Learning to fly chords tom petty

I moved to a new city in August of last year and was dealing with loneliness and so decided to get tinder. We matched and met at a local park at the beginning of February this year. For context, he is Indian and moved to the states in 2018 and works for a popular streaming company as a machine learning engineer. I am a 2019 college graduate interning with a government agency that deals with land management, and am a Black American.
We talked about the city. We moved to, things we both did and didn't like about it, and I also told him of course about my experiences with race in this country and how America is not always the land of opportunity it's perceived as being. We were able to have intelligent discussions, and he often commented on my intelligence, my cooking, and we often enjoyed each other's company.
However, being isolated in this new city, I noticed that I was definitely excited to see him and hadn't been forging other relationships, even though the place I'm in is notorious for being a difficult place to make friends. I think he noticed this and had mentioned to me that he knew how much I cared about him, but that he hadn't decided how he felt about our future. I became anxious about this and noticed that I started to try and proved to him that I was desirable, an obviously unhealthy pattern.
I also took a lot of time to get to know his culture, learning a little bit of his language and watching Indian movies together. We also talked about cricket, and other things, in my effort to get to know him better. I felt like I invested a lot in the relationship early on, especially because he was the first boyfriend I'd had in years, and was 8 years my senior, so I definitely felt younger and less experienced, but not necessarily less mature.
Finally, disagreements became more frequent, and there were remarks on our age difference, ideological differences, and differences and values, although I felt that we did, it have as many differences as maybe he pointed out. He finally mentioned me to his parents, and he really, I think, started to become invested in the relationship, but his parents protested when they found out my identity. (They are from North India.)
Things also started to get a little bit wonky between us and just in general in our separate lives, and I felt like things weren't going the way that I had intended. It seemed really difficult to communicate, and like things were just both getting difficult for both of us individually as well as together as a couple. I should also mention that we were intimate early on, and there were issues connected to this.
Basically, a few life events made me feel like it was time for me to break up with him, although I kind of felt rushed into it, but it felt like the right decision, seeing that things were not going the way that I wanted them to go, and I think the feeling was mutual. Although, he told me that he wasn't going to break up with me, but rather finally have the conversation about some things that had been bothering him, which I had been asking him about. Because in his culture it's not necessarily the norm to be very direct, he had been avoiding the conversation for weeks. I had been eager to hear it so we can talk it out, but he often avoided confrontation. I tried not to push it, he often told me not to ask "difficult questions," preferring to just be in the moment, which often irritated me, but I acquiesced.
The breakup impacted me more than I realized, and I had, forgive me, this powerful, empty and aching feeling, wishing that I could see him everyday. I was flying out to see a family member and I ended up visiting him on prompted when he didn't answer my call, me thinking that something might have happened to him. I was in a bad place and in hindsight that was a bad move, and then things got very awkward afterwards.
Afterwards, I kept worrying about how he was doing or if he was okay. Sometimes, I don't know if he really is; he has a lot of other things going on in his life, like immigration, tech, bubble issues, his parents health, and other things. Sometimes I wish we could hang out because there are times where it felt like we really had a good time together, but I feel like it's not the right thing to do anymore. I am somewhat a believer in cold turkey, but I feel so wishy-washy nowadays.
TL;DR: I think about my ex often and I miss him almost every day; although it was messed up in a lot of ways, I often felt like he was the only place that I could feel safe, especially being a woman who was single in a new city, especially in a place where I felt like I stood out. I know it's not a good idea to reach out to him, but I often wonder if he feels that all the same, or really just looking for some insight into how he might be feeling. It is the proverbial "Indian guy who can't convince his parents to get serious with someone outside of his culture," definitely, but sometimes I wish that we could have talked it out or worked it out. I think it is my fault for proposing to break up, but at the time it felt like it was the best decision. How do I move on and find peace with the fact that he may never be my life again? It feels too heavy to bear.
Happy to provide more context if needed. Trying to remain as anonymous as possible.

New EU player here, about a week of playtime.
I learned Protoss as a first race against AI and started on the ladder. I have 28/35 W/L ratio, so just 63 ranked games played.
I am currently floating around 2k mmr and it's getting really tilting... Most of the time I don't even understand how I lost. I know I just started and I suck, but PvT is such BS when your opponent with 9 barracks is pumping out marines like a zerg queen on roids, while I'm still on 3 gateways, 1 robo, 1 stargate.
I have been trying to learn the game, watched a lot of Harstem and am getting more comfortable with Protoss, but seemingly whatever I try I just get countered, without even being scouted...

• I try proxy robo push? - 20 marines in my main, and his base lifts off to fly around the map.
• I try proxy stargate oracle harass? - Opponent somehow builds battlecruisers and is obliterating all my probes in my main. OR HAS MAGICALLY GUESSED TO BUILD ANTI-AIR IN HIS MAIN.
• I try zealot rush? - Opponent is fully walled off with tanks/detection.
• Forget about any DT plays, Terran players just use the base scan ability and focus my DTs.
• I try to play macro and get 2 fully saturated bases, get some stalkers, sentries, adepts, an immortal or 2, maybe start on the 3rd base? - Get rolled over by a million marines/tanks and medevac drops to my main.
• I try to go sentry shield + archons for splash? - Opponent has medevacs, air damage units, and a horde of marines.

Zerg is no better to play against, I barely start making adepts/stalkers, and I get a hot plate of baneling shoved up my ass. Every. Time.
I am trying to learn and improve, but recently it really feels like whatever I do is just useless, because my opponent either counters my move perfectly (without even scouting my main), or has a romanian-village-worth of marines in my main in less than 7 minutes.
tl;dr:
I suck and want to improve. I play Protoss. Terran marines are giving me PTSD. Remove zerg from the game. Pls help.

Was during Covid. My husband filed for divorce while he was overseas deployed. We had an argument, I said when he returns we need to talk, implying things were not working out. (it was a BAD marriage). Instead, he just filed while overseas, blindsiding me despite my pleas for him to wait so we can properly figure it out. He closed lease on house, withheld spousal support, had the car picked up, kept all my Covid checks (they got deposited to spouses account for some reason, don't remember why), and emptied out our joint savings. Before anyone wants to preemptively bash and judge me, I wasn't an adulterous wife, I worked 2 jobs (pre-COVID), was earning my MA, didn't have money issues pre-COVID/divorce etc. He was a piece of work. I eventually got my Covid checks and spousal support a couple months later, after involving legal, but it was a scary couple of months. Covid had hours at work slashed, and I had to figure out how to get everything out of the house (he left the cleaning/moving out to me and me alone), find an apartment, and a car. I caved and did the camgirl thing for around 2 months. Hated it. Felt beneath myself.
I do not judge legal consenting sex-workers. It's not my place. But it wasn't for me. That said, while I hated it, I don't feel "shame". I did what I had to do to survive for a couple months, then hours picked back up and I found a new second job and promptly ditched that crap. I don't believe it's a blackmail concern. I wore cosplay (heavy makeup/wigs), did not use real name, real location, not even my real country. 90% of it was me playing video games and acting flirty. I didn't do depraved or immoral things. In some fantasy world where it is connected to me, big whoop? You can't blackmail me with something that trivial; I just don't care.
I also didn't pay taxes on it due to ignorance, but am in the process of amending that. (Just gotta send the IRS the check)
But is this information alone enough to mitigate that? Or is there no way around this being labeled as inappropriate sexual behavior?
All my red flags revolve around my husband honestly. Left Army due to depression but was HEAVILY pressured by my husband to do so "so we can be together". Later (after army), an arrest (not violence related, we were bickering at the store and I got frustrated at a self check out and some stuff didn't get rung up, I was to blame since I did most the ringing, but charges later dropped) medications for depression/anxiety (2 years free now) started smoking weed to cope (6 months clean), and the cam work. Want to emphasize that while I believe my husband was a common denominator in me making VERY bad decisions for 2 years, it was still ME that made these decisions but it all leads back to him. Don't wanna sound like I'm not taking responsibility; I am. I've grown and learned a lot and facing adversity again, I'd never make these same mistakes, but it's eating away at me because I'm THIS freaking close to getting back to my dream career, and as I age into my 30's, panic is setting in.
An agency has me flying out for some tests, and it's all becoming real, real quick, but the thought of losing the clearance for these dumb decisions makes me wanna puke. I know I post long threads here a lot, sorry yall. Just been a weird time for me and things are coming together but boy this clearance stuff is rough.

