt a lot when I walked, I couldn't sit down.
I asked him what had happened and he told me "why" I told him what I felt and he told me "ahh it's just that you wanted more, that's how you asked for it."
Without remembering anything, in pain I just thought and said: I can't believe the sinism of this monster.
I told him that I wanted to return to Mexico that I couldn't stand the pain, he told me "it's okay, sorry."
I couldn't even rest on the plane, I was crying without understanding why that had happened to me.
Arriving in Guadalajara I had to go to the emergency room and they told me that I had to sue whoever had done that to me because I was not alone.
What I experienced I wouldn't wish on anyone else...
Returning to the topic of when I met them in CDMX and the doubts I had, finishing the party in CDMX I asked Carmine Mrak about his doubts about Afterlife.
I asked him if it was about TRANSHUMANISM and he just opened his eyes, looked at me and said:
"TRANSHUMANISM, YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT, OF COURSE IT'S ALL ABOUT TRANSHUMANISM THAT IS THE NEXT STEP OF HUMAN EVOLUTION"
For those who don't know what it is, it's about
(improve humanity through technology by questioning humanity's own limits such as the prolongation of life).
That's what you're led to believe... that you can change, master, and override natural events like old age, guilt, suffering, and even death.
They believe they can leave the human body aside by transferring all the information each individual contains into a computer! That is why in its visuals there are cables connecting to the human, robots carrying humans on their legs and they dying while the robot opens its face and a smoke that comes out of the human is passed to the robot.
That is not something that is very far from reality... there are already people who call themselves
"Cyborgs" and you can find videos and documentaries of them where they have already implanted chips in their bodies to control some things in their environment.
Here comes the worst part, this can cause inequalities between countries and continents, increasing the digital divide and the possibility of social conflicts. On the other hand, the debate regarding moral, judicial and ethical laws arises, generating social confusion.
Organ cloning, nanotechnology, prosthetic implants with AI in some cases seem good for humans But surprise! It also has its disadvantages. First of all, and that is more than enough to worry me, is: Man can lose all of his human identity.
One day I noticed a tattoo of a cross on his hand to which I asked: Do you believe in Jesus? And he answered: "No, that was before when I was young, now I like the devil more."
He asked me: do you like the little devil? He immediately showed me his tattoos on both arms with demons and horns, he told me that those little devils had already given him everything he wanted, fame, money, power, I told him that since I was little I watched beings that tormented me and my bad episodes, He said that this was a gift, and to master it.
I constantly repeated the word "Incubus" for those who don't know this means "yaser"
'lie down' engender a demon' inside a woman the victims live the experience like a dream without being able to wake up from it.
This Being can also take the form of a handsome man, sometimes even making its victims fall in love with it. While all this happens, it consumes the energy of the seduced woman.
When it is the incubus who tries to extend the life of his lover, she enjoys health, physical and emotional well-being; An incubus in love can be equally beneficial and dangerous.
Well, I already knew a little about their intention and I was more alert... little by little they began to introduce me to people from their personal circle: managers, producers, backup singers, musicians, even audio engineers, and what I saw and heard was not true. they would believe.
One day Carmine tells me "I want to see what's in your mind"
Tell me some words and I will put them into the artificial intelligence software.
I start to tell him to see "a path, a sun, lines, a sky." Mrak tells me how basic it is to look at what I'm creating... "it's literally the doors to the underworld" and starts laughing.
People here tell me they are crazy "Look at the codes, what they talk about" And they were just words like
"armageddon" "demon" "darkness" "evil" "death" etc.
I was just observing, that had been my intention from the beginning. Little by little I discovered more things that made me sick not only of them, but of everything they do, their work team, the real intention of their parties, how they made fun of other artists... they are not good people .
I imagine many remember one of his last visuals at Afterlife in Tulum about a guy parting the sea with a cane.
(That's the part in the Bible where Moses extends his arm over the sea for everyone to walk)
Exodus 14:21-22
All of these things are against religion and well, I am also very fighting against fanaticism. I will not be the most devout but I believe in repentance and I have faith in God.
I also remembered something with your visuals that I had read in the Bible and this is the verse:
"As you saw, iron mixed with clay will be mixed through human alliances, but they will not be united with each other as iron is not mixed with clay" Daniel 2:43
(We are the mud) that's why the visuals of the trees flooding with metal.
The giant doors representing the portals, everything has a meaning, I understood everything.
I knew what their message was, their objective and the evil rituals of these puppets.
Their afterlife logo represents the upturned cross.
Have you seen the actors' strikes in Hollywood? It's incredible how this is affecting everyone and if you are a musician and you are reading this you should think about questioning who you are supporting, what you want to do with your project and what you can do to achieve change because they are going to replace you in couple of minutes.
When I discovered this I felt disgusted inside! All those parties that I attended years ago in Tulum and in some parts of Mexico believing that everything was good vibes, ecstatic, happy together with my friends without knowing what we were dancing to and what we were contributing to.
Now I feel sorry for all those people I see giving their energy and soul to these satanic parties.
They think that everything is light, love and peace but they don't have the slightest idea of ​​everything these puppets represent. How sad to see all those artists wanting to be part of this label.
I ask for support from the music industry, from all the women who have experienced something similar to all the people who support the women's movement, share so that everyone knows how shitty these people are and what they did to me, how they manipulate and use their festivals as rituals.
Let's raise awareness, I know that many of you see the subliminal messages that they publish, it is not really your imagination if something is happening.
Stop supporting so much evil, the world doesn't need any more of that.
Stop supporting A RAPIST like him.
If I don't raise my voice it could be another woman who ends up suffering like I did."
What do you think?

