Scratch inside roof of mouth
Dorohedoro
2013.11.15 21:10 TheMagicStik Dorohedoro
Subreddit about the seinen supernatural mystery manga Dorohedoro by Q Hayashida.
2016.09.01 07:58 MudMupp3t Starfield
This subreddit is dedicated to Starfield, a role-playing space game developed by Bethesda Game Studios.
2015.04.09 09:23 Put your mouth where it's hot and oozing.
Show us your gaping cheese slits.
2024.05.13 22:28 Lord_Long_Rod Hunting Sasquatch for Communists, Featuring Ms. Anna Conda
During the course of my career as an alpha Sasquatch hunting, Dogman destroying, pussy crushing, luxury watch loving dude, I have run into this particular woman a few times. She is one part uber sensuality, and the other part deadly. Yes, I am speaking about the lovely, Anna Conda. I bring her up because I had another run-in with her last year.
Anna and I first joined forces, so to speak, when she acted as a go-between in my business deal with the Chinese to sell them bigfoot parts. See, I would hunt and kill the critters, cut them up, deliver the parts to Anna, who in turn gave me a suitcase containing unmarked American hundred-dollar bills, then she would transport the bigfoot parts to the Chinese. I was never really sure of what the sneaky-ass Chinese were doing with the body parts. All I knew for sure is that they are extracting certain materials from them, then synthesizing them with some other shit, creating some sort of drug. Whether it then becomes a bio-weapon or a dick stimulant, I do not know. Neither do I care. As long as they kept the hundies coming, I was good.
Now, while Anna is of Russian descent, she is a freelancer. She will work for any sick, skeevy motherfucker out there. She does not care. She has no conscience, at least not in the traditional sense as we understand it in western civilization. Today she is working for the Chinese, and tomorrow she may be working for Hamas. She is a slippery motherfucker.
So here is how it went down. At 11:32 p.m. on a Friday in September of last year I get a call on my cell phone. When the call came in I was balls deep into this hot little lass I picked up at the bus station a little earlier in the evening from an old swarthy chap named “Colorado Joe”. He wanted to sell me the girl. I was assured she was over 20 years old. I told him I needed to take her out for a test ride, which he agreed to.
So, there I was, balls deep in “Bing Bang Yun”, and my phone rings. Of course, I silence all incoming calls not in my contacts list. Thus, I knew that I must know the caller. In mid stroke I reached over to the nightstand to retrieve my cell and looked at it. It was a call from “Sergio”. I thought, “Oh shit…. I am going to have to cut the Oriental bang circus short.” When Sergio calls, I have to respond…immediately. He has the best blow on the east coast!!
“Hey, Serge! What’s up?”, I asked. All he said was, “Hooters. 2:00 a.m.”, then hung up. This was obviously the rendezvous for the transaction. Now, understand that Serge was not talking about the chicken wing restaurant. Hooters was code, in case the feds were listening in on the line. “Hooters” meant the titty bar out on Highway 69 called “The Plump Rump”. We had a communications code we used.
It was a long haul to the titty bar, so I needed to get moving. I had no time to return the girl to Colorado Joe, so I took her with me. I had her blow me on the way to the meeting with Sergio, telling her that her performance would make the difference on whether I save her from Joe or not. Of course, after she was done I tossed her out of my speeding truck and down, over the bridge, and into the Wendigo River below. I did not need any complications in my life right now.
I arrived at The Plump Rump at 2:00 a.m. on the dot. I saw the manager, Lou Skunt, sitting at the bar when I walked inside. I nodded. He walked over and said to me, “Use my office for the meeting The parties are already in there waiting for you.” I nodded and then headed to Lou’s office. Then it hit me: Lou said the “PARTIES” are already here. That is, parties, meaning more than one person. It was not just Sergio. It was 2 or more people! Lou was probably in for a cut of whatever was about to go down.
Something was bad fucked up!! I know for a fact that Sergio never brings anyone with him on a deal, at least not with me. He is too distrustful of people to do that, and too fucking mean to need protection. Something was wrong. I was just as likely to get whacked when I enter Lou’s office as anything else. I needed a moment to think things through.
I took a spot in front of one of the performance poles to watch a young, swarthy Mexican lass perform. My mind quickly strayed from the problem at hand to this brown chick’s ass and tits. She was not a great looking chick, but her body was smoking!! I quickly became aroused. I thought to myself, “Goddamn Asian bitches!! They are just like Chinese food – after 2 hours you are ready for some more!!”
When the little Mexican chick went on break I motioned her over to my table. “Hola Senior!!”, she said. I pulled out a clear plastic baggie of blow and dropped it on the table. Her eyes grew wide and slobber starting falling from her mouth. Blow is like catnip for strippers. Thus, she fell under my spell immediately.
The next thing I know, this brown girl was on my lap, dry humping me like a feral bitch dog in heat. I had to bang her. I NEEDED to see my wang penetrating her. Just then, someone taps my shoulder hard. I look up to see Lou standing over me. He bent down and said, “Did you forget about my office, asshole?!?!?!” I replied, “Damn, Lou!! You read my mind!!!” I arose, with the little Mexican bolted onto my mid-section, and hastily retreated to Lou’s office. I figured Lou would prefer me to stain this chick in private rather than out in the open.
The door to the office opened easily. The lights were on inside. In a lustful haze, I set the little Mexican chick on her back across Lou’s desk and started pumping the shit out of her, completely unaware of the others in the room with us. In a moment I heard someone call my name. I twist my neck around to see Sergio sitting on Lou’s jizz crusted couch. I think to myself, “Oh shit! I forgot about that shit!”
I figured I would just move forward with the deal as it was proposed to me. “Hey Serge! What ya got for me, dude?”, I asked. He replied, “I have a very special deal for you. I need, uh … yeah, ……Hey, Rod, you want to stop for a moment so we can talk?” I picked up the little tamale and laid her down onto Sergio’s lap as I continued to plow her. She stayed on my cock the whole time. I told Sergio, “No, man. I’m good! Lay it on me!” Slowly, Sergio lowered his face into his palm.
Then it happened. The voice cam from behind me, in the dark corner of Lou’s office. It was velvety yet hard as steel. “Rod. Went need to talk”, it said. Even though I did not stop pumping the little brown chick, a chill went down my spine when I heard those words. It was the thick timbre of the voice, I think, that alerted me.
I turned to look across the room. There, sitting in a red leather captains chair against the wall was the source of the sultry voice: Anna Conda.
I picked up the little taco yet again and turned her around so I could face Anna as I continued pumping her. At this point the Mexican girl was merely a masturbation toy I was using. I increased my pump so I could dump my load and get this over with. Then BAMM!!!, it was over. I removed the lass from my huge rod, after which her body crumpled to the floor. I did not know if she was dead or injured, or what had happened to her. But I did not care either, so I did not dwell on it.
I tried to compose myself the best I could, then walked over to stand before Anna so I could get to the bottom of all this business. “Well, well, well. Anna Conda. We meet again. Tell me, what brings you here, to my little neck of the woods?”
Anna replied, “Rod, put your dick away.” I looked down and, indeed, I had forgotten to stow my cock. Out of pure curtesy, I packed it away. Then I returned my attention to Anna. “Alright, Anna, what’s going on here?”
Anna launched into a startling tale about what brought her to me. As she spoke I became lost in her wanton beauty. She got up from her chair and walked about the room as she relayed her story, presumably to make it more dramatic and demonstrative. I got a full-on view of her body, and it was fantastic!!
She stands 5’10’’ and weighs 105 lbs. She is lithe. She was showing it off too, wearing a black, silk dress that landed just about her ankles. The top was low-cut, betraying just a bit of cleavage from her C-cup wineglass titties. She was not wearing a bra. Anna never wears a bra. Her nips were perfectly outlined through the silk. In fact, I think her nips were hard. It was probably something she did on purpose in an attempt to influence me. It was working.
Anna’s ass was perfect. It was not at all fat, but round enough not to be skinny. It was a fit figure skater’s ass. As she walked, I could see a tiny bit of jiggle emanating from her ass flesh, and then reverberated in the silky black dress she wore. My cock began growing hard again.
Her face was beautiful. Think Scarlett Johanson and Phoebe Cates rolled into one. But any sweetness this may evoke is quickly dispelled by Anna’s throaty voice with its thick Russian accent. I have known Anna for 20 years. Yet, she still does not look a day over 25. Jesus Christ!!! If ever there was a chick to die for ….. If I was one to delve into the belief of the paranormal, then I may conclude that Anna made a deal with the devil. But, I am not such a person.
And literally, Anna Conda is a chick to die for. She is deadly as fuck. She will kill you in a split second without a thought just because she does not like the shirt you are wearing. She can do it too. She is always armed and she knows how to use her weapons. Moreover, she is a total psychopath. This makes her doubly dangerous.
Anna and I have always gotten along for the most part. Like Anna, the dollar is my primary motivating factor. Such a mindset allows for understanding and predictability among people, which are elements that are sorely missing in many business dealings today that go on in the color of darkness.
Suddenly, Anna snapped me out of my thoughts. “Here’s your gun, Rod. Now let’s get started”, said Anna. She and Sergio were halfway through the door exiting Lou’s office when I said, “Hey, wait a damned minute!!! What are you talking about?!?”
They both stopped, and Anna walked back in and looked me in the eyes, saying “The plan, Rod. Let’s get on with the plan.” A little embarrassed, I sheepishly asked, “What plan?” Anna folded her arms and looked cross at me. After a moment to allow me to simmer in my shame, she asked, “You were not paying attention, were you, Rod?” I shook my head and looked down.
I heard a hammer cock. I jerked my head back up to find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol pointed at my head that Anna was holding. I protested, “Look, it is not my fucking fault!! Put that fucking gun down!!!” I continued, “You were distracting me with …. Well.. you know, how you are dressed, and that hot, sultry voice…. You know?”
“So, instead of paying attention to the plan, you chose to eye-rape me. Is that what I am to understand your position is, Rod?”, she asked. Knowing that my life was on the line, I said, “Anna, look, you know I am horny to a fault. Then you come in here, swinging them tits around, wearing that silk dress showing off the crack of your ass…. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT TO HAPPENED?”
Anna lowered her gun. She knew that my explanation of being a total cocksman was truth. “Let’s go”, Anna curtly said. I obeyed.
Anna explained the plan to me again on the drive from The Plump Rump. She made me wear a blindfold so that I would not get horny during her explanation. Here is how it went:
Anna Conda was now working for the Russians. It seems that Putin caught wind of the Sasquatch project that the Chinese were working on. He also knew that the American government have been fucking with sasquatch for decades. Thus, he was very concerned about the existence of a bigfoot gap. He ordered the acquisition of a Sasquatch specimen immediately.
Moreover, said specimen must be prime. It needed to be the biggest, baddest sasquatch of them all – a true alpha – so as to speed things along. Putin did not want some weird shit-creature, is-it-a-sasquatch-or-is-it-a-dogman, kind of monstrosity. He wanted purebred, badass sasquatchery, and preferably from the American Pacific northwest.
Anna got in on it because she sold the intel to Putin about China’s Sasquatch operation. She then told Putin she could produce sasquatch corpses for him. She told him she had a contact (i.e., me). Thus, with Putin’s blessing and promises of riches to come, Anna set out to America to find me.
Now, here is where things got a bit squirrely. See, I agreed to procure some more dead sasquatch. I have no problem with killing sasquatch because, in my opinion, they are an abomination on this Earth. I kind of feel like I am doing God’s work by wiping out as many of them as I can. And given all the not-so-Godly stuff I have done, I feel like killing Sasquatch kind of offsets that to some degree.
But Anna, she was stuck on Putin’s instruction that she must supply him with apex Sasquatch. So she did not want to take my advice of heading to the Pacific Northwest or Alaska. Instead, Anna claimed to have pinpointed the whereabouts of a particularly gruesome sasquatch beast that she KNEW would win her a fortune from Putin if she brought it to him.
“So, where is this beast?”, I asked. Anna replied “Martha’s Vineyard”. I paused. Then I asked her to repeat herself. It turns out that I was not mistaken about what Anna had said. I continued, “Uh, Anna, there are no sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard, just a lot of wealth New Englander schmucks.”
Anna looked at me and told me I was wrong. Then she decided to attempt to taunt me. “Oh, Rod, mighty slayer of Bigfoot! Yet, you fail to take notice of where the biggest, most foul and rotten beast of them all makes its home. Jesus, Rod!! What kind of bigfoot hunter are you, anyway?” Anna then spit at my feet and wondered aloud whether she even needs me for this job.
I decided that I needed to straighten out the hierarchy here in order for this here deal to move forward. I said, “Well, Anna, feel free to truck on over to Old Whitey Beach and battle that beast. But, if there is a big old mangy sasquatch lurking around over there, then it is probably a fucking Nazi-Squatch. You know, those fuckers out there hate the Jews.”
The work “Nazi” visibly shook Anna. Her great grandfather died defending Leningrad. Her entire family there died of either starvation or cannibalism during Hitler’s siege during Operation Barbarossa. Anna despised Nazis. But she feared them too. After landing that punch, I decided to push my luck.
“Now, I am still willing to help you catch this here Nazi-Squatch, but you have to do something for me”, I said. Now Anna’s eyes were on me, and they were narrowing. I continued, “I want you to get bare assed naked and pleasure yourself while I stand over you and jack it.” Anna stared at me silently for a long moment. Then she replied.
“After the job is done, and you can get none of your … fluids… on me”, she said. I shook my head and countered, “Now, and I will ‘try’ to not get my spunk on you.”
However, Anna then turned the tables on me. In fact, she picked up the table and bashed my head in with it. She looked me in my eyes, then matter-of-factly said, “You get the beast, and your prize shall be a night with me, anything goes, darling.” Well, since this caused all of the blood to immediately drain from my brain, I had a lapse in judgment. “DEAL!!”, I said. Then we shook on it.
“OK, tell me more about this supposed monster sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard”, I said. I still was not ready to believe there was a monster out there. “I show you photo”, said Anna. She took out her phone, scrolled to find the photo, then handed the phone to me. “There. Sasquatch”, she said.
I stared at the photo and remained silent. After a long moment, I turned the phone so that Anna could see the photo and asked, “Uh, Anna, is THIS what you intended to show me?” She replied. “Yes! There…Sasquatch! The biggest, grossest monster around.”
Now, I could not argue with Anna that the image on her phone is a big, gross monster. Hell, it could actually be a sasquatch, and THE UBER sasquatch. It is most certainly the grossest thing on Martha’s Vinyard. But I somehow do not think this is what Putin is expecting.
I turned to Anna and said, “Anna, this is a photo of Michelle Obama. I know it looks vile, and has a huge, hulking body with large appendages where a woman should not have them. But, sweatheart, that ain’t no sasquatch. That’s a big, hairy Chicago street negro.”
Anna did not believe me at first. She was hard in her conviction that Obama was a sasquatch. “I have seen the Sasquatch beast you deliver to me for China. This … Michelle Obama …. It is big, and hairy, and ugly like the sasquatch beast, but worse.”
When the truth finally set it, I could see that it had kind of broken down poor Anna, if only just a bit. I put my arm around Anna and told her, “Look, Michelle O fooled you. Hell, she and her Hamas Hubby fooled millions of Americans, twice! At least you saw Michelle for what she is, to wit: a big, gross sasquatch, and NOT some kind a retarded leftist messiah.”
After that, things took a rather dark turn. “What if we still take her to Putin? We can make deal; sell her to Putin!!” At this point I held up my hands and said, “I’m out”, then turned and walked away. Anna followed, trying to get me to stay. At this point, I could tell that Anna was coming undone a little.
See, she had to produce for Putin. There is no telling what kind of secret deal she actually had with him. She had to deliver a big old mangy Obama …. Er, uh, I mean … Sasquatch, to Putin.
“Ok, Rod, we do your plan. We go out west to kill bigfoot. Huge, monster bigfoot. she said. I turned and looked Anna in her eyes and said the following: First, we bang for 48 hours straight, right now, so I can get my fill of you. Second, you pay me $10,000.00 cash upfront. Third, upon delivery of the dead bigfoot, you pay me $1 million immediately.”
Anna agreed to everything, but noted that at the present time it was her “time of the month”. I grimaced, as I will absolutely not go there (and she knows that). “Fine, next week we bang”, I said. She pointed out that I would be in the woods next week hunting sasquatch. “Fine, once I come out of the woods, then we bang – 48 hours straight”, I said. “Of course, darling!”, she agreed.
Well, it took several days to set up the hunt, but it finally happened. I was in Washington state at high elevation based on intel I has acquired that indicated that there was a monstrous 15’ tall sasquatch on the mountain range that had been murdering and eating hunters and hikers. After 3 months in these mountains without a trace of the creature I began to lose hope, thinking that I probably got some bad intel, or bad coordinates.
I got my satellite phone out to call for an extraction. Winter was setting in fast, and if I did not get off this mountain soon, then I would freeze and/or starve to death. Unfortunately, my contact did not answer. I tried for 2 days. No answer. I had been fucked. I wondered what had happened back in civilization that caused me to be abandoned like this. I resolved that I would get off that mountain and get to the bottom of this shit. There would be hell to pay for this betrayal!!’
I was able to get in touch with contacts from back home. I got old Billy Ray from Ellijay and Rattler on the phone and got them to come out here to Washington State to extract me. Rattler use to fly helicopters in the Army. He has an old Huey sitting in his front yard, to the chagrin of his HOA. He fired that sucker up, and him and old Billy Ray flew out here to my coordinates and extracted me.
After landing at a convenience store to buy some beer for the flight home, we headed east. Through the skies a way, Billy Ray said, “Well, Rod, I guess you is bout ready to git back home to Georgia, eh?” In fact, I was ready to go home. But I had to take care of some business first. I told them both to take me to New York City. They were both perplexed. All I said to them was “I have an old friend there I have to see before I can go home.”
I have intel on where Anna Conda stays when she is in the United States. She stays at certain hotels depending on what month she is here, and whether her check-in date is an odd or even number. This is for undercover work. I came across the code for her stays while doing the sasquatch work for China. She an I were caught in a snowstorm one night in Buffalo, NY, and had to share a room at the Holiday Inn near the airport. We had like 10 big Igloo ice chests with iced down sasquatch body parts with us in the room.
Anna was like, “No hanky panky, Rod. I am tired and I want to go to bed. Tomorrow we finish business.”
Frankly, I did not blame her for withholding her magnificent muff from me. I was tired as hell. But, I could not settle for nothing. So, when Anna was in the bathroom taking a shower, I started going through her suit case. I wanted to find some of her panties to jack off into. Instead, I found a little black notebook. Inside it contained her lodging codes, and some other interesting things. I photographed the contents with my phone and then put it back.
When Anna got out of the shower she was already dressed in her night clothes. She saw me lying on my back, nude on the bed, and jacking it. “Rod!! GROSS!!!! Go to the restroom to do that shit!!!”, she commanded. I just did it to get a rise out of her. LOL!!
So, if Anna is still inside the U.S., then using the codes I stole from her I can locate precisely where she will be that night. I studied it for a few moments then had my answer. Tonight she would be staying at the Dogman Inn on Hwy 95 South, Room 355. I told Rattler to get me there stat!
We had to stop several times for fuel and beer. Those Hueys go just a bit over a hundred MPH, you know. But eventually, we got there. I gave the boys some money and told them to go to the Waffle House for some coffee to sober up. Then they would fly me home.
I should mention that I also had Rattler’s fully auto Russian AK-74 with spare mags. During the long flight with 2 drunks from Washington State to New York City, I had worked myself up into a towering rage over how Anna fucked me on this Putin deal. She had clearly thrown me aside. But for what, exactly? I figured I would storm the hotel room, get some answers, then shower the room with gun fire.
I busted through the door of Room 355 at exactly 3:35 a.m. There she was. My entry roused her from slumber. I was pointing my rifle at her, center mass. She was shocked at the appearance of a gunman in her room at this time of night. However, she was not as shocked as one would think (this was not the first time something like this has happened to her).
I raised my face from the receiver just enough so she could see it was me. “Rod!!!”, she exclaimed. “What happened to you?!?!? I thought you had died up in those mountains when we never hear from you!” I replied, “Shove it up that cute little ass of yours, Anna. You fucked me. And not in the good way. What the fuck was all that shit about needing a sasquatch for Putin?!?”
Anna played dumb. But it struck me that I had been deliberately put out of the loop for 3 months. Why? Who wanted me away for that long, and why? What went on in my absence?!? I was just dying to know!!! I set my rifle down and pulled out my fixed blade knife, ready to get down to some real nasty work on Anna so I could get some truth. The pure evil of what I was about to do to her caused a wide death grin to grow on my face. Anna saw it. She knew what it meant. She swallowed hard and her eyes betrayed the shear terror she felt inside. I was engorged with blood lust. She knew she had fucked up one time too many this time!!
Suddenly came the sound of the toilet in the bathroom flushing. I was momentarily shocked. I did not expect anyone else to be there with Anna. Anna saw it in my face. I glanced at her and saw that the terror in her face was replaced with pleasure, a slight smile creeping over her face.
I was going to have to face off against this person in the bathroom, who would be out in a split moment. When I do that, I will have to turn 180 degrees from Anna, thereby making me vulnerable to her. I had only once choice: Shoot Anna first.
Just as this came to me, but just before I could act on it, the bathroom door opened. I had to deal with that person before Anna now. I spun around to see that it was a completely nude, and fat, white man. He was a real oafish blob. He looked surprised to see me. He also looked sort of familiar.
I next heard the crack of something hitting my skull hard. I remember the immediate hateful pain that shot through my body and the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I remember the dizziness, then falling to the floor. Clearly, as I fixed on the man from the bathroom, Anna had cracked me over the head with a blunt object.
I came to the next morning, Billy Ray and Rattler had manage to track me down based upon coordinates I left in the chopper that said “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY”. Billy Ray filled up the hotel room ice bucket with cold water and doused my head with it to bring me conscious. I was disoriented at first. But after a bit, what happened in this room the night before came back to me.
Honestly, I am surprised that Anna did not just kill me. I presume that she thinks she can leverage her drop-dead hotness to get me to do more shit for her in the future. She is absolutely right about that too. Rattler then said, “Hey, Rod, that snake bitch left a letter fer ya.”
He handed me the letter. This is what it said:
____________________________________________
“Dear Rod:
Sorry about the boo boo on your head. Hope it heals soon. Also sorry about leaving you in the mountains. I was not running a scam on you Rod. Rather, an opportunity arose for me to acquire a sasquatch body from another person. You may know him since you are a sasquatch hunter. His name is Matt Moneymaker. Anyway, until next time…..
Yours truly,
Anna Conda”
_____________________________________________
I could not fucking believe it. That was fatfuck Moneymaker in the hotel room earlier. Anna fucked Matt Fatfuck Moneymaker for a Sasquatch! That fat son of bitch!!
Billy Ray asked, “You ready to go Rod?” I stood up and said, “Yeah, let’s go.” Then Rattler said, “Hey, ya wanna stop and git some beer fer the ride home?” I replied “Hell yeah.”
I felt like I wanted to die. Thank God for beer and buddies. I don’t blame Anna. She is a fucking snake, and I knew that before this started. Also, I cannot really blame fatfuck Moneymaker for wanting to get some of that hot poon pie Anna serves up. I guess I have to blame fate for fucking me over this time. I even started thinking that next time I will just avoid Anna. But I know I won’t, thus making me subject to this sort of shit again. I had Rattler set us down in Charlottesville so I could buy some hard liquor.
submitted by Lord_Long_Rod to Sasquatch_Jihad [link] [comments]
Anna and I first joined forces, so to speak, when she acted as a go-between in my business deal with the Chinese to sell them bigfoot parts. See, I would hunt and kill the critters, cut them up, deliver the parts to Anna, who in turn gave me a suitcase containing unmarked American hundred-dollar bills, then she would transport the bigfoot parts to the Chinese. I was never really sure of what the sneaky-ass Chinese were doing with the body parts. All I knew for sure is that they are extracting certain materials from them, then synthesizing them with some other shit, creating some sort of drug. Whether it then becomes a bio-weapon or a dick stimulant, I do not know. Neither do I care. As long as they kept the hundies coming, I was good.
Now, while Anna is of Russian descent, she is a freelancer. She will work for any sick, skeevy motherfucker out there. She does not care. She has no conscience, at least not in the traditional sense as we understand it in western civilization. Today she is working for the Chinese, and tomorrow she may be working for Hamas. She is a slippery motherfucker.
So here is how it went down. At 11:32 p.m. on a Friday in September of last year I get a call on my cell phone. When the call came in I was balls deep into this hot little lass I picked up at the bus station a little earlier in the evening from an old swarthy chap named “Colorado Joe”. He wanted to sell me the girl. I was assured she was over 20 years old. I told him I needed to take her out for a test ride, which he agreed to.
So, there I was, balls deep in “Bing Bang Yun”, and my phone rings. Of course, I silence all incoming calls not in my contacts list. Thus, I knew that I must know the caller. In mid stroke I reached over to the nightstand to retrieve my cell and looked at it. It was a call from “Sergio”. I thought, “Oh shit…. I am going to have to cut the Oriental bang circus short.” When Sergio calls, I have to respond…immediately. He has the best blow on the east coast!!
“Hey, Serge! What’s up?”, I asked. All he said was, “Hooters. 2:00 a.m.”, then hung up. This was obviously the rendezvous for the transaction. Now, understand that Serge was not talking about the chicken wing restaurant. Hooters was code, in case the feds were listening in on the line. “Hooters” meant the titty bar out on Highway 69 called “The Plump Rump”. We had a communications code we used.
It was a long haul to the titty bar, so I needed to get moving. I had no time to return the girl to Colorado Joe, so I took her with me. I had her blow me on the way to the meeting with Sergio, telling her that her performance would make the difference on whether I save her from Joe or not. Of course, after she was done I tossed her out of my speeding truck and down, over the bridge, and into the Wendigo River below. I did not need any complications in my life right now.
I arrived at The Plump Rump at 2:00 a.m. on the dot. I saw the manager, Lou Skunt, sitting at the bar when I walked inside. I nodded. He walked over and said to me, “Use my office for the meeting The parties are already in there waiting for you.” I nodded and then headed to Lou’s office. Then it hit me: Lou said the “PARTIES” are already here. That is, parties, meaning more than one person. It was not just Sergio. It was 2 or more people! Lou was probably in for a cut of whatever was about to go down.