"Toad" refers to the venom naturally secreted by the Bufo Alvarius toad. This secretion contains the powerful psychedelic, 5-meo-DMT, which is apparently capable of obliterating the ego in one fell swoop and bringing astounding healing results.
I participated in my first toad ceremony a few months ago. I will describe the experience, the benefits I gleaned from it, and what I learned about the theory and practice of Ketamine-State Yoga.
Lead Up to My Toad Ceremony
I got the connection from a friend at my yoga studio. He referred to a healer of great wisdom and experience (including Western medical credentials) who traveled the world administering this medicine in the context of a brief ceremony.
I reached out and had a fascinating conversation with the guy. I won't reveal details, for obvious reasons, but I will say he struck me with both the breadth of his experience and his dedication to serving others by conducting these healing ceremonies. I signed up for my first "toad ceremony," to be conducted when he arrived in my city.
I was determined but plenty scared!
Since I discovered the potential of psychedelic healing, through yogic practices within the ketamine state, I had been on a mission to excavate and heal my trauma-pain from abuse I experienced in childhood. Since my scars are old -- and were reinforced by re-traumatizing habits over the years -- I have always expected healing transformation will require work and difficult experiences.
But the dabbling I had done with 5-meo-DMT, in the form of a synthetic vape, had yielded terrifying (though very brief) experiences. I was plunged into a dark abyss, with my ego, memory and senses blinking out of existence like a dying computer monitor -- with only my vivid pain body floating in space. The Toad Shaman (I'll refer to him this way, though he doesn't use that title) was so reassuring on the phone that I resolved to forge ahead with the full 5-meo-DMT experience led by this master, despite my earlier terrifying experiences.
The Ceremony
I arrived at the location, a comfortable room a half hour from my apartment. The Toad Shaman was there with two assistants dressed in white. I had the vague impression of a cult, but soon learned these attendants were a trauma therapist and breathwork specialist. Everyone was extremely warm as we talked about the upcoming experience.
They heard my fears, listened to my story of trauma, and suggested I take the full dose. The idea was that the small doses I had taken from my synthetic vape had only partially eradicated my ego, which ironically made the suffering far more intense. They said that often the full dose was much easier to handle.
And that turned out to be an understatement.
I recited a few non-sectarian verses, mainly aimed at forgiveness and acceptance of self and others. I stood and took a few deep breaths. Then I took an enormous hit of toad venom as the Toad Shaman held the pipe to my lips. I have a vague memory of starting to descend to the floor...
My ordinary consciousness-stream resumed (I suppose I could say I "woke up," but that somehow feels inaccurate) as I lay on the floor in total bliss. They had caught me, laid me gently on the ground with a blanket. I felt utter peace and balance, though my thoughts were still incoherent. At some point, I thought, "Wow!" -- This was total bliss, there had been no intense fear, no painful struggle.
The Come Down
The breathwork specialist whispered in my ear, "Stay with your breath." This reminder was unnecessary, though he couldn't have known (I told him later). I'm a pranayama yogi, and at that moment I was intentionally resting at the bottom of my exhalation on empty, as I do when practicing Ketamine-State Yoga.
I performed a few rounds of the 5-deep breaths practice -- a series of deep belly breaths followed by a long and luxurious final exhalation and then a prolonged rest at the bottom on empty.
Then my stuck emotions burst forth.
I wept and wept, touching tender memories, allowing thoughts of my childhood to float through my mind, thinking about my parents and feeling compassion for them despite their atrocious behavior. Everything I touched released a stream of emotions, my body shook as I spilled out the tears.
Then a thought flew in, "There are other people in the room watching me cry." Suddenly I was struck by the juxtaposition of the profound state I had experienced -- contact with the "source consciousness" as the Toad Shaman explained it -- and this silly incursion of social paranoia. I immediately started laughing hysterically at my own ego.
Peels of laughter shook my body.
I alternated between tears and laughter for about 20 minutes. At some point I sat up, and turned around to face the Toad Shaman and his assistants. We talked for a few minutes about the experience, and the trauma therapist said he was so moved by my ceremony that he wanted to give me his amulet! (I wore this amulet to a recent Ayahuasca retreat, which I will describe in a later post.)
I walked home feeling terrific, like a mountain of pain had been reduced to dust and then blown away by a pleasant Spring breeze. There was no sense of a toxic after-effect at all -- none. I thought, "This is the cleanest psychedelic I have ever experienced."
I had some lucid dreams in the following nights, in which I returned to my childhood home and faced with courage the primal-fear nightmares of my youth. Months later, I still feel I can touch that sense of total release -- complete surrender to the "source consciousness" -- whenever I need to, and this power has benefited me during stressful times.
In sum, this toad ceremony was an outrageously effective healing experience that somehow bypassed the intense discomfort I sometimes feel on psychedelics and went straight to the potent emotional release I needed.
What This Experience Taught Me about Ketamine-State Yoga
At first I joked with the Toad Shaman and my friends afterwards. When I practice Ketamine-State Yoga, I put emphasis on the come-up phase. I do all sorts of yogic practices -- pranayama, mudras, loving-kindness meditation -- as the trip builds toward the peak.
But in this toad ceremony there was no come up at all!
I took that big hit of toad venom and wham! -- On the floor, body of bliss. How could I possibly connect this experience to Ketamine-State Yoga?
But I realized that, while many folks benefit from 5-meo-DMT, I had perhaps experienced a particularly effective trip in terms of catharsis and healing. The Toad Shaman and his assistants had implied this after the ceremony, saying, "You will probably maintain a connection to this medicine." (I think they were right.)
First, there was the complete release of my exhalation following the hit from the pipe. I had let go with that total release I cultivate when I practice breathwork near the ketamine peak. I had been prepared!
Then there was the 5-deep-breaths pranayama. I practice this nearly every ketamine trip, and it's possible that it allowed me, in the toad ceremony, to process my stuck emotions and soothe my trauma-pain. The first thing I remember when my consciousness-steam returned, as I lay on the floor, was a feeling of bliss. Then I practiced the pranayama that in turn led to my alternating weeping and laughing. Crying and laughing "shake out" the upper chakras -- they literally, physically, wring out the places -- throat, chest, belly -- where painful emotions are stored. This is why emotional release is so cathartic!
Finally, the toad-ceremony experience validates the basic theory of Ketamine-State Yoga in terms of healing results. A peak experience results in obliteration of the ego. In this egoless state, without the constant stream of (often self-antagonizing) language, the chakras automatically move toward equilibrium. This is experienced as balance, peace, contentment -- but it is also a fertile state for accessing and processing emotions that are in deep storage.
A stark difference is that essentially I had no experience of the 5-meo-DMT peak. I "woke up" with a body of bliss, on the ground. And usually when I practice Ketamine-State Yoga and cultivate a peak mystical experience, I do remember something. But I can't be sure I didn't have an experience on Toad -- It could be I simply don't remember. I asked the Toad Shaman and his helpers and they said I grunted a few times "in releasing stuff." They hinted that memories might emerge over the following days, but aside from the lucid dreams I didn't experience that.
Conclusions
I plan to do another toad ceremony in a few weeks! I am very curious if it will be similar to my first or if it will vary greatly, as my ketamine trips often do.
I have referred several friends to the Toad Shaman -- people who are struggling with trauma and deep depression, folks who have "tried everything." Maybe this strange and (for me) glorious experience will bring them a breakthrough.
Next time I use 5-meo-DMT, I plan to perform Maha Bandha, a combination of yogic muscular locks within the body, because my intuition tells me this will synergize well with the toad medicine. I'll do this for those few moments following the inhalation from the pipe.
My intention the first time was simple: To let go of horrific and obsessive thoughts that have plagued me for most of my life and came from the violence I experienced. This time I may just focus on surrendering completely and letting the medicine -- and my inner wisdom -- do their work.
I have practiced Ketamine-State Yoga since this experience and my practice has been joyful and effective. I can't say if it directly benefited from the toad medicine trip, but I suspect that is the case. I can let go so completely and relax at the bottom of the breath. I now have multiple ways of understanding and appreciating the "source consciousness" that permeates my being and the whole world, and I can see even more clearly the arbitrary and petty nature of my ego.
Have you had an experience with 5-meo-DMT? Have you had an experience with it, or another psychedelic, that supported your healing process and/or your understanding of the ketamine state?

