#to be adequately hydrated for something BUT

[erabu-san]

First of all, I would like to thank you so much for all your support and your kind message !! Thank you so much for being patient with me too !! (you will see, I thanks a lot in this post lol)

Haha tbh I believe that ignoring and move on is a great way too! Yeees when I read this anon ask, I was wondering if they are living somewhere where pale person are oppressed and they are personally in this case and it affects them so badly that they have so much hate in them or they are just being hateful toward poc w/o any explication ? It was a bit uncomfortable And what is appealing with Genshin Impact (for me) is the fact that they use real culture to create their game ; even in the last survey, they ask if we like Natlan's authenticity (weird they only ask abt environment and music, i think they know they have issue with character design bahaha). I learn a lot about persian, algerian, but also chinese and even about french culture ! It is because people recognize themself that they start talking about it. I know there is a lot of controversial topic in Natlan, but because of this, I learn a lot on Hawai'i 's culture too. So yes, even if it is fiction, representation *is* important. And it is because they take inspiration of their culture that there is people who want a better representation, and in my opinion, this is something to not ignore !

About taking well what anon said, thank you so much ! If i can be honest tho, I didn't take it very well neither, or just I don't know how do I really felt at the moment I am an adult but I still hard time to distinguish what is morally okay or not, what is bad and good ? So if someone doesn't tell me they are explicitly a bad person with bad intention, I won't get it haha (ofc I grew up and now I identify my value and morals, but I still questionning if my morals are objectively great or not- yeaaah i was called weird for that, I am aware) Since forever I always try to understand other so I can communicate properly (at least I try), and that's why I am always interested on how does people think, why do they react in this specific way etc etc. Pro, I am patient and can take even the most violent take "well" (all depends. I am still a human) Con, I give free speech to those who have a "bad" take </3 and I apologize for that aaaa

KFSDLFSD I wish to express my angryness sometime but I just don't know if it is really adequate What if I interpret their text in wrong way as they initially try to say ? I wasn't feel offended by what they said, I was just uncomfortable because their opinion is something I consider hateful. and what if i was wrong??? But reading you all's opinion just affirm that's they were indeed rude ! I should stop overthink, life would be easier Maybe next time I have a doubt I will ask my friends's opinion before answering ksdkfsf

Oh my god thank you !!! If i can be honest, I draw Kinich this way because when I draw him w a darker skin for the first time, I thought "Oh !!! he looks so cool !!!!" and seeing a lot of positive comment abt my Kinich just makes me happy so I keep him like this ! And thank you for sharing with me informations !<<333 This is not overstepping at all ! And it is a reciprocate feeling anon ! It might be a bit weird but "angry" is such a complex feeling for me. I feel it but I don't really know how to express it in the most healthy way and it is super frustrating. So... seeing people getting mad at something I also disagree on makes me feel better !! And for this, thank you all !

I SNORT SO HAAAARD Damn Macron you again..........!! I didn't put all ask here but I read them all !! Thank you for sharing with me your opinion and reaction, it is truly interesting (and way more relaxing that the hater anon kskskss) !! and again, your support is truly meaningful for me. You all have sincere gratitude Hope y'all have a great day !! Stay hydrated too <3

[eyecide]

TATTOO APPOINTMENT IN 4 DAYS 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁

[kazcreates]

The Crows and Fevers

Kaz was always a sensitive child. Although fevers meant getting out of chores on the farm, they made him emotional and upset. It’s even worse after the plague and losing Jordie. From the second the chills set in, Kaz is on edge. The higher his fever, the worse the flashbacks get, delirium mixing with delusion and sending him back to the harbour. His immune system sucks so bad that he’s bedridden almost every time, despite the fact that he’ll try his hardest to work through them. Kaz despises fevers, in himself, but in others too. When those close to him develop a fever, he has to resist every fiber of his being screaming at him to get away from them. He can’t afford to catch anything. He can’t bring himself to watch them suffer. But when he’s healed some, he takes care of them. Watches over them at the very least, even as his hands shake inside his leather gloves.

Jesper also has a negative relationship with fevers. Although he never got them even as a child, being Grisha and all, he can’t stand the see them in other people. Watching those he loves reduced to a shivering and weaker version of themselves, it reminds him too much of sitting by his mother’s bedside as the poison coursed through her veins. He tries his best to be helpful, makes sure that they’re hydrated and at least eating a little, but he paces constantly, tries to distract himself from the memories that itch inside his mind.

Inej doesn’t mind fevers. She doesn’t enjoy them by any means, but she gets over them fairly quickly because she actually allows herself to take adequate time to rest. She doesn’t push through stubbornly like Kaz, and she doesn’t have many negative memories attached to sickness as the others do. She chides Kaz into taking care of himself when he needs to, sometimes going as far as threatening to tie him to the bed if he won’t lie down of his own accord.

Wylan has a strange relations with fevers. When he was younger, being sick meant a break from pointless and frustrating lessons trying to teach him to read. A fever meant rest, meant that he would be taken care of. His earliest memories of being feverish involve his mother, running her fingers through his hair, brushing a cool cloth over his face. Once things took a turn for the worst, sickness meant being lonely, ignored, locked up in his room. Which really wasn’t all that different from usual. But there was no one to take care of him, so he had to learn to be self-sufficient. Once he’s with Jesper and the crows, a fever would mean trying to hide the fact that he was sick as not to inconvenience anyone else. After all, he could take care of himself. (Jesper teaches him how to allow himself to be taken care of again.)

Nina, up until her run in with Jurda Parem, is unfamiliar with fevers. No one in the Little Palace ever got sick, and as a Grisha herself, she was never really around sick people. She’s been trained how to soothe fevers during her Corporalnik training, and practiced it a few times on First Army soldiers. Fighting off her addiction to Jurda Parem was her first interaction with fevers herself, and she was not a fan of it.

Matthias was taught to work through fevers, during his time in the druskelle. Something as fickle as being sick was not allowed to slow you down when you were dealing with dangerous Grisha. He views them as more of an inconvenience than anything. He works through them until he has time to rest, then he takes care of himself. He’s very independent, because there was no one to take care of him in the druskelle. He was a soldier, not a child.

[schizoetic]

Ways to have productive appointments with a psychiatrist:

Have a list of things to discuss beforehand. These things can be good or bad. What's important is that they have to do with your mental health.

Be honest. 100%. Don't hold back. This isn't a time to hide anything whatsoever. The more a healthcare provider knows, the more they'll be capable of helping you.

If you struggle with self expression, bring a trusted friend or loved one who knows both you and your scenario.

Try your best to be your true self. This also means doing your best to unmask. Act naturally.

Take your time when it comes to answering questions. This isn't a race by any means.

Be willing to approach your recovery by at least trying what the doctor suggests first off. There is likely more than one way to approach everything.

I say this with caution but if your doctor seems judgemental, isn't listening to what you're saying, or bothers you in any way... you can possibly try another one. But keep in mind they may see something neither your loved one or you see.

Try your best to arrive sober. Having your mind as clear as can be will give the most accurate representation of yourself.

If you wind up getting taken to a psych ward or emergency room, don't fight it. Remaining calm will give you your best outcome.

If you relax with nicotine, smudging, or grounding techniques, try to do so before the appointment.

Take your time before the appointment to really think hard on what needs to improve.

Ensure that you are fed, rested, and adequately hydrated so your brain is functioning at full capacity.

Listen to soothing music while readying for the appointment.

Do your best not to say what you think the doctor wants you to say.

No information is too much to provide.

Don't spend too much time rehearsing every which way the talk could go. What happens will happen and what'll be will be.

If an emergency arises before your scheduled appointment please do not hesitate to reach out to an urgent care provider.

Remember that, in the end, your best advocate is you or someone who sees you very frequently.

[ariswul]

Do you know your skin type?🩷

Hello everyone! This is my first post on here. Today, I'd like to share some useful info about skin, concerning skin types and skin health.

In today's society, there is a lot of emphasis being put on self-care, which invites us to take care of our bodies and minds, for us to glow inside out. The state of our skin is a very clear reflection of our physical and mental health and can tell a lot about ourselves and our habits. People can make judgments about us based on many factors, such as clothing and interests, but the main factor remains our face. This goes beyond appearances and good looks; It is not about being conventionally attractive and looking like today's beauty standard, but instead about the inner glow that you emit and the vitality that comes from within the healthy body.

The state of our body is a clear reflection of all the things that we do and don't do, and I'd like to elaborate more about skin types so you girlies can know more about yours and make wise choices concerning products, that shall match your skin type.

The 4 skin types

{ There are 4 skin types : normal,mixed, dry and oily.}

Normal skin presents itself in uniformity, with no dry spots, rashes or discolorations. It may present a slight pinkish tone, and it is balanced in color. This skin type might be the one that we all are trying to achieve, but it is important to keep in mind that normal does NOT equal perfect. Normal skin can still present imperfections. The adjective "normal" can be simply used to describe a balance in the skin secretions, therefore not resulting in skin that is too dry or too oily.

Mixed skin might present some areas that seem uniform and properly hydrated, while others might be a bit on the drier side. Either way, it reflects a healthy skin type that is diverse because the secretions differ depending on the area. A way that mixed skin can manifest itself is through an oily chin and forehead area, while the cheeks are more dry.

Dry skin has reduced secretions, meaning that it is naturally not moisturized enough. This skin type doesn't possess much hydration by itself, and environmental factors, such as a dry climate (both hot and cold), can worsen the skin's dryness.

If your skin is dry occasionally, that might be due to :

a) Environmental factors (climate)

b)Lack of hydration. Drink lots of water!

c) Use of alkaline products, which strip the skin of its oils.

Also, washing your face with water and soap isn't particularly good for dry skin. This kind of practice strips the skin of its natural hydration, so it is absolutely not recommended.

Chronically dry skin is manifested through atopic dermatitis. The usage of adequate products for dry skin can help lock in moisture and keep the skin hydrated, something absolutely essential, since dry skin is naturally prone to aging. Keeping your skin moisturized will noticeably slow that process down though, and minimize the signs of aging.

Oily skin: This skin type has a large amount of secretions, making the skin appear oily. In comparison to dry skin, oily skin doesn't present dryness problems, which are linked to aging, making this a positive thing.

On the other hand, oily skin is more prone to blackheads and acne, and might require products that provide strong cleaning effects as well, stripping the skin of excess oils.

Healthy oily skin presents itself in uniformity, mainly characterized by a glowy appearance that is slightly oily. If the skin seems too oily, this might be due to inadequate cleaning products, or using face cream that is too dense for the oily skin. It is important to remember that oily skin does not need any over-the-top hydration, since it already provides this for itself.

Dehydrated oily skin is caused by a lack of hydration. The skin might look irregular, with some spots being dry while others are oily. This can be solved by drinking enough water , which brings the skin's uniformity back.

Asphyxiated oily skin is caused by using the wrong products for the skin type. It might look similar to dehydrated skin, in the sense of having an irregular appearance; the only difference is that asphyxiated skin's pores are closed, and it might look slightly mate. This issue can be solved by switching products, which I will talk about next.

All 4 skin types are valid; none of them represents a flaw or imperfection. It is simply different skin types based on different amounts of secretions. While all 4 skin types are okay, dry and oily skin might pose a challenge to the person who has that skin type, since they require different products. This does not necessarily mean extra care, yet better said, more awareness about one's skin and what might be a good fit or not for the individual.

About products for skin types

For normal, mixed and dry skin:

It is recommended to use cleansing milk. Cleansing milk is usually pretty gentle on the skin and can provide some extra hydration without drying the skin too much and removing its natural hydration. You can also use Syndet cleansers (synthetic detergents), which are particularly excellent for dry skin because they contain no soap.

Syndet cleansers are known for being very gentle on the skin, without washing away the little hydration that dry skin naturally possesses. You can also use a combo ( a mix between Syndet and soap) to provide some extra cleansing without modifying the skin's natural state too much.

For oily skin : It is recommended to use cleansing products that contain soap, due to their efficiency in eliminating excess oil from the skin. Soap is alkaline, meaning that it will provide a thorough cleanse. Oily skin will also benefit from peelings to help unclog pores, caused by excess oils.

Thank you for reading!

[lalizah]

This is the silliest hc anyone can hc so please don't judge too harshly lol

Liz is so so self conscious about how she looks and now that she finally finally looks how she's always wanted, she's meticulous and high maintenance with her appearance, so much so that Mason has a heart attack the first time he goes into her bathroom to take a shower whilst Nate cries tears of joy because he's finally found his soulmate

After they've known each other a while, Liz does something stupid and ends up in the medical ward (yet again) and UB are distraught, especially Rebecca. The sight she sees when she goes to check up on Liz would have her doubled over and laughing if it were not the fact that her daughter is still unconscious: Adam and Nate making sure her hair is hydrated, conditioned and styled properly, having a small argument over whether she'd want it straight or curled as Mason glares at them from where he's applying moisturizer to one hand and tells them to make sure her hair's parted correctly.

Felix is doing an immaculate job doing her nails and everyone stops arguing to appreciate the design, sure that Liz would love them. Rebecca's stunned reaction prompts a chorus of justifications - she woke up after three days last time and all she could do was cry about her hair- and - she was most distressed to find that her skin had not been provided with adequate nourishment and she proceeded to doubt our friendship, which greatly offended me hence why I have taken upon myself this task- and of course, - she spent 5 hours in the bathroom every fucking day, moaning about looking ugly and I'm not putting up with that shit again-

Deep down, they're all grateful to have something to do so that they can ignore the terror that claws at them.

[rin-and-jade]

Pulling Strings in your Veins: A Post on Switch-Induced Effects

'So, you're telling me switches can have unexpected effects beyond their intended purpose? Why would there be effects to the physical body when it is just some mechanism??'

