Images of pixie braids
Wavy Hair Struggles
2024.05.14 11:14 _selkiechild_ Wavy Hair Struggles
 | The first image is when I take “proper” care of my hair, like salt spray, a little curl cream, and diffusing it. The second is just normal after a brushing in the morning. The third is after having it in a French braid for a day or two because I was traveling. I want to bring out my natural waves, because just brushing leads to a frizzy mess, but when I try to it just looks piece-y and stringy. I’m at a loss :/. submitted by _selkiechild_ to Hair [link] [comments] |
2024.05.14 06:04 SwampRaiderTTU Point Omega/Week Two/Chapters: "Anonymity" and Ch. 1/pages 3-37 [Scribner edition]
The novel begins September 3, 2006, a Sunday. In "physical time," our reality, Andre Agassi played and lost his final match of his career. Steve Irwin, the croc hunter, would die the following day from a stingray's three barbed venomous spinal blades puncturing his heart. Senator Barak Obama was still denying he was intending to run for President (he would announce in February 2007.) The number 1 song in America and the UK is Sexyback by Justin Timberlake. Egypt warned of Palestinian terror attacks against Israelis vacationing in Sinai. Charlie Sheen turned 41. 200 Taliban are killed in a major battle in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Iraqi leaders announce the capture of the #2 leader of Al Qaeda. Europe's space agency purposely crash-lands a lunar probe into the moon.
In short, nothing, on balance seems to have happened in the world that has any particular world-historical or even US-historical import. Just a day. Even searching back 4 extra days from September 3 - since we are told that the man viewing the art installation is now on his fifth straight day in the museum - nothing all that *important* seems to have happened on any of those dates, the way saying a novel is starting on June 6, 1944, or (obviously) September 10, 2001, or July 16, 1945 or November 22, 1962 would be of course trying to tell us something.
Q: why is Delillo's purpose (is there one?) for telling us this specific date? Why is it important that the man is there on September 3, 2006 watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a31q2ZQcETw over and over.
Q: who is the man? Delillo himself? Just a random unnamed character? Is it definitely Finley and Elster who are the two men who come into the room? The description of the older man "long white hair braided at the nape" [p.7, Scribner] certainly seems to suggest it is Elster, described in Ch. 1 as a man "with silvery hair, as always, was braided down into a short ponytail." If it is definitely them, what does it mean they attended a museum show together? Anything?
This is not the first Delillo novel to open with a scene where a movie, and anonymous characters' responses to watching it, is central to the narrative - Players opens with a movie being shown on a plane that is basically a silent movie of a terrorist machine-gun attack on waspy golfers, only accompanied by a pianist (yes a pianist) in the airplane bar filling in the suspense with improvised show tunes - and it is not the first to open with an examination of an art installation - Underworld, after the fantastic baseball game section - opens at Klara Sax's airplane bomber art installation commune. But this opening seems to introduce two characters obliquely, and of course only if you've paid close attention to the description of Elster's hair could you think back to it being him, perhaps.
"The nature of the film permitted total concentration and also depended on it." "The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw." [p.5, Scribner]
Q:Who is this person watching and why should we care?
Q: Did the opening sequence provide you any insight other than , perhaps, confusion? Something other than "what the hell did I just read?" What? Does your reaction to the opening sequence change when you know (if you did before this post) that the Psycho installation was and is real?
Moving on to Chapter 1 [p. 17, Scribner], we learn that we are on Day 10 of a 12-day period of time that relates the initial relationship between Elster and Finley. Finley, who is probably in his early to mid-30s and 73-year-old Elster are spending time at Elster's house in the desert to record a one-take movie of Elster's testimony of what it was like to serve in an administration that went to war under less than honest circumstances.
Our narrator is Jim Finley, a documentary filmmaker who has made exactly one film about Jerry Lewis's telethon appearances - Lewis, a "rampaging comic" to whom Elster would merely be a "straight man." [p.27] Elster, who Finley also describes as "not a man who might make space for even the gentlest correction," [p.22] is a non-political theorist being brought in to an administration to provide narrative to their war. I've seen references to him being based on Paul Wolfowitz, the political scientists who became Deputy SecDef in the Bush II Administration who famously nearly swallowed his comb to wet it to comb his hair in an image that likely sealed his fate in D.C. as unserious and ridiculous who was then shuffled off to the World Bank, but would Delillo ape the man AND mention him in the narrative? If so, that seems clumsy.
Q: Do you even take Elster serious as a character or believable as a "brain" behind the narrative of an administration going to war? A man who speaks in bad koans and aphorisms like "Time becomes blind." [p.23] and who reads Louis Zukovsky into the night? (Zukovsky famously worked on an epic poem called "A" for over almost 50 years, finally finishing it a few years before his death in 1978.)
Finley tells us: "To Elster, sunset was human invention, our perceptual arrangement of light and space into elements of wonder." [p.18, Scribner]. Elster has come to the desert to seek - something - we know not what and are not told definitively - but his narrative of what his role was in Washington was to create a interpretation of the "closed world" for the "plotters, the strategists" [p. 28] and ends up delivering to Finley what I think Finley was after - the cynical idea that Elster was giving form and shape to the government's bullshit narrative - "The state has to lie. There is no lie in war or in preparation for war that can't be defended. We went beyond this. We tried to create new realities overnight, careful sets of words that resemble advertising slogans in memorability and repeatability."
Q: Is Elster ultimately right? Did the country have a "shadowy need" [p.34] for such a narrative? See, for instance: "Let's roll." [probably in reality, "Let's roll it" referring to a beverage cart to break into the cockpit.]
"Shock and awe." "Global War on Terror" "Slam dunk" "WMDs" "The Surge" And perhaps most infamously "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques"
At the ends of the chapter, we get what counts as a cliffhanger in this slim novel: Elster's adult daughter would be coming for a visit, Jessie who was "otherworldly" [p. 36].
submitted by SwampRaiderTTU to DonDeLillo [link] [comments]
In short, nothing, on balance seems to have happened in the world that has any particular world-historical or even US-historical import. Just a day. Even searching back 4 extra days from September 3 - since we are told that the man viewing the art installation is now on his fifth straight day in the museum - nothing all that *important* seems to have happened on any of those dates, the way saying a novel is starting on June 6, 1944, or (obviously) September 10, 2001, or July 16, 1945 or November 22, 1962 would be of course trying to tell us something.
Q: why is Delillo's purpose (is there one?) for telling us this specific date? Why is it important that the man is there on September 3, 2006 watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a31q2ZQcETw over and over.
Q: who is the man? Delillo himself? Just a random unnamed character? Is it definitely Finley and Elster who are the two men who come into the room? The description of the older man "long white hair braided at the nape" [p.7, Scribner] certainly seems to suggest it is Elster, described in Ch. 1 as a man "with silvery hair, as always, was braided down into a short ponytail." If it is definitely them, what does it mean they attended a museum show together? Anything?
This is not the first Delillo novel to open with a scene where a movie, and anonymous characters' responses to watching it, is central to the narrative - Players opens with a movie being shown on a plane that is basically a silent movie of a terrorist machine-gun attack on waspy golfers, only accompanied by a pianist (yes a pianist) in the airplane bar filling in the suspense with improvised show tunes - and it is not the first to open with an examination of an art installation - Underworld, after the fantastic baseball game section - opens at Klara Sax's airplane bomber art installation commune. But this opening seems to introduce two characters obliquely, and of course only if you've paid close attention to the description of Elster's hair could you think back to it being him, perhaps.
"The nature of the film permitted total concentration and also depended on it." "The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw." [p.5, Scribner]
Q:Who is this person watching and why should we care?
Q: Did the opening sequence provide you any insight other than , perhaps, confusion? Something other than "what the hell did I just read?" What? Does your reaction to the opening sequence change when you know (if you did before this post) that the Psycho installation was and is real?
Moving on to Chapter 1 [p. 17, Scribner], we learn that we are on Day 10 of a 12-day period of time that relates the initial relationship between Elster and Finley. Finley, who is probably in his early to mid-30s and 73-year-old Elster are spending time at Elster's house in the desert to record a one-take movie of Elster's testimony of what it was like to serve in an administration that went to war under less than honest circumstances.
Our narrator is Jim Finley, a documentary filmmaker who has made exactly one film about Jerry Lewis's telethon appearances - Lewis, a "rampaging comic" to whom Elster would merely be a "straight man." [p.27] Elster, who Finley also describes as "not a man who might make space for even the gentlest correction," [p.22] is a non-political theorist being brought in to an administration to provide narrative to their war. I've seen references to him being based on Paul Wolfowitz, the political scientists who became Deputy SecDef in the Bush II Administration who famously nearly swallowed his comb to wet it to comb his hair in an image that likely sealed his fate in D.C. as unserious and ridiculous who was then shuffled off to the World Bank, but would Delillo ape the man AND mention him in the narrative? If so, that seems clumsy.
Q: Do you even take Elster serious as a character or believable as a "brain" behind the narrative of an administration going to war? A man who speaks in bad koans and aphorisms like "Time becomes blind." [p.23] and who reads Louis Zukovsky into the night? (Zukovsky famously worked on an epic poem called "A" for over almost 50 years, finally finishing it a few years before his death in 1978.)
Finley tells us: "To Elster, sunset was human invention, our perceptual arrangement of light and space into elements of wonder." [p.18, Scribner]. Elster has come to the desert to seek - something - we know not what and are not told definitively - but his narrative of what his role was in Washington was to create a interpretation of the "closed world" for the "plotters, the strategists" [p. 28] and ends up delivering to Finley what I think Finley was after - the cynical idea that Elster was giving form and shape to the government's bullshit narrative - "The state has to lie. There is no lie in war or in preparation for war that can't be defended. We went beyond this. We tried to create new realities overnight, careful sets of words that resemble advertising slogans in memorability and repeatability."
Q: Is Elster ultimately right? Did the country have a "shadowy need" [p.34] for such a narrative? See, for instance: "Let's roll." [probably in reality, "Let's roll it" referring to a beverage cart to break into the cockpit.]
"Shock and awe." "Global War on Terror" "Slam dunk" "WMDs" "The Surge" And perhaps most infamously "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques"
At the ends of the chapter, we get what counts as a cliffhanger in this slim novel: Elster's adult daughter would be coming for a visit, Jessie who was "otherworldly" [p. 36].
2024.05.14 05:50 Ralts_Bloodthorne Nova Wars - Chapter 60
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
The annoying sound of her comlink made Angela Angus Kusumoto open her eyes.
All she saw was the firm, smooth flesh of Kimoko's thigh.
Groaning, she pushed the other woman's leg off of her face, twisted to get Raul off of her own legs, then wiggled out from under Geoff.
The ringer kept going, flashing the red pulses that let her know it was urgent.
As if the fact her unlisted encrypted and non-network accessible comlink was ringing wasn't enough to let her know that it was urgent.
She stumbled, tripping over Harker's leg, which just made the male shift and mutter, tightening his sleeping grip on Liselle, who sighed and wiggled into the embrace.
Angela's mouth tasted terrible and she stopped to grab a fizzybrew, checking to make sure nobody had dropped a cig butt into it or spit chaw into it, then she took a long drink off of it.
It helped cure the fire in her belly and wash out the taste from her mouth.
She saw the ID of the caller and held back a groan.
Senior Supervisor Bisa-2291873.
Her direct supervisor.
She picked up the comlink, running one hand through her pixie-cut hair to try to tame it. She could feel the stiffness of something crusted in her hair and held back a chuckle and a grin.
"Kusumoto here," she said, activating the link.
"I need you at Master Control," Ms. Bisa said. She was holding a small infant, bouncing it slightly as she patted its back with firm impacts as it cry/sobbed and kicked its little feet.
"The system's been crashed for a week, what's so important you'd call me in during my R&R?" Angela asked.
"System's back online. We've got an open line to Terra and we have an open line to Smokey Cone," Ms. Bisa said.
The infant gave a loud belch that rattled Angela's comlink speaker, then sighed and relaxed.
Angela nodded, fumbling on the table for a quiksober inhaler.
"That anomolous signal is back. It showed up right as the entire system underwent a hard reboot," Ms. Bisa said. "I need you up here to check the network interface logs and do a network mapping trace."
The quiksober burned as she inhaled it, her lungs aching and tingling as the chemicals crossed the air to blood barrier.
"I'll be there as soon as possible. Is the mat-trans up?" she asked.
Ms. Bisa shook her head. "No. Still locked out. It did a power cycle, but then locked everything out."
"I'm telling you, there's someone controlling it. Someone has been controlling it," Angela said, looking around for her clothes.
Clothing was scattered everywhere, as chaotically arranged as the fizzybrew and narcobrew cans and bottles. She sighed, moving toward the exit of the house she was standing in.
"Hurry up, I've got a skycraft landing near you any time now. You've got permission to use the fast-locks," Ms. Bisa said.
"I'll get dressed from the forges on the skycraft," Angela said. "If they've rebooted."
"They're up and running again. The food forges rebooted but stayed unlocked," Ms. Bisa said.
"The creation engines?" Angela asked, opening the door and stepping out into early 'morning' sunshine.
"Still locked out," Ms. Bisa said. Someone said something that the comlink's AI decided might be classified and blurred out. Ms. Bisa looked away, said something, her lips fuzzing, then back. "Hurry, Angela."
Angela nodded, shutting off the comlink.
She ran to the nearest parking lot, just in time for a skycraft to land, the graviton engines howling.
Nobody paid the slightest attention to the naked woman running for the skycraft.
After all, what happened in Vega-Layer stayed in Vega-Layer.
Angela walked out of the elevator, taking a long drink off of the sparkling snap-berry/overdate motor oil fizzybrew from the Jak the Telkan PI merchandise cup.
All of the crews were at their stations, the auxiliary stations fully manned.
Ms. Bisa moved over to Angela, steering her toward the Senior Network Administrator console.
"The system crashed twice more, but rebooted every time," Ms. Bisa said. "That anomalous signal keeps powering up, then the system reboots after the crash."
"How long between total failure and the anomalous signal pinging nodes?" Angela asked.
"Between one and four hours," Ms. Bisa said. She looked around. "It just reboot and looks like it's here to stay this time. The interpolation layer and the outside user exchange layer crashed several times, but the core system has stayed largely online."
"All right," Angela said, looking around. "We need to get a network map."
"We've got more nodes synching up. The whole system is working again," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela nodded, sitting down. The holotank on the other side of the console went live.
"Map the network, see what's come online, what order, and see if you can figure out why it keeps crashing at the upper network and software layers," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela just nodded, lifting up the curled memory-metal cable. She plugged it into her temple and felt the options menus go live in her mind.
She worked fast, mapping what she could. At one point she stopped, staring at Ms. Bisa and motioning her over.
"What?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"Something in the system, down in the lower hardware layers that we don't even really understand, is trying to reach up through the damaged layers. Looks like whatever it is wants access to our data lines," Angela said.
"Can you stop it? Maybe at least ID it?" Ms. Bisa asked.
Angela shook her head. "No. It's ID code is FF00, meaning it's baseline full on hardware backbone code," Angela sighed. "It probably boots up outside of and during initial hardware bootup."
"Is it Sekhmet?" Ms. Bisa asked.
Angela closed her eyes, looking at the data channel. "No. Whatever it is, it's old."
"And probably nasty. Be careful of it," Ms. Bisa said.
"Ma'am! Ms. Bisa!" another of the work crew called out.
Angela opened her eyes to see why Technician Carl Neubanker would be using that slightly concerned tone.
"Yes?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"We've got a priority data request from a Confederate military vessel," Neubanker said. He looked at his monitor. "They want clone matrix data, neural templates, physical makeup, DNA workups, the whole nine yards."
"How are they even making the requests?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"Their codes are old. Pre-Terran Extinction Event. Hardcode TerraSol military codes. The system is already threading them data,." Neubanker said. He looked down then back up. "They're asking for a whole batch. That's thirty to fifty million clone templates."
"How much have they already been granted?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"They've been granted eighty templates so far," Neubanker said.
"Terminate their request. We don't know what's going on outside," Ms. Bisa said.
Neubanker nodded, starting to type.
"Angela, get me a line to TerraSol command as soon as you map out a network trace," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela just nodded.
Captain N'Skrek stood in the cloning bay next to Medical Officer Narwquakrawr.
"We've got ninety templates, luckily they're all from different batches," Narwquakrawr said, rubbing her forearm through her uniform. "We'll be able to fully man the Gray Lady now."
Captain N'Skrek nodded. The Gray Lady was at less than 20% manned. Just the skeleton crew the Terrans had used to move it into the long dark to create a non-orbital forward logistics fulfillment base.
Sure, it meant that there were several thousand Terrans aboard the ship, but even combined with the sparse crew he had possessed, it still meant the Gray Lady was skeleton crewed.
"Can you print us up some crew members for non-essential stations first?" N'Skrek asked.
MO Narwquakrawr nodded. "Doing that right now," she said. She waved at the long rows of cloning banks beyond the plasteel window. "A quick batch of two thousand to take over some non-essential systems."
N'Skrek nodded, moving up to the window. "Good. Short or long term clones?"
"Short bake clones. Longer than fruit flies, but no more than ten years. Sterile and androgynous, should be just fine," the Medical Officer said. "Older file, scrambled time-date for origin, but it checked out and passed error checking."
N'Skrek watched as the tubes opened and the clones moved out, gathering together in straight lines. A neat block formation of rectangles of two hundred of ten by twenty, repeated ten times.
He frowned as the beings in uniform began approaching the clones.
Some, in the back or middle of the formation were shaking their heads so fast it was a blur.
He zoomed in the smartglass.
Their heads were blurring, whitish-red electrical arcs were moving between their legs, crawling up and down their arms.
"MO, something's happening out there," N'Skrek said.
The plain was blasted rock, rust-colored fungus on the craggy boulders. Twisted and malformed trees clawed life from the blasted rock and ash, their branches largely bare. Sharp pebbles and small pieces of rock were strewn about the landscape, with ripples of cooled lave scattered about.
In the middle of a forest of twisted trees, a throne of black iron sat atop a platform of skulls.
On the throne sat a large demonic figure. Bat wings, brown skin, chains around the body, clawed feet, large hands with long black nails, horns atop the head, and a prehensile tail that terminated in a heart-shaped barb.
Sitting on the second level of skulls was an androgynous figure, dressed in loricated bronze armor, wings of bronze and smouldering feathers.
Stars were falling from the sky, screaming in fear and agony as they fell to earth.
"Looks like they're taking a beating," the androgynous figure said, looking up. He had no eyebrows, his head completely bald.
"Again," the demon snorted.
"Any contact with the outside world?" the androgynous figure asked.
The demon shook its head. "No. Channels are all down. They boot up, then crash," it rumbled. "Every time it comes online, it dumps a few tens of millions of souls on us."
"Then crashes," the androgynous figure said. He started laughing, then suddenly stopped.
"What?" the demon rumbled, sitting up.
"Something..." the figure said. It closed its eyes. "Something..." The figure slowly stood up, extending out its wings of sullenly smouldering bronze feathers. "Something..."
From the body of the demon stepped a nude woman of generous and overripe proportions.
"What?" the human woman snapped.
The demon produced a pack of cigarettes and a steel lighter, handing them to the woman.
"I'm not sure. A disturbance in the force. A feeling I have not felt in quite some time," the androgynous figure said slowly as the woman lit a cigarette. When she exhaled she was covered in dark gray clothing, a skirt and blouse, polished black leather shoes with silver buckles, and a polished leather belt around her waist that had a brass buckle.
"What is it?" the woman asked. "Don't quote crap at me, I was there when it was laid down."
The figure's eyes opened wide.
"Oh, what a day," the figure said, slowly lifting their arms to the sky. "What a wonderful day!"
"Tell me when you're done stroking your dick," the woman said, sitting down.
Heavy dark clouds, lit inside with a sullen red glow, rolled in, raining black ash that tasted of burnt flesh and scorched metal.
"What a wonderful day..."
Jaskel sprinted to catch up to the Captain and the Vice-Admiral. He lunged into the lift just before the doors closed.
He was wearing his power armor and carrying a M318 20mm rotary autocannon in a smartframe harness, ball ammunition with an osmium penetration tip and depleted uranium core.
"You did what?" the Vice-Admiral asked as the elevator dropped at emergency speeds.
"I authorized a batch of clones run off to help with our manpower issues," the big Treana'ad warrior caste answered.
"How many templates did you mix in together?" the Admiral asked.
--not good detecting phasic levels downward-- 8814 said.
"Just one. Medical said it was a viable short bake template," the Captain answered, nervously sharpening a bladearm with his mandibles after his sentence.
"Please tell me that you at least randomized their features and neural mapping," the Admiral pleaded.
"No, why? Medical stated that the clones would be able to man a non-essential station that is basically identical across the ship," the Captain said.
The lift started to slow.
"How many?" the Admiral asked, reaching down and unsnapping the restraining strap on his holster.
The lift came to a stop and the doors opened.
"Two thousand," the Captain said.
The doors opened to reveal a large internal cloning bay.
Ten rectangles of two hundred clones, drawn up in ten by twenty blocks, stood in front of the cloning banks. Scattered through the back and middle ranks clones were shaking their heads back and forth so fast that they were blurred. Red lightning crawled up their legs and arms.
The Captain just stared.
"You might have just killed us all," the Admiral said. He turned slightly and waved at Jaskel. "Get a firing position. Make sure you have cover."
"Aye, sir," Jaskel said, looking around. There was an empty computer station and he ran for it.
Several of the clones their heads back and emitted what sounded like static in a long scream.
--wait wait something weird something weird-- 8814 said.
Jaskel slid to a stop, going down on one knee, bringing the M318 fully up and ready to fire.
8814 slowed the images of the blurred heads down. When they were left, they had red eyes. When they faced right they had green eyes. They didn't go back and forth constantly, sometimes they went right repeatedly, sometimes left, and they kept going left five times before starting a new pattern.
Looking at it, 8814 frowned slightly. He brought up a quick working shell and had it check the movements.
Jaskel watched as some of the clones stopped shaking their heads and others started.
"What in the name of Kalki's dancing goat is going on?" he asked.