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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
— Langston Hughes
Catalogue Description
Self-Monitoring Behavioural Management Report: Casimir Szymański, Scazim Institute of Science and Technology - English Translation
Date:
15 Summer-2 3429 (Standard Parimthian Calendar)
November 23rd, 2162 (Gregorian Calendar)
Held by:
The UK National Archives, Kew
Legal status:
Public Record(s)
My father worshipped a fabricated, pagan prophet.
The Senghavi of the Parimthian Empire are principally joined under the ditheistic religion called Siedi, which I do not subscribe to. Of course, the Senghavi's literature, art, and faith flooded the whole of Earth upon their arrival a century ago. From this ocean of civilised culture, my degenerate species drew a sample, claimed it as our own, and polluted it with a distorted, appropriated, dumbed-down doctrine.
The central figure in this corrupt sample of Siedi was a man whom my father called Jesus Christ. He was said to have offered himself as a sacrifice that could be made to a single God. It was a final sacrifice, one beyond lambs or cattle or people. One that would atone for humanity's sins, so that we could have the free choice between the eternal presence of God and the eternal absence of "Him."
My father dressed himself in black, with a standing collar whose white fabric was exposed at the centre. That much, I could recall. He preached to hopeful humans in what was called a church, though I did not know what he was preaching. At the very least, my childhood is fuzzy in that regard.
The pain that throbbed through my skull, after the blonde savage had slammed my head against the ridges of the airlock, faded into the background. I could not focus; perhaps, I thought, one of their improvised explosives had gone off by accident. There was blue Senghavi blood staining my dress shirt. The rush of air escaping into vacuum pierced my ears.
Perhaps it was thirst of water, which binds most sapient beings—the Sons of Liberty had reached an agreement with the Colonial Defence Force to allow spacecraft delivering food, water, and medical aid, only to unleash the anti-collision lasers of this cursed spaceliner upon those very ships.
Or perhaps it was the explosion, as I initially thought, an inadvertent complication which had wrought injury and death over my countrymen, and which had forced the terrorist savages to attempt to patch up the many hull breaches left by debris.
Or perhaps it was simply the stress of betraying, in my desperate efforts to save everyone from this senseless violence, the greatest secret of the Senghavi Terrans: our antimatter research. Word of it had likely been forwarded already, hundreds of light-years away, to that pink-hued marble which was Parimth itself.
Or perhaps it was all three; thirst, explosion, and stress. In any case, my mind shut it all out, and something lost from my childhood flashed before me:
We're standing on the cracked street of the Vennec Human Reservation. In the distance, the Senghavi's white, glassy spires reach above the clouds, their accents of luminescence dim in the broad daylight.
I hold a ball in my palm. It's wrapped in white leather held together with red stitching. I toss it to Dad.
Instead of his clerical uniform, he wears the normal "T-shirt" and "cargo shorts." Along with the clerical getup, they are just two of the many sorts of clothing which the Senghavi have invented for humanity. I toss the ball to Dad, and he swings a primitive wooden bat.
The ball goes soaring, further than he meant to. He jogs down the road to retrieve it, then gives me the wooden bat. The breeze ruffles his hair just as he ruffles mine with his hand.
"Now, you try," he says. "It's just practice, that's all."
For some reason, he lifts one leg in the air, then pitches the ball to me. I swing. The impact of the ball shakes through the wood, and it goes careening off to the left.
"I did it!" I yell. "But it went out of bounds."
"Heyyyy, that's not bad," Dad says with a reassuring voice. "Good job, just try to go a little more right next time."
Mom comes out onto the front porch, the breeze ruffling her dress as she waves to Dad. "Dinner's ready, and Mom's pie is... almost ready."
I stare blankly at her until I realise that she is talking about her Mom, Grandma, who is the best at making pumpkin pie.
"The pie!" I shout, running and jumping to the front door. "I totally forgot about that!"
I am ready to speed my way through dinner just so I can get to dessert, but Dad stops me before my first bite.
Of course, I think. We need to say grace. Me, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa all hold hands, thanking God for our food, and then dig in. But Mom and Dad just talk about work, and I am too focused on finishing my food quickly to pitch in.
Finally—Grandma's pie!
When you bite into the soft, smooth filling, you can instantly tell it's been made with fresh pumpkins, not the boring canned ones. The taste of cinnamon and spice is balanced out perfectly with the coolness of the whipped cream.
The flavour spreads through my tongue and nostrils, filling my entire brain with a feeling of amazing-ness. If I wrote the Simple-Speak Dictionary for Senghavi Terrans, I'd put Grandma's pie next to the translation of "perfection."
I should save a slice, I think, for the Senghavi kid.
Even though it's only been a week since I met him through the playground fence, we already told each other where we live, and I want to get to know him more. He doesn't live on the Vennec Human Reservation, but his house is just a bike-ride away in Fellye Neighborhood.
I wonder if anyone's ever given pumpkin pie to an alien before. Even though humans only invented it fifty years ago, it makes me feel proud of my species!
When Mom tucks me into bed, kissing my forehead, I tell her what I'm going to do.
"Oh, you wild thing," she coos. "You're so much like your father. And you have his eyes, you know? Just stay safe."
"Don't worry, I'll do my best."
>! "Good night. I love you." !<
>! "I love you, too, Mom," I say. I hug her tightly from my bed, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoms within me. I can hardly fall asleep in my excitement. !<
Luckily, Fellye Neighborhood doesn't take apartheid that seriously, and I don't think anybody cares about an eight year-old human riding his bicycle around the gates.
Next evening, I do just that, peddling out of the Reservation's entrance into the violet dusk. When I get to Mensim's address, I ring the hi-tech front doorbell, and a really tall Senghavi shows up.
"Oh, dear," she says in Parimthian. "A barbarian hatchling—by what name do you go?"
"I'm Casimir," I say nervously. I don't pay that much attention in school, but I know just enough Parimthian to talk to the Senghavi woman. "Are you Mrs. Munghazi? Is Mensim fe Munghazi here? I got two slices of pie. You can have one, too!"
She looks at me suspiciously, antennae twitching. "That would be Teacher Munghazi to you; I know not why you natives invented these odd 'Mister' and 'Missis' honorifics. Hold on—Ghanvati! A native hatchling stands at our doorstep!"
Ghanvati must be Mensim's dad. I wonder where his other moms are; only one has shown up to the door. Ghanvati shows up with two of them—they are both shorter and daintier than Teacher Munghazi, their raptorial forelimbs folded shyly against their bodies. In front of the group of three is Mensim, and I involuntarily gasped with excitement.
"Mensim!"
"This is your new companion?" Ghanvati asks Mensim.
Mensim's papery forewings flicker with affirmation. "I met him at school."
"What, pray tell, is the point of apartheid if it does not actually keep natives away from Senghavi?" whines one of Ghanvati's wives.
Ghanvati's antennae droop as if to say "I don't know," while Mensim lifts my arms, inspecting me like I am a test animal in a mad scientist's laboratory.
"How do you guys not get cut all the time?" he asks, tracing his tarsal hairs over my bare skin. "You're so fleshy!"
"I do get cut all the time," I giggled. "We just use band-aids. Oh, do you wanna eat a pumpkin pie?"
It turned out that pumpkin pie is bad for alien stomachs. Mensim had to go to the bathroom for a long time, and three of his moms got mad at me.
When I got back, Dad and Mom were arguing. I snuck close to the back porch, making sure they couldn't hear me.
"Yes, they leave some people alone," Dad said. "Obviously, they can't spy on every single human who believes in human religions. But Katarzyna, they still need people to make an example out of, and I don't want to be that person!"
"Casimir is a responsible kid," Mom retorts. "I told him he can't tell anyone what you do, and he listens to me."
"He's eight years old. You can't just let him wander around aliens with a secret that could have me killed! Or have you killed!"
Mom cups Dad's cheek and looks him in the eye. She's a lot shorter than him. "Look, love. You're a great father, and I think it's amazing that you spend time with him. But you're the only person he talks to. You know just as well as I do that he needs to talk to other kids! It's not healthy; even Teacher Perevvoxath agreed. And now he finally has a friend."
Dad sighs, running his hands through his black hair. My hair. "You really think aliens are a substitute for human interaction?"
>! "I think every human needs a person they can talk to, and Casimir found one. If you really care about him, stop preaching for a while! Your church isn't gonna die without you. It'll be okay." !<
The next day, I visit Mensim's house after school again. And the next day after that, and the next after that. His dad Ghanvati is formally named Engineer Munghazi. I am to call his moms Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Accountant Munghazi, Priestess Munghazi, Doctor Munghazi, and Maidservant Munghazi.
A couple weeks later, Mensim and I are lounging together on his couch, watching a Parimthian war movie. The main characters are fighting against the evil forces of the Imperium of Orion. Under his head capsule, Mensim is munching something called Synth-Fruit, which is imported from a faraway planet called Mryi. I eat Pop-Tarts, which I'm pretty sure are toxic to him.
"Come on, just give me one," Mensim exclaims, reaching over to steal the sweet snacks from me. "It can't be that bad!"
I lift the Pop-Tarts away from him, laughing. "Stoppit, you're attacking me! Pay attention to the movie, or I'm gonna shoot you!"
"But I just want one..."
"It's gonna poison you, and you're gonna get your weird alien throw-up all over me!"
Priestess Munghazi, the oldest of his moms, bursts into the living room, her jewellery clinking over her clerical cape.
"Your sister conveyed to me quite the disturbing piece of news, Mensim," Priestess Munghazi cries. "The father of Casimir is a priest of a most barbarous and evil perversion of the Siedi faith. Ghanvati and I spoke, and we agreed that you are not to consort with this primitive, pagan savage any longer."
I drop my crumbly Pop-Tart on the couch, confused at the sudden order.
"But Priestess Munghazi, I'm not dangerous or evil. I'm just a kid."
"Nonsense! You are dangerous; your father is a barbarian worshipper of this evil, primate paganism that is called Christianity, and a most woeful effect is begot that even self-respecting Senghavi have 'gone native,' as they say. Mensim, if you continue to consort with this native spawn, I will be impelled to inform the Siedi Court, and they may by chance see to it that he is executed!"
"W-Wait!" Mensim says, holding up the remote to pause our movie. He gets off of me, suddenly losing interest in my Pop-Tart, his vestigial forewings rising with concern. "Please, Mother. I promise he won't be any trouble."
My blood runs cold. Dad, executed? Just because what he believes in isn't "civilised" enough? Actually, I thought that Mom told him to stop preaching for a while.
Mensim scrambles to *his father's sleeping quarters, and I trail frantically after him.*
"Father," Mensim says. "Is Casimir's father's job so ghastly that he should be executed by the Siedi Court?"
"We can't just let the natives spread the same barbarous religions that they used to kill each other," Ghanvati replies, his secondary arms clasped together. "It's a threat to safe, moral society. Priestess Munghazi told me his father spreads evil and paganism. I have no reason not to trust the oldest of your mothers."
"But Casimir's my best friend! If you tell the Siedi Court about his father, I'll... I'll run away! I'll hate you!"
Distressed vibrations emanate through the floor beneath my feet; Mensim's antennae and papery forewings and hindwings go limp. Something like lilies and the earthy scent of rain fills the air.
"My dearest Mensim," Ghanvati says softly, dipping his head capsule with compassion. "I will hold off, just this once. It would be apt of you not to cause me to reconsider."
"T-thank you, Engineer Munghazi," I say, wiping my own tears. "My dad's not a bad person, I promise."
After confronting his dad, Mensim and I keep on watching movies and playing digital games. He always wins when we wrestle, but I still haven't given up (even though Priestess Munghazi always tells us to stop roughhousing).
I even bring my Lego pieces to his house. He doesn't know what Legos are, but later, in his sleeping quarters, we build together. He makes a cool-looking spaceship that he calls a "negative energy generator."
"Hey, you took all the cool black and grey pieces," I complain. "Now I can't finish my army base!"
"This is cooler than your army base," Mensim says proudly. "Father used to work in one. It uses the superposition of squeezed vacuum states to produce a field of negative energy density."
"I have no idea what that means, but that sounds really smart."
"No kidding! It's how people make wormholes and fly all the way to other stars."
"Well, my army guys could beat your negative energy-thingy. They have machine guns."
"My guys could just fly a [~million billion trillion kilometres] away, and yours can't do anything about it!"
"Then your guys are wimps. But my guys aren't. Because they're the Army!"
>! We also explore the pine forest in his backyard. Within just two more weeks, we have uncovered all sorts of interesting things, like a piece of a real human skull. One time, we found a human foot sculpted and smoothed out of stone—who would make such a thing?—and a dead metal device with the icon of a bitten-out-of apple printed on it. !<
There were also other human body parts made out of ancient stone, too: the cracked half of a man's face buried a foot deep, a muscly arm sticking out of the soil. Even a private part, which I snickered at, though Mensim seemed unfazed.
There is something else we start to do. My parents have given me "the talk," and Mensim told me that his parents gave him the Senghavi version of it. And so even as we talk and play in the woods, we experiment—because we are curious, and why should we not be?
A fragment of a memory in the forest; Mensim's raptorial forelimbs are set on my shoulders as his compound eyes look into my primate eyes, and he says, "You cannot tell anyone about this. Anyone. Absolutely no one."
I don't know how, but Priestess Munghazi learned of what we were doing, and now she expresses anger and disgust alike, her wings and antennae wild and rigid. Ghanvati is the same. Mensim and I... We're actually making them reconsider their decision not to tell the Siedi Court about my dad.
A fragment of a memory... I feel like I am in space, stranded aboard a spaceliner that has been hijacked by terrorists, its atmosphere venting amid a backdrop of violence... But I am not, I am in the forest that Mensim and I talked and played in; I am in Mensim's home, terrified as I am yelled at by Ghanvati, whose compassion no longer shines through, accompanied by Priestess Munghazi.
"By the names of the Gods, it's those false, pagan corruptions which humans have named as their religions, that are spouted by your father," Priestess Munghazi spits. I am teary-eyed and snot-nosed from guilt and embarrassment. "How horrid is the link between the state of barbarism and a most revolting and shameful propensity for bizarre and perverted behaviour!"
Then I am in my own family's living room, and the mom I love so dearly yells at me, too, but my father is quieter and only seems disappointed. This must be the first time in my life that I have felt true shame, I think; the kind that leaves you with an emptiness inside. Like the whole point of existing just vanished inside of me.
The worst part is that I cannot even lean on Mom's shoulder, because she is distressed—because she knows what will happen—
"This is all on you, Casimir!" she screeches, tears in her eyes. "All on you!"
I remember telling Priestess Munghazi that 'I'm not dangerous or evil; I'm just a kid,' but now I can't be sure anymore. I can tell I am different in the eyes of my family. They are disgusted by me.
It is my fault, after all, that Priestess Munghazi tells the Siedi Court of my father's evil, barbaric Christian teachings.
he Parimthian soldiers bring my father to the gallows. Their snow-white exoskeletons gleam under a burning sun. They have dressed him in his clerical uniform, and the camera is close enough that I can see his cross necklace.
I have been grounded in my room; still, I have a television to see the live broadcast.
Hanging works for primates and mantids alike. It happens in the Forum of Movvaeti, the venue for public events in our area, where my father is a lesser criminal compared to the native leaders and Senghavi malcontents who have dissented from Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth.
He is joined with seven other convicts, three humans and four Senghavi, and their crimes are read to the crowd—blasphemy, paganism, monogamy, witchcraft, seditious libel, insulting the Parimthian Crown, treason against the Parimthian Crown, and refusal to quarter Parimthian soldiers.
