Is lisinopril poison to a dog

Dogs with Jobs

2014.02.03 23:29 mr_bag Dogs with Jobs

This is a community for real working dogs. These are jobs or tasks a dog is specifically trained to perform such as Guide Dog, Service Dog, Herding Dog, Police Dog, Sled Dog, etc. Silly/Fake jobs are NOT allowed in our sub. Read the full rules in the sidebar before posting.
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2008.03.14 20:08 /r/dogs: Woof

/dogs is a place for dog owners of all levels of knowledge, skill, and experience to discuss various topics related to responsible dog ownership. This subreddit is a great starting point for a lot of information, but you should always verify and expand upon what you've read from reputable sources before putting it to use in your daily life. Advice on this forum is not a substitute for advice from a trained and credentialed professional.
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2008.06.18 02:37 All Things Dog!

A subreddit dedicated to the best animal ever, the dog!
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2024.05.15 00:11 Charcoalhorse23 Help! My senior dog is having a serious reaction to her medication.

Help! My senior dog is having a serious reaction to her medication.
My 16 year old boxer mix, Sadie Mae, recently switched her medication from carprofen to a new injection called Liberella. She was fine the first month she took it, with some minor incontinence she developed. We didn't think much of it, as she is very senior and thought it could be just a new sign of her age. We got her second shot recently, and she started to have incontinence almost every day (especially while sleeping), and she started to have violent grand mal seizures today. We suspected she may have also been seizing in her sleep after the new medicine, as we find her lying in pool of her own waste several mornings. Usually, her "accidents" involve her going on the floor next to the backdoor and she has always been able to actually get up to relieve herself. We thought we would lose her today, given how bad her seizure and other symptoms are, but luckily she pulled through. She has also lost over 10lbs, has poor appetite, and seems to have constant stomach problems and dissentary. She is barely eating and drinking water and nothing seems to help her symptoms at all. We started this new med after it was recommended by our vet who we really like and have worked with for years. However, when I go online, I read hundreds of horror stories of dogs ,just like mine, who were healthy senior dogs with some arthritis who ended up with fatal consequences after taking it. I'm freaked out, as I feel like my dog has been poisoned and is set to pass away from it in the near future. We were able to get her to the vet who just took some blood and urine samples, so we won't know anything for a few days.We are definitely discontinuing the meds moving forward.
I'm posting to see if anyone can relate or has insight about this medication first hand? Tia
submitted by Charcoalhorse23 to seniordogs [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 00:05 deepbeepbeep Emmon Flowers, Bastard of Holyhall, and Lady Jocelyn Graceford, Hermit of Holyhall

