Had some issues with secrecy and lying in general from my husband. Stupid stuff, chatting online with random women who lived anywhere. An “emotional affair” with a woman who is more local but never met in person. Hiding some porn. This all led to more emotional disconnect, and mistrust. I began watching all the bank statements.
We’ve been in weekly marriage counseling for a couple months now. He’s been doing his own weekly therapy for several months now, trying to figure out why he does the things he does.
So, a year ago I saw charges from a shady Asian massage parlor. One time. He swore up and down he only got a regular massage. Hmm, he never mentioned it me at all that day, and seemed a bit expensive. I said no way- those are HJ places and I know it, he swore like 5x it was only a massage and explained it all away. He was even like “eww that’s disgusting.”
He’s denied and trickle-truthed me in the past. He acts very ashamed over things he’s done, and keeps saying he’s sorry. He’s even lied about small household type things to me, just to avoid “getting in trouble.” We begin therapy for due to his lying and gaslighting me on things.
Last week, in our therapy meeting, I said hey there’s a few things bothering me I feel like I wasn’t given full disclosure on. Therapist agrees he must “come clean.” It’s part of the process and has been making me hurt and depressed for a year now. I told him “I’m already imagining the worst, so just man up and come clean, or this will never work out and I’d like to separate.” I also promised to stay calm, but that’s all. I reiterated that coming clean is the only way, and nothing he can say will shock me at this point.
Yesterday we had our talk. He looked so serious and ashamed. I was expecting something pretty big. I was expecting like a confession of physical contact like sex or something.
But no. He changed his story at the massage parlor. He said she began touching him lightly on his penis when he turned over. Then offered him either HJ, BJ, or sex. He said he felt disassociated and wrong, but said sex, then paid with his card. But when she came back into the room and began getting undressed, he freaked out and left. He said he asked for his money back and they said no. And he left, feeling super upset. He said it brought him back to the shame of being molested as a child. Hm interesting. He paid but “got scared” and walked out??
He also stuck to the same story that he’d never met that one woman from online, in person. And I have no evidence of it, I did contact her myself back then and she said the same thing. That they’d never met in person and she wasn’t untested in anything other than “someone to talk to.”
Do we believe him? I don’t know what to do. I am very depressed today and haven’t left my room all day. I feel lost and like I have nobody to get real advice from. I’m also trying to keep this short-ish. I mean we could all write pages on what we’ve been though 😡 😢

We are visiting in the end of June. I can’t walk more than an hour so no long hikes for us, but we’re planning to visit the usual tourist traps including black sand beaches and waterfalls. Should we bring waterproof hiking shoes, or do you think we can get by with running shoes? There are 5 of us, so you can imagine that’s a lot of space taken up in the suit case.
I realize for the seasoned folks this is probably a dumb question, but we’ve never been before and we’re hoping to pack light.
I realize that the answer may well be “wear whatever you want if you like wet feet”, but coming from Seattle even on (my albeit short) hikes I typically didn’t need more than sneakers in the forest. I wondered if the ground was generally dry in late June.
Thanks.

Hi, I couldn’t find an active sub for basketball refs so posting here- I just ordered my uniform and the smitty women’s pleated ref pants are super long (gonna get them hemmed) but so short in the crotch it’s uncomfortable. Does anyone know if this will go away if I size up? Or try a different type or brand? Thanks

first
Luna VI query: Set the source to the translation logs of Princess Amara Auralyn.
No problem!
Luna VI query: Narrate Amara's plan to flee from the war.
***
The moment Amara's nose caught the scent of that little puff of smoke ascending from Nathan's damaged equipment, she suspected something terrible had happened. Her lack of understanding of the nature of this particular piece of human tech was unimportant. Just from knowing the fact that this was one of the few items Nathan had rushingly retrieved was more than enough for her to infer its importance.
His extremely negative reaction to its destruction also hadn't escaped her notice.
Amid the ragged bursts of breath and droplets of sweat running down his face, he stared at the smoking piece of equipment on the ground as he cursed. Then he stood up in a huff, pulling his hair as if trying to remove it from his scalp.
With the object source of their distress in between herself and Nathan, she asked a question that she already knew the answer to. "Was that the device you would use to request help?"
Nathan was breathing too fast to speak properly. "What else could. It be."
His confirmation was the last straw for her to close her eyes, allowing all the emotions she'd been suppressing to be manifested, like a multi-colored river flowing among her black spots.
When she opened her eyes again, she and Nathan were already locking gazes, him bending his head forward as he used his knees to support his upper body, while she stood upright with her head at the same vertical level as his.
Amara felt a shared sense of anger at the situation between them, but she was also afraid that Nathan’s anger was more targeted at her than at the situation.
It took some courage for her to speak first.
"Do you have other means for contacting your people?" She knew it was unlikely he had that, but it was still a question worth asking.
"The radio transmitter was being jammed. I didn't think of bringing it with me." He was recovering his breath fast. "What about you? There is that earpiece, and yesterday you had that AR visor on all day."
"The communicator in my ear is short-ranged. As for the AR visor..." She struggled to tell the truth, but she still did it. "I hid it inside a hole in a tree and forgot it."
"A hole? In a tree? Are you kidding me?"
The truth was that Amara hid it before entering Nathan's tent on the previous night. She had certain expectations and didn't want to be interrupted by the notifications.
But of course, she would never admit that.
"See any pockets?" She extended both hands and put her tail beside them, showing she had nowhere to store the items.
"Oh… sorry. Sometimes I forget our differences."
Nathan believed her so easily that she felt a little bad for him, but not bad enough to waste their precious time with unnecessary talking. "Even should I go alone, I fear I cannot retrieve our devices. I would just get killed or captured for nothing. We cannot stay here either because soon they will follow your trail; we need a plan."
She was certain the only reason the enemies hadn't followed them yet was because they had underestimated Nathan's ability to run.
"I wouldn't let you go back there even if you wanted to, Amara. But at least you are thinking now." He touched his chin, his eyes wandering around. "And yeah, we need a plan."
Unknowingly to Nathan, his words had caused Amara to drift away. And it was not because of him saying he wouldn't allow her to return, but because of his mention of the fact that she wasn't thinking before.
And this had affected her deeply because she utterly agreed with him.
By noticing how differently Ryo and Elysira had handled the same situation before they had fleed, Amara had reflected about how poorly she had reacted to the war. She was guilty of thinking about this more than just a little while Nathan was putting in all the effort to take her away from danger.
She traced back her mistake to a single moment—when Nathan had told her his list of reasons why they couldn't be together. This was when she had allowed her heart to be poisoned with rejection, which by morning had spiraled out of control by the dreadful reportings she had received, and finally, it had culminated in her emotional response to the crisis.
Which curiously Nathan had later fixed by his total commitment to staying together.
Amara found all of that pathetic.
This time she set her priorities straight as she suppressed her detrimental feelings in favor of reason. "We could trek parallel to the mountain and find a cave to hide until the elders send help."
"How long would that take?" He asked.