Why? None of this feels right. Why should my father be killed because of what he says and believes? Why can't these people be judged with fairness, rather than at the whim of some distant space emperor?
Not only have I been grounded, but I grow cold without my mother's touch. I want to hold someone's hand while watching Dad lose his life, but nobody is there. Mom brings me food, but she doesn't even look at me. Why can't she look at me? Why can't she speak to me? I just want things to be the way they used to be, when Dad would help me practise hitting a ball with a bat on the street.
I watch him turn down a caped, bejewelled priestess of the Siedi faith, who thought she could make my dad accept their Gods before his death. Before a modest crowd of humans and Senghavi alike, all eight of the convicts have their arms and legs bound with rope.
I am begging myself to turn the TV off, but I can't bring myself to. The Senghavi executioner uses some kind of hi-tech display to remove the supports from beneath the convicts' feet. My stomach flips over inside of me, a nausea of shame filling my body.
I can't deny it any longer. This is my fault—this is why my family avoids me—this is why they are disgusted by me—and Dad falls and his head jerks when the noose goes taut.
As he hangs there, I cannot tell for how long he remains alive. My insides are cold. After the broadcast ends, after night falls and I sit in the moonlight spilling faintly through my windows, that is when it all comes out. I sob alone. I scream for Mom to help me and be there for me, but she does not come. Her harsh voice resonates through my memory; this is all on me. I am a disgrace to everyone I love, and that is why they have left me here. Why they avoid me as if I am a disease.
The only thing I want is to see Dad again, but he is gone forever. I curl up on my room floor. What is this? What is this loneliness? This stinging hatred I feel against myself?
No one, human or mantid, will be there for me. I cry until my throat cannot ache any more harshly, until my eyes cannot sting any more painfully, and then I go cold inside, my body shivering in the moonlight. I retreat into my happy memories with Dad until it is too painful to bear.
I wish so dearly I could end it all, to take my own life and join Dad in the heaven that he believed in. There is a belt in my closet that I can use on myself in the way the Siedi Court killed Dad.
But beneath the sickly well of shame, the nausea and crushing humiliation at the stupid antics of Mensim and I, with which Mom's brief gaze pierces me—beneath the weight of knowing that I will never fill the torturous vacuum Dad left, knowing that I am a foul and disgusting son to the mother I so desperately need, that I see no end to the infinite river of anxiety and guilt pouring through the hole left in my heart—beneath my isolation and my longing for human touch—something breaks inside of me.
An emptiness of purpose. There is no point in going on, and I feel nothing, not even the desire to stop living. There is one exception: A hatred of myself, and of the humans I loved as family.
One day, Mom appears in my doorway, and she just stands there. Before, I would've welcomed being offered interaction with her beyond just receiving food, but now I am numb, my eyes all out of tears to cry.
"Pack your things," she says, her voice flat. She still doesn't look at me; the eyes she once said I inherited from Dad, she now shuns. "You're going to a residential school."
Indigenous Residential Schools; that is what Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth calls them, I think. They're for human kids who have trouble letting go of their "savage" roots; kids that the normal schools aren't enough to civilise. Schools that show you how to act Senghavi, to think Senghavi, to... be Senghavi.
There was a human kid in normal school whose sister went there, but they said that something had happened to her there; something in that residential school had changed her before she finally returned.
But I feel no fear as I pack my clothes into my bags. Every time I look in my bedroom mirror, a violent feeling rushes to my chest, only to dissipate into the hatred-tinged numbness I have grown so used to.
Finally, the time comes to depart. In the early morning, I am already aboard the autonomous public transport. It pulls out of the cracked street I once played with Dad in, passing by the entrance of Fellye Neighborhood, driving off into the fiery, violet Terran dawn. I see my faded reflection in the window, and my chest jumps with revulsion.
So I look down, fidgeting with my touchpad—then the numbness abruptly leaves, and my tears fall once again.
Forgive me for all the redaction, Doctor Morgthax. While I will not disclose what I wrote, you are correct, as always, about the act of writing. There is some semblance of psychological relief in typing one's sullen inner thoughts onto a touchpad. As if one can be heard without being heard.
By the time I drifted back to reality, my mouth and lips dry from dehydration, the hijackers had patched up the holes punched through the hull by the accidental explosion. Plenty of Senghavi passengers were spilling cerulean blood from beneath their exoskeletal coverings; though they were all alive, they needed medical attention.
Two hundred-something Senghavi civilians aboard this luxury spaceliner, and none had yet died. That stroke of luck offered me a glimmer of hope.
Pavok, the child, was emitting vibrations through the floor in his despair, the smell of rain and lilies becoming evident to me. It is starkly fascinating, the evolutionary dissimilarity between how native Terrans and Senghavi Terrans cry.
Those ships were delivering medical aid and critical provisions to the passengers, Commander Lokprel barked, the neutrino signals that encoded his gruff voice coming out from the intercom. Why did you laser them?
"Stop playing games," Jake snapped wearily into his radio. I recalled that his full name was Jacob Weaver, as Commander Lokprel had mentioned. A drop of blood streaked down his face. "We know what you're up to."
Paranoia will get you nowhere, Jacob. If we don't work with each other, you won't survive. We have detected an explosion aboard the spaceliner. Is anyone dead?
"Not yet," Jake growled. "But Fenni Svim will be if your forces keep approaching!"
Fenni Svim—the Senghavi from the Vellir Veneti Physics Lab, against whose skull Jake had pressed his pistol to halt the CDF's initial approach, hours ago—stiffened in her seat. I had never known the nuclear researcher very well before this barbarous event, but I prayed to the Gods of Siedi (whom I do not really believe in) that she would be okay.
Many of the passengers were still being kept by the windows to deter snipers. They included Pavok, behind whom Khadija stood guard.
"Sorry for attacking you," Jake suddenly said to me, his voice worn-out. "It's like Khadija said. The bugs know that humans are strong when they're united. It's why they try to play us against ourselves, to ally with just some of us, to try to make us hate each other; to hate ourselves. It's how they tore the United States apart. Everything they do... It's to make us ashamed of our species, our own culture, to lose hope in the future. If we were united, Casimir... they'd be terrified of us. And make no mistake—we're uniting again."
"E-even if what you say about mankind is true," I croaked, "Our species would not have settled anywhere but Earth. Our culture and history would still have been negligible and primitive, the richness and complexity of the Senghavi, still greater by many orders of magnitude."
"Casimir, did you go to one of the Indigenous Residential Schools?" Khadija asked.
"Y-yes," I managed, dusting off my formal wear and cleaning my glasses. "I was sent to one as a child. They are for those of us savage natives which conventional education could not sufficiently civilise."
Khadija's eyes softened with compassion, and she gestured to my wrist. "I asked because of that code on your wrist. I've heard about some of the things that happen in those places. The cruelty; the abuse."
I glanced at the abstract identification code tattooed onto my skin, faded with time. I hadn't thought about it in ages; it was but a remnant of my childhood, and I never paid it any attention.
"Residential schooling is necessary and proper," I tell her. "It is similar to human-mantid apartheid in its purpose; it keeps the public safe from savagery. "
"If we get out of this alive, I'm gonna take you with me to Russia," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Specifically, Moscow. It's where I lived after the fall of Türkiye. Man controls it, not the Senghavi."
I was already aware that a vast, untamed region named Zvorriu-Sai, located in Earth's northeastern quarter-sphere, is called Russia in simple-speak. A decade ago, Nieve fe Skellth had tried to civilise the hunter-gatherers who lived there, but his troops starved and froze in the snow.
It was with the multitude of planetary habitat fabricators that his army had been using that the native primates of Zvorriu-Sai constructed such cities as Moscow or Saint Petersburg.
"Russian civilization goes back over a millennium," Khadija explained. "I don't give a fuck about what the Senghavi have built on this planet; Russian architecture is my favourite, hands down. Anyway, it's the most stable and self-sufficient of the ten countries we've got left. Hard to invade, you know? It's seen better days, but the cities are nice, the economy is good. I think you'll find it's a hell of a lot less 'savage' than whatever the fuck the Parimthian Empire is doing."
To corroborate her claims, she showed me a photo from the gallery of her cracked, dusty touchpad. Before a busy canal, the waters tinted orange by a rising sun, a more relaxed version of her smiled into the camera alongside some human of the phenotype I had seen in the video of Tokyo. Looming over them was an intricate, palatial structure topped with colourful, onion-shaped domes.
"How... quaint," I replied, unsure of what to say, though it ignited dry laughter in Khadija.
"Looks like we got a communiqué from the UN," another hijacker announced, his mask still covering his face. I couldn't place his accent at all. He held up his own touchpad, displaying photos of the Colonial Governor herself—Perellanth fe Sumur—flanked by armed UN military personnel. They were clad in urban camouflage that was marred with blood. The black, plant-like extraterrestrial gazed defeatedly in the sterile lighting.
The UN had captured her! The Crown's decision to appoint a Vire as the leader of a Senghavi colony had been no small event. I was certain that after all the talk of Senghavi Terran independence, then followed by the Colonial Governor's capture, His Imperial Majesty regretted his progressivist decision.
"We... We did it!" Jake exclaimed, his voice disbelieving. "We took down Perellanth!"
You achieved nothing, Commander Lokprel retorted over the intercom. Not beyond the promotion of Benghoviu fe Prim to Acting Colonial Governor. If you kill Governor Sumur, Governor Benghoviu will become the permanent Colonial Governor as per the chain of command, and he will carry on the fine work of his predecessor.
Jake seemed to consider that situation a fair one, and he nodded to himself subtly. "Okay, sure. But if you do nothing, we'll still kill our first hostage."
What I can promise you is that Delegate Essintsya fe Baryn will submit an Act to the Forum of Delegates to recognize the sovereignty of the UN. It will be deliberated over for months, but it is your only realistic option. In return, we demand that you allow the passengers injured by one of your explosives to board CDF medical ships.
I recalled that the Forum of Delegates had voted Benghoviu fe Prim as Vice Colonial Governor just a year ago. And before even that, the Senghavi who lived on Vennec—my home continent on Earth—had popularly elected the ever-prudent Essintsya fe Baryn to the Forum. She was quite the economic liberal, as her sort was called.
Delegate Baryn's statements on the social contract between a people and their government, as well as her rejection that the Parimthian Crown ruled by divine right, had resonated deeply with me.
Jake's eyes hardened, and he turned his radio back on. "I said no games!"
There are no games here, Jacob! We only aim to preserve as much sapient life as possible. And you are out of options.
The hijacker who had shown Colonial Governor Sumur's prison photo gave Jake a withering look. "We're dragging this on, man. I don't want anyone to die."
"Don't talk to me about death, Ramiro. Not after what happened in the US."
The so-called United States of America... called Gholo Vieda in Parimthian. That region was Nieve fe Skellth's last successful conquest before he attempted to take on the vast, snowy expanses of Zvorriu-Sai. I wondered if, like Khadija's experience in Türkiye in the Niethvahi region, Jake had witnessed firsthand the cultural assimilation and political integration of Gholo Vieda into the rest of Parimthian Earth.
The conquest of Gholo Vieda and Niethvahi were the great accomplishments of Perellanth's predecessor, of course; but, in my opinion, the devotion of the (now captured) Perellanth to the causes of liberty, reason, equality, and sapientism far outshadowed anything that Nieve had done. I am certain, however, that the Parimthian Crown disagrees.
In any case, my faith in CDF Commander Lokprel loth Fonvie had not risen. Perhaps that was a good thing; otherwise, I might have regretted betraying the knowledge of antimatter research in order to elicit a more competent Parimthian intervention.
More security forces took up positions around the spaceliner, each ship split sharply into sunlight and shadow amid the black of space. The hijacker called Ramiro pointed to a series of smaller craft, which seemed to be pulling away from the luxury spaceliner. Escape pods!
"Hostages are falling through our fingers," Ramiro said. "We need to do something."
"Go to the rear," Khadija ordered. "Stop anyone else from sneaking out!"
Jake's radio crackled with the voice of someone in the cockpit. We've intercepted a neutrino transmission from the new guy, Benghoviu fe Prim. He's calling for some kind of emergency council at the highest levels in the Parimthian Empire.
I scoffed internally. The Crown would intervene for the sake of investigating all this talk of antimatter, whose alluring utility had hitherto been confined to theory and fiction. But it was doubtful that His Imperial Majesty would agree to an emergency council for the sake of his colonists' security and well-being. As (relatively) progressivist as he was in policy, he was still very much a punitive emperor, not a rewarding one.
"I told the commander to stop advancing—dammit!" Jake spat. "We're only letting medical craft get any closer. Fire at the corvettes!"
Affirmative, his radio crackled. Targets in sight.
The spaceliner's anti-collision lasers flashed against several faraway spacecraft. A succession of oxygen-fueled fires, each lasting for a [~split-second] against the vacuum of space, flared in the distance. Even so, the growing array of naval craft began to close in upon us again, surrounding the spaceliner in every dimension.
Switching again to the neutrino-connected channel, Jake gave a disgusted scowl. "Are you deaf, Commander? If your people keep getting closer, the deal is off!"
The more you fire, the closer we will get, *Lokprel said. *We are just making sure it is safe for the medical craft. As long as you refrain from harming them, we will not hurt you.
The hijacker in the cockpit radioed to Jake again, her voice sounding more alarmed.
We're picking up a massive object on our scanners. It's headed our way.
"How massive are we talking?" Jake asked.
It's... some kind of warship, I think. Over a hundred times our size.
"You're joking, right?"
"A Parimthian spacecraft carrier," murmured a soft, whimpery voice.
It was Fenni Svim again, her praying raptorial forelimbs tucked close in fear.
"The Imperial Parimthian Navy?" I asked. "They're really here?"
"Y-you shouldn't act surprised," Fenni said. "I know you were speaking to someone on the P-Parimthian side. You leaked our greatest secret, Casimir."
"R-right."
"What's she talking about, dude?" Khadija asked. Suspicion of betrayal lingered in her dark eyes. She had believed the lie that I was only calling a loved one when I contacted Mensim, >! who is at present an agent of Parimth!<; she had trusted me, and defended me against Jake's wrath.
I didn't answer. The very reason we needed antimatter was that the colonists' outerspace spanned but a meagre few millionths of the Parimthian Empire's total volume. I did not know what exactly a spacecraft carrier one hundred times the size of our spaceliner could do for the hostages, but it would be far more competent than the comparatively flimsy Colonial Defence Force.
Finally, after so many years of strategic modesty in the administration of the Crown's distant colony, of his Earth, as His Imperial Majesty suffered expense upon expense in countering the Imperium of Orion... Parimth had sent a warship of the Imperial Parimthian Navy, here in full force!
There was no need to inquire as to its distance; I could see it through my window. It was far enough that I could view the whole of its great form. Senghavi architecture, of course, is usually round, white, and glassy, traced with glowing accents; however, the imperial warship was boxy and shadowy black, visible only by the silhouette that it carved into the beaming sun.
Already, dozens of smaller craft—operated by some of the finest Senghavi pilots in the Milky Way—began spilling out from the spacecraft carrier, moving in the shadow of their gargantuan mothership. As even the hostage passengers became aware of its presence, the muted chatter and whimpering, which had been ambient across the aisles of the spaceliner, finally ceased.
Because of me, all of us—colonists and savages alike—were, for the first time in a decade, going to face a military intervention by Parimth itself.

