Graffiti pictures
Mildly Vandalised: Images of mild vandalism
2015.10.19 10:56 ZadocPaet Mildly Vandalised: Images of mild vandalism
A place to share pictures and videos (or whatever) of mild vandalism that is either funny or mindful (or whatever).
2008.09.23 11:00 Trippy stuff, Eye candy
Things that remind you of your last trip. Psychedelic videos, music and images. Fractals, music visualizers, projection visuals, mandalas, 3D strange attractors and visionary art. Things you'd like to remember on your next trip.
2008.05.08 04:15 Graffiti
Graffiti for graffiti culture. No ‘street art’ No drawings
2024.05.16 13:30 Zasterzora Changing a Poké-stops photo&title
 | The closest poké-stop to my flat is not very aesthetically pleasing to put it nicely... Also the graffiti pictured is no longer existent. I'm a bit ashamed to send my friends these ugly gifts so I wanted to try to change the photo of this poké-stop. submitted by Zasterzora to pokemongo [link] [comments] Has anyone of you already tried changing a poké-stops photo? Does it even work? Do you think there's a risk they'll remove the stop altogether if the graffiti is gone? |
2024.05.15 23:27 stereodreams What did the sides of Berlin look like after the wall was built?
I'm doing a class project where I am constructing the berlin wall. I so far have the wall with graffiti on the west side but I can't find pictures of anything. A few things I'm confused about is:
Does the wall go all the way around west berlin? /is it a wall all the way around or is it barbed wire?
Are there watchtowers/what do they look like/where are they?
Are there buildings near the wall?
The project is on mincraft so it's not going to be exactly accurate but if anybody knows where I can find pictures of either side please let me know.
submitted by stereodreams to AskHistorians [link] [comments]
Does the wall go all the way around west berlin? /is it a wall all the way around or is it barbed wire?
Are there watchtowers/what do they look like/where are they?
Are there buildings near the wall?
The project is on mincraft so it's not going to be exactly accurate but if anybody knows where I can find pictures of either side please let me know.
2024.05.15 15:31 casefilesofVJ The Love Tunnel
-Jack
Every kid growing up in Gympie in the early 90- 2000s knew about the Love Tunnel.
The love tunnel was located over the hill from the skatepark on the Riverbank. It was a massive storm water drain filled with spray paint and lore unbound throughout the generations; the glowing dick, whose name is the furthest in, the people who live inside, the bull shark that lived under the bridge just outside, all that fun stuff.
It collapsed in the late 2000’s in a flood and was eventually rebuilt, but it was all fancy, modern, safe and not the same. Back in the day it had decades of graffiti, crumbling cement, jagged metal pole framing bent and jutting out from the sides. You know, real character.
I remember when I was just a kid at the skatepark and I spotted a bunch of other kids at the metal grating of a drain. I joined them and gazed down a few metres to some older teenagers, they had trekked through this “love tunnel” under the massive hill all this way. Badass I thought. LEGENDARY.
I talked about it at school, about this mysterious “love tunnel”. It was in view from the road when I crossed the bridge everyday on my daily commutes from the backseat of mums car.
I would gaze down at the weir and see the top of the love tunnel, sliightly hidden from view by a hill. It fascinated me.
I learned all these mysterious tales; this person slept with this person there, someone took a dump at the entrance and some other girl stood in it and now she had a nickname, someone found needles, another found a homeless woman and she screamed at them. I was pumped for the next weekend. I was going to go see it for myself.
I saw too much.
Early Saturday morning I was riding my push bike through town and toward destination adventure! I started out at the skatepark, met up with a few of the regulars, a mix of 5-19y/o everyone on the half pipes and ramps had a code of comrady that I've never found in a public place anywhere else and you always had someone to hang with.
My usual crew slowly arrived through the morning, a bunch of other 10/11 year old misfits like myself and we headed on our first place on our journey, Hungry Jacks. Now we never technically stole, we found a loophole…
One or two would order a stunner meal, then we'd take privilege of the free refills and fill up the empty plastic 4L juice jugs that we all had prepped in our backpacks. Coke and red Fanta for days.
So we got our supplies and headed behind HJ, past the volleyball courts and headed down a bush track down to the river.
We walked along the banks to loop back down to where the bridge was, we passed a few teenagers fishing and a couple other groups of kids swinging from rope swings into the water or huddled in groups smoking things they shouldn't.
We eventually arrived at the weir and the stormwater drain that I had been so intrigued by. The Love Tunnel.
Climbing up the hill and seeing it up close when you were just a tiny human. It was like staring into the dark abyss of hell.
There was a small stream of water flowing out of the big grey cylinder and it was covered in multicolored quotes and crude pictures that was very eye opening at the time.
Our voices echoed as one by one we climbed up the grassy, eroding clay edging that was the makeshift path into the mouth that probably changed each time it rained. Each of us had pulled out clumps of grass that we thought were handholds. If you fell, you fell down an embankment of slippery jagged rocks poking out from the fast flowing river.
So were inside and began to walk a couple of metres in then around us the light abruptly disappeared into complete darkness. And I remember the way the sounds traveled you could feel it through your chest it was mesmerizing.
I remember bravely stepping into the darkness and taking five or six steps in. That thick darkness was something else, I ran myself back to that entrance and light, heart pounding from the adrenaline.
This turned into a game of who could go in the furthest. This stopped when one of the boys screamed out from the darkness in pain.
He was back in the light teary eyed a few moments later wet on one side and feigning a laugh. He'd slipped down and cut open his knee, it was hilarious. We teased him saying he was going to get gangrene and leprosy and a myriad of other ailments we had no idea actually was.
We decided to bail, we forgot torches, we didn't plan that part out too well, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon being little menaces.
We met the next day with a game plan, we had an array of various sized torches, from small ones that didn't do anything, one of those giant rectangle ones that was our main light source, a couple of handheld ones, one which flickered and the other stopped working before we even got into the tunnel.
We got in safely and tested out our torches and began walking into the unknown. It was pretty much the same as before, but there were strange things, old makeshift bongs, shopping bags, random shoes, a shopping trolley, a mattress that was all moldy and rotted. I still to this day do not understand how people managed to get that shit in there.
We passed a section where someone had thrown a can of red paint all over the walls, the amount of those ‘S’ symbols was more terrifying.
