Splitting artichoke plants, also known as dividing, is a common practice to propagate and rejuvenate these delightful edible plants.
Here are 10 tips to guide you through the process:
Choose the Right Time: Spring or early fall is the ideal time to split artichoke plants when they are dormant or have finished producing for the season.
Prepare the Soil: Ensure the soil is well-draining and enriched with organic matter to provide a favorable environment for the divided artichoke plants.
Water the Plants: Give the artichoke plants a thorough watering a day or two before splitting to help ease the process and minimize stress on the plants.
Dig the Plant: Use a garden fork or shovel to carefully dig around the base of the artichoke plant, loosening the soil and exposing the root system.
Lift and Separate: Gently lift the artichoke plant from the ground, taking care to keep the root ball intact. Separate the plant into individual sections by pulling apart the crowns or offsets.
Trim Excess Foliage: Trim back the leaves of each divided artichoke plant to reduce water loss through transpiration and focus the plant's energy on root development.
Remove Dead or Damaged Parts: Inspect the root system and remove any dead or damaged roots to promote healthy growth.
Replant Immediately: Plant each divided artichoke section into prepared holes in the garden, making sure the crowns are level with the soil surface.
Space Appropriately: Provide sufficient spacing between the divided artichoke plants to allow for proper growth and air circulation.
Water and Mulch: After planting, water the divided artichoke plants thoroughly and apply a layer of organic mulch to conserve moisture and suppress weed growth.
Remember, splitting artichoke plants can be a bit challenging, so don't be discouraged if it takes a bit of practice.
With these tips in hand, you'll be on your way to successfully propagating and expanding your artichoke patch.
Happy splitting and enjoy the delicious rewards of your efforts!
https://gardenguide4all.com/how-do-you-split-artichoke-plants/

I've been very curious as to peoples experiences with shrooms. Have you had a bad trip? And if so what was it like? I really want to try them but am a bit leary. I've tried smoking weed but I always have an extremely bad time, whether its a panic attack or just deep depression and its no matter what strain I smoke. Would shrooms be a bad idea for me?

He called me last night, it was only like 11:30 but I was struggling to wake up properly for the call which I feel guilty about. He wanted reassurance and I was so sleepy I don’t think I helped very much. His friends wee bubba fell and knocked his head on the table or something and Andy felt like it was his fault? It absolutely was NOT his fault and I feel bad that he thinks it was. Then again I would feel responsible and guilty too if I was in his shoes so I totally get it. It’s a bit unfair that his friends make him feel a bit as though it’s his responsibility too, like yes Andy will look out for the lil one and if someone leaves the room then sure, he’ll keep a more watchful eye but in a room with two of his parents? Andy should be free to relax? But I always hear about how parents get super relaxed after awhile, but even still. But like their baby is taking his first steps and waddling around, wouldn’t you want to baby proof that room a bit? I would? But I know I can also be a bit overly cautious, but if I had a coffee table I’d be covering the corners and putting some kind of covers on electrical outlets and whatnot, things they need to learn about and be careful about but not when they’re still a baby yknow. Let the wee one just toddle around and explore their surroundings and all that yknow. It’s frustrating how things kick into overdrive when Andy talks about the lil baby, it makes me wanna get knocked up ten thousand times by him, like I do NOT need or want those sorts of thoughts and feelings and yet I start picturing me outside on some sunny day wearing a pretty little floral dress all pregnant up and glowy and Andy with his arm around me and idk, it’s so nice? Maybe at some kind of family lunch somewhere idk. I know I’m being ridiculous even giving that any thought but the idea just leaps into my mind whenever I get all clucky/broody/chickeny. And I bet Andy would be the best partner when giving birth, like he’d learn ALL about it ahead of time (which I would obviously do too because you best believe I want to know every tip and trick in the book beforehand) and anyway, I bet he would hold my hand and breathe with me and all of that. He’d be so wonderful, I just know he would. I really really really need to shush. This is not good thinking. One thing at a time!!! It’s just I’ve never had feelings for a guy that I’ve genuinely seen a future with, he’s the first who I truly love and want to build a life with, and so these thoughts are so exciting. Also important to note: I still don’t even know if a baby is what I want. A puppy? YES. A home? YES. A life filled with nice things and travel? YES. A child? Hmmm. Anyway he called me and I think I was just deep in sleep when he did which is why I wasn’t adjusting to waking up that time? Often I can wake up quite easily when he rings, maybe it depends on how I’m sleeping when he does? Hmm. Anyway I feel bad for not being as present as I should have been. I hope he isn’t feeling guilty or like he did anything wrong, he really didn’t. I get it though, babies being hurt in your general vicinity always brings about some level of guilt. It’s also not fair for them to just plop that responsibility in his lap, especially when I’m sure they know he’s not overly comfy with babies and that sort of responsibility and things - I’m not either, I don’t like being left alone with a kid, it makes me so anxy that they’ll be abducted or killed on my watch and idk. Anyway.
I slept in lots today. I was awake from 6/7am ish but it was so warm and comfy and cosy so I just dozed and daydreamed and read my book for a few hours and I got up around 10. It was very nice. The bed here is so comfortable, it’s far too soft and squishy for me to have but my godddddddd it’s comfy. I watched a very relaxing video of a man mowing a lawn, it was so satisfying. So many people watch them and I can see why. I especially liked when he would slice into the dirt alongside the footpath and whatnot and the weed whacker and things. It was all just quite satisfying, even though lawns are so meh. I looooove lush grass, I know lawns aren’t the best for the environment/eco systems and what not, but anyway. Like meadow and hilly field grass, so lovely.
I tried to tell mum more about how I feel and my mental health etc in the car today and to her credit she tries but idk. It’s hard when I’m comparing against an actual therapist and Andy. No one seems to listen to me or understand me the way they do? Especially him. Not always, sometimes he misses but most of the time he just seems to get it? She doesn’t really seem to accept the depression side of things, she just talks about anxiety. I think maybe it’s what she feels comfier discussing which is fine. I also think maybe she doesn’t realise that I don’t have depression in that obvious sense? Like yes I have had it like that and genuinely wanted to die and would think about how and when to do it etc, but it’s usually just that PDD? Persistent depressive disorder? Or dysthymia? Whatever it is. Where I can function but it’s difficult for me to do so most of the time and just a usual day will take a lot out of me and I just find it hard to sustain a good mood or whatever. Anyway.
This afternoon I ran some errands with mum, I returned some parcels, bought some dog toys and went to a couple of supermarkets. I looove MW, I’d say the name but it’s only in my city/region and hello stranger danger so I won’t say the name. But so they have all this wholesale stuff and so many interesting products and I LOVE it there. The packaging of everything is always so nice. They have these massive cans as they stock hospo places and anyway I just love anything huge or mini of an every day item. For example these were big 3kg size cans of regular Watties spaghetti and then they had the usual 420g on the shelf above and idk there’s something about that that makes my eyes so happy. I just love big versions of normal things or mini versions, it takes me back to when I was a little girl and if always make me and whichever parent I was with at the time go to the cheese aisle so that I could hold and cradle the babybel cheeses as I thought they were so beyond cute and I just had to touch them and hold them and see them. And sometimes I’d ask to have one and I’d get one and I didn’t ever eat them I’d just play with it til I had to throw it out. They’re just so CUTE. Anyway so we did that. Then spend the afternoon on the sofa with pup reading/chatting/watching random YT videos with dad as he watches them on the TV a lot. Like we came home and he was watching how to make some kind of pork belly dish. I showed him the lawn mower videos. He showed me these videos on 3D printed homes or 3D made homes? We watched a really interesting one on ones made from dirt, they looked so cool, like wee ant hills or wasp nests? And some made from concrete and so on too. We also watched one on Gorbachev who was a decent guy and therefore Russians hate him? Go figure. And he was also in a Pizza Hut commercial. And we watched one about the queen mother and some comedy skit from the 60s which I don’t usually find funny but this one I did. Pete and Dud? Something like that. And then I made dinner for us all and cleaned the kitchen again and then again after dinner.