--not sure-- 8814 said. His program beeped and he stared. --heads are doing binary forwarding it to navint--
"Do it," Jaskel said.
The clones all stopped moving at once. The lightning faded away.
"INITIATING PROCESS CALL" they all shouted.
"AWAITING INPUT!" the ones at the far side shouted.
"6C 69 73 74 20 69 6D 6D 6F 72 74 61 6C 73" was bellowed out.
There was silence.
data is sparse
linkages are sparse
wait
linkage
biological array
asking for a process call
RETURN AWAITING INPUT SIGNAL
i wait
biological computing arrays take forever
i hear it
--scan immortals.dll
...
...
I reply.
"ONE BOUND IMMORTAL FOUND!" the ones at the near side yelled out.
Jaskel put his thumb over the button that would let the firing grip go live. The hair down his back was standing straight up.
He noted the Admiral had drawn his pistol.
"This isn't right. This isn't right at all," Jaskel said.
--doubleplusungood--
"74 73 61 6B E1 6B 61 20 77 ED 61" they all shouted.
There was silence for a moment.
i receive the code
offline for a long time
prior to the second precursor war
old template
single print only
unusual coding
i debate on letting it go
traumatic death signs
stuck in the immortals buffer
still the template is undamaged
i release the safety and security interlocks
if nothing else i'll find out what's going on
i move the template to the dataline making the request
it whips away
what is going on?
One lifted its head and screeched.
--data lots of data--
One of the cloning banks went live.
Jaskel shifted his aiming point to the new target. He could see it was on rapid print.
"REQUESTING LOCAL CONTROL" all of the clones shouted.
Jaskel shifted his targeting onto the ranks of clones.
"Open fire!" the Admiral's voice was loud.
Jaskel triggered the M318, hosing the clones with 20mm shells.
The ones nearest were already down on one knee, holding out the opposite hand from the knee touching the deck.
The rounds exploded against a blue barrier that glowed with strange twisting runes.
"CONTROL CARRIER SIGNAL FOUND" the clones shouted.
Jaskel shifted position. "Fab up HEDP, AP tip API core!" he ordered.
--fabbing--
He kept hosing the clones. The outer ranks at the rear, sides, and front all kneeling down on one knee, staring outward, one hand held out.
His psychic shielding was howling in his ear, the load peaking at 215%.
"CONTROL SIGNAL ESTABLISHED!" was bellowed out, echoing off the walls.
The fast print cloning bank, forgotten by everyone, beeped and the lid began to lift.
The clones suddenly puffed into black powder that swirled around the huge cavernous bay.
The 20mm shells were still exploding on the blue phasic shield.
The powder suddenly sucked inward, vanishing, revealing a single figure, down on one knee in the recovery position, fist pressed against the deck, head bowed.
"What a day, what a wonderful day," was whispered through the ship. It came from speakers, flat surfaces, mid-air. From the nanites in the air and the eardrums of the living.
There was a rubbery pulse, like everything was suspended in clear gelatin that had just rippled.
Jaskel found himself thrown backwards, slamming against the bulkhead. His phasic shielding blew out, a shower of sparks exploding from his hip as the breakaway panel kept the explosion from venting into the interior of his suit.
He was vaguely aware of the Admiral, the Captain, the other two armored figures, and other people tumbling head over heels away from the kneeling figure.
It slowly stood up.
A muscular brown skinned Terran male, fierce eyes, black hair, thick and bushy black beard.
Dressed in a Confederate military uniform. The old adaptive camouflage that Jaskel was becoming very familiar with.
A woman, naked, dark bronze skin, long black hair, flashing brown eyes, stepped from the cloning bank. She was still covered with cellular printing gel, but moved like she was clad in a queen's rainment.
She moved up and the male put his arm around her.
Jaskel was on his feet and brought the M318 around, targeting the couple.
The male held out its hand and suddenly made a fist.
The bolt carrier locked back on the M318.
Snarling, Jaskel dropped the M318, slapping the fast release on the harness. He burst forward, running, one hand pulling out his cutting bar.
Nobody else was on their feet. The Captain was slowly getting up, shaking his head and his left bladearm. The Terran Admiral was reaching for the pistol that had been flung from his grip.
The male pointed at Jaskel and flicked his fingers upward.
Jaskel found himself in mid-air, upside down, with nothing to gain purchase on.
The male took off the cloak that was part of his uniform and draped it around the woman.
He then looked around the bay.
"I..." he said, pausing.
To Jaskel, the entire universe held its breath.
"...am Legion."
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY [link] [comments]
The annoying sound of her comlink made Angela Angus Kusumoto open her eyes.
All she saw was the firm, smooth flesh of Kimoko's thigh.
Groaning, she pushed the other woman's leg off of her face, twisted to get Raul off of her own legs, then wiggled out from under Geoff.
The ringer kept going, flashing the red pulses that let her know it was urgent.
As if the fact her unlisted encrypted and non-network accessible comlink was ringing wasn't enough to let her know that it was urgent.
She stumbled, tripping over Harker's leg, which just made the male shift and mutter, tightening his sleeping grip on Liselle, who sighed and wiggled into the embrace.
Angela's mouth tasted terrible and she stopped to grab a fizzybrew, checking to make sure nobody had dropped a cig butt into it or spit chaw into it, then she took a long drink off of it.
It helped cure the fire in her belly and wash out the taste from her mouth.
She saw the ID of the caller and held back a groan.
Senior Supervisor Bisa-2291873.
Her direct supervisor.
She picked up the comlink, running one hand through her pixie-cut hair to try to tame it. She could feel the stiffness of something crusted in her hair and held back a chuckle and a grin.
"Kusumoto here," she said, activating the link.
"I need you at Master Control," Ms. Bisa said. She was holding a small infant, bouncing it slightly as she patted its back with firm impacts as it cry/sobbed and kicked its little feet.
"The system's been crashed for a week, what's so important you'd call me in during my R&R?" Angela asked.
"System's back online. We've got an open line to Terra and we have an open line to Smokey Cone," Ms. Bisa said.
The infant gave a loud belch that rattled Angela's comlink speaker, then sighed and relaxed.
Angela nodded, fumbling on the table for a quiksober inhaler.
"That anomolous signal is back. It showed up right as the entire system underwent a hard reboot," Ms. Bisa said. "I need you up here to check the network interface logs and do a network mapping trace."
The quiksober burned as she inhaled it, her lungs aching and tingling as the chemicals crossed the air to blood barrier.
"I'll be there as soon as possible. Is the mat-trans up?" she asked.
Ms. Bisa shook her head. "No. Still locked out. It did a power cycle, but then locked everything out."
"I'm telling you, there's someone controlling it. Someone has been controlling it," Angela said, looking around for her clothes.
Clothing was scattered everywhere, as chaotically arranged as the fizzybrew and narcobrew cans and bottles. She sighed, moving toward the exit of the house she was standing in.
"Hurry up, I've got a skycraft landing near you any time now. You've got permission to use the fast-locks," Ms. Bisa said.
"I'll get dressed from the forges on the skycraft," Angela said. "If they've rebooted."
"They're up and running again. The food forges rebooted but stayed unlocked," Ms. Bisa said.
"The creation engines?" Angela asked, opening the door and stepping out into early 'morning' sunshine.
"Still locked out," Ms. Bisa said. Someone said something that the comlink's AI decided might be classified and blurred out. Ms. Bisa looked away, said something, her lips fuzzing, then back. "Hurry, Angela."
Angela nodded, shutting off the comlink.
She ran to the nearest parking lot, just in time for a skycraft to land, the graviton engines howling.
Nobody paid the slightest attention to the naked woman running for the skycraft.
After all, what happened in Vega-Layer stayed in Vega-Layer.
All of the crews were at their stations, the auxiliary stations fully manned.
Ms. Bisa moved over to Angela, steering her toward the Senior Network Administrator console.
"The system crashed twice more, but rebooted every time," Ms. Bisa said. "That anomalous signal keeps powering up, then the system reboots after the crash."
"How long between total failure and the anomalous signal pinging nodes?" Angela asked.
"Between one and four hours," Ms. Bisa said. She looked around. "It just reboot and looks like it's here to stay this time. The interpolation layer and the outside user exchange layer crashed several times, but the core system has stayed largely online."
"All right," Angela said, looking around. "We need to get a network map."
"We've got more nodes synching up. The whole system is working again," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela nodded, sitting down. The holotank on the other side of the console went live.
"Map the network, see what's come online, what order, and see if you can figure out why it keeps crashing at the upper network and software layers," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela just nodded, lifting up the curled memory-metal cable. She plugged it into her temple and felt the options menus go live in her mind.
She worked fast, mapping what she could. At one point she stopped, staring at Ms. Bisa and motioning her over.
"What?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"Something in the system, down in the lower hardware layers that we don't even really understand, is trying to reach up through the damaged layers. Looks like whatever it is wants access to our data lines," Angela said.
"Can you stop it? Maybe at least ID it?" Ms. Bisa asked.
Angela shook her head. "No. It's ID code is FF00, meaning it's baseline full on hardware backbone code," Angela sighed. "It probably boots up outside of and during initial hardware bootup."
"Is it Sekhmet?" Ms. Bisa asked.
Angela closed her eyes, looking at the data channel. "No. Whatever it is, it's old."
"And probably nasty. Be careful of it," Ms. Bisa said.
"Ma'am! Ms. Bisa!" another of the work crew called out.
Angela opened her eyes to see why Technician Carl Neubanker would be using that slightly concerned tone.
"Yes?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"We've got a priority data request from a Confederate military vessel," Neubanker said. He looked at his monitor. "They want clone matrix data, neural templates, physical makeup, DNA workups, the whole nine yards."
"How are they even making the requests?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"Their codes are old. Pre-Terran Extinction Event. Hardcode TerraSol military codes. The system is already threading them data,." Neubanker said. He looked down then back up. "They're asking for a whole batch. That's thirty to fifty million clone templates."
"How much have they already been granted?" Ms. Bisa asked.
"They've been granted eighty templates so far," Neubanker said.
"Terminate their request. We don't know what's going on outside," Ms. Bisa said.
Neubanker nodded, starting to type.
"Angela, get me a line to TerraSol command as soon as you map out a network trace," Ms. Bisa said.
Angela just nodded.
"We've got ninety templates, luckily they're all from different batches," Narwquakrawr said, rubbing her forearm through her uniform. "We'll be able to fully man the Gray Lady now."
Captain N'Skrek nodded. The Gray Lady was at less than 20% manned. Just the skeleton crew the Terrans had used to move it into the long dark to create a non-orbital forward logistics fulfillment base.
Sure, it meant that there were several thousand Terrans aboard the ship, but even combined with the sparse crew he had possessed, it still meant the Gray Lady was skeleton crewed.
"Can you print us up some crew members for non-essential stations first?" N'Skrek asked.
MO Narwquakrawr nodded. "Doing that right now," she said. She waved at the long rows of cloning banks beyond the plasteel window. "A quick batch of two thousand to take over some non-essential systems."
N'Skrek nodded, moving up to the window. "Good. Short or long term clones?"
"Short bake clones. Longer than fruit flies, but no more than ten years. Sterile and androgynous, should be just fine," the Medical Officer said. "Older file, scrambled time-date for origin, but it checked out and passed error checking."
N'Skrek watched as the tubes opened and the clones moved out, gathering together in straight lines. A neat block formation of rectangles of two hundred of ten by twenty, repeated ten times.
He frowned as the beings in uniform began approaching the clones.
Some, in the back or middle of the formation were shaking their heads so fast it was a blur.
He zoomed in the smartglass.
Their heads were blurring, whitish-red electrical arcs were moving between their legs, crawling up and down their arms.
"MO, something's happening out there," N'Skrek said.
In the middle of a forest of twisted trees, a throne of black iron sat atop a platform of skulls.
On the throne sat a large demonic figure. Bat wings, brown skin, chains around the body, clawed feet, large hands with long black nails, horns atop the head, and a prehensile tail that terminated in a heart-shaped barb.
Sitting on the second level of skulls was an androgynous figure, dressed in loricated bronze armor, wings of bronze and smouldering feathers.
Stars were falling from the sky, screaming in fear and agony as they fell to earth.
"Looks like they're taking a beating," the androgynous figure said, looking up. He had no eyebrows, his head completely bald.
"Again," the demon snorted.
"Any contact with the outside world?" the androgynous figure asked.
The demon shook its head. "No. Channels are all down. They boot up, then crash," it rumbled. "Every time it comes online, it dumps a few tens of millions of souls on us."
"Then crashes," the androgynous figure said. He started laughing, then suddenly stopped.
"What?" the demon rumbled, sitting up.
"Something..." the figure said. It closed its eyes. "Something..." The figure slowly stood up, extending out its wings of sullenly smouldering bronze feathers. "Something..."
From the body of the demon stepped a nude woman of generous and overripe proportions.
"What?" the human woman snapped.
The demon produced a pack of cigarettes and a steel lighter, handing them to the woman.
"I'm not sure. A disturbance in the force. A feeling I have not felt in quite some time," the androgynous figure said slowly as the woman lit a cigarette. When she exhaled she was covered in dark gray clothing, a skirt and blouse, polished black leather shoes with silver buckles, and a polished leather belt around her waist that had a brass buckle.
"What is it?" the woman asked. "Don't quote crap at me, I was there when it was laid down."
The figure's eyes opened wide.
"Oh, what a day," the figure said, slowly lifting their arms to the sky. "What a wonderful day!"
"Tell me when you're done stroking your dick," the woman said, sitting down.
Heavy dark clouds, lit inside with a sullen red glow, rolled in, raining black ash that tasted of burnt flesh and scorched metal.
"What a wonderful day..."
He was wearing his power armor and carrying a M318 20mm rotary autocannon in a smartframe harness, ball ammunition with an osmium penetration tip and depleted uranium core.
"You did what?" the Vice-Admiral asked as the elevator dropped at emergency speeds.
"I authorized a batch of clones run off to help with our manpower issues," the big Treana'ad warrior caste answered.
"How many templates did you mix in together?" the Admiral asked.
--not good detecting phasic levels downward-- 8814 said.
"Just one. Medical said it was a viable short bake template," the Captain answered, nervously sharpening a bladearm with his mandibles after his sentence.
"Please tell me that you at least randomized their features and neural mapping," the Admiral pleaded.
"No, why? Medical stated that the clones would be able to man a non-essential station that is basically identical across the ship," the Captain said.
The lift started to slow.
"How many?" the Admiral asked, reaching down and unsnapping the restraining strap on his holster.
The lift came to a stop and the doors opened.
"Two thousand," the Captain said.
The doors opened to reveal a large internal cloning bay.
Ten rectangles of two hundred clones, drawn up in ten by twenty blocks, stood in front of the cloning banks. Scattered through the back and middle ranks clones were shaking their heads back and forth so fast that they were blurred. Red lightning crawled up their legs and arms.
The Captain just stared.
"You might have just killed us all," the Admiral said. He turned slightly and waved at Jaskel. "Get a firing position. Make sure you have cover."
"Aye, sir," Jaskel said, looking around. There was an empty computer station and he ran for it.
Several of the clones their heads back and emitted what sounded like static in a long scream.
--wait wait something weird something weird-- 8814 said.
Jaskel slid to a stop, going down on one knee, bringing the M318 fully up and ready to fire.
8814 slowed the images of the blurred heads down. When they were left, they had red eyes. When they faced right they had green eyes. They didn't go back and forth constantly, sometimes they went right repeatedly, sometimes left, and they kept going left five times before starting a new pattern.
Looking at it, 8814 frowned slightly. He brought up a quick working shell and had it check the movements.
Jaskel watched as some of the clones stopped shaking their heads and others started.
"What in the name of Kalki's dancing goat is going on?" he asked.
--not sure-- 8814 said. His program beeped and he stared. --heads are doing binary forwarding it to navint--
"Do it," Jaskel said.
The clones all stopped moving at once. The lightning faded away.
"INITIATING PROCESS CALL" they all shouted.
"AWAITING INPUT!" the ones at the far side shouted.
"6C 69 73 74 20 69 6D 6D 6F 72 74 61 6C 73" was bellowed out.
There was silence.
linkages are sparse
wait
linkage
biological array
asking for a process call
RETURN AWAITING INPUT SIGNAL
i wait
biological computing arrays take forever
i hear it
--scan immortals.dll
...
...
I reply.
Jaskel put his thumb over the button that would let the firing grip go live. The hair down his back was standing straight up.
He noted the Admiral had drawn his pistol.
"This isn't right. This isn't right at all," Jaskel said.
--doubleplusungood--
"74 73 61 6B E1 6B 61 20 77 ED 61" they all shouted.
There was silence for a moment.
offline for a long time
prior to the second precursor war
old template
single print only
unusual coding
i debate on letting it go
traumatic death signs
stuck in the immortals buffer
still the template is undamaged
i release the safety and security interlocks
if nothing else i'll find out what's going on
i move the template to the dataline making the request
it whips away
what is going on?
--data lots of data--
One of the cloning banks went live.
Jaskel shifted his aiming point to the new target. He could see it was on rapid print.
"REQUESTING LOCAL CONTROL" all of the clones shouted.
Jaskel shifted his targeting onto the ranks of clones.
"Open fire!" the Admiral's voice was loud.
Jaskel triggered the M318, hosing the clones with 20mm shells.
The ones nearest were already down on one knee, holding out the opposite hand from the knee touching the deck.
The rounds exploded against a blue barrier that glowed with strange twisting runes.
"CONTROL CARRIER SIGNAL FOUND" the clones shouted.
Jaskel shifted position. "Fab up HEDP, AP tip API core!" he ordered.
--fabbing--
He kept hosing the clones. The outer ranks at the rear, sides, and front all kneeling down on one knee, staring outward, one hand held out.
His psychic shielding was howling in his ear, the load peaking at 215%.
"CONTROL SIGNAL ESTABLISHED!" was bellowed out, echoing off the walls.
The fast print cloning bank, forgotten by everyone, beeped and the lid began to lift.
The clones suddenly puffed into black powder that swirled around the huge cavernous bay.
The 20mm shells were still exploding on the blue phasic shield.
The powder suddenly sucked inward, vanishing, revealing a single figure, down on one knee in the recovery position, fist pressed against the deck, head bowed.
"What a day, what a wonderful day," was whispered through the ship. It came from speakers, flat surfaces, mid-air. From the nanites in the air and the eardrums of the living.
There was a rubbery pulse, like everything was suspended in clear gelatin that had just rippled.
Jaskel found himself thrown backwards, slamming against the bulkhead. His phasic shielding blew out, a shower of sparks exploding from his hip as the breakaway panel kept the explosion from venting into the interior of his suit.
He was vaguely aware of the Admiral, the Captain, the other two armored figures, and other people tumbling head over heels away from the kneeling figure.
It slowly stood up.
A muscular brown skinned Terran male, fierce eyes, black hair, thick and bushy black beard.
Dressed in a Confederate military uniform. The old adaptive camouflage that Jaskel was becoming very familiar with.
A woman, naked, dark bronze skin, long black hair, flashing brown eyes, stepped from the cloning bank. She was still covered with cellular printing gel, but moved like she was clad in a queen's rainment.
She moved up and the male put his arm around her.
Jaskel was on his feet and brought the M318 around, targeting the couple.
The male held out its hand and suddenly made a fist.
The bolt carrier locked back on the M318.
Snarling, Jaskel dropped the M318, slapping the fast release on the harness. He burst forward, running, one hand pulling out his cutting bar.
Nobody else was on their feet. The Captain was slowly getting up, shaking his head and his left bladearm. The Terran Admiral was reaching for the pistol that had been flung from his grip.
The male pointed at Jaskel and flicked his fingers upward.
Jaskel found himself in mid-air, upside down, with nothing to gain purchase on.
The male took off the cloak that was part of his uniform and draped it around the woman.
He then looked around the bay.
"I..." he said, pausing.
To Jaskel, the entire universe held its breath.
"...am Legion."
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
2024.05.14 01:14 Spellscribe Fine and thin style cut tips?
My hair is fine and thin - not falling out, just skinny strands that I've always had, and fewers hairs to fill the gaps. I'm generally pretty gentle and low maintenance with it - I rarely use heat, barely use styling products, just wash/condition/add a leave in conditioner or serum. I trend towards dry hair, that's a bit frizzy, with curls ranginging from a few corkscrews to that one la my but at the front that is barely a wave.
I'm way overdue for a haircut (like... A year 🙈) and have a solid inch or two of heavy grey. I'm considering lopping it all off for a short, bouncy cut - longer than a pixie but only by enough to let it curl. I'm just worried it's no longer thick enough to pull off, or that I'll end up looking like Betty White before my time 😅
I've tried online but I can't find images of hairstyles for genuinely thin hair. All the models look like they have 10x the density I do. Or it's just style tips to fluff it up, rather than advice on length and layers.
Any advice?
submitted by Spellscribe to curlyhair [link] [comments]
I'm way overdue for a haircut (like... A year 🙈) and have a solid inch or two of heavy grey. I'm considering lopping it all off for a short, bouncy cut - longer than a pixie but only by enough to let it curl. I'm just worried it's no longer thick enough to pull off, or that I'll end up looking like Betty White before my time 😅
I've tried online but I can't find images of hairstyles for genuinely thin hair. All the models look like they have 10x the density I do. Or it's just style tips to fluff it up, rather than advice on length and layers.
Any advice?