Something was bad fucked up!! I know for a fact that Sergio never brings anyone with him on a deal, at least not with me. He is too distrustful of people to do that, and too fucking mean to need protection. Something was wrong. I was just as likely to get whacked when I enter Lou’s office as anything else. I needed a moment to think things through.
I took a spot in front of one of the performance poles to watch a young, swarthy Mexican lass perform. My mind quickly strayed from the problem at hand to this brown chick’s ass and tits. She was not a great looking chick, but her body was smoking!! I quickly became aroused. I thought to myself, “Goddamn Asian bitches!! They are just like Chinese food – after 2 hours you are ready for some more!!”
When the little Mexican chick went on break I motioned her over to my table. “Hola Senior!!”, she said. I pulled out a clear plastic baggie of blow and dropped it on the table. Her eyes grew wide and slobber starting falling from her mouth. Blow is like catnip for strippers. Thus, she fell under my spell immediately.
The next thing I know, this brown girl was on my lap, dry humping me like a feral bitch dog in heat. I had to bang her. I NEEDED to see my wang penetrating her. Just then, someone taps my shoulder hard. I look up to see Lou standing over me. He bent down and said, “Did you forget about my office, asshole?!?!?!” I replied, “Damn, Lou!! You read my mind!!!” I arose, with the little Mexican bolted onto my mid-section, and hastily retreated to Lou’s office. I figured Lou would prefer me to stain this chick in private rather than out in the open.
The door to the office opened easily. The lights were on inside. In a lustful haze, I set the little Mexican chick on her back across Lou’s desk and started pumping the shit out of her, completely unaware of the others in the room with us. In a moment I heard someone call my name. I twist my neck around to see Sergio sitting on Lou’s jizz crusted couch. I think to myself, “Oh shit! I forgot about that shit!”
I figured I would just move forward with the deal as it was proposed to me. “Hey Serge! What ya got for me, dude?”, I asked. He replied, “I have a very special deal for you. I need, uh … yeah, ……Hey, Rod, you want to stop for a moment so we can talk?” I picked up the little tamale and laid her down onto Sergio’s lap as I continued to plow her. She stayed on my cock the whole time. I told Sergio, “No, man. I’m good! Lay it on me!” Slowly, Sergio lowered his face into his palm.
Then it happened. The voice cam from behind me, in the dark corner of Lou’s office. It was velvety yet hard as steel. “Rod. Went need to talk”, it said. Even though I did not stop pumping the little brown chick, a chill went down my spine when I heard those words. It was the thick timbre of the voice, I think, that alerted me.
I turned to look across the room. There, sitting in a red leather captains chair against the wall was the source of the sultry voice: Anna Conda.
I picked up the little taco yet again and turned her around so I could face Anna as I continued pumping her. At this point the Mexican girl was merely a masturbation toy I was using. I increased my pump so I could dump my load and get this over with. Then BAMM!!!, it was over. I removed the lass from my huge rod, after which her body crumpled to the floor. I did not know if she was dead or injured, or what had happened to her. But I did not care either, so I did not dwell on it.
I tried to compose myself the best I could, then walked over to stand before Anna so I could get to the bottom of all this business. “Well, well, well. Anna Conda. We meet again. Tell me, what brings you here, to my little neck of the woods?”
Anna replied, “Rod, put your dick away.” I looked down and, indeed, I had forgotten to stow my cock. Out of pure curtesy, I packed it away. Then I returned my attention to Anna. “Alright, Anna, what’s going on here?”
Anna launched into a startling tale about what brought her to me. As she spoke I became lost in her wanton beauty. She got up from her chair and walked about the room as she relayed her story, presumably to make it more dramatic and demonstrative. I got a full-on view of her body, and it was fantastic!!
She stands 5’10’’ and weighs 105 lbs. She is lithe. She was showing it off too, wearing a black, silk dress that landed just about her ankles. The top was low-cut, betraying just a bit of cleavage from her C-cup wineglass titties. She was not wearing a bra. Anna never wears a bra. Her nips were perfectly outlined through the silk. In fact, I think her nips were hard. It was probably something she did on purpose in an attempt to influence me. It was working.
Anna’s ass was perfect. It was not at all fat, but round enough not to be skinny. It was a fit figure skater’s ass. As she walked, I could see a tiny bit of jiggle emanating from her ass flesh, and then reverberated in the silky black dress she wore. My cock began growing hard again.
Her face was beautiful. Think Scarlett Johanson and Phoebe Cates rolled into one. But any sweetness this may evoke is quickly dispelled by Anna’s throaty voice with its thick Russian accent. I have known Anna for 20 years. Yet, she still does not look a day over 25. Jesus Christ!!! If ever there was a chick to die for ….. If I was one to delve into the belief of the paranormal, then I may conclude that Anna made a deal with the devil. But, I am not such a person.
And literally, Anna Conda is a chick to die for. She is deadly as fuck. She will kill you in a split second without a thought just because she does not like the shirt you are wearing. She can do it too. She is always armed and she knows how to use her weapons. Moreover, she is a total psychopath. This makes her doubly dangerous.
Anna and I have always gotten along for the most part. Like Anna, the dollar is my primary motivating factor. Such a mindset allows for understanding and predictability among people, which are elements that are sorely missing in many business dealings today that go on in the color of darkness.
Suddenly, Anna snapped me out of my thoughts. “Here’s your gun, Rod. Now let’s get started”, said Anna. She and Sergio were halfway through the door exiting Lou’s office when I said, “Hey, wait a damned minute!!! What are you talking about?!?”
They both stopped, and Anna walked back in and looked me in the eyes, saying “The plan, Rod. Let’s get on with the plan.” A little embarrassed, I sheepishly asked, “What plan?” Anna folded her arms and looked cross at me. After a moment to allow me to simmer in my shame, she asked, “You were not paying attention, were you, Rod?” I shook my head and looked down.
I heard a hammer cock. I jerked my head back up to find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol pointed at my head that Anna was holding. I protested, “Look, it is not my fucking fault!! Put that fucking gun down!!!” I continued, “You were distracting me with …. Well.. you know, how you are dressed, and that hot, sultry voice…. You know?”
“So, instead of paying attention to the plan, you chose to eye-rape me. Is that what I am to understand your position is, Rod?”, she asked. Knowing that my life was on the line, I said, “Anna, look, you know I am horny to a fault. Then you come in here, swinging them tits around, wearing that silk dress showing off the crack of your ass…. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT TO HAPPENED?”
Anna lowered her gun. She knew that my explanation of being a total cocksman was truth. “Let’s go”, Anna curtly said. I obeyed.
Anna explained the plan to me again on the drive from The Plump Rump. She made me wear a blindfold so that I would not get horny during her explanation. Here is how it went:
Anna Conda was now working for the Russians. It seems that Putin caught wind of the Sasquatch project that the Chinese were working on. He also knew that the American government have been fucking with sasquatch for decades. Thus, he was very concerned about the existence of a bigfoot gap. He ordered the acquisition of a Sasquatch specimen immediately.
Moreover, said specimen must be prime. It needed to be the biggest, baddest sasquatch of them all – a true alpha – so as to speed things along. Putin did not want some weird shit-creature, is-it-a-sasquatch-or-is-it-a-dogman, kind of monstrosity. He wanted purebred, badass sasquatchery, and preferably from the American Pacific northwest.
Anna got in on it because she sold the intel to Putin about China’s Sasquatch operation. She then told Putin she could produce sasquatch corpses for him. She told him she had a contact (i.e., me). Thus, with Putin’s blessing and promises of riches to come, Anna set out to America to find me.
Now, here is where things got a bit squirrely. See, I agreed to procure some more dead sasquatch. I have no problem with killing sasquatch because, in my opinion, they are an abomination on this Earth. I kind of feel like I am doing God’s work by wiping out as many of them as I can. And given all the not-so-Godly stuff I have done, I feel like killing Sasquatch kind of offsets that to some degree.
But Anna, she was stuck on Putin’s instruction that she must supply him with apex Sasquatch. So she did not want to take my advice of heading to the Pacific Northwest or Alaska. Instead, Anna claimed to have pinpointed the whereabouts of a particularly gruesome sasquatch beast that she KNEW would win her a fortune from Putin if she brought it to him.
“So, where is this beast?”, I asked. Anna replied “Martha’s Vineyard”. I paused. Then I asked her to repeat herself. It turns out that I was not mistaken about what Anna had said. I continued, “Uh, Anna, there are no sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard, just a lot of wealth New Englander schmucks.”
Anna looked at me and told me I was wrong. Then she decided to attempt to taunt me. “Oh, Rod, mighty slayer of Bigfoot! Yet, you fail to take notice of where the biggest, most foul and rotten beast of them all makes its home. Jesus, Rod!! What kind of bigfoot hunter are you, anyway?” Anna then spit at my feet and wondered aloud whether she even needs me for this job.
I decided that I needed to straighten out the hierarchy here in order for this here deal to move forward. I said, “Well, Anna, feel free to truck on over to Old Whitey Beach and battle that beast. But, if there is a big old mangy sasquatch lurking around over there, then it is probably a fucking Nazi-Squatch. You know, those fuckers out there hate the Jews.”
The work “Nazi” visibly shook Anna. Her great grandfather died defending Leningrad. Her entire family there died of either starvation or cannibalism during Hitler’s siege during Operation Barbarossa. Anna despised Nazis. But she feared them too. After landing that punch, I decided to push my luck.
“Now, I am still willing to help you catch this here Nazi-Squatch, but you have to do something for me”, I said. Now Anna’s eyes were on me, and they were narrowing. I continued, “I want you to get bare assed naked and pleasure yourself while I stand over you and jack it.” Anna stared at me silently for a long moment. Then she replied.
“After the job is done, and you can get none of your … fluids… on me”, she said. I shook my head and countered, “Now, and I will ‘try’ to not get my spunk on you.”
However, Anna then turned the tables on me. In fact, she picked up the table and bashed my head in with it. She looked me in my eyes, then matter-of-factly said, “You get the beast, and your prize shall be a night with me, anything goes, darling.” Well, since this caused all of the blood to immediately drain from my brain, I had a lapse in judgment. “DEAL!!”, I said. Then we shook on it.
“OK, tell me more about this supposed monster sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard”, I said. I still was not ready to believe there was a monster out there. “I show you photo”, said Anna. She took out her phone, scrolled to find the photo, then handed the phone to me. “There. Sasquatch”, she said.
I stared at the photo and remained silent. After a long moment, I turned the phone so that Anna could see the photo and asked, “Uh, Anna, is THIS what you intended to show me?” She replied. “Yes! There…Sasquatch! The biggest, grossest monster around.”
Now, I could not argue with Anna that the image on her phone is a big, gross monster. Hell, it could actually be a sasquatch, and THE UBER sasquatch. It is most certainly the grossest thing on Martha’s Vinyard. But I somehow do not think this is what Putin is expecting.
I turned to Anna and said, “Anna, this is a photo of Michelle Obama. I know it looks vile, and has a huge, hulking body with large appendages where a woman should not have them. But, sweatheart, that ain’t no sasquatch. That’s a big, hairy Chicago street negro.”
Anna did not believe me at first. She was hard in her conviction that Obama was a sasquatch. “I have seen the Sasquatch beast you deliver to me for China. This … Michelle Obama …. It is big, and hairy, and ugly like the sasquatch beast, but worse.”
When the truth finally set it, I could see that it had kind of broken down poor Anna, if only just a bit. I put my arm around Anna and told her, “Look, Michelle O fooled you. Hell, she and her Hamas Hubby fooled millions of Americans, twice! At least you saw Michelle for what she is, to wit: a big, gross sasquatch, and NOT some kind a retarded leftist messiah.”
After that, things took a rather dark turn. “What if we still take her to Putin? We can make deal; sell her to Putin!!” At this point I held up my hands and said, “I’m out”, then turned and walked away. Anna followed, trying to get me to stay. At this point, I could tell that Anna was coming undone a little.
See, she had to produce for Putin. There is no telling what kind of secret deal she actually had with him. She had to deliver a big old mangy Obama …. Er, uh, I mean … Sasquatch, to Putin.
“Ok, Rod, we do your plan. We go out west to kill bigfoot. Huge, monster bigfoot. she said. I turned and looked Anna in her eyes and said the following: First, we bang for 48 hours straight, right now, so I can get my fill of you. Second, you pay me $10,000.00 cash upfront. Third, upon delivery of the dead bigfoot, you pay me $1 million immediately.”
Anna agreed to everything, but noted that at the present time it was her “time of the month”. I grimaced, as I will absolutely not go there (and she knows that). “Fine, next week we bang”, I said. She pointed out that I would be in the woods next week hunting sasquatch. “Fine, once I come out of the woods, then we bang – 48 hours straight”, I said. “Of course, darling!”, she agreed.
Well, it took several days to set up the hunt, but it finally happened. I was in Washington state at high elevation based on intel I has acquired that indicated that there was a monstrous 15’ tall sasquatch on the mountain range that had been murdering and eating hunters and hikers. After 3 months in these mountains without a trace of the creature I began to lose hope, thinking that I probably got some bad intel, or bad coordinates.
I got my satellite phone out to call for an extraction. Winter was setting in fast, and if I did not get off this mountain soon, then I would freeze and/or starve to death. Unfortunately, my contact did not answer. I tried for 2 days. No answer. I had been fucked. I wondered what had happened back in civilization that caused me to be abandoned like this. I resolved that I would get off that mountain and get to the bottom of this shit. There would be hell to pay for this betrayal!!’
I was able to get in touch with contacts from back home. I got old Billy Ray from Ellijay and Rattler on the phone and got them to come out here to Washington State to extract me. Rattler use to fly helicopters in the Army. He has an old Huey sitting in his front yard, to the chagrin of his HOA. He fired that sucker up, and him and old Billy Ray flew out here to my coordinates and extracted me.
After landing at a convenience store to buy some beer for the flight home, we headed east. Through the skies a way, Billy Ray said, “Well, Rod, I guess you is bout ready to git back home to Georgia, eh?” In fact, I was ready to go home. But I had to take care of some business first. I told them both to take me to New York City. They were both perplexed. All I said to them was “I have an old friend there I have to see before I can go home.”
I have intel on where Anna Conda stays when she is in the United States. She stays at certain hotels depending on what month she is here, and whether her check-in date is an odd or even number. This is for undercover work. I came across the code for her stays while doing the sasquatch work for China. She an I were caught in a snowstorm one night in Buffalo, NY, and had to share a room at the Holiday Inn near the airport. We had like 10 big Igloo ice chests with iced down sasquatch body parts with us in the room.
Anna was like, “No hanky panky, Rod. I am tired and I want to go to bed. Tomorrow we finish business.”
Frankly, I did not blame her for withholding her magnificent muff from me. I was tired as hell. But, I could not settle for nothing. So, when Anna was in the bathroom taking a shower, I started going through her suit case. I wanted to find some of her panties to jack off into. Instead, I found a little black notebook. Inside it contained her lodging codes, and some other interesting things. I photographed the contents with my phone and then put it back.
When Anna got out of the shower she was already dressed in her night clothes. She saw me lying on my back, nude on the bed, and jacking it. “Rod!! GROSS!!!! Go to the restroom to do that shit!!!”, she commanded. I just did it to get a rise out of her. LOL!!
So, if Anna is still inside the U.S., then using the codes I stole from her I can locate precisely where she will be that night. I studied it for a few moments then had my answer. Tonight she would be staying at the Dogman Inn on Hwy 95 South, Room 355. I told Rattler to get me there stat!
We had to stop several times for fuel and beer. Those Hueys go just a bit over a hundred MPH, you know. But eventually, we got there. I gave the boys some money and told them to go to the Waffle House for some coffee to sober up. Then they would fly me home.
I should mention that I also had Rattler’s fully auto Russian AK-74 with spare mags. During the long flight with 2 drunks from Washington State to New York City, I had worked myself up into a towering rage over how Anna fucked me on this Putin deal. She had clearly thrown me aside. But for what, exactly? I figured I would storm the hotel room, get some answers, then shower the room with gun fire.
I busted through the door of Room 355 at exactly 3:35 a.m. There she was. My entry roused her from slumber. I was pointing my rifle at her, center mass. She was shocked at the appearance of a gunman in her room at this time of night. However, she was not as shocked as one would think (this was not the first time something like this has happened to her).
I raised my face from the receiver just enough so she could see it was me. “Rod!!!”, she exclaimed. “What happened to you?!?!? I thought you had died up in those mountains when we never hear from you!” I replied, “Shove it up that cute little ass of yours, Anna. You fucked me. And not in the good way. What the fuck was all that shit about needing a sasquatch for Putin?!?”
Anna played dumb. But it struck me that I had been deliberately put out of the loop for 3 months. Why? Who wanted me away for that long, and why? What went on in my absence?!? I was just dying to know!!! I set my rifle down and pulled out my fixed blade knife, ready to get down to some real nasty work on Anna so I could get some truth. The pure evil of what I was about to do to her caused a wide death grin to grow on my face. Anna saw it. She knew what it meant. She swallowed hard and her eyes betrayed the shear terror she felt inside. I was engorged with blood lust. She knew she had fucked up one time too many this time!!
Suddenly came the sound of the toilet in the bathroom flushing. I was momentarily shocked. I did not expect anyone else to be there with Anna. Anna saw it in my face. I glanced at her and saw that the terror in her face was replaced with pleasure, a slight smile creeping over her face.
I was going to have to face off against this person in the bathroom, who would be out in a split moment. When I do that, I will have to turn 180 degrees from Anna, thereby making me vulnerable to her. I had only once choice: Shoot Anna first.
Just as this came to me, but just before I could act on it, the bathroom door opened. I had to deal with that person before Anna now. I spun around to see that it was a completely nude, and fat, white man. He was a real oafish blob. He looked surprised to see me. He also looked sort of familiar.
I next heard the crack of something hitting my skull hard. I remember the immediate hateful pain that shot through my body and the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I remember the dizziness, then falling to the floor. Clearly, as I fixed on the man from the bathroom, Anna had cracked me over the head with a blunt object.
I came to the next morning, Billy Ray and Rattler had manage to track me down based upon coordinates I left in the chopper that said “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY”. Billy Ray filled up the hotel room ice bucket with cold water and doused my head with it to bring me conscious. I was disoriented at first. But after a bit, what happened in this room the night before came back to me.
Honestly, I am surprised that Anna did not just kill me. I presume that she thinks she can leverage her drop-dead hotness to get me to do more shit for her in the future. She is absolutely right about that too. Rattler then said, “Hey, Rod, that snake bitch left a letter fer ya.”
He handed me the letter. This is what it said:
____________________________________________
“Dear Rod:
Sorry about the boo boo on your head. Hope it heals soon. Also sorry about leaving you in the mountains. I was not running a scam on you Rod. Rather, an opportunity arose for me to acquire a sasquatch body from another person. You may know him since you are a sasquatch hunter. His name is Matt Moneymaker. Anyway, until next time…..
Yours truly,
Anna Conda”
_____________________________________________
I could not fucking believe it. That was fatfuck Moneymaker in the hotel room earlier. Anna fucked Matt Fatfuck Moneymaker for a Sasquatch! That fat son of bitch!!
Billy Ray asked, “You ready to go Rod?” I stood up and said, “Yeah, let’s go.” Then Rattler said, “Hey, ya wanna stop and git some beer fer the ride home?” I replied “Hell yeah.”
I felt like I wanted to die. Thank God for beer and buddies. I don’t blame Anna. She is a fucking snake, and I knew that before this started. Also, I cannot really blame fatfuck Moneymaker for wanting to get some of that hot poon pie Anna serves up. I guess I have to blame fate for fucking me over this time. I even started thinking that next time I will just avoid Anna. But I know I won’t, thus making me subject to this sort of shit again. I had Rattler set us down in Charlottesville so I could buy some hard liquor.
2024.05.13 22:25 New_Breakfast127 Mango mouth in my 30s?
I just ate a bowl of frozen, thawed mango chunks.... a few minutes go by and I noticed a blister on the right side and center of the roof of my mouth. Super painful, like a burn...
I've taken 75 mg diphenhydramine because I'm scared of a worse reaction but I'm really surprised. I didn't come in touch with any of the skin.
submitted by New_Breakfast127 to Allergies [link] [comments]
I've taken 75 mg diphenhydramine because I'm scared of a worse reaction but I'm really surprised. I didn't come in touch with any of the skin.
2024.05.13 22:24 Between320 Mid Century desk with dovetail joinery
 | I got this desk a few years on Craigslist. The old owner was moving and gave it to me for free. I'm trying to sell it as I no longer have room for it, but have little information about its background and am not sure what I could price it for. I'm located in Canada, if that helps at all. submitted by Between320 to Mid_Century [link] [comments] Images are here. The stamp says something like: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ FURNITURE _ _ Style No 142 F Lot No Key No Date DEC 1960 My guesses for the name which haven't returned much after a google search: EVERYTE, EVERTITE, EVERYFE (the first three letters are very unclear and are total guesses) Any thoughts on the background and/or value of this desk? Any help is appreciated! Here's what I do know:
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2024.05.13 22:23 Worried-Quiet-3976 Post attempt
I hate that I use this account to post these sad rants but this is my new way of trying to explain myself. I’ve let months go by simply by accepting I’ll die soon.
I had my first serious attempt yesterday (none have come this close). Mother’s Day. Who does that ? My whole immediate family including young kids (my first baby cousins) came over. Usually at these parties I’m one of the best dressed, on making drinks, somehow am also the entertainer and the one to get the kids to sit/eat. Can’t even imagine my family getting to the house and finding me lifeless. Yet I still tried to die. Due to my appearance and having avoided my family for the last few months.. everyone asked me if I was “okay”. I was pretty good with avoiding these pursuits of answers by helping in the kitchen and playing with the kids. No sane adult is going to force you, an adult, to start explaining where/what you’ve been when a kid is playing with you or your hands are occupied. I pathetically took advantage of this. I’ve always been relatively close to my family but I’ve burned ties twice now. First time around this time last year and second time we are currently in. What got me out of that first time ? I’m not really sure. I think I just knew I had to try one more time before really giving up. There were some cornered moments and while my loved ones were just doing what family does (checking in) I just kept replaying my attempt that occurred precisely two hours before anyone got there. I wore a dress with a collar. This collar was important because my neck was extremely bruised and looked scratched. My attempt if not apparent by now was by partial hanging. I put makeup on it and left my hair down to cover. It wasn’t enough but this goes to show how good I was with avoiding eye contact and being investigated. My sister isn’t easily fooled. We were setting up some food before people arrived and she asked me what happened to my neck. I didn’t even take the time to come up with a story just in case. Was it a cry for help? I wasn’t going to let it be. I somehow blamed it on my necklace scratching me when I took it off. To this second I don’t know how she believed me or the conversation shifted. Must have been a combination of my tone/mannerism and her just going with the flow because I was actually present. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. My isolation has ruined everything. Anyways I put more concealer and kept a smile for my family. My dad walked into the gathering with flowers for everyone. After greeting everyone he approached me with my own orchid and a trinket for me. I am not a mother but he made it a point to include me and to remind me he thinks of me. The trinket can be described as a decoration for a table. An all in all thoughtful gift. It has in cursive “live the life you love, love the life you live” with a clip I’m guessing to add a picture. I immediately grabbed it, turned it around so I wasn’t reading it anymore, somehow changed the conversation and he being my father (I believe knows me more than I think), took the hint to walk away. I’m grateful he did because I was about to have a mental breakdown. I somehow held my tears back and forced my attention back to my baby cousin which wasn’t hard she was drawing and wanted me to see. After a bit of this she wanted to go by the front of the house to play and her mom was there alone. This is down a hall away from where we were. I felt time move slow as we made eye contact and my mouth go dry as the space between us was closing. I knew what was coming. Everyone else was congregated in the kitchen and family room. A simple what’s up how have you been was about to send me over the edge. I didn’t even notice I was holding my dads gift in my right hand. She grabbed my left hand and instinctively said “wow I’ve never seen your skin this pale it’s like porcelain”. She didn’t mean it in a bad way just stating a fact. I looked at her and as my eyes started tearing up she let go. She asked me if I was sad and I said I can’t talk now because I’ll lose it. Thing is once I start I can’t stop. I told her I needed to go to the bathroom. She called her daughter said we need to talk I said okay and went to my bathroom upstairs. As I stared at myself in the mirror now completely alone I realized just how different I have to look to everyone. I looked at my dads gift and really started crying. After a few sobs I somehow managed to stop crying and fix my makeup a bit. I went back down to the party mostly to try to prove I’m okay and avoid being a topic. I know this was the bare minimum thing to do. I know this isn’t who I should be. This weekend coming is a bigger party. Point is I barely survived yesterday. I’m one of the youngest in my family not including the baby cousins. That being said everyone is older and has way more stressors than me. They either have kids, their careers, more bills, and whatever else. These people manage to go to every party, maintain conversation, and overall be apart of the family. I 23 unemployed overweight believe I can’t get it together. I can’t be apart of anything. I went through college and from the moment that last semester ended didn’t know what the fuck to do next. Before my attempt yesterday morning I spent an hour on a suicide hotline. I never admitted to the woman on the phone how close I was to the edge. This is what I wrote down after the call “I told her almost everything. The isolation, how I let myself go, and how I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I couldn’t actually say what my plan was. The lady was really nice. We agreed I should face everyone and get professionally evaluated. I didn’t really mean it. I’m going to die before I face anyone and I couldn’t tell her I can’t tell anyone. She was a really nice lady. I wonder if she’s a mom. It’s Mother’s Day. Mommy I can’t do it. You were always there for me. Always answered me. I can’t answer you anymore. I wish I could’ve talked to you. I wish I would’ve just talked. For what it’s worth I do love you. “. My mother called me around 9AM Mother’s Day morning. Said she needs help getting gifts ready and I told her I felt bad. She said how everyone is worried and I have no reason to be this far gone/sad. I somehow got the conversation to end. She ended saying I was going to be okay that we’re going to get me a therapist just have to get through mothers day and next weeks party. I said I love you and immediately tied the belt around my neck. I was seeing black, choking, ears ringing, and arms shuffling. Something came over me and I got myself out of it. I didn’t even cry. I went to my bathroom showered, got dressed, and you know the rest. Now I’m here 4 o’clock the next day writing. I have spent the whole day in bed. I think subconsciously I’ve let myself go into this isolation to weaken my body. For it to be easier for me to die and severed connections for it to be easier for those around me. I don’t know what I want from writing this down. I know my throat feels sore and I think I want to know why this is happening. I want to somehow try to put a reasoning behind everything. Somehow find a way to maybe really talk to one of the people that care without breaking down and shooting blanks with my mouth. I’ve tried even though it looks to those around me I haven’t. Thanks for reading.. comments are sincerely appreciated.