As darkened clouds loomed overhead, lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest with a brilliant burst of light. The crackling energy split the heavens, casting jagged veins of illumination across the landscape. The resounding BOOM that followed reverberated through the air, shaking the very foundation of Cornelia's cozy cabin. Inside, she reclined in her plush chair, enveloped in its welcoming embrace. A soft, crackling warmth emanated from the fireplace, casting a gentle glow that bathed the room in a comforting radiance. She sighed contentedly, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if they were performers in a mesmerizing show.
"A good sign, isn't that right, Wendy?" Cornelia whispered, her voice a delicate murmur filled with reassurance and affection.
“Wendy wike wain,” said Wendy, with her lustrous ebony-colored fluff, nestled against Cornelia's stomach, her presence a velvety touch against her skin. The room filled with a soft, contented humming as Wendy expressed her happiness.
Cornelia smiled as her pale fingers traced gentle paths along Wendy's back, their movements a tender caress. Her gaze drifted to the window, where nature orchestrated a symphony of raindrops cascading against the glass. Each droplet carried its own rhythm, harmonizing with the crackling fire to create a symphony of soothing melodies.
As Cornelia admired Wendy, a sense of curiosity began to blossom within her. Were there other fluffies out there with the same unique hue? Elves and wealthy humans often boasted vibrant and diverse-colored fluffies in their care, while the "street-rat" fluffies that roamed alleyways possessed more muted variations. Yet, Wendy's fur was a rarity—pure black that held an air of mystique.
Whispers had spread among the villages, snaking through ears and fuelling imaginations. Tales, distorted and embellished, spoke of a sinister pact between Cornelia and the Demon Vlae. In their twisted narratives, the villagers claimed that the evil spirit-lord resided within Wendy, bestowing upon her the cloak of inky blackness.
Cornelia knew these rumours to be falsehoods, mere figments of overactive imaginations, but that did little to quell the villagers' misguided intentions. Not wanting the villagers to burn her at the stake, Cornelia made a deliberate choice to slip away into the embrace of the ancient woods. There, among the towering sentinels of bark and the rustling tapestry of fallen leaves, she sought solace and a life of peace with Wendy.
Just as Cornelia and Wendy began to settle into a tranquil nap, an insistent knocking on the cabin door shattered the serene atmosphere. The abrupt interruption stirred them from their drowsy state, pulling them back into the realm of uncertainty and peril.
Ygor knocked on the door with the force of a strong but controlled thunder. The heavy wooden door swung open by itself, revealing a flaming shadow with crimson eyes that glare into his very soul.
“You do not disturb a witch’s nap you...” scowled Cornelia but she paused upon seeing a sad yet familiar ogre standing before her.
In the ogre's hands, cradled gently like a fragile treasure, was an injured blue fluffy curled up into a ball. The fluffy's delicate hooves pressed against her belly as she whimpered in pain, her soft cries filling the air with a heart-wrenching melody. The scent of fear and desperation clung to her, mingling with the damp earthiness that permeated the cabin.
Cornelia's piercing gaze softened, her eyes lingering on the wounded blue fluffy nestled in Ygor's hands. The dancing flames of the crackling fireplace painted shifting shadows on her face, accentuating the genuine concern etched across her soft features.
“Ygor?” asked Cornelia, her voice a gentle murmur that wrapped around the room.
“Ygor need help, widdle fluffy hurt” replied Ygor, his voice filled with a mix of deep worry and desperation.
"Bring her inside," Cornelia replied, stepping aside and waited for the giant ogre to enter her home. "Don't worry, the cabin is bigger on the inside," she reassured him, her words imbued with a touch of enchantment.
Ygor carefully stepped into the cabin, his massive form casting long shadows against the sturdy wooden walls. Inside, he found himself awestruck by the magic in the cabin. The air is alive with ethereal energy, a tangible testament to Cornelia's formidable abilities.
With deliberate grace, Ygor approached Cornelia, his every movement infused with cautious tenderness. The crackling flames of the fireplace cast a soft, golden glow that danced and flickered, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadows across the room.
Cornelia placed a soft, crimson blanket on the smooth surface of the wooden table, its vibrant hue contrasting against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. Cornelia's voice resonated with warmth and reassurance as she spoke; her words carrying the echoes of countless months spent mastering witchcraft.
"It's one of the first spells I had to learn as a witch, so don't worry about trying to fit in," Cornelia assured Ygor, her tone comforting like a soft caress.
"Now, tell me what happened," Cornelia gently prompted, her voice a melodic invitation to share their burdens.
Her empathetic eyes fixed upon Ygor and the poor fluffy, eagerly awaiting their tale of woe. The fire crackled and the raindrops tapped against the window, forming a soothing symphony that seemed to draw the elements closer, eager to listen and offer solace.
“Ygor fed fwuffy raw meat, now fwuffy tummy hurts,” Ygor explained.
“wed’ meat? Fwuffies nu’ eat wed’ meat” Wendy exclaimed, her eyes widened with fear and confusion.
“Put her on the table!” Cornelia's command sliced through the air, her voice resonating with authority as she directed Ygor to carefully place the injured fluffy on the plush red blanket that adorned the sturdy wooden table.
With eager determination, Wendy scurried towards Cornelia. The little fluffy snatched a flask from a nearby shelf. The green liquid concocted from the nearby river and the roots of an ancient tree glowed inside the flask. The aromatic scent of the potion wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of burning wood. Ygor's sensitive nose caught a hint of bones in the fragrance, causing him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Ygor smell bones” said Ygor upon picking up a strange scent coming from the flask.
"It's just the potion, Ygor. You can sit near the bookshelf; I'll handle this," reassured Cornelia as she guided Ygor to a seat beside the collection of well-worn tomes. His heavy footsteps resonated against the wooden floor, creating a gentle vibration that shook the nearby furniture.
Meanwhile, Wendy, her ebony-colored fluff rustling with each hurried step, made her way to the kitchen. The soft tapping of her little legs echoed through the cabin, the sound blending with the crackling fire and the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the window. Guided by Cornelia's request, Wendy retrieved a bowl of ash and garlic, their distinct scents mingling in the air, creating a heady mixture of earthiness and protection.
Cornelia's hands moved with practiced precision, like a knife gliding through the cloves of garlic as if guided by an invisible force. With each expert stroke, the pungent aroma of freshly cut garlic permeated the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the wooden table.
Once the garlic lay in neat, small pieces, Cornelia turned her attention to the bowl. She poured the green liquid into its depths, a shimmering cascade that glimmered like emerald flames. As the liquid settled, Cornelia's voice hummed with an incantation, her words carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and power.
In an instant, a flicker of green fire sprang to life, dancing atop the surface of the liquid. Its ethereal glow cast a surreal illumination, transforming the ordinary bowl into a vessel of enchantment. Shadows flickered and played upon the cabin walls, as if the very room had become a stage for magic itself.
Ygor's gaze locked onto Blue, his eyes filled with concern as he witnessed her unconscious. Despite her silent state, his sensitive ears detected faint, almost imperceptible whimpering that tugged at his heartstrings.
In a mesmerizing display of magic, a radiant golden light took the form of Cornelia's hand, delicately reaching towards the green flame. As her hand made contact, a breathtaking transformation ensued. The liquid within the bowl seemed to defy gravity, soaring out of its confines with graceful fluidity. It floated in the air, suspended like a glistening bubble, casting an iridescent glow that bathed the cabin in a surreal radiance.
The floating liquid became a canvas for the dancing and shimmering golden light, which traced intricate patterns written in the runes of magic. With every subtle movement and shift, the elixir responded, guided by Cornelia's hand, as if it were alive. The soft, ethereal hum resonated through the cabin, its gentle vibrations filling the air and contributing to the enchanting atmosphere that enveloped the space.
Ygor's eyes widened in awe as he witnessed this captivating spectacle, his senses fully immersed in the enchantment unfolding before him. The delicate scent of the potion wafted through the air, an intoxicating blend of natural ingredients and mystical energies. It mingled with the comforting aroma of burning firewood, creating an olfactory tapestry that enveloped the room.
“Wemembeh’ jus’ one dwop o’ fwuffy fwend goes fowebah sweepies” Wendy reminded, her voice filled with caution and trepidation. The anticipation was palpable, causing her little legs to tremble with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
“I know, Wendy” Cornelia replied with concern. Slowly, with delicate precision, she reached out and began removing the intricately carved magic runes that encircled the floating bubble. Each rune dislodged weakened the magic, and the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
As the runes dissipated one by one, a single drop from the shimmering green bubble fell into Blue's mouth, like a droplet of life itself. In that fleeting moment, the magic took hold, invigorating her senses and drawing her back from the abyss of unconsciousness. Blue's eyes fluttered open, her vision initially blurry as she adjusted to the renewed world around her. Gradually, the fog lifted, revealing the figure of another fluffy sitting in front of her, a woman with a mysterious allure, half of her face veiled by a cascade of hair, and Ygor, the gentle ogre.
Blue wakes up, her vision blurry at first. When they cleared, she saw another fluffy sitting in front of her, a strange woman with half her face covered by her hair, and Ygor.
"Mommeh?" Blue's voice trembled with a mixture of longing and confusion, seeking comfort in the familiarity of a mother's embrace.
"No, sorry," Cornelia replied gently, her voice carrying a touch of sympathy. With great care, she cradled Blue in her hands, providing a sense of security and protection.
The cabin enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth and safety, shielding them from the world's uncertainties.
"Let's give you a bath before I return you to Ygor, is that okay?" Cornelia offered, her words laced with kindness and concern. Blue nodded, a silent agreement to the caring gesture that awaited her.
As Cornelia cradled Blue in her arms, Ygor's curious gaze wandered to the bookshelf, where a plush velvet tome caught his attention. With a gentle touch, he retrieved the book, feeling the smoothness of the fabric beneath his fingertips. Opening it, Ygor's eyes widened at the sight of a meticulously drawn map, its intricate details beckoning him into a world he’s never seen before.
His gaze shifted to the strange numbers inscribed alongside the map, written in elegant script that danced across the aged parchment. Ygor traced the lines and deciphered the enigmatic message contained within.
"Two... tw-twenty-six degrees, twelve minutes, and forty-four seconds, N—No- no- north," Ygor read aloud, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity.
Cornelia emerged from the bath, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor, carrying Blue wrapped in a clean towel. Drops of water glistened upon her skin like scattered diamonds, reflecting the warm glow of the cabin's hearth. She approached Ygor, her presence radiating a sense of wisdom and familiarity.
"It seems you've improved since the last time I met you," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a tone of admiration.
The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intermingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“Ygor been reading lots lately, collected many books” Ygor proudly proclaimed. The room resonated with the gentle rustling of pages, as each one whispered a tale of knowledge and discovery.
Gently placing Blue on the floor, Cornelia watched with fondness as the little fluffy’s hooves create a delicate patter against the wooden surface as she scurried towards Ygor. She nuzzled against his massive leg, seeking solace and comfort. A warm smile graced Cornelia's lips.
"That's truly admirable," Cornelia remarked, her voice carrying a gentle cadence. The crackling fire painted flickering shadows upon the walls, enveloping the space in a comforting embrace. The scent of smoldering logs mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating an enchanting symphony for the senses.
“Until the ‘metal people’ burnt them along with Ygor house” Ygor replied, his voice echoed with a touch of sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air, mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the crackling flames.
"The metal people," Cornelia mused, her thoughts drifting to the relentless knights of The King. The weight of their armored presence pressed upon her mind, like a looming storm cloud on the horizon. The memory of their arrival, their steel-clad boots treading upon the sacred grounds of the Old World, sent shivers down her spine. Their presence had brought upheaval, disrupting the delicate balance of harmony and magic that once thrived.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cornelia said, her voice laced with sincerity. "You can stay here as long as you need," she assured, her words offering solace and a sense of belonging amidst the uncertainty of the outside world.
“Thank you, Ygor will find new home soon,” Ygor replied. “By the way, Ygor find black fluffy interesting, never seen one before,” he remarked, pointing towards Wendy.
Cornelia followed his gaze, her eyes tracing the ebony contours of Wendy's fur. The contrast of darkness against light evoked a sense of curiosity and wonder.
“I saw her in an alley a couple of months ago while I was gathering ingredients,” Cornelia recalled as she adjusted her favorite chair, drawing it closer to Ygor's seat. Blue and Wendy sat side by side, their eyes filled with anticipation as they listen to the story Cornelia is about to tell.
Clad in a worn cloak that concealed her features, Cornelia blended seamlessly into the bustling village crowd. The fabric whispered with every movement, a soft rustle against her skin as she navigated the narrow streets. The air was alive with the aroma of freshly baked bread, mingling with the scent of spices wafting from market stalls.
After procuring a bundle of garlic from the local market, the distinct scent of its earthy essence enveloped Cornelia's senses. Its pungency mingled with the vibrant tapestry of smells, drawing her further into the heart of the village. With purposeful steps, she made her way through the labyrinthine streets, seeking the hidden corners where the secrets of her craft could be uncovered.
The alleyway she ventured into concealed itself in shadow, an intimate sanctuary away from prying eyes. She brushed her finger against the rough brick walls as she walked deeper into the alley. Carefully, she extracted small glass jars from her satchel, their delicate clinks echoing in the stillness of the alley. Each jar captured the essence of a captured lizard, their gentle rustling and soft scales brushing against the glass as they adjusted to their temporary confines. Cornelia observed the ethereal dance of light on their vibrant scales, the sight creating a mesmerizing spectacle that seemed to hint at the creatures' otherworldly origins.
As her task neared completion, a hushed whimpering caught Cornelia's acute hearing, piercing through the ambient sounds of the alley. The muffled cries stirred her curiosity and compassion, grounding her in the present moment. The echoes of distress resonated with a palpable weight, urging her to investigate further. With a mixture of anticipation and concern, she followed the trail of whimpering, guided by an invisible thread that led her deeper into the shadows of the alleyway.
“Ugwy babbeh, momma gib’ fowebah sweepies!!!” scowled a fat, ugly fluffy with a distinct rhotacism, muted pink fur, and a stained green mane. Its harsh yet infant-like voice reverberated off the soot-covered walls, creating a dissonant symphony in the alley.
Cornelia's voice cut through the air like a whip cracking, her words carrying an authority that resonated with power and determination.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, street-rat!" she scowled back, her tone laced with both indignation and warning. An ethereal light, emanating from her cloak, bathed the alley in a soft, otherworldly glow, casting long, dancing shadows upon the cracked pavement.
"Smawty mommah beautiful! no gwiv biwth to ugwy babbeh!" the street-rat scowled again with its distinctive speech impediment. The creature turned to face Cornelia, its initial anger giving way to shock as its beady eyes widened in disbelief. The glow from Cornelia's cloak seemed to hold the street-rat captive, its mesmerizing radiance momentarily erasing the malice etched across its grotesque features.
“Hooman?” asked the street-rat, its voice trembling with a hint of hope amidst the chaos of its existence.
"Yes, a human," Cornelia affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with empathy.
The alley seemed to shrink around them, the dilapidated brick walls closing in as the tension mounted.
The street-rat's eyes widened with desperation, and in a flurry of movement, it scurried towards Cornelia, collapsing before her in a pitiful display of submission. Dust billowed around them, filling the air with a gritty haze, while the distant echo of passing footsteps underscored the urgency of their encounter.
“Nice wady, pweese take fwuffy wivh yu!” The street-rat's cries echoed through the desolate alley, its once-malicious tone transformed into a pitiful plea. Its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
“Fwuffy nu wan’ stay wivh ugwy babbehs!!!” the street-rat begged, its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
Cornelia, her heart heavy with the weight of the street-rat's anguish, carefully stepped over the pathetic creature, making her way toward the vulnerable baby lying at the end of the alley. Drawing closer, a chilling tableau of horror assaulted her senses. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, intermingling with the sickly stench of decay. Before her eyes lay a grim testament to the darkest depths of despair. Foals with muted and stained bloodstained fur, their dull hues tainted with their own intestines, bore the scars of a brutal struggle. Bite marks marred their tender flesh, evidence of cannibalistic desperation, while trampled bodies bore witness to the unforgiving nature of this forsaken place.
As Cornelia knelt down to retrieve the fluffy, the air hung heavy with anticipation. The scent of damp concrete and decaying refuse mingled with the disgusting tang of blood, creating an atmosphere of unease. The dim light of the alleyway cast long, haunting shadows that danced along the walls.
But as Cornelia's hand closed around the trembling infant fluffy, a sudden, searing pain shot through her senses. A sharp SNAP echoed through the air, accompanied by the sickening sound of teeth sinking into flesh. Cornelia's cry of agony reverberated off the surrounding buildings, its raw intensity tinged with shock and disbelief.
The pink-furred mother street rat's jaws remained stubbornly clenched, its grip unyielding. Cornelia's vision blurred with tears, her vision shortly distorted by the excruciating pain. With a swift, instinctive motion, fueled by a mix of agony and surprise, Cornelia swung her injured hand in a wild arc, flinging the fluffy across the alley.
“What the?” Cornelia cried out. She has never encountered a fluffy that bites. Let alone, one that bites this hard. She swings her hand and threw the fluffy across the alley.
“MEANIE WADY! WHY TAKE UGWY BABBEH?” the street-rat's shrill voice pierced the air, its cries echoing like the wails of a frustrated toddler. The sound reverberated through the narrow passage, carrying a mix of confusion, anger, and sorrow. It blended with the backdrop of distant traffic, creating a dissonant symphony of chaos and distress.
“TAKE MUMMAH! KIWW UGWY BABBEH!” The street-rat frantically stomped the ground in uncontrolled rage. “nu wan’ meanie wady to take vewy ugwy babbeh!!!” the street-rat charged towards the witch.
As Cornelia clasped the fragile baby in her trembling hand, determination coursed through her veins, lending a renewed strength to her stance. The musty odor of the alleyway saturated the air with a pungent reminder of the harsh realities of this grim world.
But before she could fully process the unfolding situation, a searing pain shot through her leg like a lightning bolt. The sensation was akin to the piercing bite of a thousand needles, laced with the unmistakable pressure of a sharp object. Cornelia's scream reverberated through the alley, carrying her anguish and shock to the distant corners of the forgotten cityscape.
The street-rat's unicorn horn, a menacing weapon honed by the merciless streets, impaled Cornelia's left leg. The relentless strength behind the attack sent a blur of conflicting sensations—a symphony of pain, desperation, and disbelief —piercing through her body like shattered glass.
In the midst of her suffering, Cornelia became acutely aware of the grim reality that governed this alleyway. The countless deaths and constant struggle for survival had forged these street-rats into formidable adversaries. Their resilience and innate strength were evident in their very existence. It was a harsh lesson learned in an instant—the living street-rats were much stronger than one could ever anticipate.
As she fought to maintain her footing, Cornelia's vision swayed with a mixture of pain-induced dizziness and the swirling chaos of the alley. The scent of blood intermingled with the dank aroma of decay, enveloping her senses in a suffocating haze. The gritty texture of the alley's uneven pavement seemed to press against her fingertips, grounding her amidst the tumultuous storm of emotions.
Despite the excruciating torment and the formidable foe embedded in her leg, Cornelia clung to her resolve. With unwavering determination, she focused on protecting the fragile life in her arms, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead. The relentless struggle for survival in this unforgiving world had etched itself into her very being, and she was prepared to face its darkest truths head-on.
“Fwuffy stuck!!!” cried the street-rat, her voice trembling with desperation as she attempted to dislodge herself from Cornelia's lower leg. The sharp pain intensified, searing through Cornelia's flesh, eliciting a guttural cry of agony that reverberated through the alley.
In that moment, Cornelia's instincts kicked in, and with a surge of raw magical power, she conjured a blast wave of energy that pulsed through the air. The crackling energy engulfed the street-rat, propelling her forcefully into a nearby brick wall. The impact shattered the ancient masonry, and the street-rat lay there, her body bloodied and broken, her ability to move forever stolen.
“Fwuffy can’t move, hewp!” the street-rat whimpered, her words garbled and distorted by her injuries. The alleyway seemed to echo with her pain and despair.
Cornelia turned to leave the scene, a mix of relief and sorrow weighing upon her heart. But before she could vanish into the shadows, her eyes met the wide-eyed gaze of a villager who had witnessed her extraordinary display of magic. The villager's features contorted with shock, and his trembling voice pierced the air like a thunderclap, “Witch!”
“Witch!” The word reverberated through the alley, igniting a cacophony of shouts and gasps from the onlookers who had rushed to the scene. Their voices swirled with a mix of fear, awe, and accusation, intertwining with the faint scent of damp stone and the distant hum of city life.
Sensing the mounting danger, Cornelia slipped away, melding into the shadows like a ghost. All that remained was the street-rat, now broken and vulnerable, desperately calling out, her voice strained and pleading, “Nu take baby, nu take baby, pwease…”
“Fwuffy not know stweet-wats can make hoomans go ouchies” said Blue, her voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her tiny hooves tapped softly on the wooden floor as he shifted in place, The air hung heavy with the scent of burning candles, casting a warm glow upon the room and bathing the scene in a gentle, flickering light..
“The alleyways are so full of death and destruction, only the strongest and most psychotic survive. I feel bad for them” replied Cornelia.
“Is like ogre life too, ogre warriors no longer live in peaceful lands, ogre fight to survive to ‘nother day” said Ygor, his voice, deep and resonant, bore the weight of sorrow.
The crackling fire in the hearth popped and hissed, casting shadows upon the walls, their movements mirroring the flickering emotions of the conversation.
“Well, we don’t have to face that depression anymore… Anyways, let’s eat!” Cornelia offered reassurance, her voice filled with conviction and a sense of determination.
The room seemed to come alive with the aroma of freshly prepared food; as if the very essence of the cast spell carried a tantalizing scent that made the Wendy and Blue’s mouths water. The tables gracefully glided towards them, their wooden legs creaking softly, while the dishes floated gently through the air, releasing a symphony of inviting aromas.
“I cooked meals using a spell the moment you and your fluffy arrived,” said Cornelia, her voice carrying a hint of pride. The room was filled with the tantalizing aromas of the freshly cooked meal. The scents of herbs, spices, and cooked ingredients mingled together in a mouth-watering symphony, infusing the air with the essence of culinary delight.
Ygor's gaze shifted to Cornelia, a newfound admiration gleaming in his eyes. Candlelight filled the room with a warm glow, casting a soft illumination on the scene, while the crackling fire in the hearth provided a comforting backdrop of pops and crackles paired with dancing shadows.
Cornelia's ability to cast multiple spells simultaneously was a testament to her skill and proficiency. Ygor could not help but be impressed by her effortless command over magic. There was a grace and elegance in her gestures, as if the very air around her responded to her every command. Despite the intricacy and complexity of the spells she had cast, there was no trace of fatigue or weariness on Cornelia's face. Her energy remained vibrant and radiant, her eyes sparkling with a sense of fulfilment and contentment. It was as if the act of magic itself invigorated her, filling her with a renewed sense of purpose.
Ygor's massive hand gripped the turkey leg, the savory aroma of roasted meat wafting up to his nose, mingling with the tantalizing scent of herbs and spices.
Amidst the anticipation, Cornelia, Wendy, and Blue bowed their heads in prayer, their hushed voices forming a gentle harmony that resonated through the room. The flickering candlelight cast an ethereal ambiance. The fragrant scent of burning candles intertwined with the aroma of the freshly cooked meal, infusing the air with a sense of reverence and gratitude.
Ygor paused, a deep respect shining in his eyes, as he respectfully placed the turkey leg back onto the plate. The flickering flames illuminated the scene, their golden glow casting a warm and comforting light. The air seemed to hum with a sacred energy, as if the very essence of their gratitude and prayers permeated every corner of the room.
“We pray before meals, we can now eat!” said Cornelia told Ygor when she finished praying.
“For ogres, pray and eating is same thing” replied Ygor.
“I remember,” Cornelia replied.
A touch of nostalgia as memories flooded Cornelia’s mind. She recalled the time spent among the ogres, their solemn devotion to the act of eating. Contrary to human myths, they were meticulous and mindful, making no mess as they communed with their god, Grunferth.
Cornelia delicately lifted a morsel from her plate, savoring the anticipation of the first bite. As she brought the food to her lips, a symphony of sensory delights unfolded within her. The succulent meat yielded to her teeth, releasing a burst of flavors that danced upon her palate. The crisp sound of Ygor's powerful jaws joining the feast resonated alongside the collective enjoyment, harmonizing with the heightened aroma of the meal that enveloped the space in a tantalizing embrace.
As Ygor took the final bite of his turkey leg, his ears pricked up, attuned to the faint but distinct sounds that drifted through the air. The cacophony of rolling wood, stone, and metal reached his senses, causing him to instinctively turn his gaze towards the window, his curiosity piqued.
"What did you hear?" Wendy inquired, her innocent eyes reflecting a touch of confusion.
But before Ygor could respond… KABOOM!!!
An earth-shattering explosion tore through the air, violently rending the walls asunder. The debris-filled chaos revealed a seething mass of enraged villagers, their figures cloaked in heavy rain and darkness. Riding at the forefront were armored knights, their steeds thundering beneath them. Amidst their ranks stood an ominous contraption, an immense rifle-cannon affixed to a sturdy bipod, wisps of smoke curling from its barrel.
The air crackled with a blend of fear and anticipation. The scent of burning gunpowder mingled with the acrid tang of destruction, permeating the atmosphere. Shadows loomed and flickered upon the shattered walls, cast by the flickering torches held by the angry mob.
"Load the slug!" bellowed the commanding voice of the knight leader, his words reverberating through the air like a thunderous declaration of imminent danger. Ygor's heart skipped a beat as the weight of the knight's authority bore down on him, sending a shiver down his spine.
With a sense of urgency, two knights swiftly inserted a sharp metal slag, gleaming like a wicked fang, into the massive barrel of the punt-gun. The weighty clink of metal meeting metal reverberated through the air, accompanied by the subtle hiss of their breaths as they worked diligently. Meanwhile, another knight meticulously poured an entire jar of gunpowder into the giant gun-cannon’s bulky breech, the grains cascading with a soft rustle that hinted imminent danger.
As the thick smoke cleared, the cracked force field revealed Cornelia standing tall, her arm aglow with a radiant aura as she valiantly upheld the shield. The scent of tainted ozone intermingled with the acrid aroma of spent gunpowder, lingering as a testament to the clash of magical forces and weaponry.
"Step out, monster!" the commander's voice boomed, cutting through the tense silence like a thunderclap. "Or you and your friends will taste the fury of two pounds of pure lead, forged stronger than your vile witchcraft!"
Cornelia's brows furrowed in bewilderment. "How did they find us?" she whispered, her voice laced with concern.
"Big, stupid ogres leave big, stupid footsteps!" the knight spat out a response filled with contempt and disdain. His words rang out, a venomous taunt that intensified the looming threat. "That buckshot was only a warning! Now step out, or face the consequences!"
Blue and Wendy, their tiny frames quivering with fear, sought solace behind Cornelia and Ygor, their small hooves instinctively covering their fragile, fluffy heads. Whimpers of trepidation escaped their trembling lips, mingling with the heavy air, adding an undercurrent of vulnerability.
Ygor, his massive form radiating determination, stepped forward, his footsteps reverberating like an earthquake that sent waves of terror rippling through the hearts of the villagers. The ground seemed to tremble beneath him, spreading whispers of fear and uncertainty among those who watched.
“What are you doing?” Cornelia asked, her voice laced with concern and near-panic, questioned Ygor's decision, desperately seeking to understand his intentions in the face of such imminent danger.
“Go find safety! Ygor fight them alone” Ygor proclaimed, his words laced with unwavering bravery.
“Ygow… Bwoo nu wike scawy guns… don’t go” Blue's voice trembled with fear, her eyes pleading for him to reconsider.
Ygor voice softened as he knelt down to her level, his words filled with reassurance. “Ygor had to… must stand up for the little ones… Ygor be strong fo’ Blue” he whispered, his voice a gentle balm amid the chaos.
With a final glance at Cornelia and the trembling foals, Ygor stepped forward, his determination carving a path through the looming danger. The weight of his responsibility settled upon his broad shoulders as he braced himself to confront the impending threat.
Cornelia's eyes locked with Wendy's, a silent understanding passing between them. In that moment, a flicker of determination ignited in Cornelia's gaze, mirroring the resolute nod of the black-fluffed creature. The air crackled with a mix of tension and anticipation, as if the very atmosphere held its breath.
"Bwoo, come wivh Wendy!" Wendy's voice carried a sense of urgency, beckoning Blue to seek refuge deeper within the safety of the cabin. The faint sound of hurried hoof-taps echoed through the wooden floor as the foals scurried away, seeking solace from the impending confrontation.
Cornelia's voice rang out with unwavering conviction, cutting through the charged air. "You don't have to fight alone," she declared, her words infused with a steadfast resolve.
Ygor's eyes stared into Cornelia's, seeking reassurance amidst the mounting peril. His broad shoulders squared with determination as he posed his question, concern etched in his voice. "Are the widdle ones safe?"
A fleeting moment of relief passed over Cornelia's features as she met Ygor's gaze. "Yes," she replied, her voice a steadying anchor in the midst of chaos.
“Last chance monster! My patience has ended!!!” The commander’s final warning reverberated through the air, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Ygor's veins. With each heavy footfall, the commander's armor resonated, the clinking sound echoing the weight of the impending clash. The ground itself seemed to tremble, mirroring the intensity that hung heavy in the air.
With one last determined glance back at Cornelia, Ygor stepped forward, his footsteps leaving an indelible impression upon the soil, each stride a testament to his bravery and the impending struggle that awaited.
"You've made a grave mistake, knight..." Cornelia's voice reverberated with seething rage, her words slicing through the tense air like a sharpened blade.
“We’re not leaving without your corpses, monsters!!!” bellowed the commander, his voice laced with venomous determination.
“I’m a forest witch, and you have entered my domain… LEAVE. MY. HOME!!!” Cornelia demanded as her eyes glowed with magic rage. The air crackled with an electric energy, a palpable tension that hung heavy amidst the looming clash of opposing forces.
The commander's signal sliced through the charged stormy atmosphere, setting the massive punt-gun's sights squarely on Ygor, while the villagers tightened their grips on their spears, preparing for the impending clash., while the villagers tightened their grips on their spears, ready for the impending assault.
SWISH!!!
A floating bubble of shimmering green liquid burst forth from the depths of the cabin, hurtling towards the commander with astonishing speed. The commander's reflexes kicked in, evading the peculiar water just moments before it could make contact.
SPLASH!!!
The strange substance that once healed Blue drenched the gunner’s hapless body. Anguished screams tore through the air, echoing with torment and despair, as the gunner’s flesh withered and decayed, leaving behind a grotesque skeletal figure that sent shivers of terror coursing through the hearts of the villagers. The unsettling transformation gripped them. The sight of this macabre spectacle fueled their fear and deepened their animosity, fanning the flames of their hatred towards the forest witch and her allies.
A momentary hush settled upon the battleground, shattered by the commander's malevolent grin. From the depths of the forest, more guns emerged, revealing a hidden arsenal of lethal force.
“Did you seriously think we only brought one gun?” The commander sneered, his words laced with derision and arrogance.
Yet, Ygor and Cornelia stood firm, their resolve unyielding amidst the encroaching danger. With a single swift gesture, the commander's hand unleashed a swift resounding gesture that sliced through misty powder-laced air.
“FIRE!!!”

• ---[Chapter 1]---
• ---[Chapter 2: Part I, Part II, Part III]---

Clad in a worn cloak that concealed her features, Cornelia blended seamlessly into the bustling village crowd. The fabric whispered with every movement, a soft rustle against her skin as she navigated the narrow streets. The air was alive with the aroma of freshly baked bread, mingling with the scent of spices wafting from market stalls.
After procuring a bundle of garlic from the local market, the distinct scent of its earthy essence enveloped Cornelia's senses. Its pungency mingled with the vibrant tapestry of smells, drawing her further into the heart of the village. With purposeful steps, she made her way through the labyrinthine streets, seeking the hidden corners where the secrets of her craft could be uncovered.
The alleyway she ventured into concealed itself in shadow, an intimate sanctuary away from prying eyes. She brushed her finger against the rough brick walls as she walked deeper into the alley. Carefully, she extracted small glass jars from her satchel, their delicate clinks echoing in the stillness of the alley. Each jar captured the essence of a captured lizard, their gentle rustling and soft scales brushing against the glass as they adjusted to their temporary confines. Cornelia observed the ethereal dance of light on their vibrant scales, the sight creating a mesmerizing spectacle that seemed to hint at the creatures' otherworldly origins.
As her task neared completion, a hushed whimpering caught Cornelia's acute hearing, piercing through the ambient sounds of the alley. The muffled cries stirred her curiosity and compassion, grounding her in the present moment. The echoes of distress resonated with a palpable weight, urging her to investigate further. With a mixture of anticipation and concern, she followed the trail of whimpering, guided by an invisible thread that led her deeper into the shadows of the alleyway.
“Ugwy babbeh, momma gib’ fowebah sweepies!!!” scowled a fat, ugly fluffy with a distinct rhotacism, muted pink fur, and a stained green mane. Its harsh yet infant-like voice reverberated off the soot-covered walls, creating a dissonant symphony in the alley.
Cornelia's voice cut through the air like a whip cracking, her words carrying an authority that resonated with power and determination.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, street-rat!" she scowled back, her tone laced with both indignation and warning. An ethereal light, emanating from her cloak, bathed the alley in a soft, otherworldly glow, casting long, dancing shadows upon the cracked pavement.
"Smawty mommah beautiful! no gwiv biwth to ugwy babbeh!" the street-rat scowled again with its distinctive speech impediment. The creature turned to face Cornelia, its initial anger giving way to shock as its beady eyes widened in disbelief. The glow from Cornelia's cloak seemed to hold the street-rat captive, its mesmerizing radiance momentarily erasing the malice etched across its grotesque features.
“Hooman?” asked the street-rat, its voice trembling with a hint of hope amidst the chaos of its existence.
"Yes, a human," Cornelia affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with empathy.
The alley seemed to shrink around them, the dilapidated brick walls closing in as the tension mounted.
The street-rat's eyes widened with desperation, and in a flurry of movement, it scurried towards Cornelia, collapsing before her in a pitiful display of submission. Dust billowed around them, filling the air with a gritty haze, while the distant echo of passing footsteps underscored the urgency of their encounter.
“Nice wady, pweese take fwuffy wivh yu!” The street-rat's cries echoed through the desolate alley, its once-malicious tone transformed into a pitiful plea. Its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
“Fwuffy nu wan’ stay wivh ugwy babbehs!!!” the street-rat begged, its snout nuzzled against Cornelia's leg, a feeble attempt at seeking solace and salvation.
Cornelia, her heart heavy with the weight of the street-rat's anguish, carefully stepped over the pathetic creature, making her way toward the vulnerable baby lying at the end of the alley. Drawing closer, a chilling tableau of horror assaulted her senses. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, intermingling with the sickly stench of decay. Before her eyes lay a grim testament to the darkest depths of despair. Foals with muted and stained bloodstained fur, their dull hues tainted with their own intestines, bore the scars of a brutal struggle. Bite marks marred their tender flesh, evidence of cannibalistic desperation, while trampled bodies bore witness to the unforgiving nature of this forsaken place.
As Cornelia knelt down to retrieve the fluffy, the air hung heavy with anticipation. The scent of damp concrete and decaying refuse mingled with the disgusting tang of blood, creating an atmosphere of unease. The dim light of the alleyway cast long, haunting shadows that danced along the walls.
But as Cornelia's hand closed around the trembling infant fluffy, a sudden, searing pain shot through her senses. A sharp SNAP echoed through the air, accompanied by the sickening sound of teeth sinking into flesh. Cornelia's cry of agony reverberated off the surrounding buildings, its raw intensity tinged with shock and disbelief.
The pink-furred mother street rat's jaws remained stubbornly clenched, its grip unyielding. Cornelia's vision blurred with tears, her vision shortly distorted by the excruciating pain. With a swift, instinctive motion, fueled by a mix of agony and surprise, Cornelia swung her injured hand in a wild arc, flinging the fluffy across the alley.
“What the?” Cornelia cried out. She has never encountered a fluffy that bites. Let alone, one that bites this hard. She swings her hand and threw the fluffy across the alley.
“MEANIE WADY! WHY TAKE UGWY BABBEH?” the street-rat's shrill voice pierced the air, its cries echoing like the wails of a frustrated toddler. The sound reverberated through the narrow passage, carrying a mix of confusion, anger, and sorrow. It blended with the backdrop of distant traffic, creating a dissonant symphony of chaos and distress.
“TAKE MUMMAH! KIWW UGWY BABBEH!” The street-rat frantically stomped the ground in uncontrolled rage. “nu wan’ meanie wady to take vewy ugwy babbeh!!!” the street-rat charged towards the witch.
As Cornelia clasped the fragile baby in her trembling hand, determination coursed through her veins, lending a renewed strength to her stance. The musty odor of the alleyway saturated the air with a pungent reminder of the harsh realities of this grim world.
But before she could fully process the unfolding situation, a searing pain shot through her leg like a lightning bolt. The sensation was akin to the piercing bite of a thousand needles, laced with the unmistakable pressure of a sharp object. Cornelia's scream reverberated through the alley, carrying her anguish and shock to the distant corners of the forgotten cityscape.
The street-rat's unicorn horn, a menacing weapon honed by the merciless streets, impaled Cornelia's left leg. The relentless strength behind the attack sent a blur of conflicting sensations—a symphony of pain, desperation, and disbelief —piercing through her body like shattered glass.
In the midst of her suffering, Cornelia became acutely aware of the grim reality that governed this alleyway. The countless deaths and constant struggle for survival had forged these street-rats into formidable adversaries. Their resilience and innate strength were evident in their very existence. It was a harsh lesson learned in an instant—the living street-rats were much stronger than one could ever anticipate.
As she fought to maintain her footing, Cornelia's vision swayed with a mixture of pain-induced dizziness and the swirling chaos of the alley. The scent of blood intermingled with the dank aroma of decay, enveloping her senses in a suffocating haze. The gritty texture of the alley's uneven pavement seemed to press against her fingertips, grounding her amidst the tumultuous storm of emotions.
Despite the excruciating torment and the formidable foe embedded in her leg, Cornelia clung to her resolve. With unwavering determination, she focused on protecting the fragile life in her arms, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead. The relentless struggle for survival in this unforgiving world had etched itself into her very being, and she was prepared to face its darkest truths head-on.
“Fwuffy stuck!!!” cried the street-rat, her voice trembling with desperation as she attempted to dislodge herself from Cornelia's lower leg. The sharp pain intensified, searing through Cornelia's flesh, eliciting a guttural cry of agony that reverberated through the alley.
In that moment, Cornelia's instincts kicked in, and with a surge of raw magical power, she conjured a blast wave of energy that pulsed through the air. The crackling energy engulfed the street-rat, propelling her forcefully into a nearby brick wall. The impact shattered the ancient masonry, and the street-rat lay there, her body bloodied and broken, her ability to move forever stolen.
“Fwuffy can’t move, hewp!” the street-rat whimpered, her words garbled and distorted by her injuries. The alleyway seemed to echo with her pain and despair.
Cornelia turned to leave the scene, a mix of relief and sorrow weighing upon her heart. But before she could vanish into the shadows, her eyes met the wide-eyed gaze of a villager who had witnessed her extraordinary display of magic. The villager's features contorted with shock, and his trembling voice pierced the air like a thunderclap, “Witch!”
“Witch!” The word reverberated through the alley, igniting a cacophony of shouts and gasps from the onlookers who had rushed to the scene. Their voices swirled with a mix of fear, awe, and accusation, intertwining with the faint scent of damp stone and the distant hum of city life.
Sensing the mounting danger, Cornelia slipped away, melding into the shadows like a ghost. All that remained was the street-rat, now broken and vulnerable, desperately calling out, her voice strained and pleading, “Nu take baby, nu take baby, pwease…”
“Fwuffy not know stweet-wats can make hoomans go ouchies” said Blue, her voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her tiny hooves tapped softly on the wooden floor as he shifted in place, The air hung heavy with the scent of burning candles, casting a warm glow upon the room and bathing the scene in a gentle, flickering light..
“The alleyways are so full of death and destruction, only the strongest and most psychotic survive. I feel bad for them” replied Cornelia.
“Is like ogre life too, ogre warriors no longer live in peaceful lands, ogre fight to survive to ‘nother day” said Ygor, his voice, deep and resonant, bore the weight of sorrow.
The crackling fire in the hearth popped and hissed, casting shadows upon the walls, their movements mirroring the flickering emotions of the conversation.
“Well, we don’t have to face that depression anymore… Anyways, let’s eat!” Cornelia offered reassurance, her voice filled with conviction and a sense of determination.
The room seemed to come alive with the aroma of freshly prepared food; as if the very essence of the cast spell carried a tantalizing scent that made the Wendy and Blue’s mouths water. The tables gracefully glided towards them, their wooden legs creaking softly, while the dishes floated gently through the air, releasing a symphony of inviting aromas.
“I cooked meals using a spell the moment you and your fluffy arrived,” said Cornelia, her voice carrying a hint of pride. The room was filled with the tantalizing aromas of the freshly cooked meal. The scents of herbs, spices, and cooked ingredients mingled together in a mouth-watering symphony, infusing the air with the essence of culinary delight.
Ygor's gaze shifted to Cornelia, a newfound admiration gleaming in his eyes. Candlelight filled the room with a warm glow, casting a soft illumination on the scene, while the crackling fire in the hearth provided a comforting backdrop of pops and crackles paired with dancing shadows.
Cornelia's ability to cast multiple spells simultaneously was a testament to her skill and proficiency. Ygor could not help but be impressed by her effortless command over magic. There was a grace and elegance in her gestures, as if the very air around her responded to her every command. Despite the intricacy and complexity of the spells she had cast, there was no trace of fatigue or weariness on Cornelia's face. Her energy remained vibrant and radiant, her eyes sparkling with a sense of fulfilment and contentment. It was as if the act of magic itself invigorated her, filling her with a renewed sense of purpose.
Ygor's massive hand gripped the turkey leg, the savory aroma of roasted meat wafting up to his nose, mingling with the tantalizing scent of herbs and spices.
Amidst the anticipation, Cornelia, Wendy, and Blue bowed their heads in prayer, their hushed voices forming a gentle harmony that resonated through the room. The flickering candlelight cast an ethereal ambiance. The fragrant scent of burning candles intertwined with the aroma of the freshly cooked meal, infusing the air with a sense of reverence and gratitude.
Ygor paused, a deep respect shining in his eyes, as he respectfully placed the turkey leg back onto the plate. The flickering flames illuminated the scene, their golden glow casting a warm and comforting light. The air seemed to hum with a sacred energy, as if the very essence of their gratitude and prayers permeated every corner of the room.
“We pray before meals, we can now eat!” said Cornelia told Ygor when she finished praying.
“For ogres, pray and eating is same thing” replied Ygor.
“I remember,” Cornelia replied.
A touch of nostalgia as memories flooded Cornelia’s mind. She recalled the time spent among the ogres, their solemn devotion to the act of eating. Contrary to human myths, they were meticulous and mindful, making no mess as they communed with their god, Grunferth.
Cornelia delicately lifted a morsel from her plate, savoring the anticipation of the first bite. As she brought the food to her lips, a symphony of sensory delights unfolded within her. The succulent meat yielded to her teeth, releasing a burst of flavors that danced upon her palate. The crisp sound of Ygor's powerful jaws joining the feast resonated alongside the collective enjoyment, harmonizing with the heightened aroma of the meal that enveloped the space in a tantalizing embrace.
As Ygor took the final bite of his turkey leg, his ears pricked up, attuned to the faint but distinct sounds that drifted through the air. The cacophony of rolling wood, stone, and metal reached his senses, causing him to instinctively turn his gaze towards the window, his curiosity piqued.
"What did you hear?" Wendy inquired, her innocent eyes reflecting a touch of confusion.
But before Ygor could respond… KABOOM!!!