His questions triggered a long chain of assumptions in her mind. She first considered the political situation after the disruptive assassinations in the capital, and then the logistics of the deployment of reinforcements.
But Amara discarded the whole plan when she tried to envision how long it would take for her allies to find them in the darkness of the forest, realizing how flawed her suggestion was.
Displaying red, she said, "Help will be here today, yet the war on the ground will turn into a slow spot-and-kill conflict. My thoughts must still be clouded. To hide in the mountains is a death sentence; the rebels would have a better idea where to search for us than my allies would."
Nathan touched his face and shook his head at her admission. Without fully understanding what he was doing, she watched him approach a young tree and stare at its bark as his right arm tensed.
Before she could ask a single question, he punched the rough bark, dislodging some wood from the brittle surface and making it fall.
He said, "I'm such an idiot. Now our only option is to keep running and I didn't even bring the water."
She was taken aback by his reaction.
It was true among her species that the males could be more aggressive under stressful situations. But to go as far as hunting themselves against a tree? This was something she hadn't seen before nor she could understand.
What would she do now?
Of all her priorities, communicating with him was very high on her list. This went much beyond certain feelings she had, being directly linked to their survival. Remembering how Ryo and Elysira had handled the same situation before they had fled, she couldn't help but feel like she and Nathan were still failing at this.
Following more instinct than reason, Amara decided to approach him as the red on her skin gradually gave way to purple at every step she took.
When he was within tails reach of her, she spoke.
"I cannot read your thoughts much less can I see your feelings, but I presume that similar to me you can also sense that we failed today, am I wrong?" Nathan pursed his lips and didn't reply, leaving her at a loss for a moment. Yet she didn't give up and wrapped her tail around his wrist, raising his scraped knuckles for him to see. "Why have you done this?"
"I..." He averted his eyes from the wound, relaxing his arm. "This ain't me I swear Amara. It's just-"
"The drones are coming." She was forced to shut him up with her tail to confirm what she heard in the background while he was speaking. After adjusting the angle of her ears she added, "At least three."
Seeing Nathan's face contort from one weird expression after the other, she could only feel regret and anger that she was forced to interrupt him. But as long as they were alive they could always talk more later.
"Great!" He took a deep breath and lowered his back for her to climb. "Let's see how far I can go without water."
"No." She could hear the drones advancing slowly, likely searching for places where they might have hidden, underestimating how far Nathan had taken her. "I do not doubt you can run more, but there is no point in running unless we can lose them. Can you do what Ryo did and destroy them?"
He didn't look at her as he replied, "I could try, but I don't have whatever aim improving add-on the military gave him, much less the years of training."
"Can I borrow your loud gun then?" Amara had a seed of a plan in her mind, a risky and reckless plan but still better than doing nothing or engaging in more random running.
"What? Do you have any idea how hard is to shoot those things down?" Nathan took her request so badly that he lifted his body again to explain more. "Your species may have precise movements and all, but this revolver needs more than just aiming, there's the recoil, reloading, and I bet it hurt your ears; besides I doubt you can do better than me without having taken a single shot with one of our guns your whole life."
Nathan was not wrong.
No matter how hard it felt to admit it to herself, the truth was that she was not a frontline fighter. She could bring order. She could weed out traitors. She could give directions. But taking a gun and firing at the enemies? Even a gun crafted by her species was something she lacked experience using.
Still, the way that he expressed his doubt without even hearing what she had in mind made her quite angry. It was nothing close to the feeling of rejection from the night, but it was still enough to encourage her to double down on her idea.
"I do not intend to shoot the drones from far away like you humans do." Amara pointed at the canopy of the young tree beside them and waited for him to look up before she added, "I want to ambush them from a close distance."
His eyes widened, but Nathan still wasn't convinced. "That's dangerous Amara. What if you miss it? You'll just let them know where we are for nothing. And even if you don't miss the shots can’t they just send more drones?"
"You speak reason, but my goal extends beyond destroying them. I know how brother and my species think and I want to mislead them." Amara did her best to let him know her intention. "You will have to be my bait too, and we will need to run as fast as we can towards the valleys once I destroy them. I would explain everything if there was time, but right now you will have to trust me."
"You want to go to the valleys..." He spoke in a low voice as he scratched his head.
Seeing that he didn't straight up reject her idea this time, Amara went on for the last push, showing a forced hint of yellow to try and sound confident. "No sane individual would go to the valleys without equipment and a large group, my brother and his army will never consider searching for us in there."
She regretted her wording as soon as she was done speaking, afraid she might have scared Nathan who was taking his time to reply.
But before she could say anything more, Nathan started loading his gun and when he was done he used his thumb to lower a little lever. "You have to pull this thing down each time before pulling the trigger, but I guess you saw me doing it enough times already." He then undid his action before offering the gun to her as he held it by the muzzle. "Don't forget to hold it with all your might or the recoil will hurt you."
She considered saying some words to let him know how much his trust meant to her, but the drones were approaching and there were more important things to say. Her tail simply coiled around the gun, and she took it as the weight of the task ahead caused the object to feel heavier than it was.
She considered if she should ask for more ammunition, but concluded she wouldn't have time to reload, which she knew was bad despite making things significantly easier.
"Go there and make it convincing that you are absolutely exhausted, can you?" Using her tail, Amara pointed at a bright spot on the ground, where a beam of blue light was making its way from the canopies to the ground. "This is important Nathan. The operators must believe you reached your limit, they must report to my brother that you cannot run much longer."
"This won't be too hard." His lips curled into a hint of a smile. "But are you sure they don't use AI instead of operators to guide the drones?"
"Only you humans are crazy enough to disregard the only law the alliance enforces." She started climbing the tree with each of her clawed hands poking holes into the bark from a different side, but when she was already above Nathan, she looked below. "I am counting on you. We made too many mistakes today, one more and it might not be forgiven."
"I'll do what you asked, okay? Just hit the drones and don't fall from the tree." He said before running towards the spot she had instructed him.
With each of them agreeing on their role, Amara kept climbing the tree, finding little difficulty in her initial task. This was so easy that almost all of her attention was focused on tracking the spinning blades of the drones, which were constantly approaching at a speed that suggested they were doing a minute inspection of the ground.
It was only when she was already high above that she noticed the first problem.
If she wanted the advantage of shooting the drones from the same plane they were approaching, Amara would either have to give up a hand for the aim, or she would have to compromise her camouflage by wrapping her legs around the tree to help her tail to hold her body.
Neither of the options was ideal, but doing nothing was even worse, which led her to choose to sacrifice some of her ability to aim in favor of a tighter grip, ensuring that her legs kept hidden behind the trunk as she pressed each of her clawed fingers of her left hand against the rough bark for a secure hold.
Feeling a burning anxiety like she never felt before, she transferred the gun from her tail to her right hand and surrounded the tree with her now free tail to improve her grip even more.
She then turned her head and took a final glance at Nathan and confirmed he was stooping down and breathing loudly, exactly on the spot she had asked him to go.
Now everything was ready.