We saw light up ahead, we were passing our first grate. It was kind of daunting looking up towards it. Even getting on each other's shoulders we couldn't reach. There was an array of broken beer bottles and glass was everywhere, under the grate was a dead snake amongst some debris.
We had a debate whether to go further, we ended up going on at least until the next grate, we came to a fork, one seemed like a smaller offshoot so we stuck to the bigger side.
There were more offshoots and we came to a part where the big pipes split off into three under another grate. We gazed up hoping to get an identifier of our location, but all we could see was blue. We called out to see if we could get anyone's attention.
“Cooooweeee” we shouted in unison, the sound echoing in all directions.
We were laughing and having a grand time until something shouted back, something that still shakes me to my core to this day.
Some yobbo crackhead chick in her fifties with this ratty pink tank top that was all stretched half showing her saggy titties. “What the fuck you think you little cunts doing down here.” This chick screeched at us through her few teeth or something along the lines of that. She just exploded at us with a barrage of threats.
We were shocked silenced moving together to make one mass.
One of the boys screamed when a skinny guy emerged from the darkness. He was covered in tattoos with scraggly hair and a beard, he was all crazy eyed and pantless.
Someone yelled out to run and it was all the motivation we needed.
We could hear them screaming and the guy ran after us, we heard glass shattering behind us, they must have thrown a bottle. We were legging it.
We got split up in our running, I fell down, tripping over some rubbish, one mate stayed back to help me, this left us without a torch. We came across the same kid who slipped over yesterday, he had slipped down again cutting open his other knee. He wore those with badges of honor at school, but he was blubbering like a baby at this point.
He had the flickering torch and it disoriented us more than helped, as it turned on and off every time he took a step. I thought we were lost but we found the other grate, then eventually the entrance.
The others were already climbed down, we were soon by their side panting in the grass and wiping away our tears so the others couldn't see.
We ran back over to the skatepark and immediately told every kid we saw.
That was the wildest shit we had ever experienced. Sure we’d seen crazy up on the street but to have it jump out at you from the shadows in a storm water drain was next level.
By that night one of the other boys had spilled to his parents about our escapades and a couple of other mums got phone calls, three got in trouble, two of us didn't, including me.
I never stepped foot back in that tunnel, I swam at the weir more times than I could count afterwards though and never encountered anyone else too sketchy.
I think only a year or two later I saw on the news people dying in storm water drains somewhere else in Aus, we never realized how dangerous they could be back then. Lol.
Every party or get together afterwards it was a crowd favorite to bring up. It was a good conversation starter and joined the tales amongst my friends of the weird shit that happens in ‘Helltown’.
Growing up and looking back they were probably just homeless drug addicts freaked out from a bunch of children's voices yelling out coooweee from the underground where they thought they were alone. That would have scared the shit outta me if I was them.
Good times.
.VJ - in 2012 two women tragically passed away when they were exploring the tunnels and got swept away when a wild storm cell hit. Pictures of the upgraded version of the 'love tunnel' can be found in corresponding news articles.
submitted by casefilesofVJ to TrueScaryStories [link] [comments]
Every kid growing up in Gympie in the early 90- 2000s knew about the Love Tunnel.
The love tunnel was located over the hill from the skatepark on the Riverbank. It was a massive storm water drain filled with spray paint and lore unbound throughout the generations; the glowing dick, whose name is the furthest in, the people who live inside, the bull shark that lived under the bridge just outside, all that fun stuff.
It collapsed in the late 2000’s in a flood and was eventually rebuilt, but it was all fancy, modern, safe and not the same. Back in the day it had decades of graffiti, crumbling cement, jagged metal pole framing bent and jutting out from the sides. You know, real character.
I remember when I was just a kid at the skatepark and I spotted a bunch of other kids at the metal grating of a drain. I joined them and gazed down a few metres to some older teenagers, they had trekked through this “love tunnel” under the massive hill all this way. Badass I thought. LEGENDARY.
I talked about it at school, about this mysterious “love tunnel”. It was in view from the road when I crossed the bridge everyday on my daily commutes from the backseat of mums car.
I would gaze down at the weir and see the top of the love tunnel, sliightly hidden from view by a hill. It fascinated me.
I learned all these mysterious tales; this person slept with this person there, someone took a dump at the entrance and some other girl stood in it and now she had a nickname, someone found needles, another found a homeless woman and she screamed at them. I was pumped for the next weekend. I was going to go see it for myself.
I saw too much.
Early Saturday morning I was riding my push bike through town and toward destination adventure! I started out at the skatepark, met up with a few of the regulars, a mix of 5-19y/o everyone on the half pipes and ramps had a code of comrady that I've never found in a public place anywhere else and you always had someone to hang with.
My usual crew slowly arrived through the morning, a bunch of other 10/11 year old misfits like myself and we headed on our first place on our journey, Hungry Jacks. Now we never technically stole, we found a loophole…
One or two would order a stunner meal, then we'd take privilege of the free refills and fill up the empty plastic 4L juice jugs that we all had prepped in our backpacks. Coke and red Fanta for days.
So we got our supplies and headed behind HJ, past the volleyball courts and headed down a bush track down to the river.
We walked along the banks to loop back down to where the bridge was, we passed a few teenagers fishing and a couple other groups of kids swinging from rope swings into the water or huddled in groups smoking things they shouldn't.
We eventually arrived at the weir and the stormwater drain that I had been so intrigued by. The Love Tunnel.
Climbing up the hill and seeing it up close when you were just a tiny human. It was like staring into the dark abyss of hell.
There was a small stream of water flowing out of the big grey cylinder and it was covered in multicolored quotes and crude pictures that was very eye opening at the time.
Our voices echoed as one by one we climbed up the grassy, eroding clay edging that was the makeshift path into the mouth that probably changed each time it rained. Each of us had pulled out clumps of grass that we thought were handholds. If you fell, you fell down an embankment of slippery jagged rocks poking out from the fast flowing river.
So were inside and began to walk a couple of metres in then around us the light abruptly disappeared into complete darkness. And I remember the way the sounds traveled you could feel it through your chest it was mesmerizing.
I remember bravely stepping into the darkness and taking five or six steps in. That thick darkness was something else, I ran myself back to that entrance and light, heart pounding from the adrenaline.
This turned into a game of who could go in the furthest. This stopped when one of the boys screamed out from the darkness in pain.
He was back in the light teary eyed a few moments later wet on one side and feigning a laugh. He'd slipped down and cut open his knee, it was hilarious. We teased him saying he was going to get gangrene and leprosy and a myriad of other ailments we had no idea actually was.