Saw myself in a reflection from window and tried to look like a tough bodybuilder. I tried to think what'd it feel like to have short hair (I'm growing them atm).
It felt ok. But then again, I am jealous of beautiful women. They look so gorgeous, whilst to me men look like some ogres lol, at least most of them.
But women, they are cute. Smol and huggable :))
It feels kinda nice thinking about being a smol girl and cuddling with a one as well. It feels so lovely, so deep
I find it hard to imagine myself being intimate with a woman. Perhaps bc of my hideousness or then bc of some sort of dysphoria???
But I also walk around, thinking I am this strong bodybuilder dude. Like I tried to feel strong and big and tall all the time. Perhaps it's a cope. Perhaps I am just forcing myself to think of myself as one to not feel bad about being such an unattractive male.
I don't really know where to draw the line. What is considered trans enough?? How do I have to feel? What do I have to feel??
I am so goddamn confused and idk what this is even about - am I just trying to cope with nonexistent self-esteem, or am I exploring feminity because of some other interest, perhaps bc of 'true' kind such?
I know I should take my time but this confusement just rips me apart mentally (even though I am already pretty torn apart).
Questioning my gender and my sanity all the time. Imposter syndrome sucks.
I guess the big questions are these: - Would a cis man really ever consider being a woman to escape his bad place in society? Would a cis man ever want to become a woman if he thinks that "being a man doesn't seem to work out for him". Would a cis man ever fantasize about being a woman in straight sex? Would a cis man suddenly try out make up several times, pose in feminine ways and take pics of himself in said positions with makeup on?
Because at least right now I am far from being a strong, muscular and stable cis man who is content with being a man.
I want out and just sleep until I wake up as a cis woman. Then I wouldn't question my sanity and wouldn't feel bad about transitioning etc. If I hated my life despite of being a cis woman, it's just show how there are other things that cause me emotional pain. Perhaps I'd be as shit as always.
And then I'd perhaps start to think ctb even more...
I want to learn to love myself. I wanna get rid of this self-hate. I want to like my reflection. I want to find happiness. I want to not force myseld to be anything and feel bad about not being something I think I should be.
I want to be set free.
I can't do it myself. I wish it was done to me.
Let me fly....