submitted by Worried-Quiet-3976 to SuicideWatch [link] [comments]
I had my first serious attempt yesterday (none have come this close). Mother’s Day. Who does that ? My whole immediate family including young kids (my first baby cousins) came over. Usually at these parties I’m one of the best dressed, on making drinks, somehow am also the entertainer and the one to get the kids to sit/eat. Can’t even imagine my family getting to the house and finding me lifeless. Yet I still tried to die. Due to my appearance and having avoided my family for the last few months.. everyone asked me if I was “okay”. I was pretty good with avoiding these pursuits of answers by helping in the kitchen and playing with the kids. No sane adult is going to force you, an adult, to start explaining where/what you’ve been when a kid is playing with you or your hands are occupied. I pathetically took advantage of this. I’ve always been relatively close to my family but I’ve burned ties twice now. First time around this time last year and second time we are currently in. What got me out of that first time ? I’m not really sure. I think I just knew I had to try one more time before really giving up. There were some cornered moments and while my loved ones were just doing what family does (checking in) I just kept replaying my attempt that occurred precisely two hours before anyone got there. I wore a dress with a collar. This collar was important because my neck was extremely bruised and looked scratched. My attempt if not apparent by now was by partial hanging. I put makeup on it and left my hair down to cover. It wasn’t enough but this goes to show how good I was with avoiding eye contact and being investigated. My sister isn’t easily fooled. We were setting up some food before people arrived and she asked me what happened to my neck. I didn’t even take the time to come up with a story just in case. Was it a cry for help? I wasn’t going to let it be. I somehow blamed it on my necklace scratching me when I took it off. To this second I don’t know how she believed me or the conversation shifted. Must have been a combination of my tone/mannerism and her just going with the flow because I was actually present. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. My isolation has ruined everything. Anyways I put more concealer and kept a smile for my family. My dad walked into the gathering with flowers for everyone. After greeting everyone he approached me with my own orchid and a trinket for me. I am not a mother but he made it a point to include me and to remind me he thinks of me. The trinket can be described as a decoration for a table. An all in all thoughtful gift. It has in cursive “live the life you love, love the life you live” with a clip I’m guessing to add a picture. I immediately grabbed it, turned it around so I wasn’t reading it anymore, somehow changed the conversation and he being my father (I believe knows me more than I think), took the hint to walk away. I’m grateful he did because I was about to have a mental breakdown. I somehow held my tears back and forced my attention back to my baby cousin which wasn’t hard she was drawing and wanted me to see. After a bit of this she wanted to go by the front of the house to play and her mom was there alone. This is down a hall away from where we were. I felt time move slow as we made eye contact and my mouth go dry as the space between us was closing. I knew what was coming. Everyone else was congregated in the kitchen and family room. A simple what’s up how have you been was about to send me over the edge. I didn’t even notice I was holding my dads gift in my right hand. She grabbed my left hand and instinctively said “wow I’ve never seen your skin this pale it’s like porcelain”. She didn’t mean it in a bad way just stating a fact. I looked at her and as my eyes started tearing up she let go. She asked me if I was sad and I said I can’t talk now because I’ll lose it. Thing is once I start I can’t stop. I told her I needed to go to the bathroom. She called her daughter said we need to talk I said okay and went to my bathroom upstairs. As I stared at myself in the mirror now completely alone I realized just how different I have to look to everyone. I looked at my dads gift and really started crying. After a few sobs I somehow managed to stop crying and fix my makeup a bit. I went back down to the party mostly to try to prove I’m okay and avoid being a topic. I know this was the bare minimum thing to do. I know this isn’t who I should be. This weekend coming is a bigger party. Point is I barely survived yesterday. I’m one of the youngest in my family not including the baby cousins. That being said everyone is older and has way more stressors than me. They either have kids, their careers, more bills, and whatever else. These people manage to go to every party, maintain conversation, and overall be apart of the family. I 23 unemployed overweight believe I can’t get it together. I can’t be apart of anything. I went through college and from the moment that last semester ended didn’t know what the fuck to do next. Before my attempt yesterday morning I spent an hour on a suicide hotline. I never admitted to the woman on the phone how close I was to the edge. This is what I wrote down after the call “I told her almost everything. The isolation, how I let myself go, and how I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I couldn’t actually say what my plan was. The lady was really nice. We agreed I should face everyone and get professionally evaluated. I didn’t really mean it. I’m going to die before I face anyone and I couldn’t tell her I can’t tell anyone. She was a really nice lady. I wonder if she’s a mom. It’s Mother’s Day. Mommy I can’t do it. You were always there for me. Always answered me. I can’t answer you anymore. I wish I could’ve talked to you. I wish I would’ve just talked. For what it’s worth I do love you. “. My mother called me around 9AM Mother’s Day morning. Said she needs help getting gifts ready and I told her I felt bad. She said how everyone is worried and I have no reason to be this far gone/sad. I somehow got the conversation to end. She ended saying I was going to be okay that we’re going to get me a therapist just have to get through mothers day and next weeks party. I said I love you and immediately tied the belt around my neck. I was seeing black, choking, ears ringing, and arms shuffling. Something came over me and I got myself out of it. I didn’t even cry. I went to my bathroom showered, got dressed, and you know the rest. Now I’m here 4 o’clock the next day writing. I have spent the whole day in bed. I think subconsciously I’ve let myself go into this isolation to weaken my body. For it to be easier for me to die and severed connections for it to be easier for those around me. I don’t know what I want from writing this down. I know my throat feels sore and I think I want to know why this is happening. I want to somehow try to put a reasoning behind everything. Somehow find a way to maybe really talk to one of the people that care without breaking down and shooting blanks with my mouth. I’ve tried even though it looks to those around me I haven’t. Thanks for reading.. comments are sincerely appreciated.
2024.05.13 22:17 SciFiTime Aliens Were Never Prepared For Cookie Scouts
So far sales had been steady but not spectacular. Jenna hoped they would pick up after the school let out. She chatted and sampled with customers, pitching her spiel about supporting their troop's efforts to earn badges. It was fun work even if tiring on her feet.
Gazing up at the cloudless sky, Jenna wondered idly if it might rain later. The forecast hadn't mentioned anything, but you never knew. A tiny speck in the distance caught her eye. She squinted, trying to make it out. It grew rapidly in size—and shape. Whatever it was, it wasn't a bird.
"Hey Jamie, do you see that?" Jenna nudged her friend, pointing. Now the other girls had turned to look as well. What had been a speck was now clearly some large, cylindrical object descending from the heavens. It shone silvery-grey in the sunlight.
"Is that...a rocket ship?" breathed Tammy.
As it neared the treetops, its design became evident. Definitely not any spacecraft Jenna had seen on the news or in movies. It was smoothly rounded on all ends, with no visible engines or fins. Eerily silent, it drifted toward an open field and settled softly on four tapering legs.
The girls stared open-mouthed, cookies momentarily forgotten. A hatch appeared in the side of the ship. Light spilled out, glowing an ethereal blue. Then towering figures emerged, moving with an inhuman grace.
Jenna caught her breath. Peering closer, she could just make out bipedal forms wrapped in loose, silvery garments. Their limbs seemed overly long and jointed in odd places. As they turned in her direction, two dark eyes set wide in hairless faces met hers. No nose or mouth was visible beneath.
"Aliens," Jamie whispered. "Actual aliens. I don't believe it."
Tammy squeaked and clung to Jenna's arm. But Jenna's mind was racing. This was an incredible opportunity, too good to pass up. She flashed the others a mischievous smile. "Come on, girls. Let's go make some sales!"
The troop fell into step behind her as she marched into the field. The creatures had paused, gazing around at their surroundings with a palpable air of curiosity and caution. As Jenna neared, they angled their expressive eyes down at the little band approaching. Up close, their skin shimmered in shades of aqua and moss green, veined with silvery networks.
The tallest one shifted its gaze between the girls, as if taking their measure. It spoke, but the sound was like rushing wind and dripping water blended into an eerie melody. Its friends chattered in response, their voices blending into a dissonant choir.
Undeterred, Jenna beamed and proudly presented her box of Thin Mints. "Cookies!" she enunciated clearly. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" To her astonishment, a glowing rectangle like a computer screen lit up on the tall one's torso. Words scrolled across it in crisp English letters.
WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND. WHAT ARE COOKIES? IT SEEMS YOU ARE SELLING SOMETHING, BUT WE HAVE NO CURRENCY OF YOUR WORLD.
Jamie leaned in to whisper, eyes shining, "They can understand us! This is so cool."
Jenna gathered her thoughts, focusing on her sales pitch despite everything unusual about the situation. "Cookies are a sweet treat made of chocolate and biscuits. They're very popular here on Earth. And all the money we earn from selling them goes towards fun trips and learning new skills as Girl Scouts. Please, won't you buy a box to help support our troop? I'm sure you'll love them!"
The aliens conferred amongst themselves, still in untranslatablespeech. Finally, the glowing display lit up again. I APOLOGIZE, BUT WE HAVE NO MEANS OF TRANSACTION. WE ARE EXPLORERS HERE IN PEACE TO STUDY YOUR WORLD. PERHAPS ANOTHER TIME WE CAN BARTER. FOR NOW, WE ONLY WISH TO LEARN.
Jenna tried to hide her disappointment. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the interaction going at all. But she had come this far, so she wasn't giving up yet. An idea bloomed in her mind. "Well, since you want to learn about us, how about a trade? We'll give you a box of cookies to try in exchange for letting our whole troop come aboard your ship for a little while. What do you say?"
The girls held their breath. This was assuredly against every safety rule. But an opportunity for an out of this world experience was too enticing to pass up. The aliens conversed quietly before responding.
VERY WELL, HUMAN CHILDREN. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE AGREE TO YOUR TRADE. COME, WE SHALL GIVE YOU A TOUR OF OUR VESSEL.
Screeches of delight arose from the Scout troop. Jenna tried to shush them, not wanting the aliens to change their minds. But she couldn't contain her own grin of excitement and triumph. This was going to be one very memorable cookie sale!
Jenna stepped forward nervously, holding out the box of Thin Mints for the aliens to see. She did her best salesperson smile while gesturing to the colorful packaging. "Cookies!" she said again loudly and clearly.
The tallest alien leaned down, its large dark eyes fixing on the box in Jenna's hands. A long, nimble finger reached out to poke gently at the box, then drew back just as swiftly. Its companions murmured again in their strange tongue.
Frustrated not being able to communicate properly, Jenna popped open the lid so the sweet scent could waft up. She took one mint and mimed taking a bite, sighing happily and rubbing her belly. The aliens copied the sign for stomach, looking quizzical.
An idea sparked in Jenna's mind. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and found the notepad app. Typing awkwardly with her thumbs, she showed them the words "Will you trade for this?" Arrows pointed to the cookies and to their ship.
A spark of understanding lit in the aliens' eyes as they studied the makeshift message. Their glowing display lit up in response. I APOLOGIZE, SMALL HUMAN, BUT WE HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE FROM OUR WORLD TO OFFER IN RETURN. OUR MISSION HERE IS ONE OF DISCOVERY ONLY.
"Please?" Jenna typed, giving her best pleading look. The girls clustered behind her, joining in the silent begging. But the aliens only seemed perplexed by this behavior.
Suddenly Tammy piped up, "What if we clean your ship for you? We'll dust and sweep and take out the garbage." The others stared at her, surprised by this inventive offer.
The display considered this. THAT IS A GENEROUS OFFER. HOWEVER, OUR CRAFT UTILIZES TECHNOLOGY FAR BEYOND YOUR WORLD'S CURRENT STAGE. I DOUBT YOU COULD PERFORM MAINTENANCE TO OUR STANDARDS.
At this rejection, the girls deflated with twin sounds of disappointment. But Jenna wasn't giving up yet. She furiously texted another message. "How about you give us a little tour then? We promise to be very careful and not touch anything."
The aliens conferred quietly amongst themselves for several moments. The girls held their breath, hoping their persistence was finally paying off. Then the glowing display lit up once more.
VERY WELL, SMALL HUMANS. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE WILL ALLOW YOU A BRIEF LOOK INSIDE OUR VESSEL. BUT YOU MUST FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY. OUR TECHNOLOGY COULD PROVE DANGEROUS IF MISUSED.
The Girl Scouts whooped and cheered, doing a little victory dance. Jenna grinned, popping another Thin Mint in her mouth triumphantly. "Deal! Thank you so much for this."
The tallest alien gestured gracefully with one long arm. "THIS WAY, YOUNG ONES. WE SHALL BEGIN OUR TOUR."
Clutching their cookie boxes eagerly, the girls fell into line behind the extraterrestrials. They followed them up a floating gangway into the belly of the ship.
Inside, the walls glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. Strange symbols and interfaces winked all around, totally indecipherable. The floors felt bouncy underfoot, as if made of gelatin.
"Wow," breathed Jamie. "It's so beautiful in here."
The aliens guided them through sleek corridors and compartments full of glowing tech. They pointed out living quarters, a laboratory, hydroponic gardens, and an observation deck showing the curve of the Earth.
In the cockpit, countless viewscreens displayed alien constellations and scans of their small town below. Control panels rippled like liquid mercury beneath touch.
"This is where we navigated our journey to your solar system," explained their guides. "Truly a marvel, the distances stars can be bridged.
Tammy peered out the main viewing portal. "Your ship is so fast! How did you get here from wherever you came from?"
As the explorers launched into an explanation involving hyperdrives and folded spacetime, Jenna began to lose the thread. Space travel clearly worked very differently where these beings hailed from.
Their tour lasted nearly an hour, the aliens answering every barrage of questions patiently. All too soon, it was over, and they found themselves back outside in the late afternoon sun
"Thank you so much for the amazing tour!" Jenna gushed, hugging her now-empty cookie box. "Learning about aliens is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The tallest being dipped its head graciously. "IT WAS OUR PLEASURE, SMALL HUMANS. YOU HAVE PROVIDED US AN INSIGHT INTO YOUR YOUNG ONES AS WELL."
Its fellows chattered in their musical language, some holding half-eaten cookies and gesturing appreciatively. Jenna beamed, glad they seemed to have enjoyed the treats.
"Will you come back to see us again?" asked Jamie hopefully.
"PERHAPS, IF OUR EXPLORATIONS BRING US BACK THIS WAY," was the reply. "BUT FOR NOW, WE MUST RESUME OUR JOURNEY AMONG THE STARS. FAREWELL, AND THANK YOU ONCE MORE FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY.
The aliens turned as one and glided back up the gangway. The rockets flared, rising gracefully into the sky until they vanished into the dusk.
The girls stood watching long after, buzzing with excited chatter about this unforgettable day. In the end, it had been the best cookie sale ever. Maybe even worth breaking a few rules...
submitted by SciFiTime to HFY [link] [comments]
Gazing up at the cloudless sky, Jenna wondered idly if it might rain later. The forecast hadn't mentioned anything, but you never knew. A tiny speck in the distance caught her eye. She squinted, trying to make it out. It grew rapidly in size—and shape. Whatever it was, it wasn't a bird.
"Hey Jamie, do you see that?" Jenna nudged her friend, pointing. Now the other girls had turned to look as well. What had been a speck was now clearly some large, cylindrical object descending from the heavens. It shone silvery-grey in the sunlight.
"Is that...a rocket ship?" breathed Tammy.
As it neared the treetops, its design became evident. Definitely not any spacecraft Jenna had seen on the news or in movies. It was smoothly rounded on all ends, with no visible engines or fins. Eerily silent, it drifted toward an open field and settled softly on four tapering legs.
The girls stared open-mouthed, cookies momentarily forgotten. A hatch appeared in the side of the ship. Light spilled out, glowing an ethereal blue. Then towering figures emerged, moving with an inhuman grace.
Jenna caught her breath. Peering closer, she could just make out bipedal forms wrapped in loose, silvery garments. Their limbs seemed overly long and jointed in odd places. As they turned in her direction, two dark eyes set wide in hairless faces met hers. No nose or mouth was visible beneath.
"Aliens," Jamie whispered. "Actual aliens. I don't believe it."
Tammy squeaked and clung to Jenna's arm. But Jenna's mind was racing. This was an incredible opportunity, too good to pass up. She flashed the others a mischievous smile. "Come on, girls. Let's go make some sales!"
The troop fell into step behind her as she marched into the field. The creatures had paused, gazing around at their surroundings with a palpable air of curiosity and caution. As Jenna neared, they angled their expressive eyes down at the little band approaching. Up close, their skin shimmered in shades of aqua and moss green, veined with silvery networks.
The tallest one shifted its gaze between the girls, as if taking their measure. It spoke, but the sound was like rushing wind and dripping water blended into an eerie melody. Its friends chattered in response, their voices blending into a dissonant choir.
Undeterred, Jenna beamed and proudly presented her box of Thin Mints. "Cookies!" she enunciated clearly. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" To her astonishment, a glowing rectangle like a computer screen lit up on the tall one's torso. Words scrolled across it in crisp English letters.
WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND. WHAT ARE COOKIES? IT SEEMS YOU ARE SELLING SOMETHING, BUT WE HAVE NO CURRENCY OF YOUR WORLD.
Jamie leaned in to whisper, eyes shining, "They can understand us! This is so cool."
Jenna gathered her thoughts, focusing on her sales pitch despite everything unusual about the situation. "Cookies are a sweet treat made of chocolate and biscuits. They're very popular here on Earth. And all the money we earn from selling them goes towards fun trips and learning new skills as Girl Scouts. Please, won't you buy a box to help support our troop? I'm sure you'll love them!"
The aliens conferred amongst themselves, still in untranslatablespeech. Finally, the glowing display lit up again. I APOLOGIZE, BUT WE HAVE NO MEANS OF TRANSACTION. WE ARE EXPLORERS HERE IN PEACE TO STUDY YOUR WORLD. PERHAPS ANOTHER TIME WE CAN BARTER. FOR NOW, WE ONLY WISH TO LEARN.
Jenna tried to hide her disappointment. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the interaction going at all. But she had come this far, so she wasn't giving up yet. An idea bloomed in her mind. "Well, since you want to learn about us, how about a trade? We'll give you a box of cookies to try in exchange for letting our whole troop come aboard your ship for a little while. What do you say?"
The girls held their breath. This was assuredly against every safety rule. But an opportunity for an out of this world experience was too enticing to pass up. The aliens conversed quietly before responding.
VERY WELL, HUMAN CHILDREN. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE AGREE TO YOUR TRADE. COME, WE SHALL GIVE YOU A TOUR OF OUR VESSEL.
Screeches of delight arose from the Scout troop. Jenna tried to shush them, not wanting the aliens to change their minds. But she couldn't contain her own grin of excitement and triumph. This was going to be one very memorable cookie sale!
Jenna stepped forward nervously, holding out the box of Thin Mints for the aliens to see. She did her best salesperson smile while gesturing to the colorful packaging. "Cookies!" she said again loudly and clearly.
The tallest alien leaned down, its large dark eyes fixing on the box in Jenna's hands. A long, nimble finger reached out to poke gently at the box, then drew back just as swiftly. Its companions murmured again in their strange tongue.
Frustrated not being able to communicate properly, Jenna popped open the lid so the sweet scent could waft up. She took one mint and mimed taking a bite, sighing happily and rubbing her belly. The aliens copied the sign for stomach, looking quizzical.
An idea sparked in Jenna's mind. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and found the notepad app. Typing awkwardly with her thumbs, she showed them the words "Will you trade for this?" Arrows pointed to the cookies and to their ship.
A spark of understanding lit in the aliens' eyes as they studied the makeshift message. Their glowing display lit up in response. I APOLOGIZE, SMALL HUMAN, BUT WE HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE FROM OUR WORLD TO OFFER IN RETURN. OUR MISSION HERE IS ONE OF DISCOVERY ONLY.
"Please?" Jenna typed, giving her best pleading look. The girls clustered behind her, joining in the silent begging. But the aliens only seemed perplexed by this behavior.
Suddenly Tammy piped up, "What if we clean your ship for you? We'll dust and sweep and take out the garbage." The others stared at her, surprised by this inventive offer.
The display considered this. THAT IS A GENEROUS OFFER. HOWEVER, OUR CRAFT UTILIZES TECHNOLOGY FAR BEYOND YOUR WORLD'S CURRENT STAGE. I DOUBT YOU COULD PERFORM MAINTENANCE TO OUR STANDARDS.
At this rejection, the girls deflated with twin sounds of disappointment. But Jenna wasn't giving up yet. She furiously texted another message. "How about you give us a little tour then? We promise to be very careful and not touch anything."
The aliens conferred quietly amongst themselves for several moments. The girls held their breath, hoping their persistence was finally paying off. Then the glowing display lit up once more.
VERY WELL, SMALL HUMANS. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE WILL ALLOW YOU A BRIEF LOOK INSIDE OUR VESSEL. BUT YOU MUST FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY. OUR TECHNOLOGY COULD PROVE DANGEROUS IF MISUSED.
The Girl Scouts whooped and cheered, doing a little victory dance. Jenna grinned, popping another Thin Mint in her mouth triumphantly. "Deal! Thank you so much for this."
The tallest alien gestured gracefully with one long arm. "THIS WAY, YOUNG ONES. WE SHALL BEGIN OUR TOUR."
Clutching their cookie boxes eagerly, the girls fell into line behind the extraterrestrials. They followed them up a floating gangway into the belly of the ship.
Inside, the walls glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. Strange symbols and interfaces winked all around, totally indecipherable. The floors felt bouncy underfoot, as if made of gelatin.
"Wow," breathed Jamie. "It's so beautiful in here."
The aliens guided them through sleek corridors and compartments full of glowing tech. They pointed out living quarters, a laboratory, hydroponic gardens, and an observation deck showing the curve of the Earth.
In the cockpit, countless viewscreens displayed alien constellations and scans of their small town below. Control panels rippled like liquid mercury beneath touch.
"This is where we navigated our journey to your solar system," explained their guides. "Truly a marvel, the distances stars can be bridged.
Tammy peered out the main viewing portal. "Your ship is so fast! How did you get here from wherever you came from?"
As the explorers launched into an explanation involving hyperdrives and folded spacetime, Jenna began to lose the thread. Space travel clearly worked very differently where these beings hailed from.
Their tour lasted nearly an hour, the aliens answering every barrage of questions patiently. All too soon, it was over, and they found themselves back outside in the late afternoon sun
"Thank you so much for the amazing tour!" Jenna gushed, hugging her now-empty cookie box. "Learning about aliens is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The tallest being dipped its head graciously. "IT WAS OUR PLEASURE, SMALL HUMANS. YOU HAVE PROVIDED US AN INSIGHT INTO YOUR YOUNG ONES AS WELL."
Its fellows chattered in their musical language, some holding half-eaten cookies and gesturing appreciatively. Jenna beamed, glad they seemed to have enjoyed the treats.
"Will you come back to see us again?" asked Jamie hopefully.
"PERHAPS, IF OUR EXPLORATIONS BRING US BACK THIS WAY," was the reply. "BUT FOR NOW, WE MUST RESUME OUR JOURNEY AMONG THE STARS. FAREWELL, AND THANK YOU ONCE MORE FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY.
The aliens turned as one and glided back up the gangway. The rockets flared, rising gracefully into the sky until they vanished into the dusk.
The girls stood watching long after, buzzing with excited chatter about this unforgettable day. In the end, it had been the best cookie sale ever. Maybe even worth breaking a few rules...
2024.05.13 22:17 kuroshilav I don't know if I have ADHD and it feels awful.
I think more than a year ago I went to a psychiatrist for the first time in my life and got diagnosed with depression, anxiety and ADHD. I only went back to that psychiatrist one more time and then I think I quit everything because I was tired of how nothing worked for me. I didn't receive any medication for ADHD — only depression and anxiety — which confused me for a while, but I'd assume it was because I'm at an age where "it can't be treated anymore". That was the first time I learned a bit about ADHD, and then I went into a rabbit hole a few months ago, feeling like I finally found a name for what I'm dealing with.
And now I'm doubting it again.
I never went back to that psychiatrist again, and instead tried two others one after another with a small break of a few weeks(?) in between, maybe. And that was a few months ago after learning more about ADHD and realizing I relate to a lot. My parents have differing views on psychology, so I only received some help and support from my dad, but I don't feel like the support lasted until the end. The second psychiatrist I saw didn't smile at all the whole time, and only gave me a tissue when I broke down crying, later mentioning how that took longer than it was supposed to take and how someone else was waiting to get in. She said that even if I were to have ADHD, if I didn't get diagnosed as a child and it didn't pose me problems then, right now medicine would only increase my insomnia and make me more cultured than I already am, or something like that.
The last psychiatrist? She didn't even tell me the diagnosis before I asked her for it. The medicine didn't help me at all.
I've given up on trying to get help after all these years. Only God knows how many times I've felt like I really do have ADHD only to doubt myself again afterwards. I've had others say they see things I do that are typical in ADHD and even a diagnosed buddy saying I have it. I feel like a psychiatrist could diagnose me again and I'd still doubt it for the rest of my life unless I'd get a brain scan or something and I'd see it with my own eyes.
Do I struggle with eating? Yes. Am I a picky eater? Yes. Do I play with my hair a lot or chew the inside of my mouth? Even now as I type. Do I forget too many things? Absolutely. Do I usually put videos on a faster speed, crochet or eat while watching videos, easily get distracted most times and get overwhelmed from small things? Oh yeah. Best believe my storytelling is inconsistent and I can blabber a lot. Also best believe I jump from one topic to another, can feel good or ok now but then later suddenly not feel good, or try and do activities but then stop because none are entertaining enough. Have I felt for the longest time that I am an outsider and that I just don't fit in? That for some reason everyone else seems to have it easy except for me? That there just is something wrong with me that anxiety and depression don't explain? Yes. And I'm sure that I could add to the list at least a couple more things, and I'd still doubt myself and whether I have ADHD or not. But I wish someone could tell me what they think, and if it seems like I have it or not. Life has been awful many times, and sometimes it was insufferable, but I keep fighting, whether with someone by my side or alone. Though I'm sure some of you don't believe in God, I do, and He has been the One keeping me alive for years on end. By His grace I want to heal, but I cannot seem to heal when I keep looking for answers that aren't coming from anywhere. Questions just seem to keep piling up, and I don't know what to do anymore.