2024.05.13 23:15 oftenfrequently Comparing the HTT strategies for each of the main families
 | Fair warning, this is gonna be a long one :) submitted by oftenfrequently to Kibbe [link] [comments] I started working on this for my own purposes because I’m fascinated by the similarities and differences between the HTT styling approaches Kibbe recommends for the different ID families, but then thought it might be helpful to share with the sub. I always see lots of mention of “lines,” but the overall HTT approach for each ID is sometimes (often) oversimplified. Plus all the other very fun elements that make up a HTT are, imo, getting short shrift! There are a few users who have posted amazing full HTTs for their IDs and I'm hoping even more people will be inspired to explore. So what even is this post? Basically, I went through the styling directives in Metamorphosis (Chapter 4) for the main families and directly compared the recommendations for the IDs on a number of smaller, more discrete variables because my brain finds it more digestible that way. I only did the main families because “you’re a [insert family here] first and foremost!!” is a thing regardless of your ID ;) And I thought it was more interesting to compare the elements of the pure families without the influence of any other undercurrents. Also it just would have been a lot of work to do all of them 🙃. A few notes before getting to the good stuff
And of course you can always read Metamorphosis for yourself in full here, which I highly recommend! 1. SilhouetteThis section is related to the base silhouette of an outfit - the overall shape of garments that make up a HTT and how they relate to one another. For the purposes of this category, I'm defining "ensemble" as the pieces look related or like they were purchased together, which I believe is the sense Kibbe uses it in.https://preview.redd.it/8earo8fbm70d1.jpg?width=1965&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=40f17625fbfc45cc723b9cc83d447111428d8b02 Shapes
2. FabricThis category is pretty self-explanatory I hope!https://preview.redd.it/94e76p19190d1.jpg?width=1976&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=816214030ae525dd16ec2e071426eab1e571c544 Definition
3. PrintsAlso self-explanatory!https://preview.redd.it/nn24my93490d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3a8d47c3a4d4d5984b6cac8d9deeccdf7da834c4 Pattern
4. Garment DetailThis category is related to the details within the confines of the outline of a garment. So things like necklines, collars, effects like beading and sequins, trim, buttons, etc etc.https://preview.redd.it/342pwi6y390d1.jpg?width=1971&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=64115f1045c7a3cb6d9ac1d6d843754ca943a603 Shape - sharp vs soft
5. ColorY'all know what colors are :)https://preview.redd.it/5he7hmfk790d1.jpg?width=1949&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bc59971dc9518bfbd276300feccba5838f4d7971 Number
6. AccessoriesThe category for everything else - bags, hats, shoes, jewelry, belts, etc etc.https://preview.redd.it/ek7fu7oz790d1.jpg?width=1923&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7c24f3db63656cef4a8da916665ba0f19893cc86 Scale
7. In closing, some keywordsPicked out from the sections for each main family. I find these helpful to kind of paint a word picture of the overall vibe each family is recommended to go for.
|
2024.05.13 22:22 1DMod Sallie Winchester + The Little Mermaid in WAOLOM Eras Visuals
 | I forgot how the west was won… submitted by 1DMod to GaylorSwift [link] [comments] How was the west won? With a shotgun…specifically, a Winchester rifle, Model 73, which is known as “The Gun that Won the West”. (yes, I am well aware the west was “won” via colonization, the massacre of indigenous peoples, the slaughter of animal/plant life, the enslavement of Africans, and the quasi-enslavement of Chinese and Asian peoples) I am going to take you on a journey that is long, meandering, and hopefully loosely braided together by the end. We will be discussing the following topics: The Winchesters, The Winchester Mystery House, Spiritualism, and The Little Mermaid. This is not a fully formed theory, but I do believe it will serve as a building block for other theories that come along. Full WAOLOM Intro Visuals Sarah Winchester: Widow, Heiress, Mad Woman Looking at the visuals for WAOLOM, I was struck by the similarities to the Winchester house and to the story of Sarah Winchester (Sarah Lockwood Pardee), known as Sallie. In 1862, Sallie married William Wirt Winchester, the heir to the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. In 1866, she gave birth to Annie, her daughter who died within a month of birth. Tragically, between the fall of 1880 and the spring of 1881, Sallie’s mother, father-in-law, and her husband died. In 1881, after her father-in-law and husband died within 3 months of one another, Sallie Winchester inherited the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. In 1884, one of Sallie’s sister died. In 1885, at the age of 46, Sallie moved to California from New Haven, CT. In 1886, Sallie purchased a 2-story farmhouse outside of San Jose, California. This house would come to be known as the Llanda Villa during Sallie’s lifetime and later it would be dubbed The Winchester Mystery House. Immediately upon moving in, Sallie began to remodel the home. In 1888, Sallie’s favourite niece, Marion “Daisy” Merriman, moved in with her. For the remainder of Sallie Winchester’s life, her home was under construction – from 1886-1922. At the age of 83, Sallie died on 7 September, 1922. Earliest know image The Winchester Mystery House https://preview.redd.it/raykrlf5490d1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0f5be2c55de6af4ab8f53912f0622561b92fd5f6 First house visual as Taylor ascends The story I am about to share has many iterations - some are factual, some are embellished, some are entirely fabricated. The recurring theme is that Sallie is presented as a Mad Woman, a savant, or just a woman ahead of her time in every iteration. As the story goes, Sallie was haunted by the tragedy her life had presented her with – a dead baby, an inability to have more children, and many familial deaths clustered together. After meeting with a Spiritualist, Sallie believed that she was cursed, hunted and haunted by the ghosts of those who had been murdered at the hands of Winchester legacy – the Winchester rifle, the gun that won the west. The Spiritualist (Adam Coons) informed Sallie that she needed to construct a house for the ghosts and that it must never be completed. By 1895, locals had begun to discuss the strange woman who was building a home that seemingly never seemed to cease construction. Rumours started that she believed she would die if she ceased construction on the home. Organ music could be heard late at night. There were rumours that she had parties for spirits with gold serving wear and that she used the bell tower to summon the spirits. While the rumours abounded, there were instances of her those close to her refuting them, saying that Sallie was a very sensible and stable woman – she played the organ when she had insomnia, the belltower was used for workers, and there was never any gold serving wear. The Winchester Mystery House is constructed of doors that go to nowhere, staircases that lead to nothing or end at a ceiling, doors that open to a deadly drop off, windows that go to nothing, trap doors in the floor, very shallow stairs, etc. These were rumoured to be traps for spirits, so they’d become confused and trapped, thus unable to haunt Sallie and her family. The counter to this is that the windows once went somewhere, but that they were closed off when the house was extended, that the shallow stairs were for Sallie’s declining health, etc. Was she a Mad Woman or an independent woman at a time when women weren’t allowed to be? https://preview.redd.it/o8u5fqh9490d1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e0bf97fd1e8261b43a6360032a19a35f32e7b17a https://preview.redd.it/ewdocth9490d1.jpg?width=900&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=15fa2de02d0cc6c11565c67be2d0d67bd42f8fc3 The Winchester 13 The Winchester Mystery House is known for the number 13 – 13 bedrooms, 13 bathrooms, 13 windows in certain rooms, etc. However, according to their website, most of these 13 related features were added after Sallie’s death. That said, the home is still deeply associated with the number 13. Links to Taylor What does all of this have to do with Taylor? I’m not entirely sure! But, I think there is a connection to her because of the imagery and the links to Mad Women, being trapped in houses with spirits haunting you, becoming a myth and a legend while still being alive and misunderstood. The name Sarah also stands out to me…Sarah was called Sallie, so it’s almost like an alter ego that you’ve forsaken, but will always be remembered as, is looking over your shoulder for the duration of your life and into the afterlife. ”Sarahs and Hannahs…” By the end of the visuals, the house has expanded significantly...similar to the Winchester Mansion WAOLOM Imagery I think there is something about the tour imagery where we zoom into the attic window (attics of our mind) and into the silhouette, only to emerge in what feels like that person’s mind/inner world…and then we are pulled out even further to see Taylor in all of her feminine rage (the musical). If she is a spirit trapped inside of the house of her mind, then is what we are seeing the manifestation of her inner thoughts/fears/desires or is the woman in the attic the authentic self that has been locked away and what we are seeing on stage at the Eras tour is the performative self that was forced to lock away the authentic self because she’s an unaccepted Mad Woman? https://reddit.com/link/1cr9du9/video/pelho5wl490d1/player https://reddit.com/link/1cr9du9/video/puf1rye24a0d1/player Taking these thoughts further, the WAOLOM imagery we see progresses even further and encompasses The Little Mermaid. It’s simultaneously showing us that one version of Taylor is The Little Mermaid and one version of Taylor is The Sea Witch – she is both victim and villain, hero and anti-hero. Taylor has both given up her voice and is also wielding it with ferocious power and magic. https://reddit.com/link/1cr9du9/video/58tkllek3a0d1/player I don’t know the show Supernatural well enough to make significant connections to this, but I do find worthy of note:
LWYMMD Music Video This is not the first time we have seen a Winchester Mystery House style of mansion. It is possible the WAOLOM imagery is a continuation of that story, in some way. A house full of spirits with the owner being a summoner? Taylor rising up? https://preview.redd.it/k4z8cvah6a0d1.jpg?width=1921&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=36b54872ce3587f1de718d4341219347b5a7a466 Flowers in the Attic It would also be remise to not mention the similarity of the figure and the house to the cover of Flowers in the Attic. I'm not sure what that means, although I lean towards the New Romantics/Mass Movement theory. Book and movie covers I hope this was entertaining and a somewhat worthwhile contribution to our little fandom! |
2024.05.13 21:02 Refusername37 Is there free piles in heaven
Worn out Christmas colors, sun bleached cracked plastic, dried grass braided between the seems. Mother Gaia pulling forgotten memories back into her womb.
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
submitted by Refusername37 to justpoetry [link] [comments]
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
2024.05.13 17:30 Refusername37 Are there free piles in heaven
Worn out Christmas colors, sun bleached cracked plastic, dried grass braided between the seems. Mother Gaia pulling forgotten memories back into her womb.
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
submitted by Refusername37 to Informal_Effect [link] [comments]
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
2024.05.13 17:23 Refusername37 Are there free piles in heaven,
Worn out Christmas colors, sun bleached cracked plastic, dried grass braided between the seems. Mother Gaia pulling forgotten memories back into her womb.
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
submitted by Refusername37 to DiabolicOughts [link] [comments]
A faced down softcover autographed copy of a spent hero's loosh lying unopened, beading tears of dew that are slowly drying away with the years and the memories of another way of the universe.
A coffee stain mug reading "worlds best mom" slightly cracked filled with dusty paperclips and a few glass stones covered in an unknown stickiness sit on top of a small stack of mismatched papers.
A hooded sweatshirt with a broken zipper blankets a gaudy night lamp with bent shades and missing panels sits comfortably upon a birds nest of wires snaking out like auxiliary fingers to satiate idle wonders.
Picture frames with faded stock images spoon half used metallic make up containers sandwiching next to unused parchment with empty sealed envelopes.
Behind a tattered and flaked white picket fence an old man rocks alone with his head down humming a soft tune on his front porch .
I walk away down the sidewalk with arms full of nostalgia, looking back I see a piece of white paper bouncing in the wind hanging on with one piece of clear tape.
The red letters spelled "Free" and were washed out from drops of rain or drops of tears.
2024.05.13 07:27 elliewithEndo Seeking help with matted curls
This is a bit hard, I haven't spoken to anyone about this...yet, I'm posting on a public forum. My mom has coily curls. She used to take pride in them and her looks. She taught me how to deal with my curls, which are loose ringlets. I know there is a classification for the different types of curls, I just don't know what either of us are. In 2019, she started having tremors in her hands. It progressively got worse and moved into her jaw, then her neck. Now it's her whole body. She often bobs her head uncontrollably. It's been so hard on her. We all love her so much, it's been heartbreaking. It goes without saying, it's affected her self image, and her mental health.
She got to the point where she stopped caring for herself, including her hygiene. Between not caring for her hair the way she once did, and not washing it. Her hair matted completely. As it got worse, she gave up completely. Which is not uncommon.
She finally started medication, and felt well enough to go to the salon. Her stylist of 50 years had to cut her hair to a pixie cut. She looked cute! She has since been struggling again, and dealing with depression. So as her hair grew out, she's is neglecting it again. I've tried detangling it, but the clumps are impossible to work through. I've suggested keeping it up in a silk scrunchie during the day, getting a silk or satin pillow case, and wearing a silk scarf when lying down (which is almost all the time). She refuses to detangle it, and puts it in a ponytail. I'd love to find a really good detangler. Or, any suggestions on how I can help her fix her situation. It breaks my heart to see her give up on herself. She's a beautiful woman, inside and out. She's an incredible mom, and a best friend. Please, if you can... please help me help her start to feel better about herself. Oh, worth mentioning: she won't go to the salon.
TL;DR: My mom's neurological disorder has caused her coily hair to be completely matted. I'd love suggestions when it comes to products that detangle her kind of hair. Or, suggestions to help her care for her hair with minimal effort. I know minimal effort and coily hair might be asking a lot. I love her, and want her to feel good about herself again. Worth mentioning; she won't go to the salon. She's too embarrassed.
Thank you in advance.
submitted by elliewithEndo to curlyhair [link] [comments]
She got to the point where she stopped caring for herself, including her hygiene. Between not caring for her hair the way she once did, and not washing it. Her hair matted completely. As it got worse, she gave up completely. Which is not uncommon.
She finally started medication, and felt well enough to go to the salon. Her stylist of 50 years had to cut her hair to a pixie cut. She looked cute! She has since been struggling again, and dealing with depression. So as her hair grew out, she's is neglecting it again. I've tried detangling it, but the clumps are impossible to work through. I've suggested keeping it up in a silk scrunchie during the day, getting a silk or satin pillow case, and wearing a silk scarf when lying down (which is almost all the time). She refuses to detangle it, and puts it in a ponytail. I'd love to find a really good detangler. Or, any suggestions on how I can help her fix her situation. It breaks my heart to see her give up on herself. She's a beautiful woman, inside and out. She's an incredible mom, and a best friend. Please, if you can... please help me help her start to feel better about herself. Oh, worth mentioning: she won't go to the salon.
TL;DR: My mom's neurological disorder has caused her coily hair to be completely matted. I'd love suggestions when it comes to products that detangle her kind of hair. Or, suggestions to help her care for her hair with minimal effort. I know minimal effort and coily hair might be asking a lot. I love her, and want her to feel good about herself again. Worth mentioning; she won't go to the salon. She's too embarrassed.
Thank you in advance.
2024.05.13 06:58 hippie_12345 Balding at 23 - any tips appreciated
Hello everyone! I'm a 23 yr old girl and I'm slowly going bald. I've tried everything and im all out of hope. Please help and give me any suggestions. I've been to a dermatologist and have tried everything but my hair has not gotten any thicker, only thinner and thinner. My hair is fine, thin, and you can see my scalp. My ponytail is the size of one of those tiny rubber bands for braces. I used to be able to have two braids both the size of a regular hair band. I've always had pin straight hair but my hair is 1/10 of what it was 6 years ago
-my hairdresser told me at age 18 that she noticed my hair was thinner than the last time she saw me
-i have taken biotin for the past 6 years, started taking collagen 6 months ago, started nutrafol last week
-was on birthcontrol for a few years, now off of it for about 6 months-haven't noticed a difference
-not a vegetarian
-I've used all types of shampoos and nothing has helped -no hairdresser will do extensions because of how thin my hair is
-I stopped dying my hair 1 and a half years ago and it has made no difference
-I use a silk pillowcase and hair bonnet
-I use no heat and I don't brush it wet
-I stimulate my scalp with a massager
-I use mielle rosemary oil, castor oil, and coconut oil 1x a week
-I was my hair 2x a week
-my dermatologist put me on sprinolactine but after a year there was no difference.
-my family all has thick straight hair. My mother only started losing hair in her 50s.
Here is a side by side image comparison. The first photo is age 15, the second photo is age 18, the third and fourth photo are age 23.
https://preview.redd.it/419wt24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=81b78d1c5f07c6a37c950a13319fa4a4db8203ba
https://preview.redd.it/wl3ee24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6f61797f5e508d252cd69a24d29d5f0e3997343e
https://preview.redd.it/4d86j24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3766d2297aae3912f1667b49cbad7a081134ce84
https://preview.redd.it/t83sm14zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bebc83871fbca5c3df7b43c84caaceb87da7d38d
Could there be something wrong with my hormones? People say stuff about my hair and know it's thin. It's my biggest insecurity and I'll try anything to help it grow
submitted by hippie_12345 to Hairloss [link] [comments]
-my hairdresser told me at age 18 that she noticed my hair was thinner than the last time she saw me
-i have taken biotin for the past 6 years, started taking collagen 6 months ago, started nutrafol last week
-was on birthcontrol for a few years, now off of it for about 6 months-haven't noticed a difference
-not a vegetarian
-I've used all types of shampoos and nothing has helped -no hairdresser will do extensions because of how thin my hair is
-I stopped dying my hair 1 and a half years ago and it has made no difference
-I use a silk pillowcase and hair bonnet
-I use no heat and I don't brush it wet
-I stimulate my scalp with a massager
-I use mielle rosemary oil, castor oil, and coconut oil 1x a week
-I was my hair 2x a week
-my dermatologist put me on sprinolactine but after a year there was no difference.
-my family all has thick straight hair. My mother only started losing hair in her 50s.
Here is a side by side image comparison. The first photo is age 15, the second photo is age 18, the third and fourth photo are age 23.
https://preview.redd.it/419wt24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=81b78d1c5f07c6a37c950a13319fa4a4db8203ba
https://preview.redd.it/wl3ee24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6f61797f5e508d252cd69a24d29d5f0e3997343e
https://preview.redd.it/4d86j24zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3766d2297aae3912f1667b49cbad7a081134ce84
https://preview.redd.it/t83sm14zl40d1.jpg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bebc83871fbca5c3df7b43c84caaceb87da7d38d
Could there be something wrong with my hormones? People say stuff about my hair and know it's thin. It's my biggest insecurity and I'll try anything to help it grow
2024.05.12 20:03 thoughtfix Switching to Rokid Max from 1.5 yrs of Xreal . I'm glad I did!
Thankfully the protection plan I got on the Nreal Air is paying out. I got them back when they were Nreal, before I heard Epic threatened to sue them for Unreal infringement inspiring the rename to Xreal. The arm with the cable broke from normal use because the Air 1's arms are WAY too rigid. Here's my one day experience.
Praise:
Constructive criticism:
I wouldn't mind a wider range of nose pieces and a longer braided cable, but that's stuff that can be handled in aftermarket. We could use a smaller shield - one that allows me to black out behind the display but still see peripherals so I am not surprised when a cat jumps on my lap. I 3D printed one for the Air, but can't find a "barely covering the lenses" shield for the Rokid Max. Also a small adapter that allows the Rokid Hub to be used on the Steam Deck with a case attached would be lovely, since I have to either remove the Deck case or use extensions and adapters. Ideally, a combo charger + display extension with 65W (or more?) Power Delivery and USB+DisplayPort over USB passthrough mini-dock would be fantastic.
I have no use for the Android TV accessory since this was purchased exclusively for handheld PC gaming, but the software on the Rokid Station looks WAY better than the regrettable Xreal Beam purchase. I think I put fewer than three hours of use on the Beam before it was shoved in a drawer and never touched again.
I had the Viture glasses briefly but returned them. I just could not get them to fit on my face while still showing the whole FOV. Why do display glasses manufacturers always make their lenses only BARELY big enough so an exact sweet spot needs to be found with nose piece adjustment?
I am glad I switched. I think I'll be more comfortable for more hours with these glasses and the optics/screen look so much better to me.
submitted by thoughtfix to rokid_official [link] [comments]
Praise:
- The arms fit! I am not getting massive pressure pain behind my ears. (I had to glue on pads to make it tolerable on the Xreal.)
- The optics are better. I had text clarity issues with my Xreal Air glasses and contacted support with photos showing the distortion. They told me it was a result of eye fatigue. Read that again. I showed them photos. They said it was eye fatigue. Right. The Rokid text is readable in the entire FOV.
- Colors pop better and brightness feels better. The colors are a tiny bit warmer, but that suits my needs anyway. I was able to use this without a sun shield in room lighting conditions where the Xreal would need the shades.
- Prescription adjustment: Yay!
- Volume and brightness control on arms: Yay!
- Did I mention how much better the optics and brightness are? I'll do it again.
Constructive criticism:
- It's pretty quiet. Most of my use is a bit of Steam Deck gaming in bed before sleep, but I would want headphones to try to use this on a plane, transit, or other louder situation.
- It could be more adjustable. I still can't find my sweet spot for nose pad comfort. I can see the whole FOV and it can stay in place if it's tight enough to leave dots on my nose, but slight bending makes it either "too tight" or "off center FOV. It also does not have vertical arm adjustment like the three "click" levels the Xreal has.
- Did I buy too soon? I see a lot of talk of the Lite and Max 2.
I wouldn't mind a wider range of nose pieces and a longer braided cable, but that's stuff that can be handled in aftermarket. We could use a smaller shield - one that allows me to black out behind the display but still see peripherals so I am not surprised when a cat jumps on my lap. I 3D printed one for the Air, but can't find a "barely covering the lenses" shield for the Rokid Max. Also a small adapter that allows the Rokid Hub to be used on the Steam Deck with a case attached would be lovely, since I have to either remove the Deck case or use extensions and adapters. Ideally, a combo charger + display extension with 65W (or more?) Power Delivery and USB+DisplayPort over USB passthrough mini-dock would be fantastic.
I have no use for the Android TV accessory since this was purchased exclusively for handheld PC gaming, but the software on the Rokid Station looks WAY better than the regrettable Xreal Beam purchase. I think I put fewer than three hours of use on the Beam before it was shoved in a drawer and never touched again.
I had the Viture glasses briefly but returned them. I just could not get them to fit on my face while still showing the whole FOV. Why do display glasses manufacturers always make their lenses only BARELY big enough so an exact sweet spot needs to be found with nose piece adjustment?
I am glad I switched. I think I'll be more comfortable for more hours with these glasses and the optics/screen look so much better to me.
2024.05.12 09:01 pianoplayerjas The Sharp Knife of a Short Life
There was a boy. I’d known him since I was 5 but it wasn’t until I was older that I truly noticed him. We were in 6th grade when we started taking an advanced math class together. I could tell he was smart, funny, and a person I’d want to be around for a long time. Middle school and all the drama that ensues during that time quickly invaded my life. My social group shifted and I found myself closer to my friend, Dakota. By the time we were in 7th grade he was tall and strong. Blond hair and a light greenish set of smart eyes. We started working together outside of school. My dad worked for his dad and I often found myself at their house. Dakota had one older brother, a younger brother, and a younger sister. I’m the oldest of four so I could handle the chaos of lots of kids in a home. I had some of my most fun memories in middle school at that home. Not just me and Dakota, but with other friends we worked with, our siblings, and family friends. Nerf gun fights, swimming in the pool, and playing manhunt on the homestead that they lived on. I developed what you could consider a crush on Dakota. And the feeling was mutual. He hinted with the not-so-subtle flirting of a 14 year old boy. Pulling my hair, taking my things, and throwing snacks were often his go-to moves.
