Printable fake payroll checks
Players assumed it was a stealth mission and checked out
2024.05.14 05:16 Born_Bathroom_5899 Players assumed it was a stealth mission and checked out
I’ve never posted here before, but I’ve just had a dud of a session and could use some advice.
The party’s mission was to scout out an island that an ally of theirs would be attacking the next day. They would be joining the attack, so the challenge for them was to gain as much information as possible in a relatively short period of time. The quest giver npc emphasized that it was important for them not to let on that an attack was coming, the element of surprise was key.
So the party arrives on the island, and they meet up with a ranger npc who was there to answer any questions about the island and serve as a resource for the party to use if need be. Already by this point I could tell that a few of the players were starting to check out.
So the party gets to the outskirts of the main port town on the island, and sends the npc into the city to scout ahead. By this point only one of the players is actively talking without being prompted, and it’s becoming clear that people aren’t really vibing with what was happening.
After they send the npc to scout a few more locations, I eventually level with them and ask them if they were enjoying the session, and the general response was that none of their characters had good stealth, so they weren’t really into a stealth focused session. One of the players even mentioned that their character would be much better suited to creating a fake identity and getting information that way.
The thing is, I never explicitly told them that this was a stealth mission. The way I like to plan adventures is very situation focused, so I never go into a session with the solution to a problem already worked out. I try to be very open to creative ideas and thinking outside the box. Using disguises could have totally worked, or some other solution not involving a stealth roll. It felt like once they got the impression this was a stealth-based mission they just checked out.
I guess my question is this. Should I have made it more explicit to my players that this situation could be approached in multiple ways? It was definitely implied to them that secrecy was important, but I guess I didn’t think they would necessarily equate secrecy with stealth rolls. Going forward, how can I give them quests without implying a correct approacho? Or am I leaving it too up to interpretation?
submitted by Born_Bathroom_5899 to DMAcademy [link] [comments]
The party’s mission was to scout out an island that an ally of theirs would be attacking the next day. They would be joining the attack, so the challenge for them was to gain as much information as possible in a relatively short period of time. The quest giver npc emphasized that it was important for them not to let on that an attack was coming, the element of surprise was key.
So the party arrives on the island, and they meet up with a ranger npc who was there to answer any questions about the island and serve as a resource for the party to use if need be. Already by this point I could tell that a few of the players were starting to check out.
So the party gets to the outskirts of the main port town on the island, and sends the npc into the city to scout ahead. By this point only one of the players is actively talking without being prompted, and it’s becoming clear that people aren’t really vibing with what was happening.
After they send the npc to scout a few more locations, I eventually level with them and ask them if they were enjoying the session, and the general response was that none of their characters had good stealth, so they weren’t really into a stealth focused session. One of the players even mentioned that their character would be much better suited to creating a fake identity and getting information that way.
The thing is, I never explicitly told them that this was a stealth mission. The way I like to plan adventures is very situation focused, so I never go into a session with the solution to a problem already worked out. I try to be very open to creative ideas and thinking outside the box. Using disguises could have totally worked, or some other solution not involving a stealth roll. It felt like once they got the impression this was a stealth-based mission they just checked out.
I guess my question is this. Should I have made it more explicit to my players that this situation could be approached in multiple ways? It was definitely implied to them that secrecy was important, but I guess I didn’t think they would necessarily equate secrecy with stealth rolls. Going forward, how can I give them quests without implying a correct approacho? Or am I leaving it too up to interpretation?
2024.05.14 05:14 Otherwise-Change8878 Original vs. Bootleg ~ NECA Coraline Articulated Figure
 | The first photo is original, second photo is allegedly fake. submitted by Otherwise-Change8878 to laika [link] [comments] I have some photos here for comparison. As per my observations, the allegedly original figure has: 1. resealable packaging (those were the punched rectangular shapes in the left part of the packaging) 2. the original ones has boots with thicker brown line in the leg part 3. the jeans are much more fitted than the bootleg version 4. the tie that holds the figure is different from the bootleg version. 5. the price is usually the 2x of the knock offs 6. the packaging and figure color of the original is much deeper and saturated I don't know what else, but I'm pretty sure there are knock offs around. Always check your items! ps. photos not mine, only compiled for review purposes |
2024.05.14 05:12 Street-Resist6438 About India and Indians in Halifax.
Hello, halifax. I have been coming to this subreddit for quite a while now and it's been startling to watch the nature of posts regarding immigrants and international students drastically change over the last few years. I remember people seemed to share mostly positive views towards immigrants, which later changed to concern regarding the pressure immigration seemed to be putting on the housing market, and now there's open derision regarding immigrants, particularly, Indians. Anything that people seem to dislike about Indian immigrants or temporary residents, such as those who live in cramped, overcrowded apartments, is ascribed to their culture.
My experience in Halifax as an international student has been nothing but positive so far. There have been several instances where I have been moved by the decency and unassuming kindness of strangers who I've met here. Even though there are things that worry me such as the problems with healthcare and housing, they don't matter as much when I realize just how much I love being part of this community. It has thus been with dismay that I have seen the opinion of people turn against Indians on this forum, and it's also what my Canadian friends have told me about how their friends and family think.
This is why I decided to make this post. Not to point fingers at people for not being nice or making them feel sad for me; I guess, I just want to give my perspective on things and have people decide for themselves. I apologize if the post ends up being too long, I don't know exactly what I'll be writing.
India along with China has nearly a third of the human race living in it. India alone has nearly forty times more people than Canada. However, unlike China with its Han majority, India isn't largely homogeneous, it holds several nations within it. The country is comprised of myriad ethnic, linguistic, and religious communities that usually have little in common with each other. There is no such thing as Indian culture, food, dress, language, or race; these terms are just used by businesses and Indians in Canada to make it easier for them to be identified by others. The things most Indians value are the same as those valued by all people - integrity, honesty, generosity, humility, and fairness. I talk to most Indians I meet in Halifax in English since we don't have a language in common.
I know times are hard for people with the housing crisis, struggling healthcare, inflation and low wages. People in Halifax have experienced rapid changes in a short time, they've suddenly found themselves surrounded by a lot of people who look different, speak a different language, and have different lifestyles. I can understand why a person who grew up in Halifax would think that this is no longer the city they grew up in, with people they no longer recognize, and end up feeling like an outsider in their hometown. This feeling of wanting things to go back to how they used to be does not make people bigots, just humans. Indians of course stick out the most since they form the biggest chunks of immigrants. Colonization by England during the 18th and 19th centuries means that a lot of schools use English as a medium of instruction. Languages spoken in Northern India (also Pakistan/Afghanistan) belong to the Indo-Aryan family which use sentence structures and grammar similar to that of European languages, making it easier for people from these regions to pick up the language even if they didn't speak any to begin with. The annual emigration from India to Canada is about 200000 people, which is nearly 0.01% of the population, the equivalent figure for Canada would be 5000 per year. There is no flood of Indians leaving the country en masse to get into Canada, though I of course understand why it would feel that way from a Canadian's perspective.