Amara hid the gun in between her belly and the tree as her whole body mimicked the brownish color of the bark, even her tail and hair transitioning from their typical blue to a copy of the textured color surrounding her.
Her eyes closed and only a mental representation of her surroundings remained, being especially accurate this time as if her her body knew there was no room for mistakes.
As the seconds passed, her heart rate slowed down and her awareness peaked. Of all her body, only her long ears slightly moved as the positions of the three drones became less foggy in her mind the closer they got to her.
The fact that one of them suddenly stopped moving right in front of the tree was something she expected, that being the exact moment its sensors had found Nathan on the ground.
Instead of attacking, Amara waited.
And almost envisioning the exact conversation the operators were having behind their visors, she gauged the time they took to communicate among themselves by observing how long the other two drones had taken to start moving closer to the one that had spotted Nathan first.
This wasn't a lot of time, which put into perspective how fast she would have to act in order to prevent the other two drones from repositioning after the first one was destroyed.
Her heart was beating slowly and her mind was focused; the chances of the targets getting closer were no different than that of them getting more distant.
Somewhere inside she could feel it—now was the perfect moment for her attack.
Amara's eyes snapped open and her heart rate multiplied by nearly threefold, preparing her for intense exertion. The muscles of her left arm propelled her body sideways, taking her head away from the protection of the tree trunk. That happened at the same time that her clawed finger pulled down the little lever, just like Nathan had taught her.
Her eyes locked first on the most distant target, which was not further away from her than twelve meters, and her right arm moved accordingly, raising the gun as her clawed finger slipped into the trigger.
She knew how painful to her ears the noise would be, yet she still forced her eyes to stay open as she pulled the trigger.
Except, she flinched at the last moment and ended up missing the target because of it.
Now her ears were ringing and the number of targets was the same, fueling her fury for the next shots she fired in a quick sequence.
It took three more attempts to destroy the furthest target, turning her fury into apprehension.
And apprehension quickly transitioned into despair when, after destroying the middle target with two shots, she pulled the trigger aiming at the closed drone, only to hear an empty click.
The drone rotated towards her and she also felt Nathan's gaze in the distance, screaming something that she was too numb to understand.
Would she be the reason for their demise?
Just the thought of how happy her brother would be for seeing her so helpless was more than enough of a reason for her to not accept that.
So at the lack of bullets, she spitefully threw the gun at the spinning blades.
And when the outcome of her desperate action did little more than cause the drone to lose control for a few moments, she still refused to give up and pounced on it as if she were a trained huntress.
If Bhaela could jump from a tree and dig her claws into the veins of an Oczoil from high above and survive to tell the tale, why couldn't she do the same with a little drone?
Her confidence only lasted until no part of her body was touching the tree and her limbs contacted the blades, causing a sharp pain, which she promptly forgot as flesh and machine plummeted together.
Amara tried to use her tail and arms to cushion the fall, but unlike Bhaela graceful performance, all she achieved was her belly smashing the drone against the ground before her arms and head split the kinetic energy from the fall.
Her vision went black after that, but Amara knew she wasn't dead because that annoying ringing sound in her ears persisted, reminding her of her failure.
Time became confused in her state of disorientation, and she had no idea how long had passed when she felt her eyes being opened. As she watched the world around her through a red filter, Amara got to see Nathan's mouth moving, but she was unable to grasp a single word he said.
In a rushed manner, he took off his jacket and pulled out a knife, which he then used to slice a piece of fabric.
He said something again, and she felt his hand pressing against her forehead, the severed portion of his jacket he held being large enough to cover even her eyes below.
Amara felt like sleeping this time, the darkness feeling more welcoming than scary.
But before she could fall asleep, she noticed her body being lifted from the ground. And unlike the last time, she was being held from below as Nathan's hand kept her head locked against his body.
The last memory she retained before her consciousness faded was of hearing the rhythmic sound of his breathing and his loud steps below, feeling as if she might have wrapped her tail around his arm. Yet, she remained unsure whether she had truly done so or if it was just a product of her imagination.
***
This was an account based on Amara's plan to flee from the war. The previous narrative is based on the events of the morning of the twentieth day of the exploratory mission of Irisa. According to your current settings, no queries will be suggested.
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The Letter With the Silver Seal
Hooves drummed on the hard-packed dirt of the road.
The rider’s cloak streamed back in the wind of his running, and dust rose in his wake.
After months of searching, riding town to town, dawn to dusk, Finn finally had a lead on the wayward elf. The letter rested in his satchel, slung diagonally from shoulder to waist under his travel cloak. It was wrapped in oilcloth and sealed with silver wax bearing the intricate sigil of House Fyndrael. The letter was urgent, make haste, Lord Brynwell had said. And Finn had rode like a madman ever since.
People flashed past in both directions, the occasional ox-drawn cart or a courier on horseback kicking up dust in their haste. Some cursed his breakneck speed, turning to shake fists. Finn just grinned and spurred his horse faster. The road curved ahead through a thicket of trees and wound off into the countryside like a dusty ribbon dotted intermittently with the dark shapes of carts, wagons, and riders.
In the distance, the faint, cloudy silhouette of Suncrest Hold beckoned him. Almost there. A few more hours, he would put the letter in the elf’s hand and be on his way. A smile split his dusty face, and he leaned low over Dett’s neck, urging the horse on, eager to be quit of this mission and on his way back to Kaelos and all the comforts the sprawling mountain city had to offer. Wine and dancing, dicing and women, taverns and inns and brothels enough to drown a man in pleasures, that’s what waited in Kaelos. But first, he had to deliver the letter.
“Alright, Dett, show us your heart,” Finn put his face against the horse’s neck and the wind snagged his hood away, streaming his long honey-kissed hair out behind. “A few more miles, and you can rest. All the oats and water you can stomach.”
Trees flashed past. Dogs barked sharp challenges, then fell away. Dett thought this was a race, strained to go faster, legs and neck stretched out, mane and tail whipping in the wind. A group of caravaners cursed him as he thundered past. Finn laughed, called back his apologies and raced on, laying about with his reins.
Hours passed, the road transitioned from hard-packed dirt to the dark gray of flagstones and traffic deepened. Suncrest Hold rose before him in all its gray glory; slate-roofed towers and spires reached for the sky behind the silver-gray teeth of battlements. People, carts, farmers with wagons, merchants, and caravans crowded the road. Finn slowed Dett to a trot, skillfully weaving through the crowd with the desperate urgency only a man months gone from home could muster. He was ready to see this mission done.
He passed under an arched portcullis and came abreast of the guard house on the other side.
Soldiers in steel ring mail worn under red tabards slashed with black and embroidered with the royal coat of arms waved him through when they saw the silver glint of a courier’s badge pinned on his leather tunic.
“Make way,” they growled at the crowd, shouldering into the people and shoving them aside so Finn could pass. “Make way for a courier. Move it, you country kelps!”
People grumbled and cast dark looks Finn’s way, but they moved. None wanted to be the one who delayed a royal courier.
A figure in polished platemail worn under her tabard, and the transverse crested helm of an officer, stepped out of the guard house. Finn brought Dett to a halt.