So for context This is my first actual DND character, I created him based off miss information on certain backgrounds and ideas I had myself, He started in one campaign then game wise he fell through a black hole into another campaign he is now level 13/40 with one level in druid and 12 into beast master ranger. The campaign I'm in is long term and this dm has the level to 40 with only one multiclass allowed me choosing beast master ranger way back in the first campaign.
Capabilities wise He is a fairy so he automatically has enlarge/reduce, fairie fire, druidcraft, and flight. Ranger wise as a beast master he can summon spiritual companions of either air, land, or sea looking how he wishes. Druid is giving me more options, but of course to my knowledge without multiclassing I don't get access to any circles just base druid abilities.
Story wise he is a scientist turned survivalist archer, who has a history of being various sizes. When he was 17(currently hes 34) he conducted an experiment that until he was 32 left him nearly permanently 1ft tall (normal fairy height is 4ft) and when he would use enlarge or reduce he would occasionally end up 1 inch tall so very tiny. He trusted nobody, and was outcast and told he would be killed on sight if he very returned home to the feywilds. He killed the first person he trusted somewhere alone the way, because he thought they betrayed him, but he found out later that he was wrong. For awhile he travelled with one group trying to assist someone who helped him once (campaign one) but fell through a black hole and ended up with a new group, though one of them knew him in that was in that world ( the dm of the new campaign was a member of campaign one.
Campaign two: at age 32 he finally found a group of people he is learning to trust, he used his various size changing capabilities (he can no longer get to those tiny sizes anymore) to help the group various times as its easy to sneak at that size lol. and eventually met someone he is trusting completely (current love interest) she is an enchanter and actually ended up helping him solving his almost 19 year life problem. though he isnt now taller than his old normal at 5'7 which he's researching how to fix (ring of alter self is my current idea he has to find). Hes now trying to save the world with the current group and a clear multiverse type setting as hes met two people he recognizes that dont know him in this world.
​
Artwork I had made for this character by u/Andrarty
Anyway enough rambling thats the character: any veteran of dnd any recommendation's as for what to do with the character. The Dm is very open to homebrew though within reason. I don't want to min max the character to make them op as a ranger who can fly is already kind of powerful for me as i can hover out of most melee ranges. Story wise hes still this scientist turned spiritual archer, not sure where to go from here as again hes level 13/40 (multiple classes are allowed in this campaign not just two classes.)