Hey all
I’m gonna be staying near karon beach and I’ve been looking at weed shops around Karon Beach. Found a few that look awesome (judging by Google reviews and photos of the store) but curious to hear recommendations from locals or from people who have been there
Looking for some in Karon beach and happy to travel further away for a really good shop. After decent pricing and good strains and if they’ve got a cool area to chill and smoke that’s a nice bonus. Especially curious about any shops that sell vape cartridges (though not sure if they’re used over there).
Also are cigars easy to find over there (like a regular tobacco cigar)?
Edit: please no offers to hook me up in the DMs. I’m going to a country where it’s legal-ish. It’s always been my dream to walk into a shop and pick out different strains to try. That’s the experience I’m after. Messaging a stranger on the internet to arrange a meeting in alleyway is an experience I am already very familiar with. Also not looking to do anything illegal on my vacation. Just enjoy some good weed and good food on a beautiful island. Worrying about getting arrested is not part of my vacation plans

Read Chapters 26, 27, and 28 Here: https://www.reddit.com/saw/comments/13v6mcx/legacy_from_the_book_of_saw_chapter_26_27_28/
________________________________________________
*** CHAPTER 29 **\*
Inside the exhibit, the faint whir of a helicopter flying overhead, penetrated the survivors’ ears, injecting their weary hearts with a frail glimmer of hope. Undeterred by adversity, Renee and Sarah persevered in their quest to uncover the key to the elusive lock box. With resolute determination, Sarah tore through the sandbags, while Renee upended the buckets of paint and dirt, hoping to unearth their salvation.
Confident of their impending rescue, Gavin remained reclined against the glass, observing his companions. His attention fixated on the box, turning it around to admire its design. Yet, the pain in his abdomen had intensified, transforming even the gentle touch of his shirt into searing knives. Placing the box on his lap, he unfastened a button, peering inside to discover a sizable hematoma, its purple hue speckled with dull pinks.
“I found something!” Renee said excitedly.
On the back wall was a ventilation shaft. Renee stood by while Sarah rubbed her fingers against the screws that sealed the screen to the duct, then retrieved another brick from the tower. She forcibly slammed the stone into the bolt repeatedly, but it wasn’t budging.
A piercing shriek echoed off the walls, drawing their attention to Gavin, who trembled as he peeled off his shirt. His face etched with fear and frailty. In a testament to his weakened state, his breath came in rapid pants.
Sarah rushed forward, “You have internal bleeding,” she proclaimed, “You need medical attention.”
Gavin blinked wildly, struggling to see, “Son of a bitch,” he said, wincing.
“How do you know that?” Renee asked.
Sarah grabs a sandbag and brings it closer to Gavin. “You need to apply pressure and stay elevated.”
“Goddamnit… Goddamnit. He knocked me down.” Gavin said.
Renee could see the fear on Gavin’s face, and despite his aggression towards her, she felt sympathy for him, “Sarah, are you sure about this?”
“I think so,” she replied, “I was going to be a nurse.”
As Sarah lowers the sandbag onto Gavin’s abdomen, he endures a sudden jolt of pain, “Jesus….” he whimpers.
Renee looks up at her, “A nurse?”
Observing the patient, Sarah explained, “I didn’t finish.”
Gavin’s voice trembles, “What happened?”
The memories of her children flock to Sarah’s mind, and she contorts her face in self-reproach. “I had kids,” she said, “I lost focus.”
“I always wanted to be a Mother,” Renee said thoughtlessly.
Trying to ignore the pain, Gavin asked, “What happened with your kids?”
Sarah leans onto a barrel and appears sunken, slow to respond, “It started as a game,” she said, remembering the day she was tested.
On an ordinary summer afternoon, Sarah strolled through the Oaks Mall in the company of her two children, Charlie and Charlotte. At the time, the youngsters were merely eleven and thirteen, with Charlotte assuming the role of elder sibling, ceaselessly provoking her younger brother.
While Sarah admired a jewelry display, Charlotte began arguing with Charlie.
“I said you could have a sip!” She glowered.
“I did!”
“You drank the whole thing!” Charlotte declared, tossing the empty drink at her brother, hitting him in the chest.
As the bottle tumbled to the ground, its lid catapulted off, scattering remnants of ice across the sleek marble tile. A gathering of shoppers paused to eavesdrop on the squabbling children, silently questioning when parental intervention would ensue. However, Sarah remained engrossed in her negotiation with the salesman, completely oblivious to the unfolding chaos.
The incessant bickering continued until a push gave way, toppling a display and capturing Sarah’s attention. A wave of embarrassment surged through her as she acutely sensed the disapproving gazes fixed upon her. Reacting swiftly, she tightly grasped their wrists and whisked them away from the store.
Their valiant attempts to vindicate themselves were futile; Sarah was livid. While in earshot of the customers, she scolded her children, relinquishing her promise to buy them gifts, and insisting she wouldn’t tolerate any more arguing.
Folding her arms, Charlotte pouted, displeased with her Mother’s verdict.
As they approached the exit of the mall, the anxiety of the situation had created an urgency in Charlie to use the restroom.
“I need to go,” he cooed.
Moving up the escalators, they stopped outside the laboratories, next to a concession stand, and Charlie hurried inside. With the jewelry store out of sight, they could finally drop the act. Charlotte reached into her pocket and produced the diamond bracelet that her Mother wanted.
“How was that?” Charlotte inquired about her performance.
Sarah fitted the stolen bracelet onto her wrist and smiled, “You’re a natural.”
Her daughter beamed at the compliment, “Let’s do it again. That was fun!”
“Soon, baby, soon. “ Sarah reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of cash, extracting a crisp twenty-dollar bill, “How ‘bout a lemonade, then?”
Charlotte grinned widely and stood in line with her mother. She reviewed the menu and decided a deluxe strawberry lemonade would be adequate for a thespian of her stature. More patrons would appear behind them, blocking their view of the restroom.
Before returning to the group, Charlie’s eyes locked on the enchanting display of an opulent toy store. He glided towards the shop, his heart aflutter with a potent blend of anticipation and awe. With a reverent gaze, he took in the kaleidoscope of toys that sprawled before him, each beckoning with its own unique allure.
Moments later, Charlotte joined her brother, her eyes reflecting his infectious enthusiasm. Their faces adorned with radiant smiles, the siblings gazed excitedly at the toys and gadgets, longing to claim them as their own.
“So, you taught your kids to help you steal?” Gavin asked, bemused with the story thus far.
Renee waited for Sarah’s response, but it never came.
“You’ve got money. Why would you do that?” He asked.
Sarah sat on the floor and looked off into the distance, “You had a mistress, didn’t you?”
“What?” Gavin was taken aback.
“It was exciting, right? She made you feel special... Important.”
Gavin remained quiet. It was hard to argue with the claim.
“We didn’t grow up with much,” she began, her voice trailing off as memories of her childhood flooded her mind. Sarah grappled with the words, struggling to articulate the complexities of her past. “My mother… she….” Her voice faltered, “Mom battled with anxiety and paranoia. She… She was confused. Maybe it was bipolar or schizophrenia. I don’t know. We couldn’t afford an evaluation. And my dad… He wasn’t there. He couldn’t handle the mood swings, y’know?”
“So what? Every family has issues….” Gavin said.
“Sometimes, it was the only way for us to put food on the table,” she explained, “but it became a compulsion for her.”
“It rubbed off on you?” Renee asked in a sympathetic tone.
“Maybe,” she replied, her eyes falling to the floor, “Maybe it was always there.”
“Where’s she now?” Renee asked.
Saddened by the thought, Sarah revealed, “She’s gone…. She passed, I mean. Almost twenty years now. Small service. She didn’t have a lot of friends.”
To the point, Gavin asked, “So, when did you get tested?”
“That night…,” She said, “We got home pretty late and the lights weren’t working. I thought nothing of it. A blown fuse or something, right?” A look of sorrow befell her, “My husband normally fixed those things.”
Renee met the gaze of Sarah and flashed her a sweet smile.
“Anyways, the kids dashed to their rooms while I looked for the electrical box.”
Concealed within the shrouds of darkness, Amanda Young lingered, her anticipation building as she waited for the imminent arrival of the unsuspecting family. In the dimly lit living room, Sarah’s searching hand came across a solitary candle. As she struck a match, its feeble glow revealed the haunting silhouette of a grotesquely contorted head, sending a chilling tremor down her spine. On the precipice of releasing a scream, Sarah’s world was abruptly invaded by the stealthy approach of Mark Hoffman. From the shadows, he ensnared her in a vice-like grip, swiftly pressing a rag infused with chloroform against her face, plunging her consciousness into an unsettling abyss.
“The next thing I knew, I woke up in a room like this,” she said, “but there was a window that separated me from my kids, and my wrist was pulled through a hole in the glass.”
Surprised, Renee asked, “Your kids were in the trap with you?”
Gavin spoke softly, “Wouldn’t be the first time….” he said, remembering the threat of death towards Dr. Gordon’s family.
Sarah let out a deep sigh and nodded, “When I woke up, I could see them lying across from me.”
Immersed in the flickering glow of white noise from a television screen, Charlotte and Charlie lay upon the grimy floor of a forsaken laboratory. The dilapidated chamber exudes a musty odor, its atmosphere saturated with neglect. The bluish-green walls, tinged with decay, reveal patches of a worn brown foundation, marking the passage of time.
Sarah's eyes widened with fear as the cacophony of static intensified, her heart pounding in her chest. She fought desperately, her wrist contorting and straining, in an attempt to free herself from the confining hole. And then, as if emerging from a nightmare, an unsettling puppet materialized through the static of the television.
“Hello Sarah, I want to play a game,” John’s chilling voice emitted from the doll and seized her attention, “Despite your advantages, you’ve chosen to lie, cheat, and steal. Well, Today, you will have a chance to give."
Startled by the haunting voice, Charlie emerged from his slumber. As he rubbed his eyes, he caught sight of his mother through the glass and hurriedly made his way towards her. A flood of relief washed over Sarah as she beheld her son unharmed. Sarah enveloped him in a tight embrace, pressing his little body against the cool surface, yearning to feel the warmth of his skin once more.
“Sarah, you’ve long considered your children to be an extension of yourself, using them like a tool for your criminal acts. Today, they will be the key, the key to saving your life.”
Charlotte is awoken to the sound of her brother pounding on the glass walls. Frightened, she rushes towards the window.
“If you are comfortable using their hands, perhaps, you don’t need your own?” Jigsaw suggests.
“Oh my God,” Sarah says.
“If you want freedom, I require a sacrifice. A sacrifice of flesh.”
Charlotte turns around slowly and watches the TV.
“There’s a tool in the room with you, and you will need it to be set free. But hurry up. In 10 minutes, the door will lock, and this room will become your tomb. Live or die, Sarah. Make your choice.”
A timer beneath the TV switches on, piercing the darkness with its red digits.
Charlie wipes tears from his face, his words nearly incomprehensible, “Mom, I want to go home.”
“Me too, baby. We’re gonna be okay, I promise you. It’s just a game.”
“I don’t want to play anymore!” Charlie declared.
Sarah’s throat swelled, and she was stricken with guilt, “Just once more, honey, okay?”
Charlotte quickly evaluated the room, searching for the tool.
“No more!” Charlie yelled.
Embracing her son, Sarah ran her hand against his head, soothing him, “Okay, sweetheart. It’s Okay.”
Charlotte remained determined as she searched the room, playing the role of Detective. Her love of movies crept in, and she was strangely fearless. She knew the good guys always prevailed based on the films she had seen. She knocked on the walls listening for a hollow point, and proceeded into the darkness. It was there that she felt something on her foot. Kneeling, she reached for a medium-sized box wrapped like a Christmas present. Tearing open the covering, she lifted the lid and found a rusty hacksaw.
Clutching the tool firmly in her hand, she made her way back to her mother, a sense of pride surging through her. Oblivious to the gravity of the situation, she remained unaware of the implications of her discovery. As Sarah’s gaze locked onto the object, an overwhelming sense of dread and regret consumed her.
“Good job, Char!” She said, concealing her inner turmoil, “Now, look at me, okay?”
The children stared desperately into her watering eyes.
“I need you to do one more thing, okay? Both of you.”
Without uttering the words, Charlotte realized what was coming. “No, Mom, I can’t.”
“You have to, sweetheart. It’s a game, remember?” Sarah said, looking back at her son.
She continued, “You just play the role.”
Glancing at the timer, Sarah’s eyes met the display reading seven minutes. With a determined resolve, she quickly discarded her blouse, revealing a white tank top beneath. Wrapping the fabric tightly around her arm, she sought to staunch the impending flow of blood. “We can’t wait, honey. You can do this.”
Charlie began to tremble when his sister laid the saw against their Mother’s wrist.
“It’s okay….” She said, consoling Charlotte, but the young girl was terrified.
“You can do this, Charlotte. You can. I need you to do this.”
“Mom?” Charlie muttered.
Sarah pressed her hand against the glass, wanting to touch his face. “Just cover your ears, baby. And look away. I’ll be there before you know it.”
Charlie turned around, and Charlotte locked eyes with her Mother. “Hurry…”
Charlotte braced herself, inhaling a deep breath to steady her trembling hand. With trepidation, she commenced the arduous task of sawing through her mother’s arm, observing in horror as the serrated edges tore through the delicate flesh. Sarah turned her gaze away, concealing the excruciating pain etched across her face, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth. Each sway of the blade elicited a sickening peeling sound as her skin yielded, unleashing a torrent of crimson that spilled forth unrelentingly.
The ghastly scene proved nearly unbearable, pushing Charlotte to the brink of halting her agonizing task. Overwhelmed, she shut her eyes tightly, unwilling to witness the gruesome dismemberment unfolding before her. Tears welled up, streaming down her reddened cheeks, mirroring the profound anguish that weighed upon her.
When the blade reached bone, the endeavor became increasingly harder. “I can’t do it!” Charlotte’s voice echoed with desperation.
Sarah pivoted to face the gory wound, a surge of dizziness threatening to overpower her. Mustering every ounce of strength, she fought against the encroaching syncope, her voice wavering yet resolute as she sought to reassure her daughter, “You’re almost done, honey… Almost done.”
“It’s too hard! I’m not strong enough.”
Sarah tried pulling her arm through the hole, but it was no use; the opening was sealed tightly.
“I need help!” Charlotte said.
The pleading words of his sister prompted Charlie to remove his hands from his ears.
“Charlie, I need you. Your sister needs help.”
The young boy moved closer to the carnage but refused to look at the wound. He stepped into a large puddle of blood and gripped the opposite end of the hacksaw.
“Back and forth,” Sarah instructed them.
The two children synchronized their efforts, and with their combined strength, they propelled the blade to glide across the appendage in a hauntingly rhythmic motion. The eerie and nauseating sound of metal grinding through bone reverberated in the air as they skillfully maneuvered from side to side. As the bone finally yielded and severed, Sarah unleashed a primal scream. The agony displayed on her face became undeniable, impossible to conceal, yet the objective stood tantalizingly close to completion. A few more determined slices, and the blade mercilessly tore through the remaining layers of skin, marking the near-accomplishment of their grim task.
They dropped the blade and watched Sarah twist and pull on her wrist, trying to bring it through the hole. While the timer continued to count down, Charlotte acted swiftly, aiding her mother by forcefully pushing the tender stump through the hole. Within moments, Sarah was free from the trap.
Dazed by the significant blood loss, Sarah struggled to her feet, but with only seconds remaining, she forced herself up and staggered towards the exit.
“Jesus,” Gavin said in shock.
Sarah’s eyes remained on the museum floor, finding it difficult to stare Renee or Gavin in the face, “My husband left me after that. He said it would be easier for the kids. That I was a trigger for them. A reminder.”
“Your kids… How are they now?” Gavin asked.
“It took some time, but they managed. Therapy, y’know? Counseling. Medication. Truth is, they deserve better than me. After it happened, after I lost everything, I was… suicidal. I was lucky to meet Addy and Dr. Steward.”
“Right? A lot of good that did us.” Gavin said.
Renee looks back at the ventilation duct, “It’s not over yet. We have to keep trying.”
“What did you find over there?” Gavin asked.
Sarah’s pessimism comes through, “It’s probably a trap.”
Gavin conjures a weak smile, “At last, we agree on something,” he said.
Sarah smiles back, “Better late than never.”
“Y’all of little faith,” Renee quipped.
“So, what does he want? I learned my lesson.” Gavin declared, turning to address Renee, “And you’re basically in love with Jigsaw, so why are you here? None of this makes any sense.”
As Gavin spoke, Sarah’s mind lingered on the murderous assignment bestowed upon her. Wracked with grief, she wondered if the prize was real and if she even deserved it.
“Nurse Harper?” Renee said, offering her hand.
Renee lifted Sarah from the floor and they proceeded to the ventilation shaft. With their backs turned, Gavin deftly reached into his pocket with measured caution, and removed his own white card that read:
“Your aim in this game is to kill Sarah."
Once more, he delved into his pocket, retrieving a gleaming silver key. Vigilant of the surrounding figures, he covertly unlocked the box, revealing its mysterious contents. A sturdy piano wire, tautly connected to two finely crafted wooden handles, lay before him.
***
TO BE CONTINUED....