A lot of Canadians feel that there is a lot of fraud involved in Indian applications for Canadian study or work permits, but they are also the most scrutinized. My application had 125 pages, I just checked, because I had to provide proof for everything. It's difficult to get away with using fake educational credentials, though people do borrow money to show they have more funds to sustain themselves in Canada than they have. People might wonder how bad actors can get into Canada on study permits, that's because the requirements for getting a diploma are minimal to begin with.
It is also true that most people go to the diploma mills in Ontario not for an education, but to earn as much as they can working for as long as possible. Students who are serious about getting a decent education tend to go to universities. I know people chafe at the fact that international students come here for the implicit purpose of getting a PR or citizenship. Still, temporary residents do not even understand that this is considered 'wrong' since that is how these schools and the Canadian government market themselves in the developing world. If getting a PR wasn't an option, you wouldn't see any students from South America, the Caribbeans, Africa, Iran or South Asia.
I have a similar reason for coming here. I felt out of place in India, as if the country was going in a different direction and I was in another. I wanted to see more of the world and experience a different way of life. While I feel like I belong in Canada, and identify more with the culture here, it's darkly amusing to realize that now it's the country that feels that I don't belong.
A lot of people also seem to allege that the Liberal government is importing these people to build its voter base. South Asian (Indian, Pakistani, Afghan, Nepali, Bangladeshi) societies are ultra-conservative, and most people have views on immigration that are far to the right of the Canadian Conservatives. Canadian citizens from India, China and Lebanon that I've met all support a stronger curbing of immigration numbers and are supporters of Pierre Poilievre. Whether this is a good or a bad thing is something I leave to you to decide. The actual reason for mass immigration seems to be economic and mundane rather than ideologically driven and nefarious. Immigration-driven population growth in 2022 and 2023 helped the Canadian economy stave off a recession by sustaining consumption levels. The Canadian government probably gambled that a housing crisis and inflation were lesser evils for the country compared to a full-blown recession.
There are students and Indian immigrants who are abusing the trust and kindness of the communities they reside in by abusing food banks, cheating in tests or plagiarizing, being unprofessional at work or lacking civic sense in public. But I wonder if Canadians wouldn't have such problems, maybe of a different kind, if as large a group of immigrants arrived from a different country. I have personally not met any Indian student who shared their room with another person let alone several. If I had to guess, it is probably the folks from the Ontario diploma mills who are coming here to work minimum wage jobs in the hopes of a PR (I haven't met any myself). Indians in Canada suffer from inflation and housing the same as anywhere else. It's just that they prefer choosing to stay together in cramped apartments rather than become homeless in a foreign land.
There are also things Indians do for white Canadians that they wouldn't do for other Indians. For example, they are more likely to tip if the server or cab driver is white than if they're Indian. Indians also tend to be more courteous to white Canadians than to other Indians. It arises from the fear of being judged or having their culture/country be judged. I have not cooked any Indian food ever since I came to Halifax after reading that the odour tends to stick to your clothes because of how enclosed Canadian houses are.
It's perfectly reasonable as citizens to demand curbs on immigration, for immigration from each country to be capped, and for requirements for international students to be increased. Canada should be governed by the will of its people. However, to despise people just because it's been realized that they weren't really needed after all seems a bit excessive, and uncharacteristic of the people of Halifax who I've come to love. Indians want the same things that Canadians do, to see smiles on the faces of people they love. Even if Indians aren't all good, they aren't one big collective, indistinguishable from each other, and bereft of any goodness. I know people are hurting right now, and the last thing they need is a sermon from a know-it-all, but I do think it's easier to think of each other as equal human beings, flawed in different ways, instead of spending our time resenting each other.
submitted by Street-Resist6438 to halifax [link] [comments]
My experience in Halifax as an international student has been nothing but positive so far. There have been several instances where I have been moved by the decency and unassuming kindness of strangers who I've met here. Even though there are things that worry me such as the problems with healthcare and housing, they don't matter as much when I realize just how much I love being part of this community. It has thus been with dismay that I have seen the opinion of people turn against Indians on this forum, and it's also what my Canadian friends have told me about how their friends and family think.
This is why I decided to make this post. Not to point fingers at people for not being nice or making them feel sad for me; I guess, I just want to give my perspective on things and have people decide for themselves. I apologize if the post ends up being too long, I don't know exactly what I'll be writing.
India along with China has nearly a third of the human race living in it. India alone has nearly forty times more people than Canada. However, unlike China with its Han majority, India isn't largely homogeneous, it holds several nations within it. The country is comprised of myriad ethnic, linguistic, and religious communities that usually have little in common with each other. There is no such thing as Indian culture, food, dress, language, or race; these terms are just used by businesses and Indians in Canada to make it easier for them to be identified by others. The things most Indians value are the same as those valued by all people - integrity, honesty, generosity, humility, and fairness. I talk to most Indians I meet in Halifax in English since we don't have a language in common.
I know times are hard for people with the housing crisis, struggling healthcare, inflation and low wages. People in Halifax have experienced rapid changes in a short time, they've suddenly found themselves surrounded by a lot of people who look different, speak a different language, and have different lifestyles. I can understand why a person who grew up in Halifax would think that this is no longer the city they grew up in, with people they no longer recognize, and end up feeling like an outsider in their hometown. This feeling of wanting things to go back to how they used to be does not make people bigots, just humans. Indians of course stick out the most since they form the biggest chunks of immigrants. Colonization by England during the 18th and 19th centuries means that a lot of schools use English as a medium of instruction. Languages spoken in Northern India (also Pakistan/Afghanistan) belong to the Indo-Aryan family which use sentence structures and grammar similar to that of European languages, making it easier for people from these regions to pick up the language even if they didn't speak any to begin with. The annual emigration from India to Canada is about 200000 people, which is nearly 0.01% of the population, the equivalent figure for Canada would be 5000 per year. There is no flood of Indians leaving the country en masse to get into Canada, though I of course understand why it would feel that way from a Canadian's perspective.
A lot of Canadians feel that there is a lot of fraud involved in Indian applications for Canadian study or work permits, but they are also the most scrutinized. My application had 125 pages, I just checked, because I had to provide proof for everything. It's difficult to get away with using fake educational credentials, though people do borrow money to show they have more funds to sustain themselves in Canada than they have. People might wonder how bad actors can get into Canada on study permits, that's because the requirements for getting a diploma are minimal to begin with.
It is also true that most people go to the diploma mills in Ontario not for an education, but to earn as much as they can working for as long as possible. Students who are serious about getting a decent education tend to go to universities. I know people chafe at the fact that international students come here for the implicit purpose of getting a PR or citizenship. Still, temporary residents do not even understand that this is considered 'wrong' since that is how these schools and the Canadian government market themselves in the developing world. If getting a PR wasn't an option, you wouldn't see any students from South America, the Caribbeans, Africa, Iran or South Asia.
I have a similar reason for coming here. I felt out of place in India, as if the country was going in a different direction and I was in another. I wanted to see more of the world and experience a different way of life. While I feel like I belong in Canada, and identify more with the culture here, it's darkly amusing to realize that now it's the country that feels that I don't belong.