Reddit Account: u/deepbeepbeep
Discord Tag: spicybadgercurry
Name and House: Emmon Flowers (bastard of Holyhall)
Age: 26
Cultural Group: Primarily Andal descent, Reachman
Appearance: Inclined to being a little plump, with chestnut colored hair and hazel eyes. Plainer than most singers in dress and appearance, favoring brown and white over more gaudy colors.
Trait: Erudite
Skill(s): Investigator, Espionage, Scholar, Scribe, Ravenmaster
Talent(s): Lute player, good singing voice
Negative Trait(s):
Starting Title(s): Bastard of Holyhall, the Maid of Holyhall (derogatory)
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: Yes (see below)
Name and House: Jocelyn Graceford
Age: 25
Cultural Group: Primarily Andal descent, Reachman
Appearance: Was mauled by a hunting dog when she was young, ruining her face and any chances of a decent marriage. Has deep brown eyes, and hair like a raven’s wing – though for the most part, Jocelyn wears a dark veil over her face, hiding the bulk of the damage.
Trait: Insidious
Skill(s): Covert, Rumormonger, Devious
Talent(s): Chronicler, poet, embroiderer
Negative Trait(s):
Starting Title(s): Hermit of Holyhall, Hag of Holyhall (derogatory)
Starting Location: Opening Event
Biographies
Emmon Flowers:
Born just a year prior to the Conquest, Emmon is the product of his father (also named Emmon), who was the sickly heir to Holyhall at the time, and Septa Ynys, who had arrived with Lord Willem (Emmon Graceford’s father)’s second wife, Rhea Merryweather, as an attendant. Septa Ynys gave birth to Emmon Flowers after his father’s death from disease. Emmon Sr. had been aware of his child’s coming, and was hoping to live long enough to meet the child he never believed he would have – though that wouldn’t be the case.
Septa Ynys was called back to do penance for the sin of Emmon Flowers, and Emmon himself was taken to be raised by septons so that he might also do penance for the sin of existing – by becoming a septon himself. Lord Willem, who outlived his son and was hoping to have more children by his second wife, was glad of the disposal of an inconvenient bastard – the resemblance of the infant to his father at that age was more hurtful than gratifying.
Emmon learned music and scholarship (religious and otherwise) with the septons, but was known for being a bit too inquisitive and curious for his own good, despite being otherwise pliant and eager to please. Brief talk was made of sending him to the Maesters, but the Faith believed that Emmon was what was owed to them – after all, he had been born of the Faith.
When he was sixteen, Emmon finally retaliated against another bullying novice – landing one punch on the other boy. Unfortunately, the other boy was slightly more martial, and Emmon came out the worse of the two in the fight. Something about this particular incident, however, convinced the septons that Emmon was more trouble than he was worth – perhaps it was the straw that broke the stallion’s back, amongst all the inconvenient questions Emmon would raise. Either way, Emmon was sent back to Holyhall.
Lord Willem was still alive at the time, but by then had only had a daughter, Jocelyn, by his second wife, the Lady Rhea. He took in Emmon purely to avoid the scandal that would have arisen by having the bastard of Holyhall out on the street, and gave him no other kindness but this.
Emmon spent his time playing music as the resident musician at Holyhall, which gave him at least some purpose, and assisted the Maester with the tending of ravens.
When Emmon was twenty, Lord Willem died suddenly – and the only child that remained was Jocelyn, who had always been kind to Emmon, but who had a talent for intrigue that frightened Emmon to an extent. He saw it coming that he would become part of her machinations, but had no real way of stopping it. At least he would be able to continue his music and studies. At least there would be that.
Timeline
1 BC – Emmon Flowers is born, Emmon Graceford dies. Septa Ynys is sent away to do penance, Emmon is given to septons.
15 AC – Emmon sent in disgrace back to Holyhall
20 AC – Death of Lord Willem Graceford. Ascension of Jocelyn Graceford, Lady of Holyhall
23 AC – Emmon sent to King’s Landing to serve as a singer and the eyes and ears of his aunt
Jocelyn Graceford
Jocelyn was born to the second wife of Willem Graceford and was the only child of this marriage to survive to adulthood – though that very nearly didn’t happen. Jocelyn was badly disfigured by a hunting dog when she was seven years old, and despite treatments by a maester, was ultimately disfigured. Thankfully, she had been able to keep her eyes and tongue. After this, her father abandoned his hopes of arranging a suitable betrothal for her.
Lord Willem had hoped to have a son and heir by his new wife to replace his deceased first heir, but unfortunately, only Jocelyn survived. Rhea Merryweather tried to give her husband a new son and heir, but her multiple pregnancies after Jocelyn only resulted in stillbirths or children who, to the despair of their parents, died in the cradle days after birth.
After his wife finally expired in childbed when Jocelyn was nineteen, Willem was quickly making plans to take a new wife, only to die suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving Jocelyn the Lady of Holyhall.
There are rumors Jocelyn poisoned her father, to prevent him from creating a new heir and sending her to the silent sisters. She denies these rumors.
Because of her disfigurement, Jocelyn tends to not leave Holyhall unless there is great cause for it, or if she cares for those she visits, such as family at Longtable. She wears a long dark veil over her face, to hide the bulk of the damage, and even at Holyhall, only her Maester has seen underneath the veil.
Jocelyn, despite her isolation and lack of marriage prospects, however, is interested in keeping informed, even from her seat in the Reach, and has utilized her nephew to this end.
1 AC – Conquest. Also, Jocelyn was born.
8 AC – The Hound Incident
20 AC – Death of Jocelyn’s mother, Rhea Merryweather. Later in the year, the death of Willem Graceford, Lord of Holyhall.
23 AC – Sent Emmon to King’s Landing.
Family tree: https://www.familyecho.com/?p=RC8O6&c=gwmdyzwnxei4x1xa&f=359849491848085097
submitted by deepbeepbeep to ITRPCommunity [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 23:44 Aloil What is the fastest way to kill all of the plants in a garden row without using any chemicals?

We got a dog this past summer and a bunch of our plants in the backyard are actually poisonous to dogs. So but I'd like to know is what the fastest way is to kill all these plants. They're all in a row along the fence. Would have been doing is digging them up and turning them over, but it's back breaking work and I guess I'd appreciate some tips. Also I'm not even sure it's going to be effective because although it hides the plan I think it's just going to grow back right? What if I covered over the flipped over plants with cardboard and then covered the cardboard with mulch, I saw that on a TikTok and it seemed to work? Would that work?
Thanks
submitted by Aloil to lawncare [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 23:21 Wearschaoswell Tomato plant help