When I was nine, I found the woods.
Now, I know that doesn’t seem too impressive at first.
The thing is, I think I was the only one who could see them.
I toddled over after church on Sunday, still wearing the pink bows in my hair and carefully skipping over any patch of earth that wasn’t covered in grass so I wouldn’t stain my Sunday shoes.
There was a large field near where I lived that my mother deemed safe enough for me to play in with all the other neighborhood kids. It wasn’t a playground by any means, just a vast stretch of land that never sprouted anything worth picking. I was alone that Sunday, walking around the dead field until I could barely make out the wavering smudge of my house in the afternoon heat.
I regret it now, but at the time, I decided to slip under the barbed wire fence and run off, hoping to find something pretty. I wanted a sunflower for my hair.
That’s when I found the woods. I didn’t even realize there was anything out there; I lived in the last house on the block, and from there it just stemmed out into that empty field. No one ever mentioned the woods, not even the adults as a warning not to go in.
Obviously, I went in.
The trees were black and gnarly, with thick knobs and protruding roots so overgrown, they reminded me of bony fingers with too many knuckles. Crisp leaves in all shades of brown littered the floor, and I loved the satisfying crackle underneath my Sunday shoes as I explored.
Looking back, I don’t know what it was about the woods, but I was captivated. I was running through the trees, making tremendous leaps over streams, and just playing like the child I was. It felt like I was in another world when I looked up at the canopy of leaves and branches, sunlight glittering through the green.
It felt like minutes, no more than an hour at most, before I noticed the sky was ripe and orange. The sun was setting already.
I sucked on my teeth before sighing. Sundown meant going home. I made my way toward the direction I came in when a wispy breeze fluttered over my body, lifting the lace ends of my dress and sending my hair flying off my shoulders.
I shuddered, but kept walking.
I made it home just as my mother stepped out on to the porch to yell for me.
“Oh, there you are, Faith. Come insi—where is your bow? Little girl, I told you to change before you went playing in the field in your Sunday clothes!”
I reached into my hair and realized she was right, I was missing one of the ribbons meant to be tied around my plaits.
“I wasn’t in the field, I—“
“Hush now, I don’t care for excuses. Go on inside and I’ll run your bath.” She tsked, shoving me inside with a rough hand on my back.
The next morning, I spoke to Jeremy at the bus stop. He was my neighbor.
“Jeremy, why haven’t you ever shown me the woods?” I asked.
“What woods?”
“The woods past the field. Don’t play stupid.”
“I ain’t playing stupid. I never seen no woods, and I lived here twice as long as you. You’re stupid.”
“I am not, Jeremy! The woods are over there,” I pointed past the field. “And I’ll prove it to you after school.”
“Fine, bighead, let’s see.”
The entire day I was antsy. Finally, we sat together on the bus ride home and I knew I would be proven right.
We dumped our backpacks and lunchboxes on my porch and marched through the field. When we got to the fence, he hesitated.
“My momma says not to go past the fence because then she can’t see me.”
“Oh, you chicken, then?”
“Shut up,” he said. He looked back towards the neighborhood before rolling under the fence. I followed, ducking beneath the wire.
I led the way, the same way as I had taken yesterday.
Only this time, I couldn’t find the woods. We must have walked for ten minutes before Jeremy spoke.
“I don’t know why I believed you. You’re just a liar. I knew there wasn’t no woods.”
“There is too! You don’t know nothing.”
“Wasting my time for this… Loony, you are. I’m going home before my momma starts whining.” He turned around and I watched him until he went under the barbed wire fence again.
Where were the woods? It didn’t make sense.
I felt a cold wind wash over me, prickling at my skin. I rubbed at my arms and looked up.
My bow!
It had become undone and was just a pink ribbon gliding through the air. I chased after it, but random bursts of wind kept it out of my reach. I spun in circles and scuffed my shoes and knees as I hurried, my eyes ignoring the ground.
It finally smacked against a tree, and I realized I was at the woods once again. I grabbed my ribbon and shoved it in my skirt pocket, distrustful eyes scanning my surroundings. I could still see the edge of the field, so I hadn’t gone far, but it didn’t make sense. Why weren’t the woods this easy to find with Jeremy?
I raced inside anyway, gleefully crushing hard leaves under my feet. This time, I started kicking together piles of them in a path, jumping from stack to stack and relishing in the experience.
As I peered past the black trunks of the trees, I realized it was sunset. But that couldn’t be true, school had just ended half an hour ago. I hadn’t even had supper yet.
I backed out of the woods and when I blinked, the sun was back up, shining down brightly on me. I went back inside, examining the stark difference in the sky. When I looked to the left, outside the woods and into the open, it was sunshine. When I looked to the right, into the depths of forest, the sun cascaded yellow and orange through the dark, black trunks, just like a sunset.
I went back every day that week, and every day it was the same. It was always sunset in the woods, no matter if I went in the morning or afternoon. It was strange waking up on Saturday mornings and spending hours watching the sun frozen halfway down the horizon.
After about a month of spending nearly every day in the woods, I heard a laugh.
I think it was a laugh.
The sound was a whisper in the air and I could feel it gusting around me.
“Hello?” I called out.
Silence, just for a beat.
A round of giggles came from behind a nearby tree, but I couldn’t identify which one. It sounded like it was surrounding me. It was a guess, but I assumed it was little girl laughter. I had always wanted girl friends, so a spark of excitement shook through me.
“Hey, come on out!”
She didn’t say anything, but I heard footsteps take off and I bolted after them.
There was no path of shoes in the dirt, no overturned leaves being kicked through, nothing but the faint ghost of a breathless laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” I announced with a deep frown, clutching at my aching side.
The laughter stopped immediately.
I sucked in a deep breath.
My shadow was dark, I noticed. Much darker than it had ever been in the woods. The usually orange sky was fading fast, cold navy overtaking warm citrus colors.
“I’m going home,” I said. I don’t know why I did, I just had to let her know. “Play with me tomorrow.”
“Wait,” a girl’s voice.
I spun in a circle, unceremoniously slipping on some of those crisp leaves. I couldn’t see her.
“What?”
“Wanna see something neat?”
“Who are you,” I asked.
“A girl offering you something one last time. Wanna see something neat or not?”
I stood up and patted my skirt, dusting the dirt off.
“Show me.”
A small hand waved from behind a particularly rotten tree. I grinned and chased after the figure, darkness enveloping any discernible features; she was only a shape running ahead of me. Her voice was youthful and she was no taller than me, and I was not a large child.
We giggled in those little girl laughs as we went further and further in the deep thicket. The sunlight was nearly gone, I could barely make out my own feet as I chased after the girl.
“Where we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I groaned.
“Hush, we’re nearly there.”
I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.
“What’s your name?”
“Nearly there now, Faith.”
I slowly stopped myself, fear ebbing its way into my chest for the first time.
As if she felt my pause, she stood as still as the trees, unwavering in the growing winds. Her dress didn’t even flutter with the breeze like my skirt did.
“Why did you stop,” she asked in a strained voice. “Don’tcha wanna see? See the surprise?”
I took a step back, nearly fumbling over a thick root.
“My mother must want me home by now.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“Oh,” she sighed, her head dipping forward, long hair covering her face. “I know a lot more than you, Faith.”
She started laughing as she turned to face me, the soft sound morphing into an unrecognizable cackle.
It was so dark now, I couldn’t see much else but her. Her skin almost glittered, but there wasn’t any moonlight.
“How do you know my name?”
“You told me. You don’t remember?”
I shook my head, and though she wasn’t looking at me, somehow she saw it.
“Faith Brown. You have a bad memory. I told you I know more than you.”
The whistle of sharp gusts of air pierced my ears, her voice barely floating through the sound. My hands were sticky, cold and sticky.
“What’s your name? You know mine.” I asked again.
“You should go on home. Your mommy is really scared right now.” She said it so matter-of-factly, faint but sure.
I hated her voice, I wanted to hit her. I wanted to reach my fists into her long, ugly hair and pull it out of her face so I could spit in it. Never in my life had I ever felt so much vile, abysmal hatred for someone. It frightened me. Most of my thoughts were on my mother, though, so I didn’t pause to reflect on these realizations for too long.
I took off running in the opposite direction, praying I was heading the right way. I was sprinting like the fastest horse on the track, but somehow her laughter was right on my shoulder, cawing loudly inside my brain.
“Bye bye, Faith! Let’s play tomorrow.”
Again, I felt that prickling feeling of disdain. I nearly turned around and chased after her again, just to pummel her.
Instead, I focused on how the clearing was approaching. I ducked my head and let out a shaky breath of relief when I found myself out in the open.
Slowly, tentatively, I peered back at the woods, fully expecting to see her standing there.
It was so dark, I couldn’t see past the first couple of trees. They guarded the entrance, standing like ghouls with long, grotesque branches like bony fingers outstretched to me.
The walk back to the field was brisk; I was on edge, a growing knot weighing in my stomach that I wouldn’t make it home.
I had never been out so late. There wasn’t a cloud above to block moonlight, but even then, the moon was absent. I had no guide home, so I continued to trek in blackness, hoping I would see the streetlights soon.
I wondered if I would see her again—
A crushing grip yanked my shoulder, spinning me around and sending dirt flying as my shoes scraped the ground.
Large, strong hands shook me, and a white light blinded me. I was gone, I was dying in that moment, my soul fled my body.
“Calm down! I need you to stop screaming, honey. Stop, tell me your name.”
I heard a click and the light was much dimmer. I hadn’t realized I screamed at all.
My eyes adjusted, and I noticed the golden glitter of a badge.
“Faith Brown.”
He sighed, genuine relief in the motion.
“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”
The night passed in a blur. I was holding his hand as we walked through the field. He said several things into the machine on his chest. My street was flashing with red and blue. My mom was smoking a cigarette on the porch. She shouted at me, but I didn’t hear a word until her icy fingers were digging into my arms, clutching me tight against her.
I slept in her bed that night, I think. I didn’t go to school that next Monday. I don’t think I went at all that week.
The next time I felt conscious, grounded back in reality, was when I accidentally pushed the glass of lemonade off the table. Shards went skittering across the kitchen floor, bouncing until they hit the walls.
“Faith!”
“Sorry, mother!” I bent down to start picking up the pieces when my mother grabbed my wrist.
“You dense little girl, don’t touch glass!” She hissed at me before her eyes softened. “Baby girl, it’s dangerous. I’ll clean it up, you — carefully — throw the bag outside. Can you do that?”
I nodded absently.
When my mother wrapped the glass in a towel and secured it in a waste bag, she sent me to the trash cans outside. They were in the backyard.
I hopped down the steps, the feeling of being out of the house already foreign. A breeze nearly made me jump.
Despite the wind being negligible, one of the bins tipped over.
A single brown leaf fell out, gliding through the air and landing right before my feet.
I don’t know how I knew, but it was obvious to me that this lead was from the woods. It fluttered at the ground a bit, the crisp corners pointing past the field, wanting me to follow. It was enticing me, urging me to just obey. I felt a strange pull in my chest, a physical tug that made my shoes scrape against the dirt and inch towards those cursed woods.
I stomped on the leaf, my teeth grinding together as I used my heel to shred it to pieces.
For a while, things seemed to be getting better. The wind didn’t call to me and I stopped having nightmares featuring a black and white figure. The girl. Jeremy even told the older boys to stop teasing me about it all.
I thought it was over.
A month had passed, maybe two. Church had finished and all us neighborhood kids were playing tag in the field. Maybe it was all the others there that made me feel safe enough to go with them.
An older girl from the middle school was it, and I scurried away from her, but I tripped on a long, pointed stick. I skidded to the dirt without an ounce of grace, dust and pebbles digging into my clothes and skin. I picked up the wooden branch and waved it around.
It was like a magnet, zeroing in on one specific direction: directly to the woods. Again, I felt that tug in my bones, my mind blank as I was almost roped in. It felt like my feet weren’t even leaving the ground, just that some unexplainable force was luring me in.
None of the other kids saw me. Or they did and didn’t care. I would rather believe the former.
I blinked.
I was back. I was in there, alone, and the sun was setting fast behind me. Dread coursed through me and I spun around, my grip taut on the stick in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, my heartbeat rising rapidly.
It was getting so dark so fast. It felt as if the blacker it got, the harder it was to breathe. Everything was so, so loud; my ears pounded, my shaky exhales were crashing waves, the rustling trees were windstorms.
The song was excruciating.
I strained my body to focus. The song—this ominous chanting that suddenly began, a crooning chorus of voices was somehow the faintest trace of sound and the most excruciatingly powerful racket possible.
I couldn’t describe it accurately if I tried. The most I could say was that it reminded me of the choir at church, but the emotions it evoked were polar opposites. There was no unified comfort, but an unrelenting hymn, slow and mournful.
With nimble steps, I inched away from the anthem, fearful of the voices stopping at hearing my footsteps.
Bright red lights exploded like fireworks.
I saw them all.
Vaguely, but undeniable. A hoard of people, all just as ghastly white as the first girl, their sinful song louder and closer. Their faces were hidden being long strands of hideous black hair. They all looked the same, a crowd of the same kin.
She stood at the front, closer than all the rest.
The burning in my throat was agonizing, bile threatening to spill out as she lifted her head. Her face, the blankest white I had ever seen, was empty save for two black holes where her eyes should have been, and a carnivorous mouth lined with rows and rows of almost-humanlike teeth.
Her face was flat, no curves or features anywhere but those haunting eyes. They were like craters, dark and empty. Still, I knew they were boring into my soul.
I was petrified. I wanted to run off as fast as I could. I couldn’t do it backwards, but I simply couldn’t look away from the swaying mass of people in front of me. I couldn’t imagine what they would do if I turned around.
I didn’t have time to make a choice on what to do next because she launched into action. She moved like a newborn animal, gangly yet purposeful, and she was heading straight for me.
She couldn’t catch me. That was all I knew.
I bolted, adrenaline carrying me with a strength I’d never have again. I was practically flying through the trees.
They were alive, leaning in and closing the gaps, making it harder for me to dart between them. Their branches scratched and nipped at my face and arms, but I could barely feel it.
“Faith, we need you at the communion!” She screeched behind me, dangerously close.
Her voice was loud, but the song from the crowd was fading. I was getting close to freedom and she knew it.
I heard her pounce and then I was slammed to the ground. Her body was light, but cold enough that where her hands touched me, the skin felt like I was soaking in an ice bath.
I couldn’t breathe, my lungs throbbing inside me. I was beyond afraid, my body acting in autopilot because my mind was mush.
I screamed, a deep, guttural shriek that surprised her. With a swift movement, I stabbed the wooden branch I still held into one of the black craters on her face and she fell back, hissing and howling like a feral creature.
I used the brief moment of distraction to shove the stake in deeper and run. I ran with all my might, the steady pounding in my ears protecting me from whatever curses she screamed after me.
My vision was going dark at the edges, my chest aflame with pricking pain building inside me. I was going down and I knew it, but I could see it then: the edge. With a final burst of speed, I catapulted myself out of the woods and as far as I could get.
I collapsed in the field.
Sometime later, my mother was shaking me to consciousness. I couldn’t move, but I bawled in her arms, scrapes and scratches riddling my body. When they changed me at the hospital, there were deep claw marks on my back.
Within two weeks, we moved. I lost a lot of my childhood. Outside of this period, I can only remember bits and pieces of what should have been joyful times. It took a long time for me to feel safe.
And I did. For a good while, I felt safe. I didn’t think of her or anything that happened for many years, the only reminder my scars on my back and the occasional flash of nightmares.
I was okay.
Until this morning.
My daughter, my darling little girl who gave me hope and a warm feeling of peace just by being near her, was coloring beside me as I finished something on my laptop.
I glanced down to her page and was nine years old again, looking right into the black abyss of two soul-sucking eyes above a sharp, dripping mouth.
“Baby,” I croaked, “baby, who is that?”
“Oh,” my daughter hummed. So blissfully unaware. “She’s a girl I met in the forest yesterday.”
I could feel every painstakingly difficult year of therapy slipping away from me. With a trembling hand, I ripped the page out of her notebook and crumbled it, ignoring her cries of protest.
We live nowhere near a forest. I can hear that song again.

Hello everyone,
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Imagine being trapped in a destructive cycle for eight long years, knowing you need to escape but feeling utterly powerless to do so. That was my reality. I'm a 26-year-old man who, from the tender age of 12, found himself caught in the relentless grip of pornography and masturbation addiction.
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By 18, I was painfully aware of the damage it was causing and desperate to break free. I tried everything – NoFap, meditation, sports, cold showers, even punishing myself, but to no avail. It felt like my addiction was an unshakeable opponent. But then, something changed. I discovered a strategy that changed my life. If you're struggling, I want to share this with you...
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Caught in the grip of this addiction, I would spend an average of seven hours per day, even peaking at thirteen hours sometimes. The toll of this habit was heavy, affecting my personal, professional, and social life severely. Yet everything changed when I discovered Jack Trimpey's Rational Recovery method.
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While his book provided me with crucial insights, it was his comprehensive AVRT Demonstration, where Trimpey guided an alcohol addict towards permanent abstinence, that truly filled the missing pieces in my fight against addiction. The Rational Recovery method fundamentally shifted my perspective towards addiction, helping me to recognize and silence the voice of my brain (the Beast) pushing me to consume. Today, I want to share my experience, hoping it could be an effective solution for many of you. You can access the entire demonstration at the end in the 'Useful Resources' section.
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Understanding Addiction and Navigating this Guide
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Let's talk about what addiction really is. Addiction isn't about the behavior itself, but rather the desire to escape pain and seek a better life. It is marked by ambivalence, a feeling of being torn between two minds. Overcoming addiction involves breaking free from the grip of pleasure and reclaiming control over oneself.
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Before I delve into how I applied the Rational Recovery method and the results I got, I want to pose a simple but powerful question: If I placed a big red button in front of you that, when pressed, would instantly eradicate your addiction, would you press it?
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If your answer is 'yes', then you have all the reasons you need to quit. I've been where you are now, writing pages upon pages of reasons to stop, yet relapsing despite knowing how harmful it was. It's important to recognize when a pattern becomes harmful, it's time to stop.
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As you explore this guide, remember the importance of keeping an open mind. Let's borrow some wisdom from Mark Twain, who once said, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” It's a nod to the importance of being receptive to new ideas and methods. This guide may offer a different approach, but embracing it might bring about the change you're seeking.
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What is AVRT?

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AVRT (Addictive Voice Recognition Technique) is a transformative strategy that I've found invaluable in my journey to overcoming addiction. This technique helps you recognize and differentiate yourself from the 'addictive voice', the part of your primitive brain structure that fuels your addiction.
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Think of AVRT as your personal defense mechanism that works under any circumstance, regardless of your emotional state – be it sadness, anger,boredom, loneliness, or stress. The aim here isn't to suppress these emotions, but rather to stay in control of your actions, no matter what you're feeling.
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The 'addictive voice' – which we'll call the 'beast' – is a sneaky internal saboteur. It's the part of you that wants to continue with the harmful habit, despite you consciously knowing it's not beneficial. AVRT is about learning to separate this beast from your own true will, thus empowering you to reclaim your life.
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The power of AVRT lies in this distinction between you and the beast. Once you master this technique, you'll learn to reject the rationalizations and temptations that originate from the beast. The dissociation from the beast is what makes it possible to make a firm, irrevocable commitment to quit your addiction. By not identifying with the beast, you can prevent yourself from suffering commonly associated with resisting addiction.
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In essence, AVRT isn't about fighting or resisting; it's about recognizing, dissociating, and reclaiming control of your life.
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What is the "beast"?

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The "beast" is a term coined by the Rational Recovery method to denote the part of your brain pushing you towards your addiction. We call it the Beast because, like a wild, uncontrollable animal, it cares about nothing but fulfilling its need. It is a cunning inner voice, whispering that you need to engage in porn and masturbation to feel satisfied, relieved, or happy. This voice, often referred to as the Addictive Voice (AV), can be quite deceptive. It might paint you a picture of an enticing scene, produce alluring sounds, offer a moment of relief, or even present a false promise of control—"Just be more careful next time."
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This beast manipulates you with excuses, deceptive emotions, and outright lies to make you succumb to your addiction. But let's make one thing clear: the beast is not your friend. It's your worst enemy. It's a parasitic entity that has latched onto your life, thriving on your addictive behavior. Like every living thing, it fears its end, and that end comes when you stop feeding the addiction. It has no regard for your well-being, your relationships, your life goals, or your health. Only its survival matters.
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As you read through this guide, it's crucial to remain aware of the Beast's interference. Remember, the Beast manifests as a voice in your head or as an emotion, pushing you towards addictive thoughts and actions. You might experience feelings of resistance, discomfort, anger, fear, anxiety, or even a cringe reaction. These are the Beast's attempts to disrupt your progress.
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While the Beast can attempt to manipulate your thoughts and emotions, it does not and cannot control your actions. It's your survival instincts that the Beast taps into, but your ability to make decisions, to govern your actions, thoughts, and emotions is uniquely yours.
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The Beast may present itself in thoughts like, "This is too difficult to understand," "This won't work for me," or "I'm an exception to this method." Understand that these thoughts are not your own, but the Beast's desperate attempts to maintain control.
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In its relentless quest for satisfaction, the beast views everything, including you, as expendable. It's the embodiment of your addiction, caring for nothing but its next fix. It's deaf to reason, blind to consequences, and immune to remorse.
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If this description resonates with you, don't panic. You're not 'sick.' It's merely an error of association made by your body - an error in the script, so to speak. It mistakenly believes that this addictive behavior is as vital for your survival as breathing or eating.
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Take these moments of resistance as signs that you are on the right track. You're threatening the Beast's existence, and it's trying to fight back. Recognize these voices for what they are, continue moving forward, and know that each step brings you closer to reaffirming your control and freedom from addiction.
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[How to Proceed]
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Recognition Technique

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Let me share an effective exercise, adapted from the Rational Recovery book, that could help you end your porn and masturbation addiction right now.
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Start by observing your thoughts and feelings about watching porn or masturbating, both positive and negative. The thoughts and feelings that encourage continued use represent your Addictive Voice (AV), while those advocating for abstinence represent the real you.
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When you learn to identify and understand your AV, it becomes an easily defeated foe causing you to indulge. All it craves is pleasure. The main tactic of the Beast is to seize control of the pronoun 'I'. It will try to convince you by saying things like "I want to watch porn" or "I need pornography ".
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However, you can effectively counter this strategy. By simply adding a 't' and shifting the 'I' to 'It', you can remind yourself that these thoughts are not truly yours, but are the Beast's manipulations. So the sentences become, "It wants to watch porn" or "It needs pornography ".
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By changing "I" to "It", you dissociate from the discomfort or distress. Yes, it's that simple, placing it squarely on the Beast instead of yourself. It's crucial to recognize that these feelings are the Beast's attempts to coerce you back into addiction.
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Now, tell yourself, "I will never consume porn or masturbate again", and listen for any negative reactions – this is your AV responding. Conversely, if you think, "I will consume porn or masturbate whenever I please," any pleasant feelings that arise are also your AV asserting control.
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This recognition technique dispels short-term desire, making abstinence effortless. Complete separation of 'you' from 'it' results in complete recovery and hope for a better life.
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Picture the AVRT technique as a form of gardening. The Addictive Voice is the weed trying to overtake your garden and sapping nutrients from the other plants. Recognizing the weed for what it is and uprooting it preserves your garden's health. Similarly, identifying and acting against your Addictive Voice safeguards a healthy and fulfilling life free from addiction.
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Shifting Technique

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Shifting is another powerful technique to help you dissociate from the beast of addiction. The idea is to alternate between viewing your addiction from the perspective of the beast and your own.
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When viewing addiction through the Beast's eyes, you visualize what it craves the most about the addictive behavior and imagine the associated pleasure for a few minutes. It will express sentiments like "I want this now!" or "Please give it to me!", and you may start to feel the beast getting excited, happy, or impatient.
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Then, shift to your perspective and reflect on the pain and negative impact the addiction has on you and those around you. Allow yourself feelings of disgust. Let your own feelings now take over, and you will find that your Beast withdraws and you feel either neutral or put off. This back-and-forth process allows you to dissociate from the Beast.
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Think of Shifting as toggling between two TV channels: one projects a seductive yet distorted image of addiction, while the other reveals the harsh reality of its damage.
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Introducing the "Big Plan"

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The idea of the Big Plan in Rational Recovery is to make a personal commitment to lifelong abstinence from addiction. This commitment, for me, took the form of the decisive statement, "I will never consume porn or masturbate again". It involves pinpointing a day and an hour for your turning point. For me, that was a Sunday at 12am. This moment represents a clear and definitive end to your addictive behavior and the start of a new chapter in your life. You can decide to commit either immediately after going through this post or by specifying your day and hour. It's entirely your choice, and we'll discuss this in more depth later.
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Your Power Over the Beast

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The Beast, despite its intimidating name, is in fact harmless. It may try to coerce, manipulate, and instill fear, but it is important to remember that it is powerless without your consent. It cannot force you to return to the addictive behavior; only you can make that decision. In fact, you are the main authority, the one in charge, and it's the Beast that fears you.
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The Beast is aware of your power and control, and it's terrified of it. It knows that you can shatter its illusions in a snap, without any difficulty. You're the one who makes the call, not the Beast, and it fears your unyielding decision to quit the addiction forever.
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Its tactics may often involve fear. It's like the Beast is pointing a gun at you, but the truth is, its gun is empty. It's just a bluff, an illusion. You know it, and the Beast knows it too. It's simply trying to maintain its influence by resorting to fear tactics, but you can see through its lies.
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"Don't trust yourself in tempting situations...you're not strong enough yet." – The Beast's voice:
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The Beast tries to maintain control by suggesting certain places, events, or people will trigger a relapse. You might hear it whisper, "You can't go to that event, you might relapse," or "Avoid that location, it's too risky." This is simply the Beast's tactic to keep a hold on you, aiming to make you believe you're not completely in control.
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By simply recognizing it for what it is - a tactic of the Beast to undermine your confidence - you can dismiss these fear tactics and reaffirm your control.
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What if I Lose Control?