One night at a Christmas party, us “kids” were watching a movie while the adults played games and hung out in the other room. At some point, his head ended up on my lap. I remember touching his hair, but ultimately deciding I did NOT want someone to see this and assume the worse. Another time, we were alone in the basement. The basement was the place of all our friend hangouts. The video and board games were down there, along with the nerf guns. One night we were on the couch showing each other memes from our iPod touches. We were laughing and joking, then he handed me his iPod to read the next one. Except this wasn’t a meme: it was his notes app. On the screen it said “I think you are beautiful”. I instantly blushed and tried to hide my face. “Me?.....” I looked at him, also blushing red and he nodded. I told him thank you. It was the first time any boy had told me I was beautiful. In my own eyes, I was not. I had a big tooth gap because my parents couldn’t afford braces, and I wore glasses. I don’t know what he saw, but I appreciated the flattering compliment.
We entered high school where once again, your life shifts. You are faced with new teachers, new course materials, new teammates, and new challenges. We remained close friends through this time, by taking enough classes together and being involved with the same friends. It was nearing the fall homecoming season and I was nervous about getting a date. I saw many older boys asking girls to be their dates and I wondered if I would even have one my freshman year. Leave it up to my best friend Anna to set me up.
I clearly remember it was a Sunday night and I was watching football. My mom tells me she got a text from Dakota’s mom that there was a book she needed to grab from their house. She told me I needed to go with her. Without any context, I was annoyed she was making ME drive her there since I did not want to leave home. They lived about 5 minutes away so I figured the faster we leave the quicker I can get back home. Mom told me I should brush my hair.
“Why?”
“Well because you should look a little presentable.”
“It’s fine right, we’re just grabbing a book really quick, right?”
“Yes but you don’t want to leave the house looking like you do.”
I huffed and opened our sliding glass door going outside to the car.
“You should at least put some shoes on!”
“I’m FINE, Can we just go and get this over with”
I angrily and annoyed drove/ sped down the paved road to their house, all the while questioning my mother why she really needed me to go with her.
“I don’t know, there might be something there for you.”
I had no idea what that meant. We drove to the shop on their property that this supposed book was. I stepped out of the car, barefoot on the gravel and walked into the shop. There I see Dakota, holding a sign. I frantically looked around to figure out what was going on. I see Anna crouched in a corner covering her smiling mouth. I looked at his sign and read the homecoming proposal which used lyrics and titles from Beatles songs, my favorite band.
“Oh, Dakota! Of course yes!”
I gave him an awkward hug and turned around to realize that my mother didn’t need a book at all.
Dakota was sweet. In an innocent way. He had casually asked before if we could date, but being the reserved and shy individual I was, I had always declined. After the dance, we drifted, not for any particular reason. I heard he had started dating a different girl. She was older by two years. Was I hurt? Not particularly. Was I jealous? Maybe a little more so. They went to prom together and she was definitely way prettier than me. It happens, I thought, we aren’t meant to be. A romantic relationship would definitely change our entire chemistry.
Summer came and we were out working together on his family’s farm. We spent hours in the fields, talking, singing, and sweating. Just good friends again. It was normal and felt right. We spent a week together in late July on a church trip. We worked on a homeless shelter with our youth group and had a fun yet powerful time together. My mom, dad, and brother were on this trip as well, along with many of our church friends. After the week was done on Saturday, we drove back to our town. I remember waving goodbye to his family in their Suburban as they left the church parking lot. I didn’t realize how significant that goodbye would be.
A few days went by and we had casual texting conversations about work and school starting in the next few weeks. He texted me Tuesday night that his dad really needed some help the next morning bright and early. I wanted to sleep in. He texted “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get it covered.” A decision I’d soon regret.
Wednesday morning, I go to the church with my mom to do a couple of things with her. I can’t even recall what it was. We were getting into our car when we heard loud sirens throughout our small town. Mom and I looked at each other. Sirens are never a good sign. We get in the car, curious, but praying whoever needs the ambulance is okay. My mom gets a phone call. It’s one of our family friends. She says Dakota and his older brother have been in a bad car accident. That heavy feeling that makes your heart sink to your stomach instantly hit me. “They’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay.” I kept telling myself. The ambulance was going fast, and Dakota is strong. He’s practically invincible. My mother’s friend tells us that we should stop by Dakota’s house to grab the boys clean clothes and bring them to the emergency room. We drive in silence, except for maybe a short prayer that the boys are okay. We get to the house and my mom quickly runs up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom. I stay downstairs. I observe the dining room. Dirty laundry in the baskets. Dirty dishes on the counter. Dakota’s name on a marker board along with a list of chores to do. We speed to the emergency room in the nearby town. On the way we received a text from Dakota’s older brother, John. He said he was doing okay but he wasn’t sure about Dakota. We should be keeping their family in our prayers. The panic was rising in my throat. I had been nervous about things before. This was different. It was like a nauseating churn that started in my stomach. Like my soul was shaking out of my physical body. We got to the hospital, parked and my mom said I should stay in the car. Probably wanting to protect me from any scarring sights within the ER. I wanted to go in. Could I see him? She insisted that I stay in the car. I stayed. Frozen at first. Then rocking back and forth. My palms were shaking and itchy in the center.
“This can’t be happening. Not Dakota. He’s like my best friend. Kids don’t die. He’s too young. Too smart. He has an incredibly successful life ahead of him.”
I was eyeing the automatic door for any sign of someone that I recognized. The ten minutes I waited felt like an hour. Ten minutes of restless uncertainty. Then I see my mom. She had one of the hardest faces that I had ever seen her make. She opened the driver’s side door and I immediately asked “What’s going on. Is he ok?!”
She looks at me dead in the eyes, shaking her head, “He didn’t make it, Jasmine”
A million emotions and questions flood my brain. I started blubbering and sobbing while hitting the dashboard. “No, no, no. Why!? Why him?” My mom breaks down with me, not able to get out a single word. The family friend who delivered the phone call joins us in the car. She says Dakota’s in a better place now. I’m in a state of shock and disbelief. Hot tears will not stop streaming down my cheeks. We were silent on the way back home. I ran upstairs to my room and shut the door. I cried into a pillow for the rest of the afternoon. I skipped dinner. There was a candlelight vigil that evening at a church. I barely had the strength to go, but my mom said it would be good for me. I brought my water bottle. I ate nothing and only drank water to replenish my tears the next two days. Saturday morning, I went to a different church with my family to see Dakota’s family. The church’s youth were making survivor bracelets out of parachute cord. Dakota had made them during his depressive episodes during his 9th grade year, when we somewhat drifted. Dakota and I took Spanish class together our freshman year. One day he asked me what my favorite color was. I told him blue. The next day he gave me a blue bracelet he had made. He said he accidentally made one too small. I was instantly brought back to that moment while standing in the church with dozens of people learning how to braid the cord. When I got home, I tore apart my vanity in search for the bracelet he had made for me. I put it on my right hand. I wore the bracelet everyday for an entire year. I had a Dakota original.
Dakota’s brother, John, who was entering his senior year, invited many of us friends to go out to the place where the accident happened. It was a blind intersection that I had previously been weary of earlier that summer. The corn was high and there were no road signs for a yield or stop. John explained how they had just got in the truck after working the field about a half mile south and were going to take their lunch break. He said they had just started going down the road, picking up speed, when he heard a small voice tell him to put his seatbelt on. John put his seatbelt on, but Dakota didn’t. John said he felt as if there was something around the corner, but ultimately did not slow down near the intersection. A driver, going 50 miles per hour, t-boned them in the intersection. According to John, the truck rolled and Dakota was thrown through the windshield. John found his phone and quickly called 911. He found Dakota and blood was coming from his mouth. He had a large wound on his forehead where he had smashed the dashboard. John pulled him into the field of soybeans, opposite the corn, and tried performing CPR. Dakota was mumbling and sputtering blood before his breathing stopped. The paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene. They said he was internally decapitated.
The wake for Dakota was on Sunday night. I had a tough time finding the strength to go. We waited in line behind dozens of people for close to an hour. When I finally got up to him, my heart sank again. There he was. His skin was pale. His hair was not right. His mother, who was right by, said it was okay to touch him. I reached for his hair to move it how he usually wore it. As I parted it, I saw the large scar covered by gobs of makeup that the hair was covering on his forehead. I put it back.
His funeral was the next day. Monday. At 1:18PM, his birthday date. I felt sick the whole morning. My whole family got in the car and my mom was talking to my younger siblings. I was silent. I was going to one of my best friends’ funerals. The church where the funeral was held was absolutely packed. Parked cars took up the surrounding blocks. The church had multiple floors and rooms with casted video of the celebration of life. I was considered close enough to sit in the sanctuary in the front half of the pews. I sat with my gifted teacher and other friends from the gifted program. What a terrible way to end your summer. Saying hello to people you haven’t seen in a few months at a funeral. I remember the funeral. There were songs and the service was led in large by Dakota’s own mother. To this day I have no idea how she had the strength to do that. I remember a few of the songs that were sung, but I’ll never forget the sound of the casket closing. The last goodbye. The final SLAM. His face would never again have sunlight shown upon it. Never again would a person touch him, hold him, hug him.
My family tried to get out to the burial but the crowd was just too insanely large to get around. I had the final say that we could go home. I’d come back another time.
The next day, I went to the scene of the accident. It was an intersection 5 miles east of my house. Someone had put up a make-shift cross at the intersection. I brought a big University of Kansas patch from one of our gifted trips to place at the cross. He loved basketball, and especially the Jayhawks. On the back of the patch I had written “I love you”. That night, there was a big storm. I sat up straight in bed and started crying as the wind whistled by my windows. The patch.
When I woke up, I found a reason to leave home and went back out to the intersection. I ran up to the cross and found my patch wrapped tightly around the base with some old barbed wire. I burst into tears of relief. I have no idea who saved my patch.
The next two weeks were spent preparing for school and fall practice. I had decided to do tennis that fall instead of volleyball. On the first day of school, I rode the bus into the town with my school. We drove past the intersection and I burst into tears. I cried four more times that day. Each time in the class he should have been in with me. I was distraught. I have no other way to describe how absolutely depressed I was walking the halls. Teachers were not the same. There was an absence in our sophomore class. An absence on our football team. In our audition choir. In our youth group. And in me. I tried my best to get through it. I started journaling a little bit after the accident to help organize my thoughts. To remember all the little details I could about him. To write them down so they didn’t disappear.
My sophomore year was brutal. I was playing tennis in the fall with a small team of girls who helped to create a safe and calm environment for me. I spent all of my hours in the team vehicle listening to two Lifehouse albums on repeat. I’d look out the window and reflect. What was life? What was my purpose? Why did this happen?
I didn’t have an answer. I bottled it up. It seemed that a lot of my class who weren’t very close with Dakota had a lot easier time going back to their normal lives. I was missing a friend. There was a contact in my phone from whom I’d never received another text. I had unfinished business. We had talked all summer about how our math class and Spanish II classes would be so fun this year. The bracelet I wore everyday was getting a stark tan line.
The semester rolled on. One of my other close friends moved to Colorado. And my last best friend, Anna, was in her own self-discovery phase. She wasn’t as close to Dakota and I was more or less a depressed teen at that time. I cried at school. In the bathrooms. In the locker room or a small music practice room. Am I just that sensitive? Why is no one else dealing with this grief like I am? I tried to distract myself with various activities. It worked for the most part. In the spring, I went out for softball. I loved softball. I had been playing it for years. I even had helped “assistant coach” a little girls rec league with Dakota and his family a few summers beforehand. Softball was hard but I needed the challenge. I worked hard at the sport and found myself on the varsity team after multiple players were out for the season due to injury or illness. In the last regular season game, on May 9th on our home field, I broke my leg. I had a high impact with the catcher while trying to steal home. The ump called me safe and we won the game by a run rule as I crumpled to the ground. I remember thinking I could stand up, but the weirdest tingling started down my leg around my knee. My coach carried me off the field like a baby. I pulled my helmet off and one tear slid down my cheek. They put me on a stretcher while the athletic trainer checked my knee.
“Yep, you fractured a bone. We should get you in to the ER for an X-ray”
“Fracture? Like my bone broke?”
“Yes that’s what a fracture is”
I started sobbing. Not from the pain. From the overwhelming feeling of becoming an invalid for an uncertain amount of time. I slid in the back of my mom’s vehicle as we drove down to the county ER. We got there, I was still in uniform. Just hysterical. I had no idea what was going on as I had never had an injury like this before. The ER lady took X-rays of my right leg. The images came back and showed a tibial plateau fracture. I wouldn’t be walking for a while. They helped cut me out of my softball pants and sent me home with lots of pain killers. The next few days I spent vomiting from the strong norco drug. I had a surgery a few days later where they placed hardware in my knee and put me in a straight-leg brace. I was miserable. It was hot and scratchy and I had my finals coming up. I went back to school the next Wednesday or Thursday to collect some class work to do at home. As I lived on the downstairs couch for close to three weeks I found myself asking again “Why did this happen?” I finished the school year by doing my final projects and giving my German foreign exchange student friend a final hug. I remember thinking “This is a nicer way to say goodbye to someone forever”.
I couldn’t walk for most of the summer and I started painful physical therapy. I was frequenting 3 times a week for a long while to build back my strength and relearn to walk. As soon as I was weight-bearing, I started working outside again. Doing what I could with one crutch. Dakota’s dad hired me to help manage the field workers and I could do some wood stacking decently enough. On the 1 year anniversary of Dakota’s death, I went to the gravesite for a small ceremony. It was the first time I had been there. The intersection where he died was my frequent mourning spot, almost daily on my drive to and from school. The gravestone was large and obviously very expensive. It has a beautiful picture of him and the quote “You got this”, that he used often as a self-reassuring phrase. At some point after the 1-year, I stopped wearing the bracelet he made me. Was it time to let go? How long does one mourn?
The rest of my high school journey was tainted with the memories of him and the phantom memories of where I imagined him being. At my graduation, we had an honorary memorial and scholarship dedicated to him and his character. Then I went to college. I was already dating who would become my husband a number of years later.
Years have passed. There is no happy ending. I'm still here. Aging. Growing older while I can still see the face of my 15 year old friend. He isn’t growing. He’s in the ground. Resting. It feels like a lifetime until I can see him again. I’ve had dreams of him. Unprompted visions of him were prevalent for about 2 years after he passed. You would think this story would get easier after the number of times I’ve played in my head over all of these years. But it hasn’t. I’m in the acceptance stage of grief. I’ve lived life, gotten married, laughed again, and see a bright future for myself. Though I do often think, Where would Dakota be now? Would we have become closer friends? Would he be married? He would have made a good father.
Again, I have no answers to these questions that I suppose may eternally sit with me. I do have some answers though. I’ve learned how to not take people for granted. I’ve learned how to recognize depressive symptoms and how to be a listening ear for someone who feels hopeless. I’ve learned how to find purpose in helping people. I’ve learned patience. Sometimes patience is agonizing, which means the reward is definitely worth the wait.
submitted by pianoplayerjas to sadstories [link] [comments]
One night at a Christmas party, us “kids” were watching a movie while the adults played games and hung out in the other room. At some point, his head ended up on my lap. I remember touching his hair, but ultimately deciding I did NOT want someone to see this and assume the worse. Another time, we were alone in the basement. The basement was the place of all our friend hangouts. The video and board games were down there, along with the nerf guns. One night we were on the couch showing each other memes from our iPod touches. We were laughing and joking, then he handed me his iPod to read the next one. Except this wasn’t a meme: it was his notes app. On the screen it said “I think you are beautiful”. I instantly blushed and tried to hide my face. “Me?.....” I looked at him, also blushing red and he nodded. I told him thank you. It was the first time any boy had told me I was beautiful. In my own eyes, I was not. I had a big tooth gap because my parents couldn’t afford braces, and I wore glasses. I don’t know what he saw, but I appreciated the flattering compliment.
We entered high school where once again, your life shifts. You are faced with new teachers, new course materials, new teammates, and new challenges. We remained close friends through this time, by taking enough classes together and being involved with the same friends. It was nearing the fall homecoming season and I was nervous about getting a date. I saw many older boys asking girls to be their dates and I wondered if I would even have one my freshman year. Leave it up to my best friend Anna to set me up.
I clearly remember it was a Sunday night and I was watching football. My mom tells me she got a text from Dakota’s mom that there was a book she needed to grab from their house. She told me I needed to go with her. Without any context, I was annoyed she was making ME drive her there since I did not want to leave home. They lived about 5 minutes away so I figured the faster we leave the quicker I can get back home. Mom told me I should brush my hair.
“Why?”
“Well because you should look a little presentable.”
“It’s fine right, we’re just grabbing a book really quick, right?”
“Yes but you don’t want to leave the house looking like you do.”
I huffed and opened our sliding glass door going outside to the car.
“You should at least put some shoes on!”
“I’m FINE, Can we just go and get this over with”
I angrily and annoyed drove/ sped down the paved road to their house, all the while questioning my mother why she really needed me to go with her.
“I don’t know, there might be something there for you.”
I had no idea what that meant. We drove to the shop on their property that this supposed book was. I stepped out of the car, barefoot on the gravel and walked into the shop. There I see Dakota, holding a sign. I frantically looked around to figure out what was going on. I see Anna crouched in a corner covering her smiling mouth. I looked at his sign and read the homecoming proposal which used lyrics and titles from Beatles songs, my favorite band.
“Oh, Dakota! Of course yes!”
I gave him an awkward hug and turned around to realize that my mother didn’t need a book at all.
Dakota was sweet. In an innocent way. He had casually asked before if we could date, but being the reserved and shy individual I was, I had always declined. After the dance, we drifted, not for any particular reason. I heard he had started dating a different girl. She was older by two years. Was I hurt? Not particularly. Was I jealous? Maybe a little more so. They went to prom together and she was definitely way prettier than me. It happens, I thought, we aren’t meant to be. A romantic relationship would definitely change our entire chemistry.
Summer came and we were out working together on his family’s farm. We spent hours in the fields, talking, singing, and sweating. Just good friends again. It was normal and felt right. We spent a week together in late July on a church trip. We worked on a homeless shelter with our youth group and had a fun yet powerful time together. My mom, dad, and brother were on this trip as well, along with many of our church friends. After the week was done on Saturday, we drove back to our town. I remember waving goodbye to his family in their Suburban as they left the church parking lot. I didn’t realize how significant that goodbye would be.
A few days went by and we had casual texting conversations about work and school starting in the next few weeks. He texted me Tuesday night that his dad really needed some help the next morning bright and early. I wanted to sleep in. He texted “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get it covered.” A decision I’d soon regret.
Wednesday morning, I go to the church with my mom to do a couple of things with her. I can’t even recall what it was. We were getting into our car when we heard loud sirens throughout our small town. Mom and I looked at each other. Sirens are never a good sign. We get in the car, curious, but praying whoever needs the ambulance is okay. My mom gets a phone call. It’s one of our family friends. She says Dakota and his older brother have been in a bad car accident. That heavy feeling that makes your heart sink to your stomach instantly hit me. “They’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay.” I kept telling myself. The ambulance was going fast, and Dakota is strong. He’s practically invincible. My mother’s friend tells us that we should stop by Dakota’s house to grab the boys clean clothes and bring them to the emergency room. We drive in silence, except for maybe a short prayer that the boys are okay. We get to the house and my mom quickly runs up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom. I stay downstairs. I observe the dining room. Dirty laundry in the baskets. Dirty dishes on the counter. Dakota’s name on a marker board along with a list of chores to do. We speed to the emergency room in the nearby town. On the way we received a text from Dakota’s older brother, John. He said he was doing okay but he wasn’t sure about Dakota. We should be keeping their family in our prayers. The panic was rising in my throat. I had been nervous about things before. This was different. It was like a nauseating churn that started in my stomach. Like my soul was shaking out of my physical body. We got to the hospital, parked and my mom said I should stay in the car. Probably wanting to protect me from any scarring sights within the ER. I wanted to go in. Could I see him? She insisted that I stay in the car. I stayed. Frozen at first. Then rocking back and forth. My palms were shaking and itchy in the center.
“This can’t be happening. Not Dakota. He’s like my best friend. Kids don’t die. He’s too young. Too smart. He has an incredibly successful life ahead of him.”
I was eyeing the automatic door for any sign of someone that I recognized. The ten minutes I waited felt like an hour. Ten minutes of restless uncertainty. Then I see my mom. She had one of the hardest faces that I had ever seen her make. She opened the driver’s side door and I immediately asked “What’s going on. Is he ok?!”
She looks at me dead in the eyes, shaking her head, “He didn’t make it, Jasmine”
A million emotions and questions flood my brain. I started blubbering and sobbing while hitting the dashboard. “No, no, no. Why!? Why him?” My mom breaks down with me, not able to get out a single word. The family friend who delivered the phone call joins us in the car. She says Dakota’s in a better place now. I’m in a state of shock and disbelief. Hot tears will not stop streaming down my cheeks. We were silent on the way back home. I ran upstairs to my room and shut the door. I cried into a pillow for the rest of the afternoon. I skipped dinner. There was a candlelight vigil that evening at a church. I barely had the strength to go, but my mom said it would be good for me. I brought my water bottle. I ate nothing and only drank water to replenish my tears the next two days. Saturday morning, I went to a different church with my family to see Dakota’s family. The church’s youth were making survivor bracelets out of parachute cord. Dakota had made them during his depressive episodes during his 9th grade year, when we somewhat drifted. Dakota and I took Spanish class together our freshman year. One day he asked me what my favorite color was. I told him blue. The next day he gave me a blue bracelet he had made. He said he accidentally made one too small. I was instantly brought back to that moment while standing in the church with dozens of people learning how to braid the cord. When I got home, I tore apart my vanity in search for the bracelet he had made for me. I put it on my right hand. I wore the bracelet everyday for an entire year. I had a Dakota original.