Well, yeah i am! And it seems to happen to a portion of us despite not knowing why. It does sound confusing, like how we often view the appendix as a seemingly useless organ, but.. did you know that the appendix actually serves as a safe place for good gut bacteria during infections? Then, maybe we can start to think that these effects are not meaningless/random and have another mechanism/reason behind it?

What the Jerk?!

For those who don't know, jerk/twitches can be defined in this quote:

"A muscle twitch is a short contraction that sometimes occurs repeatedly − think eye twitching. Such movement can be uncomfortable and inconvenient, but it isn't usually painful." From USA Today

In general means, twitches can happen from nutrient deficiencies/dehydration (some minerals helps muscle contract and loosen), not getting enough rest, stress, too much coffee, or due to neurological conditions. It also can vary from being subtle like a nudge, to strong as in it can be visually observed too!

When these contractions became painful, they're called spasm/cramps and are caused by the same reasons above, added with overexertion or after having a strenuous activity. Overall, it is still wise to make sure you ate adequate meals, stay hydrated, and rest enough to minimize the effects whenever it comes by, alright?

OKAY.. but, this doesn't explain the whole ordeal we have as systems, so did we hit a dead end? Not really, i have some actual answers going on here after some many reading and sense-making;

What could that possibly be..

If you have heard about the Central Nervous System, you must meet it's younger brother: Peripheral Nervous System, CNS and PNS for short.

So, if CNS consists of the brain's and the spinal cord's nerves, the PNS would be every nerves and sensors outside of it--your finger tips, neck, face, legs, all of the limbs you can think of.

Now you're thinking, why mention this? Because the only bridge where neuro/psychological meets physical, is from the central to the peripheral! When CNS is where all commands and actions comes from, somewhere must be equipped to running those tasks accordingly, which is PNS's job.

Now if a switch is happening, many things are happening inside the brain as well, in chemistry and electrical-impulses wise. Apart from adjusting to the part that will be out next, it has this kind of recalibration from the CNS to be attuned to this part which could create peak brain activity, sending overexcited impulses in the initial stages,, pain also counts as the byproduct sometimes. Now this is where the the impulses are not intentional by the CNS, but caught by the PNS, which is why many physical effects happen right before, or in middle, or after the switch has been complete though it differs for everybody. (it can be as minor as shivering or eye-defocusing too)

Here's a similar condition (yet not widely used in the medical world) that you guys can learn too, dropping it here!

Okay, but why?

We now know what has been causing it, but probably that isn't satisfying enough for you as an answer? No worries, i gotcha covered!

We have been equipped with many involuntary responses when something happens, take some for an example:

Knee jolt reflex when a medical hammer is struck

Sudden retraction from painful, hot water

The coughs that comes along from an accidental choke

These things seems to happen without us needing to think of doing it manually, still with the examples as references, i will apply different reasons to why twitches happen in a switch;

When muscles are too stiff or loose, twitches can happen to reset the tone to its original state

It can be used to regulate muscle coordination to ensure movements are 'calibrated' (like how i explained before)

Could be due to adjusting to the CNS's output of energy/activity, especially if it suddenly changes

A response after being surprised by external stimuli (which could make sense because the body 'wakes up' again after the next fronter comes in)

Yes, but...

But not all experiences twitches, and instead felt weak or unbalanced or unable to coordinate movements or all that,,, how did the opposite happen?

Nobody's brain work the same way, that's the first thing you must remind yourself. This itself has a whole different involuntary response that comes with switching, which i also have the answer for;

Some switches have excitatory effects, while some have inhibitory effects depending on the person, some might even experience both kinds or just one.

If the PNS responds to any orders the CNS give, the CNS, instead of creating crowding arrays of nerve impulses, tells it to tone down everything on purpose to reduce any clashes from brain synapses or anything related to prepare for the next stage, make sense? Which then brings us to less controlled limb movements or balancing, or even sometimes affecting wakefulness.

Here are some inhibitory-related conditions, one way or another!

Takeaway

Just a simple reminder that any existing stress or conditions (mental or physical) can affect the quality of the switch, which is why it's important to take care of one's health to reduce the intensity of the physical symptoms that comes along with as well as safety measures to reduce any discomfort or harm that can happen in the process.

Sadly, i do not have a say in how to specifically help systems with any excitatory or inhibitory responses, coming from a system that has smooth transitions with little to no effects, so i want to hear how you guys experience and handle those moments! This can also be a moment where you guys share tips or tricks that can benefit others too, so i appreciate any contribution related to this topic!!

So, what do you guys think about this? let me know your thoughts alright?

- j

[cazort]

How to Acclimate to The Heat Safely, and Why it is Beneficial To do So

Much of the eastern US is experiencing a heat wave accompanied by high humidity, and I unfortunately see a lot of people engaging in "avoidance" behaviors (staying inside in overly air-conditioned spaces nearly 100% of the time and avoiding any exercise) that might actually increase their risk of health problems like heat exhaustion or heat stroke.

If you have trouble coping with heat, you might benefit from intentionally and gradually acclimating yourself to heat. One way to do this effectively is to go on a walk (initially a short one) outdoors during the hottest time of the day, which is often around 4-6PM. If this is too uncomfortable, start earlier by walking outdoors earlier.

Make sure to ramp up your activity level and heat exposure gradually, stay adequately hydrated, and also make sure you have enough electrolytes. A simple way to do this is to drink a glass of water and eat a small amount of salty snacks and some fruit or veggies.

When you walk, it increases your body temperature. It's not super strenuous exercise, so it's not going to be exhausting or dangerous the way it might be to do something vigorous like running or vigorous cycling in the peak of the heat, but the combination of light exercise with exposure to heat is going to be enough to give your body quite a workout.

Over time you can walk more vigorously, but I recommend starting walking at a leisurely pace if you are unaccustomed to going out in extreme heat.

Your body adapts to heat in multiple ways. Your heart rate increases, and the efficiency of your circulatory system improves. Your body does things like dilating blood vessels more, but it also builds more capillaries (tiny blood vessels) close to the skin, which helps your body to pump heat to the skin. Your capacity for sweating also increases. This process takes a few weeks, so take care not to go from 0 to 100 while trying to acclimate to the heat.

When you start becoming heat-adapted you will notice that you start tolerating hotter and hotter temperatures. You might even start feeling cold at temperatures you once felt comfortable at. Like in the peak of summer, I feel cold when the air temperature gets as low as 75°F (~24°C) and feel totally comfortable at 78°F (~25.5°C) or even higher.

Here are some benefits to heat-acclimating:

You can set your thermostat higher, so your air conditioner operates less, and/or spend a greater portion of time not using your AC at all, which both saves money and protects the environment, and can sometimes improve air quality (indoor air quality is not always great in spaces that are always closed.)

Your aerobic fitness improves, to where your aerobic capacity will be higher than before when you return to exercising in normal or cooler temperatures.

Your risk of heat exhaustion or heat stroke is reduced.

You will be both more comfortable and safer in situations (like being outdoors or in indoor non-air-conditioned spaces) where you cannot control the heat.

You increase the range of activities that are comfortable and safe for you to do in hot weather, and thus help to make your life more enjoyable and a bit more stable or resilient in the face of heat waves or just generally hot weather.

Stay safe everyone. But recognize that avoidance is not the best strategy for dealing with summer heat or heat waves. If you isolate yourself in a heavily air-conditioned environment, you are not only wasting money, but you are weakening your body.

Keep in mind, we all have our limitations, and people with medical conditions may have a limited ability to acclimate to the heat. Listen to your body and make sure to ramp up gradually and take care to stay adequately hydrate and consume enough electrolytes.

But everyone can benefit to some degree from heat acclimation. And for those of us who sometimes have to be in situations where we are active and exposed to extreme heat, it's a necessity and we will ultimately be much safer and healthier if we train our bodies to adapt slowly and gradually. The highest risk of heat exposure comes when you are not acclimated to heat and then you are suddenly exposed to extreme heat! This is the worst case situation!

Protect yourself!

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 12: The Visit

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You have more questions than before. The same goes for Din.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Calvinball with canon and Mandalorian lore (making it up), light angst.

A/N: A short chapter here, will post the next one fairly soon. Been an interesting week to be a Din Djarin/Pedro Pascal fan hasn't it? Hope you're hydrating! Thanks for reading, big love.

--

The leader of the revived Mandalorian people is not so proud as to deny you to work on her speeder. She has a refreshing air of keen intelligence and frank regard. You like her.

Bo-Katan Kryze stands beside you as you fiddle with a mess of pistons and shaft lines. She asks an occasional question, but mostly looks out across the work site. Her people move about with quiet efficiency. They’re on a ranging operation – a huge group surveying a ruined city. Din had said he needed to go out there to see her – pay respects or something. So, after a terrifying meeting with a leader named simply, the Armourer, your group of three had flown the Crest out to join them.

The shade of the hangar is surprisingly cooling in the rocky, hazy clime. You spy Din by himself across the expanse, lifting crate after crate from a transport tray and stacking them neatly against a craft. You make a mental note to bother him later about adequate rehydration.

You’ve decided the person standing next to you is your best option to ask about what’s been gnawing away at you in the time it took to reach Mandalore. She and Din seem to hold each other in a profoundly high esteem, and you can see she deeply cares for him, and Grogu.

And, since Din’s big speech about the ‘sacrifices’ you made and the ‘honour’ and ‘loyalty’ you exhibited in retrieving that beskar cache, she’s ensured you’ve been welcomed and your offers to assist their rebuilding efforts accepted.

Although it was mostly when she’d reached up, removed her helmet and looked you dead in the eyes that did it. When you realised there was so much here you didn’t know. So much about Din Djarin the Bounty Hunter. So much about Mandalorians. What little you’d gleaned from discs and stories. It was nothing at all.

Still, it was just the one question you couldn’t shake at the minute. Just ask it. She’ll give you an honest answer, you think, then you’ll know.

You twist a coil of wire around and around the kit, worrying at it over much as you force the words out.

‘What does sha--’ you pause on the unfamiliar word, push it around your mouth. ‘What does shareekah mean?’

Bo-Katan turns to you sharply, but keeps an even gaze that takes in your pinched features and nervous fiddling with the bit’s end.

‘Cyar’ika?’ she asks, putting more softness on the final syllable than you had managed.

‘Sure, yes. That,’ you strip more rubber from the coil and continue twisting.

You glance sidelong at her, see Bo’s eyes soften. Then you look out into the glare. She follows your gaze to see the lone figure straighten and stretch out. 

‘It’s a form of endearment,’ she murmurs. ‘Generally, it means “darling”, “or “sweetheart”.’

The part ready, you slip it into place, plugging the ignition gauge into the new switch you’ve created, trying to remember how to breathe. You can handle this.

But, Bo continues. ‘It’s meaning is contextual though. In certain contexts, it can also be held to mean, “most beloved”.’

Oh. Force the new question past dry lips. ‘What kind of contexts?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shrugs, arches a brow. ‘Bringing a stranger with no clan to a secretive people’s home world and convincing everybody present it was a really good idea?’

You jam the speeder’s hatch closed a touch too hard. Bo looks back at you. You give yourself a shake and huff, ‘Okay, she’s ready.’

A couple of flicks to the dash and the machine hums to life.

‘You’re going to see a lot more room at the top end now. And the glide will be tighter. I suggest heading out somewhere flat and opening her up.’

Bo-Katan gives you a small smile, a hand on your shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she says. She replaces her helmet and swings a leg over the saddle, wasting no time zipping out from the sheltered spot. The engine roars overhead a moment later and you hear an honest-to-gods, ‘Wooooo!’ fade out.

That makes you smile. It’s a relief.

Another speeder glides in and you prepare to begin again. The towering rider dismounts and takes up a stoic vigil behind you, leaving you to your thoughts. You glance up and see Din out in the sun, looking back at you.

After witnessing a compelling ritual of armoured Mandalorians filing through a mess tent, some taking to gather around dotted fires to remove their helmets and eat, and others stepping away, fanning out to private spots – including Din, hand first squeezing your shoulder gently – you excuse yourself, begging fatigue, and head the short distance back to the Crest. 

The dusk air finally brings a cooling breeze, and you settle on letting that carry your simmering nerves back down to the earth. Seating yourself in the opening of the ship, feet thumping out a nervous pattern on the ramp, you breathe the sharp air and try to calm. You’d been growing aware of the true depth of Din’s feelings for you – even before you’d finally reckoned with each other. The conversation with Bo-Katan confirmed it. And now you’re left to wonder why it has sparked such a sharp panic within you.

There was no question you’d fallen hard for Din Djarin. Who wouldn’t? You thought you’d experienced great, epic loves before – but they all paled compared to this.

A problem was that when those old romances had crashed and burned, you’d never been sure you could piece yourself back together. And now this. What would happen to you if you lost this? You angle to the side and lean hard against the wall of the Crest, willing its cool hard surface to draw you down into yourself. It seems to hum back.

‘Be honest,’ you say aloud. ‘Am I completely fucked?’

Silence. Your breath ghosts against the wall of the ship.

Another problem was the one that had settled hard over you since stepping foot on Mandalore. This was a devout people, with a troubled and difficult history. The customs and culture were rigid, out of a survivalist’s necessity. And, as far as you could tell, their beliefs revolved around mystic superstition and ancient scriptural doctrines. Even the more pragmatic among them, like Bo-Katan herself, had an air of fateful intent around everything they said and did.

It had all given you the distinct feeling that what you and Din had found together did not fit into their way.

Even if it did, what did it mean? 

What did the love of a Mandalorian mean, ultimately? Where were you heading? What was Din expecting? You know he takes it all incredibly seriously – it’s his identity. How do you fit into all this?

You don’t know how to ask these questions. So, with an avoidant will, you push them to the side. Ferry them away like so much else. For now, you think dimly.

Out of the darkened evening, you spot a pair of lights heading for you. Din and Grogu emerge into the glow of the Crest a moment later. Grogu hurries forward to hop into your lap and you nuzzle the top of his head, enjoying his content purr and feeling calmness wash over you finally. 