We decided to bail, we forgot torches, we didn't plan that part out too well, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon being little menaces.
We met the next day with a game plan, we had an array of various sized torches, from small ones that didn't do anything, one of those giant rectangle ones that was our main light source, a couple of handheld ones, one which flickered and the other stopped working before we even got into the tunnel.
We got in safely and tested out our torches and began walking into the unknown. It was pretty much the same as before, but there were strange things, old makeshift bongs, shopping bags, random shoes, a shopping trolley, a mattress that was all moldy and rotted. I still to this day do not understand how people managed to get that shit in there.
We passed a section where someone had thrown a can of red paint all over the walls, the amount of those ‘S’ symbols was more terrifying.
We saw light up ahead, we were passing our first grate. It was kind of daunting looking up towards it. Even getting on each other's shoulders we couldn't reach. There was an array of broken beer bottles and glass was everywhere, under the grate was a dead snake amongst some debris.
We had a debate whether to go further, we ended up going on at least until the next grate, we came to a fork, one seemed like a smaller offshoot so we stuck to the bigger side.
There were more offshoots and we came to a part where the big pipes split off into three under another grate. We gazed up hoping to get an identifier of our location, but all we could see was blue. We called out to see if we could get anyone's attention.
“Cooooweeee” we shouted in unison, the sound echoing in all directions.
We were laughing and having a grand time until something shouted back, something that still shakes me to my core to this day.
Some yobbo crackhead chick in her fifties with this ratty pink tank top that was all stretched half showing her saggy titties. “What the fuck you think you little cunts doing down here.” This chick screeched at us through her few teeth or something along the lines of that. She just exploded at us with a barrage of threats.
We were shocked silenced moving together to make one mass.
One of the boys screamed when a skinny guy emerged from the darkness. He was covered in tattoos with scraggly hair and a beard, he was all crazy eyed and pantless.
Someone yelled out to run and it was all the motivation we needed.
We could hear them screaming and the guy ran after us, we heard glass shattering behind us, they must have thrown a bottle. We were legging it.
We got split up in our running, I fell down, tripping over some rubbish, one mate stayed back to help me, this left us without a torch. We came across the same kid who slipped over yesterday, he had slipped down again cutting open his other knee. He wore those with badges of honor at school, but he was blubbering like a baby at this point.
He had the flickering torch and it disoriented us more than helped, as it turned on and off every time he took a step. I thought we were lost but we found the other grate, then eventually the entrance.
The others were already climbed down, we were soon by their side panting in the grass and wiping away our tears so the others couldn't see.
We ran back over to the skatepark and immediately told every kid we saw.
That was the wildest shit we had ever experienced. Sure we’d seen crazy up on the street but to have it jump out at you from the shadows in a storm water drain was next level.
By that night one of the other boys had spilled to his parents about our escapades and a couple of other mums got phone calls, three got in trouble, two of us didn't, including me.
I never stepped foot back in that tunnel, I swam at the weir more times than I could count afterwards though and never encountered anyone else too sketchy.
I think only a year or two later I saw on the news people dying in storm water drains somewhere else in Aus, we never realized how dangerous they could be back then. Lol.
Every party or get together afterwards it was a crowd favorite to bring up. It was a good conversation starter and joined the tales amongst my friends of the weird shit that happens in ‘Helltown’.
Growing up and looking back they were probably just homeless drug addicts freaked out from a bunch of children's voices yelling out coooweee from the underground where they thought they were alone. That would have scared the shit outta me if I was them.
Good times.
.VJ - in 2012 two women tragically passed away when they were exploring the tunnels and got swept away when a wild storm cell hit. Pictures of the upgraded version of the 'love tunnel' can be found in corresponding news articles.
2024.05.15 06:40 iLLiCiT_XL Cave Exploration Challenge: Tartarus - The Belly of the Beast
 | I recently posted about this absolutely MASSIVE cave system I found, and I’m back to talk about it again. submitted by iLLiCiT_XL to NoMansSkyTheGame [link] [comments] I’d like to issue a challenge to anyone willing to accept it: Explore Tartarus - The Belly of the Beast and find the items hidden within. But be warned, fellow Traveler, what lies ahead will may be your doom! (Coords are on the last picture.) Let me start off by saying that I went through what could only be considered a ridiculous amount of effort to explore the various twists and turns of this cave system. When I tell you it goes on for THOUSANDS of units, I’m not kidding. Just the size of this cavern alone is impressive. Located on the planet Quetza in the Euclid galaxy, this cave is dark, glows an ominous red, and feels like you’re crawling deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast. Your path with only be lit by your flashlight and the red glowing mushrooms spread throughout. At some point, you won’t be able to shake the feeling that the cave wants you to get lost… because it does! Tartarus wants you to get stuck inside, to be lost forever in its twisted corridors so it can feed on your soul! As the day goes by, and because of the planets weather patterns, the cavern will change in color from deep red to pitch black. This change alone will often make it seem as if you’re in an entirely different area, even if you’ve already treaded through there. It’ll make it very difficult to see where you’re going, your view constantly obscured by shadow and fog. Many of the caverns walls are shaped by deep roots spreading through the soil and solid, impassible stone walls. Along your path, the planet’s fauna will creep around your location, making it sound as if you’re being followed by fast approaching, wet footsteps! The noxious plants within will poison you with neurotoxin. This is not a friendly place. I went through great lengths to find the various exits to the cave and block them off. So you’ll need to enter and exit through the front, give or take a few exceptions I either missed or left intentionally. You’ll note that I also placed several batteries throughout the area within the cave and on the surface to extend the base’s borders and make stop you from using your Terrain Manipulator to get out. The Challenge Find the following items hidden within the cave: - 2 base computers labeled “Tartarus Cavern” and “Tartarus Inferni” - Approx 13 large, red, Igneous Crystals (I lost count as I was placing them lol) - 3 Hidden Skulls - 2 Black Orbs - 1 Quartz Cave Marvel - Some Golden Statues - Wall Graffiti - Other little items, tucked away in discrete corners Start at the base computer marked “Tartarus Challenge Start” at the local Trade Post. Enter at the large cave opening to the left of the TP (+39.29, +117.61). Find the various items, take a picture of your findings and post them here. Note: I would strongly suggest you save before entering. Seriously, you run the risk of getting stuck inside and I don’t want you to trash your save because you never made it back out LOL. Given that exploration is such a huge part of this game, I thought this would be a fun way to getaway from the constant “follow waypoint” type of stuff and do some bring a bit unique. Hope you guys take part in the challenge, would love your feedback! ✌🏼😄 |
2024.05.14 20:59 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.14 20:28 ForeverAsleep135 ( DOCER ) Started seeing his tags 4 years ago, he's been getting better every summer
 | Been following this dudes graffiti and taking pictures for the past 4 years, Started out seeing his marker tags on garbage cans and electrical boxes. submitted by ForeverAsleep135 to GraffitiTagging [link] [comments] Usually just tags and throwies but lately it's been getting impressive. Needed to share this dudes hard work and dedication, Anytime a piece gets covered a new one is up the next day. Feels like a game of never ending eye spy Ps I don't tag or do anything graffiti related just wanted to share this dudes work. |
2024.05.14 17:21 Imposingscrotem Order of Protection or Restraining Order?