A lot of people also seem to allege that the Liberal government is importing these people to build its voter base. South Asian (Indian, Pakistani, Afghan, Nepali, Bangladeshi) societies are ultra-conservative, and most people have views on immigration that are far to the right of the Canadian Conservatives. Canadian citizens from India, China and Lebanon that I've met all support a stronger curbing of immigration numbers and are supporters of Pierre Poilievre. Whether this is a good or a bad thing is something I leave to you to decide. The actual reason for mass immigration seems to be economic and mundane rather than ideologically driven and nefarious. Immigration-driven population growth in 2022 and 2023 helped the Canadian economy stave off a recession by sustaining consumption levels. The Canadian government probably gambled that a housing crisis and inflation were lesser evils for the country compared to a full-blown recession.
There are students and Indian immigrants who are abusing the trust and kindness of the communities they reside in by abusing food banks, cheating in tests or plagiarizing, being unprofessional at work or lacking civic sense in public. But I wonder if Canadians wouldn't have such problems, maybe of a different kind, if as large a group of immigrants arrived from a different country. I have personally not met any Indian student who shared their room with another person let alone several. If I had to guess, it is probably the folks from the Ontario diploma mills who are coming here to work minimum wage jobs in the hopes of a PR (I haven't met any myself). Indians in Canada suffer from inflation and housing the same as anywhere else. It's just that they prefer choosing to stay together in cramped apartments rather than become homeless in a foreign land.
There are also things Indians do for white Canadians that they wouldn't do for other Indians. For example, they are more likely to tip if the server or cab driver is white than if they're Indian. Indians also tend to be more courteous to white Canadians than to other Indians. It arises from the fear of being judged or having their culture/country be judged. I have not cooked any Indian food ever since I came to Halifax after reading that the odour tends to stick to your clothes because of how enclosed Canadian houses are.
It's perfectly reasonable as citizens to demand curbs on immigration, for immigration from each country to be capped, and for requirements for international students to be increased. Canada should be governed by the will of its people. However, to despise people just because it's been realized that they weren't really needed after all seems a bit excessive, and uncharacteristic of the people of Halifax who I've come to love. Indians want the same things that Canadians do, to see smiles on the faces of people they love. Even if Indians aren't all good, they aren't one big collective, indistinguishable from each other, and bereft of any goodness. I know people are hurting right now, and the last thing they need is a sermon from a know-it-all, but I do think it's easier to think of each other as equal human beings, flawed in different ways, instead of spending our time resenting each other.
2024.05.14 05:06 HRVitoDempsey [HIRING] Compliance Officer! Audit Specialist! Marketing Specialist! San Juan!
Good day! I am Vito Vergara, a Talent Acquisition Specialist from Dempsey Resource Management Inc. And as the same, I am commissioned by our client company to source and endorse candidates for different posts. Positions being offered are for direct and permanent hire by the company client itself, not under agency and absolutely NO fee from your end is required. In other words, I merely act as a conduit for you and our company client. To know more about us, please visit our website at http://dempseyinc.weebly.com/\
I. COMPLIANCE OFFICER
JOB DETAILS:
II. AUDIT SPECIALIST
JOB DETAILS:
III. MARKETING SPECIALIST (TECH/GADGET)
JOB DETAILS:
FOR MORE INQUIRIES AND/OR IF INTERESTED, MESSAGE ME IN VIBER (09771704223) OR SEND ME AN EMAIL WITH “REDDIT APPLICATION – (POSITION APPLYING FOR)” AS SUBJECT: dempseyinc97@gmail.com
submitted by HRVitoDempsey to PHJobs [link] [comments]
I. COMPLIANCE OFFICER
JOB DETAILS:
- Bachelor’s degree holder
- High attention to detail
- Legal Compliance
- Payroll & benefits
- Policy Development
- Training & development
- Performance management
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
II. AUDIT SPECIALIST
JOB DETAILS:
- Accurately manage item pricing and participate in platform campaigns with meticulous eye to detail.
- Manitain precision in daily price adjustment (flash sale) and assist in data extraction for accounting purposes.
- Conduct thorough inventory checks, ensures accuracy, and audit product page posts consistently.
- Assist with accounting and compliance.
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
III. MARKETING SPECIALIST (TECH/GADGET)
JOB DETAILS:
- Independently manage a TikTok page, staying updated on trends and optimizing captions and videos for engagement.
- Produce product review video based on audience feedback and share them across various platforms.
- Utilize targeted ads and keywords, explore live streaming options and post products on e-commerce platforms, while also recruiting affiliates for promotion.
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
FOR MORE INQUIRIES AND/OR IF INTERESTED, MESSAGE ME IN VIBER (09771704223) OR SEND ME AN EMAIL WITH “REDDIT APPLICATION – (POSITION APPLYING FOR)” AS SUBJECT: dempseyinc97@gmail.com
2024.05.14 05:06 HRVitoDempsey [HIRING] Compliance Officer! Audit Specialist! Marketing Specialist! San Juan!
Good day! I am Vito Vergara, a Talent Acquisition Specialist from Dempsey Resource Management Inc. And as the same, I am commissioned by our client company to source and endorse candidates for different posts. Positions being offered are for direct and permanent hire by the company client itself, not under agency and absolutely NO fee from your end is required. In other words, I merely act as a conduit for you and our company client. To know more about us, please visit our website at http://dempseyinc.weebly.com/\
I. COMPLIANCE OFFICER
JOB DETAILS:
II. AUDIT SPECIALIST
JOB DETAILS:
III. MARKETING SPECIALIST (TECH/GADGET)
JOB DETAILS:
FOR MORE INQUIRIES AND/OR IF INTERESTED, MESSAGE ME IN VIBER (09771704223) OR SEND ME AN EMAIL WITH “REDDIT APPLICATION – (POSITION APPLYING FOR)” AS SUBJECT: dempseyinc97@gmail.com
submitted by HRVitoDempsey to phclassifieds [link] [comments]
I. COMPLIANCE OFFICER
JOB DETAILS:
- Bachelor’s degree holder
- High attention to detail
- Legal Compliance
- Payroll & benefits
- Policy Development
- Training & development
- Performance management
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
II. AUDIT SPECIALIST
JOB DETAILS:
- Accurately manage item pricing and participate in platform campaigns with meticulous eye to detail.
- Manitain precision in daily price adjustment (flash sale) and assist in data extraction for accounting purposes.
- Conduct thorough inventory checks, ensures accuracy, and audit product page posts consistently.
- Assist with accounting and compliance.
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
III. MARKETING SPECIALIST (TECH/GADGET)
JOB DETAILS:
- Independently manage a TikTok page, staying updated on trends and optimizing captions and videos for engagement.
- Produce product review video based on audience feedback and share them across various platforms.
- Utilize targeted ads and keywords, explore live streaming options and post products on e-commerce platforms, while also recruiting affiliates for promotion.