Din takes you in, huddled in the door of the ship with his son. ‘Shall we get some rest,’ he asks, approaching you with a hand outstretched. You take it and stand, letting him crowd you around and into the hold.

--

Later, when you’re asleep against his chest, cool breath tickling his neck, Din once again thinks back to his conversation with the Armourer. 

After depositing the beskar and engaging in a stilted exchange of formalities, you and Grogu had been dismissed. You’d shot him a puzzled look as you followed the kid out. A what-the-fuck-is-her-deal kind of look.

Once alone with the Armourer, the two of them had sat down and discussed the best use of the beskar.

‘We have many needs, now that Mandalore is revived,’ she’s saying. Din just nods and agrees with whatever she suggests, flattered to accept an upgraded flamethrower. He’s just waiting for the inevitable. The Armourer’s perception and intuition were always an intimidating thing.

And sure enough, once the ingots of precious metal have been allotted, she goes still and stares hard at him.

He waits. Feeling not entirely ready.

She looks to the door you’d exited through, then returns her gaze to him.

‘You have coupled,’ the Armourer says.

‘Yes.’

‘She is not Mandalorian.’

‘No…’

A long, pregnant wait. She leans in.

‘Have you ever removed your helmet?’

‘No.’

‘Has it ever been removed by others?’

‘Never.’

‘This is the Way.’

‘This is the Way.’

She stands and strides to her forge.

That wasn’t so bad, he thinks. But then he’s thrown.

‘Do you know why we follow the Way, Din Djarin?’ she asks. He’s not sure what answer she is seeking. ‘The main reason?’

Once again, he waits.

‘To survive,’ she says. ‘We have been a diaspora, carved apart and hunted. We’ve followed the Way so we may continue. Do you think that holds true now that we are a united people of Mandalore?’

She turns back to him, seems to be genuinely waiting for an answer. He says, in all honesty, ‘I don’t know.’ 

It hadn’t even occurred to him to question it.

She tilts an appraising helm at him, moves back to sit opposite him again. He’s never witnessed her so restless.

‘Neither do I,’ she says, low and intense. He’s floored. ‘But I contemplate this question, every day, seeking the answers for the good of our people. As I do so, you should contemplate the questions that plague you now. Where do you fit? And where might she?’

The Armourer lets that shockwave wash through him. Then, changes the subject.

‘Your apprentice, Din Grogu, is due for his first Sojourn of the Will with his fellow students. There is one coming in a single moon’s turn. It is an important undertaking for every apprentice.’

Din welcomes the change in the course of this discussion and thinks. He knew he would have to face Grogu taking part in one of these things eventually. Had been dreading it actually. But it had to happen sooner or later.

‘I suppose now is a good time,’ Din ponders. He doesn’t want to be apart from his kid. But the Armourer’s right, it is an important rite of passage.

And, it means alone time with you. Time to figure all this out.

Time to tell you how he truly feels, maybe.

--

Prev | Next

(I am ambivalent about the movie announcement - swinging hard in positive-negative directions. But I don't think I like the new artwork that came with it at all. Something about the light reflected on Din's helmet is giving me BSG Cylon vibes? And is that an exploding ship he's jet-packing away from? Because if so, how is the poor child breathing...? Anyway, those are my thoughts byyyye.)

[swaqcenix]

࿐ྂ The Great war | N. Romanoff P2 ࿐ྂ

Clandestine Meetings | chapter 2

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Clandestine Meetings | chapter 2

Summary: Dragging yourself to another mission meant your mind indulged in the painful memories of your past with the one you once loved, Natasha Romanoff. Love written in the stars and now you're about to come face to face with in the clandestine meetings.

Warnings: angst, mentions of betrayal, lil soft moment(?),flashback of painful memories & relationships, mentions of violence and guns.

Pairings: Natasha x Reader, age gap! younger reader, enemies to lovers? slightly dark Natasha if you squint

Word count: 2.2K

Tag List: @natsxwife @imnotslouching @lonewalker17 @marvelwomen-simp @wandanats-goodgirl @snowdrop1026 @sayah13 @lol1556732

AN: Sorry it took me so long to update this, work got in the way and I hit writing block. Hope everyone is staying hydrated and taking care of themselves! <3 – Kaz

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The suit you'd decided was adequate for the mission clung to your body and curves well. Or at least, perhaps you thought it did. The idea of looking into mirrors anymore made your stomach churn.

You weren't sure if it was because Natasha's harsh comments from that night dug deep into your core, or if it was because you hated the look of a broken woman staring back at you. Ether way, you refused to look at mirrors whenever possible.

Shaking off the fact your mind constantly drifted to her, you grabbed your car keys and strapped your gun to your leg along with your knives before striding out the door. Determination and adrenaline ran through the course of your veins, you wouldn't let anyone else down, you wouldn't let yourself down.

That mission just was a fuck up for you, it wasn't what defined your true ability and you wouldn't let her be the cause of your downfall anymore. You stumbled to your car sighing as you turned the engine on and the car decided to be a shit at first.

Turning up the radio, your mouth curved into a soft smile as the music played into the silent night. It was often an outlet for you, something to turn to to relax and feel at ease. The Artic Monkeys danced through the air, filling the silence with an intense warmth and feeling.

I wanna be yours, it was a good song but as the song grew further in and the lyrics got more intense, your fingers clasped harder on the wheel. You had 10 minutes until the drive was over, but it didn't stop the memories of lingering sex.

The way Natasha had kissed her way down your body, worshiping you slowly. Her lips traveled in a way that lit you on fire. Her kisses were flaming like fire, it ignited you. She ignited you and you allowed it.

Quickly you shook your head away from the distant memory. You often related to the song memories, the feeling was true and hit deep into your bones. It didn't matter now though, you hated how much power she had over you yet somehow still has over you.

You glanced slightly down at your phone, seeing a message incoming from Fury and you sighed, not wanting to text and drive. You'd been halfway through driving to the specified location before you pulled up.

Eyes scanning over your phone, they widened slightly at his message.

'Someone will be joining you by the way, it's one of those missions unfortunately Agent.'

You huffed ever so slightly, rolling your eyes. There was little point in arguing, besides you were lucky he was giving you this mission in the first place. After the chaos that emerged last time, you certainly weren't doing amazing.

That being said, you wanted to do a mission alone. The whole point of you asking Fury for a last minute mission, was to drown in your work rather than your fucked up mind. That included not needing to talk to anyone.

As you indulged your mind through racing thoughts, you realised you'd reached Nick's required location for meeting up. You'd need to act sober though, he'd probably pull you from being an agent entirely if you found out you'd just poured strong liquor down your throat before clambering into the car.

Grabbing your mahogany trench coat from the back seat, you collected your files, your gun already strapped to you and headed towards the entrance. Slipping your phone back into your hand, you sent Fury a swift text to let him know you were waiting outside.

While you were waiting, you rested your back against the brick wall staring up at the sky. Stars filled the sky up like pale corn into the freshly turned ground. Lighting up the sky with their unique and beautiful patterns. Every time you breathed out, the air was cold enough that you could see your breathes with each exhale.

Looking at the sky, you had a thought of what Natasha once did for you. The stars filled the sky with hopes and dreams.. She was sweet and captivating, your own starlight in more ways than one. Yet, get too close to the sun or the stars and you get burnt.

— Flashback —

"You see that star over there," her voice was golden to your ears.

You loved the sound of Natasha's voice. It was always the one that grounded you, bringing you to such peace. Her voice lulled you into a state of calm and peace, as though nothing could touch you. No fire could burn you, no ice could freeze you. It was her voice that warmed you in every state, every time and every moment.

Glancing over at the pointed location, you tried your best to focus wanting to find what she was pointing at. Aside from being entirely captivated and hooked on your girlfriend, you needed to squint to see where the Agent was pointing at.

Your eyes glided over a certain shape, one that you weren't too sure of but assumed it was what she was pointed towards. As you tilted your head to the side, your eyes widened in realisation a gasp leaving your lips as you could picture a form.

"Is that?" You began, but her soft voice cut you off.

"Yes, it is milaya. It's Aquila, the eagle. It's the brightest star constellation known. It's said its 17 light years from earth darling. Altair is the southern point of a pattern of three bright stars called the Summer Triangle. I used to go looking for things like this every night, detka."

You turned your head to look at her, Natasha's eyes warm and welcoming while her hands moved around in expression of explanations. You couldn't help the fuzzy feeling you always felt when watching how she was with you.

Natalia wasn't just an agent with you, in fact she wasn't any agent. She wasn't even an assassin, the specks of a person she used to be. She was the girl who spoke of stars, chased you in the evergreen grassy hills, stayed up watching James Bond until the early hours of the morning. She was Natalia Romanoff with you.

Glancing back up towards the sky, your eyes lit up once more as you examined the stars. The constellation's were apart of Natasha's life, your girlfriend expressing how close they were towards her. Therefore, you felt the stars were apart of you, apart of your skin embedded and tattooed within you.

"It's beautiful," your voice slipped out into the air too scared to speak loudly.

"It is," her voice laced with sultry and tone welcoming home.

Turning your head in your girlfriends direction, you realised she was no longer looking up at the stars. Instead her eyes were solely focused on you and you alone. Her eyes showed nothing but love and adoration towards you, allowing you to indulge in the feeling of content and comfort.

Knowing she wasn't referring to the stars, you felt yourself shuffle over to the older woman before gently clambering on-top of her, placing yourself on her lap. Natasha's arms wrapped around your waist instinctively and you unconsciously grind down on her. Natasha's face moulds into an intrigued look, her lips curling upwards into a sultry grin.

"Under the stars detka?" She whispered moving forward so your lips barely brushed.

You felt Natasha grind you down once again, your hips rolling over her own, allowing both of you to let out a deep moan, before you surged forward connecting your lips together.

Tongues danced together under the night sky of stars and the air felt warm, the atmosphere heavenly.

"Under the stars," you whispered underneath her earning a quick nip to the jaw.

It was the feeling of the stars watching down at you, shining and glistening while you and your girlfriend made love underneath the stars. As you came screaming her name that night, you really did see stars. The stars of the sky and your own little star, looking down at you.

— Present day —

It was the clearing of the throat that brought you out of your lingering thoughts, the ones that never left. The nightmares and flashbacks haunted your dreams, but the sweet stories of reminiscing memories haunted your daily thoughts.

"Are you okay Agent Y/L/N?" Fury's voice had a lingering concern embedded within it.

It was at his tone and voice, you realised your cheeks were littered with trails of tears and soaked with the thoughts of your past. Anger flooded your veins in retaliation towards your mind.

Natasha never left you alone, the good and the bad. The thoughts and memories of what was there only poisonous, toxic towards you. You wished she'd stay in your memories but locked away so deep, so dark you wouldn't remember.

Yet, love didn't work that way. Love was a lot of things, it was cold, dark, intoxicating. Love was fire and shadows, but most importantly it was her. Now all you felt was a hatred, a broken shell of what you used to be, trained into missions and guns to shoot her out of your mind.

"I'm fine, really Fury. Just a thought that's all, lost in my mind," you tapped your forehead in a joking manner.

Fury didn't look convinced in the slightest, but he knew better than to push people, so he just gave a slight nod and did his very best at doing a smile. He turned on the balls of his heel and you knew well to follow him.

"The agent we've partnered you with is a skilled woman. She's known well and respected, but if she seems blunt don't take it personally, it's just who she is," he explained as he lead you down a darkened hall.

You nodded in an understanding manner. A shitty person to deal with sounds great, but at least you could perhaps get an understanding with her if you both want to focus on the mission at hand.

He opened the door, that lead into what can only be described as room you'd expect a conference meeting in. A long glass table stood in the centre, a chair with who you assumed to be the agent facing away from you and facing a fireplace with little on it.

The burning embers from the flames danced bringing smoke into the room, your face warming up instantly. The person in the chair you saw sit up in a better position, before turning around.

That's when you stopped. Your eyes glazed over, your blood ran ice-cold and you physically felt like you were suffocating. All too soon the fire felt like it was burning your alive, your stomach felt like it was going to collapse in on itself with how badly it was churning and your heart hammered so loudly it felt everyone could hear it.

It was her. Natasha Romanoff. Your ex-fucking girlfriend, the one you hadn't seen in so long. The woman who made your world turn on it's axis twice. Her eyes looked emotional in a way, her face twisted into a painful expression.

"No," was the only word you could get out.

Everything felt wrong, the world, the room even the way she looked. She looked the same but different. You looked directly at her before facing Fury. He didn't know because you never told him, but you couldn't do this.

You turned on your heels muttering about being out and flung the door open. You felt Fury hot on your tail a mere few seconds behind. He grabbed your arm, in a gentle way but you still pulled away as though his touch burnt you directly.

"Y/N, I didn't know but I need you to listen," he began but you couldn't hear it right now.

"Do you know how long it took me to get over it. Watching the betrayal, facing the other end while she pointed the gun at me like I meant nothing. Don't speak to me of listening Fury," you spat with anger without being sure of who it was aimed at.

"Y/N, I promise once it's done you can go. We need you for this, she doesn't need to speak to you, just cooperate, please."

You let out a sigh before storming back into the room. You stared directly at her and a thought came into your head. Last time she played the chess and Natasha had the upper hand. She was the Queen. Now it was your turn. You were going to win, it was going to be checkmate.

"Romanoff," you said with so much venom.

You prided in how she almost stumbled back into the table, the look of hurt passing her face. The irony of the bitch. She had no right to look hurt while you were the one who was haunted by her every night, of every second of every day.

"Y/N I-," you had no time for her though.

"Let's get this over with," you flung your shit down on the nearest chair and looked at her.

You stared her down the way she stared at you all that time ago. This time you had the game in your hands, you were playing and it was beginning. Playing the chess with Natasha Romanoff.

"So," Fury began.