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The Beast within you is a cunning entity, ever ready to exploit your moments of doubt and vulnerability. It whispers falsehoods, instilling fear and shaking your confidence. But don't be swayed, for you have always held the reins. The Beast may inhabit a corner of your mind, but it lacks the power to control your actions.
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Not convinced? Try this: Extend your finger in front of your eyes and move it, then ask the Beast to do the same. The Beast can't because it doesn't hold sway over your physical actions.
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The truth is, you've never truly "failed" in your endeavor against addiction. You've always had the choice, and sometimes you've elected to surrender to the Beast's desires. But that doesn't equate to losing control. It merely shows you gave in, momentarily, to the Beast's whisperings.
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Expectations

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Recovery from addiction isn't about becoming a superhero or uncovering the universe's hidden secrets. It's about realizing that we don't have control over every aspect of life. However, we do have control over our actions, our reactions, and how we choose to face life's unpredictable events.
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Do you choose the path of self-discovery and freedom from addiction? Or do you prefer to remain confined by the restrictions that addiction imposes? Be cautious: the Beast may distort your perspective, asking, "Where are the benefits?" or suggesting, "You haven't gained anything," and even instigating impatience by incessantly asking, "How long until I see the benefits?"
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But don't fall prey to these distortions. Escaping addiction isn't about immediate gain or fixing all your life's problems. Recovery isn't a magic solution; it's a step towards personal empowerment. It's about gaining freedom and unlocking your potential, not just as a person in recovery, but as an individual capable of resilience and authenticity.
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Concentrate on the liberation that breaking free from addiction brings. Let's choose this path towards a life where addiction no longer controls us, allowing us to genuinely live and experience life to its fullest.
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Understanding the Real Reason You're Engaging in This

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Engaging in this addiction is solely for pleasure and nothing more. Every other justification is a fabrication of the Beast. It's designed to make you believe that giving in to your addiction is the only route to happiness or relief when you're feeling depressed, bored, lonely, stressed, or miserable.
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Speaking from personal experience, I used to think that I turned to pornography and masturbation because I was lonely, stressed, or had a rough day. I thought that because I spent my entire day working alone on a computer, my environment or lifestyle was to blame for my addiction. These were excuses, a way to avoid taking responsibility for my actions, guided by the Beast's narrative.
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The key to recognizing the Beast is noticing that the conversation always bends towards indulgence in your addiction.
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Imagine you're having a tough day, and you begin to feel down. Instead of recognizing this as a passing mood, the Beast seizes this opportunity. It will amplify your negative emotions by saying things like, "You're always unhappy, aren't you? You know what would make you feel better... just one quick session won't hurt." Or, "You're so lonely, this is unbearable. Just indulge, it's your only comfort." These harsh whispers are the Beast's attempts to deepen your feeling of depression and nudge you towards the addictive behavior. Depression doesn't create addiction; addiction does.
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The Beast's goal? To make you feel so low that resorting to your addiction seems like the only way out. Conversely, when you're content and joyful, the Beast will persuade you to give in, arguing it will amplify your satisfaction. Just think about it. If you're living what you perceive as a perfect life, the Beast will still argue you could feel even better with pornography and masturbation. It's a never-ending, destructive cycle.
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Understanding and Separating Desire

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Desire, in its essence, is not a negative emotion; it's a natural human condition. It propels us toward achievement, drives creativity, and gives meaning to our experiences. It also plays a crucial role in our relationships and our sexuality. The key in overcoming addiction is not to extinguish desire altogether, but to discern between healthy desires and those manipulated by the Beast.
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Imagine your desires as a beautiful, roaring river. It's full of life, movement, and potential. This river represents your natural, healthy desires - things like connecting with others, pursuing your hobbies, personal growth, and even your sexual desires. These are your desires, part of who you are.
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Then, there's the Beast's desire - a poisonous stream trying to merge into your river, attempting to hijack your natural flow. This stream carries the pull of addiction, steering you away from your authentic path, manipulating your thoughts, and distorting your perceptions.
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Recognize this poisonous stream and refuse to let it merge with your river. This is not about damming the entire river or stifling your desires, but about rejecting the poisonous stream that the Beast introduces. It's about retaining your authentic desires and letting them guide you.
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Identify that any thought associated with the desire to indulge in the addiction is coming from the Beast. By doing so, you begin to differentiate between what you truly want and what the Beast wants. This understanding will empower you, helping you keep your river clean, vibrant, and true to its course.
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In the whirlwind of addiction, it can be easy to confuse the Beast's desires with our own. I, too, was lost in this confusion. I believed I was drawn to endless layers of perversion, thinking that I was attracted to the limitless exploration of perversion. But deep down, this wasn't me, it was the Beast's influence, its relentless push for more and more. Upon reflection, I realized my true desire was much simpler and profoundly more meaningful: to love and be loved. To have a wife, to raise children together, to share in the mundane and the magical moments of life. That's my authentic desire, not the empty promises of temporary pleasure the Beast kept pushing. This profound clarity is a stark contrast to the Beast's corruption, a beacon that can guide you back to your true self.
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The goal is not to eliminate desire, but to reclaim it, to keep it authentic and personal. Desire is a part of your humanity; it's the Beast's manipulation of it that leads to addiction.

The Myth of Relapse and the Power of Perfection.

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The Beast might sometimes whisper, "It's okay to relapse. You'll do better next time." This is a shrewd strategy designed to maintain its hold on you by normalizing relapse as a part of the recovery journey. It uses these tactics to sow seeds of doubt in your mind, aiming to eventually lead you to relapse. Rational Recovery, however, views this differently: the key is making a definitive decision—your Big Plan—to abstain from the addictive behavior and sticking to it under any circumstances.
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Human beings are perfectly capable of achieving perfection in certain aspects of life. Consider the professional athlete who plays a perfect game or the musician who delivers a flawless performance. They do so by making a firm commitment to their goal and adhering to it diligently, without allowing any room for mistakes.
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Similarly, your recovery journey can be perfect too. Once you make your Big Plan to abstain from addictive behavior, you can stick to it perfectly, without any relapses. This is the ideal that Rational Recovery promotes—not "try, fail, and try again," but "decide and stick to your decision perfectly."
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Your Beast wants you to believe that perfection is unachievable, as this gives it room to persuade you to relapse. But don't let it fool you. You have the power to make a perfect decision and stick to it.
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What if it's too Difficult or Painful?

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Instead of pondering over this, consider a different question: 'For whom is it too painful or difficult?' Any discomfort or difficulty associated with ceasing the addiction stems from the Beast, not you. Observing the Beast's distress is a positive sign - it shows you're successfully dissociating from it.
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Remember that humans can only fully experience one feeling at a time. When you start feeling discomfort from abstaining, it's crucial to recognize that this isn't your discomfort. It's the Beast that suffering. The Beast is protesting because it's not getting what it wants. This suffering isn't negative for you; in fact, it's a positive sign. It means you're successfully asserting control over your decisions, as the Beast's discomfort indicates that it's losing its influence over you.
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Most importantly, remember: you are safe. You risk nothing by quitting this addiction. Every feeling of discomfort or fear is from the Beast, not you. Your well-being and safety are never in jeopardy by choosing to stop. By rejecting the Beast's influence and asserting your control, you reclaim your freedom from addiction.
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How would I know what I will do in the future?

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While predicting your future actions may be impossible, you can certainly define what you would never do. Consider the activities that you find disturbing, unhealthy, and reprehensible - those that you would never engage in.
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Now, add porn and masturbation addiction to that list. As you do this, pay attention to your Beast. It might try to concoct far-fetched scenarios that seem to justify succumbing to the addiction. Recognize these for what they are: desperate attempts by the Beast to manipulate your thoughts. By doing so, you can effectively disregard its interference and remain true to your values.
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I'm scared to relapse, what should I do?

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Relapse anxiety is a common pitfall many encounter on their NoFap journey. You may be confidently progressing, then suddenly a thought creeps in: "What if I relapse tomorrow?" This thought triggers anxiety, shaking your belief in your commitment.
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From the Rational Recovery standpoint, relapse anxiety is the Beast's deceptive voice trying to manipulate you. It incites fear and uncertainty, making you feel as if relapse is imminent. The Beast attempts to shake your confidence and sense of control. But here's the truth: relapse anxiety is an illusion, a tactic used by the Beast to tighten its grip.
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Combat this by distancing yourself from the Beast and recognizing that relapse anxiety is a deceptive tactic used by the Beast to instill fear and weaken your resolve. Remember, you risk nothing by quitting this addiction; you are safe. Any discomfort you experience stems from the Beast, not you.
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Reiterate your Big Plan: "I will never consume porn or masturbate again." By affirming your decision and distancing yourself from the Beast's influence, you can dispel the anxiety and stay firmly on your path. Remember, you are in control, and you will always stay in control, the fears conjured by the Beast hold no sway over you.
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The Beast's Attack on the Dreamscape

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The Beast's intrusion into your dreams should not be a source of fear. This isn't a situation that requires extensive concern, this is just a sign of the Beast's distress.
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There are generally two types of dreams where the Beast tries to assert its influence. The first type are explicit sex dreams, designed to reignite the desires and cravings associated with your addiction. The second type are dreams where you see yourself relapsing, which can be distressing and seem all too real.
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When your neocortex (the real you) goes to sleep, the Beast sees an opportunity to attack and tries to regain influence over you through these dreams. This is evidence that you are on the right track. Your progress towards your goal of freedom from addiction is causing this panicked response from the Beast.
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Remember, no matter what happens in your dreams, you are in control in reality. These dreams are just dreams, and they do not have the power to make you do anything.
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Understanding 'Blue Balls' and Nocturnal Emissions in Recovery

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Experiencing discomfort or an aching in the testicles, often referred to as 'blue balls,' is something that some individuals might encounter during their decision to quit their porn and masturbation addiction. Similarly, you may also experience nocturnal emissions or 'wet dreams' during your journey to recovery.
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These phenomena aren't signs of harm, danger, or relapse, but rather physical manifestations of your body adjusting to your firm decision to quit the addiction.
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While your body is adapting to a new, healthier state, not reliant on constant sexual stimulation, the Beast might attempt to distort these occurrences into negative experiences. It might tell you that nocturnal emissions are relapses, causing unwarranted fear and anxiety. But remember, you're in control.
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Consider these sensations and events as physical signs of your transformation, a testament to the changes happening within you. It's important to remember that not everyone experiences this, and even if you do, it's not something to be overly concerned about. These adjustments are something you are more than capable of handling. As your body adjusts to your new lifestyle, such events will likely decrease and eventually stop. Don't let the Beast use these natural bodily responses as a scare tactic.
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Gradual Reduction: A Beast's Strategy

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In your journey of breaking free from addiction, you might be tempted to adopt a "gradual reduction" approach - cutting back little by little rather than quitting outright. This strategy, while seemingly logical, is often a ploy from the Beast, setting you up for failure.
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During my own journey, for many months, I was enticed by the concept of gradually reducing my addictive behaviors. The approach felt less abrupt, seemingly offering a smoother transition. Even the Beast within me suggested compromises such as, "Let's start by indulging only in the afternoon," or "How about we limit it to weekends?".However, I discovered through experience that this gradual reduction strategy often creates more problems than it resolves. Let me tell you why.
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Firstly, by not making a clean break, you're continually feeding the addiction, keeping the Beast alive and active. It's akin to trying to put out a fire while still pouring small amounts of gasoline on it - it keeps the flames going, never fully extinguishing the fire.
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Secondly, when you set specific times or days for indulging, you're not freeing your mind from the addiction; instead, you're refocusing it. You find yourself constantly counting down the hours or days until your next 'allowed' session. This fixation lead to a persistent preoccupation with the addiction, turning the process into something torturous and counterproductive.
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Lastly, even on the days where you've decided not to indulge, the Beast is still at work. It doesn't take breaks. It try to convince you to deviate from your plan, asserting things like, "You're going to do it in a couple of days anyway, so why not just do it today? Why wait?" This becomes a recurring battle with the Beast, undermining your resolve.
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The gradual reduction method keeps the addiction in focus, maintains the Beast's influence, and undermines your resolve. It's far more effective to make a clean break and assert your decision to quit outright. Remember, you're not losing anything by quitting - you're freeing yourself from the Beast's control.
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Counting Days

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Why should you spend energy on counting days for an activity you've resolved never to engage in? The Beast excels at setting goals and then weaponizing them against us.
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Here's how the Beast use day counting against you:
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Making a big deal of milestones: The Beast lead you to focus excessively on reaching a certain number of days, weeks, or months. While milestones can be motivational, the Beast use them to create unnecessary stress and pressure, saying things like "What if you don't make it?" or "Imagine how bad it would feel to start over."
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Justifying a lapse: "You've made it 100 days, you deserve a reward!" or "One slip after so many days won't hurt." The Beast use the number of days as an excuse to suggest that it would be "safe" or "earned" to indulge in the addictive behavior.
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Creating a false sense of security: The Beast suggest that after a certain number of days without indulging in the addiction, you're "cured" and could safely return to the behavior without becoming addicted again.
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Undermining early progress: In the initial stages, the Beast belittle the small number of days you've been free from the addiction, making statements like "You've only managed two days, you'll never make it a week."
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Leveraging bad days: If you're having a tough day, the Beast say, "You're miserable even after 30 days clean. See, quitting doesn't make things better. Might as well go back."
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Remember, these are all tricks of the Beast trying to manipulate you into returning to the addictive behavior. The Beast will use anything, including the count of days, to try to get what it wants. The best way to deal with this is to remain steadfast in your decision and continue dissociating from the Beast.
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So, instead of getting trapped in the Beast's game of counting days, surrender this act to it. We can concentrate on the broader scope - liberating ourselves from the Beast's clutches, embracing enduring change, and regaining our freedom. Day counting becomes insignificant because it no longer illustrates our path. Our chosen journey is one where the Beast's urges hold no power, and our authentic liberation takes the limelight. Let the Beast obsess over counting days, while we commit to a life of emancipation and self-discovery.
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Why Punishment Doesn't Work

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Self-punishment is a common response to addiction, yet it often proves ineffective. This can take many forms, from physical discomfort to emotional torment. In my own battle against addiction, I tried various self-punishment strategies. On the physical side, I would resort to self-harm. Emotionally, I burdened myself with negative self-talk, depression, feelings of hopelessness, anger, sadness, and even thoughts of death. It's important to note, however, that these intense feelings of guilt and self-condemnation were amplified by the Beast. The Beast utilizes such negative emotions to paint addiction as the only respite, the only 'good thing' left in life. It is a manipulative trick to keep you chained to the addiction.
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Yet, over time, these painful memories have faded, while the seductive pull of the addictive behavior has remained vivid in my mind. It's a compelling illustration of the human condition: we often forget pain and remember pleasure.
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Consider individuals who struggle with drug addiction. They might end up in a hospital after an overdose, experiencing immense physical pain. But as time passes, the memory of this pain dissipates, while the allure of the drug, the pleasure it brought, remains clear and tempting. This imbalance often leads them back into the cycle of addiction.
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This became evident to me during the last week leading up to my final decision to quit - my Big Plan. It was the most challenging week of my life; I was counting the days until my liberation. Now that I'm free, when I think back to that week, the Beast tries to rewrite the narrative, calling it the "best week of all time!"
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This disparity between the memory of pain and pleasure underscores why self-punishment is an ineffective strategy for long-term addiction recovery. Rational Recovery offers a different approach. Rather than relying on the fleeting memory of pain, it focuses on recognizing and dissociating from the addictive voice—the Beast.
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Arguing with the beast

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Let's clarify something: arguing with the Beast is futile. The Beast is single-minded, craving only the satisfaction of its addiction. Moreover, it's cunning, capable of playing both sides of an argument.
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For instance, the Beast might implant thoughts such as, "You could indulge now, it's not a big deal." Then, to create confusion and feign agreement, it might echo that very idea, saying, "Yes, I could indulge now." It's essential to recognize that both these sentiments are from the Beast. It is a clear demonstration of how it can promote the idea of indulgence while also pretending to be 'you' to create an illusion of consent.
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In the Rational Recovery technique, every thought or feeling associated with the indulgence in the addiction is identified as coming from the Beast, including its attempts to take possession of the pronoun "I".
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You are the decision-maker here, you are in control. Your will is what truly matters, and the Beast must inevitably conform to your decisions.
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Dealing with White-Knuckling and Intense Urges

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Feeling urges, cravings, or hunger sensations is a natural part of the recovery journey. In fact, it's a positive sign, an indication that you are making progress. However, these feelings can turn into white-knuckling when you identify with the Beast's thoughts and feelings. When you start saying things like "I'm so horny" or "I need a relief ASAP," you're identifying with the beast voice. When you find yourself arguing with the Beast or doubting your decision to quit, you're in the grip of white-knuckling.
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In my own journey to recovery, I experienced these urges, cravings, and sensations. But rather than identifying with them and turning them into a struggle, I recognized them as signs of the Beast's distress, not mine. It was the Beast who was desperate and frustrated, not me. This recognition made these moments not just bearable but even satisfying, as they signaled that I was on the right track in my recovery.
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The power of these urges and cravings diminished with my Big Plan, my absolute decision to never indulge in the addictive behavior again. Even if you find yourself in a white-knuckling situation, remember that you can shift your perspective. Recognize that every thought encouraging the addictive behavior is coming from the Beast, and use the Recognition or Shifting techniques to help you dissociate from these thoughts and feelings. After that, reaffirm your Big Plan, stating firmly and clearly, "I will never consume porn or masturbate again." This firm commitment to your Big Plan will dispel all doubt, releasing you from the grip of white-knuckling.
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The Big Plan: Your Commitment to Freedom

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Taking a firm decision is a critical step in overcoming addiction, and this is what making a Big Plan entails. This plan is a complete commitment, devoid of room for negotiation or compromise. When you formulate a Big Plan, you're making a promise to yourself to never indulge in your addiction again, under any circumstances.
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Choosing a specific day for your Big Plan can help add a sense of occasion and finality to your decision. For instance, I personally chose a Sunday at 12am. Your Beast will likely agree to this arrangement, looking forward to a "last hurrah."
​
But as you approach your chosen day to initiate your Big Plan, the Beast may start getting anxious. It may whisper, "I can't let this go!" or "Let's postpone the Big Plan, and enjoy this for now!" This is not your voice. It's the voice of the Beast, trying to make you delay your decision and panicking at the impending loss of its control.
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Your declaration for the Big Plan could be: "I will never consume porn or masturbate again." This phrase embodies the essence of the Big Plan — a firm, unyielding decision that signifies your commitment to stay addiction-free.
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In your journey to overcome addiction, the video I am about to share will be invaluable. It features Jack Trimpey, the founder of Rational Recovery, directly guiding you through the process of making a Big Plan. Although Trimpey focuses on alcohol and drug addiction in the video, his guidance applies to any addiction, including pornography and masturbation. Carefully absorb his words, understanding their relevance to your personal struggle.
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watch this video, skip to 33:39 for the Big Plan section: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_n2YH8RLd_4&list=PLazOJVze5_z3BdcDSF3uPtN8Vu9VDqVJl&index=3where

Conclusion

I've spent a month compiling my experiences and sharing the tools that aided me on my journey. You are free to ask questions while I'm around, but please note that I'm not a regular Reddit user and won't be able to answer indefinitely. For those interested in Rational Recovery, all the information you need is in the "Useful Resources" section. If you found this post helpful, please consider upvoting or sharing it with friends who might benefit from it. Always remember to dissociate from the Beast and stand firm in your Big Plan. Holding unwavering trust in your decision is the key to defeating the Beast. May you embrace your journey to freedom and experience the liberation you've been longing for. Thank you for taking the time to read my post.

Useful Resources

Rational Recovery Book : https://www.amazon.fRational-Recovery-Cure-Substance-Addiction/dp/0671528580/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=rational+recovery&sr=8-1
AVRT Demonstration (AVRT Live Vol 1-5) : https://www.youtube.com/@DeborahSpringborn/videos

Hello everyone!
I recently watched that one documentary about shrooms where they talked a lot about the benefits and experience, and being a weed stoner myself, thought “fuck it, why not?”

1. Now. I have no idea where to start. I’ve looked into some tutorials and decided I’d try my luck with some grow kits. After looking into the rules for a bit, it seems those are fine to discuss here. Is there any specific kit that seems to be the best around? I’d ideally want something on the more budget-side as I’m trying to just dip my toes in a bit before I really go balls to the wall. Ideally anything under $40 would be nice, though I have no idea if that’s way too little or not. Any help is appreciated
   
2. Another thing, as for specific….shrooms? Not sure if it’s called a strain or not lol. What kind of shroom is often the most recommended for beginners? I’ve heard GT being thrown around, but I also have access to a ton of other varieties like Albino Ape, Albino PE, BM, JMF, etc. this is the one thing I have absolutely zero clue about, and literally anything is a huge help. Right now I have my eyes set on GT and JMF (as well as some gourmet shrooms).
   
3. Do I need any specific equipment to get started? I don’t really have much in terms of what I think I could use, and I see a lot of people talking about pressure cookers? Is any of that strictly necessary or is it just helpful for maximizing cultivation?
   