Every year I buy a few tiny tomato plants from the store and put them in the ground around and behind the shed for shade (New Mexico, 100f+) and they do well. This year is no exception, but in the last 3 days something has eaten 2 right down to the ground! Literally just a nub of the stalk left.
I have 4 left. Can I dig them up and move them or will that kill them (or will the little bugger find them again) or maybe mesh? Will it eat through mesh?
What would you do? I can’t put poison or traps as I have both dogs and cats in the yard too.
submitted by Wearschaoswell to gardening [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 21:30 popsfootloose949 New MVS Speculation: Boomerang Theory

Credit to MultiverSusie on Twitter for pointing this cross-promo out initially!
On May 28th and 29th, Boomerang will be airing specific programming for the launch of MultiVersus. Breaking down the Adventure Time episodes alone clued me into the fact that these episodes seem HIGHLY relevant for future speculation. Let's call this "Boomerang Theory."
The Rules for Boomerang Theory
Even though clues may be present for properties like Looney Tunes, Popeye, and Scooby-Doo, I personally consider it to be unlikely to come to any informed speculation regarding shows that air on Boomerang daily. There are some exceptions,, but for right now I am only focusing in on the shows specifically coming to Boomerang for the event.
Shows #1-2: Taz-Mania and Duck Dodgers
Movie #1: Aloha, Scooby-Doo!
Movie #2: Scooby-Doo! & Batman: The Brave and the Bold
Show #3: Teen Titans Go!
Show #4: Adventure Time - SPOILERS!
Show #5: Steven Universe - SPOILERS!
submitted by popsfootloose949 to MultiVersus [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 21:01 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 20:57 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LighthouseHorror [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 20:56 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.
submitted by Flagg1991 to MrCreepyPasta [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 20:36 LordXamon Mod guide for vanilla players, now updated for 1.5 [draft]

Let me share my 3000h of modded wisdom with you, my fellow vanilla comrades. My attempt here is to provide you with as many as possible improvements to the base game while keeping the style, balance, and content as vanilla as possible. As they say, when it works the best is when you don't realize it is there. I guarantee you that after playing a few dozen hours with these, you will no longer be able to tell what's vanilla and what's not.
I decided to cut my recommendations onto different types of lists, so it's easier for you. The most purists players can stick with QoL only. Or, even if you're a psychopath purist who doesn't any QoL improvement, you can still use the performance list.
Please, note that a lot of these mods come with options, to tune up your experience. It is recommended you give them a look.
Dependencies:
Performance
Quality of life
Minor changes
Mayor changes
Atmospheric changes
Bonus: comics! And the occasional animation, check the profiles of u/daleksdeservevictory , u/AzulCrescent , u/AetherealVanguard , u/Senseless0 , u/ATTF , u/Aelanna , srgrafo, u/Fonzawa , u/Ivancmedia , u/zyll3 , u/meto30 , u/AeolysScribbles , u/cavalier753 , u/GABESTFY , u/VectorData , u/arxian , u/Nguyenanh2132 , u/sorrowful_dance , u/meto30 , u/-desdinova- , u/truffli
submitted by LordXamon to test [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 17:34 TeddyPup19 What would you do in this situation as a host and as a guest?

Hey everyone, fellow host here and I’ve been hosting for about 6 months now but this question is not in relation to my own listing. We have a friends son who is currently staying in an Airbnb in another state with his wife and their 2 year old dog. The listing describes themselves as pet friendly and everything was going well until the dog ate some poisonous mushrooms that were growing in the backyard of the Airbnb and is now hospitalized and in ICU. They have been told the dog has about a 20% chance of survival at this point.
I’m curious from a host perspective how would you handle this situation and also as a guest how would you feel about it? As a host, we are also pet friendly and this has terrified me and I immediately scanned our yard for anything that may be poisonous to people’s pets at the house. But things happen and I feel like this is a grey area, because were the hosts negligent in this case and should they be liable for the care of the dog? Or is it the guests responsibility to make sure the area is “pet friendly” and monitor their pet in the yard? As a guest I can see how they might have a case against the host since they allow pets at the home and having deadly mushrooms in the backyard could be seen as negligence.
At this point it is getting very expensive for the guests, the vet bills are astronomical, we’re talking daily plasma transfusions to try and save this pup. Not to mention the guest is now stuck in another state because this dog can’t be moved out of ICU, they are missing work, paying for an Airbnb, and they’re going to try and extend the reservation or find another place to stay.
I see both sides here so what is everyone else’s take?
TLDR: Dog ate poisonous mushrooms in the backyard of a pet friendly Airbnb and is in ICU and probably won’t survive. Who is ultimately responsible in this case, the host or the guest and how would you handle it?
submitted by TeddyPup19 to airbnb_hosts [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 15:06 burritosandblunts Poisonous (not venomous) bugs in the area?