I live in IL. My boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend had been asking around about where I live, and I presume she found out because the other day I woke up to find that a can of clam chowder had been dumped on my car and later that day the transmission appeared to be having problems (I haven’t taken it in yet to know for sure. I know these things could be unrelated, but it’s a heck of a coincidence). Additionally, my coworker just told me she’s been messaging him and actually asked him to poison my drink (he sent me a picture of this message). She also left threatening graffiti in my boyfriend’s house before she left. Is there any legal recourse available here, or do I just need to “watch my back” (her words)?
submitted by Imposingscrotem to legaladvice [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 01:52 No_Working_8726 Why is Colombia Pro Palestine?
I feel like most Latin American countries tend to be Pro Israel, even my own Latin American country is Pro Israel, but Colombia seems to be different, btw this is just one picture I took, there are many pro palestine graffiti around the city
submitted by No_Working_8726 to Jewish [link] [comments]
2024.05.13 21:16 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to MrCreepyPasta [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.13 21:13 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.13 21:12 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 1)
What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LighthouseHorror [link] [comments]
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.
2024.05.13 11:45 webuyequipment Protect Your Heavy Equipment From Theft Equipment Planet Equipment
 | How to protect your heavy equipment from theft? The number of instances of thefts of heavy equipment in the United States is still increasing, despite the persistent efforts of enterprises involved in construction and law enforcement. Through the National Crime Information Center of the FBI, more than 11,574 different pieces of heavy machinery were reported stolen in the year 2016. (NCIC). You, as the owner of heavy equipment, and the operators who work on your heavy equipment have a number of options available to prevent theft of your heavy equipment. There is no such thing as a risk-free place of employment. But if you follow these guidelines, you can prevent theft and vandalism at your job and safeguard the important construction equipment you have. submitted by webuyequipment to BuyYourEquipment2 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/ada6l2xc060d1.png?width=310&format=png&auto=webp&s=5646d7bf38aee8b911942a463e1111576b935e81 Maintain a Secure Site Your understanding of the workplace is the first line of protection you have against the theft of devices whenever you begin a new project. For instance, if you are going to leave your heavy equipment in the work area overnight, you should make sure that the area is clean and that it is easy to see from the street. This will deter burglars. Additionally, it installs safety measures at the construction site, such as an alarm system or video surveillance, in order to monitor the construction site both during working hours and outside of those hours. When the job is done, the operator should be reminded to close the cab door and all of the windows before leaving. You shouldn’t overlook these instructions. You should not leave the machine keys behind. Additional preventative measures you can take to safeguard your workplace include the following: Determine whether there are any other businesses or vendors operating in the area. Add a chain gate or gate Warnings and a no entry sign should be posted. Put a cap on the amount of persons who can get in. Install workplace safety lighting or make use of a beacon to increase visibility in the facility. If you have a huge office with valuable equipment, you should think about hiring a security agency. If you are unsure of your workplace or are concerned about the safety of your equipment, look for a more secure location to store your equipment that is within a reasonable distance, either by car or by foot, from your place of employment. There is a possibility that we have more labor ahead of us, but if we want to avoid theft, we will have to pay the price.
In addition to tracking the location of a physical machine, many equipment manufacturers offer geofencing or time-fencing, which helps business owners or fleet managers control unplanned use and track machines in the event of theft or graffiti. Both of these features are available from the manufacturer. You can use a geofence to create virtual GPS borders, and if the machine is running outside of those bounds, you will be warned by email or text message. You have the option to set up the geofence yourself. In addition, a number of the technologies that are used for floating monitoring make use of a terminal that is located within the machine in order to gather and wirelessly send data through the use of a mobile or satellite service. After that, the data from the engine is sent to a website where you, your operators, and your equipment dealer can verify the performance of the engine, as well as the hours worked, the fuel consumption, and any engine failures. A computer or mobile device can also be used to monitor problems and warning codes, as well as check the temperature of the engine or hydraulic oil, and check for leaks.
Use the technology that tracks ships to find it. Make a report to the authorities about this, and be sure to include specifics about the missing machine, such as its dimensions, color, and make. Start filing a complaint as soon as you log in to your insurance provider’s website. Please inform NER about your machine. In the construction industry, one of the most aggravating and expensive problems is theft of equipment. To assist in the reduction of theft and vandalism, it is important to both devise a thorough plan to deter theft and maintain a state of constant alert. |
2024.05.13 04:57 TheMrblockheaded Maskepetoon trail cave
Anyone know anything about it? I didn't bring my phone with me and I've got a bum ankle so I'm not going back today just to grab a picture of it, I'll try later this week. If you go down the trail and down the stairs, at the bottom the trail forks off and the left trail leads over some rocks to the shore of the river. Standing at the shore go left a small way down the shore and look up, and there's a whole ass cave. There's some graffiti around it and it's pretty high up on the cliff. The trail going up to it looks really steep. Doubt I could make it up there with my bum ankle so that's why I'm here asking if anyone knows anything about it at all. Is this where high school kids go to party now, a cliff side cave? What ever happened to good ole faces or kin, kids these days I swear. Or is it just a homeless shelter? Will post photos this week to update.