It was going to be a long fucking meeting.

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[fangirlinginleatherboots]

question for ya !!! do you have any recommendations on switching cats to healthier more nutritional food? i'm currently feeding mine dry food because it's the easiest to afford but i want to do better for them !! do you have any recommendations on what some good stuff to start feeding them would be? and how to make the switch easier for them?

Yes! I do! Sorry for the delay in replying to this.

So first off, cats cannot hydrate adequately from drinking water. They are built to gain hydration from intracellular moisture, meaning that the food they eat needs to have fully hydrated cells. Kibble is not only dry, but the heat used in processing severely damages its nutritional value. Wet food is better, but the moisture isn't necessarily intracellular. Often it is still processed with heat and water is added back in later.

I am a huge advocate for feeding raw food and it's much easier and more affordable than you would expect. Switching even 20% of your pets food over to something fresher (ideally raw) has a massive positive impact on their health, so it's not all or nothing.

There are two main raw "diets": BARF and Prey. Both of these are going to contain organ, muscle, and bone. BARF stands for biologically appropriate raw food. This will contain a mixture of ingredients that have great nutritional value, but would not be something the animal would find naturally in the wild. Some of my favorite ingredients mixed in are green lipped muscles, raw goat milk, blueberries, and kale! The Prey diet is much higher in protein and does not contain as many of these "forageables," digestive aids, and supplements. Prey diets are better for cat only households or for dogs that work physical jobs.

My favorite brand of raw food is Steve's Real Food, but I'm also partial to Stella & Chewy. Both of these companies offer food that can be fed both to your dog and your cat, so you can feed the household out of one bag. That being said, Steve's has begun focusing a lot more on cat food and now offers the Quest line of cat diets. It's priced comparably to wet food and is very easy to feed. They also offer guides on transitioning your cat from one food to another since they are imprint eaters and it's not always easy.

Again, it's not all or nothing! Replace 20% of their diet with a balanced raw food and you'll see a difference. The poop is better and less, the pet stays hydrated and doesn't chug water, coat quality often improve and shedding is reduced. A full raw switch also removes the kibble brain fog and may even stop your cat from barfing all the time. Raw fed pets are more alert and less stressed, in my experience.

Obviously every pet is different, but the science of how they evolved to eat is sound. It just takes some shopping around to find the right fit.

[librarycards]

Hopefully this isn't too personal- do you have any advice for someone who is opposed to psych wards or conventional treatment but really needs help with anorexia and adderall use? I don't want to "recover" and I'm scared they will permanently revoke my prescription but my weight and medical issues and dependence on adderall to function have gotten pretty awful to live with. I've tried to reign it in by myself but if I decrease the adderall even a little, I get really depressed and immediately start binging and purging. How do I get medical help without getting trapped in treatment I don't want or losing legal access to a medication I take several times a day?

so, obviously, disclaimer that i do not know much about adderal, i'm not a pharmacist nor have i ever taken it. also, i dislike the language of treatment/professionalized ED management, but alas, i use some here for ease of communication.

i think that harm reduction + some "freestyle recovery" techniques could be helpful here. by "freestyle recovery," i'm referring to the ways in which disorderly eaters practice healing outside the frameworks of traditional "recovery"/in ways that deliberately disalign from carceral / normalizing techniques. these can be practiced toward one's personal definition of "health," or simply as ways of living on without recovering as such. of course, this is up to you!

the first step here is outlining your necessities. do you need to be on adderall? if so, put this in the "necessity" column. do you need, at this moment, to stay below a certain # in size, or calories, or something else? put that, too, in the necessity column. once you've outlined some of these, consider what it is possible to "push" on –– for example, if you're not eating structured meals at planned times, this might be something to try - it normalizes your body's expectations for hunger and fullness, and helps a lot of people manage and decrease b/p cycles. if scales are a big concern, consider asking someone you trust to take or hide your scale –– this is actually something i asked my parents to do as a teenager (they still do to this day). if depression is a b/p trigger, it's worth thinking about what kinds of activities help you manage your depression –– for some people, that's exercise; if exercise is triggering, what about just going out in the fresh air? for others, it's art or music; for others, it's low-pressure (and food-optional/-free) hangouts with friends. also, of course, things like adequate hydration, vitamin supplementation, and maintaining a consistent eating schedule (even if you binge later!) are important to making sure your body can continue to survive without serious medical intervention.

you might notice that a lot of these recommendations are community-based: this is deliberate. it's not possible to live meaningfully without living in-relation. further, if you're experiencing hardship/crisis, it's absolutely necessary that somebody else be there to shoulder the burden with you. do you have someone around you irl not in a position of power over you that you can talk to? someone you can call or visit if you feel the urge to restrict or b/p? i find that the ways i harm my bodymind spike massively when i'm isolated/feel like i can't open up to anyone around me. even if you spend time with someone and don't talk about health stuff at all (though i also HIGHLY recommend having a crisis plan - your friends need to know what to do if you have a major health crisis), having a social release valve is incredibly important. camaraderie, being (at its best) reciprocal and nonhierarchical, is the opposite of institutionalization.

ultimately, your goal is simple but difficult: avoiding institutional treatment while maintaining access to an essential medication. while you are under no obligation to "recover," you do need to accept that the way you're living now is likely unsustainable if you want to achieve the aforementioned goals; maintaining your freedom is possible, but it's going to be really fucking uncomfortable. this is why i've emphasized skills that broadly fall under categories of "distress tolerance" (ew) and "distraction" (ick) –– you can and should not accept that your freedom is conditional upon "good behavior," but you do need to accept that in order to stay alive, you sometimes have to do stuff with your body that sucks. this is a universal truth for disorderly eaters. we can't go cold-turkey on what messes with our heads. instead, be intentional about finding the right balance of discomfort and safety. you don't need to "overcome" it. instead, focus on organizing your needs & wants, and tap into your networks to see who might be able to support you in achieving them.

[pbj-katz]

The Surreal Murder of Stephanie Marsland

Stephanie Marsland died Friday, March 15th, 2019, she had turned 16 only three weeks earlier. They found her on the east side of Yew Dr., approximately a quarter before four in Harpy, Colorado. During the initial examination, experts determined she had died only 15 minutes prior to the discovery.

Drowning.

She was face down in a puddle of maybe 4 inches of water; it had rained through the night before, and into the day, stopping only an hour before school was released. The pothole that held the water was the infamous Silly Billy hole. The name, well disputed on who had given it to the pothole, was in front of the house of William Harris, an elderly man who, as many of the folks who lived in Harpy would have claimed, had been living in the house before the town was even built. Despite the rumors right after his death from a heart attack three days later, William Harris was not the one to find the girl. No, that task was left to 10-year-old Sean Abshear, who sat on the ground with wet cement soaking into his brand new jeans and screamed until someone pulled him away from the sight.

“Those jeans, they were stained. I had to throw them away. Spent nearly 90 dollars on them and threw them away because Sean didn’t have the common sense to knock on a door. He gets that from his father.” His mother, Kimberly Abshear, would tell their neighbor Beverly Turner when asked what had happened that day. But of course, when Beverly went over to the Abshear’s house, she was looking for the gruesome details.

Within four months, Silly Billy, who had been filled with asphalt every year only to return deeper and more vengeful each year, would disappear. As if overnight, the town of Harpy would close Yew Dr., and reopen it three weeks later, freshly paved.

“I guess something good came from that girl’s death.” Fred Bowman stood on his porch early in the morning, looking out on the new street. Standing just outside the door, his husband felt a shiver crawl up his back, the only other person who could have heard.

That girl.

“Stephanie was an angel; she had this bright future. We had just started talking about colleges, about her major, about growing. She wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t have lain down in a puddle, she wouldn’t have killed herself.” Fiona Marsland told a student-made documentary almost a year to the date of her daughter’s death.

Stephanie Marsland was described as a kind-hearted, easygoing girl. She loved dogs, and her younger brothers, often described as a second mother to them. Over the 16 years she was alive, she had an influential impact on the town of Harpy, though mostly gone unnoticed. She would volunteer at events, or at the local hospital, but she was also a shy girl.

“She wouldn’t have won any popularity competitions, that’s for sure. The girl was smart, no question, but the girl was also dim. She could write a paper, and it would be this masterpiece, but the second the girl opened her mouth, nothing would come out. She had friends, I’ve seen her with friends, and she wasn’t ever without someone in the class to team up with, but once all eyes fell on her, she would freeze.” Launa Hempton, Stephanie’s sophomore biology teacher, would tell the police when they first launched their investigation. “No one hated that girl, or at least, I don’t think anyone would. There was nothing to hate, she probably didn’t have a single negative thought in her head. Poor girl, she probably passed out and fell into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The most popular theory that passed around Harpy. On her way home, Stephanie lost consciousness and accidentally fell into Silly Billy, tragically drowning while no one was aware. But that could not be the case. In the official autopsy, the cause of death was purely drowning. There were no apparent reasons for her to lose consciousness; she was adequately hydrated and had food in her stomach. There were no indications of diabetes, drugs, or alcohol in her system. She did not suffer from anemia, seizures, or low blood pressure, and all her organs appeared to be in good health. Besides the post-mortem broken rib from the CPR, there was no trauma to the body, no blunt force, no sign of any sort of struggle, and no trauma to her body or genitals, her hymen was still intact with no signs of any sort of penetration.

Absolutely no sign of trauma.

In the case of Ms. Stephanie Marsland, her examination came back entirely unremarkable. In the ruling of her death, it appears, in my professional opinion, that she unequivocally drowned. No evidence indicated a fall; had she passed out as suggested, there would have been visible marks on her body, especially if she had completely lost consciousness and couldn’t protect herself. Any sort of wounds I found, three in total, at least a day old, if not older, please refer to my official records for more information on the wounds. Ms. Marsland was the picture of a healthy 16-year-old youth, I have doubts she had ever touched alcohol or any drug stronger than Tylenol. All foreign fibers and hairs came back explainable, again refer to my report. I signed off on the autopsy as drowning, with my report reading: Ms. Stephanie Marsland was in exceptional health, if she momentarily lost consciousness, she would have had lay down and rolled to the point her face found the water, she purposely placed herself into the water, or, and most likely, since an article of clothing seemed to have been removed from the body, she was placed there.

The investigation started within a few days of her death, teens were pulled from classes to answer questions, one of them being maybe Stephanie’s best friend. Jacklyn Pappas sat in front of the police, the grease pen drawn mustache for her dress rehearsal of Hamlet, playing Horatio, still on her face. The questions were straightforward, how long had she known Stephanie? (Since childhood.) How long have you two been friends? (Since childhood.) How well did she know her? (Better than anyone at that school, I would say.) When was the last time she had seen her? (As they dressed after PE.) Was Stephanie acting strange? (No.) Was she showing signs of distress? (I don’t think so.) Did she ever mention feeling sad, depressed, suicidal? (No, despite what people say, she was never a sad person.) What do people say? (Stephanie was suicidal because Justin Goodwin had no interest in her.) Who is Justin Goodwin? (A boy Stephanie did like, a boy that she felt she would never have a chance with.) Did she ever talk to Mr. Goodwin? (No, she was too shy.) Did that make her sad? (No, maybe a little, but she rarely talked about it, she was more focused on her future.) Was Stephanie wearing a bra that day?

Jacklyn could not recall precisely what color, maybe purple, but yes, Stephanie was wearing a bra that day. They had changed twice in front of each other, once for PE, and the second after, both times Jacklyn knew for a fact she was in a bra. To Jacklyn, she would have noticed if Stephanie had not, because, despite her petite frame, she was heavy-breasted. She was not one to go without a bra, not when she knew the attention her breast had already garnered with it on, and if there was anything that she hated more, it was the gawking she got when she began to fill out at the early age of 11. She had mentioned reduction surgery more than once, but it was a dream for when she was older.

When she was found face down in that puddle, Glenn Hopper, a retired medic three houses down from where the boy sat screaming, pulled her from the puddle and administered CPR, he noted the girl had no bra on. Even when her mother sobbed in the morgue with the bag of clothing that she had been wearing, she asked where the bra was. As if the fact this girl had drowned in a puddle did not raise enough eyebrows, the missing article of clothing did. The entire town seemed to agree unanimously that Stephanie lying face first in a puddle was acceptable, but they drew the line at the missing bra.

“She was really nice, she was pretty too, I don’t think many people saw that, but she was a pretty girl.” Franklin Singur had been recorded saying over the phone to the Just a Second in Time podcast. Later in the call, he mentioned to Theresa Hernandez more on the subject. “I know she had gone on one date, maybe a few weeks before her death, I don’t know if you would even call it that, but she had gone out with Lincoln Perry, and he was there that day, one of the last people to see her alive.”

“Did he do it?” Theresa would ask.

“No, no, it’s too easy, isn’t it? But no, Lincoln was just a bystander that day, the real beef was between Justin Goodwin, and Patrick Hawkins. Lincoln was probably home right after she left and had an alibi. I remember eyes were on him for a hot second, but off as if they were like, no, not Lincoln Perry.”

“What exactly do you mean the beef was between Justin Goodwin and Patrick Hawkins?”

The argument of precisely when Justin and Patrick’s abhor for one another began narrowed down to three separate incidents. When questioned by the police, Lincoln would recount the first one, as he had volunteered to talk to them the very second he heard of Stephanie’s passing. “Justin and Patrick never liked each other, Justin grew up in Harpy, where Patrick showed up in the second grade. He was always strange, Patrick, he had these jars, tiny jars, and in the jars he would put bugs. He had one friend, Drake, and Drake isn’t weird, we played basketball together, but even Drake never jumped to Patrick’s defense. We would call him weird, and where Drake would never join in, he would keep his mouth shut. Patrick started our school, and from day one Justin didn’t like the guy. It was never directly one thing, but I think what set it off was when, and we were kids, like seven or eight, but Justin opened those jars into Patrick’s lunchbox, and when he opened it all these weird insects scurried around the table. Everyone was screaming, but Justin was saying, ‘I told you, the freak eats them.’”