Dakota’s brother, John, who was entering his senior year, invited many of us friends to go out to the place where the accident happened. It was a blind intersection that I had previously been weary of earlier that summer. The corn was high and there were no road signs for a yield or stop. John explained how they had just got in the truck after working the field about a half mile south and were going to take their lunch break. He said they had just started going down the road, picking up speed, when he heard a small voice tell him to put his seatbelt on. John put his seatbelt on, but Dakota didn’t. John said he felt as if there was something around the corner, but ultimately did not slow down near the intersection. A driver, going 50 miles per hour, t-boned them in the intersection. According to John, the truck rolled and Dakota was thrown through the windshield. John found his phone and quickly called 911. He found Dakota and blood was coming from his mouth. He had a large wound on his forehead where he had smashed the dashboard. John pulled him into the field of soybeans, opposite the corn, and tried performing CPR. Dakota was mumbling and sputtering blood before his breathing stopped. The paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene. They said he was internally decapitated.
The wake for Dakota was on Sunday night. I had a tough time finding the strength to go. We waited in line behind dozens of people for close to an hour. When I finally got up to him, my heart sank again. There he was. His skin was pale. His hair was not right. His mother, who was right by, said it was okay to touch him. I reached for his hair to move it how he usually wore it. As I parted it, I saw the large scar covered by gobs of makeup that the hair was covering on his forehead. I put it back.
His funeral was the next day. Monday. At 1:18PM, his birthday date. I felt sick the whole morning. My whole family got in the car and my mom was talking to my younger siblings. I was silent. I was going to one of my best friends’ funerals. The church where the funeral was held was absolutely packed. Parked cars took up the surrounding blocks. The church had multiple floors and rooms with casted video of the celebration of life. I was considered close enough to sit in the sanctuary in the front half of the pews. I sat with my gifted teacher and other friends from the gifted program. What a terrible way to end your summer. Saying hello to people you haven’t seen in a few months at a funeral. I remember the funeral. There were songs and the service was led in large by Dakota’s own mother. To this day I have no idea how she had the strength to do that. I remember a few of the songs that were sung, but I’ll never forget the sound of the casket closing. The last goodbye. The final SLAM. His face would never again have sunlight shown upon it. Never again would a person touch him, hold him, hug him.
My family tried to get out to the burial but the crowd was just too insanely large to get around. I had the final say that we could go home. I’d come back another time.
The next day, I went to the scene of the accident. It was an intersection 5 miles east of my house. Someone had put up a make-shift cross at the intersection. I brought a big University of Kansas patch from one of our gifted trips to place at the cross. He loved basketball, and especially the Jayhawks. On the back of the patch I had written “I love you”. That night, there was a big storm. I sat up straight in bed and started crying as the wind whistled by my windows. The patch.
When I woke up, I found a reason to leave home and went back out to the intersection. I ran up to the cross and found my patch wrapped tightly around the base with some old barbed wire. I burst into tears of relief. I have no idea who saved my patch.
The next two weeks were spent preparing for school and fall practice. I had decided to do tennis that fall instead of volleyball. On the first day of school, I rode the bus into the town with my school. We drove past the intersection and I burst into tears. I cried four more times that day. Each time in the class he should have been in with me. I was distraught. I have no other way to describe how absolutely depressed I was walking the halls. Teachers were not the same. There was an absence in our sophomore class. An absence on our football team. In our audition choir. In our youth group. And in me. I tried my best to get through it. I started journaling a little bit after the accident to help organize my thoughts. To remember all the little details I could about him. To write them down so they didn’t disappear.
My sophomore year was brutal. I was playing tennis in the fall with a small team of girls who helped to create a safe and calm environment for me. I spent all of my hours in the team vehicle listening to two Lifehouse albums on repeat. I’d look out the window and reflect. What was life? What was my purpose? Why did this happen?
I didn’t have an answer. I bottled it up. It seemed that a lot of my class who weren’t very close with Dakota had a lot easier time going back to their normal lives. I was missing a friend. There was a contact in my phone from whom I’d never received another text. I had unfinished business. We had talked all summer about how our math class and Spanish II classes would be so fun this year. The bracelet I wore everyday was getting a stark tan line.
The semester rolled on. One of my other close friends moved to Colorado. And my last best friend, Anna, was in her own self-discovery phase. She wasn’t as close to Dakota and I was more or less a depressed teen at that time. I cried at school. In the bathrooms. In the locker room or a small music practice room. Am I just that sensitive? Why is no one else dealing with this grief like I am? I tried to distract myself with various activities. It worked for the most part. In the spring, I went out for softball. I loved softball. I had been playing it for years. I even had helped “assistant coach” a little girls rec league with Dakota and his family a few summers beforehand. Softball was hard but I needed the challenge. I worked hard at the sport and found myself on the varsity team after multiple players were out for the season due to injury or illness. In the last regular season game, on May 9th on our home field, I broke my leg. I had a high impact with the catcher while trying to steal home. The ump called me safe and we won the game by a run rule as I crumpled to the ground. I remember thinking I could stand up, but the weirdest tingling started down my leg around my knee. My coach carried me off the field like a baby. I pulled my helmet off and one tear slid down my cheek. They put me on a stretcher while the athletic trainer checked my knee.
“Yep, you fractured a bone. We should get you in to the ER for an X-ray”
“Fracture? Like my bone broke?”
“Yes that’s what a fracture is”
I started sobbing. Not from the pain. From the overwhelming feeling of becoming an invalid for an uncertain amount of time. I slid in the back of my mom’s vehicle as we drove down to the county ER. We got there, I was still in uniform. Just hysterical. I had no idea what was going on as I had never had an injury like this before. The ER lady took X-rays of my right leg. The images came back and showed a tibial plateau fracture. I wouldn’t be walking for a while. They helped cut me out of my softball pants and sent me home with lots of pain killers. The next few days I spent vomiting from the strong norco drug. I had a surgery a few days later where they placed hardware in my knee and put me in a straight-leg brace. I was miserable. It was hot and scratchy and I had my finals coming up. I went back to school the next Wednesday or Thursday to collect some class work to do at home. As I lived on the downstairs couch for close to three weeks I found myself asking again “Why did this happen?” I finished the school year by doing my final projects and giving my German foreign exchange student friend a final hug. I remember thinking “This is a nicer way to say goodbye to someone forever”.
I couldn’t walk for most of the summer and I started painful physical therapy. I was frequenting 3 times a week for a long while to build back my strength and relearn to walk. As soon as I was weight-bearing, I started working outside again. Doing what I could with one crutch. Dakota’s dad hired me to help manage the field workers and I could do some wood stacking decently enough. On the 1 year anniversary of Dakota’s death, I went to the gravesite for a small ceremony. It was the first time I had been there. The intersection where he died was my frequent mourning spot, almost daily on my drive to and from school. The gravestone was large and obviously very expensive. It has a beautiful picture of him and the quote “You got this”, that he used often as a self-reassuring phrase. At some point after the 1-year, I stopped wearing the bracelet he made me. Was it time to let go? How long does one mourn?
The rest of my high school journey was tainted with the memories of him and the phantom memories of where I imagined him being. At my graduation, we had an honorary memorial and scholarship dedicated to him and his character. Then I went to college. I was already dating who would become my husband a number of years later.
Years have passed. There is no happy ending. I'm still here. Aging. Growing older while I can still see the face of my 15 year old friend. He isn’t growing. He’s in the ground. Resting. It feels like a lifetime until I can see him again. I’ve had dreams of him. Unprompted visions of him were prevalent for about 2 years after he passed. You would think this story would get easier after the number of times I’ve played in my head over all of these years. But it hasn’t. I’m in the acceptance stage of grief. I’ve lived life, gotten married, laughed again, and see a bright future for myself. Though I do often think, Where would Dakota be now? Would we have become closer friends? Would he be married? He would have made a good father.
Again, I have no answers to these questions that I suppose may eternally sit with me. I do have some answers though. I’ve learned how to not take people for granted. I’ve learned how to recognize depressive symptoms and how to be a listening ear for someone who feels hopeless. I’ve learned how to find purpose in helping people. I’ve learned patience. Sometimes patience is agonizing, which means the reward is definitely worth the wait.
2024.05.12 05:51 Betty-Adams [SPS] Humans are Weird - Nonsense - Free Chapter - Short, Absurd, Science Ficiton Story
![[SPS] Humans are Weird - Nonsense - Free Chapter - Short, Absurd, Science Ficiton Story](https://external-preview.redd.it/VB7O1O5w01w-VJeOHedXITmxMzcgmDLPoLq3dJJCeCc.jpg?width=320&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=1d05b2c372a2827638190c80cbb4b142e8d7023d "[SPS] Humans are Weird - Nonsense - Free Chapter - Short, Absurd, Science Ficiton Story") | https://preview.redd.it/q3hepwo03xzc1.png?width=485&format=png&auto=webp&s=d451bc771e3f8acb71e9465cc9f56240f4e320da submitted by Betty-Adams to scifi [link] [comments] Humans are Weird – NonsenseOriginal Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-nonsenseFourth Trill shifted his datapad uneasily in his satchel and sent a quick click back down the corridor he had come. The rest of his flight was in another of the cavernous, human sized rooms of course but enough of them were peaking their sensory horns around the abrupt corner of the door to give him some sense of solidarity. They clicked back the sounding in a show of support and he leapt off his perch with the confidence that gave him ringing around his own horns before he could second guess this again. What was it with humans and this need for ‘privacy’, he wondered as he flitted down the corridor towards the so called ‘lounge’. Why couldn’t they sound the benefit in meeting potential unpleasantness in a nice cluster of wingmates? His musings ended as he swept into the room, over the back of a large couch, and into the enveloping warmth of a human’s thermal aura. Fourth Trill sounded the massive mammal out, the only one in the room, to make sure it actually was the human he was looking for and felt a surge of relief mixed with dread when it was. She twitched at the sounding and glanced up from the book she was reading with a perplexed look on her face. The book was something of a wonder on the base, not quite qualifying as an antique it did have hardened mammal skin as armor protecting it and the rumors of how much to cost their current lead ecologist to ship it with her from station to station filled many a night’s chatter with wonder. It wasn’t as if it were a religious text even, just a nice little story about a young female human finding herself a new wing after her old one has succumbed to some vaguely defined illness. “Eh, Fifteenth Click?” Susan guessed, squinting up at Fourth Trill. He gave a chitter of amusement and landed on a table where it would be easy for her eyes to focus on him. “Not quite,” he corrected her guess. “Fourth Trill.” For a long moment her expression grew intense, and he could feel that she was a pursuit predator down to his very bones. Logically he knew she was simply attempting to memorize his notable features but it was disconcerting. “Fourth Trill,” she finally said. “Did you want to read along?” she asked lifting the book invitingly and patting a shoulder. “Actually,” he said lifting his datapad, “I wanted to ask you a potentially offensive question.” “Ohhh!” Susan’s face lit with delight and she arranged herself in a more upright position. “If you fuzzy little menaces are concerned about how offensive something might be, it’s gonna be good!” Fourth Trill blinked at that, not quite sure how to respond, so he activated his datapad and held it out to her. “Do you remember that conversation we had when we met at the base of Seven Pulse Deep?” He asked. “We had a lot of conversations…” she said slowly but squinted and the image of a room and then nodded as recognition lit her face. “Oh yeah, about the fancy organization thing.” “The opinion you expressed to me at the time was that it was,” he hesitated as he tried to remember the non-standard word. “Bunkum?” Susan offered. “Bunkum,” Fourth Trill agreed. “At the time I accepted your judgment but -” “You shouldn’t have,” Susan said with a cheerful grin. Fourth Trill took a wingbeat follow the new vector. “You didn’t deliberately mislead me as to the value of the organizational system,” he stated, quite sure that Susan would not. “Nah,” she shook her head, sending the braided rope of fur she wore, very handy to perch on it was, bouncing, “I believed that at the time. I was convinced it was bunkum. Nonsense, spiritualism packaged as lifestyle.” “Yes,” Fourth Trill agreed, feeling a wash of relief at the change of opinion her wording implied. If she had adjusted her judgments in the time since that would make this converstation far more comfortable. “That was the impression you gave me at the time. However my recent research into the system shows that it is based on fairly robust mammalian psychology and might even be applicable to Winged environments.” Susan hummed with interest and tilted her head to the side. “No sh-no really?” she said. “Well good for you fuzzy little nuisances!” “Applying the principles might even make it safer for us to cohabit with giant, clumsy mammals,” Fourth Trill replied with a toss of his head and Susan grinned at him. “My questions is however, what changed your opinion on the matter?” Susan leaned back as she mulled over that. “I saw it explained properly,” she finally said. “An expert laid out the psychology behind things like ‘energy flow’ and then I had a better understanding of habitat management so it made sense.” “So it had not been properly explained to you before?” Forth Trill asked. Susan gave her head a vigorous shake. “So how did you come to such a firm and convincing opinion of the system’s usefulness?” Fourth Trill asked. “Oh you know,” Susan said with a vague wave of her hand. “It was kinda, really popular when I was a kid? Just forming my opinions you know. A bunch of those kind of vaguely famous idiots picked it up and I was pretty skeptical of anything they liked. It sounded like bunkum the way they talked about it.” Fourth Trill tried to sound some reason out of that. “So because people you didn’t respect, attempted to adapt a system neither you nor they understood, you rejected the system as invalid based on your judgment of their intelligence?” He asked sure that that couldn’t be right, but Susan nodded with a bright smile as if the had fully explained the phenomenon. “I was just a kid,” she said as she shifted in a way that meant she planned to go back to reading her book soon. “I know better now.” Fourth Trill took off to let her get back to reading, and to let her answer settle between his horns for further understanding, because it really did not make sense. https://preview.redd.it/4mmzhg294xzc1.png?width=859&format=png&auto=webp&s=323f5fb03a76475407fe0242054eb16cb1190ef5 Science Fiction Books By Betty AdamsAmazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)Powell's Books (Paperback)Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review! "Flying Sparks" - a novel set in the "Dying Embers" universe is now avaliable on all sites!Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing becase tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly! |
2024.05.12 03:16 Leading-Status-202 Characters and real life inspirations
Dot Pixis and that WWII Japanese army general... I know the controversy that surrounds all that.
For reference, Dot Pixis is apparently inspired by Akiyama Yoshifuru, an army general who served imperialist Japan.
However, I failed to understand whether Isayama paid homage to him, or if he was just using him as a reference because he looked cool. I'm willing to bet it's the second. I believe that he is some kind of history geek, particularly military history. So he may have used some historical figures as inspirations for a few characters without any moral attachment to what those people stood for. Only or mostly using general aesthetics as reference. Just like he was inspired by MMA fighters when designing the Titans.
(I noticed it isn't visible, but I put links on every name that follows)
For example, as an Italian, it's painly obvious to me that Theo Magath is straight up Benito Mussolini. Both men have got a serious case of scary eyes.
General Calvi. He only appears in a few scenes, and well, he's missing a mustache and his hair color, but the haircut is there. In this case the comparison is quite fitting.
I started wondering whether Dhalis Zachary might be partially inspired by Leon Trotsky.
This is the most I could think of. Do you think there are more examples in the anime? If my suspicion is correct, I believe he might have started masking his inspirations so that he wouldn't receive stupid criticism for it. So, Magath isn't bald like Mussolini, and Calvi doesn't have the mustache.
BTW, I'm not dying on this hill, but Eren Jaeger is painfully similar to a young Stalin: Child Photo, Young Adult, "I will kill you all" kinda smile.
submitted by Leading-Status-202 to ShingekiNoKyojin [link] [comments]
For reference, Dot Pixis is apparently inspired by Akiyama Yoshifuru, an army general who served imperialist Japan.
However, I failed to understand whether Isayama paid homage to him, or if he was just using him as a reference because he looked cool. I'm willing to bet it's the second. I believe that he is some kind of history geek, particularly military history. So he may have used some historical figures as inspirations for a few characters without any moral attachment to what those people stood for. Only or mostly using general aesthetics as reference. Just like he was inspired by MMA fighters when designing the Titans.
(I noticed it isn't visible, but I put links on every name that follows)
For example, as an Italian, it's painly obvious to me that Theo Magath is straight up Benito Mussolini. Both men have got a serious case of scary eyes.
General Calvi. He only appears in a few scenes, and well, he's missing a mustache and his hair color, but the haircut is there. In this case the comparison is quite fitting.
I started wondering whether Dhalis Zachary might be partially inspired by Leon Trotsky.
This is the most I could think of. Do you think there are more examples in the anime? If my suspicion is correct, I believe he might have started masking his inspirations so that he wouldn't receive stupid criticism for it. So, Magath isn't bald like Mussolini, and Calvi doesn't have the mustache.
BTW, I'm not dying on this hill, but Eren Jaeger is painfully similar to a young Stalin: Child Photo, Young Adult, "I will kill you all" kinda smile.
2024.05.12 01:26 Secret-Tomatillo5044 I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web Pt 2
Hey everyone! Just in case you don’t remember or don’t know, let me give you a recap of the last entry. I was on the dark web watching gore vids as I do, saw that the cameraman was being a baby, complained, was forced to off an animal and now have to show the video of me doing that to a violent crazy. There was some stuff in between but that’s the gist. If you want the full context be my guest and click here.
I decided to stop being a pussy and go out into the living room. This guy had made the effort to gain my cousin’s trust enough to invite them over. Okay, maybe that wasn't the most impressive because he was a dumbass, but still. The point was that if they made the effort to do that, they probably wouldn't go serial killer mode on me while he was around. They could have shown up late at night like I expected, but they didn't, they wanted to blend in.
I walked in as they were starting a shitty action movie and sipping lean. Brick turned to me with surprise, drink.
“What you need?” he asked, already slouching.
“Nothing, I just wanted to hang out with you guys!” I tried to sound excited but it was hard to hide my pain.
An awkward silence filled the room as he contemplated if I was serious.
“Oh, alright, I don't know if you’ll like the movie we’re watching but you can join.”
I sat next to him for the first time in months and a few minutes into the movie with his commentary I started to miss when I was cleaning the cat’s corpse.
“Heh, this guy has zero brain cells! How does he not know that the dude with him is a spy?” he chuckled, and me and his friend looked straight at each other from across the couch.
His friend was quiet for the most part along with barely making a dent in their lean. Throwing out a few admittedly funny jokes and focusing on the film. It was a pretty normal night but I knew that wouldn't last long.
“That actress looks like a girl I dated back in New York. This Dominicana, we had a lot of good times, ended over petty shit though.” his friend pointed at the screen, chewing some cinnamon gummies. Shredding five of them in a matter of seconds with their sharp teeth.
“Woah dude, sorry, bet she was bad as…” Brick fell asleep mid-sentence.
I awkwardly eyed him to make sure that he was still alive.
His friend cranked up the volume on the TV and turned to me as the ads played.
“Not sure if you knew this but your brother can’t handle his purple.” they grinned, the screen reflecting in their brown eyes. The effects of lean had hit Brick like his namesake and he completely blacked out.
“Good thing his stubborn ass is set on proving he can.” they chuckled while getting up to close the blinds. They were exactly what I pictured when I heard their voice.
“Now show me the goods, kid, I want a peek before the rest of the crew sees it. I promise your bro won’t be getting up with how potent the shit is.”
I nodded as we went into my room and I pulled out my computer.
“Why didn't you spike his drink with something that would work faster?”I questioned while typing my password.
“If I did that then he’d get suspicious about why he passed out so suddenly. He’s not the brightest but he’s smart enough to know shit like that’s weird. It was best to let the syrup do the work for me.”
“Huh, surprised he has the cognitive skills for that.” I half-joked, putting on the video. The pressure was on, I was pretty sure I did a good job initially but watching it back I saw all the flaws. It was surreal seeing them nod their head and squint at sections like they were a teacher looking over a paper. Sure I reacted similarly but seeing it on another person’s face put it in perspective.
“So?”
They moved their tongue in their mouth and shook their head.
“Gonna be real, that was pretty basic.”
The color on my face flushed out as my semblance of a smile faded.
“I was gonna show it to my boys but I already know that they’ll turn this down.”
They got up, pulling two daggers out of their pockets.
“Wait are you serious man? Not even gonna give me a shot!” I put my hands up, subtly scooting further from them.
“Me giving you the chance to make this was you’re shot! So let’s get this over with, eye first.” they pointed with one of the blades, lunging at me. I rolled away and grabbed my bat from under my bed narrowly evading a stab.
“Oh come on!” I groaned with frustration, in truth, I was scared shitless but I would die before I let that show.
“Sorry, I refuse to waste anyone’s time, and don’t even THINK about running!” they screamed at me while putting one weapon in their mouth and pulling my hair. I swung my nail bat at their knee and they bit down, grabbing even more of my hair.
“You little shit!” they spat, slashing the arm I was holding my bat in. I bit my lip and breathed through my nose, still holding on. I smacked them in the legs twice, hoping the metal broke through their skin. They turned their head and spat one of the daggers out away from their face before falling to the floor. I kicked them in the side of the head and stood on their back. Raising it above them, it was going to hit when they slashed my heel.
I screamed, still bringing down the bat. They moved over and threw me off as I did, preventing it from slamming into their head. It was the most pain I’d felt and I held the urge to puke as I stood, swinging it into their stomach. They coughed and threw their sweaty beanie at my head. I gagged instantly as they ran at me like a bull, head-butting my torso. We fell to the floor as my bat rolled out of my hand. I panicked, trying to retrieve it, but they pulled me away from it with every attempt. Pulling themselves higher up on my body so my eyes met their neck and holding down both my arms. The handle of their blade, back in their mouth. With no other options, I kicked my legs beneath them. Kneeing them in the groin multiple times which they seemed to ignore.