- P21,000-P25,000
- Anapolis, Greenhills
FOR MORE INQUIRIES AND/OR IF INTERESTED, MESSAGE ME IN VIBER (09771704223) OR SEND ME AN EMAIL WITH “REDDIT APPLICATION – (POSITION APPLYING FOR)” AS SUBJECT: dempseyinc97@gmail.com
2024.05.14 05:00 Monthemod AVOID GETTING SCAMMED
- Avoid paying through Cash App, Venmo, Western Union, or Bitcoin/Crypto unless you ABSOLUTELY trust your hired writer!
- Send payments through PayPal and select payments to be sent for "Goods And Services"
Some have mentioned that Venmo is backed by PayPal. While this may be true, their platform doesn't allow senders to protect their payments.
- Pay as you go!
- Check all links sent to your email to ensure they're coming from the correct website!
Many scammers may send you a payment invoice to your email. Usually the email is formatted in a way to look like a legit prompt from PayPal, Stripe, etc. This is done so that you click the fake email and enter personal or credit/debit card info that they can steal. Check the email to ensure it's coming from the correct site! - Do NOT reveal any personal information!
2024.05.14 04:42 missprettyfinds Fake Reviews
Am I the only one having a hard time finding legit stores on DHgate because everyone is using fake reviews? This has become so annoying having to play detective and quality check the reviews before I hit the buy option
submitted by missprettyfinds to DHGateRepLadies [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 04:33 Ktwann92 Is Anyone Able to Tell if this is Fake or Real from this Photo? *See Text*
 | My wife was recently in Poland at a Flea Market and found this S.T. DuPont. It was Listed for 250 zloty (66 USD) but unfortunately due to no service, she wasn’t able to get with me in time so I missed out on it. submitted by Ktwann92 to STDupont [link] [comments] I’m absolutely kicking myself and lowkey hoping it’s fake so I won’t feel like I missed out on a hell of a deal. Unfortunately this is the only photo she got, as she didn’t know to check the bottom. Anybody want to Speculate? |
2024.05.14 03:49 rancidseahag am I the abused or the abuser?
I'll try to keep this brief but I have a lot to say and I tend to ramble. I (20F but 19 at the time) have been broken up with my ex (20F) for almost a year now. When we first ended things I felt SO MUCH RELIEF I was in almost a euphoric state for the first week or two. I knew she was extremely toxic but didn't care to question it because I was just so happy to never have to see or speak to her again but quickly that wore off and I realized just how terribly she treated me. In the past month or two it's starting to get to me again after a few conversations with close friends where I told the stories of things she did to me, hoping to have a laugh at the absurdity but underneath realizing just how much she put me through. I still can't accept that it was truly mental or emotional or verbal etc. abuse. I guess I just want somebody to tell me if I'm victimizing myself, or if my mental illness is making me delusional if I was the real abuser the whole time, or if we were both toxic (all her words). I just wanna list off some of the things she did, partially for myself to lay it all out and partially to ask everyone here if I'm the problem or if she was just toxic w/o being "abusive". I'm avoiding specific details because I don't want anyone I know to stumble upon this and know it's me so apologies if theres little context but here it is:
tldr: my ex gf fits a ton of the criteria for an abuser but i still question whether i am making it up and/or if im the actual abuser just manipulating the situation for my own gain. if i'm not the abuser then how do i accept it and not be affected by it anymore?
submitted by rancidseahag to abusiverelationships [link] [comments]
- biggest one on the top: when we first got together I had just gotten out of a relationship and was struggling metally. I had been in therapy for a while before we met and started mood stablizers soon after we were together. she constantly would use this against me to tell me i'm crazy, that my mental illness was ruining our relationship, that i was "a disease", that I was just like her crazy ex etc.
- another huge one! she insisted on extravagant expensive gifts then later expected unquestioned obedience because of it. when i caught on to this and began denying gifts it would cause arguments
- i identified as bisexual at the time which she constantly used against me. if we were ever in the presence of men, even if i didnt interact with them, she would get mad and either give me the silent treatment or start an argument about it. when i expressed multiple times that I may not be attracted to men she would get angry because it proved to her how "easily impressionable" i am
- constant lies. about things my friends or even my mom had said allegedly about me (they never did), about things that she had or hadn't done, she would even tell lies to my friends and mother about things that I had allegedly said about them (i never did) even right in front of me but she was so convincing to everyone around us that I seemed like the liar no matter how much i denied or explained
- insults! mainly about me but also my friends and family
- always wanting a reaction so that she could then point to me as an abuser. e.g: screaming at me and throwing things until i removed myself into a seperate room where she followed me and recorded me without my knowlege as she taunted me until I yelled at her to leave me alone, then played back the recording to show me how poorly i talk her
- she told me so many times that my majors were not as difficult or as important and I "couldn't possibly understand" how much more effort and intellect it took for what she studied (we're both in college and I'm literally a double major!! if that matters)
- told me she was embarrassed of me because my interests and hobbies weren't "resume-worthy"
- belittled my morals and values, the things i thought were important whether they were big things or small, and my plans for the future
- controlling to an INTENSE degree. e.g: getting upset with me because i wouldn't let HER floss MY teeth or threatening to break up with me because I wouldn't hide my stuffed animals in the closet when she came over
- laughed and called me things like pathetic unstable when i would try to tell her certain things she said and did were hurting me. was just all around very cruel and mericless with her words to the point where I seriously think she was nearly incapable of empathy
- she told me things about myself as if they were fact. this one is hard to explain but for instance: "you just let your s/o's walk all over you" or "youre just not a hard worker". it was said so causally and matter of factly that it wasn't even an insult just an absolute truth she had observed
- things she admitted to before we broke up: when i opened up to her about my ex and things i went through as a child she later admitted that she was happy that i was "weak" and would tolerate poor treatment. she admitted that she would poke and taunt and yell her own mother until she got the reaction she wanted so that she point out "how crazy she was acting". she admitted to reading my journal the first time she came over to see the excerpts of my ex and, again, figure out just how badly she could treat me.
- I do want to say that she never actually hit me or physically assualted me but she would often imitate in the moment that she was about to (partially because she wanted to hit me, and partially because she knew it would trigger me because I was abused as a child, again she admitted this part)
- in arguments: deflected, shifted blame, gaslit, yelled, threw things, hit nearby objects, etc. these arguments would go in circles for hours with the topics ending up miles away from what the intital point was. things typically went from "that didnt happen" to "it did happen but i didnt mean it" to "i meant it but you deserved it". even when I gave in that wasn't enough, she would just leave and ignore me for a day or two
- she often wouln't take accountability and instead would try to psychoanalyze why what she did upset me, blaming it on my childhood or my ex but never on her actions
- profuse apologies afterwards. she always promised to stop and to go to therapy but that never happened. somehow she was able to do this without ever actually acknowleging that what she did was wrong
- i won't go into detail but when it came to bedroom activites there were a few rare times when consent was ... unclear. especially near the end when she was often insistent that I would drink more (she was sober)
- when i caught on to these patterns by calling her out for fake apologies, gaslighting, lying, manipulation, not taking the bait by reacting, sticking to my boundaries, not letting her deflect in arguments etc. she would throw full temper tantrums. screaming crying throwing herself on the ground type of tantrums. I was so drained at that point that all i could do was just sit and watch and wait for her to stop
- her poor mom had gotten it for 20 years before me. she told me multiple times to get out of the relationship but i never listened. I hope shes doing well but i'm afraid that checking up on her might invite my ex back into my life
tldr: my ex gf fits a ton of the criteria for an abuser but i still question whether i am making it up and/or if im the actual abuser just manipulating the situation for my own gain. if i'm not the abuser then how do i accept it and not be affected by it anymore?