The next incident was told by Nicolas Banter after the case was closed when the official transcripts had been released, and the first set of true crime investigators clamped down. Henry James’ podcast, The Back Waters Crimes, would be one of the first to take an interest in the story. Although the broadcast lacked enough information to make it worthwhile, a patron tier granted the audience who contributed five dollars a month the ability to read transcripts of unreleased episodes.

Nicolas Banter: Leans back in his chair, chuckling at the report. Of course, that is the moment Link would say, the bugs.

Henry James: You think that wasn’t it?

Nicolas: No, this paints Justin in a negative light, as if he just judged the freak right off the bat. Yes, what Lincoln said was true, the two clearly hated each other the second their eyes met, but if it wasn’t for Patrick, it wouldn’t have escalated to this.

Henry: So, you think Patrick pushed Justin to spill the bugs in his lunch bag?

Nicolas: No, I know for a fact it was. Patrick envied Justin, his dad was a chief of police in a different county, about a week before Chief Goodwin arrested Patrick’s dad when he ran a stop sign, and then failed a sobriety test. You see, Patrick was in the damn car. I don’t know if he saw Goodwin and figured, or was told, but the next time he saw Justin he jumped on him, punching the shit out of him, screaming at him. I would not be surprised if the guy killed Stephanie, if COVID didn’t happen, I feel like the investigation would have ended differently.

Henry: What was he saying? To Justin, when he was hitting him?

Nicolas: ‘F—k you and f—k your pig father.’

The case never categorically went cold, but as the year ended, and the climb into 2020 happened, one year came, and it passed one piece of evidence reigniting interest in the case until it came to an abrupt halt late in March 2020, when the country shut down due to the pandemic. Only Drake Hamal knew a story that the other two were oblivious to, potentially explaining the true cause of the two boys’ mutual hatred. He penned his human-interest story in his college newspaper detailing the event.

Nearly three years ago, while I was in high school, a girl was found dead. She had been drowned in a puddle four blocks from my house. The biggest spotlight fell on two students that I had known since elementary school, an incident that occurred at school, and then developed through the day until escalating off campus. In the end, a girl was found dead, and the boy’s pointed fingers at the other, as they had done almost a decade before.

PH moved from Utah, his family was Mormons, as was JG, they belonged to the same church. Years later, PH finally revealed to me the exact details of what had occurred, a truth that I deeply regretted knowing. JG was no stranger to attending events put on by Mr. G, who was heavily involved in the church. The boys, who must have been seven, were left to watch a movie in JG’s family den, when the DVD skipped, and they both went up to the main house to inform the adults, but found the house empty. PH claimed that JG suggested checking upstairs, but they both ascended to the second floor upon hearing a noise. It was a relief, PH would tell me, they weren’t alone, but as he went to open the door, JG told him no, that he wasn’t allowed to when the door was shut, but PH still turned the knob.

PH’s parents plus JG’s mother were engaged in sexual relations as JG’s dad watched. He would tell me Mr. G sat in a chair tucked back in the corner, naked as the others were, but still never taking his eyes off what was unfolding in front of him. As a teenager, we were just about 15 when this story was told to me; he understood what exactly was happening, but there, as he saw what he would call a pathetic pig watch his wife take it, he felt as if Mr. G was who to blame, by extension, JG too.

Yes, they hated each other the second they met, the classic clashing of personalities, there PH would put his disgust for his own parents all on to whom he felt was liable. He claimed he was the one who pushed JG into the door, but JG would be the first one to throw a punch. Their parents would come out of the room still naked, to the scuffle. It would end with the H’s leaving, and within a week of the embarrassing tussle, JG’s father would be arresting PH’s father.

The article will tell the story of the incident that would lead to the fight outside of the school on the afternoon of March 15th, which would have been argued to lead to the death of Stephanie Marsland, an incident that would be better detailed in the official police report, besides the partial redaction. The report is:

Monday, March 25th, 2019

The past week I have had the pleasure of talking to one Mr. Patrick Hawkins and Mr. Justin Goodwin, son of Delt county’s Chief Goodwin. They eagerly shared the details of the events that transpired on Friday, March 15th, evidence securely gathered and awaiting processing. Mr. Goodwin’s testimony is as follows; rap star Gaze the Baptist came out with a new clothing line late the year before, selling out as fast as it had gone up. This clothing line included a $300 pair of jeans that Mr. Goodwin would claim he had been saving up to get and was one of the lucky ones to purchase. That week the package came, and despite Mrs. Goodwin’s protest of letting her son leave the house with those pants on, he would arrive at school in them. He would claim he was aware of Mr. Hawkin’s being a fan of this rapper, and when he showed up in the jeans, Mr. Goodwin is quoted as saying; “I knew I made a mistake, the look Patrick gave me was telling me I would not leave the school without regretting wearing them.”

The pants in question were taken from Mr. Goodwin and put on evidence, but later released back to the boy.

It had been noted that Mr. Hawkin’s favorite form of taking notes was in red pens, not just by Mr. Goodwin, but by other classmates and teachers. Some even were quoted as saying he would use variations of shades, but always red. In their shared 3rd period class, Mr. Goodwin would take his seat right before the late bell and proceed with the class as usual, taking notes and interacting as he would normally. At this moment in his story, he looked out the window for a long time, his face turning a slight red as he thought of his next words. He was called up to the front of the class to give his presentation, one he claimed he had spent weeks preparing, and as he stood the giggling started, and by the time he was in front of the class, everyone was laughing.

“Madison Thorpe even asked me if I needed a tampon, and that’s how the period jokes started.” He would tell us. On the left side, and into the middle of his buttocks, was a red stain. The pants, when presented as evidence, did not show any resemblance to blood stains. The stain had seeped into his pants, through his briefs, and stained his skin. “Even now, what? Two weeks later? I still have a goddamn stain on my ass.” This is where, unprompted, Mr. Goodwin would stand up, and present the stain on his buttocks, mostly faded but a clear pink blob. “It was that goddamn freak, and his goddamn red pens.”

When asked about the ink, Mr. Hawkins smiled but shook his head. “No, I didn’t do it, yes, it was funny, but the asshole deserved it.” When asked how he thought the ink got on his chair, Mr. Hawkins would tell us he was unsure, though he couldn’t have done it even though he knew he had a “reputation of red ink”, how the boy would put it. We questioned whether he perceived the targeting of Mr. Goodwin with red ink as a mere coincidence. “I got to class with two other people, while three others were already seated. I sit nowhere near Justin, if I wanted to do it, the others would have seen me.”

Both admitted to the lunchtime confrontation, where Mr. Goodwin went up to Mr. Hawkins and shoved him to the ground but was pulled away before it could escalate. In the next class, the two shared they were separated, but comments between the two were heard from other classmates. The last class, one shared with Ms. Marsland, ended while one boy was sent to the library and the other to the computer lab after a brawl almost broke out during quiet time.

Classmate, Peter Waller, told the police that it started when Mr. Goodwin went to turn a paper in, he went the long way around the desk to knock into Mr. Hawkins’ arm, prompting Mr. Hawkins to rise and was quoted saying; “Face me like a man.” Three others impeded the two before they were separated.

The real confrontation did not start until after school had gotten out.

[Redacted]

The redaction was blacked out in permanent marker in the unofficial report, but when typed out, a simple redacted was placed, ending the document. The blackout second was just about a page and a half long, but no other reports seem to mention what event took place after the school bell released the school. Edward Hobble, a private investigator, became interested in the case in his time, cooped up in his house during the shutdown. Hobble had grown up in a town near Harpy, and the case was brought to his attention by his son, who was writing his senior thesis on the case. 

At first glance, Hoddle quickly concluded that the details were clear and straightforward. His theory, his son would quote him saying in the 30 page paper on the Marsland, was that she probably had an anxiety attack, the girl had clearly had an issue there and laid down on the ground when she felt dizzy and must have rolled into the puddle. The missing bra didn’t catch his attention, it was the unofficial redaction that did.

“Goodwin’s father was the chief of police, and then more than a page was redacted the second they mentioned the girl’s name. If anyone knows what happened to that girl, it’s either or both boys.”

The only people who were aware of what happened the afternoon of March 15th were Justin Goodwin, Patrick Hawkins, Lincoln Perry, and Nicolas Banter. In none of the interviews of investigations, has it been released whether Lincoln or Nicolas mention that afternoon confrontation, or if that information was told, just once more redacted. The common theory in a true crime Reddit thread, about the Stephanie Marsland case was Chief Goodwin made sure the boys wouldn’t talk. It was not until u/ [deleted] took to the forum.

There is a common theory that Chief Goodwin silenced those involved in the Goodwin v. Hawkins, and while I can confirm that we were told to keep our mouths shut, we never had to sign anything. We were minors, for Christ’s sake, and it’s not because we killed that girl. We left school, the three of us, and Justin was steamed up. He had changed into his gym shorts, and yes, he had this giant ass stain on his ass, I’d be pissed too. It was common knowledge that Patrick frequently used the back way home, which ran behind Yew Dr. There was a stream along the bank that Justin walk to, especially after it rained, but that day he kept making this jerky movement, like he was trying to see up the bank. We heard whistling. That’s the thing about Patrick all these reports failed to mention, this weirdo would whilst, very out of tone, always he would walk by, whistling.

I think Link said something like ‘I think that’s Patrick’ or something, but before he could even finish Justin was charging up the bank, us behind him. Link was the one to want to put a stop to the violence, but even there as Patrick froze as we bobbed up that mound, I think we all had the same idea, we’d scare the freak.

Justin was calling this guy every damn name he could think of, he grabbed him by the jacket and was jerking at him; we joined in, pushing him. I don’t know what the hell the kid had in his backpack, maybe jars of bugs, [A comment that would not be made clear until later, and many who would respond to this post would question this one line in particular] but it was heavy, he kept losing his balance until he finally fell over. Justin grabbed him by his ankles, dragging him towards the bank, telling him he was going to shove his face into the water.

If you want my opinion, that’s the reason that Chief Goodwin went out of his way to keep us quiet, Justin threatening to dunk this kid, and then the girl was found dead less than an hour later that exact way. But Patrick kicked out hard, and Justin lost his grip.

We grabbed Patrick before he could get away and held him for Justin, who looked as if he could murder Patrick. I think we would have let him go from an expression alone, but a voice stopped it.

Stephanie was shy, it’s been told over and over, but honestly, I didn’t think she would have ever said anything there if she didn’t see Lincoln. He liked her a lot, and I think she liked him, they had gone on a few dates, but he said she was too nervous to even kiss him, but he’s a good guy, he probably never pushed it. I didn’t know much more about her, but there she was, her hands on her hips as if she was a goddamn superhero. She told us to let Patrick go, to leave him alone, that three against one was grossly unfair.

Shit, it was the most I had ever heard the girl talk. Link was embarrassed, he let go first and even took a few steps away from the freak. Justin, on the other hand, just looked at her as if she was on the same level as Patrick and told her to eff off. Now, I doubted anyone had ever spoken to Stephanie like that, but it did not phase her. She told him he was being a bully in class, and he was being a bully now.

If I remember correctly, he looked at Lincoln in a way to ask him to calm his girl, but no one said anything back to her. She went up to Patrick, put her hand on his arm, and they left together.

Patrick Hawkins was the last one to be seen with her alive.

Whatever happened to Stephanie Marsland, Patrick is the only person who knows.

At the time of the post, an overwhelming interest in Stephanie Marsland flooded the internet. The subreddit became divided between believers and skeptics, as nobody could confirm the identity of the person speculated to be Nicolas Banter.

According to U/BrutalStar, it was impossible for it to be him, as it was a throwaway account that was created and deleted on the same day. However, it was u/GodsPrankOnAbraham that pointed out that the details in the story seemed to match up well with the reports that would be released later in the week.

It wasn’t until YouTuber Tylor Kamer, who would tell his own story on this post that the truth came to light. In the video, Kramer retold the story of Stephanie Marsland, connecting the dots to this Reddit comment. But was it truly Nicolas Banter who posted the comment?

“Here with me,” Kamer’s voice came over a video of him doing his research. “Is the real-life Nicolas Banter. Hello Nick, thank you for joining me today.”

Transcripts come over the screen. “Hi Tylor, thank you for reaching out.”

“Now, you were there that day, as it has been presented in the evidence.”

“Yes.”

“I know you met with Henry James’s podcast right after the comment had popped up on Reddit, but I read over those transcripts, and it never mentions the comment.”

“I think I did the interview, man, I don’t know, a week, maybe more after the comment on the subreddit, and I doubt Henry knew about it. Maybe a month later, I received an email, and I swore it was going to ask me for another interview just about the comment, but no, it was just telling me he didn’t have enough evidence for a full episode and that he would be put it on his Patron. I shrugged it off, wasn’t too aware how much popularity in the comment had gained.”

“Now, Nick, let me ask the question we all have been wondering since the comment came to light a year ago. Was that you?”

“Yes.” The words come on as music plays, and a voiceover goes more into detail about the comment before returning to the interview, but the unedited interview continues. “I have friends and something of a community that I connect with on Reddit. The whole Stephanie Marsland case was never fully connected to me, and I get where it is now, I realized that from that subreddit alone, but at the time she had shown up and was dead. One of my friends, I only really know him on Discord, Reddit, and Xbox, but he was the one that brought it to my attention. At one point our school photos were posted, and he was like ‘Man, I think this is you, it’s your name, and looks just like you. You never told me you killed a girl.’ At that point, I was just a freshman in college, on my own for the first time, and there was my picture in connection with Stephanie. I just created an account and deleted it, and I get how that would look, but I really didn’t want my account to be covered in Stephanie Marsland post from then on. What I wrote was true, I got a call from Lincoln a few weeks after and he didn’t even need to ask me if I wrote it, he was just like ‘Man hope to Christ Chief Goodwin doesn’t see that.’”