Again, I really do appreciate any and all help I can get, I would love to be a part of this community that I’ve been on/off following for so long

This is your final spoiler warning!
Also I know it's a long read - I'll try to put a TL;DR at the end but Manifest lore isn't exactly simple and straight forward so I'd appreciate reading the whole thing :)
I'm referring to the "yelling at the Grim Reaper" scene on the plane at the end. I totally see what people feel the way they do, and I definitely agree the execution could have been a lot better, but I think it's getting oversimplified and doesn't deserve as much flak as it gets.
Also as heads up: this is totally just fan theory working backwards to fill in the plot holes (like the group judgment). Even if the writers came out and said my post was 100% accurate and totally their intentions, I'm definitely reaching at certain points trying to force the narrative to work, especially since a large part comes down to "what the characters thought was true, so we the viewers thought was true, was actually wrong" which is pretty lame, so don't be too hard on me! Just trying to explain it a way that kind of makes it make sense to me :)
With that said, here are my thoughts:
Firstly, my interpretation of the callings and their purpose:
The callings were never strict rules to be followed or testing the characters in the way they believed (where if you failed a calling, you failed judgment, or that it was like some sort of grade where you have to complete x% of your callings). I think the callings were simply there to aid them to help them guide each other to be their best selves and be good. And not just themselves, but to help others on the lifeboat - because if you're truly selfless and good, you don't have that "fuck them I got mine" mentality where you're satisfied because YOU'VE been saved. This group of people had 5.5 years to bring out the best in themselves and each other, to do good in the world, and to just make the right choices. It's why the callings were so ambiguous.
Imagine this (ridiculous) scenario where you want to reward people for doing good so you give a million dollars to everyone who volunteers at a soup kitchen this Saturday. If you go up to someone and say "hey, you should volunteer at the soup kitchen this Saturday, I'm giving out a million dollars to every volunteer!" you're going to get a shit ton of people, but they aren't good and you aren't rewarding them. They're just taking advantage of the situation for their own good. You could just not say anything and just reward whoever shows up - but maybe you believe there are good people out there who just need a slight push, who are still selfless enough that they'd do the right thing just because it's the right thing, but otherwise wouldn't necessarily be actively out there looking to volunteer. So you go downtown and hand out fliers and just say "hey, I know you don't have any plans this weekend, so a bunch of us are going to volunteer at the soup kitchen this Saturday, I'd love for you to come along, you'd be helping a lot of people." Now you can weed out the people who are good and willing to help a cause and dedicate their time, you've got more people than normal out there volunteering, and you get to reward those people for making a genuinely good choice with no incentive. In the end, everyone wins (even if some of those people wouldn't have volunteered without the invitation.) That's basically how I interpret the callings: they were there to guide them and nudge them on the right path, without any promise of that million dollars they'd be handed out if they did it. At the end of the day, the callings gave them a CHOICE: you have no obligation to go out and do anything it says, and if you wanna say "fuck that I got better things to do this Saturday afternoon" then that's on you. But those who were open to it and thought to themselves "yeah, you know what? I've got some time to spare and maybe it's not how I would have normally chose to spend my Saturday, this is the right thing to do." And they walked down that path, did the right thing, became better for it, and at the end of the day got their million dollars.
With this in mind, that brings us to the next part:
The lifeboat and the group judgment
TBH I don't remember much pre-season 4 and the details of Al-Zuras and his journals are shaky, so honestly I could be straight up wrong about some things here (feel free to let me know if so!) - but I think a large portion here is that the characters were misinterpreting and misunderstanding what was in the journal. This is actually pretty common throughout the show - the characters get something vague/ambiguous and think it means something and go with that, until they realize later they actually misunderstood what it was really trying to tell them. This even happens at the very end of the finale - the page which was thought to be depicting Ben saving Olive from the fire was actually showing Ben bringing Angelina onto the plane and forgiving her.
I believe the lifeboat and their interpretation of Al-Zuras was one of those things where they got the gist of it, but got the details wrong. That's why I think the judgment worked the way it did at the end - it wasn't contradicting any lore, it was contradicting an (incorrect) assumption the characters made. (Like I said at the beginning, I know that's lame and reaching, but it's the best theory I've got to make it not a plothole.)
They're correct in that the group is judged together. They're correct in that their aim is to help each other all be the best they can be - like I mentioned earlier, it's not enough to just say "fuck you, I got mine", in order to be truly good/selfless they need to do what ever they can to help the others on the lifeboat and put them on the right path. You can't just try and be a good person because you yourself want the rewards, you need to be and do good because it's truly who you are. So, Al-Zuras's crew and the passengers of 828 were tied and grouped together in that way, in which they needed to all put in the effort to truly be worthy of salvation, and to help everyone else in their lifeboat find salvation and walk the correct path as much as they can.
They were WRONG that it's all or nothing. This next part I could be wrong about (like I said, pre-season 4 is hazy), but if I recall, there was never any actual confirmation 100% that Al-Zuras and his crew survived the death date. I think them throwing the passengers off the life boat was actually them failing their test and condemning them. It wasn't that the only way for them to be saved was to throw the ones they deemed unworthy overboard and sacrifice them - that was Al-Zuras trying to game the system and find a loophole, and I think that Al-Zuras would actually have failed the death date because of this, but the characters mistakenly interpreted this as "they needed to do this to survive because even 1 bad passenger would get them all killed." I think it is pretty well connected with the fact that the final clue they solve is that they need to do the EXACT OPPOSITE of this: Ben's final task, the one Olive discovers in the book and tries to call him, is saying that for him to pass, he must bring Angelina on the lifeboat. Angelina, the primary antagonist, the most vile of the passengers, the one who fails her own judgment - by Al-Zuras's logic, she should have been purposely killed and thrown overboard. Yet, the Divine Conscious demands that they do the EXACT OPPOSITE: that even though she, as a result of the consequences of her own actions, would not have made it onto the lifeboat for judgment, the only way the others could pass is if she is there with them.
With that in mind, the final piece of the puzzle (and I'll explain why I think the 3 methheads all died together):
The actual judgment
I think, ultimately, the final judgment is really not so much God (or whatever)'s judgment of you, but your own judgment. The final lesson and clue they get towards salvation is "forgiveness makes the heart grow lighter." Only a few episodes prior, Michaela had an entire episode dedicating to her needing to forgive herself. It's not enough that you're "objectively" a good person - it's that deep within your soul you genuinely believe you're good or have fundamentally changed, that you recognize your faults and truly feel repentance and believe yourself worthy of salvation. I think all of these are a factor: you need to both BE worthy, and also BELIEVE you are worthy. That's why Angelina still failed her judgment despite truly believe at her core she was special and worthy. She was unable to recognize or acknowledge the pain she's caused and the sins she's committed. Her meeting with Cal unraveled the moment he said it could make up for the pain she's caused - she gets defensive and denies this, and thinks only about the pain she herself went through. She says she never meant to kill Grace and feels remorse for this, but that's different than truly being sorry for it. She's always had the mindset of superiority, "yeah, I killed Grace and that's unfortunate and I wish I hadn't, but I'm special and it's just collateral damage in the big picture." She never truly understand the pain Ben and the Stones felt, the hurt she's caused. She might acknowledge a bit that Grace didn't deserve to die, but she never takes responsibility or ever truly repents for what she's done. Even until her last moments, she can't fathom why she has failed judgment - which is ironically what caused it.
I think that's further illustrated with Eagan, Adrian, and Saanvi. Saanvi is no saint and definitely flawed, but I think we've seen her do TONS of good and done everything in her power to help as much as possible. It's why when she sees that she herself is failing judgment her immediate reaction is "yeah, I deserve it." It doesn't matter if she's, objectively, changed and done good - she doesn't believe she's good and worthy, she believes she does not deserve to be saved. Ben pleading manages to change something - he spells out for her and makes her realize the good she's done, how much she has helped people; even just understanding how much he cares for her and believes in her alone illustrates she's at least worth something. It's how she is saved.
The same for Eagan and Adrian. I saw a comment here about how Eagan only offered himself for Adrian because it was a ploy and he knew that would "save" himself. I don't agree with this take at all. This also circles back to my other theory about the callings and why it doesn't matter if you did them or not (and why it was Ben's calling, in the end, that ultimately changed Eagan and not Eagan's own calling) - it just matters that in the end, you repented and were sincere about it. Eagan's (almost) last moments were that of acceptance - he's honestly not been a great guy, and he probably deserves it. He's not thinking about himself anymore or lying about why his own life is more important. He's accepted he didn't live up to his potential and is now willing to take responsibility for it to the point that he's willing to sacrifice himself for someone he genuinely believes is good and deserves it - he doesn't care about himself now, he TRULY cares about doing what's right. Adrian's pleas about the good he's done combine with this to make him finally believe that deep, deep down, at his core - maybe he isn't really a bad guy. Pretty much the same with Adrian - he was a jerk and did a lot of bad, but in the end he was on the right side. He felt guilty and repentant about the bad he's done and when he saw someone (especially someone as selfish as Eagan) was ready and willing to sacrifice themselves for him, it brought him peace knowing he really had done good and impacted someone so deeply.
That's, in my opinion, why the three meth heads still died in the end I don't really think that in the end after Jace died, the other two genuinely, truly believed "I earned this, I deserved this, I'm a good person." They still thought about themselves and were mainly focused on surviving and hadn't truly redeemed themselves - it wasn't just that one failed, it's that the other 2 just didn't do enough (because let's be real - if Saanvi of all people almost failed her judgment, I don't think it's a stretch these 2 would either).
So, the "screaming match" wasn't just them yelling at God and saying "no u." It was Ben and Michaela, co-captaining the life boat and guiding everyone to safety. They had specific examples of specific names - they TRULY believed, deep down, that each and everyone of these passengers were good and true and deserved to be saved. They had "proof" to back it up with concrete examples of all the good they've done. I think this was simply a physical manifestation of their internal good vs evil/light vs dark conflict. That's why it was so important for Michaela to forgive herself - they overcame their self doubt and insecurities and could say, honestly, "we are good people who have sacrificed and worked tirelessly to do good in this world" - and not only for themselves, but for the others as well (circling back to the "lifeboat" concept). I think seeing Michaela and Ben bringing up the good they did inspired and encouraged the others just like how Saanvi/Eagan/Adrian were reassured by others. They helped the other passengers remember what they've done and how hard they've tried, and were showing firsthand that they genuinely believed those passengers deserved to live, prompting the rest of them to grow more and more confidence and believe in themselves and both metaphorically and physically drive away the darkness and evil, finally bringing them to salvation.
Best attempt at TL;DR - the callings are just opportunities to nudge them on the right path; the group judgment was misinterpreted by the characters and even though they're all on the same lifeboat and need to help each other will be judged together, it's not a "one fails we all fail" idea like they thought; judgment is equally on God judging your worth just as much as it is your own self-forgiveness and repentance and belief that you are good and worthy and the final act of driving out the grim reaper wasn't them yelling at him but finally cementing their belief that they are good and worthy and forgive themselves and each other and in doing so inspiring all the other passengers, thus driving out the darkness and evil from within them (which is physically manifested by them driving out the Grim Reaper)

0341-1904359 Whatsapp Number 0311-8060181 Nahum , Sadapay 0325-8469382 Aethesham Adnan
This guy is going to sweetly tell you to add him on WhatsApp than he is going to show you carts and some weed strains. When you talk about payment , he is going to ask you for 50 %advance and 50% after delivery which is a clear scam. The moment you transfer , he will block you. And make a new ID.
He is also going to tell you that bykea rider is Humza and his number is 0344-2031926.
Highly request the Admin and Mod to completely ban him and I request my fellow members to stay vigilant.. If anyone wants further evidence can dm me for more evidence..

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13lfqkw/vulturebeard_the_legbeard_that_ruined_roomies_fo Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13u79ht/vulturebeard_bad_roomies_part_2/
^{Hi again, it’s the bunny. I’ve just barely stepped into Reddx’s discord, but Ezekial is still posting this saga for me so thank you, Z.}
Trigger warning: This will deal with a lot of aspects relating to child neglect (and possible abuse) and Kid being ignored or taking the brunt of Vulture’s anger. Sorry for the spoiler as well, but I think we saw this coming, too (especially if you’ve seen Z talk in the discord). Don’t push yourself to read if you’re not okay with these concepts.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately, very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name comes from how she always pops up when I’m cooking food, complaining about how hungry is and how she’s unable to cook.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Take a deep breath. Now take another one. This chapter will likely make you mad.
​
Chapter Three: “Do You Want Bologna?” Or, Vulture as a Parent
Imagine this: it’s eight in the morning and you’re cozy in bed. The blankets are warm, and you hit snooze on your early alarm so you can sleep in before you have to get up.
Your peace is shattered by a toddler crying, followed by the screech of, “WHAT!” or “GET DOWN FROM THERE!”
Yeah, welcome to The Life.
Vulture has a messed-up sleep schedule. It’s partially because Kid doesn’t sleep soundly through the night, but it’s also because Vulture’s sleep schedule is essentially flipped backwards to where she stays up all night and wants to sleep during the day. Vulture says it’s “insomnia” but sometimes she’s up late gaming with Discord friends or watching anime. I couldn’t tell you which issue it was day by day. Sometimes if I go to sleep late, I hear Kid crying from her room because she had night terrors or had potty troubles. Sometimes I hear OLB and Vulture awake shuffling between rooms in the hallway.
Because of this, Vulture and mornings don’t mesh well. Kid is usually put in her room for bedtime around 7 PM, usually with her tablet to keep her company and either give her something to watch, or to play white noises for sleeping. Kid does not have a real sleep routine as well. She’s just kind of shut in her room. Sometimes there’s a bit of a routine like winding her down with chocolate milk and giving her a countdown of “okay, ten more minutes and then bedtime,” but for the most part she just does not want to go to bed. Bedtimes are met with a lot of crying, and the beardy parents telling us that she will be upset for a bit.
Kid has an attempted daily schedule, if Vulture is awake enough. Theoretically:

• 9 AM: Awake and watching TV while Vulture is on her computer in the same room
• 1 PM: In the room for naptime (but it’s usually play time)
• 4 PM: Free to run around while dad is home
• 7 PM: Bedtime (but she’s usually playing then too)