The officer approached.
“May the sun favor your roads,” she greeted. Finn noticed the four golden knots of a captain embroidered on her tabard’s left breast. “May I offer the courier an escort?”
Finn’s mind went blank. This lady wasn’t just pretty for a guardswoman; she was unbelievably striking by any standard across the land. Breathtaking. He wanted to get off his horse and propose marriage on the spot. Heat began to rise in his cheeks, and he covered it by bowing in his saddle and giving his cloak a little flourish. A thick layer of dust broke free and danced around him.
“Gracious of you, my lady,” he said, cuffing his brow. “I am looking for an elf named Aberiel. I was told I could find him here in Suncrest Hold. Heard of him?”
“Captain Aurelume,” she said, looking off down the main road at all the buildings and structures crowding up to the walks. “Not My Lady. I'm not noble blood. Aberiel, you say?”
Finn gave a nod and patted Dett’s neck to calm the restless horse.
“Can you describe this man?”
Finn dug into his saddle and drew out a piece of parchment enchanted with the elf’s likeness. He handed it to the captain. She studied the portrait.
One of the other guards came up and peered over her shoulder, his face crisscrossed with old scars inside his open-faced helmet. “Damn, looks like the one what got back-knifed over dice a few nights gone. Remember? Almost died and the Count was all in a fury. Had us knocking down doors and cracking heads for three nights til we got the ones what did it. Darkhand gang, it was.”
Captain Aurelume studied the picture, her lips pursed. Her eyes were cerulean jewels dancing with sparks of sunlight.
She drummed a gauntleted finger on her sword hilt, and the sun glinted off her pauldrons. “Yes,” she said after several moments. “I remember him. Young and reckless, fair hand with the ladies, I’m told.” She glanced at her guard. “Which I suspect is the true reason for the knife in the back. Men have killed for far less.”
The guard shrugged, and his ringmail made soft clinking sounds. “Only said what I was told, Captain. Dice, they said it was.”
The captain returned her attention to Finn.
She returned the picture. “Try the Medi toward the center of the city. Beside the Basilica.” She nodded at the guard beside her. “Harker will show you the way. Good luck.” She turned and disappeared back into the guardhouse.
Harker came up beside Finn. “Alright then,” he grumbled, obviously irritated with having to play babysitter. “This way.”
Finn followed him down long streets that turned and twisted through the city. Every few seconds, he would holler for the crowd to give way to a courier. After a time, they came to a sprawling structure of soaring turrets, tiled roofs, tall arches, and windows filled with ornate traceries and colorful glass. A central dome gleamed silver in the sun.
“The Medi,” he said, and without so much as a by your leave, turned sharply on his heel and waded back into the crowd.
Finn eased Dett over to a tie post on the side of the road and swung out of the saddle, his legs filled with a deep ache from months on the road. He took a moment to stretch and stamp his feet before climbing the marble steps to the fluted columns flanking a set of tall doors rounded at the top and standing open to the public.
Inside, it was dark and subdued; carpet in blue and silver with fancy tassels flowed down the corridors. Tapestries hung the walls and the air smelled of herbs and incense. After getting directions from one of the healers, he stood at the entrance to a private room.
The door stood open, and a gentle breeze whispered through tall, arched windows. The room was small, modestly appointed with bookshelves on the walls and a small brazier across from a four-post bed on which lounged a figure wrapped around the midsection with clean bandages.
Finn knocked on the door frame and stepped inside. The elf on the bed stirred from his reading and set the book aside, fastening his eyes on the visitor. “Who are you?”
Finn approached the bed and gave a slight bow. “Finnton, my lord,” he said, digging into his satchel. “You are Aberiel of House Fyndrael?”
The elf’s eyes hardened with suspicion. His hand slipped under the sheet covering him to the waist. “Who sent you? What is this?”
“I was dispatched from Kaelos five months ago, my lord,” Finn produced the letter. The elf’s eyes locked on the silver seal, and the coiled readiness in his posture melted away. “That is my house seal. Give it to me.” The elf snatched the letter from Finn’s hand, gave the seal a cursory inspection, and broke it off with his thumbnail. His eyes moved over the words. He stopped at one point, drew in a deep, ragged breath, and glanced at the ceiling before continuing.
A single tear broke free from one of Aberiel Fyndrael’s lavender eyes.
The hand holding the letter slowly sank into his lap. Another tear streaked his cheek. Redness gathered in his eyes, across his face. “They have found her,” he said. His voice was a quavering whisper. “She…” he broke off with a sob. “She…I can’t believe it…she…”
Whatever the elf was going to say, Finn would never know. The words were drowned in anguished cries.
Finn turned to go, but thought he caught a glimpse of a smile breaking through the elf’s tears. Was Aberiel smiling? Finn couldn’t tell and it would be rude to stay. Whether tears of sorrow or joy, he would never know. Nor did he care.
“Good day, my lord.”
He left the elf lordling to his letter and his tears and silently wished him all the best. It was time to see to Dett and lodging for the night. A hot bath to wash away the dust of the road and a hearty meal to fill his belly, that was what he required. Then sleep. Dawn came early this time of year and he wanted to be on the road with the first rays of sunlight.
He stepped out of the Medi and took Dett’s reins in his hand. Music drifted to his ear from a lively tavern down the street. The sounds of raucous laughter and a dozen conversations sang in the air.
A grin crept onto his face.
A bath, a meal and maybe just one game of dice before he found his bed. He turned toward the tavern.
A man had needs.

Hi! I'm looking for honest feedback on a book I'm (slowly) working on. This is a rough draft of Chapter 1. Is this something you would be drawn to read? It's already been submitted but would like more feedback pls
Coming of age creative non-fiction focusing on mental health, resilience, and restructuring family dynamics:
Chapter 1
Kelly entered the world during a bitter February winter in 1990, born to Alan and Geri McIntyre, both 27-years-old, residing in a quaint fishing town near the harbor in St. John's, Newfoundland. Alan, a member of the Canadian military reserves, had prompted their relocation from Halifax, seeking new opportunities for his growing family. Geri, a dedicated neonatal nurse, tirelessly juggled night shifts at the local hospital while caring for their two young daughters during the day. Despite their modest beginnings, Alan and Geri were determined to give their children a better life, teaching them the values of resilience and perseverance.
Geri was raised in a close-knit, humble family called the Perrys. Her father, a hardworking coal miner, balanced his sternness with sweetness as he spent his free time fishing or hunting with his sons. Her mother, vibrant and outspoken, managed the household while caring for their four children, often intervening in the daily tiffs between Geri and her younger sister, Charlene. Their parents spent their weekends going to local dances, where they danced the Irish jig and played the fiddle and spoons until their fingers bled. Her father, trained in classical guitar, would sometimes join in on the music when he had enough moonshine in him. Their modest country home, perched by the river, boasted just one bathroom, but despite their financial limitations, they found contentment in their simple life.
