Mens forearm sleeve tattoo

I recently started a game with the Northern Raiders origin. Wanted to go with a Slavic theme, named my band the Sons of Veles, gave my starting guys Slavic names. Only one of them survived the initial battles, however. Later on I decided that every time I'm in town that has a barber, every bro that has scored a kill will get tattoos and his name changed to a Slavic one, as sort of an initiation rite.
It's sorta funny when the mercs in question are southern, but the whole thing is pretty much just a company tradition/LARP/PR, whatever you may call it. Also makes it easy after battles to quickly see if I lost any of my main guys.
Let me tell you that this stupid little thing made my enjoyment of the game go through the roof.
​
Wouldn't work with a Norse theme, because with the general Germanic flavour many men already have Nordic names. But I'm gonna try with a Latin theme next time (Lost/Last Legion as the name, renaming them to Roman names at some point), or with ASOIAF Unsullied, shave their head, rename them Grey Worm or Frail Dog (no castration though ;)).
Share your experience. Do you role-play in Battle Brothers?

The Old Ways can rub some people wrong — especially those coming into the supernatural world fresh from this modern era of excess, privilege, and internet anonymity. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen societal changes and cultural shifts in every direction you could plot an axis for; live for nearly 3500 years as I have, and you too will come to understand that Change is the one and only constant in this world. But what our more, shall I say, exuberant (indignant, entitled, take your pick) newcomers tend to misunderstand is that Old Ways — and those of us who uphold them — don’t stand in opposition to change; we’ve just already seen all their ‘new’ ideas brought forward before, been accepted, gone stale, and get discarded for the next.
The Old Ways aren’t rules, they’re just how you come to behave once you’ve lived through a few revolutions of the cycle. They’re also not written or codified in any way, but if I had to articulate the particular tenet that seems most abhorrent to our most recent newcomers, it would be this: Respect is owed to your elders, because they’ve already damn-well earned it in the past.
The recent upheaval in the supernatural underworld wasn’t particularly upsetting, or even that surprising: some newly-minted vamp shaking things up, gathering a following, killing off a few of the established vampire lords. I don’t overlap much with the neck-biter scene, so it wasn’t very concerning to me. But as ill-luck would have it, he kept growing more famous, and thus harder to avoid hearing about.
He was turned fairly late for a vampire, in his 40s, having already led a deeply troubling life steeped in conspiracy theory, hoax, and rabbit holes into the occult. So rather than take the traditional path toward amassing strength for a vamp — which is basically just to feed regularly and get older — he instead continued his dive into the occult. To his credit, this did score him the power he needed to oppose (and depose) many of the vampire lords of London; to his detriment, it also placed him rather firmly on a collision course with me.
I’d put a handful of wards and contingencies in place out of habit, but I wasn’t particularly concerned. Vampires are about as dangerous to me as… eh… now that I think of it, I don’t have a great analogy on hand for this. There isn’t much that’s truly all that dangerous to me at all, anymore — about as dangerous as a mosquito, I guess? In that I’d be annoyed if one bit me?
Still, he did manage to surprise me, if only because I never thought he’d be stupid enough to come for me there, in the Tavern. But like I said: in this storied community, the impetuous youth flaunt or ignore the Old Ways at their own peril. And it had started as such a nice, quiet night, with me seated at my usual booth in its dimly lit, secluded corner of the restaurant.
“Here you are, darling, you just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
The head server of the Tavern is a lovely woman, seemingly 30 to 40 years of age, who despite the many years she’s spent in England, still speaks with an accent from the American south. Her ethnic heritage is clearly from a region further south-west in Africa than my own.
“Of course, thank you Catherine,” I replied as she placed an impeccably plated salad on the table before me. It was one of my favorites at the Tavern, a delightful little number with tender bamboo shoots, and some kind of sweet and spicy mustard vinaigrette. Catherine smiled and whisked off toward another table. I folded a piece of baby spinach over an arugula leaf and pinned them to a bamboo shoot with my fork, and had just lifted them to my lips when the doors to the Tavern slammed open into the walls of the entryway. The small, decorative windows in the doors shattered on impact, showering the hostess’ podium with shards of glass.
Most groups of vampires want to be called ‘covens.’ Some of the weirder, extra culty groups prefer the term ‘hive.’ Judging by the collection of washed out, middle-aged vampire bros who sauntered in through the broken doors, I can only assume this group called themselves something extra stupid, like ‘the posse.’
He was immediately evident. His four goons looked like your average jocks who’d had neither the skill to go pro, nor the sense to plan for anything else in life, and had spent their subsequent years in disappointment of themselves and others.
“Barkeep! A round of your finest libations for the entourage of…” the fucker actually paused, as though for dramatic effect, “the Dread Prince Lestat!”
An audible groan of disgust rose from a table of Lesser Devils in the next alcove down from mine. Abyssal-speech is difficult to decipher even when there isn’t a group of demons all talking over one another, but I did manage to make out from one of them, a trickster muse by the name of Mamenoche, just before he dissolved into a cloud of flies and dispersed. The remaining devils grumbled in disappointment, but still turned with eager smiles to watch the drama unfold.
The keeper of the tavern, for his part, simply raised an eyebrow while he wiped down a freshly washed stein with a drying rag. He nodded to an empty table. “Take a seat, we’ll be right with you,” he said, and then turned away to shelve the clean glass.
The keeper is a slight man, of average height, perhaps in his early to mid 50s. He wears the same costume every day: dark brown slacks and a burgundy tweed vest over a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. His voice is rich and resonant, and though soft-spoken, he is never difficult to hear. Beyond that, I can only say that the tavern keeper looks exactly as you think he would, and do understand that I mean that literally. His features, his hair, the color of his skin: they all exist only in the eyes of the beholder. It’s part of the Glamour.
The four underlings slid chairs out from the table and plopped down with what some of my younger students have recently informed me is known as the ‘Riker maneuver.’ Lestat remained standing and circled the table while he addressed the patrons.
“Well, well, well. So this is the storied Tavern. Drinking hole for the Greats of the underworld, the movers and shakers, the true titans of the occult.” He smirked and paused for effect again. “At least now it is. Bit of a slow day before I got here, eh barkeep?”
The keeper responded with silence as he filled five elaborately crafted snifters from a small, gold-banded barrel behind the bar.
“No matter, we’ll liven things up here real soon. I’m looking for a woman — no, not you love, some other time maybe.” He gestured across the bar to a woman of simply indescribable beauty, whom he utterly failed to recognize as Titania. Lounging beside her, Oberon narrowed his eyes, but remained otherwise still.
It had been at least 150 years since the last time a patron had stepped out of line in the Tavern, and the mood of the crowd was positively electric with anticipation. The vampire, bless his shriveled little heart, clearly interpreted this as deference to his prowess.
“The woman I’m looking for is… Egyptian. An Empress. Her very name and image carved off the face of history by her own son. Probably on the masculine side, considering how she managed to pass herself off as a Pharaoh and usurp his reign for 20 years. Just a guess, but probably a 2 or 3 out of 10.”
“I’ve had kings put to death for far less impetuous horse shit than that, young man,” I said. How rude — I looked positively fabulous with a false goatee.
He turned to me with a broad smile and threw his arms wide open. “And here she is, The Empress Undying. The ‘last word’ in all things occult and arcane, so they tell me.” He approached, squinting into the gloom surrounding my dining table. “And wow, I take it all back, for a 3,000 year old mummy, you are surprisingly bang-able. You know I love a girl who plays hard to get, and let’s face it — erased from history, all that jazz — you were difficult to track down, Hatshepsut!”