“You asshole!” I growled, hating how small my voice was in comparison to theirs. I shouted but they placed a free hand over my mout and moved my dominant arm. I bit on their hand as they brought my thrashing limb closer to their face. I flailed it while doing everything I could to fight off their grip, but ultimately it didn't do shit. They stabbed right through my palm.
“FUCK!” I yelled, muffled by their skin.
My heart raced as the blood poured out and their face was inches from it, blade still in mouth. They removed the dagger from their mouth and pulled it from my hand with little regard.
“You know, I got some respect for the fight you put up,” they began with a tone that was strangely genuine. They remained on top of me but stopped holding down my now bleeding arm.
“Now, you are either gonna comply and let me kill you nicely, or I knock you out and take you somewhere where I can flay your skin.”
I nodded yes despite not wanting to.
“Good, now hold still-”
I tried to push myself up and they clicked their tongue, shoving me back down.
“I said hold still!” they reprimanded, bringing the knife closer to my face. I lashed more and they sunk part of their blade into my chest. At that point, I was seriously thinking I was going to die. In a final attempt, I strained against the pain and tried to grab my bat which they promptly threw from me. The fear of death overcame me as my heart raced faster than I knew it could. My eyes flickered and I thought back to how stupid I was for getting into this. I was sure I wasn't making it but the whole time I couldn't accept my death. I squirmed and screamed as the blade inched closer and they plunged their nails into the wound on my chest. Dodging each direct swing at my face until they used their bitten hand to clasp my face. Their grip on my jaw tightened, and they forced me to stare at them in their firey brown eyes. At that point, I was sure I was fucked. My movement settled as their blade made its way up to my eye. I was sure they’d stab me through one of my sockets, but they stopped. There was a long pause between us, only the sounds of the loud TV in the room audible.
They slowly looked at me up and down, gradually moving away. I was tempted to try to fight but I knew that was asking for death. They got off me, holding an arm out to help me up. The silence continued, but their irritated mumble made me hesitantly grab it.
“What are you-”
“Let me talk first,” they interrupted before I could ask.
“The video you made was pretty basic and it's clear you don’t have a lot of experience, but goddamn did you try.” they smiled, lifting me up. They walked back out to the living room. I limped behind them, suspicious of their positive attitude.
“Maybe you just caught me on a good day, but I think that someone like you shouldn't be taken this early.” they unzipped the bag they brought, taking out a medical kit.
“You remind me of myself when I was your age, a scrappy kid who’d seen way too much and got caught in shit as a result.” we walked into the bathroom, and they sat me on the closed toilet. Washing their hands before taking out some gauze. The whole situation was bizarre, seconds ago they tried to kill me, and now they were patching me up.
“Regardless, you shouldn't continue down this path. Take this as a warning, you will not be as lucky the next,” they cautioned applying rubbing alcohol. I winced as it dried up my injury.
“So, you're not killing me because I fought hard? I don’t get it, you kill people all the time, and some of them try to fight back.” I pointed out.
“That’s different, those victims are just that, victims, you are something more than that. To be honest, when I showed up didn't intend to kill you or propose a deal, I was hoping that being there at all would scare ya off, 'cause no kid should be watching murder.” They admitted, wrapping my hand.
“Unfortunately, you are even more stubborn, than your bro and I could tell that if I didn't do more you’d keep fucking around until you found out.”
It was believe what I was hearing.
“So this whole thing was your method to shooting me away?”
They nodded, grabbing a patch.
“Yeah, now do I have permission to pull up your shirt to patch the wound on your chest? Or do you think you can do it yourself and want me to turn around?”
I was surprised they were making an effort to accommodate me.
“Uh no it's fine, I don’t have anything there to hide. Even though I probably should.” I felt a bit embarrassed admitting that out loud.
“Hey don’t shit on yourself there is nothing wrong with how you look, besides I think you got more pressing problems than any body dysmorphia. Like, ya know, being a gore fiend.” their tone was light yet stern.
“Anyway, I hope this teaches you to stop getting involved. Something similar happened to me, and trust me the world doesn't need more people like myself.”
I was amazed at how they’d suddenly become so wise.
“Okay, I get the point of your painful PSA, but does that mean that you never intended to show the video?”
They pulled my shirt back down.
“I mean yeah,”
A smile slowly spread across my face and they furrowed their brow.
“Put that shit-eating grin away, I’m not taking you deeper down the rabbit hole.” They snarled, disinfecting my heel.
“Okay, well I guess I’ll just have to make another video and submit it elsewhere.”
They groaned, trashing the bloodied cotton ball.
“Have you learned nothing?” they grit their teeth, cutting more gauze.
“Look, I’ve been deep in for years. I know the danger, and I’m pretty shaken right now. But let’s be honest if you don't let me get involved under your supervision I’ll just go elsewhere”
I shrugged, I sounded dumb but I didn't care.
“Are you fucking kidding me! Kid, I could have killed you! That ass-whooping was me going easy on you!”
I sighed, trying to shift my bitch face to puppy eyes.
“I know the risks and as admittedly terrifying as it was, it was also exciting! Plus, if you help me train I could learn to better defend myself! Don’t you trust yourself over some random?”
Their face was cold but I could see the slightest sparks of warmth behind their eyes.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to a dark web babysitting gig,” they muttered, wrapping my bandages.
“So, yes?!” I squealed with a bit too much excitement.
“Yes but if we’re doing this you gotta play by my rules. First, you work with my schedule. I drive you and control when you show up. If you can’t make it we got someone else who can do the job, but you can’t deal with this stuff without me.”
I found the first rule a little irritating but I knew I’d likely fuck up without them.
“Second, you can’t post any videos or photos of your work.”
I nodded, it was a given, though since they never said anything about writing about it… Well, here you are reading it you nosy freak.
“Lastly, under no circumstance are you to disobey me. We can disagree on things but if you go against me when I’m doing something for your good…”
They leaned in close and pulled my shirt.
“We will have an issue. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it, now back up your breath smells like artificial sugar and red dye 40.” I winced as they pulled away.
“Whatever you look like you shower annually.” They snarled.
“Okay, I agree to your terms.” I held out my fist and we fist-bumped to seal the deal.
“Ight, I'm gonna head out now, check your DMs on our website, it’ll give ya more details.”
I tried to get up but my leg still hurt and I struggled to stand. They clicked their tongue and held out their arms.
“Need help?”
“Yeah, thanks to you dickhead.”
They scoffed and picked me up, placing me in my bed.
“Good luck getting better, you’ll probably need it.”
They tucked the blanket over me and left.
The next day I limped out of bed, to find that as expected, my brother left before I woke up. Though, for once, he cleaned up the trash from the night before. It was a weekend so I just spent my time recovering from my injury. Luckily the aid kit in our bathroom still had all its supplies so I was able to change out my bandages regularly. I reflected a lot on life and started to appreciate that I was still standing, well more like leaning but you get it. Being that close to death, while exhilarating looking back, also instilled a new sense of fear in me.
I had been surrounded by death for so long that I forgot how scary the concept of never coming back was. I’d seen it happen to others on such a regular basis it lost its meaning, but almost experiencing it put things in perspective. Hell, I didn't even go on any gore real or fictional the whole weekend. It was bizarre, it’s probably hard for people to understand what it felt like so I’ll use an analogy everyone should get. Not watching any visible death media for two days was like going without underwear. Technically you don’t need it and sometimes you even forget why it being gone matters, but then you move around in your jeans too much and you miss it. Is that probably not a fair comparison? Yeah, but whatever I think most can agree going commando leaves you uncomfortable, especially when you dwell on it.
When Monday rolled around I didn't want to go to school, but my brother would get a call and throw a fit if I ditched so I went. Wearing fingerless red gloves to hide the stab through my palm. Managing to remember to pack the sweater that Abdul let me borrow right before I left. I sat in my usual spot and left out one of my tees for him to sit on so he wouldn't have to make contact with whatever ungodly germs were there.
“Wait, are you being,” he paused as he took a seat on the spot I’d laid out for him.
“Considerate?” he feigned shock, setting down his backpack.
“Please, I’m just being decent enough to not give you a seat that’ll give you five diseases.”
He shrugged, running his hand through his loose curly hair.
“Still pretty sweet by your standards.”
I rolled my eyes, quickly shoving his sweater back into his arms.
“You can have your ugly not-Christmas sweater back.”
He chuckled, holding it out in front of him for a moment.
“Thanks, and while I don’t think it's ugly, I’ll let you hold onto it.”
He handed it back to me with a smile so warm I thought I’d pass out.
“Why? I can afford stuff.”
“It’s not about that, I just feel like letting you have it, the colors fit with the other stuff you wear. Plus, I know you DIY your clothes a lot and I think you could make it look cooler than I could.”
I looked at it, and then back at him. He was so damn sweet it made me internally panic. How could someone this nice be talking to me? I couldn't help but think back to how I got my ass kicked Friday but was now with the human version of honey.
“Hello?” he waved his hand in front of me, snapping me out of my frozen state.
“I am so lucky to be alive with you.” I blurted out with way less hesitation than I should have.
His expression shifted to one of confusion and concern. My eyes widened as I began to fold and put the sweater away.
“Wow, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just-”
“I’m lucky to be alive with you too.” he cut me off, stopping me dead in my tracks. We sat in silence for a second, both waiting for the other to say something.
“Listen, I know I’m the first person who’s given you a chance in a while. You’ve been an outcast at this school for as long as you’ve been here and even if you kinda do it on purpose it’s not fair to you.” he opened up, once again reading me as easily as a picture book.
“I know you're going through a lot you can’t explain and I’m not going to force that out of you.” he continued, leaning in a bit closer.
“But Utsidihi, I meant it when I said I want you as a friend, and if you haven't heard it today, your life matters. Anyone who gave you a fair chance would be happy you’re here.”
I went stiff, I had not expected to hear those words. Ever.
“Okay, seriously why are you being so damn nice.” I laughed cause I was scared that if I didn't I’d cry like a little bitch.
“You seemed pretty upset last time I saw you, and it didn't take me long today to see that you probably needed to hear that. I just care about you alright? It’s not deep.” He calmly explained, I held back some tears and zipped up my bag.
“Well, you were right.” I smiled, taking in the moment. It’s mushy and pathetic, I know, but I hadn't had someone tell me something like that in years. I know I sound like a fucking loser but hey it's the truth.
“Seriously though, thank you, Abdul. That means a lot to me.”
He nodded, and we moved on to something else after giving ourselves a moment to process. I felt my body relax the further we got into our conversation. Since the start of my physical recovery, I’d been on edge. Being with him calmed me down from my shoulders slumping to my overall state of mind. The rest of the day was pretty normal, apart from my Algebra teacher yelling at me for falling asleep in class. Hell, I didn't even watch any gore when I got home! I mean, the urge was there but suppressing it was easier than I first expected. I even went to bed at 10:30 which I rarely do. I started to wonder if this was what being a “normal” teenager was like. All the basic stuff in my life without the leering images of murder in my head and on my screen. It almost felt nice being average. Almost being the keyword.
The next day wasn't noteworthy, but the night was. I had a nightmare I hadn’t gotten in a while. I was seven years old again, my dad was driving me back from school, and my mom sat next to me in the back seat. They said they were proud of me for how good I’d been. I was back in my seven-year-old mindset so I didn't think that someone being proud of me was strange. I hugged my mom, closing my eyes. She wrapped her arms around me tightly.
“You’ll never leave me, right mama?” I asked her.
“Of course not, you are my baby.” her voice turned distressed, and I felt her shiver. I pulled away, opening my eyes despite knowing what was coming. She was there against the wall, stomach slashed open and braids cut off. I started screaming, running in search of my dad, and I found him in the same state.
“No!” I woke up sobbing, globs of tears running down my face. I felt like shit, shaking under my blanket. I held onto a stuffed toy I had, wishing there was someone there to hold it. The scariest part of the dream was that it wasn't just a dream, it was a memory. My parents did get slashed open in front of me when I was seven, and before it happened, I had to see them cut both their hair. I started running my fingers through the long side of my hair, it was meant to settle me but I just felt even shitter. They were the one death that truly meant something to me, not just because they were my first, but because they’re the only people I’ve truly loved.
My heart started racing, I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted someone to tell me that as horrible as what I saw was, that it wasn't that bad. I mean people die all the time, sometimes they don’t deserve it, but sometimes they don’t. It would be great if there were just situations where it didn't matter. Where it was like a death scene in a movie, it means something but you can make it mean nothing to you. As I wished for that case where you could mindlessly witness death, I remember that it existed. Even brutal murders could mean nothing if you let them. Maybe they were still tragedies to some, but they wouldn't lead to sleepless nights.
“They do exist,” I muttered to myself under my breath, before turning on my laptop. It took me a second to mentally adjust to seeing gore again, for a few minutes it made me feel like a bigger piece of shit, but I soon remembered why it helped me. I know trivializing it is wrong, but if I didn't then how else was I supposed to live? I mean everyone does it, each second you live happily someone is suffering from a fate worse than death, but as a society, we accept that and focus on our lives. Why? Because if we did we’d never find joy in anything! After going through my favorite videos I started to feel better. My spirits lifted and my appreciation for guts and blood renewed, I decided to go back to the site that led me to the craziness of the last week. I noticed a notification in my chat box on the gore site my cousin’s friend found me on.
“Hey sorry it took a minute, we had to move locations. I’m giving you one more chance to back out of this cause I guarantee it’s gonna fuck you up more. I’d much rather you get some goddamn therapy than hang with me or any of the even weirder people here.”
I contemplated how to respond. The message was fresh which meant they’d likely respond soon. I thought about how pleasant it was to live kinda normally, hanging with Abdul and mainly worrying about grades. But then, I thought about how much I’d have to start unpacking if I wanted to go down the path of normalcy, and how it would be impossible without snitching on myself. I guess it's wrong to call myself damaged goods but if that was an accurate description for anyone it was me. Besides, this was an opportunity to live a life that so few did successfully! Being under the wing of someone who knew the ropes of this stuff! It would probably get me killed but it would at least be a more interesting ride than a long slow life of sinking into depression. Risk and excitement? Or regret and monotony? Yeah, I knew what to pick.
“I’m still interested, got a schedule?” I waited in bated breath for a few minutes, worrying I’d missed my shot, but they hit me back.
“Yeah, next Friday, I’m picking you up after you get home. Get some good rest till then, you’ll need it.”
My face lit up, was it scary? Hell yes! Was I excited FUCK YEAH! No matter what happened next, I knew it would make it worth the risk for the thrill alone.
submitted by Secret-Tomatillo5044 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
I decided to stop being a pussy and go out into the living room. This guy had made the effort to gain my cousin’s trust enough to invite them over. Okay, maybe that wasn't the most impressive because he was a dumbass, but still. The point was that if they made the effort to do that, they probably wouldn't go serial killer mode on me while he was around. They could have shown up late at night like I expected, but they didn't, they wanted to blend in.
I walked in as they were starting a shitty action movie and sipping lean. Brick turned to me with surprise, drink.
“What you need?” he asked, already slouching.
“Nothing, I just wanted to hang out with you guys!” I tried to sound excited but it was hard to hide my pain.
An awkward silence filled the room as he contemplated if I was serious.
“Oh, alright, I don't know if you’ll like the movie we’re watching but you can join.”
I sat next to him for the first time in months and a few minutes into the movie with his commentary I started to miss when I was cleaning the cat’s corpse.
“Heh, this guy has zero brain cells! How does he not know that the dude with him is a spy?” he chuckled, and me and his friend looked straight at each other from across the couch.
His friend was quiet for the most part along with barely making a dent in their lean. Throwing out a few admittedly funny jokes and focusing on the film. It was a pretty normal night but I knew that wouldn't last long.
“That actress looks like a girl I dated back in New York. This Dominicana, we had a lot of good times, ended over petty shit though.” his friend pointed at the screen, chewing some cinnamon gummies. Shredding five of them in a matter of seconds with their sharp teeth.
“Woah dude, sorry, bet she was bad as…” Brick fell asleep mid-sentence.
I awkwardly eyed him to make sure that he was still alive.
His friend cranked up the volume on the TV and turned to me as the ads played.
“Not sure if you knew this but your brother can’t handle his purple.” they grinned, the screen reflecting in their brown eyes. The effects of lean had hit Brick like his namesake and he completely blacked out.
“Good thing his stubborn ass is set on proving he can.” they chuckled while getting up to close the blinds. They were exactly what I pictured when I heard their voice.
“Now show me the goods, kid, I want a peek before the rest of the crew sees it. I promise your bro won’t be getting up with how potent the shit is.”
I nodded as we went into my room and I pulled out my computer.
“Why didn't you spike his drink with something that would work faster?”I questioned while typing my password.
“If I did that then he’d get suspicious about why he passed out so suddenly. He’s not the brightest but he’s smart enough to know shit like that’s weird. It was best to let the syrup do the work for me.”
“Huh, surprised he has the cognitive skills for that.” I half-joked, putting on the video. The pressure was on, I was pretty sure I did a good job initially but watching it back I saw all the flaws. It was surreal seeing them nod their head and squint at sections like they were a teacher looking over a paper. Sure I reacted similarly but seeing it on another person’s face put it in perspective.
“So?”
They moved their tongue in their mouth and shook their head.
“Gonna be real, that was pretty basic.”
The color on my face flushed out as my semblance of a smile faded.
“I was gonna show it to my boys but I already know that they’ll turn this down.”
They got up, pulling two daggers out of their pockets.
“Wait are you serious man? Not even gonna give me a shot!” I put my hands up, subtly scooting further from them.
“Me giving you the chance to make this was you’re shot! So let’s get this over with, eye first.” they pointed with one of the blades, lunging at me. I rolled away and grabbed my bat from under my bed narrowly evading a stab.
“Oh come on!” I groaned with frustration, in truth, I was scared shitless but I would die before I let that show.
“Sorry, I refuse to waste anyone’s time, and don’t even THINK about running!” they screamed at me while putting one weapon in their mouth and pulling my hair. I swung my nail bat at their knee and they bit down, grabbing even more of my hair.
“You little shit!” they spat, slashing the arm I was holding my bat in. I bit my lip and breathed through my nose, still holding on. I smacked them in the legs twice, hoping the metal broke through their skin. They turned their head and spat one of the daggers out away from their face before falling to the floor. I kicked them in the side of the head and stood on their back. Raising it above them, it was going to hit when they slashed my heel.
I screamed, still bringing down the bat. They moved over and threw me off as I did, preventing it from slamming into their head. It was the most pain I’d felt and I held the urge to puke as I stood, swinging it into their stomach. They coughed and threw their sweaty beanie at my head. I gagged instantly as they ran at me like a bull, head-butting my torso. We fell to the floor as my bat rolled out of my hand. I panicked, trying to retrieve it, but they pulled me away from it with every attempt. Pulling themselves higher up on my body so my eyes met their neck and holding down both my arms. The handle of their blade, back in their mouth. With no other options, I kicked my legs beneath them. Kneeing them in the groin multiple times which they seemed to ignore.
“You asshole!” I growled, hating how small my voice was in comparison to theirs. I shouted but they placed a free hand over my mout and moved my dominant arm. I bit on their hand as they brought my thrashing limb closer to their face. I flailed it while doing everything I could to fight off their grip, but ultimately it didn't do shit. They stabbed right through my palm.
“FUCK!” I yelled, muffled by their skin.
My heart raced as the blood poured out and their face was inches from it, blade still in mouth. They removed the dagger from their mouth and pulled it from my hand with little regard.
“You know, I got some respect for the fight you put up,” they began with a tone that was strangely genuine. They remained on top of me but stopped holding down my now bleeding arm.
“Now, you are either gonna comply and let me kill you nicely, or I knock you out and take you somewhere where I can flay your skin.”
I nodded yes despite not wanting to.
“Good, now hold still-”
I tried to push myself up and they clicked their tongue, shoving me back down.
“I said hold still!” they reprimanded, bringing the knife closer to my face. I lashed more and they sunk part of their blade into my chest. At that point, I was seriously thinking I was going to die. In a final attempt, I strained against the pain and tried to grab my bat which they promptly threw from me. The fear of death overcame me as my heart raced faster than I knew it could. My eyes flickered and I thought back to how stupid I was for getting into this. I was sure I wasn't making it but the whole time I couldn't accept my death. I squirmed and screamed as the blade inched closer and they plunged their nails into the wound on my chest. Dodging each direct swing at my face until they used their bitten hand to clasp my face. Their grip on my jaw tightened, and they forced me to stare at them in their firey brown eyes. At that point, I was sure I was fucked. My movement settled as their blade made its way up to my eye. I was sure they’d stab me through one of my sockets, but they stopped. There was a long pause between us, only the sounds of the loud TV in the room audible.
They slowly looked at me up and down, gradually moving away. I was tempted to try to fight but I knew that was asking for death. They got off me, holding an arm out to help me up. The silence continued, but their irritated mumble made me hesitantly grab it.
“What are you-”
“Let me talk first,” they interrupted before I could ask.
“The video you made was pretty basic and it's clear you don’t have a lot of experience, but goddamn did you try.” they smiled, lifting me up. They walked back out to the living room. I limped behind them, suspicious of their positive attitude.
“Maybe you just caught me on a good day, but I think that someone like you shouldn't be taken this early.” they unzipped the bag they brought, taking out a medical kit.
“You remind me of myself when I was your age, a scrappy kid who’d seen way too much and got caught in shit as a result.” we walked into the bathroom, and they sat me on the closed toilet. Washing their hands before taking out some gauze. The whole situation was bizarre, seconds ago they tried to kill me, and now they were patching me up.
“Regardless, you shouldn't continue down this path. Take this as a warning, you will not be as lucky the next,” they cautioned applying rubbing alcohol. I winced as it dried up my injury.
“So, you're not killing me because I fought hard? I don’t get it, you kill people all the time, and some of them try to fight back.” I pointed out.
“That’s different, those victims are just that, victims, you are something more than that. To be honest, when I showed up didn't intend to kill you or propose a deal, I was hoping that being there at all would scare ya off, 'cause no kid should be watching murder.” They admitted, wrapping my hand.
“Unfortunately, you are even more stubborn, than your bro and I could tell that if I didn't do more you’d keep fucking around until you found out.”
It was believe what I was hearing.