2024.05.14 03:47 CheckUrCrawlspaces Growing up, my mother forbade me from ever talking about my little brother outside the house. 50 years later, they're both dead, and I'm ready to talk
The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
submitted by CheckUrCrawlspaces to nosleep [link] [comments]
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
2024.05.14 03:43 Free_the_opressed BE CAREFUL WITH THESE SCAMS
 | A girl on instagram asked me if she can use one of my pictures from my profile as an art mural. She asked if it was okay if she could use it and I replied with yes. She then proceeded to say that I will be paid around $2,000 or $500 and the remaining “funds” will go to her painting materials. She said all she needed was my full name, my email and financial institution like Bank of America and such. She also sent me pictures of her previous clients as “proof”. At first I didn’t think much of it and I told her I didn’t want the money but she kept on insisting. I found this a bit suspicious because she wanted to send me a check through my email if I’m not wrong. My friend and I did some digging and turns out it was all fake. These scammers will use accounts that don’t have a lot of followers or that are not well known. They will send you a fake check and the check will bounce back and the bank will close your account. I will also be providing screenshots as proof. Please be careful with these social media scams!! submitted by Free_the_opressed to Scams [link] [comments] |
2024.05.14 02:51 Accomplished_One1977 Feeling guilty about Mother’s Day
New to the group so forgive me Im behind on the how to deal the narcissistic parent/I should be tougher about this. But normally I am very good at maintaining my emotional distance from my mom and putting up those boundaries with her. Yesterday I found her guilting me that I wasn’t able to say Happy Mother’s Day to her (I work with herun a family business with her so I was forced to see her that morning) I just can’t even muster the feeling to say it when I genuinely don’t feel she is a mother to me especially not a good one. I didn’t react when she started going on about how she basically “doesn’t have any children, I guess.” I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to say to that as I am now 27 and really have tired myself out of engaging with her this way the last 3 years since my father(the good parent) passed away. I could tell she was hurt, I struggle to ignore the human side of her. It made me feel guilty and icky, I didn’t get her a card because it just feels disingenuous. I handed her a gift bag with a decorative wreath and left it at that. But the emotional side of things, I just can’t fake. Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. I hate Mother’s Day, it makes me feel so jumbled up inside. Seeing the genuine appreciation and admiration that some people feel for their moms while I feel none of those things make me sad. I am resentful and checked out. Part of me is thinks”well if your kid doesn’t feel comfortable celebrating you for being a mother what does that say about the kind or mom you are?” I still feel crappy about it nonetheless, anyone feel similar yesterday?
submitted by Accomplished_One1977 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 02:15 LittleGoblinJr64 Is This Zelda Pro Controller Legit?
Hi,
I recently purchased a Tears of the Kingdom pro controller as I am a huge Zelda collector. However, I am a bit nervous it is fake due to hearing about all the fake ones that are pretty good at passing as real. This fear is combined with the fact that the last one I purchased was an obvious fake, so I was very careful when I purchased this one. This is what I know from testing that points to it maybe being real.
-No blemishes on design. It is very clear.
-Packaging came normal. No faded packaging and everything it was supposed to come with was in the box.
-Controller lights are green (not orange like some fakes).
-Buttons feel normal and sound normal. Triggers buttons too.
-Controller updated when I tried to update it.
-Amiibo scan works.
-It can wake up the switch console with home button while it is disconnected.
-Smooth handles, no weird ridges like the fake I did have.
Things that concern me:
-Controller vibration is the same as one of my other pro controllers... but not quite as loud as another. It is consistent though with the sound they all make. Is it possible first party pro controllers are just naturally like that?
-Pushing down on the stick seems a bit looser... as does moving it around too. I did the circle test and it was normal and very accurate. I am also comparing it to two very old pro controllers so I'm not sure if this is just because it's new and the others are dusty and in bad shape in comparison.
Thanks for any help anyone can give me. I am trying my best to authenticate this as I have a short window to return it and dropped a lot of cash. I am clueless so I probably wouldn't be able to check out the motherboard of the controller or anything like that. I have attached photos if that helps (sorry if they came out a little wonky).
Thanks again!
submitted by LittleGoblinJr64 to Switch [link] [comments]
I recently purchased a Tears of the Kingdom pro controller as I am a huge Zelda collector. However, I am a bit nervous it is fake due to hearing about all the fake ones that are pretty good at passing as real. This fear is combined with the fact that the last one I purchased was an obvious fake, so I was very careful when I purchased this one. This is what I know from testing that points to it maybe being real.
-No blemishes on design. It is very clear.
-Packaging came normal. No faded packaging and everything it was supposed to come with was in the box.
-Controller lights are green (not orange like some fakes).
-Buttons feel normal and sound normal. Triggers buttons too.
-Controller updated when I tried to update it.
-Amiibo scan works.
-It can wake up the switch console with home button while it is disconnected.
-Smooth handles, no weird ridges like the fake I did have.
Things that concern me:
-Controller vibration is the same as one of my other pro controllers... but not quite as loud as another. It is consistent though with the sound they all make. Is it possible first party pro controllers are just naturally like that?
-Pushing down on the stick seems a bit looser... as does moving it around too. I did the circle test and it was normal and very accurate. I am also comparing it to two very old pro controllers so I'm not sure if this is just because it's new and the others are dusty and in bad shape in comparison.
Thanks for any help anyone can give me. I am trying my best to authenticate this as I have a short window to return it and dropped a lot of cash. I am clueless so I probably wouldn't be able to check out the motherboard of the controller or anything like that. I have attached photos if that helps (sorry if they came out a little wonky).
Thanks again!
2024.05.14 02:01 UnicornsandGivenchy Anyway to avoid double taxation?
I’m working remotely for the first 30 days in GA. Then I’m relocating to DC first week of June. I get my first paycheck with a sign on bonus next Friday. Unfortunately, it looks like that check with be double taxed by DC and GA. Is there anyway to avoid that or minimize the effects?
I’m visiting DC next week and plan on hopefully signing a lease before payroll but no guarantees.
submitted by UnicornsandGivenchy to tax [link] [comments]
I’m visiting DC next week and plan on hopefully signing a lease before payroll but no guarantees.
2024.05.14 01:47 fluffykitty42069 American simbiot, part 3
“Aren't you a military organization?” I asked.
“Technically, yes, but part of my job is to make sure my members are okay,” NATO explained. “Given some of your abilities your family figured it would be best if I provided some back up.”