In a sense, I feel lost. I wonder if anyone else could notice a species of ADHD in what I'm saying.
submitted by kuroshilav to offmychest [link] [comments]
And now I'm doubting it again.
I never went back to that psychiatrist again, and instead tried two others one after another with a small break of a few weeks(?) in between, maybe. And that was a few months ago after learning more about ADHD and realizing I relate to a lot. My parents have differing views on psychology, so I only received some help and support from my dad, but I don't feel like the support lasted until the end. The second psychiatrist I saw didn't smile at all the whole time, and only gave me a tissue when I broke down crying, later mentioning how that took longer than it was supposed to take and how someone else was waiting to get in. She said that even if I were to have ADHD, if I didn't get diagnosed as a child and it didn't pose me problems then, right now medicine would only increase my insomnia and make me more cultured than I already am, or something like that.
The last psychiatrist? She didn't even tell me the diagnosis before I asked her for it. The medicine didn't help me at all.
I've given up on trying to get help after all these years. Only God knows how many times I've felt like I really do have ADHD only to doubt myself again afterwards. I've had others say they see things I do that are typical in ADHD and even a diagnosed buddy saying I have it. I feel like a psychiatrist could diagnose me again and I'd still doubt it for the rest of my life unless I'd get a brain scan or something and I'd see it with my own eyes.
Do I struggle with eating? Yes. Am I a picky eater? Yes. Do I play with my hair a lot or chew the inside of my mouth? Even now as I type. Do I forget too many things? Absolutely. Do I usually put videos on a faster speed, crochet or eat while watching videos, easily get distracted most times and get overwhelmed from small things? Oh yeah. Best believe my storytelling is inconsistent and I can blabber a lot. Also best believe I jump from one topic to another, can feel good or ok now but then later suddenly not feel good, or try and do activities but then stop because none are entertaining enough. Have I felt for the longest time that I am an outsider and that I just don't fit in? That for some reason everyone else seems to have it easy except for me? That there just is something wrong with me that anxiety and depression don't explain? Yes. And I'm sure that I could add to the list at least a couple more things, and I'd still doubt myself and whether I have ADHD or not. But I wish someone could tell me what they think, and if it seems like I have it or not. Life has been awful many times, and sometimes it was insufferable, but I keep fighting, whether with someone by my side or alone. Though I'm sure some of you don't believe in God, I do, and He has been the One keeping me alive for years on end. By His grace I want to heal, but I cannot seem to heal when I keep looking for answers that aren't coming from anywhere. Questions just seem to keep piling up, and I don't know what to do anymore.
In a sense, I feel lost. I wonder if anyone else could notice a species of ADHD in what I'm saying.
2024.05.13 22:16 SciFiTime Aliens Were Never Prepared For Cookie Scouts
So far sales had been steady but not spectacular. Jenna hoped they would pick up after the school let out. She chatted and sampled with customers, pitching her spiel about supporting their troop's efforts to earn badges. It was fun work even if tiring on her feet.
Gazing up at the cloudless sky, Jenna wondered idly if it might rain later. The forecast hadn't mentioned anything, but you never knew. A tiny speck in the distance caught her eye. She squinted, trying to make it out. It grew rapidly in size—and shape. Whatever it was, it wasn't a bird.
"Hey Jamie, do you see that?" Jenna nudged her friend, pointing. Now the other girls had turned to look as well. What had been a speck was now clearly some large, cylindrical object descending from the heavens. It shone silvery-grey in the sunlight.
"Is that...a rocket ship?" breathed Tammy.
As it neared the treetops, its design became evident. Definitely not any spacecraft Jenna had seen on the news or in movies. It was smoothly rounded on all ends, with no visible engines or fins. Eerily silent, it drifted toward an open field and settled softly on four tapering legs.
The girls stared open-mouthed, cookies momentarily forgotten. A hatch appeared in the side of the ship. Light spilled out, glowing an ethereal blue. Then towering figures emerged, moving with an inhuman grace.
Jenna caught her breath. Peering closer, she could just make out bipedal forms wrapped in loose, silvery garments. Their limbs seemed overly long and jointed in odd places. As they turned in her direction, two dark eyes set wide in hairless faces met hers. No nose or mouth was visible beneath.
"Aliens," Jamie whispered. "Actual aliens. I don't believe it."
Tammy squeaked and clung to Jenna's arm. But Jenna's mind was racing. This was an incredible opportunity, too good to pass up. She flashed the others a mischievous smile. "Come on, girls. Let's go make some sales!"
The troop fell into step behind her as she marched into the field. The creatures had paused, gazing around at their surroundings with a palpable air of curiosity and caution. As Jenna neared, they angled their expressive eyes down at the little band approaching. Up close, their skin shimmered in shades of aqua and moss green, veined with silvery networks.
The tallest one shifted its gaze between the girls, as if taking their measure. It spoke, but the sound was like rushing wind and dripping water blended into an eerie melody. Its friends chattered in response, their voices blending into a dissonant choir.
Undeterred, Jenna beamed and proudly presented her box of Thin Mints. "Cookies!" she enunciated clearly. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" To her astonishment, a glowing rectangle like a computer screen lit up on the tall one's torso. Words scrolled across it in crisp English letters.
WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND. WHAT ARE COOKIES? IT SEEMS YOU ARE SELLING SOMETHING, BUT WE HAVE NO CURRENCY OF YOUR WORLD.
Jamie leaned in to whisper, eyes shining, "They can understand us! This is so cool."
Jenna gathered her thoughts, focusing on her sales pitch despite everything unusual about the situation. "Cookies are a sweet treat made of chocolate and biscuits. They're very popular here on Earth. And all the money we earn from selling them goes towards fun trips and learning new skills as Girl Scouts. Please, won't you buy a box to help support our troop? I'm sure you'll love them!"
The aliens conferred amongst themselves, still in untranslatablespeech. Finally, the glowing display lit up again. I APOLOGIZE, BUT WE HAVE NO MEANS OF TRANSACTION. WE ARE EXPLORERS HERE IN PEACE TO STUDY YOUR WORLD. PERHAPS ANOTHER TIME WE CAN BARTER. FOR NOW, WE ONLY WISH TO LEARN.
Jenna tried to hide her disappointment. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the interaction going at all. But she had come this far, so she wasn't giving up yet. An idea bloomed in her mind. "Well, since you want to learn about us, how about a trade? We'll give you a box of cookies to try in exchange for letting our whole troop come aboard your ship for a little while. What do you say?"
The girls held their breath. This was assuredly against every safety rule. But an opportunity for an out of this world experience was too enticing to pass up. The aliens conversed quietly before responding.
VERY WELL, HUMAN CHILDREN. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE AGREE TO YOUR TRADE. COME, WE SHALL GIVE YOU A TOUR OF OUR VESSEL.
Screeches of delight arose from the Scout troop. Jenna tried to shush them, not wanting the aliens to change their minds. But she couldn't contain her own grin of excitement and triumph. This was going to be one very memorable cookie sale!
Jenna stepped forward nervously, holding out the box of Thin Mints for the aliens to see. She did her best salesperson smile while gesturing to the colorful packaging. "Cookies!" she said again loudly and clearly.
The tallest alien leaned down, its large dark eyes fixing on the box in Jenna's hands. A long, nimble finger reached out to poke gently at the box, then drew back just as swiftly. Its companions murmured again in their strange tongue.
Frustrated not being able to communicate properly, Jenna popped open the lid so the sweet scent could waft up. She took one mint and mimed taking a bite, sighing happily and rubbing her belly. The aliens copied the sign for stomach, looking quizzical.
An idea sparked in Jenna's mind. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and found the notepad app. Typing awkwardly with her thumbs, she showed them the words "Will you trade for this?" Arrows pointed to the cookies and to their ship.
A spark of understanding lit in the aliens' eyes as they studied the makeshift message. Their glowing display lit up in response. I APOLOGIZE, SMALL HUMAN, BUT WE HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE FROM OUR WORLD TO OFFER IN RETURN. OUR MISSION HERE IS ONE OF DISCOVERY ONLY.
"Please?" Jenna typed, giving her best pleading look. The girls clustered behind her, joining in the silent begging. But the aliens only seemed perplexed by this behavior.
Suddenly Tammy piped up, "What if we clean your ship for you? We'll dust and sweep and take out the garbage." The others stared at her, surprised by this inventive offer.
The display considered this. THAT IS A GENEROUS OFFER. HOWEVER, OUR CRAFT UTILIZES TECHNOLOGY FAR BEYOND YOUR WORLD'S CURRENT STAGE. I DOUBT YOU COULD PERFORM MAINTENANCE TO OUR STANDARDS.
At this rejection, the girls deflated with twin sounds of disappointment. But Jenna wasn't giving up yet. She furiously texted another message. "How about you give us a little tour then? We promise to be very careful and not touch anything."
The aliens conferred quietly amongst themselves for several moments. The girls held their breath, hoping their persistence was finally paying off. Then the glowing display lit up once more.
VERY WELL, SMALL HUMANS. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE WILL ALLOW YOU A BRIEF LOOK INSIDE OUR VESSEL. BUT YOU MUST FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY. OUR TECHNOLOGY COULD PROVE DANGEROUS IF MISUSED.
The Girl Scouts whooped and cheered, doing a little victory dance. Jenna grinned, popping another Thin Mint in her mouth triumphantly. "Deal! Thank you so much for this."
The tallest alien gestured gracefully with one long arm. "THIS WAY, YOUNG ONES. WE SHALL BEGIN OUR TOUR."
Clutching their cookie boxes eagerly, the girls fell into line behind the extraterrestrials. They followed them up a floating gangway into the belly of the ship.
Inside, the walls glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. Strange symbols and interfaces winked all around, totally indecipherable. The floors felt bouncy underfoot, as if made of gelatin.
"Wow," breathed Jamie. "It's so beautiful in here."
The aliens guided them through sleek corridors and compartments full of glowing tech. They pointed out living quarters, a laboratory, hydroponic gardens, and an observation deck showing the curve of the Earth.
In the cockpit, countless viewscreens displayed alien constellations and scans of their small town below. Control panels rippled like liquid mercury beneath touch.
"This is where we navigated our journey to your solar system," explained their guides. "Truly a marvel, the distances stars can be bridged.
Tammy peered out the main viewing portal. "Your ship is so fast! How did you get here from wherever you came from?"
As the explorers launched into an explanation involving hyperdrives and folded spacetime, Jenna began to lose the thread. Space travel clearly worked very differently where these beings hailed from.
Their tour lasted nearly an hour, the aliens answering every barrage of questions patiently. All too soon, it was over, and they found themselves back outside in the late afternoon sun
"Thank you so much for the amazing tour!" Jenna gushed, hugging her now-empty cookie box. "Learning about aliens is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The tallest being dipped its head graciously. "IT WAS OUR PLEASURE, SMALL HUMANS. YOU HAVE PROVIDED US AN INSIGHT INTO YOUR YOUNG ONES AS WELL."
Its fellows chattered in their musical language, some holding half-eaten cookies and gesturing appreciatively. Jenna beamed, glad they seemed to have enjoyed the treats.
"Will you come back to see us again?" asked Jamie hopefully.
"PERHAPS, IF OUR EXPLORATIONS BRING US BACK THIS WAY," was the reply. "BUT FOR NOW, WE MUST RESUME OUR JOURNEY AMONG THE STARS. FAREWELL, AND THANK YOU ONCE MORE FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY.
The aliens turned as one and glided back up the gangway. The rockets flared, rising gracefully into the sky until they vanished into the dusk.
The girls stood watching long after, buzzing with excited chatter about this unforgettable day. In the end, it had been the best cookie sale ever. Maybe even worth breaking a few rules...
submitted by SciFiTime to u/SciFiTime [link] [comments]
Gazing up at the cloudless sky, Jenna wondered idly if it might rain later. The forecast hadn't mentioned anything, but you never knew. A tiny speck in the distance caught her eye. She squinted, trying to make it out. It grew rapidly in size—and shape. Whatever it was, it wasn't a bird.
"Hey Jamie, do you see that?" Jenna nudged her friend, pointing. Now the other girls had turned to look as well. What had been a speck was now clearly some large, cylindrical object descending from the heavens. It shone silvery-grey in the sunlight.
"Is that...a rocket ship?" breathed Tammy.
As it neared the treetops, its design became evident. Definitely not any spacecraft Jenna had seen on the news or in movies. It was smoothly rounded on all ends, with no visible engines or fins. Eerily silent, it drifted toward an open field and settled softly on four tapering legs.
The girls stared open-mouthed, cookies momentarily forgotten. A hatch appeared in the side of the ship. Light spilled out, glowing an ethereal blue. Then towering figures emerged, moving with an inhuman grace.
Jenna caught her breath. Peering closer, she could just make out bipedal forms wrapped in loose, silvery garments. Their limbs seemed overly long and jointed in odd places. As they turned in her direction, two dark eyes set wide in hairless faces met hers. No nose or mouth was visible beneath.
"Aliens," Jamie whispered. "Actual aliens. I don't believe it."
Tammy squeaked and clung to Jenna's arm. But Jenna's mind was racing. This was an incredible opportunity, too good to pass up. She flashed the others a mischievous smile. "Come on, girls. Let's go make some sales!"
The troop fell into step behind her as she marched into the field. The creatures had paused, gazing around at their surroundings with a palpable air of curiosity and caution. As Jenna neared, they angled their expressive eyes down at the little band approaching. Up close, their skin shimmered in shades of aqua and moss green, veined with silvery networks.
The tallest one shifted its gaze between the girls, as if taking their measure. It spoke, but the sound was like rushing wind and dripping water blended into an eerie melody. Its friends chattered in response, their voices blending into a dissonant choir.
Undeterred, Jenna beamed and proudly presented her box of Thin Mints. "Cookies!" she enunciated clearly. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" To her astonishment, a glowing rectangle like a computer screen lit up on the tall one's torso. Words scrolled across it in crisp English letters.
WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND. WHAT ARE COOKIES? IT SEEMS YOU ARE SELLING SOMETHING, BUT WE HAVE NO CURRENCY OF YOUR WORLD.
Jamie leaned in to whisper, eyes shining, "They can understand us! This is so cool."
Jenna gathered her thoughts, focusing on her sales pitch despite everything unusual about the situation. "Cookies are a sweet treat made of chocolate and biscuits. They're very popular here on Earth. And all the money we earn from selling them goes towards fun trips and learning new skills as Girl Scouts. Please, won't you buy a box to help support our troop? I'm sure you'll love them!"
The aliens conferred amongst themselves, still in untranslatablespeech. Finally, the glowing display lit up again. I APOLOGIZE, BUT WE HAVE NO MEANS OF TRANSACTION. WE ARE EXPLORERS HERE IN PEACE TO STUDY YOUR WORLD. PERHAPS ANOTHER TIME WE CAN BARTER. FOR NOW, WE ONLY WISH TO LEARN.
Jenna tried to hide her disappointment. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the interaction going at all. But she had come this far, so she wasn't giving up yet. An idea bloomed in her mind. "Well, since you want to learn about us, how about a trade? We'll give you a box of cookies to try in exchange for letting our whole troop come aboard your ship for a little while. What do you say?"
The girls held their breath. This was assuredly against every safety rule. But an opportunity for an out of this world experience was too enticing to pass up. The aliens conversed quietly before responding.
VERY WELL, HUMAN CHILDREN. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE AGREE TO YOUR TRADE. COME, WE SHALL GIVE YOU A TOUR OF OUR VESSEL.
Screeches of delight arose from the Scout troop. Jenna tried to shush them, not wanting the aliens to change their minds. But she couldn't contain her own grin of excitement and triumph. This was going to be one very memorable cookie sale!
Jenna stepped forward nervously, holding out the box of Thin Mints for the aliens to see. She did her best salesperson smile while gesturing to the colorful packaging. "Cookies!" she said again loudly and clearly.
The tallest alien leaned down, its large dark eyes fixing on the box in Jenna's hands. A long, nimble finger reached out to poke gently at the box, then drew back just as swiftly. Its companions murmured again in their strange tongue.
Frustrated not being able to communicate properly, Jenna popped open the lid so the sweet scent could waft up. She took one mint and mimed taking a bite, sighing happily and rubbing her belly. The aliens copied the sign for stomach, looking quizzical.
An idea sparked in Jenna's mind. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and found the notepad app. Typing awkwardly with her thumbs, she showed them the words "Will you trade for this?" Arrows pointed to the cookies and to their ship.
A spark of understanding lit in the aliens' eyes as they studied the makeshift message. Their glowing display lit up in response. I APOLOGIZE, SMALL HUMAN, BUT WE HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE FROM OUR WORLD TO OFFER IN RETURN. OUR MISSION HERE IS ONE OF DISCOVERY ONLY.
"Please?" Jenna typed, giving her best pleading look. The girls clustered behind her, joining in the silent begging. But the aliens only seemed perplexed by this behavior.
Suddenly Tammy piped up, "What if we clean your ship for you? We'll dust and sweep and take out the garbage." The others stared at her, surprised by this inventive offer.
The display considered this. THAT IS A GENEROUS OFFER. HOWEVER, OUR CRAFT UTILIZES TECHNOLOGY FAR BEYOND YOUR WORLD'S CURRENT STAGE. I DOUBT YOU COULD PERFORM MAINTENANCE TO OUR STANDARDS.
At this rejection, the girls deflated with twin sounds of disappointment. But Jenna wasn't giving up yet. She furiously texted another message. "How about you give us a little tour then? We promise to be very careful and not touch anything."
The aliens conferred quietly amongst themselves for several moments. The girls held their breath, hoping their persistence was finally paying off. Then the glowing display lit up once more.
VERY WELL, SMALL HUMANS. FOR THE SAKE OF CULTURAL EXCHANGE, WE WILL ALLOW YOU A BRIEF LOOK INSIDE OUR VESSEL. BUT YOU MUST FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY. OUR TECHNOLOGY COULD PROVE DANGEROUS IF MISUSED.
The Girl Scouts whooped and cheered, doing a little victory dance. Jenna grinned, popping another Thin Mint in her mouth triumphantly. "Deal! Thank you so much for this."
The tallest alien gestured gracefully with one long arm. "THIS WAY, YOUNG ONES. WE SHALL BEGIN OUR TOUR."
Clutching their cookie boxes eagerly, the girls fell into line behind the extraterrestrials. They followed them up a floating gangway into the belly of the ship.
Inside, the walls glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. Strange symbols and interfaces winked all around, totally indecipherable. The floors felt bouncy underfoot, as if made of gelatin.
"Wow," breathed Jamie. "It's so beautiful in here."
The aliens guided them through sleek corridors and compartments full of glowing tech. They pointed out living quarters, a laboratory, hydroponic gardens, and an observation deck showing the curve of the Earth.
In the cockpit, countless viewscreens displayed alien constellations and scans of their small town below. Control panels rippled like liquid mercury beneath touch.
"This is where we navigated our journey to your solar system," explained their guides. "Truly a marvel, the distances stars can be bridged.
Tammy peered out the main viewing portal. "Your ship is so fast! How did you get here from wherever you came from?"
As the explorers launched into an explanation involving hyperdrives and folded spacetime, Jenna began to lose the thread. Space travel clearly worked very differently where these beings hailed from.
Their tour lasted nearly an hour, the aliens answering every barrage of questions patiently. All too soon, it was over, and they found themselves back outside in the late afternoon sun
"Thank you so much for the amazing tour!" Jenna gushed, hugging her now-empty cookie box. "Learning about aliens is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The tallest being dipped its head graciously. "IT WAS OUR PLEASURE, SMALL HUMANS. YOU HAVE PROVIDED US AN INSIGHT INTO YOUR YOUNG ONES AS WELL."
Its fellows chattered in their musical language, some holding half-eaten cookies and gesturing appreciatively. Jenna beamed, glad they seemed to have enjoyed the treats.
"Will you come back to see us again?" asked Jamie hopefully.
"PERHAPS, IF OUR EXPLORATIONS BRING US BACK THIS WAY," was the reply. "BUT FOR NOW, WE MUST RESUME OUR JOURNEY AMONG THE STARS. FAREWELL, AND THANK YOU ONCE MORE FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY.
The aliens turned as one and glided back up the gangway. The rockets flared, rising gracefully into the sky until they vanished into the dusk.
The girls stood watching long after, buzzing with excited chatter about this unforgettable day. In the end, it had been the best cookie sale ever. Maybe even worth breaking a few rules...
2024.05.13 22:16 octo_99 My 10 year old cat in disinterested in toys but expresses attention seeking behavior
I’m not sure how to help him and I have had a hard time finding resources online. My dad adopted him when he was a kitten (I was 15) and he got very attached to me. I didn’t take him with me when I moved out on my own since he was my dad’s cat. However my dad gave him to me about four years ago so he’s lived with me for most of his life, with the exception of a 2-3 year window. He’s never been particularly interested in toys, but he’s very averse to them at this point in time. I moved 5 hours away from my hometown with him, last August (almost a year ago) and that’s been a challenging adjustment for him. I give him lots of attention when I’m home. I work 8 hours a day. I keep his feeding schedule consistent and his litter box clean. He has a scratching post, wand with feathers and ribbons, plastic balls that have smaller balls inside to make noise, fish that move and make noise and a stool with an opening for a hiding away. Petting and cuddling him doesn’t seem to be enough but I can’t seem to find the right toys for him. He gets anxious zoomies, makes lots of loud noise and scratches all my furniture. I can’t seem to appease him. Any suggestions on how how to entertain and keep my precious cat physically and mentally stimulated?
TLDR: My 10 year old cat is restless and anxious but nothing I do seems to appease him, including a consistent schedule, toys, pets/scratches and cuddles.
submitted by octo_99 to cats [link] [comments]
TLDR: My 10 year old cat is restless and anxious but nothing I do seems to appease him, including a consistent schedule, toys, pets/scratches and cuddles.
2024.05.13 22:08 Jonbieniemy87 A Lily in a Valley of Haze (Part 1 of ?)
Born on the planet Barbarus in the Segmentum Tempestus, the homeworld of Primarch Morrigan, Mattius lived a simple life on the caustic feral world he called home. His parents were farmers in the habitable areas of the planet that could grow healthy plants of some sort. However, Mattius’s childhood was not not all pleasant. To his great misfortune, he was born a psyker and a strong one at that. His formative years were full of nightmares, painful futures of his neighbors, his family and humanity as a whole. Their mother, Emelia took care of them often, especially when their nightmares were especially bad. To calm her child and to relieve their stress and worries, Emelia would take Mattius to the family garden to tend to the flowers and herbs. Mattius found great comfort in taking care of these flowers, and it provided pleasant smells that were fresh compared to the choked air outside the greenhouse.
Mattius’s father led the farm work, with he and his many brothers helping with the work in the fields. Matthias learned to tend to wounds his brothers would get out in the field, and tinkered with devices to help protect them from the caustic winds that would come from higher areas of the planet. His father however would not make it to see Mattius become a man, dying of a disease when Mattius was barely fourteen. Mattius spent more time caring for his mother, who was declining in health from the same ailment his father had passed from. To prevent the pain of loss and worry from consuming him, he focused on his garden, his fields of crops, keeping his siblings healthy and easing his mother’s pain. But no matter how much tried, he could not save his mother. She would die peacefully while Mattius held her hands until all life had left her. He made a promise to himself that he would make sure no one would share his fate. He spent more time in his garden, leaving his siblings to care for the fields. He spent hours upon end working on controlling his curse, trying to heal his plants, small animals and birds.
When he got older, he would spend time healing neighbors, using his garden’s bounty as a cover for his powers. He still had nightmares, but not about the fates of those around him. He could hear four cackling voices, and could smell the stench of bile. This particular nightmare was new, and he knew not what caused it. He had the hold of a rather toxic plague from his village, but he knew not what kind of thing would infest his nightmares in this manner. Little did he know, but the Chaos Gods had found him, but so would others.
Primarch Mortarian had returned from a campaign of conquest for her father to replenish her forces and ensure her homeworld was well. That was when she was informed of a strong wielder of sorcery, the Primarch immediately set about destroying this stain on her planet. Her father had robbed her of her opportunity to kill her adoptive father, but she would not lose this opportunity. She made all haste, arriving at a small village nestled into a valley that was mostly free of haze. Her heavy footsteps rung through the Thunderhawk as her and the small retinue of her sons exited the craft, causing eyes to peek out from curtains and denizens to rush inside as to not get in the way of the incoming demi-gods.
Mortarion soon approached the place she was told the psyker was, a sickhouse that was little more than four wooden walls, a roof and an apothecary sign. However, her anger was immediately disarmed as she entered. Instead of the heresy she expected to find, she could see a young man giving beautiful flowers to the sick and injured, caring for them with a gentle hand that made her question her intentions. She approached the man as he was caring for a young girl who was bruised and covered in sores. She looked so scared, her face marred with pain, tears and the terror of not knowing if she would see the next day. He tended to the young girl, replacing her bandages, gently applied medicine to her sores, and then handed her a small rose from his bag. Morrigan could see the sorcery, as the young man handed her the flowers, she could see the pain disappear from the young girl’s face, the terror gone and replaced by a joy and a happiness that she had not seen. The young man however looked as though he was in pain, as if he had taken her pain for himself.
Mattius moved to his next patient, his head buzzing with the beginnings of a headache. In his distracted state, he nearly ran into what he saw as a green steel wall. Apologizing profusely, he backed up, and saw the visage of what he only assumed to be a god. Hesitantly he asked “Is there something I can do for you M’lady?” Mattius could see the mask upon her face, at least he thought it was a woman. He could hear the rasp in her breath, the pain in her breath. He swore he could almost feel the pain. He could smell the death and caustic air that clung to her. He could see the giant scythe that she was carrying, and he worried for the safety of those in his care. Mortarion placed her hand on her scythe, bent on ending this psychers life. “Are you the psyker that has been healing these people?” She questioned, her words mixed with a hint of venom, anger and pain in her voice. Mattius knew surely what this must mean, but he would accept his fate. “I am, and I accept my fate. I only ask one thing M’lady, before you end me.” Mortarion was not usually one for listening to psykers, but she saw no reason not to grant this final request. “Be quick psyker.” Time was paramount. “Please spare these people, those who I have aided, and those I have yet to aid. Only I should suffer.” Mattius uttered quickly, desperately. Mortarion would normally not care about his wishes, or take this longer to end the life of a psyker. But something made her pause, and she removed her hand from my scythe. Mattius tried to hide his shock. He thought surely his life would end. He had hoped that at the most, the sick and injured would be spared. But his life was spared as well, something he thought impossible at the start of this encounter. “Come with me….” she said, exiting the apothecary and joining her sons outside. Mattias quickly gathered his things, apologized to the owner of the apothecary for the incident that just occurred and then promptly left to follow the giant woman in armor.