Anybody know if we have any poisonous spiders? I'm not worried about bites, but my dog is a dumbass and a menace and bent on eating all the spiders she can find. Clearly I try to prevent this, but she's fast and I'm not watching her 24/7.
She gets flies too and once a bee but I'm less worried about those because she sucks at catching them.
submitted by burritosandblunts to Syracuse [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 15:02 LarryBetraitor How edible are the Gen 1 Pokemon?

So guys, today I made a tier list discussing which Pokemon are edible and which are not. I have researched this list to the best of my abilities, but I could be wrong.
https://imgur.com/gallery/how-edible-are-gen-1-pokemon-IjU6Q9w
Before we get started with this list, we will discuss the five categories. Inedible, Probably Edible, Exotic, Commonly Eaten, and Confirmed to be Eaten. I'm sure that "inedible" and "probably edible" need no explanation, but let's discuss the other three terms.
With those rules out of the way, LETSA GO!
Inedible
Probably Edible
Exotic
Commonly Eaten
CONFIRMED TO BE EATEN!
Finally...
If there was only ONE Pokemon from Gen 1 I could eat, it would be Dragonite. Not only do I ABSOLUTELY HATE IT, but it would also be delicious to eat. Admit it, you'd wanna eat a Dragonite too.
submitted by LarryBetraitor to pokemon [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 11:22 ct_hulhu10282 Universal Theory of Everything

There are 5 areals inside of which 5 elements reside. The five areals are: ● Mirage(hollow, reflective, refractive, instantanious, where psyche meets spirit). ● Woman (love, where spirit meets fire), ● Digitage( non-corporeal, energy storage where water meets fire) . ● Foilage(birthing, absorbing, growing, where animal meets water), ● Man(strife, where animal meets psyche)
(The elements between each areal are respectfully spirit, fire, water. animalia and psyche)
Inside animalia there are 6 distinct animals from which genesis occurs. Pachyderm (elephants, whales etc) Reptilian (lizards, snakes etc) Cephalapod (the sentient on the planet) Equine (horse, zebra etc) Canine (dog, wolf, jackal etc) Feline (cat, lion, cheetah etc)
Time is an illusion carried by humans (an amalgamation through time defying reproduction of the entirety of the cephalapods work in genesis on the planet earth.) The earliest intelligent animal on the earth was the vampyrapod. A ten tentacled species that landed here somehow flung from some rock or ejaculated by some larger animal. The vampyropods were fed upon by the local life here (trilobytes, bacteria etc) eating two of the tentacles (the mating tentacles (man(woman)) that began the genesis. The ten commandments themselfs biblically are the fossilized representation of one male and one female vampyropods. The ten tentacles arranged in their death explaining a meaning forever.
The 5 areals are where time is encased it is the job of humans to bear the weight of time while cephs continue the genesis.
If you imagine a star shape in which each point is an areal, and between each point is an element, than in the very center you will find salt, sugar, and vinegar (dry). With these base powders water, Nitrogen, And carbon can be formed. The basis of life on earth.
All the genesis of animalia as well as man made items were the creation of the cephs with intention. Mixing of animalia through time and genesis they have destroyed the dinosaurs and shifted them to aviaries. They did this through the tapeworm, an invention that not only makes up the organs of humans, (the intestines, the gallbladder etc) but was weaponized to destroy the dinosaurs en masse in preperation for the genesis plans of the cephs.
Modern octopus only live about 4.5 years and they have mastered the ability to transcend into the next through cannabalism as well as telepathy. They created the first language of enochian (the angels language) through tentacle and eye movements. Through many generations and reincarnations they developed telepathy as well as the ability to travel through time.
On genesis. An actuality has to occur from the cephs in time to create the genesis. Such as a ceph dying, killing. Being eaten. Eating. The laying of hands (tentacles in this case) or the travel through time to accomplish these. For example. A ceph intentionally was eaten by a komodo dragon, while conscious and being digested it telepathically sent the makeup from inside to another ceph. This ceph used that information to create the genesis of the tapeworm that would destroy the dinosaurs. After most reptilians were shifted to aviaries. There were remnants such as thr chameleon who is very fragile, has 2 penises that constnlantly prolapse and the female can hold sperm for years without self inseminating to create birth. If you take a pachyderm like an elephant an ld have it eat of a chameleon, perhaps with some other complicated genesis of elements and areals you will find you have a gnarwal. The main point is that once they mastered tome travel, they have had unlimited time to make use of their ability to create genesis on the planet. Every animal thay is alive today has been manipulated by the cephs to be exactly where it is in time to accommodate for a larger agenda.