But a lot of times, that schedule gets thrown out of whack depending on if Vulture gets up on time. When she sleeps in, Kid is in her room from 7 PM to 1 PM. Sometimes Kid will make a fuss to make Vulture get up earlier than 1 PM, and Vulture will be grouchy because she “went to bed at four in the morning” because she either had “insomnia” (read: gaming or watching anime) or because Kid wouldn’t sleep. Or Vulture will be up to take care of Kid and make sure she is in a clean pull up and has eaten. Then she shuts her into her room and goes back to sleep. Sometimes if Kid is too much of a handful, Vulture will say, “It’s 12:45. That’s close enough to 1.” And put Kid in the room because that’s close enough to nap time.
Sometimes because Kid won’t go to sleep, she’ll still be up at 9 PM and that breaks her schedule too. A lot of times, it works out that OLB is the “fun” parent while he’s home, because he’s up at 4 AM to leave for work by 6 and doesn’t come home until between 4 or 5 PM. Then she spends time with him while he’s home.
There’s also a child lock on the inside of Kid’s bedroom door, those doorknob covers that you have to push and turn, so she can’t open the door and wander around unsupervised. I was originally the one who suggested the child lock, back when she was younger, and they didn’t have the secondary child gate they currently do now that’s stored in the garage. Since then, with her potty training and Vulture’s likewise awful sleep schedule, I’ve suggested more than once that they take the door handle blocker off and put up the second kiddy gate they have to block the living room and kitchen off, so she can get up if she needs to, but the child lock still remains. At most, she would have access to their room, since it doesn’t have a kiddy lock on it. Me and Z’s bedroom has a child lock on it, as well as the bathroom door. She could freely wander between her room and her parents’ room that way.
I hear Kid playing in her room by herself a lot, squealing and having fun and playing pretend. Or moving her furniture around. And no, the furniture is not secured to the wall, so she can move her bed around the room. I’ve also told OLB and Vulture they needed to make sure she can’t topple it and chain it to the wall but, yeah, that hasn’t been dealt with.
When Kid really needs attention, she will cry and wail. And I mean wail. The two beardy parents don’t have baby monitors or anything that can hear into her bedroom, so she has to wail loudly enough to be heard through the walls. Luckily, the house has thin walls. Because of her early bedtime, she’s often awake early in the morning. Sometimes Vulture will respond, sometimes Vulture won’t wake up until around noon.
Yes, that means Kid is by herself a lot.
Kid is a bubbly three-year-old. She loves it when Z and I give her attention, which admittingly isn’t as often as I would like to give her. With my own Depression™, I spend so much time fighting to just gather enough mental energy to be a productive human. Despite me wandering in a mental fog, Kid remains a bright spot in my day. I met her when she was a fresh baby bean just barely out of the hospital, and I immediately fell in love. Since then, I’ve seen her grow almost her whole life, except for when they were all in north Texas. She has blue eyes and brown hair that will curl on its own. She loves dinosaurs, Baby Shark, Octonauts, and occasionally whatever anime the parents are watching. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve heard the Baby Shark song. I don’t want it stuck in my head for another solid week.
She used to watch a lot of Ms. Rachel’s Songs For Little videos, because originally Vulture wanted Kid to learn sign language to help communicate. I’ve rarely seen Vulture attempt to upkeep the sign language lessons. She did at one point. I think after Kid started becoming more vocal, the idea was dropped. I have heard some of the familiar videos so often that even I learned the kid’s songs, but I guess that’s also part of the collateral when dealing with kid’s media.
Kid usually exists in a half-dressed state, usually just wearing a pull up and that’s it. Unfortunately, because Vulture is so hard on her tangles when she tries to brush her hair, Kid doesn’t like hair care and will fight being brushed. Her hair used to exist in a perpetual state of being matted with at least one major knot, until Vulture’s mom ended up giving her a bath and getting her to stay still enough to endure the brushing, even with the wailing of a protesting Kid going strong. Her hair was then cut to make it more manageable, and strangely, that fixed a lot of the matting problems.
Kid is let out of her room when Vulture wakes up, usually needing a diaper change. At three years old, Kid is not potty trained yet. Just from what I’ve heard from my bedroom, it sounds like OLB and Vulture are finally starting to step up on potty training, but it’s been an uphill fight. I know a few of my other parent friends have had an extremely hard time potty training their kid. I’m not a parent, so I don’t actually know how challenging it can be. I do know though that it shouldn’t sound like the toilet is some kind of punishment for peeing in her cloth panties that they’re trying to switch her to. Or, that they try to get her to sit on the toilet when she has no interest in it and she ends up throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately, without much context, that’s how some bathroom trips sound.
Kid wears pull-ups to bed and the cloth underwear during the day, or sometimes just pull-ups. They’re trying to teach her how to recognize when her body has the potty urge, which she still doesn’t quite get right now. She has literally peed on the tile floor through her cloth undies. Vulture messaged the house chat once saying, “Kid just lifted her leg while in the rolling chair and peed all over the floor.”
You know. Like a dog.
With the potty-training trouble and Kid only sometimes in pull-ups that can contain her mess, Z and I don’t let her into our room as often as we’d like to, because she doesn’t recognize when she has to go. It sucks, because Kid adores spending time with us and our room has cool animals, like my retired psychiatric service dog and our three ferrets. She loves the ferrets. But if we spend time out in the living room with everyone, Z’s patience tends to have a shorter fuse because they can’t stand Vulture (that’s also another tale I have). We’re also stuck out in the general mess of the living room if we are out there with her. It’s either the general mess that toddlers make, spilled food, and general filth. The best times we’ve had spending time with Kid is just chilling in our room as she ooh’s and ahh’s over the ferrets or watches TV with us. Z and I quote SpongeBob line by line daily, and she has watched some of the show with us.
I feel awful about shutting Kid out so much, when I see the way Vulture interacts with her. On Vulture’s bad days (if you read the previous post, that’s almost every day), she acts like Kid is a chore. She will snap at Kid, act like Kid is choosing to act out of maliciousness and make “tired mom” jokes that sound like she just flat out doesn’t like Kid. When I had liquor in the fridge, Vulture would ask if she could take a shot because, “I need it. She’s trying me today.”
Some choice quotes talking down about the kid:
“I’m being hard on her because she’s not using her words. Like I know she can. She just doesn’t want to.” This was what Vulture said to me after Kid kept trying to get her attention and wouldn’t explain what she wanted. Kid was just making noises at her and getting frustrated. Vulture full on shouted, “WHAT!” at her, then turned to me to try and explain why she shouted.
“This is the bad part about being a mom. She’s not letting me do anything right now.” This was said after Vulture cleaned her desk and was attempting to watch YouTube videos and play her Switch.
On her good days, Vulture will be that kind of smiling parent that does some art activities and engages with Kid in a way that’s more than just screaming. They color together. She offers Kid choices so Kid can have some control over what happens in her day, like, “Do you want bologna or fruit?” It has helped Kid become more vocal and even though she’s still speech delayed, she talks more and has a bigger vocabulary.
The house has a different atmosphere when OLB is home, compared to when Vulture is just watching Kid by herself. I’ve told OLB that I think Vulture is burned out. Her entire life is her disabilities and being a mom. She only has friends on Discord really, and OLB had to push her to start talking to them again just so she had someone to socialize with.
Old Doormat me pitied her at the beginning of our friendship. I tried being her friend. I tried to include her and Kid in a lot of things. My own mental health, my daily obligations, my gym schedule, and just me changing rapidly since 2020 altered my life, exhausted me, and left me unable to deal with Vulture talking a million miles a minute, info dumping about whatever she’s currently doing every single time I run into her. And as I shed my doormat self, I started seeing her clearly.
I told OLB once that if Vulture is truly burned out or if her health problems are causing that much trouble, Kid might need daycare or another caregiver to help. OLB is aware but can’t afford other care. He’s working for bottom of the barrel pay at a full-time job. Most days after work, he just wants to zone out to his own games in front of his computer but has to step in and parent both Vulture and Kid, because Vulture often needs help organizing through executive dysfunction to do something. Or, because she will call for his help.
There was one time where Kid climbed on top of her, and Vulture called for OLB – who was in the same room – to pull Kid off her. There are quite a few times where Vulture calls for OLB for help with Kid, and I’ve heard him say that he’s also busy too. One time he asked, “Why are you asking for my help when you’re closer?”
Z has offered to look after Kid at times because they don’t mind Kid being in our room or just hanging out. She has hung out with us when I also have the mental energy and the room is clean enough to accommodate a toddler crawling on everything. The problem that we both see is that our stepping in isn’t a full solution. She can spend a few hours with us, but ultimately after, she goes right back to Vulture and OLB. Vulture is the one who acts like being a parent is a chore.
There are times that OLB has snapped at Vulture for the way she gets on to Kid, emphasizing, “She’s just a child.” Their parenting styles are like looking at two entirely different planets and trying to find similarities. OLB is very much into the gentle parenting side of Tik Tok. He talks about breaking generational trauma. He’s usually gentle with Kid, explaining why she’s not allowed to do things like stand on top of her highchair or why I’m too busy to play with her as I’m zooming around the house in and out repeatedly some days. He has talked her down from meltdowns and keeps his voice even to where she can’t bounce off him to amplify her tantrums. He spanks her, but as a last resort, and then also talks to her about why the punishment happened. She will wail through everything and likely isn’t fully listening, but ultimately, I see him trying to work with her. He very rarely loses his actual temper with her.
Vulture is the total opposite. She yells at Kid, spanks with no hesitation and doesn’t explain why. One of Kid’s favorite games to play is “Block the door” when I’m trying to get through the house. She will block my bedroom door, cling to me, then circle around me as Vulture or OLB tries to distract her or lure her away by asking “do you want chocolate” or some other treat. Sometimes Kid just likes to play ring-around-the-rosie around my legs, as her parents try to grab her. I try to make it fun and seem like I’m not mad at her, because I’m never actually mad at her for blocking my way. Usually, I’m just in the middle of some arbitrary task or running an errand or coming back from the gym with my one remaining brain cell barely hanging on for dear life. I try to engage with her and play it off as a game because she’s not actually doing anything wrong.
Vulture has lured her away with chocolate and treats, with offers of food, with trying to get her to pick a show to watch. If that fails, she will come and fetch Kid by hand. One time involved yanking her physically off me and spanking her on the bare bottom because Kid was happy playing a game instead of listening.
The bare bottom is a thing, too. Because Kid used to live in soiled diapers for much longer than she was supposed to, she had constant diaper rash that she had to see the doctor for sometimes. She also didn’t want OLB or Vulture to change her diapers and would scream when it was diaper change time. I don’t blame her. The diaper rash hurt, and Vulture wasn’t exactly gentle with changing. Kid bled sometimes with the changings. So now, sometimes Kid will be dressed like Donald Duck in only a top to air out her bottom. Or because now, with the cloth undies, she will pee straight through them, and they just let her air out after.
Kid always smells a bit like pee. So does her room. And her bedding. After I pointed out that her bedding straight out of the dryer smelled like urine, OLB went about cleaning the washing machine with a machine cleaner, and bought scent beads to help cut the smell, after I told him that a little vinegar in the wash load will cut the smells down. Now her bedding doesn’t smell so much like urine, but it’s still there.
Her bedroom frequently smells like a public bathroom. It always looks like her bedroom has been turned upside down, with toys everywhere, her bed pushed to the middle of the room, the mattress on the floor. Books she was given were shredded, even the cardboard ones. There was straight up garbage left in her room because she was given food to eat there that had wrappers. It usually takes Vulture a full day of cleaning to get the room organized when she had the energy to do it, but she usually sanitizes with just a baby wipe, if she does at all. Maybe a pet cleaner sometimes.
There was one time where I was letting the dogs outside and I stepped in a puddle on the tile floor. That was when I realized that it was a pee puddle and Kid’s cloth underwear was dripping. I asked Vulture to clean the puddle up. When she asked to use my steam mop, she didn’t clean the cloth pad after, so when I turned the mop on next, it smelled like hot, steamed urine. I had to clean the mop pad off myself and rinse the pee out of it. When Kid again peed in front of the TV in her cloth undies, I told OLB that if they’re going to use my steam mop to make sure that the mop pad is rinsed off or it will smell like pee the next time it’s used, but he said he was just going to use his mop and bucket. Thankfully.
Because of the diet that OLB and Vulture has, Kid also eats like them. She gets a lot of macaroni, a lot of random odds and ends like pieces of bread, baggies of cheerios, sometimes fruit and vegetables. Lots of chicken nuggets and frozen instant food. Occasionally, Kid will have an interest in vegetables she sees us cook with or that she’s never had. Like once she insisted that she wanted to eat canned peas, until she tasted them. She chewed on a lettuce leaf and put it down, then asked for another one because she wanted to eat something, and it looked tasty to her.
The two halves of the household make separate foods now and keep out of each other’s food, but sometimes Vulture will give Kid some of the food I cooked because Kid saw my spaghetti noodles in a bowl and insisted on having them by way of tantrum. Instead of asking me if it’s okay (which obviously, I’d say yes, Kid can have some), Vulture just gave her my food and then told me after. Maybe I’m just projecting my own frustration, but it feels like Vulture uses Kid as a shield sometimes, to get food. Unless I have a specific purpose for food like what I put in my meal prep containers, I wouldn’t say no to Kid.
Kid’s diet makes me worried for her as she grows up. OLB is big and tall, over 6 feet tall and over 300lbs. They aren’t an active family at all. Kid drinks soda when they get fast food. She eats as much processed food as Vulture. Right now, she’s growing like a weed and is tall and actually has some power in her tiny limbs, which is most noticeable when she climbs you like a ladder, but her parents are gamers that just sit around. Her own screen time is almost as lengthy as theirs is.
I worry about Kid, constantly. Z does too. We have theorized calling CPS, or trying to adopt her, or just getting her away from Vulture. We have thrown around ideas about talking to OLB and convincing him that Vulture isn’t a good person for Kid. A lot of it has stayed in theory because the anxious part of me is still afraid to make life-altering waves like that. I second-guess and gaslight myself into realizing how bad things are, but then telling myself, maybe I’m just blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it's just something they have to handle. Maybe it’s something a first-time parent needs to learn. Maybe Vulture just isn’t feeling good that day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
It’s a leftover of the doormat I used to be, and I know that. The tiny fragment of anxiety that tells me I’m blowing things up into too big a deal. The tiny fragment that escaped a toxic marriage and just wants peace after arguing every single day. The side that hates confrontation.
Maybe I’m just a plain ol’ coward. I don’t know yet. I just know my patience is running thinner with every passing day.
I don’t think I could convince OLB to dump Vulture. From what I’ve seen on the surface, they’re not openly affectionate. Vulture complains all the time that OLB doesn’t give her any physical affection, and she (unfortunately) tells me when they’re intimate, which doesn’t sound often. They almost look like they could be friends that are co-parenting. She calls him her husband when they’re out in public, and OLB has stated that he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, because he doesn’t want a single parent. I assume at the very least that he does love her, even though he sounds exhausted all the time. Z and I wonder if maybe he feels trapped.
OLB is good at asking for help if he needs it, although he hates being a burden to others. He will speak up if Vulture needs a ride to a doctor’s office, and he forgot to leave the car seat at home. I’ve driven to his work to pick it up after he messaged me asking if I could. They ask his family to babysit Kid if they want to go out and just have a good date or see a movie together. They are clearly capable of asking for help.
This is just an acceptable standard for both, or at least that’s the way it seems to me. Sometimes, I don’t truly know if OLB is aware of what Vulture does while he’s at work. He didn’t know that she used his 11-year-old dog as a vacuum cleaner to clean up spilled table scraps until I pointed it out and then he pieced together why his dog wasn’t losing weight on a reduced kibble diet. Sometimes I have pointed out things to him that he might not notice in the house chat.
I started keeping a log in Google Docs about things I notice, and Z and I talk about it in discord, so it’s not heard by ears that are too close to our bedroom. The log started helping me see that I’m not just blowing out of proportion and that in turn helped me come here to reddit. As a former doormat in recovery, I still have to tell myself that it’s okay to realize that something is wrong, and that I may need help getting my voice to speak up.
I haven’t worked since 2017, when my mental health took a sharp nosedive. Z is currently looking for work. Both of us are home all day exposed to Vulture and how she treats Kid. With my own daily tasks, errands, struggling with mental health, there’s still a side of me that berates me that I need to be taking care of Kid. Getting her up, making sure she eats. Pestering Vulture to get up. This is also where I tangle with the former doormat that still lives in me, because one, I don’t want to enable Vulture to get even worse. With someone taking the burden off of her, that gives her more free time to just sit back and game. It isn’t my job to make sure that Vulture is a good parent, yet somehow, I feel like it’s also my fault that she’s as bad as she is while I sit by the wayside and just talk about her behind her back. There are times where I have pestered OLB through discord about Kid crying, or how Kid is trying to beat the door down, or asking if Vulture is up for the day because I haven’t seen her up at three in the afternoon.
I started speaking up when I noticed something that’s off. I call this the “cheese incident.” We had a block of cheese that was cut in the wrapper and not in anything else, so the exposed end got all hard and inedible. I cut it off and threw it away. Vulture made her way into the kitchen because Kid saw me cutting cheese and wanted some.
Vulture: Who threw away that cheese?
(SHE PICKS IT UP OUT OF THE TRASH CAN)
Me: Yeah, it’s got that hard bit
Vulture: So? I know someone who will eat it.
(She calls Kid over)
Me: But it was in the trash.
Vulture: It’s okay, I cut off the part that was touching the trash.
Me: Dude, that’s fucked up.
Vulture: (hesitating now) Should I not?
Me: That’s probably going to make her sick again.
(Kid has been sick back-to-back at this point)
Vulture: Okay, then I won’t.
(To this day, I don’t know if she threw the cheese away or ate it herself, and I’m afraid to ask)
That was the point where I started pointing out that what she’s doing is problematic. It’s a slow process, but it’s helped me put the doormat side of me away again. I’ve explained to Vulture that Kid isn’t crying to be malicious, she just can’t express what she wants. Especially with Kid’s speech delay! Kid gets frustrated fast when adults don’t understand her, and the wailing begins. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just frustration. Or how Kid doesn’t like being told “no” because she doesn’t always understand why. Strangely, every time I call something out, she doesn’t really have much of a fight against it.
But why am I having to say it in the first place?
There’s little things that just rub me the wrong way in how they interact. Sometimes Vulture will call Kid over in the same way you’d call a dog. Repeatedly. Sometimes Vulture, in a state of migraine or other illness-related grouchiness will scream at her “Leave me alone!” and OLB will have to fetch Kid. One time, Z told me that Vulture outright mocked her crying by making her own crying noise.
What’s awful to watch in person is that when Vulture’s mom or siblings are over, Vulture is suddenly a doting mom who isn’t perpetually exhausted or loudly complaining about how her “everything” hurts. She talks in an overly sweet voice to Kid. It unsettles me with how two-faced it seems. OLB, Vulture, and Kid go have dinner with OLB’s family every Sunday evening, and I can’t help but wonder how two-faced she is there, as well. Some of OLB’s family doesn’t like Vulture to begin with.
Slowly, I am losing patience at how Vulture behaves, especially with the Kid. I had to un-gaslight myself, start logging her behavior, and talk to other people to really see it for what it was. I told multiple friends about it and we all generally have the same consensus that Vulture is just an unfit parent. If her chronic illnesses are truly interfering with her life that much, she shouldn’t be the majority caregiver through the day. But it’s not like OLB would be able to work from home or be the stay-at-home parent. In a perfect world, I would be able to help more as well, but I’m barely the “fun” aunt. I’m barely equipped to help care for a three-year-old. Hell, most days I’m barely an actual person.
Kid deserves better.
Bottom line, Kid deserves better than what this house can give. I am upset with myself over my lack of action, but the logs have only been growing bigger. Every day, the doormat dies a little more.
Vulture herself though, will likely always be a side show. One thing that Z pointed out to me was that, as the doormat I used to be, I would give everything to help someone even when I was mentally exhausted. I enmeshed myself too much into the lives of my friends because I loved making them happy and making their lives easier. It’s gotten me into some awkward territory with Vulture, because some things were interpreted as more than friendship.
You ready to cringe more? Because the next part is going to deal with polyamory, the desire for open relationships, and the main reason why Z despises her – and that’s putting it mildly.
Take a moment to un-cringe yourself. It ain’t over yet.

I recently came across a post about an expat who participated in a night wedding. After reading the accounts I began to do research on my own. Not because I believe in any of that stuff. I'm a magician after all. Illusion is my bread and butter. And I can detect trickery better than most. Which in my line of work has its benefits. But old traditions are the best places to pick up new techniques. Old ways that are new to others that delight and even scare people. Because, if I can make them afraid. Make them look away. For even a second. I can pull off some astounding magic.
My gig at the cruise line was coming to an end as we neared the port of Shanghai. And for my last several shows, where I'd normally start to include my greatest tricks in order to leave a lasting impression. I developed a new act to showcase instead and I called it "The Sneaky Bride", it involved a mannequin in a wedding dress, a beautiful train, veil, flowers on the ground - the whole nine yards some would say. The trick was that the bride would sneak bites as my assistants who are dressed as servers pass by with their trays.
I begin the trick by placing a mannequin center stage for all to see so that they know it's a dummy. I show them there are no holes, and the entire thing is solid. Then we dress it up and set the stage for a wedding. And with a bit of lighting, another assistant switches places with the mannequin and is being fed under the veil. We later changed it to more slight of hand techniques as the assistant complained she wasn't able to chew fast enough as the items of course have to get larger and larger for comedic effect.
At the end we even invited the unmarried men up to the stage and then threw out a fake bouquet, and watched them clamber over each other in good fun to catch it. The act was an instant hit and had the crowd roaring every night. Which was why I decided to take a firsthand look at the original, and see if there were any other staging techniques I could learn from this old tradition.
After some research online, I was able to get a relatively good idea of where it the tradition was still practiced. So I booked the next flight out to begin my quest for a real night wedding.
Upon arrival at my hotel, I asked the concierge for information about the local practice.
"Yes. I know of this one. We practice it often for children who were taken too early."
"But they are all scams?"
The concierge smiled, "In most cases the pouches mean no harm, and they're simply for families who want to provide peace for themselves and to complete a lasting tradition. Sometimes the dowries are quite lucrative as well, and it is the families who are scammed by those who go and collect these ghost wives as concubines. We call it a blue procession for the trail of ghosts the husband leaves behind wherever he goes." He leans in, "But between you and me? They're mostly all scams."
I laughed, and I can't stress this next part enough, tip your concierge! Which I did. "Thank you, and also. Do you know where I could get a good start on finding more information about these ghost dowries? Or even find one of these pouches myself?"
"The temple down this first street to the left, about half a kilometer, would be a good place to start. But finding a pouch is a bit more difficult as they pop up sporadically. However, if traditions are to be believed it is the pouch who chooses the spouse."
I thanked him again and began to make my way through the early morning rush toward the temple. The streets were lined with open markets full of food from local farmers, which were common in the morning in this part of the world. They would disappear before the afternoon and then return again to sell wares at night when it was cooler. It made the city feel as if it were breathing as the locals rose and ebbed outside with day and night.
On my way, I searched the ground and around alleys for loose pouches. But I had no such luck by the time I arrived at the temple. Large red pillars that were thicker than any tree I've personally had the pleasure of meeting held up the high ceiling. Inside, the locals were already starting to disperse as the work hours were amongst us. Which left me nearly alone in this temple at about 8:00 in the morning.
A monk or priest was kneeling on a mat in front of a wooden shrine, throwing pieces of wood in the shape of dumplings on the floor. I waited patiently for him to finish. Taking in the sights and the delicate features of the temple. When he rose I approached him.
"You don't speak English by any chance do you?"
He smiled.
"What about the middle tongue?" I asked in Mandarin.
"Oh," he seemed surprised. "Yes. How may I be of assistance?"
"What were you doing just now?"
He held out his hand and showed me two red wooden pieces that were, with closer inspection, in the shape of moons. "Jiaobei," he told me. "We use these to seek divine guidance."
"How does it work?"
The monk shows me the two sides, one was smooth and flat, the other side rounded. "You ask a question and then throw it on the ground. One block flat and one block round, means yes. Both blocks showing round means no. Or depending on the question. Anger from the Gods. Or crying in sadness as it is commonly known. And finally, both blocks showing flat means laughter. Which could mean a number of things." He hands them to me, "You throw it three times to get a better answer."
"I'm guessing if it's the same all three times, the answer is definitive?"
The monk nodded.
"Am I a good..."
"Ah ah ah, in silence."
I didn't want my first question to be too convoluted or difficult. So I kept it simple and asked if I was a good magician. Then I threw the Jiaobei on the floor. It clattered and rolled on its rounded back, showing two flat sides.
The monk smiled.
"That usually happens the first time anyone tries Jiaobei. But in my experience, it generally means you asked a pure question."
"What happens if I didn't ask a pure question and it came back as angry?"
"The gods will remember it. They will remember you."
"No bad first impression then huh," I whispered under my breath. "Okay. Do I need to throw it two more times or can I ask a different question?"
"You may ask a different question or throw it twice more."
"What is my name?" I threw it on the floor. And to my surprise, as the ends are pointed and difficult to balance, one of the damn things stood tall and erect.
The monk bowed to the pieces. "Truly you have been picked by the gods to be answered. Lijiao or a standing answer like this is uncommonly rare. The gods generally choose to laugh at a nonsensical question. And often get angry if you throw it two more times. And rarely do they ever answer ones asked aloud."
I bent forward, skeptical, though a temple this was, at how the thing worked. In my head I could only think that the switchboard guy was quick on his feet. But looking around I couldn't find any cameras. Though in this day an age, they're made smaller than a fly. So it was difficult to tell. I picked up the pieces, feeling for any sense of magnetism, but there were none.
I asked one last question before I left that day. I asked their gods, would I find the real deal? And I threw it on the ground three times. All three times it came up yes. But for two months I scoured the city, and the country side. And I did chance upon several pouches. Some were obviously scams as I watched each bag carefully before approaching. Especially noticeable are the ones in the city which would be laying on the sidewalk, filled with bills for people passing by. But I observed that if a local went to go pick it up, two or three men from around the corner would come and threaten him to put it back. But if a foreigner picked it up, an old man or woman would come and start calling them son before leading them away.
There were of course others that were genuinely following tradition. I chanced upon several of them and was married several times. But each one was playful almost. And performed by their parents in the day. Leaving me with several small bags of pocket change, a good dinner, as I went on my way.
During one of these fake night weddings I even saw a child playfully munching on a corn cob in the corner under one of the tables as I fed the effigy they constructed of my fake bride. Which was when I think I decided to call it quits. Believing that I'd never find the real deal. Although I did learn a lot as tradition can be translated by me into performance. Which helped me ground 'The Sneaky Bride' act further. All in all, this was time well spent.
My visa was coming to an end and I had mostly been enjoying the sights, the city, and their way of life. When on one the last day, as I was leaving from a faraway eatery that the concierge had recommended, that I saw a red pouch made of silk with a thick yarn around its throat, stuffed full of money. I looked around and didn't see a single person there, nothing except flat farmland and water gullies for miles.
Odd, I thought to myself, as it looked truly abandoned.
For a second I played with the idea of picking it up. Wondering if somehow a relative of the deceased would pop up magically next to me and I could change the world of magic by studying their technique. But I didn't want to spend my few hours chasing ghosts. I wanted to enjoy my time. So I kept walking.
I got back to the city and spent the remainder of my day eating and drinking, meeting new friends at the bar, newfound lads who I invited a hundred times to visit me in Melbourne one day. Who all agreed that if fate ever brought us back together we would drink until the sun rose. So yeah, I was fairly drunk when I got back to my hotel room, and didn't believe what I saw when I opened the door. It was a red pouch sitting on my coffee table.
"Someone's trying to play a trick on me," I mused. "They must have heard me talking at the bar." I circled the table studying the pouch. Any magician worth his smoke, likes a good bag. So there was no doubt to me that this was the same one I saw earlier. Which made me start putting two and two together. "It must be the concierge. He's the one who sent me out that far." I laughed and picked up the bag, even though I knew the rules. I opened it and thumbed through the bills. "It's much more than what I tipped him. Much more." Curious, I wondered what he would have done if I didn't return this to him. It must have been quite a few months worth of wages. I threw the bag up in the air and caught it as if I were juggling before I tossed it on my nightstand. "I'm going to let him sweat for a little bit and pretend I didn't find it tomorrow as I check out," I mused as I went to go take a shower.
I opened the door and felt the words stick to the roof of my mouth as the bag appeared on the counter next to the sink. I shot a glance back to the nightstand and indeed the bag I had just thrown on there was missing.
"This is a good fucking trick. That, or I'm drunker than I thought." I started questioning did I somehow fall asleep beforehand? Or walked into the bathroom and put it there as I mused my little scheme of making the concierge nervous at the lost pouch? Had I somehow in my drunken state done something without realizing it? No. That couldn't be it. I touched my chest to check my heart rate and put my fingers on my face. A bit flushed, but heart rate adequate. I was fine for the most part. Just drunk.
I looked at the pouch on the counter, and peered gingerly into the bathroom as if I've never stepped foot in one, before deciding to grab the bag and close the door. "Okay," I said loudly. "Whoever's doing this. Come on out." Of course no one appeared, not that I expected them to because the credo I lived by is that a good magician never reveals his trick.
"Okay, let's see how good you guys really are," I mused. Going over to my closet and placed the pouch on the shelf. Closing the door. Then I went back to the bathroom and opened the door. It was empty. I checked the nightstand drawer, mpty. I looked all over, and it was still mty. I breathed a sigh and went over to the closet door, "I guess you're just a bag after all." Except when I looked inside. MT.
I stumbled backwards and looked around, glancing at the ceiling corners in case someone had crawled up there. And even looked under the bed. But there was no one else here. I felt my chest tighten as I tried to make sense of what was happening. "Its got to be the walls I reasoned." And so for the next half hour I scoured the entire room with my hands, pushing, pressing, pulling anywhere and everywhere I could. Using all my years of experience to figure out what was going on. But there was nothing.
I couldn't stay in that room another minute so I rushed outside and nearly stepped on it! The bag! It was right at the foot of my doorstep.
My mind tried to wrap around how that was possible, "It's got to be a dupe. They've got more than one bag. I've been had, that has to be it. And the furniture inside, they have secret compartments. God, they really put a lot of effort into this," I laughed. "I have to know how this trick is done." So I opened the pouch and pulled out the note inside.
The notes generally contained their name, their current would-be age (she was 20 this year, older than most), what time they were born (8:07), a picture if they had one (she did), and how old they when they died (5). If the deceased were a bit older, perhaps a tidbit from their family is included about their personality. But most importantly, it always contained their address.
I looked at my watch, it was late and my flight was in the morning but perhaps I could still make it. So I gathered the rest of my things, my luggage, the mannequin for my act, and other bag of tricks in case I needed to go to the airport right after. "Come on," I yelled out loud to my pranksters. "Let's go see what other tricks you have up your sleeve."
I went down to the lobby and had the front desk call me a cab. I looked around for the concierge but he was nowhere to be found. So I left a note for him. And then left.
The cab drove until the city faded away. We were practically on the other side of the island by the time its tires skipped to a stop. I got out and knocked on the giant half circle doors of the address. I noticed that we were deep in the countryside. There were hardly any lights dotting the night.
I knocked several more times before I heard shuffling behind the door. And then it opened. An old man stood in front of me in his drawers.
"What do you want," he asked angrily. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I'm sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour. But," I pulled out the pouch. And his eyes widened up.
"Meju-eh. You're back." He looked at me up and down. "What are you supposed to be," he asked but then shook his head. "No, no. Come in. Come in, please."
"I don't have much time," I told him. "I have to leave in the morning."
"Sit, sit." He ushered me to a chair in the courtyard.
I placed the bag on the table next to it, "I have a flight in the morning, so if we're going to do this. We have to do it now."
Instead of fighting me, he nodded, "Yes. I agree. I don't have much time either. And Meju-eh is older than most ghost brides. The bull demon might not let her through his gets if she gets any older. And then she'll be a husbandless spinster for eternity." He ushered around, "We don't have many living relatives either. So it shouldn't be too troublesome to hurry this along." He called into the house and a young woman came out, "This is my granddaughter. Ah-ahn. Meju-eh's older sister. They were close as children."
Ah-ahn was quite beautiful. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of her.
"Go and start preparations and rouse anyone you can get a hold of. We must have the wedding tonight. Even if it isn't grand as I would like."
"Will we make it in time," I asked. "It's a lot of work for one person. Perhaps I could help?"
The old man nodded, "That's a good idea. But forgive me, I must retire for now. Or else have no energy for the wedding." He turned to his granddaughter, "Fetch me when the preparations are ready." As he left us alone in the courtyard.
"What can I do," I asked her.
"We're going to need flowers for decoration."
I pulled a rose out from behind her ear, "I happen to have a case of these on hand at all times." I put the flower in her hair.
She smiled, "Thank you."
"What else?"
"Um, we already have tables for family gatherings. There should be enough food in the freezers that we can just heat up. I need to call my aunt to come help. And wake up some of the kids. Also...we kind of need a statue of some sort, as a stand-in for my sister."
"Statue? I think I have just the thing."
Hours went by and it was the dead of the night, but watching all the people bustling around the courtyard, the kids in excited whispers, you'd never guess that all of us should have been sleeping. Soon the tables were set, the food was hot, even the decorations were strung, and I had procured my mannequin from my luggage and a few of the menfolk were putting it together inside the main living room.
Several times I found myself laughing and having a good time with the others, although chasing that hen made me look quite ridiculous, and several times I bumped into Ah-ahn and we would talk and exchange a few words. In the beginning she talked mostly about her sister. How she was troublesome as a child. Always hiding things. I told her about the pouch appearing and disappearing in my hotel. And we both had a good laugh. Eventually we talked about ourselves. I learned she wanted to get away from here, "To see the world," she told me. The more we talked the closer we got. I could feel it. Soon we were bumping into each other just to feel our bodies touch. But before anything else transpired the wedding preparations were complete.
The old man was retrieved from his bedroom and everyone gathered outside in the courtyard, looking into the main living room. There was a wooden shrine in the back of the room and the mannequin had been traditionally dressed. From an old box the grandfather retrieved several personal items that belonged to Meju. And I was then asked to enter the living room.
The grandfather said a few words, and then gave us his blessing. Ah-ahn handed me a bowl of sticky rice ball soup. I had been through this process before and knew what to do. I ate one of the pink balls and then went to go feed my new bride.
Now I've traveled with this mannequin for some time. Seen it at a dozen of my own shows. Slept with it in the room. Knew that it was in fact a dummy for all intents and purposes. However, as I started moving my spoon toward it. I swear I saw it's chest rise as if it were breathing.
I couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol ebbing away from earlier or a trick of the light. But even its shoulders looked softer than usual. My hand started shaking as it got closer to her mouth. It was like watching an out of body experience as the spoon inched under her veil. And then the CRUNCH. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I looked around hoping to see some kid in the corner playing a dumb joke. But there were none. And I didn't believe what I was seeing even as the veil started moving as her jaws chewed the sticky material back and forth.
"No way," I shook. "There's just no way." My hand was so close to the veil. "Oh God. Please. I have to know how this is done." I ripped off the veil.
Meju looked very much like her picture. But older. And then older. And older. As if her face was starting to rot away as it contorted. People behind me screamed. The lightbulbs we had strung popped. Kids were running around and the grandfather fell to the floor clutching his heart.
I backed away, the spoon clattering to the ground as I watched the mannequin crick and crack as its arms and legs bent in a tangled mess until it was walking on all fours!
The thing grabbed the bent down to the grandfather and started chewing!
I turned around and saw the other guests were piling out of the courtyard. The tables were upturned and only the dim crescent light of the moon bore down on us. Everyone was screaming trying to get out. I ran and bumped into Ah-ahn. She whirled terrified and then realized it was me. She yelled, "You never! Look at the bride before it's time!"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I thought it was a trick!"
She grabbed her face, her nails leaving streaks behind as she clawed at her skin, "Now she's going to kill every living blood relative. And then you." Ah-ahn laughed manically. "She's going to torture you!"
The people kept pushing around us until we got separated. Her final words still ringing in my ears as I took to the dirt road outside and started running. I ran for nearly a mile before I spotted a cab sitting outside of someone's house. I banged on their door and then begged them to take me to the airport. Throwing at them all the money from the dowry.
When I arrived at the airport I hurried through the TSA. Relieved at the lights and normal looking people. I boarded my flight. Tapping my foot nervously the entire time, staring out the small squarish window as we prepared to take off. The sun was starting to rise as the engine roared. I took one last look at the island as we flew away. Still trying to catch my breath at what I had just caused.
My mind was reeling as I heard two knocking noises, they sounded oddly familiar, and for a second I thought that Meju had finished with her family and had somehow come boarded. But then I realized the noise was coming from my carry-on. I reached inside and pulled out two red shaped crescents that the Monk at the temple had given to me. And I realized that if I ever needed any form of divine guidance this was it.
So right there in the tiny aisle. I asked the gods if I had escaped and threw the Jiaobei.
No.
I asked the gods if I would be safe.
No.
I asked them would Meju kill me.
Both flat.
Both flat.
Both flat.
s