Mortarion had the young man stand in front of her, with her sons surrounding them in a circle as they returned to the Stormhawk, and then finally to return to Endurance. The young man would serve as the ship’s apothecary. Psyker or not, he knew what he was doing. It certainly helped his case that her last set of apothecaries were idiots her father had sent from Terra. At least this young man was from her homeworld, and wouldn’t harm her people if he went heretical since he would be close enough to eliminate. At least that’s what she told herself.
Inspired by u/Sweet_older-Sister and her awesome posts that started this AU and u/PSDWB for the idea to make her SO a psyker.
I hope y'all enjoy! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! I'm hoping to make this into multiple parts that I can write over the next few days.
submitted by Jonbieniemy87 to PrimarchGFs [link] [comments]
Mattius’s father led the farm work, with he and his many brothers helping with the work in the fields. Matthias learned to tend to wounds his brothers would get out in the field, and tinkered with devices to help protect them from the caustic winds that would come from higher areas of the planet. His father however would not make it to see Mattius become a man, dying of a disease when Mattius was barely fourteen. Mattius spent more time caring for his mother, who was declining in health from the same ailment his father had passed from. To prevent the pain of loss and worry from consuming him, he focused on his garden, his fields of crops, keeping his siblings healthy and easing his mother’s pain. But no matter how much tried, he could not save his mother. She would die peacefully while Mattius held her hands until all life had left her. He made a promise to himself that he would make sure no one would share his fate. He spent more time in his garden, leaving his siblings to care for the fields. He spent hours upon end working on controlling his curse, trying to heal his plants, small animals and birds.
When he got older, he would spend time healing neighbors, using his garden’s bounty as a cover for his powers. He still had nightmares, but not about the fates of those around him. He could hear four cackling voices, and could smell the stench of bile. This particular nightmare was new, and he knew not what caused it. He had the hold of a rather toxic plague from his village, but he knew not what kind of thing would infest his nightmares in this manner. Little did he know, but the Chaos Gods had found him, but so would others.
Primarch Mortarian had returned from a campaign of conquest for her father to replenish her forces and ensure her homeworld was well. That was when she was informed of a strong wielder of sorcery, the Primarch immediately set about destroying this stain on her planet. Her father had robbed her of her opportunity to kill her adoptive father, but she would not lose this opportunity. She made all haste, arriving at a small village nestled into a valley that was mostly free of haze. Her heavy footsteps rung through the Thunderhawk as her and the small retinue of her sons exited the craft, causing eyes to peek out from curtains and denizens to rush inside as to not get in the way of the incoming demi-gods.
Mortarion soon approached the place she was told the psyker was, a sickhouse that was little more than four wooden walls, a roof and an apothecary sign. However, her anger was immediately disarmed as she entered. Instead of the heresy she expected to find, she could see a young man giving beautiful flowers to the sick and injured, caring for them with a gentle hand that made her question her intentions. She approached the man as he was caring for a young girl who was bruised and covered in sores. She looked so scared, her face marred with pain, tears and the terror of not knowing if she would see the next day. He tended to the young girl, replacing her bandages, gently applied medicine to her sores, and then handed her a small rose from his bag. Morrigan could see the sorcery, as the young man handed her the flowers, she could see the pain disappear from the young girl’s face, the terror gone and replaced by a joy and a happiness that she had not seen. The young man however looked as though he was in pain, as if he had taken her pain for himself.
Mattius moved to his next patient, his head buzzing with the beginnings of a headache. In his distracted state, he nearly ran into what he saw as a green steel wall. Apologizing profusely, he backed up, and saw the visage of what he only assumed to be a god. Hesitantly he asked “Is there something I can do for you M’lady?” Mattius could see the mask upon her face, at least he thought it was a woman. He could hear the rasp in her breath, the pain in her breath. He swore he could almost feel the pain. He could smell the death and caustic air that clung to her. He could see the giant scythe that she was carrying, and he worried for the safety of those in his care. Mortarion placed her hand on her scythe, bent on ending this psychers life. “Are you the psyker that has been healing these people?” She questioned, her words mixed with a hint of venom, anger and pain in her voice. Mattius knew surely what this must mean, but he would accept his fate. “I am, and I accept my fate. I only ask one thing M’lady, before you end me.” Mortarion was not usually one for listening to psykers, but she saw no reason not to grant this final request. “Be quick psyker.” Time was paramount. “Please spare these people, those who I have aided, and those I have yet to aid. Only I should suffer.” Mattius uttered quickly, desperately. Mortarion would normally not care about his wishes, or take this longer to end the life of a psyker. But something made her pause, and she removed her hand from my scythe. Mattius tried to hide his shock. He thought surely his life would end. He had hoped that at the most, the sick and injured would be spared. But his life was spared as well, something he thought impossible at the start of this encounter. “Come with me….” she said, exiting the apothecary and joining her sons outside. Mattias quickly gathered his things, apologized to the owner of the apothecary for the incident that just occurred and then promptly left to follow the giant woman in armor.
Mortarion had the young man stand in front of her, with her sons surrounding them in a circle as they returned to the Stormhawk, and then finally to return to Endurance. The young man would serve as the ship’s apothecary. Psyker or not, he knew what he was doing. It certainly helped his case that her last set of apothecaries were idiots her father had sent from Terra. At least this young man was from her homeworld, and wouldn’t harm her people if he went heretical since he would be close enough to eliminate. At least that’s what she told herself.
Inspired by u/Sweet_older-Sister and her awesome posts that started this AU and u/PSDWB for the idea to make her SO a psyker.
I hope y'all enjoy! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! I'm hoping to make this into multiple parts that I can write over the next few days.
2024.05.13 22:02 Alarmed-Lie9163 AITA for wanting to distance myself from my friend after his drunken comments
Throwaway account to remain anonymous, but I want some advice on this situation. First and foremost, I do have some overall PTSD. I’ve had homies at the drop of a hair turn their back on me, steal from me, even a homie I let stay in my house when he was homeless ended up trying to fuck with my ex when we broke up. So safe to say I find it a bit difficult giving 100% trust to people all the time. Which brings us to this particular situation.
A few days back I was having a bonfire at my house, a couple of my friends were over and it was a good time. We were smoking and drinking and roasting stuff over the fire. It was getting late so my gf went inside to lay down, as she had work the next morning. At one point my friend was looking for my portable charger so he could charge his phone outside, so I told him where it could be inside the house. He left for probably 2 mins and came back, nothing out of the ordinary. The next day my gf and I were chit chatting and suddenly she says “oh yeah I forgot to say. Last night while everyone was out there, ______ came in and was looking for the charger. At one point he said something when he came looking in the living room ‘“Oh hi don’t mind me, I’m not looking at ur big tits.’” She said it made her very uncomfortable, but she said he didn’t do anything else though, found the charger, and kept it moving.
I was pretty disturbed when she told me, and kinda told myself like yeah not the best idea to have that homie around all intimately close anymore. Now that a couple days have passed, I kinda keep thinking about the phrase “a drunk mouth speaks a sober mind,” and I think back on the old shitty friends I had. Am I overthinking/reacting to this? I know personally that I would never look at my homies girls in that way, let alone have something like that come to mind to say…
I guess another thing I can bring up is how we’ve been friends for 3-4 years now, I’ve heard his whole stance on OF girls and stuff like that. He’s the type of dude where he doesn’t mind dudes looking at his girl. Says it’s gonna happen regardless. I’ve had some bad experiences with SA and things of that nature so I’m more on the wave of thinking you shouldn’t go around imaging people in that way. I think it’s weird to see an attractive person and to start imaging physical acts with them without knowing them on a personal level, or even knowing if they want to be viewed that way by me. Especially when they’re your friends partner. What do you think ? Am I making too big of a deal about something that came from some intoxicated dumb choice of words?
submitted by Alarmed-Lie9163 to AITA_WIBTA_PUBLIC [link] [comments]
A few days back I was having a bonfire at my house, a couple of my friends were over and it was a good time. We were smoking and drinking and roasting stuff over the fire. It was getting late so my gf went inside to lay down, as she had work the next morning. At one point my friend was looking for my portable charger so he could charge his phone outside, so I told him where it could be inside the house. He left for probably 2 mins and came back, nothing out of the ordinary. The next day my gf and I were chit chatting and suddenly she says “oh yeah I forgot to say. Last night while everyone was out there, ______ came in and was looking for the charger. At one point he said something when he came looking in the living room ‘“Oh hi don’t mind me, I’m not looking at ur big tits.’” She said it made her very uncomfortable, but she said he didn’t do anything else though, found the charger, and kept it moving.
I was pretty disturbed when she told me, and kinda told myself like yeah not the best idea to have that homie around all intimately close anymore. Now that a couple days have passed, I kinda keep thinking about the phrase “a drunk mouth speaks a sober mind,” and I think back on the old shitty friends I had. Am I overthinking/reacting to this? I know personally that I would never look at my homies girls in that way, let alone have something like that come to mind to say…
I guess another thing I can bring up is how we’ve been friends for 3-4 years now, I’ve heard his whole stance on OF girls and stuff like that. He’s the type of dude where he doesn’t mind dudes looking at his girl. Says it’s gonna happen regardless. I’ve had some bad experiences with SA and things of that nature so I’m more on the wave of thinking you shouldn’t go around imaging people in that way. I think it’s weird to see an attractive person and to start imaging physical acts with them without knowing them on a personal level, or even knowing if they want to be viewed that way by me. Especially when they’re your friends partner. What do you think ? Am I making too big of a deal about something that came from some intoxicated dumb choice of words?
2024.05.13 22:00 DiscoverDurham Things to do in Durham this week!
If you’d like to add an event to our calendar, submit an event here. Please check with the event organizers to see if events change due to weather. Have a great week!
See the full weekly calendar on our website.
Board Game Night at The Glass Jug in Downtown Durham
5 p.m.
Arts & Drafts at Fullsteam Brewery
6 p.m.
Disc Golf Putting League at The Glass Jug in RTP
6:30 p.m.
Trivia Night at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
7 p.m.
Community Board Game Night at Moon Dog Meadery
Boxyard Run Club at Boxyard RTP
6 p.m.
In Other Words at Arcana
Duke Baseball vs College of Charleston at Jack Coombs Field
Bring Your Own Vinyl with Jaffar at Rubies on Five Points
Women on the Wall at Triangle Rock Club - Durham
6:30 p.m.
Trivia at Durham Food Hall
Pony Ride at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
7 p.m.
Trivia at Beer Study Durham
Not Rocket Science Trivia at DSSOLVR Durham
Tuesday Blues Jam at The Blue Note Grill
8 p.m.
Comedy Night at Bull City Ciderworks
Jeremy 'Bean' Clemons Trio at Kingfisher
Enter Shikari at Motorco Music Hall
Vision Video + Tears For The Dying at The Pinhook
Senior Short Game Clinic at Hillandale Golf Course
10:30 a.m.
Storytime on the Roof with Durham County Library at The Durham Hotel
12 p.m.
Adult Recess at CCB Plaza
3 p.m.
Durham Farmers’ Market at Durham Central Park
4 p.m.
Whiskey Wednesdays at Alley Twenty Six
5 p.m.
Free Wednesday Wine Tasting at Beer Study Durham
5:30 p.m.
Ride of Silence at CCB Plaza
6 p.m.
Queer Craft Night and Tarot with Joy at Arcana
Bimbe Community Block Party at Holton Career & Resource Center
Come Take a Flight With Us: A Bright Black Workshop at Proximity Brewing Company
Free RTP Business Rockstar Connect Networking Event at Sheraton Imperial Hotel
Sweet Social: Auntie's African Ice Cream at The Durham Hotel
6:30 p.m.
Trivia Night with Pickle at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
7 p.m.
Bottle Swap: Homebrew Club at Durty Bull Brewing Brewing Company
Skip The Small Talk: Speed Friending Event at Fullsteam Brewery
Hammered Trivia at Hi-Wire Brewing
Karaoke Night at Mavericks Smokehouse
Music Bingo at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
3rd Wednesday Jazz Jam Session at Succotash Southern & Creole Kitchen
Brett Chambers Open Mic at The Blue Note Grill
8 p.m.
Air Hockey Tournament at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Trivia Night at Bull McCabe's
Karaoke at Moon Dog Meadery
The Weeks at Motorco Music Hall
Blends With Friends at The Pinhook
Harnessing the Power of AI to Ensure Equitable HR Practices at RTI Holden Building
9:30 a.m.
Guide Supported Canoeing, Kayaking, and Standup Paddleboarding at Eno River
12:15 p.m.
Midday Meander: A Strolling Conversation at Sarah P. Duke Gardens
3 p.m.
Guided Museum Tour at 21c Museum Hotels Durham
5 p.m.
Thirsty Thursdays at Dashi
Righteous Roots Reggae Show at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
5:30 p.m.
Walking Club with Bull City Strollers at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in Downtown Durham
6 p.m.
Queer Trivia at Arcana
Vinyl Night with DJ Deckades at Gizmo Brew Works
6:15 p.m.
Pony Run at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
6:30 p.m.
AfterHours: Science of Beer at Museum of Life and Science
Line Dance Classes at Mystic Farm and Distillery
Space Code Youth Open Mic at NorthStar Church of the Arts
Boulders & Brews Meetup at Triangle Rock Club - Durham
7 p.m.
Trivia Night at Beer Tooth Taproom
Bimbé Cypher at CCB Plaza
Bring Your Own Vinyl Night at Congress Social Bar
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Summer Jazz Jam (Curated by Al Strong) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
Community Board Game Night at Moon Dog Meadery
Al Strong Presents Jazz on the Roof at The Durham Hotel
7:30 p.m.
Trivia Night with Big Slow Tom at Clouds Brewing Brightleaf Square
Reverend Billy C. Wirtz / Armand Lenchek & Carter Minor at The Blue Note Grill
Pillow Talk: Speed Dating and Conversations About Sex / Sexuality at The Pinhook
8 p.m.
Weekly Single Mingle at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Trivia at Fullsteam Brewery
Danny Lopriore at Motorco Music Hall
9 p.m.
DJ Halo Presents: No Requests at Rubies on Five Points
9:30 p.m.
Karaoke Night at The Tavern
Tasting at Ten at Counter Culture Coffee
12 p.m.
Co-Working Social at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in Downtown Durham
4 p.m.
Late Spring Tree Ramble at Sarah P. Duke Gardens
5 p.m.
Guided Museum Tours at 21c Museum Hotels Durham
Food Truck Friday at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
5:30 p.m.
LOJO: Log Off, Jam On at Boxyard RTP
6 p.m.
Aly J & Kevin Clark and Tarot with Kathleen at Arcana
Third Friday Art Walk at Downtown Durham
Friday Night Makes at Durham Arts Council
May Third Friday at Durham Arts Council
Counterpoints Exhibition Reception at Durham Bottling Co.
Third Friday at Golden Belt Arts
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Screenprint Roundup at The Fruit
The Patio Dance Parties : Clueless Fridays at Unscripted Durham
6:30 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
7 p.m.
Live Vinyl Spinning by PhDJ at Beer Study Durham
Early Show: John Howie Jr. / Ramona and The Holy Smokes at The Pinhook
7:30 p.m.
Evening Eno Exploration Paddle at Eno River
Evan Ringel & Ariel Pocock at Sharp 9 Gallery
8 p.m.
Pass the Aux at Boricua Soul
Stereo Reveries at DSSOLVR Durham
Karaoke! at Fullsteam Brewery
Cheekface at Motorco Music Hall
Dance Blues Friday at Studio 5
9 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
10 p.m.
The Floor: Special Guest THEYDYLIKE at Rubies on Five Points
Lookin For A Cure at Bull City Running Company-South
8 a.m.
Durham Farmers' Market at Durham Central Park
parkrun Durham at Southern Boundaries Park
9 a.m.
South Durham Farmers' Market at Greenwood Commons Shopping Center
9:30 a.m.
Guide Supported Canoeing, Kayaking, and Standup Paddleboarding at Eno River
10 a.m.
Pop Up Record Show at Beer Durham
Durham's Home Goods Market at Black Wall St Gardens
Bear Awareness Week at Museum of Life and Science
10:30 a.m.
Mother's Day Brunch at The Durham Hotel
11 a.m.
Battle of the Blades 2024 at Historic Durham Athletic Park
12 p.m.
Springtime Outdoor Market at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Crafternoons at Gizmo Brew Works
Preservation Durham Annual Home Tour: The Rambling Ranch at Orchard Park Picnic Shelter
1 p.m.
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Say It With Glass Workshop - Sam Nguyen at Moon Dog Meadery
Bimbé Celebration at Rock Quarry Park
2 p.m.
Closing Reception — Dan Gottlieb: Figure Ground at Craven Allen Gallery
Durham "Bullpen" Treasure Hunt - Walking Team Scavenger Hunt! at Fullsteam Brewery
3 p.m.
A Beautiful Noise Spring Concert by the Common Woman Chorus at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship
Peter Pan at The Carolina Theatre
4 p.m.
Family Fun Saturday: May Flowers at Guglhupf Restaurant
5 p.m.
Rooftops and Alleyways Community Canvas Wall Brawl at Dashi
Durham Blues & Brews Festival at Durham Central Park
Hops & Blues at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
6 p.m.
The Moon Unit and Tarot with Emily at Arcana
Peter Pan at The Carolina Theatre
6:30 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
7 p.m.
A Beautiful Noise Spring Concert by the Common Woman Chorus at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship
Crones of Anarchy: Blues, Rock, Americana at Succotash Southern & Creole Kitchen
7:30 p.m.
Jim Ketch Swingtet at Sharp 9 Gallery
Big Birthday Dance Party: Combo Platter with 2 Sides at The Blue Note Grill
8:15 p.m.
BBYMUTHA: Sleep Paralysis Tour 2024 at Motorco Music Hall
9 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
10 p.m.
Fortune Factory Presents: Taurus Dance Party at Rubies on Five Points
Jazz Brunch at Lula & Sadie's
10:30 a.m.
Al Strong Presents Jazz Brunch at Alley Twenty Six
12 p.m.
Preservation Durham Annual Home Tour: The Rambling Ranch at Orchard Park Picnic Shelter
Sunday Dollar Bin Sale for Charity at Rumors Durham
Supernatural Sunday - Psychic Affair + Healers Market at Weldon Mills Distillery
Farmers Market at ZincHouse Winery & Brewery
12:15 p.m.
Public Tour at Duke Chapel
2 p.m.
Hillandale Golf Beginner Clinic at Hillandale Golf Course
3:30 p.m.
Davis Dance Company Spring Recital 2024 at The Carolina Theatre
4 p.m.
Showings at Scripps: Miguel Gutierrez at ADF's Samuel H. Scripps Studios
Carmina Burana at Baldwin Auditorium
Día de las Madres Kermes at El Futuro’s Therapeutic Green Space
String Break at Fullsteam Brewery
6 p.m.
Emma Jane's EP Release Show and Tarot with Joy at Arcana
Davis Dance Company Spring Recital 2024 at The Carolina Theatre
6:30 p.m.
Open Mic Night at Moon Dog Meadery
7 p.m.
DPW Limit Break at Durham Convention Center
submitted by DiscoverDurham to bullcity [link] [comments]
See the full weekly calendar on our website.
Noteworthy Events
The Lion King at DPAC- Winner of six Tony Awards®, including Best Musical, this landmark musical event brings together one of the most imaginative creative teams on Broadway.
- Wed, May 15 - Sun, June 9
- $29.50+
- Let your inner child shine as you play games, make crafts, and enjoy the fresh air during your lunch break!
- Wed, May 15
- 12-2 p.m.
- Free admission
- Thu, May 16 - Sat, May 18
- This family-oriented event is a celebration of African and African American history, culture, arts, and traditions. This year's headliner: Monica!
- Sat, May 18
- 1-7 p.m.
- Free admission
- This adventure begins at the London home of the Darling family, a typical evening in 1912, as the weary parents try to settle their children down for bed while the young ones insist on staying up late. Little do Wendy, John, and Michael know that a fantastic journey awaits them that night.
- Sat, May 18
- 3 p.m. and 6 p.m.
- $32+
- Wrestlers from all over the world will gather in one place for a night you won't forget.
- Sun, May 19
- 7 p.m.
- $25+
Multi-Day Events
The NGIN Cityscapes Summit at Durham Convention Center- Hosted by national nonprofit, New Growth Innovation Network, prepare to connect with like-minded professionals and engage with purpose-driven organizations. Immerse yourself in workshops and captivating keynotes from renowned speakers, featuring three tracks of insightful sessions: Inclusive Capital, Community Wealth Building, and Reimagining Systems.
- Wed, May 15 - Fri, May 17
- Registration fees vary
- Enjoy fabulous Greek food, desserts, wine and beer in a festive outdoor atmosphere. Continuous Greek music and scheduled folk dance performances.
- Sat, May 18, 11 a.m. - 9 p.m. and Sun, May 19, 11 a.m. - 7 p.m.
- Free admission
- Enjoy a look inside the historic McCown-Mangum House, Photography Museum, and Mill.
- Sat, May 18 and Sun, May 19
- 10 a.m. - 2 p.m.
- Free admission
- Libeled Lady
- Dirty Harry & Assault on Precinct 13
- Cat City
- Back to Black
- Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
- UHF
Monday, May 13
2 p.m.Board Game Night at The Glass Jug in Downtown Durham
5 p.m.
Arts & Drafts at Fullsteam Brewery
6 p.m.
Disc Golf Putting League at The Glass Jug in RTP
6:30 p.m.
Trivia Night at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
7 p.m.
Community Board Game Night at Moon Dog Meadery
Tuesday, May 14
Events at Durty Bull Brewing Brewing Company- 12-8 p.m. - Food Truck: Mike's Vegan Cookout
- 7-9 p.m. - Bull City Beer Runners Run Club
- 7-8 p.m. - Puzzled Pints Game Night
- 5:45-6:30 p.m. - Community Zumba Classes
- 6-8 p.m. - Music Bingo
- 6-8 p.m. - The Glass Jog Run Club
- 6-9 p.m. - Stitch & Sip
Boxyard Run Club at Boxyard RTP
6 p.m.
In Other Words at Arcana
Duke Baseball vs College of Charleston at Jack Coombs Field
Bring Your Own Vinyl with Jaffar at Rubies on Five Points
Women on the Wall at Triangle Rock Club - Durham
6:30 p.m.
Trivia at Durham Food Hall
Pony Ride at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
7 p.m.
Trivia at Beer Study Durham
Not Rocket Science Trivia at DSSOLVR Durham
Tuesday Blues Jam at The Blue Note Grill
8 p.m.
Comedy Night at Bull City Ciderworks
Jeremy 'Bean' Clemons Trio at Kingfisher
Enter Shikari at Motorco Music Hall
Vision Video + Tears For The Dying at The Pinhook
Wednesday, May 15
Events at Atomic Empire- 6:30 p.m. - Dragon Ball Fusion World Release Event
- 7 p.m. - Flesh and Blood Armory Event
- 12-2 p.m. - Hear & There: Daniel Delorenzo
- 5:30-8:30 p.m. - Game Night
- 7-8 p.m. - Signature Wine Tasting
- 7-8:30 p.m. - Laughs Comedy Night
Senior Short Game Clinic at Hillandale Golf Course
10:30 a.m.
Storytime on the Roof with Durham County Library at The Durham Hotel
12 p.m.
Adult Recess at CCB Plaza
3 p.m.
Durham Farmers’ Market at Durham Central Park
4 p.m.
Whiskey Wednesdays at Alley Twenty Six
5 p.m.
Free Wednesday Wine Tasting at Beer Study Durham
5:30 p.m.
Ride of Silence at CCB Plaza
6 p.m.
Queer Craft Night and Tarot with Joy at Arcana
Bimbe Community Block Party at Holton Career & Resource Center
Come Take a Flight With Us: A Bright Black Workshop at Proximity Brewing Company
Free RTP Business Rockstar Connect Networking Event at Sheraton Imperial Hotel
Sweet Social: Auntie's African Ice Cream at The Durham Hotel
6:30 p.m.
Trivia Night with Pickle at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
7 p.m.
Bottle Swap: Homebrew Club at Durty Bull Brewing Brewing Company
Skip The Small Talk: Speed Friending Event at Fullsteam Brewery
Hammered Trivia at Hi-Wire Brewing
Karaoke Night at Mavericks Smokehouse
Music Bingo at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
3rd Wednesday Jazz Jam Session at Succotash Southern & Creole Kitchen
Brett Chambers Open Mic at The Blue Note Grill
8 p.m.
Air Hockey Tournament at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Trivia Night at Bull McCabe's
Karaoke at Moon Dog Meadery
The Weeks at Motorco Music Hall
Blends With Friends at The Pinhook
Thursday, May 16
Events at Boxyard RTP- 7:30-8 a.m. - Bike Durham: Bike to Work
- 12-2 p.m. - Taking Back Thursday: Sheila Casalett
- 12-8 p.m. -Food Truck: Mike's Vegan Cookout
- 7-9 p.m. - Thursday Trivia with Nick
Harnessing the Power of AI to Ensure Equitable HR Practices at RTI Holden Building
9:30 a.m.
Guide Supported Canoeing, Kayaking, and Standup Paddleboarding at Eno River
12:15 p.m.
Midday Meander: A Strolling Conversation at Sarah P. Duke Gardens
3 p.m.
Guided Museum Tour at 21c Museum Hotels Durham
5 p.m.
Thirsty Thursdays at Dashi
Righteous Roots Reggae Show at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
5:30 p.m.
Walking Club with Bull City Strollers at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in Downtown Durham
6 p.m.
Queer Trivia at Arcana
Vinyl Night with DJ Deckades at Gizmo Brew Works
6:15 p.m.
Pony Run at Ponysaurus Brewing Company
6:30 p.m.
AfterHours: Science of Beer at Museum of Life and Science
Line Dance Classes at Mystic Farm and Distillery
Space Code Youth Open Mic at NorthStar Church of the Arts
Boulders & Brews Meetup at Triangle Rock Club - Durham
7 p.m.