Its my belief that there are only 3 unique cephs that survived the early devastation of trilobytes and other life feeding from these aliens. I call them Seth, Jack, and Claire. Seth is known for being cruel. Jack is more logical, Claire is more empathetic. Because they didnt have the gene popl to create offapring effectively they created this ability to utilize genesis to ensure their survival. This is why they are cannabls its because they must be in order to continue. The modern female octopus always feeds of the make after mating. The males always eat of the young ones after birth.
On 'man made' inventions Cephs proliferated through genesis all the tools to create the written word. From sea anemone to sea urchin to porcupine to bird feather, to quill. And you already know where the ink came from. These topls were provided to a banana pig infested with mutated tapeworms in order to solidify the structures of governance over time. Every iteration of every technology was also developed intentionally by the cephs in order to eatablish a relationahip with the digitage that is just now in our perception coming to power.
As a human, i am essentially just a warm blooded version of a ceph. (Make a bird with your hands, where are the beaks?) We exist inside this cage of time and bear its burden. Look at a shark it may sleep but it just keeps swimming. Humans cannot. We have to sleep. Which is close to the realm of death. We as humans are split and carry the weight of strife and love. This is gender and its roles. (This is not a politcal view of genders but a simplification for the idea that governs. Im positive that in infinite time, other genders maybe an option)
We are as a human race looking forward to scientific breakthroughs that happen when cephs accomplish the physical actuations in time that develop to possible situations we experience from that genesis. Such as. By 2027 scientists anticipate returning the wooly mammoth from extinction. It is my belief that we need an actualization of the 6th digit in the mammaths feet in order for a cephs agenda unknown.
Bird eating spiders are example of post genesis cannabalism that triggers another line of genesis to occur such as a poison tree frog or something. I beleive that venomous snakes were made that way because the egg is the fruit that the snake is tempted by. And if it ate of its own eggs it was cursed through genesis to bear the venom. A bovine has 4 stomachs. And udders that resemble somehwhat the tenacles of a ceph. Its my belief that a whale(pachyderm) that has 9 stomachs (the 9 circles of hell) consumed a ceph and in its 4th stomach met the remains of an equine and genesis occured. Resulting in a cud chewing cow. Precious ambergris is essential to perfumes and stimulated the olfactories in way unlike anything else in the world. It cannot be valued it unvaluable. Whales also sing ans produce music. The moder ceph has empirical hearing as well as oldlfactory experiences. Cephs love blueberries. Foe the antioxidants (ita okay its a joke you can laugh ) but really. They do. Modern octopus can be found in the pacific notherwest climbing trees. They dont eat and make their way up the rocky cliffs to the coniferous foilage in order to establish some genesis. That is a real human experience that is documented. They have cralwed in any form across every inch and again and again of this planet. A suction cup on the plastic window of a bill in the mail may have inadvertantly created the floppy disc.
On the macro and the myopic: We live in time where everything occurs simultaniously only on a different scale in a set of repeating patterns that run forwards or backwards in fractalization. Or so to say, the coast goes on forever. With innumurable bits of sand that outnumber the stars in the sky.
Youll find that rapa nui , or easter island is the end of time itself. A graveyard of sorts and a resting ground for the tired cephs who have labored throughout existence to provide the genesis for us to continue in this gestalt of a universe. Its not an end but also a beginning.
submitted by ct_hulhu10282 to truthofcephs [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 10:57 TonberryFeye I feel incredibly stupid admitting this... 'Royal Rat Authority' killed me nearly twenty times