https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/5503636/2024/05/19/okc-thunder-whats-next/

Zoom out and the totality of this Thunder season is a significant success. Their rebuild hit warp speed. They jumped from the Play-In bracket to 57 wins and the top seed in the loaded West. Their star, Gilgeous-Alexander, finished second in MVP voting and then produced in the playoffs at a level (30.2 points on 50/43/79 shooting splits) that further legitimized his standing as an alpha star on a contender.
But playoff runs reveal warts, and this core’s first postseason together surfaced blemishes and generated questions.

Giddey:

The Mavericks cross-matched their centers onto Giddey whenever he was on the floor in this series and parked them in the paint, unafraid that Giddey could burn them over the top. He didn’t. Giddey went 3-of-16 on 3s in the series and the Thunder lost his court time by 23 points.
Daigneault responded swiftly. They anticipated the Mavericks’ scheme and limited Giddey to 17, 11, 13, 12, 12 and 11 minutes in the six games, his six lowest minute totals since December. He didn’t start the second half of Games 2 and 4. He was replaced in the starting lineup by Isaiah Joe in Games 5 and 6.
The Thunder don’t necessarily have to decide on Giddey’s future this summer, but the urgency is rising. Next season, he will make a reasonable $8.3 million in the final year of his rookie deal, but he’s extension eligible this summer, which is typically long-term decision time on players. Because of how quickly they’ve entered contention, the fifth spot in the Thunder’s starting lineup (and their allocation of future funds) has grown in importance.

Rebounding and size:

At their most vulnerable moment, staring elimination in the face, the Thunder tried to get an extra big man on the floor. That could be informative when wondering how general manager Sam Presti might rearrange the roster this offseason. OKC had a defensive rebound rate of 66.8 percent against Dallas, worse than its regular season clip (69.8), which was bottom-five in the league.
The Thunder have a five-out identity and have prioritized the ability to make plays from every position while building the roster. Nothing indicated that they’re looking to stray away from that to add brute size, but an extra big body on the interior (especially one that can capably hit a 3 and pass on the move) appears the biggest need, either at power forward next to Holmgren or at backup center behind him.

Offensive stagnation:

Daigneault and the Thunder said they felt they lost the series between Games 2 through 5 when the offense hit the skids. The Mavericks packed the paint egregiously, sagging off Giddey, Dort, Wiggins, Wallace and even Holmgren. They collectively went cold from 3. Holmgren went 6-of-27 from 3 in the series. The ball stagnated. They couldn’t get into the paint. They struggled to adjust.
The Thunder stopped involving Dort and Wallace and other guards in some of the screen action, which had clogged the flow. Holmgren spent much of Game 6 in the dunker spot, freeing him for some lobs. They collectively attacked with more decisiveness and rediscovered their drive-and-kick game. They had their best offensive night of the series in the elimination game. But it was too late.