NATO glanced over at Canada. He shook his head. NATO sighed but plastered on an especially fake smile.
“So, you're here in case I get crazy?” I asked.
“Basically.” They nodded, then produced a stethoscope.
“Wait, who's paying for this?” I stood and backed away.
“You've already paid into the World Health Organization,” NATO explained in a cheerfully robotic tone.
“NATO, is a vitals check fully necessary?” Canada asked. “I think we're freaking her out.”
Choices in the comments. One with the most votes by Thursday is the one I go with.
submitted by fluffykitty42069 to CountryHumans [link] [comments]
“Technically, yes, but part of my job is to make sure my members are okay,” NATO explained. “Given some of your abilities your family figured it would be best if I provided some back up.”
NATO glanced over at Canada. He shook his head. NATO sighed but plastered on an especially fake smile.
“So, you're here in case I get crazy?” I asked.
“Basically.” They nodded, then produced a stethoscope.
“Wait, who's paying for this?” I stood and backed away.
“You've already paid into the World Health Organization,” NATO explained in a cheerfully robotic tone.
“NATO, is a vitals check fully necessary?” Canada asked. “I think we're freaking her out.”
Choices in the comments. One with the most votes by Thursday is the one I go with.
2024.05.14 01:39 yacht-avril14th My best friends (F22) (F21) are physically and verbally abusive to their partners (both M22, M22). How do I get them to stop being so abusive?
I feel like I’m going crazy lol
I think I might actually be the only person who sees this as what my two best friends do to their partners as wrong. I feel like I’m living in the twilight zone whenever I try to talk about how uncomfortable their abuse makes me to feel to our other friends or to my sister and they just brush it off as “hahaha their toxicas 🥰” or as a funny little quirky thing women do bc of men being stupid or whatever. That has been the response from every person I’ve tried to talk to this about, or they try to defend them because their partners like other girls instagram photos or they glanced at some girl in public, or sometimes they simply just think it’s a good thing.
I think it’s so insanely fucked up. When one of the couples fight in public, they’ll hit, slap, punch their boyfriend, call them all sorts of fucked up names, have went as far as bringing up their dead loved ones, and I can see the frustration and love leave their partners faces. And it’s so fucked up when me or one of my friends check up with them and the reason why they did all that shit was because he dared to even make the smallest talk towards another woman.
When I first noticed the abuse, I will admit, I thought they had to have done something to deserve it; yes, I was a piece of shit for thinking this way. But when I would closely analyze what would lead to my two best friends literally being abusive pieces of shit, it is literally because their partners would be a decent human being towards anyone female, whether it was fake laughing at a female waitresses joke, or picking up a woman’s bag, or literally looking at a woman for far too long, this would flip this switch in both of my best friends brains where they turn into abusive pieces of shits.
I can’t ignore it for any longer. I thought, maybe if I stayed to myself, both of them would have some sense and breakup with their partners. But after witnessing what happened over the weekend, I think these two men need help and I think my two best friends need help. On Saturday, my group of friends went to a house party, including one of my best friends and her partner. I was immediately wary when I saw that they came, silently praying they wouldn’t fight in public, especially at this very low-key house party.
Well I was wrong. Not only did they have their usual fits of rage, hitting, cussing each other out, but her boyfriend finally snapped and just screamed everything he was holding in. He was kicked out, she was being comforted, and I felt so horrible for letting it get this bad. I haven’t talked to both of my friends ever since that night. Their abuse has been enabled by almost everyone we know; they think it’s funny, think it’s powerful, or that their boyfriends deserved it. I feel so uncomfortable being the only person in our friend group to think of this as morally wrong. They share memes about hurting their boyfriends! It’s all just been so normalized for so long.
How do I confront my two best friends, and by extent, my whole entire friend group, about their abusive behavior? I do think they have the capacity to change but not without being confronted. I want to hold an intervention but I would be the only one against their behavior. I also want to reach out to their partners but I don’t want to trigger my two best friends. Thank you reading my endless rant. All advice is appreciated.
TLDR; My two best friends (F22, F21) are physically and verbally abusive to their partners (M22, M22). This lead to one of them literally breaking down at a house party we were at. None of my friends or my two best friends see what they do as wrong. How can I confront their abusive behavior and stop them?
submitted by yacht-avril14th to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
I think I might actually be the only person who sees this as what my two best friends do to their partners as wrong. I feel like I’m living in the twilight zone whenever I try to talk about how uncomfortable their abuse makes me to feel to our other friends or to my sister and they just brush it off as “hahaha their toxicas 🥰” or as a funny little quirky thing women do bc of men being stupid or whatever. That has been the response from every person I’ve tried to talk to this about, or they try to defend them because their partners like other girls instagram photos or they glanced at some girl in public, or sometimes they simply just think it’s a good thing.
I think it’s so insanely fucked up. When one of the couples fight in public, they’ll hit, slap, punch their boyfriend, call them all sorts of fucked up names, have went as far as bringing up their dead loved ones, and I can see the frustration and love leave their partners faces. And it’s so fucked up when me or one of my friends check up with them and the reason why they did all that shit was because he dared to even make the smallest talk towards another woman.
When I first noticed the abuse, I will admit, I thought they had to have done something to deserve it; yes, I was a piece of shit for thinking this way. But when I would closely analyze what would lead to my two best friends literally being abusive pieces of shit, it is literally because their partners would be a decent human being towards anyone female, whether it was fake laughing at a female waitresses joke, or picking up a woman’s bag, or literally looking at a woman for far too long, this would flip this switch in both of my best friends brains where they turn into abusive pieces of shits.
I can’t ignore it for any longer. I thought, maybe if I stayed to myself, both of them would have some sense and breakup with their partners. But after witnessing what happened over the weekend, I think these two men need help and I think my two best friends need help. On Saturday, my group of friends went to a house party, including one of my best friends and her partner. I was immediately wary when I saw that they came, silently praying they wouldn’t fight in public, especially at this very low-key house party.
Well I was wrong. Not only did they have their usual fits of rage, hitting, cussing each other out, but her boyfriend finally snapped and just screamed everything he was holding in. He was kicked out, she was being comforted, and I felt so horrible for letting it get this bad. I haven’t talked to both of my friends ever since that night. Their abuse has been enabled by almost everyone we know; they think it’s funny, think it’s powerful, or that their boyfriends deserved it. I feel so uncomfortable being the only person in our friend group to think of this as morally wrong. They share memes about hurting their boyfriends! It’s all just been so normalized for so long.
How do I confront my two best friends, and by extent, my whole entire friend group, about their abusive behavior? I do think they have the capacity to change but not without being confronted. I want to hold an intervention but I would be the only one against their behavior. I also want to reach out to their partners but I don’t want to trigger my two best friends. Thank you reading my endless rant. All advice is appreciated.
TLDR; My two best friends (F22, F21) are physically and verbally abusive to their partners (M22, M22). This lead to one of them literally breaking down at a house party we were at. None of my friends or my two best friends see what they do as wrong. How can I confront their abusive behavior and stop them?