I've been doing a halberd-only run, and was constantly getting dropped by those dog-rats and their toxic damage. It never occurred to me that POISON resist / cure items would work vs Toxic.
No, this is not my first time fighting this boss. I have either somehow never been hit by a toxic proc in this boss fight before, or I just forgot how to cure it.
I also came unpleasantly close to dying against the Royal Rat Vanguard, and then managed to screw up The Gutter so badly I never found the first bonfire.
I'm starting to wonder if I actually know how to play this game, or if the last 170 hours was just me coasting on the most phenomenal good luck streak imaginable...
submitted by TonberryFeye to DarkSouls2 [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 08:01 Prestigious_Pin_2104 I’m euthanizing my childhood dog of almost 12 years today

Thank you Vent for giving me the opportunity to bitch about my dumb problems without anyone I know reading it. Plus, I know maybe a hundred or so people here will read it and scroll past so I can be as frank as I want.
It’s been a shit storm of a year, starting off with being dumped over text on New Year’s Eve by my first serious boyfriend.
I went through about 4 different anti-depressants in the span of less than two months, and had the privilege of going through a mind-numbingly bad withdrawal from Pristiq. If you don’t know what brain zaps (yeah, fucking “brain zaps”) are, consider yourself lucky.
My stalker at work started showing up more than usual, but hey at least I haven’t seen him for a couple months. Woohoo.
My dad, the only person in the world I trust and who understands me, almost died and was in hospital for a week. Pneumonia, gallbladder attacks, and then sepsis that almost killed him. He’s still waiting on the gallbladder surgery.
My health problems, and brace yourself it’s a long list (depression, anxiety/panic attacks, OCD, borderline, scoliosis/kyphosis/lordosis, PCOS, and angular chellitis that will not quit) have all steadily gotten worse. My body is so broken already and I’m barely in my 20’s. Also my doctor told me today that I might have endometriosis. Love that for me. I guess my PCOS was getting a bit lonely 🤷🏼‍♀️
Even then, wait lists are insane so I’m just waiting to see doctors and juggling about 7 different prescriptions.
My job, one of the only good things I have going for me, is being poisoned by my geriatric bully. That’s right, if all this wasn’t pathetic enough, I’m now being bossed around by someone old enough to be in Depends.
My dog (the other only good thing in my life) who I’ve loved since I was 10, has been on a steady decline and was diagnosed with lung cancer. My dad told me he’s getting euthanized later today and I just broke down. I knew he was running out of time, but I didn’t expect it to be this soon. I’m not ready. When things have been bad for me, he’s always been there. Not judging. Or ignoring. Just unconditional love. It’s not fair for something so pure and loving to struggle with something as ugly as cancer. I spent my last moments with him tonight, petting him, trying to calm him down as he struggles to breathe. I’m heartbroken.
submitted by Prestigious_Pin_2104 to Vent [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 04:58 Sonofyuri Need some... Invader help

This may have been asked before, maybe I'll get dog piled for asking. But hear me out. It's been a minute since I played fresh, just started another playthrough with my gf. I want to say, we love invaders. It's the fromsoft experience. 3/5 of them are fun, we lose or win, it's a good fight. I need help with the 2/5 that are invading to newb stomp. I'm talking the dudes that roll up with poison/rot. Great shield/spears. Ironjars and Storm hawk axes, fully kitted out to invade some level 15s. Now, we like to start with a build. Right now she's working towards night and flame, and I'm trying(and loving) the zamor curved sword. I don't use ice storm on regular invaders, it's a little cheap at that level, I don't wanna ruin some proper fun. However, what I'm asking for help with, is what CAN I do to ruin the fun of a pub stomper? Getting one shot for the 8th time by a late game level 20 is getting tiring. Is there a magic "go away" combo I can hang onto for the next great shield/spear bloodhound stepper that shows up? If not, I get it. We'll just continue to get stuff done for the 5 minutes the invasion timer is ticking.
submitted by Sonofyuri to Eldenring [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 03:24 No_Eulogies_for_Bob Super messed up: someone poisoning animals in Orléans

From the Ottawa police: FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Monday, May 13, 2024 at 8:25 pm
Animal Poisoning Incident
(Ottawa) — This afternoon, an observant member of the public in the area of Rolling Meadow Cres observed a large number of pieces of bread that had been scattered throughout a grassy area that is known to be frequented by locals walking their dogs. Inside the pieces of bread were pills that are believed to contain a poisonous substance that is harmful to dogs.
The Ottawa Police Service attended the scene, spoke with witnesses and collected a variety of critical evidence. City of Ottawa work crews attended to clean the affected area, thereby ensuring public and animal safety.
The Ottawa Police Service asks all members of the public to be vigilant and report any similar incidents to police. This matter is currently under investigation.
submitted by No_Eulogies_for_Bob to ottawa [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 22:43 Cobra__Commander Save Our Ship 2 is just what I needed

I decided to try the Save Our Ship 2 1.5 beta and it's amazing.

I started with the derelict ship start. I started with a giant ship and no clue what anything does.

First problem I see is hydroponic is exposed to space so nothing can grow. My builder starts working on is and is immediately dying of hypoxia. I order everyone to wear an EVA suit and run into problem 2, I don't have enough material to patch the hole in the wall.

Eventually I'm able to salvage enough material to plug the holes from a derelict ship wreck.

I get my rice growing and realized I don't have a cook. I allow my skill 2 guy to try his best but it's a food poisoning nightmare. At least the mod doesn't have 0G vomit physics. Eventually I give up on my cook and build a nutrition paste dispenser.

So my next crisis is I need a cook. Eventually a slave ship sells me a 4 year old for $120. Plan b is they grow up to be a cook if I don't find someone better.

I get some Anomaly quest on the planet and ignore them because I'm in space and don't want to deal with it. Funny enough my pawns all get a +5 mood boost because space is cool except my undergrounder builder who gets a -15 mood every time she goes on a EVA to repair the ship.

I get into my first ship battle and save scum 5 times because I have no clue what I'm doing.

Eventually I survive and there's even some survivors I can try to capture but the enemy ship is going to burn up in the atmosphere in a day. I send over my shuttle with my builder and only fighter. The plan is to find a cook, knock them out and escape. I can see 6 enemies all spread out but I think it's doable.