“You said that he never made you sign anything, what did he say to get Lincoln react like that?”

“‘You boys keep your goddamn mouth shut if you don’t want to end up in a juvenile detention center, the girl was basically raped, and drowned, that shit will never scrub off your name.’ But she wasn’t, yeah, the whole bra thing is weird, like she was never touched other than removing the bra? That’s trophy shit you read about in serial killers, but, I don’t know, we were one of the last people to see her alive, so yeah, we stayed quiet.”

“The bra, they found it though.”

“They found a bra, yes, but that was a year later, tucked in a goddamn maple tree.”

The case was never exactly cold, the police department of Harpy would claim they were just waiting through the rest of the evidence, but in the end, everyone knew how it would end. It would be an accidental drowning, all the strangeness surrounding the rest would be explained simply as; she had a panic attack and laid down and rolled, the missing bra might be that she felt constricted and removed it, Patrick and Justin would be cleared, and Stephanie Marsland would be forgotten.

Until the end of March 2020.

Couple Dean Oster and Patty Hearst would walk over their property on the outskirts of Harpy, a 3-archer land that backed into woods, when Patty spotted something sticking out of a tree. She would tell the newspaper that she thought nothing of it at first, bird would bring strange things into those trees, but then as they got closer, she said she cried. “It was a bra strap from the back. Dean saw it and goes ‘what is that?’ but there I was sobbing. It’s not like we didn’t find clothing on our property before, teen would sneak there to have sex, but it wasn’t the fact it was a bra, but it was black with these purple hearts, almost a year to the day they found the little girl dead.”

The evidence description of the bra is as fallows;

Agency: Harpy PD

Case Number: 09-0747

Item Number: 1

Date/Time: 03/10/2020, 1407

Description and/or Location: The bra, in size 36C, is black in color with purple hearts measuring approximately 2/3rds of an inch adorning the straps and cups. The fabric is covered in debris from the maple tree where it was discovered, but is otherwise in a clean condition. It must have been placed there within a day or two since no rainwater had soaked into the padding.

The information was not released to the public immediately. Fiona and Dave Marsland, along with Jacklyn Pappas, were shown it, but none of them could definitively confirm or deny if it belonged to Stephanie. Fiona would tell the police that she didn’t think so, Stephanie was more into solid colors, while Jacklyn would say maybe because she could remember purple, but both agreed on one thing. While the cup size was correct, the strap size was not. Fiona had brought samples of her bras, all reading 34C.

One size off. When asked if she would buy the bra because she liked it, but could not find her size, so she bought the size up? Fiona would firmly say no, and when prompted on why, because she only liked solid colors.

It was true, in photos presented, or videos, or any sort of media that would show Stephanie, she was always in a solid color shirt. From the age she would have dressed herself, a photo album marked Stephanie through the years, one could guess around seven, she would be in a solid color shirt, and jeans, or solid color leggings. Even her jackets and sweaters were all solid colors. Not even a brand, just one color.

In the photos that would be posted to her timeline, or she would be tagged in following her death would show her smiling with others, or doing her volunteer work, or playing the piano, all in solid colors, all but one photo.

It went unnoticed, until one Tumblr thread uncovered one photo that, until then, had gone unnoticed. The post emerged almost two years after the death.

anyone else notice that they keep talking about stephanie only wore solid colors but what about this photo?

The photo in question had three faces blurred as two of the people sat on steps outside of what looked to be a school, the other, alongside Stephanie, stood almost out of frame, but smiling at who took the photo, her shirt one of pink with flowers, a heart blooming out of the bundle. An altered picture emerged those who sat on the steps were Jacklyn Pappas, a guy she had seen and the original poster of the photo, Dale Hoffman, Stephanie, and next to her, almost completely cut off, but still obviously looking at her, was Justin Goodwin.

Justin Goodwin would be found converted to Catholicism right out of school, and in college majoring in philosophy, preparing himself to someday gain priesthood out in Rhode Island.

“Stephanie Marshland?” He had been shocked by the name as he agreed to sit down with amateur documentarian Rodger Dwyer. “That happened, my, what four years ago at this point? The case has been closed.”

“You are not aware of the popularity the story had gained on the internet over the last few years?”

“No, my online presence was never consistent in high school, and since I graduated, I have been completely off.” He would take this moment to look down at his hands, folded in front of him, before picking up his head to look just off camera where Rodger would be sitting. “I’m glad that Stephanie’s story is being told, I have prayed for her since her death, I pray for her safety as she ascended to God’s embrace.”

“Since the closure of her case, there has a few things that have been brought up in connection with her. Of course, you were a junior when the missing article of clothing was found, but are you aware of the controversy behind it?”

He would delicately shake his head. “Yes, I remember a bra was found, but I do also recall it was not hers.”

“There was not enough evidence to conclude if it was hers or not, but that’s not it. It had hearts on it. Everyone, including her mother, said she would wear soiled colors.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“But when posting photos for her birthday, someone posted this one.” Rodger would hold out a photo to Justin, whose eyebrows would come together, then relax.

“They think there was a relationship between Stephanie and I.” How he said it was not a question. “I hate to disappoint, but there was nothing between me and the girl. This photo was taken during a class project. If I remember correctly, we were heading to my house to work on it, and I was unaware I was being photographed.”

“But do you see how it implicates you? You are looking right at her.”

“I was not, I can see how you would think that, but I was looking at who was just off camera, the real person I was in a relationship with. I believe I have an uncropped version of this, or at least one taken concurrently.”

Rodger allowed Justin to leave, and within 20 minutes, he returned, this time carrying a photo album. As expected, another photo in it appeared nearly identical to the one posted, but with noticeable differences. Stephine stood a few steps above, a shy smile on her lips as she gazed at the photo taker. Dale affectionately kissed Jacklyn’s cheek, while Justin grinned as if he were laughing. However, the photo posted only displayed Nicolas Banter, as it had been cut off.

“After Stephanie left with Patrick that day, Nick and I went back to his place, his ring camera caught us 15 minutes before she would be found dead, and his mother was with us until I left an hour after.”

“What happened between you and Nick?”

“The same reason I left Mormonism, why I left Colorado. There was a force greater than me, greater than my relationship, greater than the world I had known and loved. If it weren’t for Patrick, I think that force would have consumed me, but after an exposure to my relationship with Nick, the novelty wore off for him, and the year we had spent together meant nothing. God came to me one night in a dream, and I saw the light there, I saw my path, it led me here. I wish it was different that day, if Patrick had exposed us sooner, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t hold the vengeful hate my father distilled in me, and I would have forgiven. Stephine may have lived.”

“What happened to Patrick?”

Patrick Hawkins. Grew up in Utah, until his father gained a promotion, moving his family to Colorado. He was the only child of the couple, but the youngest of his father who had been married once before, two children from that relationship, the younger of the two being over 10 years older than Patrick.

By the time he was about to finish his junior year of high school, concerning online comments surfaced about how he ‘wished I could take a semi-automatic to those fuckers’ getting him expelled. Little is known about what exactly happened to Patrick, questioning from the police made its rounds, but even those investigating could not find much after he left Harpy High.

At the time of Stephanie’s death, a video from in the interrogation room surfaced, Patrick sitting there with his father as the cops talked to the boy. “Patrick, you were the last one to see her alive, you left with her, no one else can tell where you were from the time she died to the time that you arrived home two hours after she had died.”

Patrick, who had his hood up, did not move. If he speaks, no mic can pick him up.

This guy did it, open and shut, why are we even fighting it? The comment with the most likes on the video would read.

Then, a little over a year later, Patrick once more sat in the same room, same cop, but this time with his mother, who would be recorded saying; “He’s a 17-year-old boy, he made a comment, he doesn’t even own a gun. Why are we here? Those kids pick on him, those kids hurt him, kick him, they put bugs in his lunch!”

“Ma’am.”

“No, do not ma’am me!”

“Mom.” Patrick would be heard saying. “I made a mistake, I’m aware of that. I had a bad day, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re online, how did you have a bad day?”

“There’s there snapchat group chat that leaked, some people who hate me are in it. They said… they said I take it in the ass. I was defending myself, I posted publicly that it’s Justin Goodwin that takes it up the ass by Nick Banter, and it got back to Goodwin. I walk to through the graveyard when I feel too cooped up, and two days ago I was jumped by Justin. He kicked the shit out of me. I got home, and I felt so shitty, I lost it.”

From the two tapes, something became clear to Penny Upton, a popular true crime blogger, dove deeper into the connection between Patrick Hawkins and Stephanie Marsland.

The Surreal Case of Stephanie Marsland

‘Part 13

As those who have been meticulously following my investigation into the case of Stephanie Marsland may know from part 1, I had said Patrick was the one who did it, and though through the last four posts has been Patrick focused, I can say for sure today I have evidence to prove myself wrong. Patrick was the last one to see her alive, that we are aware of, yes, and where Patrick ended up going to jail for an unrelated incident, he did not kill Stephanie. Last week, I carefully reviewed two interrogation tapes numerous times as I prepared to write this post, yet something felt amiss. Why did he not get arrested the first time? The time he refused to answer?

The digging process was proving to be extremely difficult, but thanks to my favorite sleuth, NotAnotherCrimePost, she had provided me with an actual alibi for Patrick, one that I revisited the second video to realize he did not do it.

A house next to the graveyard has a nest camera pointed right at the entrance, that day, Patrick walked through the gate in the last 10 minutes of Stephanie’s life and did not leave until over and hour later. Stephanie herself stepping into view, alive and well, before stepping out as soon as Patrick was out of sight.

The fence around the graveyard is 10 feet high, with no other way in or out. The alibi was airtight. Patrick Hawkins did not kill Stephanie, and with no other evidence, I would have to definitively close this case in the manner that all of you know I hate the most, but I am firmly labeling it a freak accident.’

A freak accident. Stephanie Marsland died by accident, every story would report so, the Harpy PD would close the case as accidental. With the popularity the case would gain over the course of two years, it would never come close to the truth, either coming to the same conclusion, or burning out, or simply losing interest.

The closest to the truth that ever came to light, was one comment on a post that would get three likes, but never picked up by any of the investigators, a comment that one person would write, would post, and would forget about, never perusing how close they would be to asking the first right question to this case.

Who took the photo?

Back in the two photos, where Stephanie would intentionally dress in an unusual manner for herself, clearly smiling at the person who took the photo.

Each one would say it, each interview would give off the answer, but the questions were not being asked, and by the end of 2023, the case of Stephanie Marsland was officially no longer discussed, and the public would move on to newer cases, more interesting ones, ones that they would know the questions for. As for Stephanie, she was still dead, she still would be dead, and the truth would decay away with her.

The truth would be in a notebook, one that the only person who knew what happened that day would write in but would burn simultaneously before the bra would be discovered. A notebook that would be a confession that would disappear before a single person could read it.

The passage wrote out longhand, in a red pen, read as follows; She was beautiful, young, pure. She came to me one night needing help, and I wanted to help. I thought telling her she was beautiful would have her turn away from me, but she didn’t. The more often we spent together, the more she bloomed, her personality showed through her clothing, and the way she would smile more freely, especially for me. I knew of her shyness, but my god, if you could see how composed she was in private, you’d understand why I loved her.

I could not understand why she defended Patrick, why she went against Justin, but it irritated me. She looked at me; she knew I was there, and still walked away with him. Yes, I would be the first to admit I was jealous, she would leave with him, but no, she walked him to the graveyard; I doubted they spoke as they walked there. I stayed back, watching, making sure that freak did nothing to her, but before he went in he thanked her, that was it, then she started away when she spotted me.

The argument started, and I didn’t mean to get so angry at her, but I could not understand why she would defy me like that. She tried so damn hard to tell me I had nothing to envy, but the hell, I did. My anger, it gave her that panic attack, and she was breathing so hard that, I don’t know; she passed out. I held on to her, holding her up, unsure what to do. I loved her, but she made her choice to go with Patrick, and I would not let Justin get humiliated by him. She wasn’t supposed to die; I brought her over to Silly Billy in thoughts that she would wake up as soon as her face hit the water. Laying her down on her side, I removed the bra, and rolled her until she was face down into the water. The plan was to plant the bra on Patrick, so I went back towards the graveyard to wait for him. She wouldn’t name me, she was smarter than that to do it, she would just say she didn’t know or remember, but as I waited, that kid began to scream, and when I got back to where I had left her, she was dead.

The rest would be written on another date in a blue pen.

I knew I should have come forward sooner, but shit, this is murder. I still have the damn bra, but I think Justin suspects me, my plan was to turn myself in, but tonight I think I will have myself a fire.

The composer reread over his confession before tossing it into the fire in front of him, watching the pages get eaten away by the flames. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out her bra, his finger stroking over the fabric, more hesitant to throw it in.

“Dad?” Justin’s voice caused the composer to jump before looking back at his son, the bra shoved back into his pocket. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I think, I think I’m going to go for a walk.” Chief Goodwin walked towards the front door.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Put the fire out before you go to bed.” He refused to look back at his son, already suspecting his sexual orientation, already the greater force that would drive Justin away.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“One day, you’ll understand. Goodnight, son.” He stepped out of the house, setting his course into those woods. 

[thebibliosphere]

Hey Bibliomom. So I've had CFS/ME for the past 13 years or so, and I've only just been diagnosed. My feelings on being confirmed to have an incurable disorder rather than something that is in my head(and a personal deficit that I am therefore theoretically capable of overcoming) are... Complicated. Can you recommend any support groups/groups for people trying out and reporting on the effects of various treatments? I have been taking LDN for a few months, and I've recently started on bi-weekly b12 shots. I know it's to be expected but I always feel so gutted when a new treatment doesn't just... Fix Me. I'm looking into mestonin, stellate ganglion blocks, and getting my microbiome mapped and altering my diet based on that. It's all so much money and spoons for a complete crap shoot every time. Have any particular treatments worked well for you?