2024.05.14 01:38 cuevadanos Some specific questions about the Diversity Visa lottery
I am interested in the lottery and I have a few questions I haven’t found the answers to.
submitted by cuevadanos to immigration [link] [comments]
- The education requirements say that primary applicants must have completed 12 years of education/a high school equivalent. The assumption is that the mandatory time period of schooling in the US is 12 years.
- What happens if an applicant has completed mandatory education in their country, but it is less than 12 years? (I assume they wouldn’t be eligible, but I want to be sure)
- In my country, mandatory schooling takes 10 years. People can then do two more years of schooling. People can also do vocational training, and 4 years of vocational training are legally equivalent to 2 years of extra schooling. Would a person with the 10 years of mandatory schooling + 4 years of vocational training meet the education requirement?
- What does the US call people who work in HR and manage payroll, filing taxes, etc? I believe that’s not accountant work, but is there a specific job title? (I need to know in order to check if it’s an eligible occupation)
- Which are the mental health conditions that may cause a visa to be refused? Is the US strict on this regard (and even a person with mild anxiety may get denied) or is refusal limited to people with crimes or a history of violent behaviour?
- How likely is a visa to be granted if one adult person in the household does not speak any English at all?
2024.05.14 01:30 Anxious-Duck-4375 Dilemma
Hey!! So i come from a not so well aware academic background My mother left her college after 1st year as she got married My father on the other hand started a small business and enjoyed his 20s and 30s with his friends at clubs/ bars Now the business has deteriorated And since both of them doesn't posses any relevant or good degree my family income has deteriorated badly Also to add the business partners are not so kind My father is mainly dependent on my grandfather who did a govt job Now you may ask why am i saying all these? Well i stood out from my family crowd Opted for science , started preparing for jee couldn't crack it 3 times ( 1 attempt in the same year and 2 in drop year) I came to know about bitsat and it gave me a hope I dont want to do 5 lpa job I aim for bigger amount Ok then they came to know i am preparing for bits Without doing any background check they declared it as a non trustable institution and compared it with some local private college My mother especially is forcing me to study in that local college( typical mentality) And after hearing the fees they bursted out Even after knowing the scholarship schemes they are pretending as if its all fake They called someone idk whom and he said bits give only 40 percent scholarship to the needy rest is all fake In order to make them trust a little I told about the assistance program with stipend that bits give But they said on my face that teachers will only choose students who will be in physical relationship with them! I talked to one of the students there and he completely disagreed on this and said the scenario is lot different They said narcotics is common there and i will get into human trafficking if i go there The thing that is irritating me the most is that they are not doing any solid background check and still criticising me on the basis of it. I cant fight anymore I am already exhausted by jee How to deal with this? Any suggestions for making my parents believe in bits?
submitted by Anxious-Duck-4375 to BITSAT [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 01:25 Beefsloth DO NOT use cjs-cdkeys for digital game codes.
 | So, last Friday I had purchased a nigerian CD key for cyberpunk 2077 ultimate edition. I know how to use a VPN to redeem said type of codes just fine. Unfortunately I paid about $40 through my debit card using their PayPal service on their site. I had read good reviews about their website and didn't think twice about purchasing from them. submitted by Beefsloth to xbox [link] [comments] Anyways it took until Saturday afternoon to receive the code because I was sent to their fraud department for checks. (I think they were stalling to find a key to give me). Anyways, I finally get it through their autokey system and I had trouble redeeming it. I went back and double checked I copy pasted correctly and that's when I noticed the key was just over 30digits long. Microsoft uses 25 digit codes. So, since than over the weekend I've emailed them and they keep saying they'll respond in 12hrs time. Still haven't gotten a response. I sent them screenshots of the autokey page and I'll even post it here as proof since I'm not worried about anyone claiming it since it's obviously a fake code as it's 30 or digits long. I try to call their number listed on their site and I get sent straight to voicemail. Unfortunately I work 11hr shifts at work and probably am not getting a hold of them since they operate at certain times I'm sure but nothing of the sort is listed. I hope someone from their site reads this and makes this right so I can retract this submission and leave them a good review. |
2024.05.14 01:25 _Triple_ [STORE] 900+ KNIVES/GLOVES/SKINS, 100.000$+ INVENTORY. BFK Lore, Gloves Amphibious, Skeleton Fade, Bowie Emerald, BFK Auto, Gloves MF, Talon Doppler, Gloves POW, Bayo Tiger, Gut Sapphire, Stiletto MF, M9 Ultra, Ursus Doppler, Flip Doppler, M9 Stained, Nomad CW, Paracord CW, AK-47 X-Ray & A Lot More
Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory
Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.
All Buyouts are listed in cash value.
KNIVES
★ Butterfly Knife Lore (Factory New), B/O: $7194.77
★ Butterfly Knife Autotronic (Minimal Wear), B/O: $2025.74
⎯★ M9 Bayonet Ultraviolet (Field-Tested), B/O: $557.87
★ M9 Bayonet Stained (Well-Worn), B/O: $529.41
★ M9 Bayonet Boreal Forest (Field-Tested), B/O: $465.39
⎯★ Talon Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $1295.27
★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth (Minimal Wear), B/O: $746.28
★ Karambit Bright Water (Field-Tested), B/O: $688.15
⎯★ Flip Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $547.93
★ Flip Knife Autotronic (Minimal Wear), B/O: $476.69
★ Flip Knife Case Hardened (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $278.18
★ Flip Knife Black Laminate (Well-Worn), B/O: $258.83
★ Flip Knife Urban Masked (Field-Tested), B/O: $181.64
⎯★ Stiletto Knife Marble Fade (Factory New), B/O: $686.04
★ Stiletto Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $665.41
★ Stiletto Knife, B/O: $601.39
★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web (Field-Tested), B/O: $418.25
★ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe (Field-Tested), B/O: $227.80
★ Stiletto Knife Boreal Forest (Field-Tested), B/O: $194.96
★ Stiletto Knife Safari Mesh (Field-Tested), B/O: $192.79
⎯★ Nomad Knife Crimson Web (Field-Tested), B/O: $518.11
★ Nomad Knife Scorched (Field-Tested), B/O: $169.78
★ Nomad Knife Forest DDPAT (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $166.88
★ StatTrak™ Nomad Knife Blue Steel (Field-Tested), B/O: $335.79
⎯★ Skeleton Knife Stained (Well-Worn), B/O: $442.05
★ Skeleton Knife Urban Masked (Minimal Wear), B/O: $426.24
★ Skeleton Knife Boreal Forest (Field-Tested), B/O: $314.03
★ StatTrak™ Skeleton Knife Fade (Minimal Wear), B/O: $2361.28