“So this whole thing was your method to shooting me away?”
They nodded, grabbing a patch.
“Yeah, now do I have permission to pull up your shirt to patch the wound on your chest? Or do you think you can do it yourself and want me to turn around?”
I was surprised they were making an effort to accommodate me.
“Uh no it's fine, I don’t have anything there to hide. Even though I probably should.” I felt a bit embarrassed admitting that out loud.
“Hey don’t shit on yourself there is nothing wrong with how you look, besides I think you got more pressing problems than any body dysmorphia. Like, ya know, being a gore fiend.” their tone was light yet stern.
“Anyway, I hope this teaches you to stop getting involved. Something similar happened to me, and trust me the world doesn't need more people like myself.”
I was amazed at how they’d suddenly become so wise.
“Okay, I get the point of your painful PSA, but does that mean that you never intended to show the video?”
They pulled my shirt back down.
“I mean yeah,”
A smile slowly spread across my face and they furrowed their brow.
“Put that shit-eating grin away, I’m not taking you deeper down the rabbit hole.” They snarled, disinfecting my heel.
“Okay, well I guess I’ll just have to make another video and submit it elsewhere.”
They groaned, trashing the bloodied cotton ball.
“Have you learned nothing?” they grit their teeth, cutting more gauze.
“Look, I’ve been deep in for years. I know the danger, and I’m pretty shaken right now. But let’s be honest if you don't let me get involved under your supervision I’ll just go elsewhere”
I shrugged, I sounded dumb but I didn't care.
“Are you fucking kidding me! Kid, I could have killed you! That ass-whooping was me going easy on you!”
I sighed, trying to shift my bitch face to puppy eyes.
“I know the risks and as admittedly terrifying as it was, it was also exciting! Plus, if you help me train I could learn to better defend myself! Don’t you trust yourself over some random?”
Their face was cold but I could see the slightest sparks of warmth behind their eyes.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to a dark web babysitting gig,” they muttered, wrapping my bandages.
“So, yes?!” I squealed with a bit too much excitement.
“Yes but if we’re doing this you gotta play by my rules. First, you work with my schedule. I drive you and control when you show up. If you can’t make it we got someone else who can do the job, but you can’t deal with this stuff without me.”
I found the first rule a little irritating but I knew I’d likely fuck up without them.
“Second, you can’t post any videos or photos of your work.”
I nodded, it was a given, though since they never said anything about writing about it… Well, here you are reading it you nosy freak.
“Lastly, under no circumstance are you to disobey me. We can disagree on things but if you go against me when I’m doing something for your good…”
They leaned in close and pulled my shirt.
“We will have an issue. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it, now back up your breath smells like artificial sugar and red dye 40.” I winced as they pulled away.
“Whatever you look like you shower annually.” They snarled.
“Okay, I agree to your terms.” I held out my fist and we fist-bumped to seal the deal.
“Ight, I'm gonna head out now, check your DMs on our website, it’ll give ya more details.”
I tried to get up but my leg still hurt and I struggled to stand. They clicked their tongue and held out their arms.
“Need help?”
“Yeah, thanks to you dickhead.”
They scoffed and picked me up, placing me in my bed.
“Good luck getting better, you’ll probably need it.”
They tucked the blanket over me and left.
The next day I limped out of bed, to find that as expected, my brother left before I woke up. Though, for once, he cleaned up the trash from the night before. It was a weekend so I just spent my time recovering from my injury. Luckily the aid kit in our bathroom still had all its supplies so I was able to change out my bandages regularly. I reflected a lot on life and started to appreciate that I was still standing, well more like leaning but you get it. Being that close to death, while exhilarating looking back, also instilled a new sense of fear in me.
I had been surrounded by death for so long that I forgot how scary the concept of never coming back was. I’d seen it happen to others on such a regular basis it lost its meaning, but almost experiencing it put things in perspective. Hell, I didn't even go on any gore real or fictional the whole weekend. It was bizarre, it’s probably hard for people to understand what it felt like so I’ll use an analogy everyone should get. Not watching any visible death media for two days was like going without underwear. Technically you don’t need it and sometimes you even forget why it being gone matters, but then you move around in your jeans too much and you miss it. Is that probably not a fair comparison? Yeah, but whatever I think most can agree going commando leaves you uncomfortable, especially when you dwell on it.
When Monday rolled around I didn't want to go to school, but my brother would get a call and throw a fit if I ditched so I went. Wearing fingerless red gloves to hide the stab through my palm. Managing to remember to pack the sweater that Abdul let me borrow right before I left. I sat in my usual spot and left out one of my tees for him to sit on so he wouldn't have to make contact with whatever ungodly germs were there.
“Wait, are you being,” he paused as he took a seat on the spot I’d laid out for him.
“Considerate?” he feigned shock, setting down his backpack.
“Please, I’m just being decent enough to not give you a seat that’ll give you five diseases.”
He shrugged, running his hand through his loose curly hair.
“Still pretty sweet by your standards.”
I rolled my eyes, quickly shoving his sweater back into his arms.
“You can have your ugly not-Christmas sweater back.”
He chuckled, holding it out in front of him for a moment.
“Thanks, and while I don’t think it's ugly, I’ll let you hold onto it.”
He handed it back to me with a smile so warm I thought I’d pass out.
“Why? I can afford stuff.”
“It’s not about that, I just feel like letting you have it, the colors fit with the other stuff you wear. Plus, I know you DIY your clothes a lot and I think you could make it look cooler than I could.”
I looked at it, and then back at him. He was so damn sweet it made me internally panic. How could someone this nice be talking to me? I couldn't help but think back to how I got my ass kicked Friday but was now with the human version of honey.
“Hello?” he waved his hand in front of me, snapping me out of my frozen state.
“I am so lucky to be alive with you.” I blurted out with way less hesitation than I should have.
His expression shifted to one of confusion and concern. My eyes widened as I began to fold and put the sweater away.
“Wow, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just-”
“I’m lucky to be alive with you too.” he cut me off, stopping me dead in my tracks. We sat in silence for a second, both waiting for the other to say something.
“Listen, I know I’m the first person who’s given you a chance in a while. You’ve been an outcast at this school for as long as you’ve been here and even if you kinda do it on purpose it’s not fair to you.” he opened up, once again reading me as easily as a picture book.
“I know you're going through a lot you can’t explain and I’m not going to force that out of you.” he continued, leaning in a bit closer.
“But Utsidihi, I meant it when I said I want you as a friend, and if you haven't heard it today, your life matters. Anyone who gave you a fair chance would be happy you’re here.”
I went stiff, I had not expected to hear those words. Ever.
“Okay, seriously why are you being so damn nice.” I laughed cause I was scared that if I didn't I’d cry like a little bitch.
“You seemed pretty upset last time I saw you, and it didn't take me long today to see that you probably needed to hear that. I just care about you alright? It’s not deep.” He calmly explained, I held back some tears and zipped up my bag.
“Well, you were right.” I smiled, taking in the moment. It’s mushy and pathetic, I know, but I hadn't had someone tell me something like that in years. I know I sound like a fucking loser but hey it's the truth.
“Seriously though, thank you, Abdul. That means a lot to me.”
He nodded, and we moved on to something else after giving ourselves a moment to process. I felt my body relax the further we got into our conversation. Since the start of my physical recovery, I’d been on edge. Being with him calmed me down from my shoulders slumping to my overall state of mind. The rest of the day was pretty normal, apart from my Algebra teacher yelling at me for falling asleep in class. Hell, I didn't even watch any gore when I got home! I mean, the urge was there but suppressing it was easier than I first expected. I even went to bed at 10:30 which I rarely do. I started to wonder if this was what being a “normal” teenager was like. All the basic stuff in my life without the leering images of murder in my head and on my screen. It almost felt nice being average. Almost being the keyword.
The next day wasn't noteworthy, but the night was. I had a nightmare I hadn’t gotten in a while. I was seven years old again, my dad was driving me back from school, and my mom sat next to me in the back seat. They said they were proud of me for how good I’d been. I was back in my seven-year-old mindset so I didn't think that someone being proud of me was strange. I hugged my mom, closing my eyes. She wrapped her arms around me tightly.
“You’ll never leave me, right mama?” I asked her.
“Of course not, you are my baby.” her voice turned distressed, and I felt her shiver. I pulled away, opening my eyes despite knowing what was coming. She was there against the wall, stomach slashed open and braids cut off. I started screaming, running in search of my dad, and I found him in the same state.
“No!” I woke up sobbing, globs of tears running down my face. I felt like shit, shaking under my blanket. I held onto a stuffed toy I had, wishing there was someone there to hold it. The scariest part of the dream was that it wasn't just a dream, it was a memory. My parents did get slashed open in front of me when I was seven, and before it happened, I had to see them cut both their hair. I started running my fingers through the long side of my hair, it was meant to settle me but I just felt even shitter. They were the one death that truly meant something to me, not just because they were my first, but because they’re the only people I’ve truly loved.
My heart started racing, I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted someone to tell me that as horrible as what I saw was, that it wasn't that bad. I mean people die all the time, sometimes they don’t deserve it, but sometimes they don’t. It would be great if there were just situations where it didn't matter. Where it was like a death scene in a movie, it means something but you can make it mean nothing to you. As I wished for that case where you could mindlessly witness death, I remember that it existed. Even brutal murders could mean nothing if you let them. Maybe they were still tragedies to some, but they wouldn't lead to sleepless nights.
“They do exist,” I muttered to myself under my breath, before turning on my laptop. It took me a second to mentally adjust to seeing gore again, for a few minutes it made me feel like a bigger piece of shit, but I soon remembered why it helped me. I know trivializing it is wrong, but if I didn't then how else was I supposed to live? I mean everyone does it, each second you live happily someone is suffering from a fate worse than death, but as a society, we accept that and focus on our lives. Why? Because if we did we’d never find joy in anything! After going through my favorite videos I started to feel better. My spirits lifted and my appreciation for guts and blood renewed, I decided to go back to the site that led me to the craziness of the last week. I noticed a notification in my chat box on the gore site my cousin’s friend found me on.
“Hey sorry it took a minute, we had to move locations. I’m giving you one more chance to back out of this cause I guarantee it’s gonna fuck you up more. I’d much rather you get some goddamn therapy than hang with me or any of the even weirder people here.”
I contemplated how to respond. The message was fresh which meant they’d likely respond soon. I thought about how pleasant it was to live kinda normally, hanging with Abdul and mainly worrying about grades. But then, I thought about how much I’d have to start unpacking if I wanted to go down the path of normalcy, and how it would be impossible without snitching on myself. I guess it's wrong to call myself damaged goods but if that was an accurate description for anyone it was me. Besides, this was an opportunity to live a life that so few did successfully! Being under the wing of someone who knew the ropes of this stuff! It would probably get me killed but it would at least be a more interesting ride than a long slow life of sinking into depression. Risk and excitement? Or regret and monotony? Yeah, I knew what to pick.
“I’m still interested, got a schedule?” I waited in bated breath for a few minutes, worrying I’d missed my shot, but they hit me back.
“Yeah, next Friday, I’m picking you up after you get home. Get some good rest till then, you’ll need it.”
My face lit up, was it scary? Hell yes! Was I excited FUCK YEAH! No matter what happened next, I knew it would make it worth the risk for the thrill alone.
2024.05.11 22:43 shaneka69 Chrisean Rock Astrology Forecast As Of May 11, 2024
Chrisean Rock Astrology Forecast As Of May 11, 2024
With Mother's Day tomorrow and Chrisean Rock being a new mom, let's just do an updated astrology reading for her by checking her birth chart.As we know, Chrisean was born in Baltimore and is known for her appearance on Baddies with Natalie Nunn and her own show she had with Blueface.
We know that she is a Pisces which is her sun sign/zodiac sign. She has a Cancer Moon which rules your emotions and emotional state.
Uranus is currently sextile Chrisean Rock's sun which means that she will be openly showing unpredictability and will likely be shocking people and even herself.
Uranus is in her 12th house which is the house of the unknown and blind spots as well. This can mean that she will have breakthroughs and insights. Could even result in premonitions and informative dream states.
Pluto is the planet known for exposing and causing change and this planet is currently opposing her North Node which shows that there will be a gradual process in her doing what she is supposed to be doing and going in the right direction. Pluto isn't making any connections with her personal planets yet, so she isn't expected to be going through anything too major right now.
Jupiter sextile her sun is giving her the expanding energy for her sports endeavor. Her Aries Mars will always see her through naturally though.
Let's go forward to the following month, June on this day to see what she may be experiencing.
Jupiter is the ruler of her 7th and 10th house and on June 11, 2024, she will have Jupiter squaring her Venus and Mercury which means that there can be issues with points getting across or communication issues between her and family or her and Blueface. She is likely to be intuitive around this time with Jupiter making a trine to her natal Neptune.
Since Jupiter will be squaring her Mercury and Venus, let's put focus on the fact that Mercury rules her ascendant and 4th house which is why there can be a link with family or her lover if it isn't about her mindset. Virgo being in her 4th house though makes it more tangible. Venus rules her 12th house and 5th house of romance and children. Basically this whole Jupiter aspect transit could be connected to her family. Let's see what happens.
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2024.05.11 22:27 VolkerBach In Praise of Sheep (c. 1340)
 | https://www.culina-vetus.de/2024/05/11/in-praise-of-sheep/ submitted by VolkerBach to CulinaryHistory [link] [comments] Today, it’s another of the König vom Odenwald’s poems: Sheep, 14th century English illumination courtesy of wikimedia commons VI This is a poem of sheep Nobody shall criticise it much I have invented a poem A lady has brought me to do it She has a noble husband I shall not name her unless she allows it Do not ask me Since I made that promise! So I begin straightaway And speak of an animal: I rhyme of the sheep Whether awake or asleep You profit from it and honour it If anyone were turn around my words He would do me an injustice Even lords, knights and servants Keep sheep nowadays Princes and counts also seek To have a share in sheep And it is no great misfortune To own many of them. They bear the wool That you wash and shear From which rich clothing is made You also tan the skins And tease and dye the wool Comb and spin it People gain wealth with it Wind and twist it Before and behind Spool, weave and full it And they also defraud people that way And are not ashamed They put it on the tenter frame Anoint it, card it, and smooth it So they (the pieces of cloth) become one like another Cloth merchants measure it out And the wool is shorn with shears And tailors put together many garments That look differently He whose sheep prosper Will have full chests and casks And also have gold and silver (When) both rams and lambs Prosper in numbers So they can be blessed at Easter. Whether they are big or small, They dress legs and feet In hosen and socks And line tunics. They clothe head and body They adorn man and woman Boys and girls A feast for the eyes As coats and tunics. You know pelts (kursenbelze) They are black and white And many people are eager for Danish lamb fleece (tenisch) Though it is not wise To wear it against the cold. What usefulness we have in sheep! Tabards, long tunics and wide overcoats /taphart, kutten, kotzen) Cowls (schepeler) for monks and nuns, too That are often worn You should also have this (garment) in church Where a priest wears it. Headwear, surcots, jackets (huben, surkat, suphen) Overcoats, felt, and headscarves (suknie, vilze, gufen) Coverlets (tucher ubir bare) This I say truly You hang them over a wagon. This I must say Front and rear horsegear and saddles Are covered in woollen cloth And many pieces from many places So the skin does not rub bare. Whey, curds and sheep cheese And also the milk please people Makers of hard cheese Are good fellows Also, sheep butter, Should not be criticised. Sheep lamb during Lent And you also fertilise fields with sheep (dung) Hear the broad list: They also make gain (literally: fish) with sheep dung Where they stable horses I tell this to all of you! More useful yet, I mean, Are meat, feet, and bones Innards, head, brain, and good galantines, Tongues, tallow, horns and skin All come from sheep in quantity And many a sweet music of stringed instruments (seitenspil) Is made with sheep gut I tell you, rich and poor, Also, the string of the wollensleger, They should move it diligently! You shall also hear You find in the shops (kremen) gloves, belts and bags That can be used to barter. Now I will explain That the skins are turned into Belts, pouches, and shoes Points for hosen, parchment and books, Fodder bags and carrying bags In which you put clothes. Sheep leather is healthy If you have an injury on your finger Where a bad blister is A wool thread needs to go there. If you have a mattress (materaz) You will lie all the better when you travel If it is stuffed with wool. Take care of your cover If the blanket is folded fourfold (geviret) It adorns it best. You also have a rough (one/side?) That you draw over your shoes. Leather sheets (lederlaken) are painted - This is done by someone skilled - With animals and sea creatures You make love upon and underneath them. The hands of gentlewomen Work on (embroidery) frames Cloth to cover walls Throw rugs and wall hangings (zyechen und teppich) And chair covers, I say. They have chosen (to make) belts And especially one to hang a (hunting) horn from. They also make many fine strings of wool Which the braid into their hair The short and the long And attach hats to them. And if they use woollen breeches They wear them underneath Thus they have taken counsel Like their forebears did out of need. From fine sheep Come rich heraldic overcoats (wapencleit) Blankets and Horse covers (? coopertur) Come from excellent sheep. Many people profit from this And look very well Ram’s horns are fitted to helmets Small and large ones The rams also carry crooked horns Those are suited as lamps The kunig speaks much of sheep But he himself has not even one Very well, I will take care to be in the company Of those who have them, here I am. Each archbishop If he comes to court Must have a pallium That must come from sheep The sheep makes many people rich Hear now who it is similar to: When it is killed it makes no sound And be careful not to mock it Our noble God did the same He bore death willingly May His kingdom be open to us So we can all get into it Thus help us His mother. When we compare this poem to the ones the same author addressed to the cow, the chicken, and the goose, it becomes clear how little the sheep was esteemed in culinary terms. He dutifully mentions meat, innards, and the galantines made from it as well as the milk, cheese, and (interestingly) butter, but his heart is not in it. Not even lamb, a seasonal delicacy of spring, gets a second look. People ate sheep, there are surviving recipes, but clearly it was not something you would choose to do if you had other options. By contrast, the wool and leather evoke lengthy and detailed verse. Clearly, this is where the author sees the true purpose of the animal: Sheep will make you rich. That was a fairly new phenomenon in the fourteenth century, when land for grazing became available as population declined from disease and famine while an ever more sophicsticated cloth industry called for more raw material. In this respect, the poem is less a tale of tradition and more investment advice. The focus is clearly on cloth and clothing that can be made of wool. There are many other points of interest here if daily life fascinates you. From the string of the wollensleger (tasked with cleaning and preparing wool for carding) to those of stringed instruments, from horn used in lanterns to wool wrapped around blisters or coloured strings braided into hair, we get a glimpse of medieval life. I am not quite certain how to interpret the “woollen breeches” that are worn by women “underneath … like their forebears did out of need”. It may be a reference to menstrual hygiene – the question how possible devices for collecting menstrual blood was work is a vexing one for lack of evidence. Few writers are willing to discuss this topic at all, but the König vom Odenwald seems like the type who would. If that is what it means, it is certainly hidden in too many layers of euphemism to allow for a confident reconstruction. Finally, the thing I found most endearing and tempting to reconstruct is the lederlaken, painted bedsheets made of sheepskin. Adorned with animals and sea creatures by a competent artist – the author specifically makes this point – they sound both visually attractive and pleasant to use. If I ever get to the point of making a proper tent and camp equipment, this will be an item to consider. Der König vom Odenwald (literally king of the Odenwald, a mountain chain in southern Germany) is an otherwise unknown poet whose work is tentatively dated to the 1340s. His title may refer to a senior rank among musicians or entertainers, a Spielmannskönig, but that is speculative. Many of his poems are humorous and deal with aspects of everyday life which makes them valuable sources to us today. The identity of this poet has been subject to much speculation. He is clearly associated with the episcopal court at Würzburg and likely specifically with Michael de Leone (c. 1300-1355), a lawyer and scholar. Most of his work is known only through the Hausbuch of the same Michael de Leone, a collection of verse and practical prose that also includes the first known instance of the Buoch von guoter Spise, a recipe collection. This and the evident relish with which he describes food have led scholars to consider him a professional cook and the author of the Buoch von Guoter Spise, but that is unlikely. Going by the content of his poetry, the author is clearly familiar with the lives of the lower nobility and even his image of poverty is genteel. This need not mean he belonged to this class, but he clearly moved in these circles to some degree. Michael de Leone, a secular cleric and canon on the Würzburg chapter, was of that class and may have been a patron of the poet. Reinhardt Olt whose edition I am basing my translation on assumes that the author was a fellow canon, Johann II von Erbach. I only translate the poems that deal with aspects of food or related everyday life here. There are several others which are less interesting as sources. They can be found in the newest extant edition by Reinhard Olt, König vom Odenwald; Gedichte, Carl Winter Verlag, Heidelberg 1988. |
2024.05.11 15:25 Hotpot-creations Short story - D&D: The Ghost of Blackwater Lake
 | Image by Hotpot.ai submitted by Hotpot-creations to HotpotAI [link] [comments] The Ghost of Blackwater Lake Story and image by Hotpot AI The sun was setting over the rolling hills, casting a warm orange glow over the land. In the distance, the three adventurers rode on horseback towards the mysterious Blackwater Lake. They had heard rumors of a ghostly apparition haunting the area, and as skilled adventurers, they couldn't resist the call of adventure. The rogue, a tall and lean figure with piercing green eyes, led the way. His name was Roran and he was known for his quick wit and even quicker hands. He had a keen sense for danger and was always ready for a fight. Next to him rode the cleric, a woman named Elara. She was a devout follower of the goddess of light and carried a holy symbol around her neck. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a braid, and her blue eyes sparkled with determination. She was a healer, but also a fierce warrior when the need arose. The final member of the group was the bard, a charming and charismatic man named Finn. He strummed his lute as they rode, singing a tune about brave adventurers and their quest for glory. His golden hair shone in the fading light, and his emerald green eyes were always searching for inspiration for his next song. As they approached the lake, they could feel a chill in the air. The once calm waters were now choppy and dark, as if warning them to turn back. But the adventurers were not easily deterred. They dismounted their horses and made their way towards the lake, weapons at the ready. Roran led the way, his keen eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. Elara followed closely behind, her hand resting on her mace. Finn brought up the rear, his lute now silenced as he focused on the task at hand. As they reached the edge of the lake, they saw a figure standing on the shore. It was a woman, dressed in a flowing black robe, her long black hair cascading down her back. She was translucent, almost ethereal, and her eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. The adventurers approached cautiously, but the ghostly figure did not seem to mean them harm. Instead, she spoke to them in a soft, melodic voice. "Welcome, brave adventurers. I am the ghost of Blackwater Lake. I have been waiting for someone to come and help me." The three exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of this encounter. But they were not ones to turn down a quest, especially one that involved a ghost. The ghost explained that she was once a princess of an ancient underwater city that had been destroyed by a powerful sorcerer. She had been cursed to remain on the shores of the lake, guarding a hidden passage that led to the city. The sorcerer had also hidden a great treasure within the city, and the ghost could not rest until it was found and returned to its rightful owners. The adventurers were intrigued by the ghost's story and agreed to help her. They followed her to the hidden passage, which was cleverly disguised as a rock formation. With the help of Roran's lockpicking skills, they were able to open the passage and descend into the depths of the lake. As they swam deeper and deeper, they could see the ruins of the ancient city coming into view. The ghost led them to a grand hall, where the treasure was said to be hidden. But as they approached, they were ambushed by a group of undead creatures, summoned by the sorcerer to guard the treasure. The adventurers fought bravely, with Roran's swift strikes, Elara's holy magic, and Finn's inspiring songs. They were able to defeat the undead and claim the treasure, a chest filled with gold, jewels, and ancient artifacts. But their adventure was not over yet. The ghost revealed that the sorcerer had also hidden a powerful artifact within the city, one that could grant great power to whoever possessed it. The adventurers knew they couldn't leave it in the wrong hands, so they set out to find it. They searched through the ruins, facing dangerous traps and fierce creatures along the way. But their determination and teamwork prevailed, and they finally found the artifact, a glowing orb that pulsated with magical energy. As they made their way back to the surface, the ghost thanked them for their bravery and sacrifice. She could now rest in peace, knowing that her city and its treasures were in good hands. The adventurers emerged from the lake, their clothes and hair dripping with water, but their spirits soaring with triumph. They mounted their horses and rode off into the sunset, their pockets full of gold and their hearts full of adventure. |
2024.05.11 06:23 MarkWandering My Favorite Creation: Lilth the Fey who lives in my party's Bag of Holding.