Unfortunately, there is no Fix Me cure for Me/CFS, there’s just things that help and maybe increase your baseline of wellness. Chief among them, resting while in an active flare to avoid PEM (Post Exertion Malaise.). You can do all the fanciest most expensive treatments, but if you’re not resting enough to avoid PEM, you’re just throwing money away.

The jury is still out between my doctors on whether I have ME/CFS. Some say no because I got substantially better after pernicious anemia treatment and that fatigue is a symptom of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, and what I have is chronic fatigue, not chronic fatigue syndrome.

Some of my other doctors say that’s just splitting hairs. Especially when we now know I have multiple genetic disorders that were made infinitely worse following viral infections and other physical injuries.

Either way they all agree that avoiding PEM is vital at all costs. This means tailoring my physical rehab to very specifically to not push beyond my limits. If I wake up more tired than usual, I cancel physical therapy that day because going through with it can set me back days, sometimes even weeks.

We’ve also found that stabilizing my neck through physical therapy has been beneficial, as cervical instability and things like tethered cord syndrome have also been linked to ME/CFS (Jennifer Brea is a famous example.)

I’m also being assessed this week by a neuro-eye specialist to see if there’s something wrong with my eyes that a regular eye doctor might miss, just on the off chance that a misalignment is the cause of my chronic migraines, and potentially a lot of fatigue as well.

Other than that I take a crap ton of methylated micronutrients under doctor’s orders because my body struggles with the methylation process, and also I just don’t absorb food properly thanks to the EDS and MCAS, so I’m pretty much always deficient in something. Also making sure I’m properly hydrated at all times helps. It’s amazing how crummy low electrolytes can make you feel, even when you think you are adequately hydrated.

As for groups, I find the r/cfs subreddit helpful. The r/CFSplusADHD has also been helpful, though less active. Other than that I recommend following along with the ME Action Network. They post a lot of research and can be a good way to find other people in similar situations.

And to answer your other question about mast cell stabilizers: I rotate between Cetirizine and Levocetirizine at the moment (both h1 blockers), and also Famotidine (h2) when needed. I don’t find Famotidine as effect as Ranitidine, but unfortunately, Ranitidine is still off the market due to a recall concerning product instability.

I’ve also found Ketotifen (h1 blocker) helps to reduce my fibromyalgia type pain, but unfortunately I don’t tolerate it very well and it makes my migraines worse. Same with Cromolyn Sodium. That one actually brought me out in hives when I tried the oral route, but I suspect the dosage was too high. I tolerate the eye drops though.

I also take a high dose of Vitamin D3 every day under doctor’s orders. That has really helped my mast cell symptoms over the last year. It’s amazing what being low on Vit D can cause to fuck up in your body.

Other than that it’s avoid triggers, avoid stress and get plenty of rest.

I hope that helps.

[mighty-ant]

Shadow's Bane, Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Beneath fading camouflage paint and an itchy ghillie suit, Agent 87 lowered her binoculars and ducked back into the underbrush at the edge of the McDuck property. Her encampment was hidden beneath a haven of white fir trees, consisting of a tent covered in foliage and her survival pack, where food, water, weapons, and equipment were stored. 

Her setup was simple, precise, professional, with one exception: a little plush doll in a pink dress, the fabric faded and bearing numerous battle scars, evidence of a child’s clumsy needlework and the later improvements of an agent’s sturdy hand. The doll was a secret and weakness in one, dangerous evidence of sentimentality, but 87 couldn’t leave her back at base either. 

She stowed her binoculars before sitting down, stretching out muscles that had gone stiff and achy after the forced stillness of an additional hour-long monitoring session. She’d had a close call when her target finally arrived, a split second where she could’ve sworn Agent 22 spotted the shine of her binocular lenses all the way from the front door when an errant breeze shifted the tree branches she was crouched behind. 

87’s ineptitude could’ve easily blown her cover and ruined the entire operation. A thirteen year investment gone utterly to waste. She could already imagine the Doctor’s fury, the accusations ringing in her ears.

Pathetic

Foolish girl

Waste of a test tube 

Pain had little effect on Agent 87, but the Doctor knew that well enough. Her punishment would be metal talons wrapped around the back of her neck, forcing her to curl and contort her body into the trunk that followed them everywhere, every base the Doctor brought her to, as crucial as the rest of her lab equipment. The lid would seal and leave 87 in a darkness so complete she couldn’t see her own hands, couldn’t hear anything other than the rush of blood through her head, the rapid rasp of every hitching breath. Time vanished inside the trunk; the black abyss stretched and pressed in around her and she never knew if she was left alone for minutes or hours, if the Doctor would even remember to free her before she lost consciousness. 

87 shook her head violently, waved her hands out in front of her, just to remind herself she could. The trunk was far away from her now. She hadn’t compromised her mission. She hadn’t. 

The hood of her ghillie suit fell away, revealing her face in full, her white feathers stained by patches of fading camouflage paint. Her cheeks were rounded with youth, the short hair escaping her bun falling around her face in disarray. 

She pulled the laptop out of her pack, queuing up the various security camera feeds she had set up around the mansion’s perimeter under the cover of darkness on the first night of her stakeout. These feeds weren’t an adequate substitute for full observation techniques, but they would suffice for brief stretches. Long enough for her to stretch, hydrate, and get something in her stomach. 

87 could also use this as the perfect opportunity to update her field log. 

Pepper (Egghead Level 6) had been the one to give her the idea, though likely entirely by accident.

“You’re gonna be on stakeout for how long?” she’d demanded in that peppy, shrill way of hers. “Oh, I know mum’s the word for these super spy camping trips, but if you don’t talk to yourself or something, sweetie, you’re gonna go loopy!”

87 was immediately partial to the idea of keeping a log for herself, to monitor and track her progress as she advanced through the organization. This was her first solo mission, utterly official, no more training wheels, no backup. If she could record her thoughts and experiences as this operation progressed, she could go back and study them later, analyzing what she might have missed, where she might improve before her next mission. 

It took a bit of doing to hunt down a recording device that wasn’t already bugged; anything that could be used to contain incriminating information was understandably hard to come by in their line of work. 

Once fed and watered, 87 hit record on her device. She cleared her throat, speaking aloud for the first time that day. 

“This recording, and all eleven before it, are classified Level 5. If you are ranked below Level 5, stop listening now or risk termination, per Policy 8, subsection b.03 in your FOWL orientation manual,” she listed unenthusiastically, in the stilted tone that was intended for the legal record, should any agent above her discover her logs and demand she turn them in. 

“Operation: Hen House. Field log 12. August 10, 2017. Approximately 1100 hours Pacific Standard Time.” 87 let out a great, dramatic huff just as she hopped back to her feet and began another round of stretches. 

“Whew! Now that all the boring stuff is out of the way…The weather’s clear today, with only a few clouds on the horizon. It shouldn’t rain tonight, which means I’ll be able to sleep in my tent again and not up in a tree. I don’t mind the tree, really! She’s a very sturdy fir. But my tent is much more comfortable, when I won’t drown in mud by sleeping in it.” 

87’s breathless stream of consciousness ended when she knelt back at her laptop, pulling up footage from approximately an hour ago alongside the current live feeds. She queued up a few seconds to loop on repeat—specifically, that of her person of interest’s eagerly anticipated arrival, after twelve days of preparation. 

“Anyway,” she said, with a touch more composure. “My target, Lena Downey McDuck, adopted daughter of Scrooge McDuck, landed at Duckburg International Airport at approximately 0710 today. She entered McDuck Manor at precisely 0805, and currently only she and Agent 22 are in residence.”

After a brief glance at the live feeds, 87 focused on the loop of Lena McDuck on the manor’s front steps. The camera wasn’t in a good spot to capture the look on her face, but her shoulders were slumped and she did nothing to brush her long bangs out of her eyes. Then the door opened, and Agent 22 bent down to give her a hug, her severe expression cracking with a smile. 

Over the last twelve days, 87 had observed Agent 22 at every opportunity. To the untrained eye, the former director of SHUSH accomplished very little in her decade-old role as housekeeper; she merely did chores, all the million little things it took to run a household the size of McDuck’s. But 87 was trained to recognize threats hiding in plain sight, and she had never recognized a greater wolf in sheep’s clothing than Agent 22. 

Perimeter checks were disguised as nightly strolls or a need to water the garden. Every duster, vacuum, or soup ladle was wielded with deadly grace, as though they might be repurposed as weapons without a moment’s notice. 

87 didn’t even dare come within 100 meters of the mansion, petrified as she was at the thought of Agent 22 snapping her up and bolting her to an interrogation table. 87 wouldn’t break, and she knew it would be a long and painful process before Agent 22 understood that as well. So, to mitigate that risk, she moved her encampment somewhere new every night she could afford to. 

Agent 22 was surely everything the Doctor described and more, and 87 knew she should be afraid of her. And she was! But…she thought that Agent 22 had a very kind face, too. 

When she opened the door to Lena McDuck, her severe British countenance warmed in a way that almost fanciful, like something out of the films 87 had been allowed to view while researching for her role, full of fake happy families and fake happy endings, make-believe characters playacting in candy colored worlds where magic and chaos weren’t threats to be feared. Where little girls had parents and friends who fought and sacrificed for each other and loved each other. A world 87 had no context for. A world she hadn’t believed existed before that smile.

Anyway. 

The footage repeated from there.

“Today was my first time seeing the target in person. I’ve read her file cover to cover at least fifteen times, but I’m still not sure what to think.” Feeling unaccountably antsy, 87 stood back up and began familiar tai chi movements—Yang Style, as the stomping and kicks of Chen Style would defeat the purpose of a clandestine observation. 

She continued rambling, relishing in the freedom. The Doctor wasn’t here now to demand her silence.

“We know from readings taken eleven years ago that Lena McDuck was created from shadow magic, the same as the one we have on record belonging to the sorceress Magica De Spell. De Spell is classified as an Omega Level Threat, and is currently trapped in a pocket dimension inside Scrooge McDuck’s Number One Dime. An extension of Operation: Hen House is to secure the dime for FOWL. 

“But today when I scanned Lena McDuck, she had almost no magical signature to speak of, which should be impossible for a creature made of the stuff! I guess it’s possible that she has perfect control of her magic, and uses this control to hide her magic signature just like the witch Morgana Macawber. A more likely explanation is that she hasn’t used her magic at all in the last thirteen years, and it's gone dormant. I recommend consulting the Phantom Blot once he’s been given clearance for the target’s true origins.”

87 stopped to consider the looping footage again, scrutinizing her target’s body language the same way she would an armed assailant. 

She knew everything about Lena McDuck the target, but had so little information on Lena McDuck the person. Her social media presence was negligible, and she associated with no known parties. A few Eggheads had even been placed to monitor her schools, and still she did little of note other than get expelled from said schools, all without the media frenzy most rich heiresses would generate. She was unlike any of the wealthy elites 87 had studied in preparation of her undercover work, and even less like a young Scrooge McDuck, whose own ambition had seemed limitless. 

“Lena may be rebellious, and a trouble-maker, but I’ve noticed that more than once, according to her school reports, her acts of rebellion are usually to help someone else. She seems to have more of an altruistic side than McDuck ever did. Maybe the lack of adventure warping her perception of reality is the answer?” 87 wondered aloud. The Director did always say that McDuck was deluding himself, playing God. “Either way, it might be useful to know for when I make contact.” 

Make contact. Her real assignment, not this child’s idea of spycraft, hiding in the bushes with binoculars and calling it a day. Or twelve.

87 closed her eyes and took a breath, as the warrior monks of Tra La la taught her, allowing her surroundings to wash over her. Larks tittered overhead and a breeze sent the leaves in the treetops shivering against each other in gentle susurration. Killmotor Hill was worlds away from the rest of Duckburg, but even on high one couldn’t escape the distant honk of cars in traffic or the bleating of boat horns in the marina even further away. 

This was the world she would help protect. The real world. And she was but a cog in the complex machinations of FOWL, making that happen. 

“This is Agent 87. End of log 12,” she said, before opening her eyes again and taking in her modest campsite. It might've been meager, but the solitude was a welcome relief. 

She stopped the recording, and stowed the device in her pack. 

Returning to her laptop, 87 pulled the live feeds up in full, prepared for another long day and a longer night of continued surveillance.

Agent 22 was the territorial sort, and unlikely to leave the mansion for at least twenty-four hours now that her charge was in residence. McDuck kept long hours, leaving in the early morning and returning in the late night, but his activities were closely monitored by the Director and were of little relevance to her assignment. 

As a matter of principle, she still listened in on all the calls coming in and out of the mansion (she tapped the phone lines on day 3), but both McDuck and Agent 22 spoke little and made fewer calls. The driver was a lot more fun, with his earnest friendliness hiding no great secrets, and his boxer’s strength making 87 itch for a real spar and not just the same boring solo drills. She almost would’ve preferred to follow him around, but he was marked ‘inconsequential’ on the mission report. 

Anyway, she only had a few more days of surveillance to complete. After that, the next phase of her assignment would begin. A house was already being secured for her in town, and once she moved in they would craft her backstory and prepare for the start of the school year. There, 87 would meet and befriend Lena, infiltrate the McDuck family, and ensure they didn’t meddle with the Director’s vision for a better, safer world. 

But then, even the most foolproof plan wasn’t McDuck-proof. 87 had been taught this, but she would learn it the hard way.

Something triggered one of her motion-detectors on the western side of the mansion, where most of the occupied bedrooms were located. Cursing her distraction, 87 cycled through all her security feeds. Had someone slipped past her? One of McDuck’s many, many enemies? Since he stopped adventuring there’d been little activity from anyone other than Flintheart Glomgold or the Beagle Boys, petty and shortsighted criminals who Agent 22 took down easily. It would make 87 the biggest failure of them all if she missed their infiltration, and if her distraction cost them this operation…

Finally, she found the feed that her alarms were crowing over, but she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Not at first. 