★ StatTrak™ Skeleton Knife Urban Masked (Field-Tested), B/O: $376.53
⎯★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $557.12
★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $471.42
★ Ursus Knife Blue Steel (Minimal Wear), B/O: $212.37
★ Ursus Knife Case Hardened (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $187.66
★ Ursus Knife Damascus Steel (Field-Tested), B/O: $178.18
★ Ursus Knife Ultraviolet (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $155.13
★ Ursus Knife Boreal Forest (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $124.26
⎯★ Huntsman Knife Black Laminate (Minimal Wear), B/O: $204.83
★ Huntsman Knife Black Laminate (Field-Tested), B/O: $184.50
★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Lore (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $224.11
⎯★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $2142.02
★ Bowie Knife, B/O: $230.44
★ Bowie Knife Damascus Steel (Factory New), B/O: $209.20
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet (Minimal Wear), B/O: $180.51
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet (Field-Tested), B/O: $131.03
⎯★ Falchion Knife Night (Field-Tested), B/O: $132.54
★ Falchion Knife Urban Masked (Well-Worn), B/O: $112.81
★ Falchion Knife Scorched (Field-Tested), B/O: $108.81
★ Falchion Knife Forest DDPAT (Field-Tested), B/O: $107.82
★ Falchion Knife Safari Mesh (Field-Tested), B/O: $107.46
★ StatTrak™ Falchion Knife Ultraviolet (Field-Tested), B/O: $143.08
⎯★ Paracord Knife Crimson Web (Minimal Wear), B/O: $486.48
★ Paracord Knife Blue Steel (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $163.12
⎯★ Survival Knife Blue Steel (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $138.26
★ Survival Knife Night Stripe (Field-Tested), B/O: $131.03
⎯★ Gut Knife Sapphire (Minimal Wear), B/O: $1127.79
★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $286.17
★ Gut Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $246.55
★ Gut Knife Marble Fade (Factory New), B/O: $240.77
★ Gut Knife, B/O: $210.49
★ Gut Knife Lore (Field-Tested), B/O: $194.22
★ Gut Knife Case Hardened (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $151.51
★ Gut Knife Blue Steel (Minimal Wear), B/O: $124.94
★ Gut Knife Rust Coat (Well-Worn), B/O: $118.99
★ Gut Knife Boreal Forest (Minimal Wear), B/O: $109.80
★ StatTrak™ Gut Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $237.96
⎯★ Shadow Daggers Gamma Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $264.92
★ Shadow Daggers Marble Fade (Factory New), B/O: $253.03
★ Shadow Daggers Tiger Tooth (Factory New), B/O: $237.22
★ Shadow Daggers Crimson Web (Field-Tested), B/O: $153.40
★ Shadow Daggers Autotronic (Minimal Wear), B/O: $144.42
★ Shadow Daggers Blue Steel (Field-Tested), B/O: $105.20
★ StatTrak™ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel (Minimal Wear), B/O: $150.46
⎯★ Navaja Knife Fade (Factory New), B/O: $365.99
★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Factory New), B/O: $228.93
★ Navaja Knife Marble Fade (Factory New), B/O: $227.43
★ Navaja Knife Slaughter (Factory New), B/O: $209.06
★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $203.16
★ Navaja Knife Case Hardened (Well-Worn), B/O: $132.57
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel (Factory New), B/O: $121.69
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel (Minimal Wear), B/O: $109.95
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel (Field-Tested), B/O: $100.41
★ StatTrak™ Navaja Knife Fade (Factory New), B/O: $369.01
★ StatTrak™ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel (Field-Tested), B/O: $109.95
GLOVES
★ Sport Gloves Amphibious (Minimal Wear), B/O: $2394.67
★ Sport Gloves Omega (Well-Worn), B/O: $572.33
★ Sport Gloves Bronze Morph (Minimal Wear), B/O: $338.88
★ Sport Gloves Big Game (Field-Tested), B/O: $323.66
⎯★ Specialist Gloves Marble Fade (Minimal Wear), B/O: $1652.07
★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike (Field-Tested), B/O: $599.14
★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web (Well-Worn), B/O: $231.57
★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot (Minimal Wear), B/O: $126.21
⎯★ Moto Gloves POW! (Minimal Wear), B/O: $996.99
★ Moto Gloves POW! (Field-Tested), B/O: $383.31
★ Moto Gloves POW! (Well-Worn), B/O: $276.00
★ Moto Gloves Turtle (Field-Tested), B/O: $180.28
⎯★ Hand Wraps CAUTION! (Minimal Wear), B/O: $502.29
★ Hand Wraps Giraffe (Minimal Wear), B/O: $180.73
★ Hand Wraps CAUTION! (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $178.32
⎯★ Driver Gloves Queen Jaguar (Minimal Wear), B/O: $181.01
★ Driver Gloves Rezan the Red (Field-Tested), B/O: $101.66
⎯★ Broken Fang Gloves Jade (Field-Tested), B/O: $127.88
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point (Minimal Wear), B/O: $124.55
⎯★ Bloodhound Gloves Guerrilla (Minimal Wear), B/O: $127.94
★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened (Field-Tested), B/O: $102.55
WEAPONS
AK-47 X-Ray (Well-Worn), B/O: $478.95
AUG Hot Rod (Factory New), B/O: $425.83
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Hyper Beast (Factory New), B/O: $413.95
M4A4 Daybreak (Factory New), B/O: $309.51
StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge (Factory New), B/O: $305.43
AK-47 Case Hardened (Well-Worn), B/O: $196.38
StatTrak™ M4A4 Temukau (Minimal Wear), B/O: $174.64
P90 Run and Hide (Field-Tested), B/O: $167.03
AWP Asiimov (Field-Tested), B/O: $153.33
Souvenir SSG 08 Death Strike (Minimal Wear), B/O: $140.00
M4A1-S Printstream (Battle-Scarred), B/O: $124.70
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Golden Coil (Field-Tested), B/O: $117.48
AWP Asiimov (Well-Worn), B/O: $115.97
StatTrak™ Desert Eagle Printstream (Minimal Wear), B/O: $112.96
StatTrak™ AK-47 Asiimov (Minimal Wear), B/O: $110.85
Souvenir M4A1-S Master Piece (Well-Worn), B/O: $102.42
AK-47 Bloodsport (Minimal Wear), B/O: $100.53
Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory
Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.
Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.
Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.
2024.05.14 01:12 gurlynnpool Fake SOUNDBOKS Coupon Code
Check this out for Fake SOUNDBOKS Coupon Code. Find the best deals for you by looking at the current promo codes and coupons on that page. You'll always find the newest coupons, promo codes, and deals on that page. Choose one to apply to your order and save money.
submitted by gurlynnpool to FestDeals [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 01:12 Jules198325 Continuous yaz
I am on a continuous dose of yaz birth control until I have a hysterectomy in September. Been on it since November of 2023. I am 40 yes old and usually have very heavy periods and started having severe stomach pain randomly which prompted the bc and I have not had a period since I started it. Refilled my script a couple months ago where I get like 4 packs at once. I'm on my 2nd week of the 2nd pack started a period. Not as bad as usual but I'm on day 4 of it. Can bc be bad or fake??? I am in michigan and got it from walgreens. I've checked the med name and everything looks the same. I've contacted my doc still waiting to hear back. My tubes are tied so no worries of pregnancy more so worried about what am I taking if it's not birth control?!?!
submitted by Jules198325 to birthcontrol [link] [comments]