Upon reaching 18, Geri ventured to the bustling city of Sydney for nursing school, drawn by the promise of education and opportunity. Despite the distance, she remained deeply connected to her family, frequently returning home to end her homesickness. However, as she embraced the newfound independence of her senior year, her visits became shorter and less frequent, signaling the beginning of her journey into adulthood.
Alan's upbringing was marked by pain and turbulence. His father, an unemployed alcoholic, viciously abused Alan, his eldest son, while directing his anger and hatred towards women at his wife and young daughter. The McIntyre family was known for their unsavory reputation in Halifax, which carried on through Alan's father and his brothers.
Locked in his bedroom for weeks on end, Alan found solace only in his sketches, which served as outlets for his sadness and frustration. Despite being the family's breadwinner, and Alan's main source of comfort, his mother remained stoic, seemingly blind to the suffering inflicted upon her son. Seeking refuge from the chaos at home, Alan often fled to a friend's house, where he could find peace and a warm meal. However, as rumors spread about Alan stealing from local stores to survive, even his friends began to distance themselves, influenced by the stigma surrounding his troubled family background.
Wanting to break from the reputation that followed him, Alan focused on his goals and the future he envisioned for himself. Fueled by unshakeable purpose, he set his sights on a brighter path, determined to break free from the shadows of his family. He pursued admission to the prestigious engineering program at Dalhousie University, despite his lackluster grades and absence of any references. Undeterred by setbacks, Alan lobbied the dean of admissions, his daily visits to the dean's office a testament to his tireless pursuit of his dreams. And in a triumph of willpower over adversity, he secured his place in the engineering program. From then on, Alan would be known as a businessman, breaking free from the stereotype of the neighborhood black sheep.
It wasn't until Geri graduated from nursing school and moved to Halifax that Alan and she met. As it was told to their daughters, they met while dancing to disco at the downtown liquor dome on Halloween night. Amidst the beat and swirling lights, their eyes locked, igniting a connection. For Alan, Geri exuded a calming presence, a stark difference from the constant tension that had defined much of his life. In her, he found a beacon of optimism, a sanctuary from the shadows that had long haunted him.
As the night ended, Alan walked Geri back to her downtown apartment, the promise of a future encounter hanging in the air. Plans for a formal date were made, sealing their newfound connection with a tender kiss on Geri's cheek. Yet, true to his nature, Alan attempted to play the role of a suave charmer, feigning indifference with an attempt to reschedule their date later in the week. Geri's unwavering resolve quickly broke down this facade, insisting on the integrity of their initial plan or none at all. Faced with her steadfast determination, Alan folded, realizing that in Geri, he had met his match in both spirit and heart. They were married on Halloween day a year later.
The eldest daughter, Kelsey, spent almost two years as the McIntyre's only child. It is said by Geri that when Kelsey was born in mid-January of 1988, she looked almost unearthly, like a cherub brought down to earth. Her golden hair, round face, and big rosy cheeks brought them to tears when they were first allowed to hold her in their arms. With dark brown almond-shaped eyes glowing up at her parents' faces with recognition. She was perfect to them. Yet, as they soon discovered upon bringing her home, their newfound bliss was met with restless nights that stretched into teary dawns. Kelsey could not make it through the night without incident and was severely lacking sleep herself. In the wake of these exhausting nights and whispered frustrations, Geri and Alan's seemingly unshakable foundation began to show signs of strain.
Once the idea of Kelly entered the picture, Kelsey was excited for her new built-in best friend, but wary about how this new addition would change things for her. She had been the apple of her parents' eye, the subject of all of their attention and affection. Even at such a young age, Kelsey worried about her new baby sister coming home and taking over, leaving her trailing behind.
When Kelly finally made her grand entrance home from the hospital, Kelsey watched from behind the wooden railings of the staircase, half expecting a tiny intruder to burst out of the bassinet. But when their eyes finally met, something shifted in her. Kelsey saw in Kelly not a rival, but a partner in crime, and she vowed right then and there to be the best big sister she could be.
Their family only lived in Newfoundland for two years, so Kelly had to rely on her sister's later retellings of their short time in the arctic tundra – or so Geri liked to call it. Kelsey was good at storytelling, and whether the stories were true or make-believe, Kelly enjoyed believing them. Kelsey would explain that most days they spent with their mother at home, preparing dinner for their father and baking treats from their family cookbook to hand out to their chatty neighbors. When Geri was working, and Alan was indisposed, they were cared for by a neighborhood sitter. She became Geri's confidant. Geri did not have many friends in St. John's, and during the free time she did have, she spent it with the girls. It was becoming a mundane, monotonous existence she had not imagined for herself. Geri was never even sure if she wanted children, and in the absence of Alan's support, she felt lost in motherhood. She longed for simpler times. Kelsey and Kelly seemed to grow like weeds, becoming fuller of sass and fearlessness as the days moved on to months. Geri was afraid of what the future had in store for them.
END...for now

I'm 19 year old dude (for now), I'm 5'11 and I'm around 230 pounds. I realized I wasn't cis around a year ago and all I've been able to think about is being a girlie girl. I'm really worried that because of my height n build my fat won't redistribute quite right and I'll look like some sort of terrible beast. Also black men and women are seen in a more masculine light in general so im worried that will play a role in if ill pass or not. I just need reassurance from anyone who started their transition at a place similar to mine. Any kind words or helpful tips are very very very much appreciated!

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
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The last few notes of a Roxy Rocket song echoed through Vell’s dorm, and while scrappy and dissonant, they were at least coherent. An improvement from early lessons, especially.
“Well, that didn’t hurt to listen to,” Skye said. “You’re making progress.”
“You have such a way with words,” Vell said.
“Okay, fine,” Skye said. “You’re actually making good progress for a guy who only finds time to practice every couple weeks.”
The ever-encroaching responsibilities of being a senior, the leader of the loopers, and the focus of a godly game of fate had whittled Vell’s free time down to almost nothing. The occasional guitar lessons were some of his only islands amid the storm, and a welcome excuse to spend more time with Skye.
“You want to try a few more chords?”
“My hands are starting to hurt, actually,” Vell said. He pulled away from the guitar strings and shook tense fingers loose, revealing fingertips rubbed red and raw by practice. Skye stepped forward and took him by the wrist to examine his hands.
“I do not understand how a guy like you doesn’t have thicker skin,” Skye said. “Weren’t you an actual cowboy for a while? You did rodeos and everything.”
“I wore gloves,” Vell said.
“And for the rest of the weird shit you’ve done in your life?”
Vell took a long pause.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Vell said. “Good genes, I guess.”
“I’m not complaining, mind you, I just think-”
A loud dinging sound from Skye’s purse interrupted the conversation, and she released her grip on Vell to go answer her phone. Vell recognized those familiar chimes as the Dad Ringtone. While most contacts were set to vibrate, Skye’s father and a few other lucky high-priority contacts got their own ringtones. Vell was lucky enough to have his ringtone set to the theme song of a cartoon Skye had loved as a kid, but played at a much lower volume than the Dad Ringtone. Skye’s father didn’t call often, and when he did it was usually about something important, so she wanted to be sure to never miss a call.