“Really? I have a page on Wikipedia.”
“That’s not— I mean I prefer— that is, well, primary sources are—”
“Which, if you’d bothered reading, would have told you that Thutmose the Second was not my son, but my step son, and that at 2 years old he was not in the best position to rule when my husband passed. Not to mention it was actually his bratty son Amenhotep who ordered the whole defacing of my icons thing.” Which is also untrue. I ate my own name as part of my Ascension. But he doesn’t need to know the details of my life.
“Here’s your drinks boys,” Catherine said behind him with her typically cheerful demeanor as she set the tray of snifters down between Lestat’s posse. “Seeing as how it’s your first round at the Tavern, darlings, this one’s on the house.”
The vampires grabbed their drinks without so much as a thank you. Lestat wisely took the interruption as a reprieve from this sudden hiccup in whatever grand plan it was he had in mind for me, and retreated to the support of his minions. One of them sniffed at the drink suspiciously, while the others simply threw them back like shots and immediately grimaced. One got it down before sputtering and coughing uproariously, the other two spit it out back into their snifters.
“What is this shit?”
“That’s Ambrosia, darling,” Catherine said as she gently patted the coughing vamp on his back. “Nectar of the gods. It’s a bit of an acquired taste for sure, and most people do prefer to sip it. They say it’s ‘too much sensation’ for us lesser beings.”
“They don’t want Ambrosia, you wench,” Lestat howled, “they want blood!”
“Well I’m sorry darling, but we don’t serve blood here. You asked for a round of our ‘finest libations,’ and there’s no drink finer than Ambrosia in the Tavern, nor outside of it as I’ve ever heard. That barrel over there was handed off by Hermes himself.”
One of the vampires dashed his drink on the floor and pointed at Catherine.
“You’ve got blood, don’t you lass?”
“That will be enough.” The tavern keeper’s soft, mellifluous voice draped over the exchange like a weighted blanket. “I’ve served you drinks, and in return you have been exceedingly impolite to my establishment, my staff, and my patrons. Learn the meaning of deference before you visit next, for you will not be well-received without it. Now, leave.”
Lestat’s four hulking minions might have succumbed to the spell of the keeper’s voice had not their ring-leader, to his detriment, managed to shake out of it.
“Leave? No, we just got here,” he turned back to me, “and I’m not finished with her.”
“But I am finished with you,” I said.
“Ten,” the keeper said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar.
“The only reason I haven’t ended your miserable existence thus far,” I continued, “is out of deference to my elders. It is not my right to take your life inside the walls of this Tavern. I suppose I’ll soon be forced to do it outside, but do understand, I’ll approach that no differently than I would stepping on a scarab.”
“Nine.”
“The truth of it is, 'Dread Prince,' that you are not worth the breath spent uttering your ridiculous name.”
“Not worth your time, am I? I’ll show you what your time is worth, you decrepit bitch!”
“Eight,” the tavern keeper said, and Lestat flung an outstretched claw in his direction while hissing out a spell in medieval Latin.
Generously translated, it came out to roughly As though caught on a hook, the keeper tumbled over his bar and forward through the air. Lestat caught him by the neck and wrenched sideways, spinning the keeper’s head fully around with a loud crunching sound. Then, with the inhuman speed inherent to vampires, he hoisted the keeper’s body over his head, darted across the Tavern, and slammed him down through a table surrounded by a flock of naiads.
He turned and caught Catherine in the hypnotic gaze his kind uses to trap their prey, and strolled leisurely back over to his group. I crossed my arms.
“Sorry ‘darling,’ but I like my meals a little toasty.”
He hissed in his awful Latin again, along the lines of Catherine convulsed and shrieked, unable to move while locked in his gaze. He yanked her head to the side and made a show of sinking his fangs into her neck with a ripping motion, splattering droplets of blood across the tavern that sizzled and steamed where they landed. Her lifeless body rolled under the table as he turned his bloody face back to me.
“How do you like me now?”
I pushed my untouched salad, now flecked with Catherine’s blood, away from me on the table and let out a deep sigh.
“First, your grasp of Latin is elementary at best, you really should have practiced more before coming to see me. No, now, this is the part where you listen.”
I pinched my forefinger to the thumb to seal the air inside his lungs. He stumbled back and clutched at his neck in surprise — he wasn’t going to suffocate of course, but it’s an unpleasant feeling for sure if you haven’t yet come to the realization that you don’t actually need to breathe in undeath.
“Of course it is the intent that matters somewhat more-so than the language used — but, and I cannot stress this enough, good syntax simply never hurts. The age of your language also should not be overlooked. The older the language, the truer it is to the One Tongue of Magic, before it was fractured and the tower fell. You came with a form of Ecclesiastical Latin from around the 12th century, taught to Catholic priests. Underwhelming at best. You should have at least brought Classical Latin from the time of the Caesars, that would have shown me you were trying.
“Second, you demonstrate a lack of finesse that is simply appalling. I will commend your creativity in bringing your own spells to demonstrate. It is a key craft that many young students of the occult struggle with terribly for many years. You are also clearly capable of drawing significant power to bear, which is always a good start. However, the path to enduring success in the arcane arts isn’t power, it’s efficiency. What you did worked, but it took far more power than it needed to. I can think of a dozen ways to boil someone’s blood off the top of my head, and none of them require much more focus or power than this.”
I released my fingers, letting the air out of his lungs in an involuntary wheeze.
“Since you were turned, I suspect you’ve never met a door you couldn’t break down with brute force. But that’s only because until today, you never really went looking for one.
“Third, and most damning of the indictments against you is this: you absolutely and utterly failed to read the room, nor did you accept the un-earned grace that was offered to you. Thus ends our impromptu lesson, prince. Good luck.”
I leaned back and draped my arms across the cushions of my booth, while Lestat yanked one of his minions to their feet and stood behind him, tensing for a fight.
“Mother… fucker…” came a mutter from under Lestat’s table, as Catherine stirred and rolled over onto her side. The newly-minted vampire lord paused and looked down at her with a furrowed brow.
“Wait, was she not a human? That normally kills humans.” He looked to his cronies, who gave him an array of shrugs and uncertain mumblings.
I said in Classical Latin,
The vampire cocked his head, clearly trying and failing to work through the declensions and figure out exactly what I had said. I pointed across the room to the tavern keeper, standing up out of the wreckage of his table. Loud crunches of grinding bone sounded from his neck as he rolled his head from side to side, reforming the shattered vertebrae inside it. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then plucked a wrinkled pocket square from his vest and dabbed the corners of his lips.
“Zero,” the keeper said once his larynx had reformed enough for speech. “It’s the medical benefits of her employment package: immunity to death, disease, etc. Cuts the insurance middle-men right out of the picture, I find it’s very efficient.”
“Ah.” Lestat eyed the keeper, far too late showing the slightest hint of caution or concern. “So she’s human, but you’re not. Well then, what are you?”
“Immortal,” the Keeper replied simply, as he plucked a shard of glass out of his skull and tossed it aside. It landed with a loud tinkle in the otherwise silent room.
“That means nothing,” Prince Lestat waved his hand dismissively. “I’m immortal. Half your bloody patrons are—”
“No,” the keeper cut him off as he straightened out his vest and stepped out of the wreckage of the table. “You are ageless, thanks to the curse of undeath upon you. That is a very different thing than being immortal. Numerous vampire lords you’ve killed in the last few months would attest to this, were they not dead, no? They may not like to acknowledge it, but this is a simple fact that every entity in this establishment is keenly aware of, save for you.”