submitted by TheMrblockheaded to RedDeer [link] [comments]
2024.05.13 02:15 nomorelandfills No, You Beg - 2021 article from The Cut about the difficulty in adopting in the COVID era
 | Another copied article to keep in reserve. It's an odd article from the pandemic, recounting the boom in rescue adoptions. It is a fairly pointless article in that it uses some really shifty rescuers, including Pixies and Paws, as sources, brightly highlights a bioethicist who uses her own foolish adoption of two pit bull mixes as evidence that most people shouldn't own dogs, and chronicles but fails to understand the loathing rescuers have for adopters. It does, however, wonderfully illustrate how rapidly the good times ended in rescue. Anyone reading the the current "we've never been so overwhelmed with dogs" rescue laments should know that there's a link between today's problems and yesterday's reckless opportunism. submitted by nomorelandfills to PetRescueExposed [link] [comments] The "bioethicist" “I think it’s probably true that the majority of people who want to adopt a dog should not,” Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist who studies human-animal relationships, tells me. “They don’t have the wherewithal and don’t have what they need to give the animal a good life.” She herself ended up with two pets that didn’t get along at all — a herding mix and a pointer mix whose constant fighting made the idea of hosting a dinner party both perhaps “bloody” and definitely “scary and miserable.” She says shelters shouldn’t “drive away potentially loving and appropriate adopters because they don’t meet predetermined criteria,” but she also sees the importance of a thorough application process that prepares humans for the pitfalls of pet parenthood. “You need to be ready to have a dog who doesn’t like people very much,” says Pierce. When Bella, the 11-year-old she got from the Humane Society, dies, she’s not sure she will get a replacement, noting that the pandemic puppy boom is “driven by a reflection of human narcissism and neurosis.” However, this is a fantastic truth long overdue for the telling. “I started to talk to shelter leaders across the country,” Cushing says. “And one by one, they said any adoptable dog without a medical issue is gone by noon on Saturday. But the public didn’t know that. Only the dog seekers and the experts did.” https://preview.redd.it/v2owlquz230d1.png?width=1139&format=png&auto=webp&s=a95a7983b4f018f043125a0819a16941cec1e6aa Jack, adopted by Tori and Paris through In Our Hands Rescue. It was a rainy Sunday in June, and Danielle had fallen in love. The 23-year-old paralegal spent the first part of her afternoon in McCarren Park, envying the happy dog owners with their furry companions. Then she stumbled upon an adoption event in a North Brooklyn beer garden, where a beagle mix being paraded out of the rescue van reminded her of the dog she grew up with, Snickers. It all felt like fate, so she filled out an application on the spot. She was then joined by her best friend and roommate, Alexa, in sitting across from a serious-looking young woman with a ponytail who was searching for a reason to break her heart. Danielle and Alexa were confident they would be leaving with Millie that day: After all, they had a 1,000-square-foot apartment within blocks of McCarren and full-time employment with the ability to work from home for the foreseeable future. But the volunteer kept posing questions that they hadn’t prepared for. What if they stopped living together? What if Danielle’s girlfriend’s collie mix didn’t get along with her new family member? What would be the solution if the dog needed expensive training for behavioral issues? Which vet were they planning to use? All of which, upon reflection, were reasonable questions. But when it came to the diet they planned for the dog, they realized they were out of their depth. Danielle recalled that Snickers had lived to 16 and a half on a diet of Blue Buffalo Wilderness, the most expensive stuff that was available at her parents’ Bay Area pet store. “Would you want to live on the best version of Lean Cuisine for the rest of your life?” sniffed the volunteer with a frown. She would instead recommend a small-batch, raw-food brand that cost, when they looked it up later, up to $240 a bag. “If you were approved, you’d need to get the necessary supplies and take time off from work starting now,” the dog gatekeeper said. “And the first 120 days would be considered a trial period, meaning we would reserve the right to take your dog back at any time.” The would-be adopters nodded solemnly. The friends rose from the bench and thanked the volunteer for her time. Believing they were out of earshot, the volunteer summed up the interview to a colleague: “You just walked by, and you’re fixated on this one dog, and it’s because you had a beagle growing up, but you want to make your roommate the legal adopter?” When Danielle and Alexa were young, one could still show up at a shelter, pick out an unhoused dog that just wanted to have someone to love, and take it home that same day. Today, much of the process has moved online — to Petfinder, a.k.a. Tinder for dogs, and various animal-shelter Instagram accounts that send cute puppy pics with heartrending stories of need into your feed and compel you to fill out an adoption application as you sit on the toilet. Posts describing the dogs drip with euphemisms: A dog that might freak out and tear your house up if left alone is a “Velcro dog”; one that might knock down your children is “overly exuberant”; a skittish, neglected dog with trust issues is just a “shy party girl.” Certain shelters have become influencers in their own right, like the L.A.-based Labelle Foundation, which has almost 250,000 Instagram followers and counts Dua Lipa and Cara Delevingne among its A-list clients. Rescue agencies abound, many with missions so specific that you could theoretically find one that deals in any niche breed you desire, from affenpinschers to Yorkshire terriers. This deluge of rescue-puppy content has arrived, not coincidentally, during a time of growing awareness of puppy mills as so morally indefensible that even Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez could draw fire for seemingly buying a purebred French bulldog in early 2020. Then came the pandemic puppy boom, a lonely, claustrophobic year in which thousands of white-collar workers, sitting at home scrolling through their phones, seemed simultaneously to decide they were finally ready to adopt a dog. The corresponding demand spike in certain markets has simply overwhelmed the agencies: New York shelters that were used to receiving 20 applications a week were now receiving hundreds, with as many as 50 people vying for a single pup. The rescue dog is now, indisputably, a luxury good, without a market pricing system at work to manage demand. A better analogy might be an Ivy League admissions office. But even Harvard isn’t forced to be as picky as, say, Korean K9 Rescue, whose average monthly applications tripled in 2020. And yet someone has to pick the winners — often an unpaid millennial Miss Hannigan doling out a precious number of wet-nosed Orphan Annies to wannabe Daddy Warbuckses and thus empowered to judge the intentions and poop-scooping abilities of otherwise accomplished urban professionals, some of whom actually did go to Harvard. This has led to some hard feelings. Every once in a while, someone will complain on Twitter about being rejected by a rescue agency, and it will reliably set off a cascade of attacks on “entitled rich white millennials assuming they can have whatever they want,” followed by counter-attacks on those who “appoint themselves the holy sainted guardian of all animals.” Danielle was ultimately deemed unworthy, not even receiving a generic rejection letter over email. After