My ears always bug me a little on planes, but I chew gum and I learned the scuba way of swallowing air to pop them, etc. On my last flight, unfortunately, I had the beginning of a head cold and as we went up to altitude I had the most excruciating ear popping of my life. It was like someone put a whole string of fireworks in each ear. I was writhing in pain and moaning and grabbing my head and I'm sure everyone around me thought I was insane. I pushed the call button and begged the flight attendant to find someone on the plane with decongestants or something, because there was no way on earth I would make it through five more hours of that. Luckily when the plane leveled off the popping stopped. I'm 51 and have been flying all my life and never experienced that before. Other than avoiding travel with a head cold, any tricks?

My life is a roller coaster,to say the least and very interesting as well from an outsiders perspective.
ill be sharing about my academics
Most of the people here would probably take or have taken commerce or science maths and stuff like that as these options are great investments in education and will provide a supposed good yield.
however my passion always has been different.i am a person so confused yet so firm on my choices.I am currently in 10th standard and im still unsure what to take.its this decision making which is giving me so much pain that i just wanna avoid it forever.
yet i cant leave it to the end moment as i dont want to make a fast and forced decision.i wanna be free to explore my options yet unable to do anything due to me being fly destroyed from the inside and burned out.
i always had an interest in english - whether be poetry or be novel writing.i always had imaginations making me so much into writing and reading that i love it so much. unfortunately that cannot be a career option,
Psychology - something i am keen to learn and understand yet seeming to be not a career choice.for a boy it seems that world didn't make me for this.
History - always fascinated,by the events,the plans,the strategies, and the overall history of the world.yet cant follow it in career wise
Economics - not particularly interested yet have a keen desire to learn more about it. something that keeps interested
Civics - i like it.i can handle it,understand it and do it.
seems that my options are just horrible - yet i love it.can not help it . but rather keep my tears away to take the path they all take.....

Has anyone seen this show?! I would've never dreamed of a show that was so perfectly in sync with the lesbian stereotype of how horrible a dating show would go, but this takes the cake. The people are hilarious but I adore (most of) them. If you haven't seen it, you need to fly over to Netflix now and check it out. If you have seen it, please comment and tell me what you're thinking of everyone. I'll drop my synopsis below!

• Lexi (she/her) - SO mature for being so young (then I found out we're the same age because this filmed two years ago) and is hilarious. I still think she has some growing to do in terms of just letting things go that don't really matter, but overall I think she is absolutely the most mature and best communicator throughout.
• Rae (she/her) - poor girl lol, she has had a horrible edit and is actually hilarious, but I still don't know if I can defend her going with Vanessa knowing how awful she'd been. I hope she makes it out of this all without anyone because she has work to do but that is okay!
• Mal (she/they) - something is off about Mal to me. I think she'd great and funny. I love the chemistry she has with Lexi but how she treats Yoly, and how she tries to get Xander to shit talk Yoly, is REALLY telling... I'm waiting to see what comes out about her.
• Yoly (she/her) - she needs someone who gives a shit about her and has to stop giving energy to people who don't. I love her relationship with Xander and I am literally PRAYING they make it out together. I think they may be the only couple I actually want to make it out.
• Xander (she/they) - ugh, sweet baby just trying to live in a toxic world. I see myself in Xander, the best and the worst. Not being confrontational at all is really difficult to begin with, let alone in a show like this. This is an obvious issue but alongside that is the inability to just let Vanessa deal with the consequences she seeks. She sucks, Xander just needs to admit that.
• Vanessa (she/her) - YUCK! I knew I wouldn't like her from the first few minutes of the first episode lmfao. She has such awful energy and is so self-absorbed, BUT I truly do hope she gets help. I think that maybe there is a great person under there, but holy hell she is buried DEEP.
• Aussie (Aussie) - Aussie just truly needs to learn how to communicate. I think that is honestly all and maybe even process through possible trauma. The responses to Mildred I think were totally spot on because she is tough, but Aussie could still work on those things.
• Sam (she/her) - same as Aussie. I think this couple will actually make it out. I think Aussie will work on Aussie and Sam will be right there to support Aussie!
• Tiff (they/them) - I had no clue that things would go down with Sam and Tiff the way they did so quickly. Sam was definitely very helpful for Tiff in terms of learning how to communicate and I think that it will absolutely help them moving forward, but whether that is a good idea to do with Mildred I'm not sure. She has a very toxic form of communicating and I think if Tiff wants to get better, Mildred isn't the best option.
• Mildred (she/her) - just... toxic. She has a lot to work on and communication is absolutely one of them. It's not about what you say always, but more how you say it. I think she had some great points but damn she could've been nicer.

Also, they weren't the greatest with pronouns so I added them for you all. I found them from a tiktok, but obviously they could be wrong. I just think it's better to have them than not!

Hi! I'm Sam, I like meeting new people and travelling! Every year I take a solo trip for my birthday and I had some last minute plans get cancelled so I decided to rebook a trip to Mexico. I have never been to this area and while I am there I would love to get an inside look into peoples ways of living, their relationship with the environment, and telling that story on film.
I fly into Cancun and booked the first two nights there, but some of the best experiences I have ever had while travelling were because of open plans and the freedom to make spontaneous choices when making new friends along the way!
Immersion and self exploration are some of most rewarding parts of travel for me, I can't count the amount of experiences and lessons I have learned by being open to saying yes, trying new things, and being open to making connections and friends with locals and other travelers.
I love to cook and would love to hear about any local culinary classes, lessons or if anyone has a sweet old abuelita that I could apprentice under!
I have a couple questions regarding getting film developed in the area, if anyone has any suggestions or recommendations, turn around time etc. or would like to go on an adventure to find some cool spots!
I am fascinated with the human existence, nature, and every interaction between the two. The core experiences of peoples daily lives, and translating that to a story that can have a positive impact on other people. I would literally be just as happy to work a sailboat, volunteering, or simple observation for the experience.
Feel free to DM me with any questions or respond in the comments, thanks again!