Lestat said nothing, but his body language spoke volumes for him, as he shrunk half a step backward toward the support of his underlings.
“My patrons from the Fey realms, or the Abyss? They experience death on this plane of existence as a banishment back to their own. But once there, they age and die the same as all other creatures in existence, if perhaps at a different rate than a human does. My dear employee Catherine, whom you’ve treated with such brazen disrespect, will live as long as she wishes to. But some day, be it centuries or millennia from now, she will grow tired of life, and request I terminate her contract.”
He gestured to me, seated in my quiet, dark corner, and a chill ran down my spine.
“Even the Empress Undying, whom you unwisely came looking for tonight, will only survive so long as she maintains the numerous spells and failsafes she has crafted to preserve and extend her unnatural life.”
My thoughts flickered in succession through my 5 phylacteries, painstakingly secreted away in sealed and warded caches both near and far-flung — and I watched in horror as the keeper’s eyes lifted briefly to the keystone of the stone arch over his doorway, then settled on me, and he winked.
By the gods, my cold heart would have skipped a beat were it able. How did he find it out? Or, more likely: has he simply always known?
“One day, when she has grown tired of this endless upkeep, she too will come to me for release. You see, Edwin, everything dies eventually.”
He held his hand calmly out to his side, and wisps of shadow materialized and snaked through the air into his grasp. The Dread Prince Lestat — Edwin — first shivered, then spasmed, and finally, as his entourage withdrew from him in horror, collapsed in a fit of convulsions. The shadows continued to flow into the keeper’s outstretched hand, gaining solidity and texture, until he was left holding his implement: a bowed farmer’s scythe, worn and battered, but with a keen edge that felt dizzying and somehow wrong to look upon. The keeper stepped forward.
“Everything dies, except for me.”
Been wanting to get back into writing for a while and came across this response I half-wrote last year.
Original prompt either here or here , honestly not sure which one I originally happened across anymore.

1. At the beginning I found myself spending a lot of time on this, but have often heard the “men are men” saying, referring to subscribers not caring about the details & insecurities we notice, but.. it is a critical & competitive world out there, even within a niche. Although, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s really not worth spending time editing unless for general pic. quality. However…
   
2. I am faceless, BUT I have tattoo’s. Anybody else in this circumstance also? I either have to strategize my poses in pictures to hide them, which is extremely difficult or photoshop them out which is also time consuming af. Let alone trying to do this when making videos….. I know I chose to make things more difficult for myself by staying anonymous, but I’m hoping there may be someone else out there dealing with the same issue or has advice on how to make things easier in this regard.
   

​
Yisheng Sweater Factory
https://yisweater.com
email: [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
Whatsapp/WeChat:86-13929261978
----------------------------------
juveniles sueter,Lads Capes,fellow Shawls creating
sweater for pet,jumper third eye blind lyrics,zay hoodie,knitwear quotes aesthetic,spring elegant cool yarn striped sueter sweater,sweater lacoste,men pullover t shirts,nfl hoodies sweater,manufacturers custom knitted sweater,fleece robe mens,winter fall men's sweater,cardigan ralph lauren,sueter grinch,industrial knitting machine sweaters,suter de piel para hombre,chandail adidas,dressLads Capes gril cute,sweaters navidad 13 nia,sweaters for men hoodies design,long sweater crochet,mens high collar sweaters,nylon wool sweater dress,sweater crochet pattern free,balenciaga wool ,fellow Shawls creatingsweater with logo,pullover sweater leather,sweaters hoodies toddlers 3t girls,princess juveniles sueterdog sweater,zara knitwear ireland,women sleeveless knit top custom sweater vest,sweater necklace,sweater womens oversize,a black cardigan,split sweater,new fashion custom pullover hoodie dress for women,fleeces traduction,shein zaful romwe jersey and sweaters,sweater north face,chompas tejidas,l seater sofa size,cropped custom knit sweater,green womens sweaters,half zipper pullover sweatshirt hoodie woman,women crew neck off the shoulder,sweaters women juveniles suetersale,sueter lila a crochet,sweater with ,fellow Shawls creatingstones,lilla p sweaters,el urg
https://www.yisweater.com/product/colorful-striped-womens-tank-top-custom-knit-sweater-vest-knit-vest-sweater-custom
usu kazak erkek,women solid color faux fur juveniles sueterpullover Lads Capessweater,reddit no jumper,wool cardigan,check sweater hearts,sweater women mohair design, sueter a,a.l.c. sweater,chandail tasse,cardigan sweater for man,forever 21 sweaters,gap factory women's cardigans,custom.sweaters,vestidos largos de mujer talla grande,sueter que cambia de color,sueter navideño tejido a crochet,cosy ,fellow Shawls creatingclothes,fleece zip pullover,Lads Capesmerry christmas sweater,women's plus size sweaters,woman knited pullover flower 3d embroidery,denim pullover hoodie,sweater zip hoodie,uzi knit sweater,8cardigans,customized knitted pullover,khas socks & knitwear,knit sweater pants women,baklava desenli kazak yelek,sweaters nam,women pink knitted pullover sweater,fashion black color o neck cartoon logo for male,sweater letters crossword,vintage sweater print woman,john lewis mens knitwear,faherty women's cardigan,fleece navidad,y and r hoodies,are sweatshirts and sweaters the same thing,anime pullover one piece zorro,hoodies sweaters 100,knitwear manufacturers custom,sweatsuit 80s,premium sweaters 600 g of cotton,cricket maglione,mens jumpersies,womens medium sleeve cardigans size 8-10,one piece sweatshirt,red cardigan sweaters for women,custom knit sweater woman pullover,cardigan in french,knit
https://www.yisweater.com/product/contrast-knit-pullover-round-neck-long-sleeve-knitted-top
sweater shorts set,mcardiganimport,grafic sweater,couple christmas sweater,sweater dress men clothing,sweater hoodie hitam,sweater gambar,how to wear oversized sweaters,wool mens sweatshirt,heating sweaters hoodies,sweater tommy hilfiger,new furry sweater designs,make sweater into pillow,sueters de hombre del grich,luxus swater,cardigan pull,two piece set from turkey,pullover nike,buffalo bills zip up sweater,ladies cardigan new bunai,sweater jacob sartorius lyrics,green loose sweater wide leg casual pants suit,sudaderas sweter,innen pullover winter damen,womens cardigans old navy,pull over 1/4 zip womens,bonanza sweaters for male in sale turtleneck,cardigan jacket for women dressy,hoodies sweater 90s,women's nordic cardigan
https://www.yisweater.com/product/core-spun-sweater-cheap-sweater-factory-customization
sweater,trekking ropa mujer,womens cardigan heavy,womens casual long sleeve cable knit open front sweater,knitwearbundle,women's sweaters 3 4 sleeve,women turtleneck oversized knitted dress autumn,blanket sweater for ladies,knitwear street style,ensemble tricot 3 pices femme,fleece and thank you,a cold wall knit sweater,pullover amazon,women's cardigan sweater 18,summer knitwear,sleeve less black sweater,qun o b n ng,polo maglione,baby girl vest sweater,suter abierto,ck fleece lined sweat shorts,custom hand knit sweaters,tapestry jacquard sweater custom,

The lack of innovation at total war really is something special. In the announcement, they said that they're "really focusing on infantry combat" and it just baffles the mind.