all, there isn’t really that much incentive for the rescue agencies to be polite these days. The modern animal-rescue movement grew alongside the child-welfare movement in the mid-19th century. It got another boost in the years following World War II, when Americans were moving out to the suburbs in droves, according to Stephen Zawistowski, a professor of animal behavior at Hunter College. Suddenly, there were highways, yards, and space. Walt Disney was making movies about children and dogs that promoted the idea that no new home was complete without a loyal animal companion. (Zawistowski said that one might call this the Old Yeller Effect, but there were various riffs on the same theme over the ensuing decades. Essentially, Flipper was “Let’s put Lassie in the water.”) In the early ’80s, University of Pennsylvania researchers confirmed the effects that animal companionship has on everything from blood pressure to heart conditions to anxiety. Pets were no longer just how you taught Junior to be responsible; they might be critical to maintaining adults’ physical and mental health. The way people spoke about animals started changing. The idea that “homeless” dogs were sent to the “pound” because they were “bad” went out of fashion. “Suddenly, you had ‘rescue’ dogs brightly lit in the mall,” says Ed Sayres, a former president of the ASPCA who now works as a pet-industry consultant. “Basically, we gave animals a promotion.” Meanwhile, in the late ’80s, spay and neuter procedures had been streamlined and were being recommended by vets as well as by Bob Barker on The Price Is Right. Then came The Ad. Released in 2007, it featured close-ups of three-legged dogs and one-eyed cats rescued by the ASPCA over a wrenching rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel.” The commercial warned that “for hundreds of others, help came too late.” In just a year, the ad raised 60 percent of the ASPCA’s annual $50 million budget. The organization was reportedly able to increase the grant money it gave to other animal-welfare organizations by 900 percent in ten years. It is difficult to overstate the emotional hangover The Ad inflicted on millennials and members of Gen Z. Janet M. Davis is a historian at the University of Texas at Austin, where she lectures on animal rights to a demographically diverse body of students — everyone from cattle ranchers to vegan punks — most of whom cry when she shows The Ad in class. “It absolutely brings down the house,” she says. “Every time.” Theoretically, the point of dog adoption is that there are more dogs born into the world than there are humans lined up to care for them. But as interest grew, the supply problem became less acute. Thanks to widespread spay and neuter policies, there are simply too few unwanted litters for what the adoption market wants. National chains like PetSmart partnered with local shelters to supply its animals for sale. Savvy rescues in dog deserts like New York hooked up with shelters in the Deep South, where cultural attitudes toward spaying and neutering pets are much more lax. While there is no official registry of how many shelter dogs are available in the U.S., in 2017, researchers at the College of Veterinary Medicine for Mississippi State University published a study reporting that the availability of dogs in animal shelters was at an all-time low. “That is,” says Sayres, “an environment that leads to a kind of irrational, competitive behavior.” The rescue mutt had become not just a virtue signal but a virtue test. Who was a good enough human being to deserve a dog in need of rescuing? Heather remembers the old easy days. “I went on Craigslist and an hour later, I had a puggle,” she says of her first dog-getting experience with her boyfriend in college. George the puggle humped everything in sight, shed everywhere, and chewed through furniture until the end of his life, but she loved him all the same. Flash-forward 16 years: She and that boyfriend are married, have two kids, and can’t seem to get a new dog no matter what they try. Yes, she could find a breeder easily online (currently for sale on Craigslist: a Yorkie-poo puppy from a breeder asking $350 and just a few screening questions). But instead, in the middle of the pandemic, “I was sending ten to 12 emails a night and willing to travel anywhere, and no one would give us any sort of animal,” she remembers. Shelters would send snappy emails about how her family wasn’t suited for a puppy, even though they made good money and had clearly cared for their dearly departed George — they once drove three hours to get the dog a specially made knee brace. “I was trying to be really up front with people and would say that my daughter has autism and that I have a 3-year-old, and they would say no. It felt like they were saying, ‘We don’t give dogs to people who have disabilities.’ ” It didn’t matter what kind of dog she applied for — older, younger, bigger, smaller — there was always an official-sounding excuse as to why her family wasn’t suitable. (“Pups this age bite and jump and scratch and while they are cute to look at, they are worse than a bratty ADHD toddler, without diapers,” one rescue wrote. “Sorry.”) She considered looking at emotional-support animals that work specifically with autistic youth but found out they could cost 18 grand and require a two-year waiting period. She couldn’t stomach the idea of setting up a GoFundMe, as other people in the community had. “It got to the point of me wondering, Okay, so what dogs do children get?” she recalls. “I always thought that dogs and children go together.” By the fall of 2020, Heather had turned back to breeders. “People get a little spicy when you say you paid for a dog. You want to scream that you tried your hardest, but it wasn’t possible,” she says. Others, like Zainab, figured out ways to work the system. She blanketed agencies with applications in the early months of the pandemic, applying for 60 dogs. (The ease of applying online might also explain the statistics.) She thought the fact that she had a leadership role in public education would demonstrate that she was both successful and nurturing. “I’m a professional, I make good money, and I have a master’s degree,” she tells me. She was rejected all the same. Finally, a co-worker suggested Zainab make a résumé in order to stand out. The multipage document — which features testimonials from high-powered friends, including local elected officials — is what got her an exclusive meeting with Penny the pug in a parking lot. She was handed over with a leash tied around her neck and vomited in the front seat of Zainab’s car about three blocks later. Success! Or take Lauren, who’d had dogs all her life and found living solo during COVID lonely. “You can’t be without an animal at this particular time,” she told herself. So she started applying for dogs on Petfinder and boutique-rescue websites. “I would look up at my clock, and it would be two in the morning,” she says. Her hopes were high when she got a meeting with a Chihuahua mix in the suburbs named Mary Shelley. Lauren thought the meeting went well, but it ultimately didn’t result in the interviewer granting the adoption. “Then I was in conspiracy-theory mode, thinking she doesn’t like gay people, or single people, or people who live in the city,” she says. “It was a crazy-making experience. It’s a pandemic, so your world is already turned upside down, but I became psychotic. “The people who run rescue organizations — this was their moment to shine,” she adds. “Even though they were totally bogged down with requests, they got to feel the power. They got to make someone’s dreams come true or smash them to the ground.” The inquiries can get extremely personal. “I found the questions very offensive,” says Joanna, a Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center nurse who tried to adopt last year with her architect husband. “I was like, ‘What does this have to do with getting a dog?’ ” Her husband didn’t even want to put the thought out into the universe, but he was forced to admit that he’d probably be the one to take a shared pet in the event of a divorce. The two also had to grapple with what would happen if one or both of them died of COVID during the pandemic. And would both of them be able to take three days off at a moment’s notice to help the dog acclimate to its new home? “I was frank with her and said, ‘I take care of cancer patients,’ ” says Joanna. “She was very unsatisfied with our answer.” “The more popular the rescue is on the internet, the more clout they have,” says Molly, a writer in New York. “If you have a really good social-media presence, you can throw your weight around.” (The clout goes both ways: Posting about your rescue dog on Instagram is an indirect way of broadcasting that someone out there deemed you morally worthy enough to be chosen.) She inquired about eight dogs in six weeks from about five different rescues, only to be continually rejected. She finally got an interview with a rescue agency whose cute dogs she had seen on social media. They asked to tour her apartment over Zoom. Fine. They asked for her references. Great. But then they asked if she would pay for an expensive trainer. She asked if she could wait — not only was it during the height of COVID, but the cost of the sessions with the trainer could be close to $1,000. The person she was dealing with said over email that dogs were investments and suggested she look elsewhere. “I was like, This is so Brooklyn,” she says. Still, others wished the warning about trainers had been more explicit. At the height of the pandemic, Steven remembers scrolling through social-media post after social-media post saying things like “URGENT: NEED TO FIND THIS GUY A HOME” while “picturing this dog on a conveyor belt going toward this whirring saw. And meanwhile I am screaming at my phone, ‘I applied and you turned me down!’ ” But after securing a dog, he came to believe the process, while tough on the human applicants, wasn’t tough enough when it came to the dog’s needs. Right off the bat, Cooper was very hyper and mouthy when playing. “We were doing the thing that everyone does, like, posting pics: ‘We’re at the park, isn’t this fun, hahaha,’ ” he says. But the reality was much less Instagram-worthy. Cooper became difficult to handle, especially in a small New York apartment; mouthiness escalated to gnashing his teeth and guarding food. “It’s embarrassing, and I hate having to tell people we had to give the dog back,” he says. (So much so that Steven requested a pseudonym for himself and for Cooper.) “To be frank, the experience we had with the dog was pretty traumatic. If this volunteer had felt so powerful, I wish that they had said we wouldn’t be able to handle this dog.” Although Steven’sInstagram is replete with photos of other friends’ dogs, evidence of Cooper’s existence has disappeared from the account. The rescue-dog demand has also been stressful for the overwhelmed (and overwhelmingly volunteer) workforce that keeps the supply chain running. On a recent Saturday, Jason was speeding toward JFK airport in a windowless white van covered in graffiti. Though he was on his way to help rescue dogs, he is the first to admit he’s not the biggest fan of the animals. “I just need something to do,” he says. “I was going crazy sitting around the house.” His friend, who was employed at a rescue, recommended him for an unpaid gig. Prior to the pandemic, he managed an Off Broadway play in the city. The 34-year-old, who is athletically built with a shaved head, has a compulsive need to be coordinating a production, and getting dogs to New York City from a different continent is definitely that. Many of the city’s rescue dogs come from other parts of the world these days, brought over by volunteers who take them through a complicated Customs process. This is part of what Pet Nation author Mark Cushing calls the “canine freedom train.” A former corporate trial attorney, Cushing had thought that American shelters were filled with dogs with a figurative hatchet outside their kennel; that was until his daughter, a shelter volunteer, said that, in fact, scores of people were lined up around the block every weekend in hopes of adopting a handful of dogs. “I started to talk to shelter leaders across the country,” Cushing says. “And one by one, they said any adoptable dog without a medical issue is gone by noon on Saturday. But the public didn’t know that. Only the dog seekers and the experts did.” Jason waited in arrivals, ready to stop anyone who walked by with dog crates. When he saw some, he swooped in. It turned out that he had ended up with an extra animal — one that was yowling like it needed to get out and pee. He couldn’t figure out to whom it belonged, and after about 40 minutes of drama in the pickup area, two large men jumped out of a truck with out-of-state plates. They handed Jason $20 before he knew what was happening, loaded the dog into their Silverado, and sped off toward North Carolina. It was unclear if they were adopters themselves or worked for a shelter. With that out of the way, Jason tried to carefully maneuver a luggage cart full of the remaining dog crates to the lot where he was parked. When one fell, the animal inside didn’t make a sound, presumably zonked from its long journey across the ocean. More volunteers were waiting at the shelter with food, water, and an enormous number of puppy pads when he arrived. After the animals decompressed from their long flight, they would be taken to an adoption event, where they would hopefully meet their new humans. Emily Wells hasn’t taken a vacation in years. She works full time on Wall Street but is also the coordinator for Pixies & Paws Rescue — a job that she does in between calls and meetings and emails. That means responding to DMs on Instagram about available dogs, attending adoption events on weekends, and getting on the phone with a vet at 10 p.m. because one of her fosters got sick. That also means screening applications, which more than doubled during the height of the pandemic. Typically, she denies about one-third. This part of her job might not be the most physically demanding, but it does take a psychic toll. “What I’ve found is a lot of people are very entitled,” she says. “They send nasty emails. I’ve been called every name in the book. But there are reasons we deny. We are entrusted with placing a living, breathing thing in someone’s home for the rest of its life.” She wishes people would understand that the rescue is just her and one other person trying their best to deal with off-the-charts levels of demand. “I know rescues that don’t even reply,” she says. “So the fact that we do and still get shit for that is annoying.” And explaining why someone was rejected can create its own problems: What if they use that information to fib on their next application? Rescues like Wells’s are largely dependent on foster parents to house the dogs they import. Foster-to-adopt is one way that people adopt pets, a means of testing out compatibility and increasing one’s chances of adopting in a hypercompetitive city. But demand for dogs was so high last year that even proven volunteers couldn’t get their hands on a foster. Take Suchita, an animal lover who moved from India to New Jersey for her husband’s VP job with a big bank in 2019. Unable to work owing to visa issues, she became a prolific dog fosterer for a rescue in Queens. She also worked with a program that pairs volunteers with elderly animal owners who need help taking their pets out on walks. That program was suspended during COVID, which left Suchita desperate for more dog time. Figuring that online volunteer work might fill the void, she started