The Lead-Up:
After months of gruelling training including the requisite time spent napping, curating the perfect Spotify playlist, photographing flat-lays of my kit, balancing chia-seed count to GU consumption, and sticking to zone 0.7, I was finally ready to tackle the infamous 5K Ultra. Thanks to my legendary Strava art skills, I had already been approached by several manufacturers to test their kit in the field and under gruelling conditions. Nike hooked me up with their Alphafly 17 prototypes. They claimed these shoes were so fast, they could propel a snail to a world record. Challenge accepted, Nike.
Garmin, those time-bending wizards, bestowed upon me the Garmin 1080p (p for "prototype”). This isn't just a GPS watch. It is a chronometer designed to measure the subtle fluctuations in spacetime that occur when one operates at my pace.
GU understood the need for fuel that could sustain not just the body, but also provide the energy needed to keep my mind from bending under pressure. Their prototype gel, a symphony of liquified Achilles tendons and distilled gazelle sweat, promised to unlock the latent antelope within me, or at least the fraction thereof required for this monumental endeavour.
My feet, those tragically unsung heroes of endurance, were adorned with "anti-blistering pace" socks. These are engineered by [REDACTED] to deliver a delicate balance between progress and preservation. Their integrated rate-limiter ensured my pace remained within the optimal range for completing a 5K in 24 hours while never reaching a pace that can be considered ‘blistering’.
Keeping me (barely) road legal were the Nike shorts. Engineered with space-worthy precision, their brevity is not a fashion statement, but a calculated strategy to optmise perineal airflow. After all, in the pursuit of greatness, every millisecond counts.
And then there was the singlet. A gossamer-thin weave of moon dust and unicorn tears that shimmered with an ethereal glow as a symbol of my otherworldly connection to the cosmos, a testament to the fact that my running transcended the mundane constraints of gravity and time. Nike really pulled out all the stops with this one.
In the eight weeks before the race, I began my taper in earnest and was pulling 18-step days in the last week. I didn’t sleep for three days and three nights leading up to the race but it’s ok - I have been trained for this is what I kept telling myself so that my self-talk fell just shy of being forbidden by AIMS regulations.
Starting Line Serenity:
As I stood at the starting line, looking absolutely spiffing in my celestial singlet and Alphafly 14s, a wave of reverence washed over the crowd. This was the hushed anticipation of a scientific breakthrough. The gun fired and I embarked on my journey, each step a deliberate calculation and a calibrated multiplication of stride brevity multiplied by cadence.
0 - 200m: Swiss fucking clock
The Garmin 1080p hummed with satisfaction as my pace aligned perfectly with its arcane algorithms. The world around me seemed to speed up, the sun's rays bending to my will. GU flowed through my veins. Everything was according to plan.
200m-800m: Shoes make the runner
I started to pay attention to my shoes. These Alphaflys are significantly better than version 12 (which only I happen to know are a direct descendant of version 9 with a more cushioned upper and a more breathable midsole). Their energy return is abysmal all the way until toe-off, when they absorb about 99.8% of your stride energy. I was suitably impressed.
800m -1.2km: Disaster
Disaster struck. The Garmin beeped loudly and engaged panic mode, vibrating my wrist so hard that I felt tendons in my shoulder start to part ways with my arm. I had entered Zone 1. I was only 4 hours in and already in danger of overcooking this race. But I have trained for this. More GU, tighten the shoelaces. Breathe with the famous 14-8-21 pattern, think of all the people I hate…
1.2km - 3.8km: Eyes wide shut
I have very little to report. This middle section of any race is where I lose concentration and focus. I closed my eyes for most of this stretch and just counted the hours. I kept repeating my mantra that the only hour of the race that matters is this hour. I was burping Achilles tendon from the GU and made a mental note to tell GU something about this. I don’t remember what that something was but it was one of the toughest times of my life.
3.8 - 4.2km: Perineal Optimization (& Cosmic Alignment)
The Nike shorts, those aerodynamic marvels, whispered sweet nothings to my meticulously streamlined perineum. With each stride, I could feel the very fabric of reality bending to my will, the stars aligning in perfect harmony with my stride and Mercury simply sipping on the Gatorade. I was fading in and out of a shimmering and glimmering and sparkling hallucination that I decided to succumb to. If I made it through the night, all would be fine.
The Finish Line Triumph: 24:00:07 (twenty four seven)
As I crossed the finish line, 24 hours and 7 seconds after I began, the crowd simply stared in a hushed awe. This wasn't just a finish. It was one of those defining moments in sports. It was Pheidippides breaking the 4-minute mile, Usain Bolt breaking the 4-hour marathon, Michael Phelps jumping a 3-yard long-jump - a paradigm shift in the world of running. The Garmin 1080p, its mission accomplished, succumbed to the temporal distortions it had so diligently recorded and vanishing from my wrist, lost to time and space. The GU that was left in my backpack, its energy fully expended, evaporated into a puff of magical purple smoke. The soles of my Alphaflys were melted into a soothing, aloe-vera goo that I applied to my sunburned perineum.
Key Conclusions:

• Endurance is not a race against others, nor against oneself, but a harmonious dance with time, space, and prototype kit.
• Perineal optimisation and cosmic alignment are the keys to unlocking the next level of human potential.
• When we persevere, we are capable of feats that inspire at least 40 generations of athletes.