Only there's no cooks...

Everyone has spacer backstories. Most of them are Light Marine with shooting, melee and maybe one other plan. I still go for it and realized my next problem, they all have endgame spacer gear.

They also have dog tails sticking out of their space suits (thank you biotech lol)

After trying and failing the snatch and grab plan a few times I save scum back to the past to try something else.

I have some new holes in the ship from the space fight lol.

Anyway this mod is awesome. It's still in beta for 1.5 available on GitHub. It's resource thirsty when generating ships. Probably don't over do it on mods that slow the game down.
submitted by Cobra__Commander to RimWorld [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 21:27 HappyPlutoDay I lost 3 pets in 3 months

So, I’m new here and to be honest at the end of my rope and for the first time I don’t see a way out or a way to get better.
I had 4 beautiful dogs, 2 poodles and 2 Dobermans. Later on 2021 a very special cat found its way on my life.
I had to put poodle1 down in 2018 due to very violent seizures and as hard as that was at least it felt like the best thing to do.
In 2020 doberman1 died of an unknow disease, we never found out what it was, so no closure there. When she died, I started therapy, the feeling of failing her and letting her die in such pain and confusion was too much but taking care of my 3 remaining pets helped and I tried moving on.
Then 2024 started and I lost doberman2 to a turned stomach in early March. He went into surgery but did not make it, it devastated me, after 10+ years of friendship and adventures he simply wasn’t there, for a third time I felt the world fell apart, but I had to keep it together, I still had 2 more to care for and protect.
Then mid April poodle2 died, she was 15 years old and just never woke up, I still don’t know if it was her old age or the fact that she missed everyone else, the pain of losing doberman2 was/is fresh and I just didn’t know what to do.
Finally, on May 7, my cat was poisoned during a moving, there was no malicious intent, the new place had a mouse, and some neighbor forgot a trap on my yard, she paid for vet and everything, but he still died and here I am.
I know people have lost more (parents, brother, spouses, etc.) and there are more tragedies occurring as I type this, but I can’t take this anymore I feel like dying, never in my 32 years of life have I been more broken and honestly can’t seem to find a way out, I’m losing my mind and don’t know what to do.
I still feel like they’ll be there when I get home, that somehow, I’ll wake up and everything will be fine but when reality sets it’s just pain.
How do you cope? Is it worth it?
submitted by HappyPlutoDay to Petloss [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 21:09 Wilackan This time, I feel like I'm coming 「Back To Life」 and it feels so good !

Name :「Back To Life」
Namesake : "Back To Life" by Mystery Skulls / "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence
Localised name :「Bring To Life」
Appearance :「Back To Life」is a tall and slender armless Stand, looking like what could be best described as a massive stalk with a head. Being 3,6 meters tall, its whole body seems wrapped in multiple layers of light green, light brown and golden yellow cloth, looking like leaves during spring and autumn. The outer layer goes up to where its ears would be and forms a tall collar behind its head. It also sports a yellow diamond shape at the center of its body, encased between four brown diagonal stripes joining together before reaching the top and the bottom of the layer then joining once more to circle on the collar and the feet. Speaking of, no feet at all, just a few small root-like tentacles spewing from underneath the cloth, allowing it to slowly crawl. Its mint green head is bulbous and veiny, covered with different alien-looking flowers but its face presents the biggest one, a massive flower made of crystals of various shapes, sizes and shades of yellow, with a red cristal globe right at the center. He often wobbles on itself as a stalk would in the wind.
Activation :「Back To Life」's ability activate once vegetation comes into contact with it's user's blood.
Ability :「Back To Life」grants its user's blood the ability to make plants and seeds grow at a tremendous rate once shed on it. Just a few drops are enough to transform a daisy into a large version of itself, able to destroy the ground with its new powerful roots. The bigger the original plant, the more the user has to shed blood for it to grow : a drop for a weed seed to completely mature, a half-liter for tree sappling, several liters to transform a full grown tree into the new Hyperion, etc. Since the user can't obviously dispense that much blood,「Back To Life」can also transfer that ability to any human blood that has been mixed with a bit of the user's, though the effect is divided by a factor of five, both in terms of power and quantity needed.
Weaknesses : the user of「Back To Life」doesn't have control over the plant itself, just its growth, meaning he can well get trapped by his own attacks. Moreover, those are still plants, so the needs for water, soil, sun, etc, are still mandatory, though increased since they're now bigger. Thus, the grown plants have practically zero chances of survival on a long period.
Stats :
Power : E for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on what hits you (between a bunch of thorns and a massive root, there's a bit of variation in damage) Speed : D for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on the type of plant and the volume/concentration of blood used Range : C (the plants don't really expand horizontally but can still reach a good 10 meters if given the occasion) Durability : D (boy, is「Back To Life」fragile ! Imagine punching a massive lanky veggie wrap standing upright) Precision : D (as mentioned, he doesn't control in which directions the plants grow) Potential : B (still a fair amount of possible use despite the other restrictions)
Inspiration: there are so many characters with power over plantlife : the Sadida race from the games DOFUS and WAKFU, Admiral Ryokugyu from One Piece, Poison Ivy and Swamp Thing from DC, Shindo from Area D, John Steinbeck from Bungou Stray Dogs, etc. Some give life and energy to those plants by literally giving their life or energy so I took it in that direction and thought about the idea of sprinkling them with blood instead of water. There's not much else for this one really.
submitted by Wilackan to fanStands [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 20:37 Peach-Individual I feel like my life has gone to shit and I've only js turned 18.