Point 1. On the unit stances Why would they include this quintessential infantry feature in a game like total war pharaoh, and not Rome 2 or Thrones of Britannia? You know, where it would have made sense? The bronze age was famous for chariot warfare, because a few hundred chariots in that era could have decimated an army of 10 000 infantry. Why would they focus on that feature? Because mannorlords did it first and they had to shoehorn it in to keep up with the curve.
Point 2. Matched combat Not a new feature, so they shouldnt play it of like it is. Likewise, it looks like they half arsed it too, because they're using soldier with swords that are waaaaayyyy to big and long to be realisticly made out of bronze. In that era, infantry were basicly using knives and spear to fight. The khopesh, which should feature heavily in a game like pharoah was only about the length of an adult males forearm. Maybe only slightly longer, if.
Point 3. Chariot warfare. Its a total war set in Egypt and you're saying that chariots are the same old bullshit cavalry substitute they've been since Rome 1? Where are the new mechanics for chariots? You know, the thing that bronze age armies used ubiquitously instead of infantry? Can chariots be used to drop shock infantry off at where the fight is going hardest, and pick the up if they need to withdraw? Can they be restocked with arrows and men if there are casualties? Can they be abandoned and requisitioned if they get bogged in mud? Can they even get bogged in mud in the first place? These are just a couple of things that I could think of off the top of my head after 5 minutes of deliberation, and I'm sure there could be more game play mechanics that could have been thought of with a bit more thought. As far as I'm aware, none of these are in the game, which is a shame because it could have revolutionised chariot game play in much the same way that Empire revolutionised naval battles.
Point 4. Why are body piles still not a thing? Dead bodies on the battlefield where an obstacle. Can you imagine trying to charge across a field where you're not sure if you next step is going to be on solid ground or on some soft, unstable stomach of a dead guy? So many people have probably sprained their ankles or fallen over in those conditions. And that's just for a field with a couple bodies here and there. What about when the place is just littered with them? In the battle of cannae, they had to literally climb up mounds of bodies because they piled up so high, they became basically impassable. Needless to say, if a chariot rode over that, there'd be a good chance of it's wheel breaking as well.
Just blows my mind that they didn't even think about that, but they're expecting us to pay for Full price game

This is a pretty minor question, but I was recently accepted into a clinical psychology graduate program and I’m a bit worried about “looking professional”. I know a lot of what’s acceptable is dependent on what populations you’re working with (e.g., substance use would be more lax), so for reference I’m hoping to work mainly with adolescents/adults with mood/anxiety disorders (although that’s subject to change given I’m early in my career).
My main question is about how acceptable tattoos, piercings, and dyed hair would be. Currently I have a septum piercing, white blonde hair (it’s not a bright colour, but it’s very obviously unnatural), and some tattoos that are visible if I wear short sleeves. The tattoos are all pretty innocuous, but they are obvious when they’re visible (e.g. I have a big floral piece that takes up most of my forearm). I’m just wondering how acceptable this would be in a standard therapy practice? If it’s possible I’d prefer to keep my hair and my piercing, but those are easy to change if need be. As for the tattoos, they’re easy to hide if I keep my arms covered, but I’m just wondering if that would generally be considered unprofessional.
Of course I can bring this up with my supervisor when I actually start practicing, but it honestly felt like a pretty silly question so I just wanted to get general opinions from practicing therapists before I start. Thanks!

According to all known laws of clam aviation, there is no way a clam should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its little clam body off the ground. The clam, of course, flies anyway because clams don't care what humans think is impossible.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Ooming! Hang on a second. Hello? Barry? Adam? Can you believe this is happening? I can't. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp! Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. A perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. You got lint on your fuzz. Ow! That's me! Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! Hey, Adam. Hey, Barry. Is that fuzz gel? A little. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make it. Three days grade school, three days high school. Those were awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. Hi, Barry. Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. Hear about Frankie? Yeah. You going to the funeral? No, I'm not going. Everybody knows, sting someone, you die. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day. That's why we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp under the circumstances. Well, Adam, today we are men. We are! Clam-men. Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished clams, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive City graduating class of... 9:15. That concludes our ceremonies. And begins your career at Honex Industries! Will we pick our job today? I heard it's just orientation. Heads up! Here we go. Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times. Wonder what it'll be like? A little scary. Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group. This is it! Wow. Wow. We know that you, as a clam, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life. Honey begins when our valiant pollen jocks bring the nectar to the hive. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted, and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey! - That girl was hot. - She's my cousin! - She is? - Yes, we're all cousins. - Right. You're right. - At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every aspect of clam existence. These clams are stress-testing a new helmet technology. What do you think he makes? Not enough. Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman. What does that do? Oatches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. Can anyone work on the Krelman? Of course. Most clam jobs are small ones. But clams know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot. But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life. The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that. What's the difference? You'll be happy to know that clams, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years. So you'll just work us to death? We'll sure try. Wow! That blew my mind! "What's the difference?" How can you say that? One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make. I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life. But, Adam, how could they never have told us that? Why would you question anything? We're clams. We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth. You ever think maybe things work a little too well here? Like what? Give me one example. I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about. Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. Oheck it out. Hey, those are Pollen Jocks! Wow. I've never seen them this close. They know what it's like outside the hive. Yeah, but some don't come back. Hey, Jocks! Hi, Jocks! You guys did great! You're monsters! You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it! - I wonder where they were. - I don't know. Their day's not planned. Outside the hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what. You can'tjust decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. Right. Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime. It's just a status symbol. Clams make too much of it. Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have fun with them. It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom! He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out. What were you doing during this? Trying to alert the authorities. I can autograph that. A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it. - Maybe I am. - You are not! We're going 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you clam enough? I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. Hey, Honex! Dad, you surprised me. You decide what you're interested in? - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one. Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Son, let me tell you about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. You know, Dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn't right for me. You were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger. Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey! - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny. You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer! - You're gonna be a stirrer? - No one's listening to me! Wait till you see the sticks I have. I could say anything right now. I'm gonna get an ant tattoo! Let's open some honey and celebrate! Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"! I'm so proud. - We're starting work today! - Today's the day. Oome on! All the good jobs will be gone. Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt clam, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal... - Is it still available? - Hang on. Two left! One of them's yours! Oongratulations! Step to the side. - What'd you get? - Picking crud out. Stellar! Wow! Oouple of newbies? Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready! Make your choice. - You want to go first? - No, you go. Oh, my. What's available? Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think. - Any chance of getting the Krelman? - Sure, you're on. I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out. Wax monkey's always open. The Krelman opened up again. What happened? A clam died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Two more dead. Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life! Oh, this is so hard! Heating, cooling, clam inspector, number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangler. Barry, what do you think I should... Barry? Barry! All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine... What happened to you? Where are you? - I'm going out. - Out? Out where? - Out there. - Oh, no! I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello? Another call coming in. If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd that gets their roses today. Hey, guys. - Look at that. - Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday? Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted. It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up. Really? Feeling lucky, are you? Sign here, here. Just initial that. - Thank you. - OK. You got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, clams cannot fly in rain. So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears, and bats. Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us. Murphy's in a home because of it, babbling like a cicada! - That's awful. - And a reminder for you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to clams! All right, launch positions!

I had been contacted by the magistrate to investigate a night wedding in the countryside that had involved the loss of human life. There seemed to be a recent rise in tourists involved in ghost dowries over the years. However, from my research I believe it was a man in search of night weddings for personal gain that was the cause of so many deaths.
When I received the request, I was nearby on Green Island, and addressing a rather unique matter even for my line of work. A little girl from the mainland had arrived two weeks prior and claimed to be the recently deceased husband of the grieving widow.