“Hey dad,” Skye began. “No, now’s fine. What’s up?”
Vell set his guitar back on the shelf and relaxed while Skye continued the call.
“No, no, that’d be fine, great, even,” Skye said. “He might be a little busy, but- What?”
Skye’s delight and talking to her father shifted to mild concern.
“Dad we kind of need to- no, not tomorrow, dad,” Skye said. “Dad!”
A long silence followed as Skye held the phone frozen by her ear for a short time. She tucked it back into her purse, took a deep breath, and clapped her hands together as she spun to face Vell.
“So, good news, you’re going to get to meet my dad,” Skye squeaked.
“And the bad news?”
“Well, part one of the bad news is that it’s going to happen tomorrow,” Skye said. Vell would’ve like a little more notice, but that was far from disastrous. Part two was still waiting, though. “And part two is that I kind of maybe didn’t do a very good job describing the nature of our relationship, and he sort of a little bit thinks you’re...a hero.”
Vell waited for a part three, and there was none.
“Is that the bad news?” Vell scoffed. “I might let him down a little, but there’s worse things my girlfriend’s dad could think of me.”
“Yeah there’s definitely a few upsides, be sure to hold on to those,” Skye said. “But also, you know how I flunked out of mad scientist school?”
“Yeah?”
“Well my dad...didn’t.”
***
“Your girlfriend’s dad is a supervillain?”
“Former supervillain,” Vell corrected. He adjusted the suit coat he’d just put on. “He left the game after she was born and went white hat, now he only builds death rays and robot armies so relevant authorities can observe, learn, and prepare for the real deal.”
Having a genuine mad scientist to train with helped keep secret agents and spies ready for actual threats, and Skye’s father got to keep doing what he loved: threatening to blow up the world.
“Are you still really a supervillain if you don’t actually do any villain shit?” Hawke wondered aloud. “Isn’t he just sort a supertrainer? What would you call that?”
“I’d call it asinine,” Alex said. “We shouldn’t be condoning this behavior, much less inviting him to build a death ray on our campus.”
The Einstein-Odinson had been selected as the faux-mad scientist’s next testing ground, and due to a misunderstanding of his role on campus, Vell had been selected as his testing partner. He had to put on a tuxedo and everything, to better fit the classic secret agent trope Skye’s father was envisioning.
“Mad scientists are an important part of the scientific ecosystem,” Helena said.
“You’d know,” Samson muttered under his breath.
“Conflict breeds innovation,” Helena continued, either heedless to or deliberately ignoring his snide comment. “The arc of history requires both heroes and villains.”
“Yeah, well, as far as villains go, I prefer mine to be weird old dads with fake death rays,” Kim said. “Still, Vell, doesn’t it feel kind of weird that he doesn’t actually know you’re dating his daughter?”
“It’s fine,” Vell insisted. “It’s always awkward trying to talk to your parents about your relationship, and she just over-focused on me saving the day and helping people. Simple miscommunication.”
“And when are you resolving that miscommunication?”
“Later,” Vell said. “Skye and her dad don’t get to spend much time together anymore. They’ll take the day, and we’ll get this all sorted out later.”
A life of volcano lairs, alpine bases, and remote tropical islands did not exactly make it easy for Skye to keep up with her dad, so having him concoct a scheme right on her home turf was a good way for the two of them to spend time together. Right now, Vell’s only priority was allowing for some healthy father-daughter bonding time. And also preventing the apocalypse.
“Okay, I’m good to go,” Vell said, as he finished up the knot in his bow-tie. “Hawke, ready on comms?”
“Mission control good to go, Agent Harlan,” Hawke said. He enjoyed any apocalyptic arrangement that allowed him to stay safely behind a chair, but playing mission control was especially fun.
“Good. Samson, you’re on tech duty,” Vell said. “The rest of you, keep an eye on the island. There’s no guarantee our supervillain will actually end the world. Which feels like a weird thing to say.”
Big events usually invited big catastrophes, and a literal supervillain seemed like a prime spark for some apocalyptic fire, but Vell was not so sure. He couldn’t think of anything less likely to actually end the world than a deliberate attempt to do so. All the loopers agreed having some backup eyes on other potential disasters might be warranted.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Alex said. She was the first to leave, everyone else filtered into their respective roles to play soon enough. Samson walked alongside Vell as he left the lair.
“Hey, do I have to put up the whole mission control act like Hawke was doing?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Vell said. “Play it up a little if Skye’s dad is around, maybe, but like, right now we can just talk normally.”
“Okay, cool. Got your shit right here,” Samson said, as he hefted a large bag of gadget. “Standard spy bullshit. Gizmo watch, secret cufflink radios, pen with a concealed laser cutter, got it all right here.”
“Thanks,” Vell said. “Where’d you find all this stuff?”
“I just asked,” Samson said with a shrug. “Island full of supergenius weirdos, most of them had this kind of stuff just lying around.”
“Convenient. Did you make a list of everyone you got this stuff from?”
“So we can keep an eye on them? Yeah.”
“So I can give it back later,” Vell corrected. “But yeah, actually, knowing about the laser pen guy might be a good idea.”
“We’ll know where to start with any laser-based apocalypses,” Samson said.
“Good instinct,” Vell said. The two of them walked out of the building and towards the docks. “Am I walking weird? I’ve never worn a tux before.”
“Little stiff, but I think it’s working in your favor. You look more serious.”
“Great, thanks,” Vell said. He stepped up to the edge of the docks and strapped on his gadget watch before checking the time on it. “Should be here soon.”
“You need me to stick around?”
“No, you’re good,” Vell said. “Thanks for the help.”
Samson excused himself before the chaos started in full. Vell felt like an idiot standing around in a tux for a minute or two, until he was joined by someone in an equally odd outfit. Skye joined him in waiting on the docks, wearing a dress with long sleeves and a short skirt over sparkling tights and some very high-heeled boots.
“Very gogo dancer,” Vell said.
“Yeah, dad’s really into that whole Cold War era 60’s style,” Skye said. “Apparently this is what a ‘proper villainess’ looks like to him.”
“Could be worse, could be the catsuit kind of female villain.”
“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Skye said. “Every time he took me to work conferences I had to watch grown women try to waddle around in pleather bodysuits.”
“Supervillains have conferences?”
“Oh yeah, surprisingly good ones,” Skye said. “Especially if you’re a little girl who likes genetically engineered sharks.”
“Oh, so that’s where you got your start.”
Skye nodded. Her penchant for genetic engineering had struck at an early age. Her father had initially been excited for her to get into the family business, but it turned out Skye just liked fucking with fish DNA, and didn’t have much skill in all the non-genetic engineering parts of mad science. He was proud of her anyway.
After shifting on uncomfortably high heels for the umpteenth time, Skye checked her phone and texted her father.
“He says he’s pulling up right now,” Skye said. Vell scanned the horizon and saw nothing coming across the ocean.
“Is he at the right-”
Vell was cut off, and forced to step back, as the ocean started to churn. The waves parted to reveal a jet-black submarine with a towering, jagged skull carved into the prow.