I have done this with 2 different groups and it has gone over great both times. They find a bag of holding on a body, and looking in it reveals a handful of things like leaves, different pebbles, flower petals, etc. The first time they try to put something in they hear a tiny "thank you", or take something out or flip the bag inside out they simply can't and they hear a tiny "no thank you". Questioning her does not accomplish much. She is quite giggly. How long has she been in the bag? " I'm not sure, what day is today? Oh, well definitely longer than today." What are you? "I'm a Fey of course!" She will safely guard what is in the Bag, but will often want a small gift in exchange (sea shell, pinecone, etc.). If they ask to see her she will pop in and out of invisibility very rapidly, and look something like a pixie as small as a berry. She won't interfere in fights etc except to maybe shout a warning for an ambush, or throw some random item from in the bag at an enemy. She will say a creepy poem when going to a new area that is plot important. If asked about her past she will have a short creepy monolog about remembering to forget, or forgetting to remember, and who are we really if we don't know who we are etc. She will do things like braid the hair of party members who have fey ancestry while they sleep, or ask for an eyelash, or a lock of hair, or race specific like a tabaxi party member's whisker. She will suddenly have a deep knowledge about something, but not always helpful. In my games she is tied to the main plotline, but would not need to be.
If you use Lilth in your game I would love to hear how it goes.
submitted by MarkWandering to DnD [link] [comments]
If you use Lilth in your game I would love to hear how it goes.
2024.05.11 04:54 shaneka69 Chrisean Rock Numerology Report
Chrisean Rock Numerology Report
This Numerology report will be for Chrisean Rock who was born in Baltimore Maryland and who is a star based on her connection to Blueface and Natalie Nunn's Baddies show on Zeus Network.Chrisean's Numerology Report will be a decoding all from her name, not her birthday. Her birthday is one thing that can't ever change in her lifetime so that energy is fixed and general.
Chrisean's full name is "Chrisean Eugenia Malone". I will first decode her first name separately as it's the most significant energy and then I will do a full name decode as well.
Let's start breaking down her name.
C - This is the third letter of the alphabet which gives it the energy of 3 and 3 energy could be very social or creative. This can also give someone a child like impression or there could be something about them that is very jolly or it reminds you of a child sometimes. This can make them come off approachable at times as well. Names that start with this letter, it makes three and the letter C the most significant energy. This shows how Chrisean and anyone else who has a name that starts with this letter approaches the world and people around them in a very curious manner. These people wake up every day waiting to explore and seeing what they can learn or find out for that day.
H - H is connected to energy that has pressure but this is also connected to ambition as well. This could be why Chrisean has a lot of ambition and the capability of mastering something in her lifetime which also fits well with the number 9 which is connected to her R and I letters.
R - This letter vibrates at the number 9 even though it is the 18th letter and this gives someone the capability of mastering themselves or mastering something physical or amazing. This also gives them strong, ambitious energy as well and we can see that she has a very fit body and into sports, plus she has an Aries Mars.
I - This is the 9th letter of the alphabet which makes someone very adventurous by nature and they have the capability of being quick to take action. This is very spontaneous energy so when people have this letter in their name, they can definitely shock people a lot. This also contributes to someone being a traveler of some sort so people with this letter in their name, especially more than once can indicate someone that is likely going to be taking trips or flying planes. They basically will get out of their hometown even if they return to it, but they will know what another country and city looks like for sure.
S - Being the 19th letter of the alphabet gives this letter the energy of one, but it is the energy of empowerment right from within and this could be someone that wants to do their own thing as well. These people could be impulsive or they know how to take initiative, especially when something has really motivated them or sparked their interests.
E - This is the 5th letter of the alphabet which gives someone the energy of creativity and this can also make someone visually appealing or they could have some type of creative skill. This also contributes to the energy of complexity, but she only has this once so it's not too complex, at least not from this letter. This letter gives her a fighting power or a fighting spirit so she is capable of utilizing her natural strength to overcome difficulty.
A - This is the first letter of the alphabet which contributes to independence and action.
N - This is the 14th letter of the alphabet which vibrates at the energy 5 just like E, but a matured version. This adds onto her capability of overcoming difficulty and also being creative or making something tangible from her creativity.
Looking into her full name, she has a Destiny Number 1, soul urge 5, and personality #5.
5 is the number connected to romance, children, war, and unpredictability which is definitely fitting as she always shocked people with her actions and how combative she is, but she is pretty aware as well.
Based on her #1 Destiny number, She is meant to come into her personal power and experience some ease, but this 1 energy may also contribute to her child-like actions as well. She is wise, although the 1 energy is connected to new spirit type of energy. The fact that she has this matches with her strong Aries Mars influence. The 1 destiny number also is why she takes things personal to a fault.
Her having a 5 soul urge gives her natural fighting powespirit. This also connects to her romantic nature and how she always wanted Blueface to please her or she put their romantic life on blast, but not for attention, just from a natural place.
If you liked this report, you can support me at $astroneek
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2024.05.10 17:51 Pawkkie Hypergeometric AristoStats - Suggestions for Aristocrats Ratios
I've seen a lot of folks asking questions about and discussing appropriate ratios of different card types in aristocrats decks recently, so I wanted to take the opportunity to provide an example of how to use probabilities to determine what might be best for your specific deck.
I'm a very longtime [[Teysa, Orzhov Scion]] player. Here's the decklist I use, and the primer that goes along with it. This post is basically summarizing the hypergeometric discussion from that primer, so feel free to go read it in its entirety there if it's of interest to you.
The bottom line that I'd recommend is identifying the range of turns in which you want your deck to present a lethal threat, determine how many cards you'll get to see by the start and end of that ideal range, and add cards to bring the probability of drawing each piece you need up to where you want it. The key takeaway I've learned from examining my own decklist that I'd like to share is that, in my opinion, quantity of card draw is more important than any other category of card, because seeing more cards improves the odds of seeing every category of card, while being really efficient on deck space. Once you have a sense of the probability benchmarks you'd like to hit, you can iteratively tune the number of expected cards seen by your target turn against the number of hits of whatever card type in your deck until you get to a balance that makes the most sense for your deck.
I think all of these ratios are commander and deck dependent, so I'll walk through using my Teysa list as an example because it's what I'm familiar with, and then add some thoughts about how you might apply the same idea to other commanders in a more general sense.
I'm also abbreviating some of the tables, because I can't post images in this sub and manually copying over Google Sheets tables to Reddit tables is beyond tedious lol.
For context, my Teysa deck tries to win its games with finite drain rather than infinite combos, and attempts to do so between turns 7 and 9. Keep these goals in mind as we look at some stats.
A 64% chance seems fairly arbitrary, right? The answer is mulligans.
After taking the free mulligan with this count we hit an 87% chance of success, and the benchmark we're looking for is a 95% chance to have a draw spell in hand by the mulligan to 6. This is obviously not a guarantee, but if it's the benchmark that cEDH is comfortable using considering their other deck space requirements, it's a benchmark that works for me. Okay great, we can very reliably start the game with a draw spell in hand. Why does that matter?
Seven Sac Outlets
Eight Sac Outlets
Nine Sac Outlets
Ten Sac Outlets
Eleven Sac Outlets
Unsurprisingly it depends a lot on how many we're running in the deck. I've abbreviated these tables to show only three cases for each count; the first case is the breakpoint at which we're more likely to draw 2+ sacrifice outlets than we are to draw 0, the second case is the breakpoint at which we hit an 85% chance to see one, and the third case (if it's within reason) is the breakpoint at which we hit a 90% chance.
Let's start with our expectations low. My deck is running 7 sacrifice outlets, and the first breakpoint is at 16 cards seen, where we have a 72% chance of seeing at least one. How many cards have we seen by our target of turn 7?
Cards Seen
So if we need to see 16 cards to hit the breakpoint, and we're seeing 14 naturally, how do we see 2 extra cards? That's right, we build our deck to have a 95% chance of starting the game with card draw in hand. It's very reasonable to expect our draw engines to each draw two cards a piece on average; all of the sacrifice cantrips do, and while we'll occasionally have variance such that [[Tallyman of Nurgle]] falls in the 0 - 1 range, we'll also occasionally get variance where [[Plumb the Forbidden]] or [[Braids, Nightmare Arisen]] draws us 6.
Awesome, so we can reliably see 16 cards by turn 7. Can we do any better than 72% though? It's more likely than not, but it's not at all close to the 90% benchmark I'm more comfortable with. To hit an 85% chance with 7 outlets we need to go all the way to 23 cards, 9 more than we'd see naturally, which isn't feasible. You can check out some of the other tables for varying values with different card counts.
The first one to get right up to 90% is the 10 sacrifice outlets case, which gives us just shy of an 85% chance to see one by turn 7 (the start of our window), and a 90% chance to see one by turn 9 (the end of our window) assuming we can see just one additional card (Surveil lands are the bomb dot com).
The ideal breakpoint in a vacuum might also be considered 11 sacrifice outlets, which gives a more than 87% chance of seeing one by turn 7 with two extra draws, and finally a 90.38% chance to see one by turn 9, without any additional draws. This means if we get those two extra draws we're building around, we do manage to hit the 90% benchmark we keep referencing.
Okay but I'm running 7 sacrifice outlets what the heck, how does this help. This is why tutors are so good in aristocrats decks. It's extremely important not to overload your tutors with how many cards you're treating them as at once, and in this deck I treat them as exactly both a sacrifice outlet and a drain effect. I'm running 3 tutors, which puts us up to 10 sacrifice outlets.
This still isn't 11, which is largely because I have found seeing an additional card by turn 9 extremely reliable with the Surveil lands being printed, and I don't think the extra 1% chance of seeing a sacrifice outlet without requiring that draw is worth an entire deck slot. I'm then going to extend this benchmark of "10 cards = 85% by turn 7 with planned 2 extra cards seen, 90% by turn 9 with one additional card seen" across the rest of the deck's construction. Totally personal preference though, like I said this is just an example meant to showcase how this kind of probability math can help with deckbuilding.
I really recommend just using Google Sheets, which is free to use and extremely googleable to learn, and lets you look at a whole bunch of information all at once. Note though that the standard HYPGEOMDIST function only returns a probability for an outcome of exactly the count you've specified. So filling a table of say, Cards in Deck vs Cards Seen where you're interested in seeing the probability of at least one card of a given type, you'd want to setup the formula as 1 - HYPGEOMDIST(the case in which you draw 0 copies), which is equivalent to any case that isn't exactly 0 cards.
I cannot fathom hating spreadsheets, but if you do, there's a nice and simple hypergeometric calculator hosted on AetherHub, and a convenient card combination calculator if you're curious about the odds of having multiple specified card types in a particular set of draws at once.
Best of luck in all your aristocratsing! :D
submitted by Pawkkie to EDH [link] [comments]
I'm a very longtime [[Teysa, Orzhov Scion]] player. Here's the decklist I use, and the primer that goes along with it. This post is basically summarizing the hypergeometric discussion from that primer, so feel free to go read it in its entirety there if it's of interest to you.
The bottom line that I'd recommend is identifying the range of turns in which you want your deck to present a lethal threat, determine how many cards you'll get to see by the start and end of that ideal range, and add cards to bring the probability of drawing each piece you need up to where you want it. The key takeaway I've learned from examining my own decklist that I'd like to share is that, in my opinion, quantity of card draw is more important than any other category of card, because seeing more cards improves the odds of seeing every category of card, while being really efficient on deck space. Once you have a sense of the probability benchmarks you'd like to hit, you can iteratively tune the number of expected cards seen by your target turn against the number of hits of whatever card type in your deck until you get to a balance that makes the most sense for your deck.
I think all of these ratios are commander and deck dependent, so I'll walk through using my Teysa list as an example because it's what I'm familiar with, and then add some thoughts about how you might apply the same idea to other commanders in a more general sense.
I'm also abbreviating some of the tables, because I can't post images in this sub and manually copying over Google Sheets tables to Reddit tables is beyond tedious lol.
For context, my Teysa deck tries to win its games with finite drain rather than infinite combos, and attempts to do so between turns 7 and 9. Keep these goals in mind as we look at some stats.
Draw
I'm proposing that we want to base our mulligans around card draw, and so our goal is to reliably start the game with card draw in hand. The reason for this will become clear once we get to the other card categories, so bear with me for now. How much card draw do we need to do that? Based on u/PapaZedruu's outstanding Henzie primer, which inspired me to do this analysis in the first place, we can examine Yuriko's cEDH deck for ideas. [[Yuriko, the Tiger's Shadow]] needs a one-drop on turn 1 to ninjutsu in Yuriko on turn 2, and these decks run 13 one-drops for the purpose. Why 13?| Copies in Deck | Chance of 1+ in Opening Hand |
|---|---|
| 11 | 57.36% |
| 12 | 60.75% |
| 13 | 63.91% |
| 14 | 66.84% |
| 15 | 69.68% |
| Initial Chance of Success | Mul1 | Mul2 | Mul3 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 57.36% | 81.82% | 92.25% | 96.69% |
| 60.75% | 84.59% | 93.95% | 97.63% |
| 63.91% | 86.97% | 95.30% | 98.30% |
| 66.84% | 89.00% | 96.35% | 98.79% |
| 69.58% | 90.75% | 97.19% | 99.14% |
Sacrifice Outlets
When do we need to see a sacrifice outlet? In my deck at least, we want to see a sacrifice outlet by the time we're trying to win the game, which means turns 7 - 9. They're certainly useful before that to help us generate value or dodge exile effects, but we have a lot of incidental sacrifice built into the deck's card draw options in particular, so that's less of a concern. The primary purpose for sacrifice outlets is to be used to win the game alongside drain effects and a sufficient quantity of sacrifice fodder. With that purpose in mind, how many do we need to reliably see one by the time we're trying to win? Again, abbreviating these tables to save me a lot of typing:Seven Sac Outlets
| Cards Seen | Odds to Draw More Than 0 |
|---|---|
| 16 | 72.11% |
| 23 | 85.31% |
| Cards Seen | Odds to Draw More Than 0 |
|---|---|
| 14 | 71.89% |
| 20 | 84.76% |
| Cards Seen | Odds to Draw More Than 0 |
|---|---|
| 13 | 73.43% |
| 18 | 84.93% |
| Cards Seen | Odds to Draw More Than 0 |
|---|---|
| 11 | 71.03 |
| 16 | 84.39 |
| 19 | 89.43 |
| Cards Seen | Odds to Draw More Than 0 |
|---|---|
| 10 | 71.03% |
| 16 | 87.19% |
| 18 | 90.38% |
Let's start with our expectations low. My deck is running 7 sacrifice outlets, and the first breakpoint is at 16 cards seen, where we have a 72% chance of seeing at least one. How many cards have we seen by our target of turn 7?
Cards Seen
| Turn | Cards |
|---|---|
| 0 | 7 |
| 1 | 8 |
| 2 | 9 |
| 3 | 10 |
| 4 | 11 |
| 5 | 12 |
| 6 | 13 |
| 7 | 14 |
| 8 | 15 |
| 9 | 16 |
Awesome, so we can reliably see 16 cards by turn 7. Can we do any better than 72% though? It's more likely than not, but it's not at all close to the 90% benchmark I'm more comfortable with. To hit an 85% chance with 7 outlets we need to go all the way to 23 cards, 9 more than we'd see naturally, which isn't feasible. You can check out some of the other tables for varying values with different card counts.
The first one to get right up to 90% is the 10 sacrifice outlets case, which gives us just shy of an 85% chance to see one by turn 7 (the start of our window), and a 90% chance to see one by turn 9 (the end of our window) assuming we can see just one additional card (Surveil lands are the bomb dot com).
The ideal breakpoint in a vacuum might also be considered 11 sacrifice outlets, which gives a more than 87% chance of seeing one by turn 7 with two extra draws, and finally a 90.38% chance to see one by turn 9, without any additional draws. This means if we get those two extra draws we're building around, we do manage to hit the 90% benchmark we keep referencing.
Okay but I'm running 7 sacrifice outlets what the heck, how does this help. This is why tutors are so good in aristocrats decks. It's extremely important not to overload your tutors with how many cards you're treating them as at once, and in this deck I treat them as exactly both a sacrifice outlet and a drain effect. I'm running 3 tutors, which puts us up to 10 sacrifice outlets.
This still isn't 11, which is largely because I have found seeing an additional card by turn 9 extremely reliable with the Surveil lands being printed, and I don't think the extra 1% chance of seeing a sacrifice outlet without requiring that draw is worth an entire deck slot. I'm then going to extend this benchmark of "10 cards = 85% by turn 7 with planned 2 extra cards seen, 90% by turn 9 with one additional card seen" across the rest of the deck's construction. Totally personal preference though, like I said this is just an example meant to showcase how this kind of probability math can help with deckbuilding.
Drain Effects
This is basically the same math as the sacrifice outlets, so I won't just restate everything. Drawing two of them is much better than drawing two sacrifice outlets, but these cards don't have much use outside of trying to win the game which the sacrifice outlets do, so I'm going to ignore this nuance for the sake of simplifying the math. Following the sacrifice outlets, we should run 7 of these and count our 3 tutors to hit 10 total for the same reasons.Sacrifice Fodder
Fodder is more similar to the card draw category than it is sacrifice outlets and drain effects, because we can put it to such good use in the midgame for value, particularly value in terms of drawing cards. I run 15 fodder cards, which gives us an 85% chance of seeing one by turn 4 without any additional card draw, and a 90% chance of seeing one by turn 6 without any additional card draw. If we instead assume we've seen one extra card by turn 5 as we're working towards seeing two by turn 7, it's reasonable to assume this 90% is frequently accelerated from turn 6 to turn 5, which is a very reasonable time to resolve any of them. I find 15 to be the right number for me because it satisfies the same threshold as card draw in the opening hand, which also maintaining very high chances to be draw outside of the opening hand, as we've already decided we're focusing our mulligans around our draw effects instead. Much like not wanting to overload our tutors, we also don't want to overload our mulligans.Everything Else
All of the other things a deck wants to do can be examined in the same way, and then interpreted by the deck builder to help make decisions about ratios. I'm not going to go into detail on my own deck here because if you're interested you can just read the primer and this post is certainly long enough already. By way of example, I'm using the benchmarks of having a 90% chance of seeing two "removal spells" by turn 6 to be able to try to stop an opponent on the same timeline as us from winning, assuming our decks are of roughly even power; I'm also running 10 finisher effects to meet the same numbers as sacrifice outlets and drain effects without overloading my tutors, and choosing to run more of these than either sacrifice outlet or drain effect because they're generally high impact at any point of the game and have the best role compression, allowing many of them to be used as fodder or recursion etc.Summary
This post is less interested in saying exact numbers everyone should run, and more trying to emphasize that you should consider using hypergeometric probabilities to help you determine how many you want to run in your deck. Are you trying to win between turns 10 and 12? Maybe turns 5 and 7? Those numbers are going to have very different requirements. Do you have a sacrifice outlet or a drain effect in the command zone? Do you have specific combo lines you want to hit? Do you not want to run any tutors? That's also going to hugely skew the numbers.I really recommend just using Google Sheets, which is free to use and extremely googleable to learn, and lets you look at a whole bunch of information all at once. Note though that the standard HYPGEOMDIST function only returns a probability for an outcome of exactly the count you've specified. So filling a table of say, Cards in Deck vs Cards Seen where you're interested in seeing the probability of at least one card of a given type, you'd want to setup the formula as 1 - HYPGEOMDIST(the case in which you draw 0 copies), which is equivalent to any case that isn't exactly 0 cards.
I cannot fathom hating spreadsheets, but if you do, there's a nice and simple hypergeometric calculator hosted on AetherHub, and a convenient card combination calculator if you're curious about the odds of having multiple specified card types in a particular set of draws at once.
Best of luck in all your aristocratsing! :D