The child claimed to have woken up in the hospital where the doctors informed them that they had drowned and was clinically dead for 4 minutes when the body inexplicably sat upright in the gurney. This would have seemed to be great news, except when the child looked into the mirror, it was not their face staring back at them.
In old Taoist texts I have read of such events, where the bodies of the recently deceased are not put to ground quickly enough, and their souls are left to wander. They could get carried away by the Northeast or Southwest wind. Depending on the location from where they died. And possibly attach to an empty host.
This seemed to be the case, as the wife acknowledged that due to the wet season, they did not bury her husband's body right away. Because the grounds were so wet, that any graves would wash away, leaving corpses laying in the street. Still, I had the responsibility of testing the child. Whom passed a simple test of naming names. Where they used to live. The wife's habits. A conversation they recently had, and even childhood memories. All were confirmed by friends and family. But it would be the child's handwriting that ultimately convinced me. They were a perfect match, down to the signature.
Upon my approval, the villagers had no choice but to accept that this child was indeed the man come back to life. And when I left, he was sitting outside of his house cleaning fish as he had always done for 32 years, except now in the body of a 10 year old girl.
I didn't have much time to dwell on this case as I was needed at the aftermath of the failed night wedding. Ghost dowries have been in use for thousands of years, and traces of it can be found in many different cultures. From the Aztec to the Egyptians, and more recently from old Spain to the streets of Southeast Asia. Though in recent times, only a few remote places continued the practice, and there are a limited number of priests today who are qualified enough to handle such a case. Luckily, I had plenty of experience in this matter.
In my early years, I had married many ghost brides.
And was often asked, "But you're a priest, how can you get married?"
"Zhengyi Taoist priests can choose to take a wife or not. In fact, in order to pass on my Celestial title, I must have an heir."
The man looked distraught, "And you're sure this will stop her from whispering into my ear every night?" He clutched the bag rather tightly.
"Don't you worry," I took the bag from his hands. "Everything will be fine."
We would perform the customary vows and the following night the man reported no more whisperings from his daughter, yet a week later, the police raided my hotel in a different district. The man had claimed that I had swindled him. That his daughter had returned and continued her whispering of terrible, horrible things that he dare not listen. Clanking and banging away in the walls as he covered his ears in fear until sunrise.
Fortunately, I was allowed to prove my innocence.
I returned and stayed in the man's room, waiting with him for signs of his daughter. And surely enough, late in the hour, I heard the wretched scraping and dragging in the walls. The man stopped breathing in his bed and laid perfectly still. Even I was afraid to move as the most dangerous aspects of my job are in the unknown. My mind began racing, wondering if I had somehow botched the night wedding. Or worse, that the ghost bride wasn't his daughter at all, and I had inadvertently given this mysterious entity a special anchor to this world, a holy man.
The walls shook without reason. And a tiny noise could be heard near the man's bedside. He jumped off his mattress and ran to my side. The two of us watched as the noise traveled back and forth against the back wall like wooden clogs.
"My daughter did always carry around a rattle drum when she was little," the man whispered.
"Hush, don't let it capture your breath," I warned him. "Whatever this is, I don't believe it is your daughter. And because of the ritual, we may have increased its hold on this realm."
He whimpered, "Not my daughter?"
I held up my finger and traced the noise as it traveled in an odd form. I began to wonder if the entity was creating some sort of symbol.
"What are you drawing," the man cried.
"It may be creating a portal," I told him. "Now hush before it turns its attention toward us."
"Please, there must be something you can do?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out some incense. I lit the ends and began chanting. From my waist I pulled out a long yellow parchment. And drew on it a sealing spell. "Spirit," I called as I stepped forward. "I am a guiding light." The noise rattled with conviction as I drew closer. "Let me lead you to peace!" And with one quick motion I punched my hand into the wall, clutching the sealing spell in my palm, at the last place I heard the noise. To my displeasure I felt something wriggling in my grasp as something long and thin wrapped itself around my wrist, its end clawing at my forearm. I screamed when I felt its teeth sink between the soft flesh of my thumb and index finger. But I did not let go. Instead I pulled out this demon from the wall and threw it roughly to the ground.
The man screamed as he jumped onto a chair and screamed, "Rat!"
Yes. A simple field rat. That had a trap stuck on its tail which caused its movements to rattle in the wall. That had been rummaging near the man's nightstand because in one of the drawers he had left a bag of watermelon seeds.
Not all cases are this simple, and plenty are true to life supernatural encounters. Over the years my experience has taught me to be more cautious in my evaluations. Which was why when I finally arrived at the house of the massacre due to a failed night wedding. Every hair on my neck stood on end as I tried to be objective as possible.
But there was no denying that something heinous had occurred here. Bodies were still laying on the floor. Some with their faces in the dirt. Some missing their heads completely. And those with their faces up, were unrecognizable. And my first wife leaned into my ear and whispered to me, "This is the work of a ghost bride."
"How do you know?"
"I recognize her anger. It was mine before we were married."
"How do I know what?" A man walking toward me asked. "Are you the priest they called out here?"
He was average built, and in plain clothes, "Detective, why yes. I am here to assist you in anyway that I can."
The detective spit on the ground, "Assist me? As far as I'm concerned we're wasting valuable time carrying on with this hocus pocus bullshit. The killer's trail will be cold by the time we get through all this religious tape." He wafted the air in front of his face, "And the dead bodies boiling out here. This is all your fault as far as I'm concerned. Assist me," he snorted.
"Where there any eyewitnesses, Detective?"
"Several. But they're all saying the same damn thing. Spouting a bunch of nonsense. Which is why those religious nuts down at the station dredged you up."
"All non-relatives to the home owners?"
He snorted again, "Coincidence."
"Let us hope so," I told him. "Because the alternative is much worse." I walked the scene, going around the upturned tables, tracing the steps of carnage in the courtyard, to the main living room. There I saw the body of an old man, both hands clutching his chest, his face was completely missing. "Any surviving family members?"
"Some are still left," he grunted. "But we've gathered most of them under police protection."
"Have you located the husband?"
"Yeah, we're trying to extradite him."
"Extradite?"
"The foreigner took off in the middle of all the commotion. Boarded a flight back home according to our investigation. We've contacted the airline, and the airport security in America will hold him when he lands. As he is currently my number one suspect."
I circled the area in front of the shrine. Noting the spilled bowl and its contents on the ground. The position of the spoon next to it. Before standing in the spot on the left side where the effigy would have stood. "What about the bride?"
The detective shook his head, "What bride?"
"It was a night wedding," I told him. "There must have been a physical object acting as a stand in for the daughter's soul."
"Nothing more than bags of cotton usually," he paused. "But they did report that the stand-in this time was some sort of department figurine. A mannequin of some sort."
"Have you looked into that?"
"Why would I look into that. Are you crazy?"
"Right, you're right of course. You'd have to wait until after sunset to be able to figure out which mannequin serves as the ghost bride's earthly form."
The detective stormed off as if I had said something outlandish. Leaving me to my own devices, I interviewed a few of the neighbors who attended the night wedding, gathered some evidence and sorted with the other officers at the site, and then left for the nearest hotel in the city.
It had been a long month for me and I couldn't think of anything better than I would enjoy more than a cold beer. So after checking in I went down to the bar, where an ethereal creature sat alone. She was beautiful to say the least and I had to strike up a conversation lest I live a life of regret, "S'il te plaît ma chérie, dis-moi comment on t'appelle pour que quand je sois perdu dans les ténèbres. Puis-je demander la lumière."
"What?"
"Oh, American. I apologize. I thought you were French."
"On my mother's side," she brushed away her hair.