“Oh, right, supervillain,” Vell said.
The imposing submersible drifted to a halt, and a hatched on the side hissed open. Red lights beamed out from the darkness within, and a few seconds later, an armored killbot marched down a boarding ramp, flanked by a towering man in a long white labcoat. He had a jagged streak of black through his otherwise gray hair, and wore heavy glasses with thick black lenses that obscured his gaze and shadowed his face.
“Hi dad,” Skye said.
“Hello dear,” said the man behind the murder machine. He stepped off the boarding ramp onto the dock, as another killbot exited to flank him, and fixed his dark glasses on Vell. “And as for you...I am Doc-”
“Doc” stopped his imposing introduction to have a coughing fit. Skye stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dad, did you take your meds today?”
“I did, I did,” the Doc said, between coughs. “Just a climate thing. I got on the damn submarine in Seattle, now we’re in the tropics, there’s pressure differentials, humidity.”
He let out a few more coughs and then cleared his throat loudly, before regaining his previous composure.
“Now, as I was saying,” he continued. “I am Doc Ragnarok!”
His boisterous shout failed to echo in the open air of the docks.
“Oh, good lord, that was terrible,” Doc Ragnarok said. “Can I try again?”
“I wouldn’t bother,” Vell said. “We’re by the beach, open air, the acoustics are terrible.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Doc Ragnarok agreed. “Finally, someone who appreciates the details. You must be Vell, then, or is it Agent Harlan? Do you have a codename I should be using?’
“It’s just Harlan. Vell Harlan.”
“Yes, Skye has told me quite a bit about you,” Doc said. “You’ve escaped kidnapping attempts, outwitted undead thieves, stolen secret treasures.”
“Oh, he’s, uh, also a really nice guy, very helpful, top student,” Skye said, laying groundwork for the eventual boyfriend reveal.
“I expect nothing less,” Doc Ragnarok said. “I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to face off against someone with real credentials again, Mr. Harlan. For the past few decades it’s been nothing but greenhorns using me as a test run, well-trained but no experience, no sense of style.”
“Well, I am nothing if not experienced,” Vell said. “Stylish, however...well, this tuxedo is a rental.”
“I can tell,” Doc Ragnarok said. He let out a single boisterous bark of delighted laughter. “Ah, look at us, already bantering. I missed this.’
Doc cleared his throat again and regained his ominous supervillain demeanor, as he snapped his fingers to make the killbots flank him.
“I must begin my preparations,” he said, in a voice shockingly distinct from his earlier conversational tone. “Challenge me if you dare.”
“Excuse me a moment,” said a voice somewhere behind the killbots. Doc snapped his fingers, ordering the crowd to part again, and Helena hopped forward on her crutches. Skye glanced at Vell curiously, and he shrugged in confusion. She wasn’t supposed to be here, for multiple reasons.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I was just reading your book earlier, ‘Practically Evil: A Guide to Classic Villainy’,” Helena said. “It’s a great read, but what really stood out to me is the section on classic henchman archetypes, specifically ‘The Igor’?”
She held up the book in question, which Vell noted had a picture of Doc Ragnarok holding a skull on the cover, and opened it to the section in question.
“Oh yes, I understand, completely,” Doc Ragnarok said. “As I said in the section opener, that information is presented for historical context, and I strongly condemn the typecasting of differently-abled persons like yourself into such roles. Regardless of my intent, I’m sorry if I caused any offense, and if you have feedback-”
“Oh, no, you misunderstand, I’m not offended, I’m actually intrigued,” Helena said. She turned the book around to quote a specific passage. “‘An outcast, often hunchbacked or otherwise misshapen in such a way to make them a pariah, physically handicapped but mentally gifted, driven to evil by the harsh treatment of judgmental peers’. I think it’s a very fitting role for me, and I’d love to give it a try.”
Vell had several very strong opinions about that, but kept all of them to himself.
“Well, it’s a bit short notice, but I’ll never discourage anyone from following the path of evil,” Doc Ragnarok said. “And this is a training exercise, after all, perfect time for you to train. Come along, minion! The more the merrier!”
Doc Ragnarok snapped his fingers again, and the killbots fell in line, this time with Helena in tow. A procession of smaller robots followed, carrying a worrying number of power cores, ray guns, and mutagens. Not for the first time, Vell began to wonder if this was a good idea. The recurring doubts got obliterated as Skye looked over her shoulder and winked. She was worth a lot more trouble than this.

Ok, I’m fine with the whole ‘MMC who’s hot except for one horrible disfigurement that only the FMC isn’t put off by’ trope but increasingly I find they’re getting really far fetched. I was reading a sample with a freakishly giant, heavily scarred MMC with six fingers and I had this moment of ‘can’t I just have a nice balding guy instead?’ I mean this book came highly recommended so I am going to stick with it but I just found myself thinking: “Really? REALLY?! All that but he still has a long black queue of thick hair? He wouldn’t get a shorter haircut to cover some of the eye wateringly severe scars the author described? Not even a bit of a fringe?
Seriously these MMC will have been through horrible ordeals, be scarred from head to toe and psychologically, but I’ve never seen more than two minor characters whose hair is getting a bit thin. I had a bit of hair loss during a time of great stress and I wasn’t even falsely imprisoned and forced to roam the moors.
To be clear, I’m not a fan of the ‘Mr. Clean’ look and I would think a guy who’s just anxious about his hairline or the back of his head might be a bit more realistic? Has a valid and less traumatic reason for struggling with the ladies? Is this a thing? I’m sure I’m not the only woman to like Kelsey Grammar and David Hyde Pearce. For the number of readers on here hot for orcs and tails and horns, a little scalp shouldn’t be such an issue.
I keep a running list of things I have yet to see in romance and apparently there are no men anywhere in romance with even remotely thinning hair (as far as I know).

I still see a lot of people who barely understand what it is and a lot of men and women alike who think patriarchy = men being dicks to women which isn’t exactly on the nose. So I will do my best to explain this as simply as I can.
Patriarchy was created when we made patrilineal lineages with the agricultural revolution when humans started accumulating resources/wealth.
Those patrilineal lineages are what made men become dominant because wealth being transferred patrilineally Means women have to achieve wealth through men because they can’t on their own
The elites wanted more men to fight their wars and to serve as manual labor. More manual laborers than there are jobs mean those workers have no bargaining power and can be exploited (welcome to current US capitalist hell).
So women are relegated to reproductive labor (cooking and cleaning, etc) meant to literally “reproduce” the male laborer for his employer. Reproductive labor is essential in order for productive labor (jobs) to exist.
So of course women’s labor is devalued for exploitation but that will be going off rails to another topic
So patriarchies limit women’s economic and reproductive freedoms. This results in MORE babies because women who can’t support themselves must find a male provider. Men who would otherwise never be chosen have a much higher chance because duh. And those men expect reproductive labor and sex
And in comes patriarchal religion to reinforce the status quo. “Be fruitful and multiply” and “submit to your husband” sound waaaay better from god (and conveniently benefit men amiright?) than from some rich asshole saying that it’s getting harder to underpay workers when there’s fewer of them to go around.