Some idiot in the comments asked me to explain the lines in the recent post about Apsaras instead of "claiming moksha exists" and is more superior to attaining heaven so here I go.
The line they quote from Mahabharata says:
"When thus proceeding to Heaven, he is received by a thousand celestial damsels of beautiful hips and adorned with handsome robes and ornaments. These girls wait upon him there and minister to his delight. He sleeps there in peace and is awakened by the musical laughter of those gazelle-eyed damsels, the sweet notes of their Vinas, the soft strains of their Vallakis, and the melodious tinkle of their Nupuras."
Yes, you are received by 1000 apsaras but what's the catch? The very next line of the Mahabharata explains the catch:
"The men who makes gifts of kine resides in Heaven and is honoured there for as many years as there are hairs on the bodies of the kine he gives away. Falling off from Heaven (upon the exhaustion of his merit), such a man takes birth in the order of humanity and, in fact, in a superior family among men."
So you only stay in heaven until your merits are exhausted. I don't think I need to explain the rest of the references because Itihasa pramana is enough in this case.
Next, how does one attain Moksha. That idiot claimed there's no proof/mention of Moksha in our scriptures. In fact there is a sholka in the Bhagavad Gita (BG 13.35) that clearly states:
क्षेत्रक्षेत्रज्ञयोरेवमन्तरं ज्ञानचक्षुषा । भूतप्रकृतिमोक्षं च ये विदुर्यान्ति ते परम् ॥ ३५ ॥
kṣetra-kṣetrajñayor evam antaraṁ jñāna-cakṣuṣā bhūta-prakṛti-mokṣaṁ ca ye vidur yānti te param
Translation: Those who see with eyes of knowledge the difference between the body and the knower of the body, and can also understand the process of liberation from bondage in material nature, attain to the supreme goal.
So obviously, sick minded perverts who always find references to Apsaras with "beautiful buttocks", sex and other perversions will never attain Moksha for they will always be attracted to such bodily pleasures. This is precisely why Purvacharyas made sure these lines exist in our Scriptures so that such perverts can never even dream of attaining the lotus feet of Bhagavaan.
This is exactly what Indra used to do to Rishis who were preforming penance, he would send Apsaras to distract them from their penance so that Rishis who succumb to such material pleasures would never be able to attain the higher truth.
Let these perverts dwell in such lines and never realize the supremeness of attaining the lotus feet of Bhagavaan! Such creatures are bound to be born again and again without any realization of Bhagavaan!
गोविन्दं भज मूढ़मते!

edit: my gf is bi as well, she has dated both a guy and girl before me.
so my gf and i have been dating for 2 years, we’re coming on our 3 year anniversary soon. her and her friends have known each other since middle school.
we were hanging out one afternoon and i had to leave her place early for work, which was okay because she was planning on hanging with a couple of her other friends, both around 21-22, so it all worked out.
but come to find they did drink a little or smoked some weed, which is fine by itself, and my gf had ended up either very tipsy or high and had kissed one of her friends.. she did come up to me the next day and confessed what happened.
i think she plans to still stay in touch with that female friend, and i am in no place to stop her (it’s her choice), which i think has bad implications for our relationship.
so my question is what should I do? do i break up? i can’t ask her to stop seeing that friend of hers, can i?
i think i can forgive her, but because she still wants to spend time with her longtime friend, it’s a bit worrying.
tldr: my gf kissed her female friend while drunk/high. she’ll continue to hang out with her. not sure if to breakup or to ask her to stop seeing the friend.

EDIT: she is bisexual as well. personally, i just try and treat it like she is just doing it with another person, rather than thinking about their gender.
so my gf and i have been dating for 2 years, we’re coming on our 3 year anniversary soon. her and her friends have known each other since middle school.
we were hanging out one afternoon and i had to leave her place early for work, which was okay because she was planning on hanging with a couple of her other friends, both around 21-22, so it all worked out.
but come to find they did drink a little or smoked some weed, which is fine by itself, and my gf had ended up either very tipsy or high and had kissed one of her friends.. she did come up to me the next day and confessed what happened.
i think she plans to still stay in touch with that female friend, and i am in no place to stop her (it’s her choice), which i think has bad implications for our relationship.
so my question is what should I do? do i break up? i can’t ask her to stop seeing that friend of hers, can i? i think i can forgive her, but because she still wants to spend time with her longtime friend, it’s a bit worrying.
tldr: my gf kissed her female friend while drunk/high. she’ll continue to hang out with her. not sure if to breakup or to ask her to stop seeing the friend.

Hey folks, me again back to detail my experiences at Yeson.
For a summary of my decision to get VFS, I had always been curious about VFS and some of the promises it made, but it was never a priority for me as my voice has always been assumed as cis. Frankly I've received a lot of compliments about my voice and in the past had people accuse me of lying about being trans on the basis of my voice. None the less, I was still curious. My voice was always decidedly in the lower register of the female ranges, and I wanted it to be more average.
In recent years I noticed the pitch of my voice come down a bit and it became increasingly difficult for me to even reach the prior speaking pitches/it required a lot more concentrated effort. At a certain point the absolute higher range became inaccessible. As I approached the higher range I noticed an air leaking sound in my voice, picture opening a bottle of seltzer water very slightly. Additionally I had developed a vocal tremor. My voice also tended toward vocal fry a lot so I started needing to control my speaking differently to avoid every word turning into a fry sound. I needed to speak very punchy with a lot of air pressure to compensate for these things. These were all things I had observed that led me to deciding I would seek VFS and see what was up and if any of this could be corrected.
It could be a complication of numerous intubations, or even a tracheal shave procedure, but I never collected enough data to say conclusively if A led to B. It could also be that because my vocal training was self directed I was doing it "wrong" and slightly straining every time I spoke for almost 15 years, and it just has this kind of end result. Regardless of the why, I know the what.
Now, into the actual details.

Travel to Korea

The flying was uneventful. I have airline status and bought nice seats, spent some time in the airline lounges yada yada. I arrived, there were taxis waiting, I got one, and it took me to my hotel. I stayed at the Entra Hotel which is maybe half a block away from the clinic. It does require one street crossing, the walk was less than 5 minutes door to door. I stayed in one of the "superior king" rooms with the nice views and a fancy bathtub that looks out the window.
The hotel is nice, the hot breakfast is not vegan friendly unfortunately, but the buffet had options and was nice and easy. The staff are nice and have likely dealt with a few Yeson clients and were quick to assist me reading messages off my phone. There's a supermarket maybe 3 blocks away, called SSG. Definitely stop there, buy some extra water and some snacks for yourself all that good stuff. They give you 2 bottles of water per day at the hotel, and will provide more on request.

Pre-Op Consult

For the consult they had the clinic staff responsible for arranging transportation for the clients pick me up, take me to a nearby hospital, he arranged everything I just had to follow him, get a chest X-ray, then he drove me to the clinic. This too maybe half an hour total, way more efficient than US hospitals or urgent care centers.
At the clinic I had to fill out some paperwork that detailed my feelings about my voice. There is a general form about vocal disability and then a trans specific form to fill out. Some forms and charts may have your sex listed as "T." This is better than misgendering, though I'd prefer if it said "F" I'm not about to wage a war against medical practice in Korea to get them to change this. It might even be legally required for all I know. Regardless I still wrote F everywhere it asked, and they didn't care.
At the clinic you'll meet with the international patient care coordinator who will help you out a bunch throughout this process. She'll bring you to a room where they have you do a standard vocal exam. You have to read some stuff in a lower voice and a higher voice. I'll admit I was anxious during all this so I think I limited both ends of my range as my voice gets tight when I'm anxious. I wasn't anxious from worry, I think just from being recorded and wanting to do the best I could or something. Not really sure.
Anyway you do some tests, they stick a camera down your throat and observe your vocal folds. Then they take you downstairs, draw some blood, do an EKG. All standard stuff, and the coordinator is with you the whole time to assist you so you don't need to be worried about not speaking Korean.
Then you meet with Dr. Kim, he'll have you do some more exercises, he'll stick a camera up your nose this time, and then will answer any questions you have while discussing what he sees. This is where things got interesting for me because there was a physical reality behind each of my observed symptoms. My vocal folds are asymmetric, I sort of twist my whole vocal instrument when I speak to accommodate for this, my vocal folds do not actually touch when I speak leading to some of those other issues, I speak with 3-5 times the air pressure of a normal person, and consume about 8x as much oxygen speaking as well as a result.
Dr. Kim theorized this all might be the result of just how I've used my voice over the years, but had a few other potential theories including potential injury at some point and so on. Regardless he assured me that his approach would actually address my concerns if I was diligent about following the care rules. And I will be, I always am.
This process took maybe 2 hours in total, but we did a lot so there's not a lot of doing nothing. It goes by quickly.

Surgery Day

Surgery day is easy. Walk 5 minutes, get myself prepared for surgery, lay on the bed. I chatted with the care coordinator for a bit, the nurses put your hair up and put a hair bonnet on, you meet with the doctor, the anesthesiologist, and sign some papers then you walk to the OR and get put under and that's that. It's all super standard stuff like every other surgery I've had. Easy peasy.
You wake up and will probably have a sore throat (3-4 discomfort for me) and some discomfort swallowing (3-6 depending on if it was a good or bad one). Especially if you typically swallow "hard." I found it more comfortable if I had my chin at 80-110 degrees angle with my neck. Might vary person to person. You are advised to practice circular breathing in through nose out through mouth, so do that. You might get a little phlegm, I didn't at this stage, but make sure not to cough or speak. You'll get nurse visits at noon, two, and four. At four you'll meet with the doctor before you get discharged, and he'll do the camera nose thing again and repeat the care instructions.
They usually bring people ice cream I guess, but I'm vegan and so they brought me some insanely good pumpkin soup that I need to try to recreate. This will come around noon with that nurse checkup. Just try to sleep as much as you can honestly, but you can get up and play on your phone or something if you prefer.

Follow-Up

The follow up was two days later in the late afternoon. They do the camera nose thing again, take some pictures, go over the care instructions again, answer any questions you have in written form, do not speak. You get a copy of the pictures, and a copy of all the exam and test results, you get some pills you might have to take depending on the 3 month follow up audio results, you get a USB device with some of the recordings they took and some follow up videos and all that. I really think these videos are super neat, and I get to see the patterns I habituated, where I really narrow the area I'm speaking from and all that. Cool stuff.
In my case there was some raw and slightly bloody looking area near the former anterior commisure, but not on the folds themselves., this may have been due to coughing in my sleep. I had worried I coughed and spoke in my sleep the night before as I dreamed vividly about it and woke up immediately after, but I wasn't sure. I raised this with the doctor, he says botox will help prevent this from happening. I think it may have also been due to just how bad it hurt to swallow a few times, but regardless he said it was nothing to be worried about and that overalll it looks fine and should heal if I stick to the care plan. There will be some sloughing looking skin above the stitching, it'll look weird, but it's fine and part of wound healing so don't be worried there. If you've had other surgeries, you know what this is so you'll not be scared.
You'll meet with a speech pathologist who covers the follow up training you have to do starting at 2 months to connect your brain with the new action of your modified vocal folds. I'm told this training is essential to get the full benefit of the surgery, so make sure you do it. The exercises are very simple and will take you maybe 15 minutes, 3-5 times a day as advised. Do one in the morning, one before bed, and fit in the others anywhere else.
Then I met with the doctor again, he injected botox into the muscles around my vocal folds to help correct the tremor and also to help prevent potential damage to the surgical site thru coughing or all that. They come in through the front of the neck so be prepared. For some reason the second one scared me a little, so be prepared for more than one jab. I did notice less static discomfort overall after this, but you know botox does block up the nerves so it might just be that I can't feel the pain.
They use much less botox than say you'd get in your forehead, so it should wear off somewhat quicker and not lead to any long term muscle atrophy, though there may be in the short term after 2 months of not using so be prepared for a tired voice when you start training again.
You'll be advised not to tip your head back with a mouth full of liquid to avoid aspirating any water while the botox is in effect, so just do that. Essentially your vocal folds will be paralyzed wide open, so it would be easy to aspirate water and you don't want the resulting coughing fit.

Trip Home

Largely uneventful. I made sure to let the flight attendants know I couldn't respond verbally and just kept my requests simple. Like writing "water please" before they got the beverage cart to me so I could just hold it up. They were all sympathetic, likely because I'm not old and look overall healthy so they felt bad for me and wanted to help.
I'm home now, drinking my usual 4-5L of water per day, crying that I can't have coffee, chocolate, or spicy food for 2 months. Making sure not to speak or talk and just waiting to see if this was worth the 9k lol (I'm sure it will be)
Anyway, not too much to note, it was very uneventful, the area being operated on is like 1.5cm big so there's nothing major to discuss with you all like some of my prior surgeries. But yeah here it is! Feel free to ask any questions. I'll follow up later once I can speak to let you know what's going on.
Currently I feel no pain, occasionally very slight discomfort when swallowing, haven't had to cough, had to stop myself when I was about to speak a couple times. I noticed how much I occasionally mouth words to myself when I think them, so trying to make sure not to do this as well.
My throat feels maybe slightly heavy? I think I was subconsciously keeping my larynx elevated for the last 15 years, and so with botox weakening the muscles they get extremely fatigued when I try to do this without thinking lol.
If I get a lot of phlegm build up and feel like I have to cough, I bend over and let it kinda grossly slide up more toward my mouth, and then it's easier to clear via swallowing.
Prior Yeson related post: https://www.reddit.com/Transgender_Surgeries/comments/10vj6kyeson_first_contact_thru_booking_current_price/

https://imgur.com/a/SeXAMV5
edit 1: here’s a song i recently produced/wrote/recorded that i believe is at least competent https://youtu.be/YCBGuqnUtJw
It's best to view Life as a video game. Your physical body is the "character" and your Soul/Spirit/Consciousness is "the person holding the controller playing the video game". In Life there are many "characters" to play as (musician, engineer, politician, etc) all with their own "games" and set of rules.
I was raised to be a nerd. My parents immigrated from China, and education was their ticket to a "better life"/higher standard of living (at the time China hadn't industrialized yet). I grew up as one of the few Asian kids in a majority White school, and being intelligent was a survival tactic. I wasn't popular or good at sports. However I subconsciously knew that if I put my head down and was a high achiever, my teachers and peers would somewhat respect me and not pick on me. It worked for the time being, and because I'm a naturally curious person, I didn't mind it. I enjoyed the intellectual stimulation. But deep down I always wanted to be cool.
When I started college in 2014, electronic dance music was blowing up and I wanted to be an EDM produceDJ. So I learned how to produce music. After I graduated in 2018 and started working, I realized I loved voices and learned how to sing and write songs. I started putting out original material in 2019 and have struggled to gain traction and create the right look/image. Basically I tried to change my "video game character" after high school and am failing at it.
Let me now introduce the concept of karma. We all know it, but I'm not talking about how it's conventionally understood by popular culture. Karma means action/memory/cause and effect. For example, say you grow up with a tiger parent and they traumatize you - the action is them inflicting trauma onto you, the memory is then you go through life with trauma stored in your body; the consequence is you have a strained relationship with said parent because you don't know if s/he is your friend or foe - after all, a friend wouldn't overwhelm you with force, a foe would.
For how karma applies to me - well, I'm extremely nearsighted and have chronic dry eyes due to a condition associated with being born premature (I was born at 25 weeks/3 months early), lifestyle (studied and went on the computer a lot growing up), and ignorance by optometrists (there's good evidence that glasses can make eyesight worse). This means I'm restricted in choice of frames: I can't wear cool, big hipster glasses because the worse your eyesight is, the thicker your lenses are, and the more the lenses distort your eyes and make them look smaller. I look ugly in big frames. So I have to wear frames that make me look like a nerd. And I can't wear contacts right now because my ophthalmologist/cornea specialist put me on a treatment plan for dry eyes and said my corneas aren't healthy enough for contacts.
I also got 8 teeth pulled in total (includes wisdoms) and don't have a wide Hollywood smile (pulling teeth can narrow your smile and possibly set your jaw back, giving you breathing difficulties/sleep apnea/future health problems). Nobody likes to say this, but any front-facing position (actor, reporter, singer) basically requires you to be conventionally good looking and have a beautiful smile.
So why am I saying all this? Because my deepest desire is to be a successful singeperforming artist. I have the skills to succeed, just not the image/look (there's probably other reasons why I'm not successful that I'm overlooking, but having the right look is most definitely part of it). Now obviously the world isn't over and yes there are still many jobs I can do, there are still many ways to live a fulfilling life. But anyway.
ESPECIALLY TO ALL THE YOUNGER FOLKS HERE, where maybe a lot of karma hasn't been created yet/you haven't been pushed too far down one path yet. YOU ARE GOING TO BE PRESSURED BY YOUR PARENTS, PEERS, AND CULTURE IN GENERAL TO BE A CERTAIN KIND OF PERSON. HOWEVER THAT MAY NOT BE WHO YOU TRULY WANT TO BE.
Just because Asian-Americans are stereotypically associated with being software engineers, bankers, scientists, academics, doctors, etc doesn't mean YOU have to be. Obviously those are all very respectable and lucrative professions and if you truly love a field then by all means pursue it.
IN LIFE YOU ARE ALWAYS GOING TO BE PLEASING SOMEBODY. "Don't be a people-pleaser" is a myth. If you aren't pleasing your parents by being an overachieving student, and instead choose to smoke weed, ride motorcycles, and f*** girls, you are pleasing a different group of people, ie a group of people that values those things. And yes our culture does value things typically associated with "coolness". It's just, everyone has a different hierarchy of values they're walking around with. And your values can change over time.
Forgive me for the rant but I hope there's at least a few gems here. Ideally you want to be the driver of your life as soon as you can. Take a walk in nature. Get away from everybody you know for a while and truly REFLECT and INTROSPECT. What do you truly want to do? What do you want to try? Who gives a f*** what other people think. Want to learn how to dance but afraid of being called gay by guys? Who gives a shit. Just go learn how to dance. Girls like it. Want to learn a martial art? Go do it. You'll be able to fight and protect yourself and others. Archery? Cool. Growing food? Awesome. Fixing cars? Hell yeah. Whatever just go do it!
Life is short. Life is long. Ultimately we all just wanna spend time doing things we like doing and fulfill us, and get paid for it. And hang out with people we like, who support us, who want the best for us. What do you want the story of your life to be? How do you want to "tell" your life? What do you want your life to mean, to you and to the world?
I think that's it! Thanks for reading.

all,
i've admitted to myself that i'm an addict but can't seem to actually get it started in getting sober. i recognize that i need to get sober, that any attempts to limit my use (weed & alcohol) haven't worked.
every day, i tell myself that i'm going to go sober. then in the early afternoon when i get my first cravings, i crumble. once i start using in a day, i develop the mentality that i've already lost the day so continue to use, thinking that this will be day 0, and i'll start sobriety tomorrow. then this whole cycle repeats.
i've talked to my friends, told them that i recognize i'm an addict, my behavior isn't sustainable, and that i recognize the need to go sober. they are all extremely supportive but ultimately they can't fully control myself. i feel like i can't control myself.
i run marathons and feel the effects of my smoking and alcohol use each time i go out. i feel like my use really sucks down my confidence, and i feel weak to not have the willpower to keep myself sober.
anyways, i'm wondering if anyone has any recs of how to snap out of this and actually get started in sobriety? i feel like i don't have sufficient willpower to actually complete this, and fear of actually getting started is paralyzing me.