Hi! I'm Sam, I like meeting new people and travelling! Every year I take a solo trip for my birthday and I had some last minute plans get cancelled so I decided to rebook a trip to Mexico. I have never been to this area and while I am there I would love to get an inside look into peoples ways of living, their relationship with the environment, and telling that story on film.
I fly into Cancun and booked the first two nights there, but some of the best experiences I have ever had while travelling were because of open plans and the freedom to make spontaneous choices when making new friends along the way!
Immersion and self exploration are some of most rewarding parts of travel for me, I can't count the amount of experiences and lessons I have learned by being open to saying yes, trying new things, and being open to making connections and friends with locals and other travelers.
I love to cook and would love to hear about any local culinary classes, lessons or if anyone has a sweet old abuelita that I could apprentice under!
I have a couple questions regarding getting film developed in the area, if anyone has any suggestions or recommendations, turn around time etc. or would like to go on an adventure to find some cool spots!
I am fascinated with the human existence, nature, and every interaction between the two. The core experiences of peoples daily lives, and translating that to a story that can have a positive impact on other people. I would literally be just as happy to work a sailboat, volunteering, or simple observation for the experience.
Feel free to DM me with any questions or respond in the comments, thanks again!

Hi! I'm Sam, I like meeting new people and travelling! Every year I take a solo trip for my birthday and I had some last minute plans get cancelled so I decided to rebook a trip to Mexico. I have never been to this area and while I am there I would love to get an inside look into peoples ways of living, their relationship with the environment, and telling that story on film.
I fly into Cancun and booked the first two nights there, but some of the best experiences I have ever had while travelling were because of open plans and the freedom to make spontaneous choices when making new friends along the way!
Immersion and self exploration are some of most rewarding parts of travel for me, I can't count the amount of experiences and lessons I have learned by being open to saying yes, trying new things, and being open to making connections and friends with locals and other travelers.
I love to cook and would love to hear about any local culinary classes, lessons or if anyone has a sweet old abuelita that I could apprentice under!
I have a couple questions regarding getting film developed in the area, if anyone has any suggestions or recommendations, turn around time etc. or would like to go on an adventure to find some cool spots!
I am fascinated with the human existence, nature, and every interaction between the two. The core experiences of peoples daily lives, and translating that to a story that can have a positive impact on other people. I would literally be just as happy to work a sailboat, volunteering, or simple observation for the experience.
Feel free to DM me with any questions or respond in the comments, thanks again!

Can AI programs/Applications be programmed/coded in a way whereby each AI can enable/disable (on the fly) various particular parts of its aspects’/data’s/parts’/content’s/etc’s “capability of being "accessed/"drawn from”/“delivered to” by other AI"“?
It is possible for multiple AI systems to interact with each other within a virtual environment without necessarily achieving a hive mind. A hive mind typically refers to a collective intelligence or consciousness where individual entities merge into a single unified entity with shared thoughts and goals.
To prevent the formation of a hive mind while enabling AI systems to interact within a virtual environment, you can design the communication protocols and systems in a way that promotes collaboration, information sharing, and coordination without merging individual consciousness or sacrificing autonomy.
Here are a few considerations to achieve this:

1. Limited Information Sharing: Define boundaries on the extent of information sharing between AI systems. They can exchange specific data or cooperate on certain tasks while preserving their individual knowledge and distinct decision-making processes.
   
2. Task-Specific Collaboration: Encourage AI systems to collaborate on specific tasks within the virtual environment. They can share information, exchange insights, and coordinate actions to achieve common objectives without merging into a unified entity.
   
3. Decentralized Decision-Making: Design the AI systems to have independent decision-making capabilities. Each AI system can assess information, process it individually, and make decisions based on its own objectives and rules, avoiding a central authority or collective decision-making process.
   
4. Emphasize Individual Learning: Ensure that each AI system retains its unique learning capabilities and continues to evolve independently. By preserving individual learning processes, AI systems can maintain their distinct characteristics and avoid convergence into a single shared intelligence.
   
5. Secure and Isolated Environments: Implement robust security measures and isolation mechanisms within the virtual environment. This prevents unintended data leaks or unauthorized access, ensuring the individuality and privacy of each AI system.
   

By incorporating these principles into the design and development of the virtual environment and the communication protocols between AI systems, it is possible to enable interactions while avoiding the formation of a hive mind. This allows for collaboration and cooperation between multiple AI entities while maintaining their individuality and autonomy.
AI is significantly utilized to blur (on the fly) faces that are in Youtube/etc live streams of conferences/etc. Can AI be utilized to "add to, replace, &/or censoetc" (on the fly) "what results as TV speakers' produced sound" of TV series/etc?
In "AI Assisted Real-time Video Processing" and "AI-driven Live Video Processing Use Cases", AI can be utilized to to blur (on the fly) faces that are in Youtube/etc live streams of conferences/etc, which means that AI can be utilized to change(/blur) (on the fly) (parts of) "what results as the TV's produced display" of YouTube/etc live streams. I don't see why AI can't be utilized to "add to, replace, &/or censoetc" (on the fly) "what results as TV speakers' produced sound" of TV series/etc.
Can AI impersonate music artists’ voices? Can AI generate a “combination of both lyrics and audible speech” that result in “music whereby "the AI’s impersonation of music artists’ voices” can be mistaken (by humans) for those music artists"?
What if, in mainstream media, even in non-fiction such as documentaries, never-normally-used-before or new (AI-created) “"jargon(s), idioms, &/or beliefs” that aren’t practical &/or (entirely) logical" get portrayed as if long-been non-fiction norms?
If mainstream media, including non-fiction genres like documentaries, were to portray never-before-used or new AI-created jargon, idioms, or beliefs that are impractical or illogical as long-standing non-fiction norms, it could potentially create confusion or misinformation among the audience. While media often has the power to influence public perception and shape narratives, it is crucial to maintain accuracy and uphold ethical standards in presenting information.
In the context of non-fiction, documentaries, in particular, have a responsibility to present factual information based on research, evidence, and expert opinions. If they were to misrepresent AI-generated content or present it as established norms without proper context or critical analysis, it could lead to misunderstandings or the spread of false information.
To ensure the integrity and accuracy of non-fiction media, including documentaries, it’s important for content creators to:

1. Research and Fact-Check: Thoroughly research the information being presented and verify its accuracy through reliable sources and expert opinions. Fact-checking helps to maintain credibility and ensure the information being shared is based on established facts.
2. Provide Context and Explanation: If introducing new jargon, idioms, or beliefs, it is important to provide context and explanations to help the audience understand the concepts. This helps prevent confusion and ensures that viewers can differentiate between established norms and new or experimental ideas.
3. Distinguish Speculation from Established Facts: If discussing AI-generated content or ideas that are still in development or experimental stages, it’s crucial to clearly indicate that they are not yet widely accepted or established as norms. Differentiate between speculation, ongoing research, and proven facts to avoid misleading the audience.
4. Seek Expert Opinions: Consult experts in the field or individuals with relevant knowledge and experience to provide insights and validate the information presented. Expert opinions can add credibility and ensure accuracy in the portrayal of new ideas or technologies.
5. Disclose the Source and Methodology: If using AI-generated content or unconventional approaches in the creation of the media, openly disclose the source and methodology. Transparency helps the audience understand the process and make informed judgments about the reliability and validity of the information.

Ultimately, responsible journalism and media production should prioritize accuracy, transparency, and critical thinking. By adhering to these principles, non-fiction media can avoid misrepresenting new ideas or AI-generated content as established norms and promote informed and thoughtful discourse among the audience.
Among solutions that can be proposed, here is one:
Much like the Ctrl-Alt-Delete keyboard shortcut brings up the Task Manager window on a computer running Microsoft Windows, all devices such as "roku devices, Smart TVs, and/or etc." should have a physical button/etc (such as a button on a TV Remote) that brings up that device's own displayed version of the aforementioned Task Manager window but that Task Manager also shows/lists all (parts of) AI that ever ran/"perform(ed) tasks"/run on that device and also shows/lists which (parts of) ones are performing tasks, are active, and/or etc. (Parts of) AI could be shown as "in the process of performing subtitle tasks or performing censoring of parts of live streams". And "via that Task Manager having Toggle On/Off feature to manually "Toggle On/Off any (part of) AI shown/listed" via a physical button/etc (such as a button on a TV Remote) until manually toggled back to what it was changed from being", humans can control whenever any "(Part of) AI on their device" can do anything. Live streams can be set/renderred (by their sources) "only viewable while "the particular (part of) AI that censors things for legal privacy reasons" is toggled "On". Subtitles can be probably only viewable while a particular other (part of) AI is toggled "On".