Lena McDuck was climbing out of her bedroom window and into the topmost branches of the tall tree just within reaching distance. She had the same duffel bag she arrived with slung over her shoulder. The camera followed her progress until she jumped down from the last branch and disappeared out of frame. 

Cold, horrified realization had 87 lunging for the burner phone in her pack. A single button and a verbal passcode later, the Doctor’s cultured, snappish voice greeted her. 

“What is it?”

Despite the situation, 87 felt the barest surge of relief that her creator answered her at all. 

“Doctor Heron,” she reported as briskly as she could, carefully keeping the panic out of her voice. “The target, Lena McDuck, is fleeing the premises! I think she’s running away.”

The Doctor’s retort was a whip crack. “Then you had better be following her, if you know what’s good for you!”

“I should continue surveillance on foot?” 87 tried to clarify. 

 “No, you idiot!” the Doctor snarled. With no one to bear witness to her weakness, 87 ducked her head in an instinctive flinch. “Stop her from leaving the city! Operation: Hen House will only succeed if the creature stays with Scrooge, where we can keep an eye on her. He’s only just stopped one fruitless search and we don’t need him to waste FOWL resources on another. We’ll simply have to move up our timetable. You will intercept her now . Do whatever you have to to keep her from leaving the city.”

87 was up and running before the Doctor even finished issuing the order. No time to stop at the home FOWL acquired as part of her cover, where a closet full of outfits for a normal little girl awaited her. First to uncover where her target was headed. Then, acquire a disguise. Fatigues and a ghillie suit weren’t going to cut it, but something was better than nothing, even if she had to pull it out of the garbage. 

Operation: Hen House would be a success. Agent 87 was going to become the best friend Lena McDuck ever had. 

—

Thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes and she would be home free. 

Lena wasn’t anxious by nature, but sitting on that bench, willing the massive gold clock above the information booth to reach 2:30, she’d never felt her heart race harder. 

Her eyes darted back and forth behind the fringe of her hair, on the lookout for a purple cardigan and no-nonsense gray bun, or maybe a brown bomber jacket and red hair. She doubted her dad would come looking, but he’d send his employees out in a heartbeat. Him calling the police was also unlikely. He didn’t trust them, and the press even less; the last thing he would want was to turn her escapade into a media frenzy. 

Still, Lena tried to keep a wary eye on the few cops patrolling the station, but it was doubly hard when she was sitting in the middle of a chaotic rush hour. 

The bus station was a circus and a half and not just because it was packed with travelers of every shape and size. The building itself was a grand, glass and wood panel cathedral to Duckburg’s robust public transit system. It looked old-fashioned, in the way a lot of old downtown Duckburg did. Turn of the century, her dad would’ve called it. She could imagine him standing under that same gold clock a hundred years ago, when it used to be a train station. There might even be an ancient black and white photo of exactly that displayed in a museum somewhere. 

Lena scowled. As if she needed the reminder right now. 

She just counted her blessings that as loud and horribly busy as the station was, it meant she was utterly unnoticeable. She was even almost grateful for her dad keeping her as far away from him as physically possible the last four years, making it impossible for the masses to recognize her at a glance the way they did him. 

This plan had been in the back of her mind for a few months now. Even before the frog incident at Tremaine’s. Students were allowed to work on campus, so she got a job at the bookstore. At her last school, she worked in the dish room. If anyone raised an eyebrow at the idea of the Richest Duck in the World’s kid applying for a menial job, well, she was just trying to start her fortune the honest way, just like her old man. 

She worked and she saved and it paid off in the form of a ticket gripped in her sweaty palm, a one-way trip to Cape Suzette. It was a five and a half hour drive to the city on the edge of the world, the city of sea planes, and from there she could go anywhere she wanted. Only four years away from eighteen, she was practically an adult, and the laws in Cape Suzette still allowed kids as young as twelve to become navigators. She’d get the life of adventure Dad promised and never delivered on. 

Almost her whole life, everywhere she went, was defined by whose daughter she was. Scrooge McDuck. Legend, explorer, has-been. Who was she, compared to that? Little Lena, who wasn’t all that bright, couldn’t make friends to save her life, and was so, so angry all the time. 

Did it help or hurt that she’d never learn who little Lena was supposed to be? Going on some Lifetime movie quest to find her birth parents wasn’t even an option because for all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist. Dad found her, abandoned as a baby, and took her home. Oh, he’d couched it in sweeter words than that when she was five and asked what “adopted” meant, crooning, and there you were, my bonnie wee lass, sprung out of the ground like a daisy! 

Before the cracks between them tore open into a chasm, and Lena was old enough to understand that Mrs. B wasn’t playacting at the whole secret agent thing, she asked her who her parents were, because Mrs. B knew everything. Everything but this one thing, it would turn out. Lena Downey McDuck was all she’d ever be. 

But maybe it wouldn’t have all been so bad if she wasn’t so alone . Duckworth was there one day and then dead the next, and she’d barely gotten to know Mrs. B before Dad was shipping her out of the state. She grew up in cold, distant halls with girls who were either too scared of who her father was to talk to her, or took it as a challenge to make her life as miserable as possible. 

What would it take to make her dad finally see her? 

Her visits back home dwindled over the years, spending longer summers at whatever school hadn’t kicked her out yet, fewer birthday candles blown out under the watchful gaze of her grandparents’ portrait. Christmas was the only reliable constant now, sometimes coinciding with Hanukkah, which meant more time with Launchpad, who never visited his family during the holidays and Lena knew better than to ask about. 

Christmas was the one time a year her dad would unwind. They’d set up Santa traps just like they used to when she was little, sneak cookies before dinner from under Mrs. B’s nose, watch that terrible Christmas movie from the ‘30s that both her dad and Mrs. B insisted was a classic, and at the end of the night they’d pass out on the couch with bats and Byzantine swords in their hands in case Santa tried to be extra sneaky that year. 

But then her dad would be back in the office by Boxing Day and it would be like nothing had changed. Lena, always second to business, to making the richest duck even richer. 

In the week leading up to her flight, she made her decision. If he was waiting for her at the airport, like he said he would, she would stay. If he wasn’t…maybe she’d have better luck on her own. Completely on her own. 

Lena glanced back at the clock, a flare of hope making her sit up on her bench in the furthest corner of the station. 

2:05

Still twenty-five minutes to go.

She dropped her head onto the back of the bench and groaned. Frustratingly enough, she couldn’t even pull out her phone to district herself into making time go faster. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Mrs. B had some way to track it, even if she didn’t answer any calls or texts, and she wasn’t about to risk giving herself away. Mrs. B had to have found her note by now, reminded Dad that he had a daughter who was now in the process of fleeing the state, and let loose some sort of search party. 

Just twenty-five more minutes until she left Duckburg, by choice for once. 

Lena just had to resign herself to people watching until then, warily keeping an eye out for anyone who might look like they’re searching for the runaway daughter of the Richest Duck in the World. 

There was constant movement in the station, with small pockets of stillness by those sitting on benches like herself or standing still against the tide. There were businesspeople, families, and college students weighed down by luggage, all in a rush to get to their destination. 

Lena idly watched a girl around her age walk past. She was dressed sloppily, in a gray hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, and her hair looked like she’d slept headfirst in a bush. The dark circles under her eyes rivaled Lena’s, though she was bright and alert despite that as she scanned the station around her. To Lena, it didn’t look like she was admiring the architecture but rather as if she was looking for someone. 

The backpack she was carrying wouldn’t have looked out of place on some reality show for survival nuts, huge and utilitarian and practically bursting at the seams. But dangling innocuously from one of the mesh side pockets was a little plush duck in a pink dress.

As the girl whirled around in her continued search of her mystery someone, Lena watched the doll come loose and fall to the floor. The girl didn’t notice. No one else around Lena seemed to either, or if they noticed they just didn’t care. 

The girl made an anxious sort of hopping motion, biting her lower beak, before she turned around entirely, and started to walk away. Accidentally leaving the doll behind. 

Lena hadn’t lost sight of her before she groaned and jumped to her feet, dragging her duffel bag with her. She plucked the doll off the ground and hurried after the girl. 

“Hey! Hey, you—” She shoved past a few strangers, her duffel serving as a handy battering ram. The girl’s monstrous backpack was right in front of her. 

Lena reached out, tapping her on the shoulder. 

The girl jumped, but luckily didn’t scream or anything as she turned around with a wide-eyed expression. It quickly exploded into a grin when she saw what Lena was carrying. 

“Hey, sorry, I saw you dropped—” Lena said unnecessarily. 

“My Quacky Patch doll!” the girl gushed, taking the plush back gratefully. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I really don’t know what I’d do without her. I’ve had her since I was little!”

Lena shrugged, feeling a little warm under her feathers at the effusive praise. “No prob. You looked like you were in a hurry, and I didn’t want you leaving little miss pink behind.”

Oh, yeah, I never would’ve noticed! And I’ll have you know, her name’s Mallory McMallard, and she fights organized crime,” the girl said primly, carefully tucking the doll into one of the many zippers that covered her bag. 

Lena snorted without really meaning to. “Oh yeah?”

It was the girls turn to shrug, smiling helplessly. “I did say that I got her when I was little.” She stuck out her hand between them. “Thank you, again! You’re the first person I’ve met in Duckburg, and you’ve given me a great impression of the city so far.”

Lena stepped back a bit, discomfort tightening in her stomach. “Oh, uh, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m actually planning to leave as soon as possible.

The girl’s cheery expression dropped. Lena felt a weird pang of…something. Most new people she met were glad to see her go. “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Well…it was still nice to meet you…?”

Ugh, she was being rude wasn’t she? At least Duckworth would never have to know that all his etiquette training had been wasted on her. “Oh, I’m, uh, I’m Lena.”

The girl stuck out her hand again, aggressively chipper. “Hi, I’m Webby!”

[hollyhomburg]

👉🏻👈🏻 Can you go into your skin care routine a little bit as in what order you apply things and how long in between applying products (like is it immediately or do you wait 5 mins to let the first stuff dry/sink in before the next product)?

I get so lost with skin care that I get discouraged and then dont so anything.

oh god this is probably gonna be really long but,

so for the pm- Basically with most of the humectant (moisturizing stuff) you wanna apply that as soon as you get out of the shower and in quick succession so that any water and moisture can get absorbed into the skin and not just evaporate. assuming you shower at night like a sane person this should be your first step when you get out of the shower, you can not wipe off your face with your towl to keep your face damp for longer, i usually don't even wait to put on my pj's before i sit infront of my little skincare stack and start to slap stuff on my face.

the first batch is stuff like the cosrx snail mucin, cosrx glactanomicies ferment filtrate and hyaluronic acid (you'll see a lot of people tell you that 'the ordinary' one is bad but tbh it's fine and cheap, but a good option is also the one from good molecules, neither of them are more than 10$).

if you do not shower at night or wait to long and your skin gets dry, then you want to preface all of your skincare with some sort of toner; the lineage cream skin is absolutely amazing- especially if you have redness and inflamed skin- it is a little bit pricey but tbh most toners run in the 15-30 per 60oz range. these can last you up to 6 months. my leniege one was actually a gift from a follower for my last birthday and i've been using it very sparingly. i immediately follow it up with snail mucin, hyaluronic acid, or something light and hydrating, this is the first barrier of skincare that kind of cushions your skin if you plan on using an actives.

You want to sandwich all of the stuff that dries out your skin from acne, takes care of your fine lines and wrinkles, or chemically exfoliates your skin between your serum and cream. now is when you get into the waiting- when you start to apply your actives.

Actives are stuff like retinols/retinoids, aha's or lactic acids, bha's or glycolic acids, salicylic acids, and niacinamide. these are things that can damage your skin if improperly used. for me- aha's feel a little less damaging than glycolic acids. aha's and bha's are generally a once a week thing especially if you're just starting out. niacinamide help with sebum and clogged pores as well as pigmentation issues, salicilic acid is also something that kinda helps keep your skin sterile from acne causing bacteria, if you have sensitive skin introduce these very very slowly, start with niacinamide and work your way up. i apply niacinimide almost every day and everything else as needed.

next you have your eye cream- it can change based on what you want to solve, if you have fat loss around your eye (ie deep set eyebags like mine) you want to use stuff thats going to thicken the skin faster- staying away from stuff that decreases blood flow like caffeine, if you have dark circles- you want stuff that has brightening agents. if you have fine lines- then eye patches (mini eye face masks basically) and a super hydrating undereye cream will help. i tend to lean for the hydrating stuff. because i have dry under eyes, fine lines, and fat loss.

the ones ive tried are the cosrx snail peptide eye cream, the beauty of jeoseon ginsent and retinal eye cream, the mizon snail repair eye cream, the purito green level eye cream, the haru haru wonder cream the inky list retinol and caffine eye creams, the good molecules, yerba mate wake up eye gel, and the milky dress wrinkle and whitening eye cream. the ONLY ONES that i saw ANY difference with are the good molecules, milky dress, and haruharu, but the one from good molecules is adequate under makeup and the best by far and cheapest.

fat loss is one of the main reasons why you want to stay away from things like lash growth serums, there are some that claim to not cause fat loss, but tbh, seeing as the only way to fix it is via invasive cosmetic surgery- i wouldn't risk it. it's not worth it.

Next i go in with a cream. and then acne gel over top and then you're done!

So basically

shower

Toner,

hyaluronic acid/serum/hydrator

wait until skincare has absorbed,

Apply actives if you desire actives to fix issues, wait inbetween each application so that the skincare has time to sit and soak in,

You can apply your eye cream at the same time as these steps, because usually actives should not go around the eye area.

Cream, no need to wait

Acne treatment

hope that helps! i have to start my workout now~~~ good luck!