And in a relatively short time frame, we got to a population of 8 billion.
You can see incels and the manosphere bitching about the lack of women settling for any loser with a dick and a job. This is exactly true. Women with options are pickier. If a man is not needed then he has to be wanted and no one taught them that because they group up with men being needed and being taught that women are some kind of entitlement.
When they were forced to allow women to work, of course that would mean women wouldn’t need men or to reproduce as much, because they could provide as much as a man so they manipulated shit again
They made it so two incomes were needed. So single motherhood is still a threat to women.
But some women could still achieve independence with the ability to work and own property along with reproductive freedoms being added in
But the wage gaps and unequal pay still disadvantaged enough women that many still would need a male partner. And we had religion, Disney movies, fairy tales, and social pressure all reinforcing that women needed men or that romance and marriage was some ultimate fantasy
Overtime more and more women were willing to leave bad marriages or opt out all together. And birth rates just dropped and the end game capitalism situation where the working class has been bled dry only exacerbated this
So now women’s rights are going away again. They need use desperate and fucking more men. They don’t care if we are married, casual fucking, or raped. Those all result in babies. They don’t even care if we’re fully grown. That was evident with the fact that child marriage is still legal
So yes. Women don’t have near as many kids when reproducing on their own terms.
And our reproductive freedoms only go as far as population goals. We will NEVER actually be allowed to collectively opt out of sex and reproduction. We’d see the handmaids tale come to life before that happens
It’s just another fucked up form of the sexual arms race that occurs in a lot of the animal kingdom except humans are supposed to more evolved than that.
But despite the fact that patriarchy is exploiting and abusing men for their lives and labor, they often won’t acknowledge or fight it because it gives them status over women. As you’ve seen, they hate when women have the choice to reject them. Women who choose careers and to live child free are often berated for a reason
So when you see women saying things like “women are the value” or “we ARE the table” it’s not coming from thin air. Everything is designed to make women more accessible. Women’s biology is weaponized against them because it’s fucking POWERFUL to have all the say in whether someone gets to reproduce or if there even is another generation. It doesn’t mean men aren’t worthy human beings. They’re just not the ones who carry infants nor can their biology be exploited in the same way.
Patriarchy is NOT the natural order. It didn’t exist before the agricultural revolution. Paternity didn’t even always matter because again there weren’t always patrilineal lineages. Some cultures even had elders providing childcare while both men and women hunted. The “traditional family unit” is a product of patriarchy.

Cross posted in askblackpeople/ and TooAfraidToAsk/.
I am a white-presenting 29F living in Portland, OR. I work from home, am pretty new to the city, and don't really have any established hobbies or communities yet. Because I work from home and my hobbies are kind of solo (crafting, reading, art, gaming), I just don't get many opportunities to meet lots of new people from diverse backgrounds, and also, when I am meeting new people, it's usually through people I already know, and those circles are always very white. My husband is biracial, so I've absorbed a lot of Black culture and acquaintances through him that I don't get exposed to from other friends, but it's always men and I don't really want to have friendships with men that my husband doesn't already know.
I'd like to have more Black women friends, but I'm not sure how to go about it. The reason I'd like more Black women friends is a bit because I'm tired of the white feminist perspectives I see in a lot of my current friends, and also because I believe it's good to be friends with lots of different kinds of people. My communities have been fairly homogenous since being out of college, and I'd like it not to be that way anymore. Without a doubt, I can find what I'm looking for in a friend of any race, but I do believe that friends of diverse backgrounds are just magic and that I'm probably missing a lot of understanding about the world because my circle is pretty homogenous and I'm just missing experiences because of it.
I don't "expect" a certain personality or perspective from a potential friend, of course Black folks aren't a monolith and I'm not expecting that at all. But to put it simply, I just don't know where to find the Black girls in Portland who are into similar things as me - gaming, cozy activities, gentle hiking, etc. They just aren't in the spaces I'm hanging out in, so my question is this:
Is it weird/bad to go on a platform like Bumble BFF specifically seeking Black lady friends? And is entering into a friendship with part of the reason you want to be friends being racial a bad thing, as long as you're respecting that person's individuality and humanity?
I don't want a potential friend to think I'm tokenizing them or only friends with them because they're Black, it's more that I want to know them as a person, and have their Blackness inform their worldview and let that be a part of our relationship. I just want to go about it respectfully.
I know Portland isn't very diverse to start compared to other places I've lived (Denver, Chicago, New York) but there are lots of Black folks here! If I'm way off-base here, and am thinking about this wrong, please let me know! Thank you.

Cross posted in askablackperson/ and TooAfraidToAsk/.
I am a white-presenting 29F living in Portland, OR. I work from home, am pretty new to the city, and don't really have any established hobbies or communities yet. Because I work from home and my hobbies are kind of solo (crafting, reading, art, gaming), I just don't get many opportunities to meet lots of new people from diverse backgrounds, and also, when I am meeting new people, it's usually through people I already know, and those circles are always very white. My husband is biracial, so I've absorbed a lot of Black culture and acquaintances through him that I don't get exposed to from other friends, but it's always men and I don't really want to have friendships with men that my husband doesn't already know.
I'd like to have more Black women friends, but I'm not sure how to go about it. The reason I'd like more Black women friends is a bit because I'm tired of the white feminist perspectives I see in a lot of my current friends, and also because I believe it's good to be friends with lots of different kinds of people. My communities have been fairly homogenous since being out of college, and I'd like it not to be that way anymore. Without a doubt, I can find what I'm looking for in a friend of any race, but I do believe that friends of diverse backgrounds are just magic and that I'm probably missing a lot of understanding about the world because my circle is pretty homogenous and I'm just missing experiences because of it.
I don't "expect" a certain personality or perspective from a potential friend, of course Black folks aren't a monolith and I'm not expecting that at all. But to put it simply, I just don't know where to find the Black girls in Portland who are into similar things as me - gaming, cozy activities, gentle hiking, etc. They just aren't in the spaces I'm hanging out in, so my question is this:
Is it weird/bad to go on a platform like Bumble BFF specifically seeking Black lady friends? And is entering into a friendship with part of the reason you want to be friends being racial a bad thing, as long as you're respecting that person's individuality and humanity?
I don't want a potential friend to think I'm tokenizing them or only friends with them because they're Black, it's more that I want to know them as a person, and have their Blackness inform their worldview and let that be a part of our relationship. I just want to go about it respectfully.
I know Portland isn't very diverse to start compared to other places I've lived (Denver, Chicago, New York) but there are lots of Black folks here! If I'm way off-base here, and am thinking about this wrong, please let me know! Thank you.

Do any of you have a good hiking shirt recommendation for women that also has good SPF protection? I recently got one from REI that purportedly had material that was SPF 30, but after a day of hiking I had burned through the shirt (side note: tan lines are odd when the sunscreen on your arms works but the shirt fails you). Long sleeve or short sleeve is fine, I just want something that's reliable and not too warm since this is of course more of a problem on hot-weather hikes.