A friend and I (medyo impulsively) booked a roundtrip to Dumaguete for September, arriving Saturday early and leaving Monday late at night.
For sure, we want to visit Siquijor also so we are thinking of going to Siquijor Sunday and then going back to Dumaguete the next day.
Super barebones plan but here's what we have so far:

1. Freedive at Dauin
2. Apo Island tour (how long should we plan for, half-day?)
3. Chilling in Siquijor (hotel is beachfront)
4. Cambugahay Falls and Old Balete tree
5. Public Market in Dumaguete, souvenirs
6. Manjuyod Sandbar

Neither of us drive so we'll probably be taking tricycles or hiring motorcycles (?) a lot. I am a little worried about getting around on time.
Any recommendations on what we shouldn't miss? Also, restaurants and cafes that we should see?
Thank you!

(Android)(2015-)2d Dragon ball z pixelated rpg game
I remember playing this game after super aired it was an rpg type game where u could roam the world in the game you could go to namek and could go to the tournament btw universe 6 and 7
In this game npc of characters like Android were at different places of the map There were 2 modes of the game one was story mode where u played as the story character other was an rpg mode where you could choose between 4 different characters all 4 had different stats and different special move like one could use a hand blade one character threw ki blast around his body and one had a seeking ki blast that would track the target
In the rpg mode you unlocked transformations at certain levels and there was super saiyan 1 till super saiyan blue(idk if there were any more transformations as i deleted the game at that point)
You could also go to the elders planet by talking to the supreme kai
There was a cell arena somewhere with a cell npc u could fight and one place at Android 17 in the overworld
I have been trying to find this game for a long time it was on playstore and It was deleted I forgot the name tk the game aswell I will add anymore details if I remember so please help me I really wanna play this game as it was rly fun
The could be found on playstore

I remember playing this game after super aired it was an rpg type game where u could roam the world in the game you could go to namek and could go to the tournament btw universe 6 and 7
In this game npc of characters like Android were at different places of the map There were 2 modes of the game one was story mode where u played as the story character other was an rpg mode where you could choose between 4 different characters all 4 had different stats and different special move like one could use a hand blade one character threw ki blast around his body and one had a seeking ki blast that would track the target
In the rpg mode you unlocked transformations at certain levels and there was super saiyan 1 till super saiyan blue(idk if there were any more transformations as i deleted the game at that point)
You could also go to the elders planet by talking to the supreme kai
There was a cell arena somewhere with a cell npc u could fight and one place at Android 17 in the overworld
I have been trying to find this game for a long time it was on playstore and It was deleted I forgot the name tk the game aswell I will add anymore details if I remember so please help me I really wanna play this game as it was rly fun

Hi Pen_Swap ! Bonus shipping !
Timestamp Carene Timestamp Lamy nib Timestamp Drillog
Discounted prices !

Have - for sale:

Price	Item
175 163 Eur	Waterman Carene Islands Sand (rare color, discontinued by Waterman hard to find) M 18k gold nib rhodium plated Description: Condition B, inked and used, excellent condition nib+section+barrel. The cap has some small surface scratches circled in the album. Smooth and medium wetness flow. Works with international format cartiges. Comes with the original old style leather dark blue box. It's a very glassy smooth writer.
37 29 Eur	Lamy 2000 broken F size nib + feed Description: Condition: [Parts] The pen took a nose dive and the nib was bent almost 90 degrees downwards. It was straightened back up, but it's too wet and scratchy. I've sent pics to a nib meister and he said it's fixable(asked 40 Eur). The feed is damaged too in the tip but seems to work ok, comes with the included rubber oring on it. I replaced the nib&feed with new ones and thought someone might want to fix the old nib. Selling the Nib+feed, not the whole pen.
260 220 Eur	Drillog 0.5 tip + body + holder Description: Condition: [B+] DRILLOG - The drill tipped dip pen "Made in Japan" Dip pen body + 0.5 tip + cap + holder. Bought from kickstarter group buy, used a few times, no scratches or marks, works great for writing and swabbing too. It's heavy ! Body + tip = 59 grams. Cap is another 12g and the holder base has 51g.

Shipping is included anywhere in the asking price.
Carene price reference (a few weeks ago a similar pen went for 210$+ shipping on ebay)
PayPal as G&S/invoice of course.
Thanks !