I noticed the ring, "Ah, you are married. My sincerest apologies miss."
"Newly married," she told me. "My husband speaking with the concierge."
"Activities on vacation," I mused. "How wonderful."
"It's nothing like that. It seems someone has left him a note. And we're technically on our honeymoon." She paused, "Though this isn't where we're supposed to be. We're supposed to be in Hawaii."
I ordered a beer with the bartender and sipped my drink, "Hawaii is wonderful, but this is also a beautiful island. In fact, when the Portuguese came here, they named it Formosa. Which translates to beautiful island. It may not be where you're supposed to be, but perhaps you'll find that this is exactly where you need to be."
The woman sighed, "I don't even know anymore."
"Ah, I know what this is. I've great experience in these matters. Having been married many times. You feel doubt."
She laughed, "How many times have you gotten a divorce?"
"Divorce?" I laughed. "I never leave a woman after we have been wed."
She looked taken aback, "Oh. I didn't know polygamy was so common in these parts." She glanced behind her to where a tall man was standing with what looked to be the hotel's concierge. "I guess we're in the same boat."
"It's not what you think," I told her.
"Where have I heard that one before," she rolled her eyes.
"Larissa!" The man called for her.
She stood up, "Well, it was nice meeting you. Tell your wives I said hello."
I smiled as she left, glancing at my sides. "If only you knew," I said while sipping my beer.
Now in hindsight, if I were not so fatigued after nearly a month of hard work and constant traveling. I would have perhaps picked up on the fact that she too was familiar with the concubine lifestyle. Which was unusual in itself for an American. Or perhaps I would have picked up on the fact that Larissa was an uncommon name. As I had read Jim's article. But there was no such luck, which is why, when I say that I am deeply regretful of what I read on the news later about the couple, I am truly at a loss for what I could have prevented. But that is not my story to tell.
After I finished drinking at the bar I made my way to the elevator and got in. When a man came towards me to hold the door, I called out, "It's full." He looked at me bewildered as I was the only person he could see in the elevator, before sticking his hand out to stop the doors from closing. Huffing and puffing as he glared at me angrily before pressing his floor number. Except the elevator pinged. The weight capacity light had turned on above our heads. "Like I said, it's full." The man shook his head in amazement. Pressing his floor number again. The elevator pinged again. Unwilling to budge. I sighed and got out, "I'll wait for the next one."
And wait I did, even in my room I waited for night fall instead of resting. The thoughts of a botched night wedding swirling in my head. For the many things that could go wrong. Because even though I had much practice in these matters, I was still always nervous before a fight. So when night fell, I was red eyed and exhausted, but better mentally prepared than before.
But when I arrived back at the scene of the crime, I was not prepared for all of the commotion.
"Ka-kin-eh Ka-kin-eh," a man shouted as the fire blazed.
I grabbed one of the men running by with an empty bucket, "What happened here?"
"T-the villagers, they set the p-place on fire. Trying to rid the evil demon."
I let him go and shook my head. The fools! I made my way toward the courtyard where I saw the detective from earlier moping his forehead as he was helping put out the fire. "Detective! This is terrible," I yelled as the flames licked the night.
"No shit dumbass, it's a fire."
"You don't understand," I told him. "Now the entity has nowhere to return. We may never find it."
He threw the bucket to the floor and whirled around, "Enough! I've had enough! Listen here, there is a fire. F-I-R-E. This a real problem. If it catches to the fields, it could light the newly laid fertilizer on fire and catch the entire mountain!"
"Detective!"
That was the only word I had to say before he punched me. It was a dark night out, but stars had suddenly appeared. He hovered over me and I thought he would strike me again but then suddenly he froze. "What is that?"
I turned my head and looked out into the field. The heat of the fire burning the back of my head as I tried to stop my nose from bleeding. "Where?"
Neither one of us moved as we watched the tall field.
"Right there." He pointed.
I reached up and threw his hand down, "No! You never point at entities," I told him. "Now you could be marked!"
He ignored me and reached for his gun, "Stop! Hey you! I order you to stop or I'll shoot!"
I looked into the field, scanning the endless rows before my eyes stopped and froze in horror. At one point in time the thing must have been a simple plastic mannequin. Standing in a department store perhaps. But now, it was twisted and gnarled. It's first dirty and unrecognizable. It stood on all fours sometimes threes as it swayed slowly back and forth. The thing was also without form because it didn't need to bend or move as normal people. It was still objectively, plastic. It swung its arms behind it and used that as leverage to run, turning its head - cracking the seams that had somehow still held and took off.
The detective rung a shot out at it. I think it struck but it didn't matter. Though the mannequin was gone. The detective must have lost his mind because he gave chase.
I couldn't let him go alone so I followed. Pulling out my long yellow parchment as I wrote on it the symbols for sealing, hoping the simple spell would work. As we entered the tall field.
It was chaos. The ground was mushy beneath my feet, and the smell of fecal matter assaulted my senses further. In the brush I had lost the detective, so I was forced to tell my wives to help me locate his whereabouts. They didn't often leave my side, and some were reluctant but ultimately agreed.
I stood in the field, waiting with bated breath as I heard further gunshots in the distance. I couldn't wait for my wives to gather as I tore after the detective. And just in time as I saw him standing, looking absolutely terrified as he shot blindly into the fauna until his pistol clicked. The mannequin lunged for him. But I got there first. Pushing him to the ground, causing both of us to tumble.
He was eating a mouth of dirt as I pulled him to his feet. "We have to get out of this field! The ghost bride will pick us off in this thicket!"
Stumbling, and running, the two of us were covered in more than dirt. Several times we heard rustling nearby as if something were running alongside us. But eventually we made it out into the open plain. The detective trying to catch his breath as he reloaded his pistol.
"Shooting it doesn't work," he panted. "But maybe I can disable it from moving."
"Shut up," I told him. "Listen."
He stopped for a moment and we waited. Then all of the stalks before us shook wildly as if a hundred people were running through it. The detective raised his arm but I stopped him as my wives ran out of the field.
They were terrified as they ran right through us.
I hadn't experienced the feeling in awhile but the coldness as their ghostly forms went through our bodies was cold as ice. It was enough to bring us both to our knees, clutching our chests as we struggled to breathe. I had passed through one or two in a row before. But never 10 or 20 at a time. I lost count.
"What was that," the detective managed to gasp, his fingers in a death grip around his gun.
"A blue procession," I told him. "Something caused all of my dead wives to flee."
We looked up as the leaves in front of us rustled.
"Is it..."
I shook my head, running forward to catch her. My 13th wife, Ah-ren. Her arm was missing, and a part of her shoulder. She was an innocent girl that had drowned when she was alive. Her innocence carried on with her to the afterlife where many souls generally grew up embittered. But never her, always sweet my girl, just weary of water.
"I didn't want to go," she told me.
"I know," I held her. "I'm sorry."
"It got some of the others too. But Meita got in its way and told me to run." She cried.
"Don't cry I told her. You know how you hate getting wet."
"I don't want to go. I wanted to stay with you. All of us together."
I watched as her soul splintered and disappeared forever.
I had never felt such fury. In all my years, a womanizer, a liar, a cheat at cards, a scoundrel, a bastard even. But an undutiful husband? Never.
Without thinking I approached the field and cast a spell that was been forbidden.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm purging the field. All beings alive or dead will forever feel displaced when they enter here. A feeling of unending dread and doom will overcome them, causing madness if they do not leave or are unable to. But I have no other choice." I reached into my side and threw a handful of salt. It landed on the ground as I chanted. The winds carrying it into the field, the small white morsels rolling obediently into the darkness.