Trivia Night at Beer Tooth Taproom
Bimbé Cypher at CCB Plaza
Bring Your Own Vinyl Night at Congress Social Bar
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Summer Jazz Jam (Curated by Al Strong) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
Community Board Game Night at Moon Dog Meadery
Al Strong Presents Jazz on the Roof at The Durham Hotel
7:30 p.m.
Trivia Night with Big Slow Tom at Clouds Brewing Brightleaf Square
Reverend Billy C. Wirtz / Armand Lenchek & Carter Minor at The Blue Note Grill
Pillow Talk: Speed Dating and Conversations About Sex / Sexuality at The Pinhook
8 p.m.
Weekly Single Mingle at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Trivia at Fullsteam Brewery
Danny Lopriore at Motorco Music Hall
9 p.m.
DJ Halo Presents: No Requests at Rubies on Five Points
9:30 p.m.
Karaoke Night at The Tavern
Friday, May 17
Events at Atomic Empire- 6:30 p.m. - Lorcana: Ursula’s Return Release Event
- 6:30 p.m. - Commander Legends: Battle for Baldur's Gate Draft
- 5-9 p.m. - Food Truck: La Republica Taco Truck
- 8-11 p.m. - Open Mic Stand-up Comedy
- 7:30-9 p.m. - Wit: An Improv Comedy Game Show
- 9-10 p.m. - Hush Hush
- 6:45 p.m. - Lindy Hop Lesson + Dance
- 7:30 p.m. - Djam
- 9:30 p.m. - Bachata Dance Night
- 6-8 p.m. - The Duke Street Dogs
- 9:15 p.m. - The Beautiful People Club
Tasting at Ten at Counter Culture Coffee
12 p.m.
Co-Working Social at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in Downtown Durham
4 p.m.
Late Spring Tree Ramble at Sarah P. Duke Gardens
5 p.m.
Guided Museum Tours at 21c Museum Hotels Durham
Food Truck Friday at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
5:30 p.m.
LOJO: Log Off, Jam On at Boxyard RTP
6 p.m.
Aly J & Kevin Clark and Tarot with Kathleen at Arcana
Third Friday Art Walk at Downtown Durham
Friday Night Makes at Durham Arts Council
May Third Friday at Durham Arts Council
Counterpoints Exhibition Reception at Durham Bottling Co.
Third Friday at Golden Belt Arts
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Screenprint Roundup at The Fruit
The Patio Dance Parties : Clueless Fridays at Unscripted Durham
6:30 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
7 p.m.
Live Vinyl Spinning by PhDJ at Beer Study Durham
Early Show: John Howie Jr. / Ramona and The Holy Smokes at The Pinhook
7:30 p.m.
Evening Eno Exploration Paddle at Eno River
Evan Ringel & Ariel Pocock at Sharp 9 Gallery
8 p.m.
Pass the Aux at Boricua Soul
Stereo Reveries at DSSOLVR Durham
Karaoke! at Fullsteam Brewery
Cheekface at Motorco Music Hall
Dance Blues Friday at Studio 5
9 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
10 p.m.
The Floor: Special Guest THEYDYLIKE at Rubies on Five Points
Saturday, May 18
Events at Atomic Empire- 11 a.m. - Pokémon TCG: League Cup
- 1 p.m. - Lorcana: Ursula’s Return Release Event
- 2 p.m. - Game Designers of North Carolina Meetup
- 11:30 a.m. - 2:30 p.m. - Saturdaze: DJ k.ward
- 1-8 p.m. - Food Truck: Death By Taco
- 3-7 p.m. - 3rd Saturday Vintage + Maker Market
- 5-9 p.m. - Home Brewed: CNOTE Art Spectacular
- Every Saturday, 10-10:30 a.m. and 11-11:30 a.m.
- 7:30-8:30 p.m. - House Party
- 8:30-9:30 p.m. - Harold Night
- 9:30-10:30 p.m. - Mint Condition Standup Showcase
- 5-8 p.m. - Menace To Society Album Listening Party
- 7:30-10 p.m. - HUMP! Film Festival
- 10 p.m. - 2 a.m. - Puro Perreo Pari
- 7:30 p.m. - Boogie Burly Nights... A Groovy 70s Show
- 10:30 p.m. - Drake and Friends 2
- 2 p.m. - Downtown Durham Walking Tour
- 4 p.m. - Durham African American History Tour
- 6 p.m. - Downtown Durham True Crime Tour
Lookin For A Cure at Bull City Running Company-South
8 a.m.
Durham Farmers' Market at Durham Central Park
parkrun Durham at Southern Boundaries Park
9 a.m.
South Durham Farmers' Market at Greenwood Commons Shopping Center
9:30 a.m.
Guide Supported Canoeing, Kayaking, and Standup Paddleboarding at Eno River
10 a.m.
Pop Up Record Show at Beer Durham
Durham's Home Goods Market at Black Wall St Gardens
Bear Awareness Week at Museum of Life and Science
10:30 a.m.
Mother's Day Brunch at The Durham Hotel
11 a.m.
Battle of the Blades 2024 at Historic Durham Athletic Park
12 p.m.
Springtime Outdoor Market at Boxcar Bar + Arcade
Crafternoons at Gizmo Brew Works
Preservation Durham Annual Home Tour: The Rambling Ranch at Orchard Park Picnic Shelter
1 p.m.
Duke Baseball vs UNC at Jack Coombs Field
Say It With Glass Workshop - Sam Nguyen at Moon Dog Meadery
Bimbé Celebration at Rock Quarry Park
2 p.m.
Closing Reception — Dan Gottlieb: Figure Ground at Craven Allen Gallery
Durham "Bullpen" Treasure Hunt - Walking Team Scavenger Hunt! at Fullsteam Brewery
3 p.m.
A Beautiful Noise Spring Concert by the Common Woman Chorus at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship
Peter Pan at The Carolina Theatre
4 p.m.
Family Fun Saturday: May Flowers at Guglhupf Restaurant
5 p.m.
Rooftops and Alleyways Community Canvas Wall Brawl at Dashi
Durham Blues & Brews Festival at Durham Central Park
Hops & Blues at The Glass Jug Beer Lab in RTP
6 p.m.
The Moon Unit and Tarot with Emily at Arcana
Peter Pan at The Carolina Theatre
6:30 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
7 p.m.
A Beautiful Noise Spring Concert by the Common Woman Chorus at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship
Crones of Anarchy: Blues, Rock, Americana at Succotash Southern & Creole Kitchen
7:30 p.m.
Jim Ketch Swingtet at Sharp 9 Gallery
Big Birthday Dance Party: Combo Platter with 2 Sides at The Blue Note Grill
8:15 p.m.
BBYMUTHA: Sleep Paralysis Tour 2024 at Motorco Music Hall
9 p.m.
Kayla Waters (Hosted by Marcus Anderson) at Missy Lane's Assembly Room
10 p.m.
Fortune Factory Presents: Taurus Dance Party at Rubies on Five Points
Sunday, May 19
Events at Atomic Empire- 11:30 a.m. - Star Wars: Shatterpoint Tournament
- 12 p.m. - Battletech Campaign Day
- 1 p.m. - Lorcana: Ursula’s Return Release Event
- 2-4 p.m. - Hammered Trivia with Casey
- 4-8 p.m. - The Blood Connection Blood Drive
Jazz Brunch at Lula & Sadie's
10:30 a.m.
Al Strong Presents Jazz Brunch at Alley Twenty Six
12 p.m.
Preservation Durham Annual Home Tour: The Rambling Ranch at Orchard Park Picnic Shelter
Sunday Dollar Bin Sale for Charity at Rumors Durham
Supernatural Sunday - Psychic Affair + Healers Market at Weldon Mills Distillery
Farmers Market at ZincHouse Winery & Brewery
12:15 p.m.
Public Tour at Duke Chapel
2 p.m.
Hillandale Golf Beginner Clinic at Hillandale Golf Course
3:30 p.m.
Davis Dance Company Spring Recital 2024 at The Carolina Theatre
4 p.m.
Showings at Scripps: Miguel Gutierrez at ADF's Samuel H. Scripps Studios
Carmina Burana at Baldwin Auditorium
Día de las Madres Kermes at El Futuro’s Therapeutic Green Space
String Break at Fullsteam Brewery
6 p.m.
Emma Jane's EP Release Show and Tarot with Joy at Arcana
Davis Dance Company Spring Recital 2024 at The Carolina Theatre
6:30 p.m.
Open Mic Night at Moon Dog Meadery
7 p.m.
DPW Limit Break at Durham Convention Center
Running Art Exhibit
Hometown (Inherited): Ten Year Retrospective at The Fruit- This project examines the changing landscape of our city through a series of forty mixed media pieces the artist has created since 2014.
- Third Friday openings on Apr 19 and May 17, 6-9 p.m.
- Drop-in by appointment and Wednesdays 4-7 p.m.
- Free admission
- Each piece begins as a photograph, which is then printed on acrylic and worked with a variety of paints and compounds to create a unique surface.
- Sat, May 4 - Sat, May 18
- Free admission
- Sacred Geometry is an ancient field of physics whose equations are expressed through shape. Shape is a way to explore the universal fabric of our existence.
- Sat, May 4 - Sat, June 1
- Free admission
- It Ain’t All Black and White is a photography exhibition that encourages us to consider emotions such as serenity, apprehension, yearning, and more.
- Captured by 11 dynamic photographers dedicated to documenting the fullness and complexity of Black life, this exhibition offers each of us an opportunity to see ourselves with renewed attention.
- Thu, Apr 25 - Sun, June 2
- María Magdalena Campos-Pons: Behold is a monographic exhibition of a visionary voice in photography, immersive installation, painting and performance.
- Thu, Feb 15 - Sun, Jun 9
- Every week, Tue-Sat 10 a.m.-5 p.m., Sun 12-5 p.m.
- Free admission
- Counterpoints is a curated showcase of local AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander) artists, delving into the convergence of AAPI identity and mental health. Inspired by the intricate layers of musical counterpoint, its purpose is to weave together diverse narratives and confront the stigma surrounding mental health within our communities.
- Wed, May 1 - Sun, June 16
- Mon - Fri, 10 a.m. - 4 p.m.
- The Divine Nine Legacy Memoir delves deep into the history of the National Panhellenic Council (NPHC) or "Divine Nine," a collective of nine Greek Letter organizations founded on May 10th, 1930.
- These organizations were born out of the necessity to provide a voice for Black American students within the collegiate space. United by principles of service, community, brotherhood, and sisterhood, the Divine Nine work collectively to uplift society through acts of service to underserved areas across the nation.
- Fri, Apr 19 - Sat, June 1
- Free admission
2024.05.13 21:53 666NAPALM I locked myself out of my workplace once, and I refuse to ever let it happen again. Here’s why.
When I was in my early 20’s, I worked at a dog boarding facility.
It wasn’t a bad gig by any means. A lot of menial work, sure, but it paid the bills, and most of the time I was stationed at the front desk, which meant I avoided a lot of direct interaction with most of the dogs. Instead, I dealt with the owners (or “pet parents,” as we called them), which, while more my forte, was oftentimes arguably worse. At least with a dog, you can justify it being stupid.
Looking back on that night now, I would have much rather dealt with a person than the dog that I had encountered.
One of my duties when working the front desk in the evenings was cleaning the lobby and locking the front doors for the night. The opening shift would then come in the morning, unlock the doors, and the cycle would repeat. This is what I had been doing when I realized I had locked myself out of the building.
For a little additional context, the building itself had three front doors. Two led into a sort of breezeway before you got to the actual front door, which led into the actual building. The first two doors had to be locked and unlocked manually, but the main door locked and unlocked itself automatically on a timer. Normally, this was no issue. Every employee had a fob that, when pressed on a sensor near the door, would unlock it briefly to allow entry. But my fob was attached to my keys, which were tucked away in my locker within the building.
Usually, again, this would have been a minor inconvenience at worst. I could simply go around to the back door, bang on it for a minute or two, and wait for one of my coworkers to open the door. But, I had to stay behind that evening and finish cleaning the lobby, having been delayed by a few last-minute pickups and a particularly chatty client on the phone. We had been working with a skeleton crew, as new hires had been few and far between, and the girl I had been working with was tired and eager to go home. I let her go and told her I would lock up on my own.
I wish I had told her to stay.
Standing there in the breezeway, with nothing but the singular key to the two front doors, I was kicking myself. I’d fucked myself over this time, and now I was going to have to make the humiliating call for someone to come to the building and let me in. I could feel the weight of my phone in my pocket, and I slipped my hand into it, only to freeze in place.
It was not my phone, but my wallet.
Shit. It only then occurred to me that my phone was also still within the building. During the slower parts of the day, I had it out and had been texting my boyfriend at the time. Now it sat at the front desk, so close but so far at the same time. Not only had I locked myself out of the building, I had locked myself out of the building by myself, with no way to get help. In my overdramatic mind, suicide was starting to sound like a very good option.
There was a gas station about a mile or so away that I knew would be open and that, I guessed, was where I was going to have to go. There, I could presumably use a phone and get a hold of my roommate to come pick me up. In the morning, I could drop off the key and get my stuff.
I unlocked one of the two doors and stepped out, locking it once again behind me. I slipped the key into my pocket and started walking. It was already dark out and I was cold and eager to get this over with.
That’s when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement, just barely audible.
My first instinct was that somehow, a dog had escaped. Sure, stray dogs weren’t uncommon, especially in the city that I lived in, but given the proximity to the building, I had feared that somehow, some way, a dog had managed to slip out under our noses and get out of the building. This would have taken either some incredible negligence on our end or some incredible intelligence on the dog’s, but it technically was possible.
I turned around and scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the sound. The parking lot was illuminated by a singular streetlight and the outside lights from the nearby buildings, and the dark of night was creeping in, thick and inky black. The noise came from further back, near the employee parking, which only fueled my suspicion that a dog had escaped. I really didn’t want to go back there in the dark, but I also wasn’t too keen on getting in trouble for letting a dog get out. I slowly crept over, keeping my ears and eyes open, trying to find the dog.
Finally, it stepped out from the shadows, standing near my car. It was a large, filthy Great Pyrenees, and we briefly had a staring match as I tried to figure out who it was. We had a few Pyrenees dogs come in, but it was mostly for daycare, and we didn’t have any in the building that night. I didn’t recognize this specific dog, either, but I hoped that it had a collar with a name and number on it, so that I could at least call the owner and let them know where I had found their animal whenever I got a chance. I knelt and extended my hand, making a kissy noise in the hopes of drawing it over.
“Hi, baby,” I said, using my “dog voice,” making it as soft and non-threatening as I could. “C’mere.” The dog took a few steps forward, eyes still focused on me.
That’s when I noticed the smell. Rotting meat and blood, strong enough that I could smell it from where I stood. The dog was reeking of decay. In my mind, I rationalized it. We were next to a highway, after all. No telling what kinds of roadkill it could have been getting into. I just did my best to push through it in favor of making sure the dog was alright.
I continued my beckoning for a few minutes, doing as much baby talk as I possibly could. I didn’t want to approach the dog myself, just in case it was nervous, but if I could just get a look at that collar…
After about five minutes of this, I stood up, watching it for another moment. It wasn’t a dog I recognized and I couldn’t get it to come over to me on its own terms, so my tired and still-panicked brain decided that it wasn’t my problem. I’d just let my manager know in the morning that I had seen a dog sniffing around and that I was fairly certain it wasn’t one that we’d ever had to stay with us. Then, maybe we could find it again, clean it up, and see if it belonged to anybody. The animal control in my city isn’t particularly well-regarded, so I figured it would be better to wait and see than to get them involved.
I turned around and started to walk away, back down to the road, when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement once again. I turned around to see the dog moving closer once again. Its movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and that combined with its condition made me think it was injured, so I stopped.
The dog never stopped moving towards me, but when it noticed that I had stopped to look at it, it stopped as well. Then, staring straight at me again, it broke out into a sprint. Its legs flailed and its head lolled as it headed straight towards me, and my stomach dropped.
Have you ever been prey? Have you ever looked something in the eyes and just known, in some deep, primal portion of your brain, that it was going to kill you? It’s a funny feeling— all the cold, heavy dread that seeps into you, like liquid into cloth.
At that moment, my mind screamed at me to run. Panicked, I broke out into a sprint, heading straight for the door to the building. I had precious seconds before it would reach me, and I fumbled with the key as I hurriedly unlocked the door and swung it open, grabbing it and slamming it closed just before the dog made it. Breathing hard, I locked the door and stepped back, my eyes still on the dog.
All that separated us now was some metal and about half an inch of glass.
I could see the dog much clearer then. Its fur was filthy with dust and dirt, and its chest was caked with something dark that I could only hope wasn’t blood. Its eyes were bloodshot and glazed over, and from its mouth dripped saliva, thick and red.
The smell was even stronger at this point, nauseatingly strong.
Whatever was going on with this dog, it was bad. I wasn’t sure of what else to do. Even if I went through the opposite door, there was no way I’d be able to outrun it. I couldn’t make a break for my car because I didn’t have my keys, which were locked in the building alongside my fob and my phone.
No way out, no way to call for help. All I could do was sit and wait in the breezeway. I figured that eventually it would give up on me. It would have to, after all. And I figured once it moved on and was gone, I could haul ass to the highway and hitchhike over to the gas station. Shakily, I sat down, my gaze never leaving the dog. It stood there, watching me, and then it whined.
I say “whined,” but it was more like a long, drawn-out wheeze, like something trying to imitate the whine of a dog instead of doing it. It punctuated the noise with a sickening gurgle, and then it held its head down to hack up a mixture of blood, saliva, and phlegm, spitting it out onto the window before it. It oozed down the glass, leaving a slimy trail behind it, and I had to look away before the sight made me vomit.
I turned my head away from it entirely, trying to steady my breathing. Despite my best efforts, the fear and nausea were about to get the best of me anyway, and I curled in on myself, doing my best to keep everything down. I inched away from the door in favor of the one opposite, trying to put as much distance between myself and the dog as I could. I have no idea how long I stayed like that, curled up into a ball. But when I looked up, the dog was still there, watching me.
I was half-convinced that I was dreaming, or that the situation wasn’t real somehow. How would I even begin to try to convince somebody of what was happening right now? What would I tell my boyfriend? “Sorry, babe, I couldn’t get to the phone last night. Zombie dog and whatnot.” What started as simply a shitty end to the night had managed to turn into the car scene of Cujo, of all things. But the churning in my stomach and the cold biting into my skin was enough to reassure me that this was all very much real. There would be no waking up, no suddenly being pulled back into reality.
I dipped my head back down, trying to convince myself that I would be okay, when I heard its nails scrape against the glass. I jerked my head back up and looked over, inhaling sharply as the dog stood on its hind legs and rested its front ones against the glass. It started to scratch at the glass, trying to claw its way in, and I flinched at the sudden movement, scooting further back. I was all but pressed against the opposite door by this point, unable to keep my eyes off of the dog.
It scratched at the door for a minute longer, stopped, then started to scratch again. Scratch, stop, scratch, stop. This pattern repeated for at least fifteen minutes, and I had almost gotten used to it. The glass was thick enough that I was fairly certain it would withstand the dog’s scratching, and if it didn’t, I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore after that.
When the noise had become a somewhat tolerable pattern, I curled back up into a ball, hoping to ride out this nightmare of a situation. The noise stopped altogether and I raised my head back up to see what had happened. The dog had turned around and was walking away.
The relief was like a two-ton weight being lifted off of my chest, and I stood up to watch the dog leave. My relief was short-lived, though, when it stopped and turned around. We were once again locked into a staring match.
A pretty common rule with animals is to never look them in the eye. I had been actively avoiding doing just that this entire time, but finally, my gaze slipped down and locked into the dog’s.
There was nothing there. It was empty, like someone had removed the dog’s original eyes and replaced them with glass.
The dog broke out into a sprint again, making me flinch and jump back. As it ran, it staggered and swerved as if it were drunk, but the distance between us was short. Within seconds, it had thrown itself against the glass of the window, slamming its head against it.
I screamed. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I screamed and huddled back in the corner and watched with terror as the dog backed up, ran, and threw itself at the door, over and over again. The door was, fortunately, holding steady. Despite the dog’s repeated attempts, it was standing strong, the only thing that entire night that had done me any good.
The dog was becoming agitated. It gargled and whined as it scratched at the door once again, seeming to give up on throwing itself against the door. I noticed it had injured itself in the process, the skin just above its eye having broken open and its mouth a bloody mess. Blood oozed out of the injuries and dripped onto the ground. Then, it backed up and tried one more time.
The world went silent for the briefest moment, and then there was a sickening crunch.
With its swerving, it must have made a head-on collision with the hinge, or maybe the brick beside the door, because the moment it landed, the dog’s skull busted open from the impact, splattering gore across the window. I screamed again, and this time, the urge to vomit was too strong. I threw up then and there in the corner as the sights and smells became too much for me. I don’t know how long I spent there, on all fours, coughing and gagging as I threw up the contents of my stomach, and when I had nothing left to expel, I dry-heaved.
I collapsed on the ground after that, gasping for air between sobs. I didn’t know if the dog was still alive and at that moment I didn’t really care. I didn’t even realize I had passed out until I heard voices echoing.
When I woke up, I was aware of three things: I was on the floor of the breezeway, there was a horrible taste in my mouth, and that people were talking.
As soon as I woke up, I remembered what had happened. Locking myself out. The dog. My whole body felt like dead weight. Even when my coworkers opened the door and came over to see what was going on, I couldn’t bring myself to stand. I was still afraid if I got up, it’d still be there with its busted skull and rotten stench, pawing and scraping and gurgling.
The smell must have hit my coworkers as well because the moment they stepped in, I could hear the “oh my god”s and “what happened”s. Then, I assume, one of them noticed the gore on the window. That’s when the voices became more frantic, and the more I became aware, the more I could pick out whose voice belonged to whom.
The voice of my coworker Holly was the closest to me. I could feel her hand reach down and shake me. She was calling my name, trying to rouse me, and I did my best to focus solely on her throughout the commotion.
“What is that?!” I recognized the voice of Mertle, who worked in the back and must have spotted the dog.
“Is that a dog? Oh my god, is it dead?” There was Carlos, who had worked the front desk the previous morning and had no doubt come in to do the same today.
Holly was shaking me harder now, and I moved in response just to let her know I was alive. “Eddie, are you okay?” I could hear her asking. I didn’t want to get up, or even respond, but I had no other choice.
I got up, slowly but surely, dragging myself into a sitting position as I opened my bleary eyes. Sure enough, there was Holly, looking back and forth from the window door to me. There was Mertle, hand over her mouth, and Carlos, staring dumbfounded out the window at the dog outside. Everyone was talking all at once, and to me, it was just a massive block of noise. The dog was dead, though. The dog was dead and that, at that moment, was all that mattered to me.
“What the fuck happened?” Carlos suddenly turned around, looking down at me.
The only thing I managed to croak out was “Sorry.”
The rest of that day was a haze to me. I remember going through the motions, but not really being “there”, if that makes any sense. I can remember little details- tossing my shirt in the washing machine in the back because it was covered in vomit, sitting with my manager as he argued with the local animal control to come to collect the dog's body, watching the camera footage of me sprinting across the parking lot with the dog in tow over and over again, like a broken record.
I never did find out what was wrong with that dog. My manager suspected some kind of rabies, but I don’t know.
I quit that job not too long after. The paranoia got too much for me. Any time I would go into the back of the building, where the dogs were, I would get that feeling again. That cold, sinking dread in my stomach that would make me want to hurl. I had to have someone sit up at the front desk with me as I locked the door, as I’d be too scared to go out into the breezeway by myself when it got dark.
It came to a head when a dog got off of its lead and tried to make a bolt for the door, as it usually would. Unfortunately, I had just so happened to be between the dog and the door, and the sight of it running at me sent me into such a panic I collapsed to the ground and shook. After that, I was gone. I don’t think anybody blamed me.
I’ve put it all away in my mind, both the place and the incident. I try not to think about it too much.
I’m always mindful of my keys now, though, just in case.
Prey never stops being prey.
submitted by 666NAPALM to nosleep [link] [comments]
It wasn’t a bad gig by any means. A lot of menial work, sure, but it paid the bills, and most of the time I was stationed at the front desk, which meant I avoided a lot of direct interaction with most of the dogs. Instead, I dealt with the owners (or “pet parents,” as we called them), which, while more my forte, was oftentimes arguably worse. At least with a dog, you can justify it being stupid.
Looking back on that night now, I would have much rather dealt with a person than the dog that I had encountered.
One of my duties when working the front desk in the evenings was cleaning the lobby and locking the front doors for the night. The opening shift would then come in the morning, unlock the doors, and the cycle would repeat. This is what I had been doing when I realized I had locked myself out of the building.
For a little additional context, the building itself had three front doors. Two led into a sort of breezeway before you got to the actual front door, which led into the actual building. The first two doors had to be locked and unlocked manually, but the main door locked and unlocked itself automatically on a timer. Normally, this was no issue. Every employee had a fob that, when pressed on a sensor near the door, would unlock it briefly to allow entry. But my fob was attached to my keys, which were tucked away in my locker within the building.
Usually, again, this would have been a minor inconvenience at worst. I could simply go around to the back door, bang on it for a minute or two, and wait for one of my coworkers to open the door. But, I had to stay behind that evening and finish cleaning the lobby, having been delayed by a few last-minute pickups and a particularly chatty client on the phone. We had been working with a skeleton crew, as new hires had been few and far between, and the girl I had been working with was tired and eager to go home. I let her go and told her I would lock up on my own.
I wish I had told her to stay.
Standing there in the breezeway, with nothing but the singular key to the two front doors, I was kicking myself. I’d fucked myself over this time, and now I was going to have to make the humiliating call for someone to come to the building and let me in. I could feel the weight of my phone in my pocket, and I slipped my hand into it, only to freeze in place.
It was not my phone, but my wallet.
Shit. It only then occurred to me that my phone was also still within the building. During the slower parts of the day, I had it out and had been texting my boyfriend at the time. Now it sat at the front desk, so close but so far at the same time. Not only had I locked myself out of the building, I had locked myself out of the building by myself, with no way to get help. In my overdramatic mind, suicide was starting to sound like a very good option.
There was a gas station about a mile or so away that I knew would be open and that, I guessed, was where I was going to have to go. There, I could presumably use a phone and get a hold of my roommate to come pick me up. In the morning, I could drop off the key and get my stuff.
I unlocked one of the two doors and stepped out, locking it once again behind me. I slipped the key into my pocket and started walking. It was already dark out and I was cold and eager to get this over with.
That’s when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement, just barely audible.