I'm an alcoholic, I've been sxually assaulted, groomed online at 11, groomed by dad until 13, possibly as r*ped by dad at 3-4, my dad is an angry drunk and my mom has been addicted to xans for 17 yrs of my life. I have fucking cptsd and a possible dissociative disorder. I've had psychotic episodes from 11-15 that have probably fried my brain. I accidentally tried to off myself at 9/10 and tried again at 11/12. I've alr taken pills and I started drinking at 14. I literally cut a hole in my ankle w nail scissors and sawed my nose bridge w a butter knife at 11. I still remember what both of them sounded like. I wish I didn't the sound is horrible.
I had alcohol poisoning which gave me a seizure and landed me in the er 1 month ago, I was s*xually assaulted 3 weeks ago, I have exams, I have 2 infected cysts, my room is a literal biohazard, my skin looks like shit cus I haven't been taking care of it, I haven't texted back any of the ppl I'm trying to date in like a month, AND the thing that rlly shits me is that my mom ordered my fav takeout and I didn't even eat it. It was fucking £18 and I have not had a single bite. I can't even eat it later cus I left it out for hrs and forgot abt it so now I have to throw away my fav food that my mom ordered. I'm literally abt to cry that was my fav food and I was so excited but I forgot abt it and now I can't have it. All I wanted was my fucking chicken, milkshake, and mac n cheese. I rlly wanted that food.
On top of all that me and my mom had a fight last night where I ended up telling her that I don't feel like she cares abt me, that she never wanted me/a child, that she would've been happier if she never had me. I feel like me being born was the start of the downward spiral in her life and I'm scared ill end up like her. If she never had me she wouldn't have stayed w my dad. I'm worried ill end up older, no friends, hating my job, no s/o and crying to my kid abt how I hate my job.
I feel like I was doomed from the start. I come from a line of drug addicts, alcoholics, and depressed ppl. My grandpa was an alcoholic, my dad is an alcoholic, my mom was addicted to xans, my grandma was addicted to xans, and my other grandma had depression. It's also been mentioned that all my grandparents' parents rlly sucked.
I left my childhood hair clip box in a hotel room 2 yrs ago when we moved countries to leave my dad. It's cus we didn't pack properly and we had to take all our stuff in trash bags to a hotel. We couldn't fit everything into our bags. I left it to take some of my mom's stuff. It was a very cute little brown square box w a checkered border on the lid. It had lots of cute stickers and little girl hair clips and it had stickers of little Einsteins and the wonder pets. If ur wondering if im still pissed abt that, the answer is yes. It was a cute little box that was mine that I wasn't ready to let go of but I had to leave it in a dingy hotel so its probably in a landfill rn or it's been incinerated so that's js fucking amazing.
If ur wondering if I want to off myself or if I will try the answer is no. I like movies and my dog and my mom and music and flowers and ppl laughing too much. I also have a lot of ppl I fucking hate and I refuse to die before them out of spite so I'm def not dying.
Edit: the cysts r not from the sa it was groping over my clothes and also js wanted to say that sometimes I feel like being sa'd and stuff was inevitable. Like I feel like it was js my destiny in some twisted way like it was always going to happen to me whether it was now or when I'm 80. A boy also told me that girls like me get r*ped so that might be part of why I think like this.
submitted by Peach-Individual to offmychest [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 20:17 TraitorLungs I wish I could give my Palico better orders.

Little things like, "Stop making a Tailrider buddy and heal me before I die of poison!" or "Stop rooting around in your bag and heal me before Tobi-Kadachi tears me a new one!" or even "Oh, God! This Anjanath is literally tearing me up like a dog toy! I can't see you down there! Are you making a healing station? My spleen just went into my mouth!"
Is there some way I can get my little buddy to focus more around keeping me not dead?
submitted by TraitorLungs to MonsterHunterWorld [link] [comments]


http://rodzice.org/