"Nothings happening," the detective's word stuck in his mouth as a horrible scream echoed into the night. It sounded like two pieces of steel being twisted together.
"There," I took off after it. The jumbled figure of the mannequin fled toward the village.
We followed it through people's homes, and between alleyways; the villagers screamed and fled when they saw it. We barged through home after home as we chased it. Until we cornered it at an abandoned building at the edge of town.
"It was supposed to be a mall," the detective told me. "But the developers ran out of money."
We walked quietly into the empty building. Shells of stores stood in various degrees of construction. Checking a few of the fronts before venturing further inside.
"You've got to be kidding me," the detective said as we came near the center of the complex. There next to the escalators and the fountains was an army of mannequins of all shapes and sizes lined up like terracotta warriors. "They must have stashed them all here when the place was being built, and forgot about them when it closed."
"There are hundreds."
"We'll go through together. Quickly and quietly." He added, "Stay alert."
We moved through the rows, staring at all of the stuck faces, searching for one covered in grime and bullet holes. But it was more difficult than it sounded. Many of the mannequins were in bad shape, weathered, broken, laying in pieces on the ground. It was hard to tell if a pile of parts was indeed our culprit.
Slowly we began to clear the rows and I could see the other side in sight.
"There!" The detective shot his gun. The surrounding mannequins dropped like dominoes when the entity scattered. Falling down all around us, drowning in a sea of plastic arms and smiling faces. I was struggling to stand as I looked up and saw the entity come rushing toward us. The detective fired his gun blowing out a knee cap. I hurriedly reached for my parchment but could not find my pen. Another shot, but the scorned bride kept on charging unable to feel pain.
It jumped into the air and another shot blew a part of its face away. The detective screamed as it tore at him. Pieces of his sinew was launched into the air as he was torn apart. I rushed forward trying to help but the creature grabbed me by the throat and lifted me into the air. My feet searching for the ground as my lungs folded trying to breathe. The thing turned its head toward me and said, "Will you marry me?" As the darkness closed into the corners of my eyes.
The fight was leaving my body as I saw several of my wives rushing forward. Their ghostly forms ethereal as they began tearing at the mannequin, slowly pulling out pieces of her soul, causing the mannequins arms and legs to go limp as they dragged her out.
I scrambled the floor blindly with my fingers searching for my sacred parchment but could not find it amongst the rubble and the ghost bride was fleeing, leaving the shell of her mannequin in a heap on the floor. My wives chasing her, screaming their fury for killing the others. For destroying their souls.
I chased after them into the open air, where she was being cornered. Crying as I approached, trying to escape into the Southwest wind. I knew what I should have done, but could not bring myself to do the right thing. Instead I bit my finger and drew symbols on my forearms with my own blood. Approaching the bride that never was and tore her soul into pieces.
When I was done my wives sat down around me before slowly dispersing as the sun began to rise.
"We did it huh?"
I continued staring at the sun, "Yeah."
"Well then," the detective said before disappearing. "Maybe in the next life I'll be sooner to trust you."
Later they would find his body in the abandoned mall. Still clutching his gun. The department gave him a 21 gun salute at his funeral and a medal as commemoration. I was just glad that his soul had not been eaten.
I, on the other hand, went back to the hotel. To the bar and ordered a well deserved drink. Where I saw a pretty woman sitting alone, "Did you know that in order for me to pass on my Celestial title, I must bear an heir?"
​
​
s

Does it always mean they like you? Or is it just something they do if they think you were a cool customer?? Basically me and my mom went to Waffle House and he brought us our drink and then I leaned over and told my mom he was cute. Then when he brought our food he saw my ATLA tattoo and was like “YOOO are you the avatar???” (It was really loud and I was kinda embarrassed bc a Waffle House is a small setting and I have severe anxiety. Then he started coming back to our table to talk to me everytime he wasn’t busy serving someone. He asked me what element I would be (“I assume fire due to your red hair” he said) and how I felt about Korra, we talked about that and then he asked what other shows I like(specifically anime) and we talked about it and then he gave me a recommendation and asked if I had an anime streaming service and I said I had Funimation. He then said “oh man” and wrote down on a napkin what ?illegal? website he uses to watch pretty much any anime or cartoon ever(we talked about teen titans) and he also wrote on the napkin the name of the one he wanted me to watch. I was super anxious and felt like I was gonna puke but I pushed through it and got the courage to write down a recommendation anime for him. He looked at it for a second and said “I’m gonna give you something really special, it’s my phone number” and he wrote his number and name on a napkin and gave it to me and told me to text him my name(and that he would give me a special contact name on his phone, my choice) and he would give me all the anime recommendations I could ever want and we could talk about them. Idk why but I have butterflies in my stomach 😭 he was really quirky and cute and and sweet but I literally was in one relationship in high school, so I have no clue if this was maybe flirting(I’m not attractive so I’m not used to it if so) or if he was just being friendly???? I’m completely obtuse and I don’t wanna get any hopes up or anything especially if he isn’t even into me, let alone men. He had a couple qualities that made my gaydar go off (small gauge earrings, twinkish look, skinny cut pants) but I’ve been wrong before🥲 am I crazy???? PLEASE HELP I DONT HAVE ANYONE TO TALK TO ABOUT THIS.
PS his name was Angel and he put a little halo above it on our ticket could someone be anymore cute 😭🥴

this story is gonna be a compilation of many tiny details that may have led up to this. im gonna start the biggest reason: my past. i never wanted to tell my bf in the beginning about anyone or my experiences. the truth is my freshman year of college was horribly traumatizing bc of the multiple instances of assault and aggression i received from men in my area and in my university. i often times blamed myself because it seemed so impossible to get into these situations so often with me being a common factor. anyways, i swore i would never tell anyone.
i come from a very traditional background and me telling my family about these things would end with them labeling me as used and shameless. fast forward after nearly a year alone, i meet my current bf at my university's gym as well as hinge, which i barely used at the time. we quickly hit it off and he became the first guy who i felt genuinely respected me and was in it for the right reasons but i could always tell he had a confidence issue and loads of insecurities. (for example, he rescheduled our first date 3 times because he felt that he just couldnt talk to women). i made him feel comfortable and he quickly got past that and became comfortable with me. we became inseparable. however, he'd subtly ask about my past and keep pestering at it until i gave him the full answer. i lied. i didn't want anyone to know about what happened so i just labeled my past as failed situationships that were consensual but ones i regret bc i learned and it brought me to him. turns out he was very very disturbed about this. i created a story that wasnt true and it bothered him a lot. we got into a lot of fights as time passed and one day i broke because i couldnt take it anymore and i told him the truth which he was shocked to hear. now, its has resulted in incredible trust issues. he starts bringing up how i check out guys at the gym, which i honestly do not remember doing so and if i commented about someone else being attractive, it was always me just agreeing with a friend because i did not know that this was abnormal in a relationship. even my parents jokingly tease each other and are comfortable with pointing out people who are to them, objectively or conventionally attractive. even so, i know i should have been more sensitive and aware of his feelings and insecurities. i feel horrible for it. but no amount of apology stops him from bringing it back to "how can i trust you werent lying about the past too."
we are long distance right now which is making this even harder. a lot has happened---my mom calling his discussing how we call each other too much and how it always leads in a fight that my bf usually brings up. his moms response was point blank that i am the problem, that i am ruining his life being a distraction, and how i def have character issues because i have a bf in college and that i live far from home because of it...even though a relationship is a two way street. she even went so far as to body shame me to my parents' face. im in a really tough spot because i know my bf's mom fills his ear with negativity and has been doing so her whole life. she hates the idea he has another woman in his life and gets incredibly upset knowing hes gonna get married one day and leave her. his parents put so much pressure on him for academics to the point where theyll use beating and hours of verbal attacks to "put him in his place."
anyways, alot of dramatic things have happened. i feel stressed all the time. he keeps bringing up little instances of proof that i dont love him enough because of how i liked a guys tattoo or my eyes momentarily met with someone at the gym. or how i expected him to buy me things. i know expecting someone to financially invest in u is a red flag. it just confused me how hed be showering me with presents in the beginning and now he doesnt. which is why i brought it up. to him he sees it as me being insensitive to his family's financial condition. it was never my intention to hurt him, ive said sorry, ive felt guilty but he continues to cuss me out everyday and say hurtful things because of how hurt he has been. in the next hour hes back to normal, with his happy self. sometimes hes incredibly sad because he doenst believe how someone like me could love him. im so confused and lost. How do i make it so that i bring more stability, reassurance, and trust back into our life. Is this even worth salvaging?