My first instinct was that somehow, a dog had escaped. Sure, stray dogs weren’t uncommon, especially in the city that I lived in, but given the proximity to the building, I had feared that somehow, some way, a dog had managed to slip out under our noses and get out of the building. This would have taken either some incredible negligence on our end or some incredible intelligence on the dog’s, but it technically was possible.
I turned around and scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the sound. The parking lot was illuminated by a singular streetlight and the outside lights from the nearby buildings, and the dark of night was creeping in, thick and inky black. The noise came from further back, near the employee parking, which only fueled my suspicion that a dog had escaped. I really didn’t want to go back there in the dark, but I also wasn’t too keen on getting in trouble for letting a dog get out. I slowly crept over, keeping my ears and eyes open, trying to find the dog.
Finally, it stepped out from the shadows, standing near my car. It was a large, filthy Great Pyrenees, and we briefly had a staring match as I tried to figure out who it was. We had a few Pyrenees dogs come in, but it was mostly for daycare, and we didn’t have any in the building that night. I didn’t recognize this specific dog, either, but I hoped that it had a collar with a name and number on it, so that I could at least call the owner and let them know where I had found their animal whenever I got a chance. I knelt and extended my hand, making a kissy noise in the hopes of drawing it over.
“Hi, baby,” I said, using my “dog voice,” making it as soft and non-threatening as I could. “C’mere.” The dog took a few steps forward, eyes still focused on me.
That’s when I noticed the smell. Rotting meat and blood, strong enough that I could smell it from where I stood. The dog was reeking of decay. In my mind, I rationalized it. We were next to a highway, after all. No telling what kinds of roadkill it could have been getting into. I just did my best to push through it in favor of making sure the dog was alright.
I continued my beckoning for a few minutes, doing as much baby talk as I possibly could. I didn’t want to approach the dog myself, just in case it was nervous, but if I could just get a look at that collar…
After about five minutes of this, I stood up, watching it for another moment. It wasn’t a dog I recognized and I couldn’t get it to come over to me on its own terms, so my tired and still-panicked brain decided that it wasn’t my problem. I’d just let my manager know in the morning that I had seen a dog sniffing around and that I was fairly certain it wasn’t one that we’d ever had to stay with us. Then, maybe we could find it again, clean it up, and see if it belonged to anybody. The animal control in my city isn’t particularly well-regarded, so I figured it would be better to wait and see than to get them involved.
I turned around and started to walk away, back down to the road, when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement once again. I turned around to see the dog moving closer once again. Its movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and that combined with its condition made me think it was injured, so I stopped.
The dog never stopped moving towards me, but when it noticed that I had stopped to look at it, it stopped as well. Then, staring straight at me again, it broke out into a sprint. Its legs flailed and its head lolled as it headed straight towards me, and my stomach dropped.
Have you ever been prey? Have you ever looked something in the eyes and just known, in some deep, primal portion of your brain, that it was going to kill you? It’s a funny feeling— all the cold, heavy dread that seeps into you, like liquid into cloth.
At that moment, my mind screamed at me to run. Panicked, I broke out into a sprint, heading straight for the door to the building. I had precious seconds before it would reach me, and I fumbled with the key as I hurriedly unlocked the door and swung it open, grabbing it and slamming it closed just before the dog made it. Breathing hard, I locked the door and stepped back, my eyes still on the dog.
All that separated us now was some metal and about half an inch of glass.
I could see the dog much clearer then. Its fur was filthy with dust and dirt, and its chest was caked with something dark that I could only hope wasn’t blood. Its eyes were bloodshot and glazed over, and from its mouth dripped saliva, thick and red.
The smell was even stronger at this point, nauseatingly strong.
Whatever was going on with this dog, it was bad. I wasn’t sure of what else to do. Even if I went through the opposite door, there was no way I’d be able to outrun it. I couldn’t make a break for my car because I didn’t have my keys, which were locked in the building alongside my fob and my phone.
No way out, no way to call for help. All I could do was sit and wait in the breezeway. I figured that eventually it would give up on me. It would have to, after all. And I figured once it moved on and was gone, I could haul ass to the highway and hitchhike over to the gas station. Shakily, I sat down, my gaze never leaving the dog. It stood there, watching me, and then it whined.
I say “whined,” but it was more like a long, drawn-out wheeze, like something trying to imitate the whine of a dog instead of doing it. It punctuated the noise with a sickening gurgle, and then it held its head down to hack up a mixture of blood, saliva, and phlegm, spitting it out onto the window before it. It oozed down the glass, leaving a slimy trail behind it, and I had to look away before the sight made me vomit.
I turned my head away from it entirely, trying to steady my breathing. Despite my best efforts, the fear and nausea were about to get the best of me anyway, and I curled in on myself, doing my best to keep everything down. I inched away from the door in favor of the one opposite, trying to put as much distance between myself and the dog as I could. I have no idea how long I stayed like that, curled up into a ball. But when I looked up, the dog was still there, watching me.
I was half-convinced that I was dreaming, or that the situation wasn’t real somehow. How would I even begin to try to convince somebody of what was happening right now? What would I tell my boyfriend? “Sorry, babe, I couldn’t get to the phone last night. Zombie dog and whatnot.” What started as simply a shitty end to the night had managed to turn into the car scene of Cujo, of all things. But the churning in my stomach and the cold biting into my skin was enough to reassure me that this was all very much real. There would be no waking up, no suddenly being pulled back into reality.
I dipped my head back down, trying to convince myself that I would be okay, when I heard its nails scrape against the glass. I jerked my head back up and looked over, inhaling sharply as the dog stood on its hind legs and rested its front ones against the glass. It started to scratch at the glass, trying to claw its way in, and I flinched at the sudden movement, scooting further back. I was all but pressed against the opposite door by this point, unable to keep my eyes off of the dog.
It scratched at the door for a minute longer, stopped, then started to scratch again. Scratch, stop, scratch, stop. This pattern repeated for at least fifteen minutes, and I had almost gotten used to it. The glass was thick enough that I was fairly certain it would withstand the dog’s scratching, and if it didn’t, I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore after that.
When the noise had become a somewhat tolerable pattern, I curled back up into a ball, hoping to ride out this nightmare of a situation. The noise stopped altogether and I raised my head back up to see what had happened. The dog had turned around and was walking away.
The relief was like a two-ton weight being lifted off of my chest, and I stood up to watch the dog leave. My relief was short-lived, though, when it stopped and turned around. We were once again locked into a staring match.
A pretty common rule with animals is to never look them in the eye. I had been actively avoiding doing just that this entire time, but finally, my gaze slipped down and locked into the dog’s.
There was nothing there. It was empty, like someone had removed the dog’s original eyes and replaced them with glass.
The dog broke out into a sprint again, making me flinch and jump back. As it ran, it staggered and swerved as if it were drunk, but the distance between us was short. Within seconds, it had thrown itself against the glass of the window, slamming its head against it.
I screamed. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I screamed and huddled back in the corner and watched with terror as the dog backed up, ran, and threw itself at the door, over and over again. The door was, fortunately, holding steady. Despite the dog’s repeated attempts, it was standing strong, the only thing that entire night that had done me any good.
The dog was becoming agitated. It gargled and whined as it scratched at the door once again, seeming to give up on throwing itself against the door. I noticed it had injured itself in the process, the skin just above its eye having broken open and its mouth a bloody mess. Blood oozed out of the injuries and dripped onto the ground. Then, it backed up and tried one more time.
The world went silent for the briefest moment, and then there was a sickening crunch.
With its swerving, it must have made a head-on collision with the hinge, or maybe the brick beside the door, because the moment it landed, the dog’s skull busted open from the impact, splattering gore across the window. I screamed again, and this time, the urge to vomit was too strong. I threw up then and there in the corner as the sights and smells became too much for me. I don’t know how long I spent there, on all fours, coughing and gagging as I threw up the contents of my stomach, and when I had nothing left to expel, I dry-heaved.
I collapsed on the ground after that, gasping for air between sobs. I didn’t know if the dog was still alive and at that moment I didn’t really care. I didn’t even realize I had passed out until I heard voices echoing.
When I woke up, I was aware of three things: I was on the floor of the breezeway, there was a horrible taste in my mouth, and that people were talking.
As soon as I woke up, I remembered what had happened. Locking myself out. The dog. My whole body felt like dead weight. Even when my coworkers opened the door and came over to see what was going on, I couldn’t bring myself to stand. I was still afraid if I got up, it’d still be there with its busted skull and rotten stench, pawing and scraping and gurgling.
The smell must have hit my coworkers as well because the moment they stepped in, I could hear the “oh my god”s and “what happened”s. Then, I assume, one of them noticed the gore on the window. That’s when the voices became more frantic, and the more I became aware, the more I could pick out whose voice belonged to whom.
The voice of my coworker Holly was the closest to me. I could feel her hand reach down and shake me. She was calling my name, trying to rouse me, and I did my best to focus solely on her throughout the commotion.
“What is that?!” I recognized the voice of Mertle, who worked in the back and must have spotted the dog.
“Is that a dog? Oh my god, is it dead?” There was Carlos, who had worked the front desk the previous morning and had no doubt come in to do the same today.
Holly was shaking me harder now, and I moved in response just to let her know I was alive. “Eddie, are you okay?” I could hear her asking. I didn’t want to get up, or even respond, but I had no other choice.
I got up, slowly but surely, dragging myself into a sitting position as I opened my bleary eyes. Sure enough, there was Holly, looking back and forth from the window door to me. There was Mertle, hand over her mouth, and Carlos, staring dumbfounded out the window at the dog outside. Everyone was talking all at once, and to me, it was just a massive block of noise. The dog was dead, though. The dog was dead and that, at that moment, was all that mattered to me.
“What the fuck happened?” Carlos suddenly turned around, looking down at me.
The only thing I managed to croak out was “Sorry.”
The rest of that day was a haze to me. I remember going through the motions, but not really being “there”, if that makes any sense. I can remember little details- tossing my shirt in the washing machine in the back because it was covered in vomit, sitting with my manager as he argued with the local animal control to come to collect the dog's body, watching the camera footage of me sprinting across the parking lot with the dog in tow over and over again, like a broken record.
I never did find out what was wrong with that dog. My manager suspected some kind of rabies, but I don’t know.
I quit that job not too long after. The paranoia got too much for me. Any time I would go into the back of the building, where the dogs were, I would get that feeling again. That cold, sinking dread in my stomach that would make me want to hurl. I had to have someone sit up at the front desk with me as I locked the door, as I’d be too scared to go out into the breezeway by myself when it got dark.
It came to a head when a dog got off of its lead and tried to make a bolt for the door, as it usually would. Unfortunately, I had just so happened to be between the dog and the door, and the sight of it running at me sent me into such a panic I collapsed to the ground and shook. After that, I was gone. I don’t think anybody blamed me.
I’ve put it all away in my mind, both the place and the incident. I try not to think about it too much.
I’m always mindful of my keys now, though, just in case.
Prey never stops being prey.
2024.05.13 21:44 NorthKat Looking for help: smooth soup recipes to eat during mouth injury
Hello!
I'm looking for soup recipes where the ingredients can blend down to be super smooth. I can't have any little bits left in the soup, including herbs and grainy bits of veggies.
Also looking for recipes to be plant-based. I have a food processor and hand-mixer.
Background: Yesterday my partner got into a mountain bike accident and had to get stitches inside his mouth. The oral surgeon said to be really careful about not getting anything in the wound that could get stuck. Partner is immunocompromised and very concerned about infection, so I'm being more careful about this than I would normally. For example, yesterday, I made plain broth that I then filtered through cheesecloth to remove any bits of herbs.
submitted by NorthKat to Cooking [link] [comments]
I'm looking for soup recipes where the ingredients can blend down to be super smooth. I can't have any little bits left in the soup, including herbs and grainy bits of veggies.
Also looking for recipes to be plant-based. I have a food processor and hand-mixer.
Background: Yesterday my partner got into a mountain bike accident and had to get stitches inside his mouth. The oral surgeon said to be really careful about not getting anything in the wound that could get stuck. Partner is immunocompromised and very concerned about infection, so I'm being more careful about this than I would normally. For example, yesterday, I made plain broth that I then filtered through cheesecloth to remove any bits of herbs.
2024.05.13 21:42 Rune_Skadisdotter Nightmares and negative thoughts about being unable to have my own (biologocal) children
Mental health + potential trigger warning (fertility/miscarriage)
I was diagnosed with PCOS at around 13 years old. More than half of my life, I knew I would probably struggle to conceive. In my mid 20s, I had to have an ovary removed. So... there ½ of my whatever eggs I had disappeared. During this time, we also started on gynaecological cancer prevention. At my last gynie appointment, my doctor saw something on my other ovary that she wasn't 100% happy about. I'm back to 6-month check-ups; I'll be seeing my gynie in about a month.
I'm struggling with hypothyroidism and diabetes/insulin resistance. My one female GP is at least treating me with my PCOS in mind. I'm getting so tired of all the tablets... but as I age, it gets more and more. I'm not even going to get into the exercise side of things because as fellow PCOS girlies, you get it.
Now... about the mental health... it's been a bad two-ish months. And I horrible laat week and a bit.
I've never wanted to have children of my own. From a young age, it never bothered me. Going into my 20s, it also never bothered me. The idea of be being pregnant always grossed me out - never minded other women being pregnant, just the thought of me growing a human inside of me was icky. I have always concentrated on my academics and work. But, one of the biggest influences was that (and still is), is that I don't think I would make a good mom. I accepted that. I don't have pressure of a partner wanting biological children with me. I don't even have a partner (which is a whole other emotional toll when all my friends are engaged or married). I don't have that want... that desire... to have children.
I've started having nightmares about not being able to conceive, or if I do, it'll all end in miscarriages. I don't know why those thoughts are haunting my unconscious (and now conscious) mind. Often I can't sleep (my insomniahas become worse. I'm kept awake by a hurricane of thoughts. I have sudden bursts of extreme anxiety and fear. Heart pulsations. I have vivid nightmares of negative pregnancy tests, or losing a child in a miscarriage, staring up at a hospital roof while my partner sleeps in a chair next to me, and such. I'm not an extreme emotions person usually, but this past week my emotions have been everywhere. At 03:30 I was sitting on the bedroom floor, clutching a pillow, and crying at the thought of not being able to have children. Last last three-ish days, the teats randomly fall. I'm exhausted.
Is this the "I can feel my biological clock ticking" feeling? I don't lo9k at babies and children and gawk and "Awwwwww, I want one!" I don't feel I want that though? Nothing in my brain or 'heart' is saying, "You must have one of your own." I looove my friends' children, but I'm so happy when we finally past ways and I can breathe!
I guess... having the choice of having children being potentially taken away is a huge factor?
Did/Do these thoughts also plague you? What did you do to cope and come to terms with these thoughts and feelings? I'm assuming there will be, but what about you ladies who didn't/don't want children... were you also haunted by these weird feelings? What helped you?
submitted by Rune_Skadisdotter to PCOS [link] [comments]
I was diagnosed with PCOS at around 13 years old. More than half of my life, I knew I would probably struggle to conceive. In my mid 20s, I had to have an ovary removed. So... there ½ of my whatever eggs I had disappeared. During this time, we also started on gynaecological cancer prevention. At my last gynie appointment, my doctor saw something on my other ovary that she wasn't 100% happy about. I'm back to 6-month check-ups; I'll be seeing my gynie in about a month.
I'm struggling with hypothyroidism and diabetes/insulin resistance. My one female GP is at least treating me with my PCOS in mind. I'm getting so tired of all the tablets... but as I age, it gets more and more. I'm not even going to get into the exercise side of things because as fellow PCOS girlies, you get it.
Now... about the mental health... it's been a bad two-ish months. And I horrible laat week and a bit.
I've never wanted to have children of my own. From a young age, it never bothered me. Going into my 20s, it also never bothered me. The idea of be being pregnant always grossed me out - never minded other women being pregnant, just the thought of me growing a human inside of me was icky. I have always concentrated on my academics and work. But, one of the biggest influences was that (and still is), is that I don't think I would make a good mom. I accepted that. I don't have pressure of a partner wanting biological children with me. I don't even have a partner (which is a whole other emotional toll when all my friends are engaged or married). I don't have that want... that desire... to have children.
I've started having nightmares about not being able to conceive, or if I do, it'll all end in miscarriages. I don't know why those thoughts are haunting my unconscious (and now conscious) mind. Often I can't sleep (my insomniahas become worse. I'm kept awake by a hurricane of thoughts. I have sudden bursts of extreme anxiety and fear. Heart pulsations. I have vivid nightmares of negative pregnancy tests, or losing a child in a miscarriage, staring up at a hospital roof while my partner sleeps in a chair next to me, and such. I'm not an extreme emotions person usually, but this past week my emotions have been everywhere. At 03:30 I was sitting on the bedroom floor, clutching a pillow, and crying at the thought of not being able to have children. Last last three-ish days, the teats randomly fall. I'm exhausted.
Is this the "I can feel my biological clock ticking" feeling? I don't lo9k at babies and children and gawk and "Awwwwww, I want one!" I don't feel I want that though? Nothing in my brain or 'heart' is saying, "You must have one of your own." I looove my friends' children, but I'm so happy when we finally past ways and I can breathe!
I guess... having the choice of having children being potentially taken away is a huge factor?
Did/Do these thoughts also plague you? What did you do to cope and come to terms with these thoughts and feelings? I'm assuming there will be, but what about you ladies who didn't/don't want children... were you also haunted by these weird feelings? What helped you?
2024.05.13 21:33 LaraStardust Filling in: Russian Offensive Campaign Assessment, May 12, 2024
Welcome to the Peanut Gallery! This is apprentice Lara filling in for the master thestoryteller987, on your fairly regular updates! Remember I know less than nothing.
As a side thought, if Putin tripped and fell out of a window tomorrow, this would leave a huge power vacuum right now. Just a thought for any window cleaners near the Cremlin.
It was only recently that the British foreign wank ahem I mean foreign secutary gave permission for the storm shadows to be used in Russia, which is a bit like the Challenger's. A fantastic gesture. But mostly... A gesture. It's Britain whipping out its balls and slapping them on the table in front of Russia, in hopes that America will accept the challenge and teabag russia in the nose. Basically, Britain makes the gesture, we see how Russia reacts, then America goes ah... Well... Britain did it, we'll do it.
In other news, ISW has published a special report today on the Kharkiv problem and using western weapons in russia. I've not read it. But someone should summarise it! :)
https://understandingwar.org/backgroundeputins-safe-space-defeating-russias-kharkiv-operation-requires-eliminating-russias
‘Q’ for the Community:
submitted by LaraStardust to TheNuttySpectacle [link] [comments]
Russian President Vladimir Putin replaced Sergei Shoigu with Andrei Belousov as Russian Minister of Defense on May 12, moving Shoigu to the position of Security Council Secretary in place of Nikolai Patrushev. These high-level reshuffles following the Russian presidential election strongly suggest that Putin is taking significant steps towards mobilizing the Russian economy and defense industrial base (DIB) to support a protracted war in Ukraine and possibly prepare for a future confrontation with NATOSo to me, this has a few implications. First Putin is pissed off with Shoigu. He's had enough of him running his mouth and is quietly disposing of him gracefully. ISW says similar in this regard. ISw also notes that this could be preparations for Putin readying Russia's Economy for a long term protracted war in ukraine, highlighting Russian aims to produce drones up to 2030. Me personally I also think this is Putin tightening the fist of control further. ISW touches on tying the DIB and MOD closer to the civilian sectors and I think this is a control factor. Putin is unlikely to be declaring a full on war and put the economy on a war footing, at least not publicly, but he may steer it in that direction over the next year with a secondary aim towards tightening his control over the wider governmental state.
As a side thought, if Putin tripped and fell out of a window tomorrow, this would leave a huge power vacuum right now. Just a thought for any window cleaners near the Cremlin.
Belousov's nearly decade-long tenure as an economic minister in the Russian federal government and his more recent involvement managing various domestic DIB innovation and drone projects, prepare him well to lead the struggling Russian MoD apparatusComplaints of corruption haven't touched this guy as much as they have floated around Shoigu. Plus at this point in the 3 day special opreation, Putin is looking for ways to do things cheaper over the long term annd this guy is the man for that kind of job.
Shoigu's replacement of Patrushev as Security Council Secretary is in line with Putin's general pattern of quietly sidelining high-level security officials by granting them peripheral roles within the Russian security sphere rather than simply firing them.This is ISW's assessment, but I honestly think there's more to this one. Belousov is a huge Putin supporter and I think that can't be stated enough. This may well be a casual shuffle, but I think there's more going on than what is on the surface.
Russian offensive efforts to seize Vovchansk (northeast of Kharkiv City) are in large part a consequence of the tacit Western policy that Ukrainian forces cannot use Western-provided systems to strike legitimate military targets within RussiaOkay so to put this in an easy to understand way, basically Ukraine can't use the weapons the west provide it to strike targets in russia. Therefore, Russia parks its refueling depos and artillery and such behind its border, and opens fire niiiiice and safe from their. American provided long range weapons such as the beautiful HIMARS have dealt some very heavy blows of freedom and democracy to Russian forces inside Ukraine, such as the (right) bank of Kherson Oblast in 2022... All Ukraine can use is their own drone forces to strike targets and sure, the drones are good, but they're not HIMARS.
It was only recently that the British foreign wank ahem I mean foreign secutary gave permission for the storm shadows to be used in Russia, which is a bit like the Challenger's. A fantastic gesture. But mostly... A gesture. It's Britain whipping out its balls and slapping them on the table in front of Russia, in hopes that America will accept the challenge and teabag russia in the nose. Basically, Britain makes the gesture, we see how Russia reacts, then America goes ah... Well... Britain did it, we'll do it.
Ukrainian forces continue to conduct repeat strikes on Russian oil and defense industrial infrastructure, prompting Russian milbloggers to complain about Russian forces' clear and continued inability to defend against these strikes.Pop pop went a few more buildings on a few more refineries today. An oil depo and a metal plant, and one other I can't find now. Note ISW mentioned that milbloggers are throwing their toys out of the pram, but check this line out, it makes me laugh:
The milblogger also blamed the issue on Russian military commanders who submit dishonest reports to the senior Russian military command — a common complaint among Russian milbloggers.[44] The milblogger claimed that Ukraine and the West are "more flexible, smarter, and more efficient" than Russian forces. The milblogger oddly and preemptively noted that this statement does not "discredit" the Russian military, which is a crime in Russia, but is instead an "adequate assessment" of the potential of the "enemy" that Russia is fightingThis is the equivalent of: F*** you! You suck! No offense.
Several German politicians from different political parties expressed support for using NATO air defense systems stationed in NATO member states to shoot down Russian drones over western Ukraine.This is a political move, don't get excited or expect anything to come of it. These parties are the equivalent of Bernie Sanders saying something.. People might cheer and say hey what a good idea.. But in the real world, it'll never happen because the Dems and the Reps will talk it to death. It's a brilliant idea, and honestly no one will be happier than me if it does happen, and it'll make resupplying a whole lot easier. And to be sure I'm sure Poland would enjoy the planting of a size 12 boot into the war, but I can't see it happening. This is just smoke and mirrors.
Russian forces recently made confirmed advances near Lyptsi and Vovchansk in northern Kharkiv Oblast.Not much to say here that hasn't already been said. Give Ukraine her guns already.
Former Roscosmos (Russian space agency) head and ultranationalist figure Dmitry Rogozin highlighted Russian forces' continued difficulty repelling Ukrainian drones on the frontline.And then backtracked by saying "no offense, dude. I'm not trying to break the law, honest!"
In other news, ISW has published a special report today on the Kharkiv problem and using western weapons in russia. I've not read it. But someone should summarise it! :)
https://understandingwar.org/backgroundeputins-safe-space-defeating-russias-kharkiv-operation-requires-eliminating-russias
Ukrainian officials continue to warn that Russian forces are systematically and increasingly using chemical weapons and other likely-banned chemical substances in Ukraine. The Ukrainian Support Forces Command stated on April 5 that Ukrainian forces have recorded 371 cases of Russian forces using munitions containing chemical substances during the last month and 1,412 cases of Russian forces using chemical weapons between February 2023 and March 2024.Please give Ukraine what they need to bring this war to an end.
- Something has gone terribly wrong with the time experiment. You were supposed to go back to the 1 1940's to interview churchill, somehow though, you've landed in the body of some President Putin or some such nonsense. What are his thoughts right now?
- Join the conversation on /TheNuttySpectacle!
2024.05.13 21:31 4eyedfreakazoid Unqualified and/or Experiencing CPTSD?
TLDR: I started (what seemed to be) my dream job two months ago and I am struggling. I have no clue if I’ll be picked up after the 90-day probation period ends. I feel like I had a rough start because my CPTSD is flaring up in ways that I did not anticipate. I also feel like I’m not qualified enough for this position now that I have it. My manager will not provide any feedback.
I worked at my last company for 3.5 years. One of our managers retired and everything went downhill. The new manager had been let go from her prior role for lying, blaming her mistakes on an employee, and trying to fire that employee. This had been communicated with our management, but their “hands were tied” because she was friends with the owner of the company. Can you guess what happened next?
My coworker had a history of rage and control issues which started to escalate after the change in management. Weekly outbursts became hourly outbursts consisting of screaming, slamming fists against desks and monitors, violent threats, and screeching until she would start bawling. She just celebrated her 16th anniversary with the company. HR does not care.
I barely survived childhood. My mom had psychotic breaks. My CPTSD started flaring up in ways that it hadn’t in over 15 years. I needed to get out.
I interviewed for my new job and provided an honest assessment of my skills. For example, I’ve worked in a different industry for the last seven years and doing X in Industry A might not translate well to doing X in Industry B. I am actively working on getting certified for skill A, but haven’t used it for the last 3.5 years. The manager seemed receptive. Turns out the manager is new and doesn’t know what she’s doing (according to my new coworkers). They need a super expert. I am not a super expert.
I tried to stay optimistic. I blocked out time to improve my skills at night and on the weekends. I really wanted to pivot to this kind of role. I have all of the core skills, but the change in industry is really tripping me up. It’s like going from fishing in the river to trying to swim with whales. I’m also going from a specialized and defined role to a catch-all. I have to be familiar with every process in the company.