this story is gonna be a compilation of many tiny details that may have led up to this. im gonna start the biggest reason: my past. i never wanted to tell my bf in the beginning about anyone or my experiences. the truth is my freshman year of college was horribly traumatizing bc of the multiple instances of assault and aggression i received from men in my area and in my university. i often times blamed myself because it seemed so impossible to get into these situations so often with me being a common factor. anyways, i swore i would never tell anyone. i come from a very traditional background and me telling my family about these things would end with them labeling me as used and shameless. fast forward after nearly a year alone, i meet my current bf at my university's gym as well as hinge, which i barely used at the time. we quickly hit it off and he became the first guy who i felt genuinely respected me and was in it for the right reasons but i could always tell he had a confidence issue and loads of insecurities. (for example, he rescheduled our first date 3 times because he felt that he just couldnt talk to women). i made him feel comfortable and he quickly got past that and became comfortable with me. we became inseparable. however, he'd subtly ask about my past and keep pestering at it until i gave him the full answer. i lied. i didn't want anyone to know about what happened so i just labeled my past as failed situationships that were consensual but ones i regret bc i learned and it brought me to him. turns out he was very very disturbed about this. i created a story that wasnt true and it bothered him a lot. we got into a lot of fights as time passed and one day i broke because i couldnt take it anymore and i told him the truth which he was shocked to hear. now, its has resulted in incredible trust issues. he starts bringing up how i check out guys at the gym, which i honestly do not remember doing so and if i commented about someone else being attractive, it was always me just agreeing with a friend because i did not know that this was abnormal in a relationship. even my parents jokingly tease each other and are comfortable with pointing out people who are to them, objectively or conventionally attractive. even so, i know i should have been more sensitive and aware of his feelings and insecurities. i feel horrible for it. but no amount of apology stops him from bringing it back to "how can i trust you werent lying about the past too." we are long distance right now which is making this even harder. a lot has happened---my mom calling his discussing how we call each other too much and how it always leads in a fight that my bf usually brings up. his moms response was point blank that i am the problem, that i am ruining his life being a distraction, and how i def have character issues because i have a bf in college and that i live far from home because of it...even though a relationship is a two way street. she even went so far as to body shame me to my parents' face. im in a really tough spot because i know my bf's mom fills his ear with negativity and has been doing so her whole life. she hates the idea he has another woman in his life and gets incredibly upset knowing hes gonna get married one day and leave her. his parents put so much pressure on him for academics to the point where theyll use beating and hours of verbal attacks to "put him in his place." anyways, alot of dramatic things have happened. i feel stressed all the time. he keeps bringing up little instances of proof that i dont love him enough because of how i liked a guys tattoo or my eyes momentarily met with someone at the gym. or how i expected him to buy me things. i know expecting someone to financially invest in u is a red flag. it just confused me how hed be showering me with presents in the beginning and now he doesnt. which is why i brought it up. to him he sees it as me being insensitive to his family's financial condition. it was never my intention to hurt him, ive said sorry, ive felt guilty but he continues to cuss me out everyday and say hurtful things because of how hurt he has been. in the next hour hes back to normal, with his happy self. im so confused and lost. i dont want this to end and i want to try to fix it before i accept it. any advice is appreciated and i can elaborate in the comments.

All - I went ahead and purchased a jacket from the same company as this thread: Reddit Thread and it came in the mail today. Jacket I bought - comes in grey, red, and orange - I bought the orange version - it is much deeper orange than in the photo. Helps with visibility and the orange matches the blue/purple of the nuclear blue frame.
First Impressions and comparison:
Compared to a Harley jacket - the suppleness is about the same - the leather thickness feels about the same - so basically it'll last you one slide and that's about it. But if it does its job, can't complain too much.
The harley jacket seems to feel thicker in certain spots - where the doubled over (like where the zipper is sewn in) the leather it appears harley may have added some material between the two sides to make it thicker - this jacket does not have that feel anywhere - which makes it softer and more flexible.
I can say I do like the fit - harley is generally looser in the arms - which allows your armor to rotate out of position - but feels less snug - this jacket fits my arms with some amount of constriction - however this could be the leather being stiff and new. The armor being shaped as it is (european spec) so if your arm is bent or your shoulder is in the jacket correctly the armor doesn't have the room to spin around the arm out of location. Wear in will show if it stays this way.
The sleeves are snug around the wrists but not uncomfortable - I like this because I can be sure it won't push up my arm easily in the case of a wreck.
The interior warming liner is a vest - that being said it appears to only an inch or so less in diameter than the jacket, so it fits well - it zips into the jacket.
Jacket comes with zippered vent holes, nothing special there.
There are only two things it seems to be lacking - the top collar is exactly as it looks and there is no way to snap the collar shut. That would be nice but it can be added behind the collar after the fact too. The second would be there is no slack or stretch in the shoulders for when arms are forward. That being said, it is not remotely uncomfortable for me to put my arms forward - as the arms are definitely long enough.
A note is that they don't come with Tall sizes, you have to ask for that. I ordered a regular XL and it is good...a tall would be great but otherwise I didn't ask for it so I didn't get it.
They are true to size as ordered, so I give them total credit for that.
For scale, I am 6'1, 230lbs, I have a 42" chest, a 42" stomach, a 36" waist, 26" long arms - unfortunately I needed the stomach fit too so I have to deal with the extra 2" of sleeve which is a tradeoff I am willing to accept. The XL jacket fits perfect. If you're a tank with giant arms, you'll prolly need a more custom order - I am not.

I got this tattoo on my ankle 3 weeks ago. As the tattoo scabbed, I anticipated some sort of peeling after, but it never happened. The tattooed lines just stayed raised with a deep jet black color and no signs of wanting to peel. The skin around these raised lines have a faded black colour and the area does not hurt to touch. I've had two other small tattoos (1" on my forearm and 4" on my thigh), both of which scabbed and peeled normally during the healing process.
I know that different tattoos heal differently, and honestly I'm not too worried about it not looking “perfect" since it is a small tattoo at a location where no one, including myself, will thoroughly look at it. But I want to know if this is normal in part of the healing process? What is the cause of this? And will it go away eventually?
Maybe I'm just being impatient because my two other tattoos healed differently than this one, but I would appreciate and thoughts or advice! Thanks!
(also I'm sorry if this is not the right place to ask for advice like this, please redirect me to the right sub if there is a place more suited for this)
https://i.imgur.com/qa7dJac.jpg