My CPTSD continued to flare up really badly in this new role before it settled down after a month. I don’t even know if anyone else even noticed. It would be hard to explain to people that there was someone who would shout at me every time I opened my mouth, so I just stopped talking. That I'm expecting to get blamed for things that aren't my fault. That there is a part of me that is always waiting for the screeching to start. That I'm still having dreams that she shows up to my house with a gun. And all of this swirls together with bad memories of moments from my childhood where I almost didn't make it. Honestly, they probably just think I'm a little shy. I was in therapy until I left my last job.
I tried to schedule one-on-ones with my boss to discuss my goals, but she is always busy or gone. Two of my coworkers (12 years combined experience with the company) worked on a very complex project for 13 months before successfully convincing management that it was not feasible. This project is being rebooted and assigned to brand new me to do from scratch by myself. It's not a matter of skill, it literally can't be done.
I don’t know if I should roll up my sleeves and continue trying and hope for the best. I started looking for a new job just in case. I would hate to squander this new opportunity. I would hate to be a failure.
submitted by 4eyedfreakazoid to jobs [link] [comments]
I worked at my last company for 3.5 years. One of our managers retired and everything went downhill. The new manager had been let go from her prior role for lying, blaming her mistakes on an employee, and trying to fire that employee. This had been communicated with our management, but their “hands were tied” because she was friends with the owner of the company. Can you guess what happened next?
My coworker had a history of rage and control issues which started to escalate after the change in management. Weekly outbursts became hourly outbursts consisting of screaming, slamming fists against desks and monitors, violent threats, and screeching until she would start bawling. She just celebrated her 16th anniversary with the company. HR does not care.
I barely survived childhood. My mom had psychotic breaks. My CPTSD started flaring up in ways that it hadn’t in over 15 years. I needed to get out.
I interviewed for my new job and provided an honest assessment of my skills. For example, I’ve worked in a different industry for the last seven years and doing X in Industry A might not translate well to doing X in Industry B. I am actively working on getting certified for skill A, but haven’t used it for the last 3.5 years. The manager seemed receptive. Turns out the manager is new and doesn’t know what she’s doing (according to my new coworkers). They need a super expert. I am not a super expert.
I tried to stay optimistic. I blocked out time to improve my skills at night and on the weekends. I really wanted to pivot to this kind of role. I have all of the core skills, but the change in industry is really tripping me up. It’s like going from fishing in the river to trying to swim with whales. I’m also going from a specialized and defined role to a catch-all. I have to be familiar with every process in the company.
My CPTSD continued to flare up really badly in this new role before it settled down after a month. I don’t even know if anyone else even noticed. It would be hard to explain to people that there was someone who would shout at me every time I opened my mouth, so I just stopped talking. That I'm expecting to get blamed for things that aren't my fault. That there is a part of me that is always waiting for the screeching to start. That I'm still having dreams that she shows up to my house with a gun. And all of this swirls together with bad memories of moments from my childhood where I almost didn't make it. Honestly, they probably just think I'm a little shy. I was in therapy until I left my last job.
I tried to schedule one-on-ones with my boss to discuss my goals, but she is always busy or gone. Two of my coworkers (12 years combined experience with the company) worked on a very complex project for 13 months before successfully convincing management that it was not feasible. This project is being rebooted and assigned to brand new me to do from scratch by myself. It's not a matter of skill, it literally can't be done.
I don’t know if I should roll up my sleeves and continue trying and hope for the best. I started looking for a new job just in case. I would hate to squander this new opportunity. I would hate to be a failure.
2024.05.13 21:23 chickenzz10 Ripped roof fabric
 | Hi everyone. 2012 Lexus IS250 owner here. Hoping you might help me with following issue: Last week I got locked out of my car (keys were inside), and I tried "breaking into" lit using a long screwdriver to ply open the door, before giving up and calling AA who did it in 15 mns. In the process, I managed to rip a bit of the fabric above the window (interior roof). I glued it back but made a horrible job. Am wondering what you suggest I do to fix it? Is there anything I can cover that part with? submitted by chickenzz10 to Lexus [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 21:22 chickenzz10 Ripped roof fabric
 | Hi everyone. 2012 Lexus IS250 owner here. Hoping you might help me with following issue: Last week I got locked out of my car (keys were inside), and I tried "breaking into" lit using a long screwdriver to ply open the door, before giving up and calling AA who did it in 15 mns. In the process, I managed to rip a bit of the fabric above the window (interior roof). I glued it back but made a horrible job. Am wondering what you suggest I do to fix it? Is there anything I can cover that part with? submitted by chickenzz10 to LexusIS [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 21:22 Sola_Sista_94 Cookies 'n' Dreams: Parts Five and Six (Fanfic)
"Ahem...Cinnaswirl cookies! Get your Cinnaswirl cookies!" Kokichi practiced in his announcer voice. It was Saturday afternoon. Every Saturday and Sunday up until the week before the surprise field trip, Hope's Peak was opened for two hours for the students volunteering to sell cookies. The students who volunteered placed their stands throughout various parts of the academy. Sayaka and Hina set theirs up in the cafeteria, Shuichi and Kaede in the auditorium, Rantaro and Kirumi in the lobby, Himiko outside the front entrance of the building, and Kokichi in the gym.
Himiko unfolded a table and placed the two tin bowls of cookies on it. Above her, she hung a dull sign announcing her chocolate chip cookies were for sale. She wasn't proud of it, but it was the best she could do in thirty minutes before rushing off to sell her cookies.
"Himiko, you decided to sell cookies, too?" Kaede asked as she and Shuichi passed by her.
"Nyeh...yeah," Himiko mumbled.
"You're not selling them with Kokichi?" Kaede asked. "Are you two fighting?"
"No. It was Kokichi's idea to compete against each other," Himiko explained. "Boyfriend against girlfriend. He thought it would be something fun and different."
"Hm, that actually does sound like fun!" Kaede admitted. "Don't you think, Shuichi? I bet I could sell more cookies than you!"
"I guess it would be kind of fun," Shuichi agreed. "But, I prefer working together. I think I get things done better that way, rather than doing things on my own."
"Maybe we should try competing against each other at least once," Kaede said.
"Ah, well, I guess that would be okay," Shuichi said.
"Well, we should get going," Kaede said. "I hope you sell a lot of cookies, Himiko!" Shuichi looked doubtfully at Himiko's sign.
"Good luck, Himiko," he said with a polite smile.
"Nyeh...thanks. I'm gonna need it," Himiko muttered. With that, Kaede and Shuichi were gone, leaving Himiko to utter a discouraged sigh to herself. She looked up to see students approaching the school. Many saw but ignored her as they entered the building. Meanwhile, Kokichi had his first customer inside.
"Hey, Hiro!" Kokichi exclaimed with a devious grin. "You wanna buy some Cinnaswirl cookies?" Hiro looked at the cookies. Beautiful swirls of cinnamon designs were etched onto the cookies.
"Whoa! These look pretty sick!" Hiro exclaimed, picking a cookie up and examining it. "What are they exactly?"
"They're just regular, ol' cinnamon cookies," Kokichi replied, holding out a cookie to Hiro. "Go ahead! Try one for ¥500!" Hiro paid and bit into the cookie and chewed cautiously.
"Hey! These are actually...pretty..." Suddenly, he began panting. He fanned his mouth. "H-Hot! Why are...these cookies so...hot?!" He threw the cookie to the ground and fanned his face with both his hands. "WATER!! I, like...need water!!" He started running around in circles, hyperventilating.
"Hm? Water won't help," Kokichi said, then pulled out a giant jug of milk and poured some into a cup. "Try milk instead! That'll be another ¥500!" Hiro reached into his pockets to grab whatever amount of money he had.
"Here!! Just take it, or whatever!" he yelled and immediately reached for the milk, gulping it down. "I need more!"
"Soooorry..." Kokichi said, hiding the milk back under the table. "That was all the milk I had. Maybe you should go get some more at the convenience store! Make sure to exit out that way!" He pointed to the exit door of the gym that led right outside.
"Whatever woooorks!" Hiro cried, running out of the gym. Kokichi figured if Hiro left the school grounds through that door, he wouldn't be able to warn the other students who were already inside about his devil cookies. Grinning deviously, he counted the money. In his haste, Hiro had thrown him ¥3000, making a total of ¥3500.
"Nee-heehee...looks like I'm the Cookie Monster now!" Kokichi murmured with satisfaction.
***
Back at the front of the school, Himiko sat in silence, waiting for one customer to show up. She was half-relieved, half-disappointed to see Tenko, Angie, and Tsumugi walk up to her stand. They were basically her "pity friends."
"Oh, wow, Himiko! I didn't know you were selling cookies!" Tenko cried. "I bet they taste amazing!"
"What cookies do you have for us, Himiko?" Angie chirped. Himiko opened the tin bowls.
"Oh, my...they're just plain chocolate chip cookies," Tsumugi mumbled, feeling slightly disappointed.
"So? What's wrong with that?!" Tenko asked, frowning at Tsumugi.
"I'll bet they are delicious, Himiko!" Angie said.
"Nyeh...are you gonna buy any?" Himiko asked.
"Ooo, I will take this kind," Angie said, pointing to the soft chocolate chip cookies. Tenko glared at her.
"Well, I'll take the other cookies!" she said, pointing to the crunchy ones.
"That'll be ¥500," Himiko said. Angie paid and took a cookie.
"I'll give you ¥1000!" Tenko offered. "I am your best friend after all!"
"No, that's okay, Tenko," Himiko said, and Tenko reluctantly paid her the ¥500. The last thing Himiko wanted was pity money. It would only make her feel worse. She turned to Tsumugi. "Nyeh...are you gonna buy any, Tsumugi?"
"No..." Tsumugi answered quietly. "Sorry, Himiko. I may be plain, but I like for my cookies to not be so plain. No offense."
"WOOOOW!!! THESE COOKIES ARE AMAZING!!!" Tenko yelled. Then, she turned to Tsumugi. "How dare you not try Himiko's cookies, Tsumugi! They're the best cookies I've ever eaten! And I bet Himiko baked these all by herself like the talented mage she is!"
"No...I didn't," Himiko said.
"Well, you probably did most of the work, so that's why they taste so good!" Tenko exclaimed.
"Yeah, sure...whatever," Himiko muttered.
"These cookies are absolutely divine, Himiko!" Angie said. "Perhaps you had Atua's help in making them?"
"Of course she didn't, Angie!" Tenko said. "She doesn't need help from your god...if he even exists, anyways!"
"Nyeh...I didn't have help from Atua, Angie," Himiko answered. "I had help from other friends of mine."
"You have friends besides me, Himiko?!" Tenko cried in horror. "Wh-Who are they?!"
"Just friends," Himiko said. "Anyways, is that all?"
"Aaah! I don't have anymore money!" Tenko cried, checking her purse. "I-I need to go get a job! That way, I'll buy all of your cookies, Himiko!" Himiko sighed.
"I want other people to try my cookies, too, Tenko," she said.
"Have you had any other customers at all, Himiko?" Tsumugi asked. Himiko gulped and shook her head.
"Oh..." Tsumugi mumbled sympathetically.
"Well, I'm sure more customers will approach you, Himiko! Just give it time!" Angie said with an optimistic smile.
"Yeah! And if they don't, I'll be sure to get that job so I can buy all of your cookies!" Tenko said. The three girls wished Himiko good luck and waved goodbye. Himiko sighed forlornly. Having her friends buy all of her cookies only made her feel incompetent. As the afternoon wore on, she waited and waited for more customers, but none came. She hung her head dejectedly as a couple of tears forced their way down her cheek. Why had she even bothered?
Part Six
After two hours passed, Kokichi counted up the money he had made. Sifting through the last of his con money, he had made a total of ¥75000. He stuffed the money into his pocket and headed out to the front of the school, where Himiko was.
"Hey, Himiko! Look at all the money I made!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Nee-heehee...I got the most money from Byakuya! You should have seen the moment he bit into one of my cookies! He-...Wait, what are you doing?" Himiko was ripping up her sign in anger and sadness.
"I quit," she muttered. Kokichi stared at her.
"Why?" he asked. "How much did you make?"
"Not as much as you...just like I said would happen," Himiko answered bitterly. She clenched her fists as she tried to hold back tears. Kokichi went to the jar on her table and saw the total of ¥1000 from Tenko and Angie.
"I'm guessing that's from Tenko and Angie?" he said.
"Yeah," Himiko curtly replied.
"Himiko, you can just try again tomorrow," Kokichi pointed out.
"I'm not going to," Himiko said, throwing her sign into a nearby trashcan.
"So that's just it? You're going to give up...just like that?" Kokichi asked, frowning. Himiko couldn't contain her tears.
"Yes, Kokichi! Okay?!" she cried in frustration as she angrily wiped her tears. "I've humiliated myself enough, so I'm giving up!!" Kokichi firmly grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye.
"No, you're not, Himiko," he said. Himiko yanked her hand away.
"I don't care about this stupid competition anymore!" she yelled. "Just leave me alone!"
"This isn't about the competition anymore, Himiko," Kokichi said. "This is about you now!"
"Yeah, like, how I keep telling you that I can't do this stupid cookie sale, and I didn't wanna do this stupid cookie sale in the first place!" Himiko said.
"Then why did you do it, Himiko?!" Kokichi cried.
"Because...because...I'm an idiot, okay?!" Himiko sobbed. "I thought I'd be able to do this, but all I found out is that I'm a big, huge loser!"
"See, that's your problem right there!" Kokichi said in frustration. "That piss-poor attitude of yours is the reason for your failures, Himiko!" Himiko stared at him with a hurt expression. "I wanted to do this competition for fun, Himiko," Kokichi continued. "It's one thing if you didn't wanna do it because you didn't like the idea, or that it would have been better if we simply worked together, or something. I would have understood that. But the reason why you didn't want to do it is because you think so poorly of yourself that you don't think you're capable of doing anything! You seriously need to cut that out!" Himiko hung her head in shame.
"I don't know how," she wailed, balling her fists against her eyes in frustration and sadness. "Sometimes...I feel so...worthless! So...useless!" She looked at Kokichi with a tear-stained face. "I'm not smart or confident, or able to do things like you are." Kokichi sighed.
"Himiko, you have got to stop comparing yourself to me," he said firmly. "You're not me, and I don't expect you to be like me." He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "You're you. You're your own person. And you should be smart, confident, and capable of doing things your way." Himiko gasped as she sniffed and wiped her tears away. Kokichi sighed deeply. "Listen to me, Himiko, there might come a day when you and I might not be together anymore, whether it's because we broke up, or I died, or whatever. I want you to be able to stand on your own two feet without feeling helpless, or stuck, or too scared to do anything. I want it so that, if I'm not around, you'd be able to make it in this world on your own. And if you needed assistance, you could go to Tenko and Angie as friends, not as your caretakers who'll coddle you and hide you from the world. You can't hide from this world. Besides, what if something were to happen to them, too? Who would you turn to then?" Himiko shivered at the thought. "That's why I want you to stop thinking of yourself as some incompetent, dumb little girl, Himiko. That's not what you are. You are smart and you are capable. You just need to see it for yourself." Himiko nodded in response, tears still streaking down her cheeks. Kokichi wrapped his arms around her. Himiko laid her head against his chest as she continued to sob.
"I'm sorry, Kokichi," she said in a shaky whisper.
"Don't be," Kokichi said, giving her back a comforting rub. Then, he chuckled. "After all...a GiRl ShOuLdN't ApOlOgIzE sO EaSiLy," he said, mocking Kaito. Through her tears, Himiko laughed. Kokichi laughed along with her. Himiko looked up at him, smiling gratefully. Kokichi smiled back and softly kissed her forehead. "I love you, Himiko."
"I love you, too, Kokichi," Himiko sniffed. They gave each other a soft kiss on the lips. Now calm, Himiko laid her head against Kokichi's chest once again and squeezed him tighter, never wanting to let him go.
submitted by Sola_Sista_94 to danganronpa [link] [comments]
Himiko unfolded a table and placed the two tin bowls of cookies on it. Above her, she hung a dull sign announcing her chocolate chip cookies were for sale. She wasn't proud of it, but it was the best she could do in thirty minutes before rushing off to sell her cookies.
"Himiko, you decided to sell cookies, too?" Kaede asked as she and Shuichi passed by her.
"Nyeh...yeah," Himiko mumbled.
"You're not selling them with Kokichi?" Kaede asked. "Are you two fighting?"
"No. It was Kokichi's idea to compete against each other," Himiko explained. "Boyfriend against girlfriend. He thought it would be something fun and different."
"Hm, that actually does sound like fun!" Kaede admitted. "Don't you think, Shuichi? I bet I could sell more cookies than you!"
"I guess it would be kind of fun," Shuichi agreed. "But, I prefer working together. I think I get things done better that way, rather than doing things on my own."
"Maybe we should try competing against each other at least once," Kaede said.
"Ah, well, I guess that would be okay," Shuichi said.
"Well, we should get going," Kaede said. "I hope you sell a lot of cookies, Himiko!" Shuichi looked doubtfully at Himiko's sign.
"Good luck, Himiko," he said with a polite smile.
"Nyeh...thanks. I'm gonna need it," Himiko muttered. With that, Kaede and Shuichi were gone, leaving Himiko to utter a discouraged sigh to herself. She looked up to see students approaching the school. Many saw but ignored her as they entered the building. Meanwhile, Kokichi had his first customer inside.
"Hey, Hiro!" Kokichi exclaimed with a devious grin. "You wanna buy some Cinnaswirl cookies?" Hiro looked at the cookies. Beautiful swirls of cinnamon designs were etched onto the cookies.
"Whoa! These look pretty sick!" Hiro exclaimed, picking a cookie up and examining it. "What are they exactly?"
"They're just regular, ol' cinnamon cookies," Kokichi replied, holding out a cookie to Hiro. "Go ahead! Try one for ¥500!" Hiro paid and bit into the cookie and chewed cautiously.
"Hey! These are actually...pretty..." Suddenly, he began panting. He fanned his mouth. "H-Hot! Why are...these cookies so...hot?!" He threw the cookie to the ground and fanned his face with both his hands. "WATER!! I, like...need water!!" He started running around in circles, hyperventilating.
"Hm? Water won't help," Kokichi said, then pulled out a giant jug of milk and poured some into a cup. "Try milk instead! That'll be another ¥500!" Hiro reached into his pockets to grab whatever amount of money he had.
"Here!! Just take it, or whatever!" he yelled and immediately reached for the milk, gulping it down. "I need more!"
"Soooorry..." Kokichi said, hiding the milk back under the table. "That was all the milk I had. Maybe you should go get some more at the convenience store! Make sure to exit out that way!" He pointed to the exit door of the gym that led right outside.
"Whatever woooorks!" Hiro cried, running out of the gym. Kokichi figured if Hiro left the school grounds through that door, he wouldn't be able to warn the other students who were already inside about his devil cookies. Grinning deviously, he counted the money. In his haste, Hiro had thrown him ¥3000, making a total of ¥3500.
"Nee-heehee...looks like I'm the Cookie Monster now!" Kokichi murmured with satisfaction.
***
Back at the front of the school, Himiko sat in silence, waiting for one customer to show up. She was half-relieved, half-disappointed to see Tenko, Angie, and Tsumugi walk up to her stand. They were basically her "pity friends."
"Oh, wow, Himiko! I didn't know you were selling cookies!" Tenko cried. "I bet they taste amazing!"
"What cookies do you have for us, Himiko?" Angie chirped. Himiko opened the tin bowls.
"Oh, my...they're just plain chocolate chip cookies," Tsumugi mumbled, feeling slightly disappointed.
"So? What's wrong with that?!" Tenko asked, frowning at Tsumugi.
"I'll bet they are delicious, Himiko!" Angie said.
"Nyeh...are you gonna buy any?" Himiko asked.
"Ooo, I will take this kind," Angie said, pointing to the soft chocolate chip cookies. Tenko glared at her.
"Well, I'll take the other cookies!" she said, pointing to the crunchy ones.
"That'll be ¥500," Himiko said. Angie paid and took a cookie.
"I'll give you ¥1000!" Tenko offered. "I am your best friend after all!"
"No, that's okay, Tenko," Himiko said, and Tenko reluctantly paid her the ¥500. The last thing Himiko wanted was pity money. It would only make her feel worse. She turned to Tsumugi. "Nyeh...are you gonna buy any, Tsumugi?"
"No..." Tsumugi answered quietly. "Sorry, Himiko. I may be plain, but I like for my cookies to not be so plain. No offense."
"WOOOOW!!! THESE COOKIES ARE AMAZING!!!" Tenko yelled. Then, she turned to Tsumugi. "How dare you not try Himiko's cookies, Tsumugi! They're the best cookies I've ever eaten! And I bet Himiko baked these all by herself like the talented mage she is!"
"No...I didn't," Himiko said.
"Well, you probably did most of the work, so that's why they taste so good!" Tenko exclaimed.
"Yeah, sure...whatever," Himiko muttered.
"These cookies are absolutely divine, Himiko!" Angie said. "Perhaps you had Atua's help in making them?"
"Of course she didn't, Angie!" Tenko said. "She doesn't need help from your god...if he even exists, anyways!"
"Nyeh...I didn't have help from Atua, Angie," Himiko answered. "I had help from other friends of mine."
"You have friends besides me, Himiko?!" Tenko cried in horror. "Wh-Who are they?!"
"Just friends," Himiko said. "Anyways, is that all?"
"Aaah! I don't have anymore money!" Tenko cried, checking her purse. "I-I need to go get a job! That way, I'll buy all of your cookies, Himiko!" Himiko sighed.
"I want other people to try my cookies, too, Tenko," she said.
"Have you had any other customers at all, Himiko?" Tsumugi asked. Himiko gulped and shook her head.
"Oh..." Tsumugi mumbled sympathetically.
"Well, I'm sure more customers will approach you, Himiko! Just give it time!" Angie said with an optimistic smile.
"Yeah! And if they don't, I'll be sure to get that job so I can buy all of your cookies!" Tenko said. The three girls wished Himiko good luck and waved goodbye. Himiko sighed forlornly. Having her friends buy all of her cookies only made her feel incompetent. As the afternoon wore on, she waited and waited for more customers, but none came. She hung her head dejectedly as a couple of tears forced their way down her cheek. Why had she even bothered?
Part Six
After two hours passed, Kokichi counted up the money he had made. Sifting through the last of his con money, he had made a total of ¥75000. He stuffed the money into his pocket and headed out to the front of the school, where Himiko was.
"Hey, Himiko! Look at all the money I made!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Nee-heehee...I got the most money from Byakuya! You should have seen the moment he bit into one of my cookies! He-...Wait, what are you doing?" Himiko was ripping up her sign in anger and sadness.
"I quit," she muttered. Kokichi stared at her.
"Why?" he asked. "How much did you make?"
"Not as much as you...just like I said would happen," Himiko answered bitterly. She clenched her fists as she tried to hold back tears. Kokichi went to the jar on her table and saw the total of ¥1000 from Tenko and Angie.
"I'm guessing that's from Tenko and Angie?" he said.
"Yeah," Himiko curtly replied.
"Himiko, you can just try again tomorrow," Kokichi pointed out.
"I'm not going to," Himiko said, throwing her sign into a nearby trashcan.
"So that's just it? You're going to give up...just like that?" Kokichi asked, frowning. Himiko couldn't contain her tears.
"Yes, Kokichi! Okay?!" she cried in frustration as she angrily wiped her tears. "I've humiliated myself enough, so I'm giving up!!" Kokichi firmly grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye.
"No, you're not, Himiko," he said. Himiko yanked her hand away.
"I don't care about this stupid competition anymore!" she yelled. "Just leave me alone!"
"This isn't about the competition anymore, Himiko," Kokichi said. "This is about you now!"
"Yeah, like, how I keep telling you that I can't do this stupid cookie sale, and I didn't wanna do this stupid cookie sale in the first place!" Himiko said.
"Then why did you do it, Himiko?!" Kokichi cried.
"Because...because...I'm an idiot, okay?!" Himiko sobbed. "I thought I'd be able to do this, but all I found out is that I'm a big, huge loser!"
"See, that's your problem right there!" Kokichi said in frustration. "That piss-poor attitude of yours is the reason for your failures, Himiko!" Himiko stared at him with a hurt expression. "I wanted to do this competition for fun, Himiko," Kokichi continued. "It's one thing if you didn't wanna do it because you didn't like the idea, or that it would have been better if we simply worked together, or something. I would have understood that. But the reason why you didn't want to do it is because you think so poorly of yourself that you don't think you're capable of doing anything! You seriously need to cut that out!" Himiko hung her head in shame.
"I don't know how," she wailed, balling her fists against her eyes in frustration and sadness. "Sometimes...I feel so...worthless! So...useless!" She looked at Kokichi with a tear-stained face. "I'm not smart or confident, or able to do things like you are." Kokichi sighed.
"Himiko, you have got to stop comparing yourself to me," he said firmly. "You're not me, and I don't expect you to be like me." He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "You're you. You're your own person. And you should be smart, confident, and capable of doing things your way." Himiko gasped as she sniffed and wiped her tears away. Kokichi sighed deeply. "Listen to me, Himiko, there might come a day when you and I might not be together anymore, whether it's because we broke up, or I died, or whatever. I want you to be able to stand on your own two feet without feeling helpless, or stuck, or too scared to do anything. I want it so that, if I'm not around, you'd be able to make it in this world on your own. And if you needed assistance, you could go to Tenko and Angie as friends, not as your caretakers who'll coddle you and hide you from the world. You can't hide from this world. Besides, what if something were to happen to them, too? Who would you turn to then?" Himiko shivered at the thought. "That's why I want you to stop thinking of yourself as some incompetent, dumb little girl, Himiko. That's not what you are. You are smart and you are capable. You just need to see it for yourself." Himiko nodded in response, tears still streaking down her cheeks. Kokichi wrapped his arms around her. Himiko laid her head against his chest as she continued to sob.
"I'm sorry, Kokichi," she said in a shaky whisper.
"Don't be," Kokichi said, giving her back a comforting rub. Then, he chuckled. "After all...a GiRl ShOuLdN't ApOlOgIzE sO EaSiLy," he said, mocking Kaito. Through her tears, Himiko laughed. Kokichi laughed along with her. Himiko looked up at him, smiling gratefully. Kokichi smiled back and softly kissed her forehead. "I love you, Himiko."
"I love you, too, Kokichi," Himiko sniffed. They gave each other a soft kiss on the lips. Now calm, Himiko laid her head against Kokichi's chest once again and squeezed him tighter, never wanting to let him go.
2024.05.13 21:16 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to MrCreepyPasta [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.13 21:13 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.13 21:12 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LighthouseHorror [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.