helping another organization wade through its massive backlog of applications by calling references. She offered to foster more dogs but didn’t hear back, nor did her attempts to adopt pan out. When she went ahead and adopted Sasha, a Pomeranian, through another rescue agency, the first organization was not happy. “After I posted Sasha on Instagram, they called me saying it was a conflict of interest to have worked with another agency,” Suchita says. “I was not at all prepared for that. Then they unfollowed me. It really hurt, but no hard feelings.” She is humbly aware of the fact that in New York, there is always someone who has a nicer apartment, a better job, and more experience than you. If everything else is equal, why shouldn’t a shelter try to give a dog to someone who can afford to give it the best life possible? “They don’t treat humans nicely, but at least they treat dogs nicely,” she says. In some corners of the rescue world, a reckoning is taking place. Rachael Ziering, the executive director of Muddy Paws Rescue, which found homes for around 1,000 dogs last year, got her start volunteering at other nonprofits whose adoption processes she found abhorrent. She saw, for instance, people look at adoption applications and say, “Oh, that’s a terrible Zip Code. I’m not adopting to them.” Or they would judge people based on their appearance. “I know a lot of groups that will ask for your firstborn along with your application,” she says. “I think it’s well intentioned, but I think it just took a turn at some point. It’s morphed into sort of an unhealthy view that no one’s ever gonna be good enough. Nobody’s ever perfect — the dog or the person.” Muddy Paws is instead embracing what is known as “open adoption,” a philosophy that allows for rescue volunteers to be more open-minded about what a good dog home might look like. It has started gaining traction among groups like the ASPCA in recent years, in part because the organization’s current president was denied a dog — twice. Instead of rejecting applicants outright based on their giving the “wrong” answers, Ziering’s team speaks with hopeful dog owners at length, learning about their lifestyles and histories to match them with the pet best for their family. Still, even a more inclusive philosophy toward profiling adoption applicants comes up against the intractable math: There are only so many dogs that need homes. Though Muddy Paws rejects less than one percent of applicants, some decide to adopt elsewhere if it means getting a dog faster. Is any of this good for the dogs? Depends on whom you ask. If the intense questions involved in securing the dog cause someone to reflect before making a decision they’ll regret — sure. Others note that the average dog’s life span has hovered around 11 years for decades. “I think it’s probably true that the majority of people who want to adopt a dog should not,” Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist who studies human-animal relationships, tells me. “They don’t have the wherewithal and don’t have what they need to give the animal a good life.” She herself ended up with two pets that didn’t get along at all — a herding mix and a pointer mix whose constant fighting made the idea of hosting a dinner party both perhaps “bloody” and definitely “scary and miserable.” She says shelters shouldn’t “drive away potentially loving and appropriate adopters because they don’t meet predetermined criteria,” but she also sees the importance of a thorough application process that prepares humans for the pitfalls of pet parenthood. “You need to be ready to have a dog who doesn’t like people very much,” says Pierce. When Bella, the 11-year-old she got from the Humane Society, dies, she’s not sure she will get a replacement, noting that the pandemic puppy boom is “driven by a reflection of human narcissism and neurosis.” “A lot of this is driven by Instagram,” she says. “We have this expectation that dogs are not really dogs; they’re toys or fashion accessories.” I’m not pushing you, but it seems like you want to bring him home,” the Badass Animal Rescue volunteer said with the controlled energy of a used-car salesperson. Bill and Sherrie, a middle-aged couple who had lost their English bulldog three years ago, were looking for a replacement. The dog with a bright-red boner jumped on Bill, and everyone pretended not to notice. “He definitely has energy,” Bill said brightly. The couple were on the fence, and the volunteer could sense the close slipping away. Although this organization saw applications rise 200 percent during the pandemic, things are now recalibrating back to normalcy. We are, it seems, witnessing the cooling of the puppy boom. The unbearable loneliness of the pandemic has abated, replaced with anxiety about how to possibly do all the things all of us used to do every day. New Yorkers are being summoned back to the office or planning vacations. Many young professionals are finding that, when given the option between scrolling through rescue websites until 2 a.m. or doing drunken karaoke in a room full of friends, Dog Tinder is losing its appeal. Local shelters are seeing application numbers slip — many say they have returned to pre-COVID levels — which, in turn, has made it slightly more of an adopter’s market. Bill and Sherrie went to the hallway to talk it over. He was definitely a puller like their old dog, Xena. And he was also a hell of a shedder. The volunteer kept talking about something called a “love match,” but was this really one? “We’re just gonna need a little more time,” Sherrie confessed when they came back inside. No one was making eye contact. As they prepared to leave, the dog jumped up on Bill again, his tongue flopping sideways and his wagging tail spraying white fur. He was clearly not aware that the tenor of the room had shifted. “We might be back,” Bill said with an obvious twinge of guilt. “Don’t worry!” We will probably look back on the class of pandemic dogs adopted in 2020 as the most desirable unwanted dogs of all time — the ultimate market-scarcity score for a slice of virtuous, privileged New York City. People like Danielle will see them paraded around places like McCarren Park, the living, breathing trophies for self-satisfied owners who made it through the gauntlet. At least for the next 11 years or so. |
2024.05.12 22:16 KMan93 [USA] [H] Consoles/Games/Accessories Japanese Stuff, Nintendo, Playstation, Xbox, Sega [W] PayPal
Only accepting PayPal F&F
Bundles take priority
Shipping not included in listed price
As long as the package is light (first class), we can add $5 for shipping. If it's heavier then I'll have to calculate it out for you.
Consoles and Games are fully tested and working unless otherwise noted.
Pictures can be found at the top of each table.
Don't be afraid to shoot me an offer on anything, worst I can do is say no! Please comment before dm'ing!
submitted by KMan93 to GameSale [link] [comments]
Bundles take priority
Shipping not included in listed price
As long as the package is light (first class), we can add $5 for shipping. If it's heavier then I'll have to calculate it out for you.
Consoles and Games are fully tested and working unless otherwise noted.
Pictures can be found at the top of each table.
Don't be afraid to shoot me an offer on anything, worst I can do is say no! Please comment before dm'ing!
| FREEBIES(with purchase) | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Dualsense Shell and Assorted Buttons (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| Gameboy Cartridge Shell - Blue (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| Gameboy Cartridge Shell - Clear (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| GBA Console Manual (Japanese) | Free with purchase | |
| PS2 System Manual - SCPH-79001 | Free with purchase | |
| Wii Stand - OEM | Free with purchase |
| MISCELLANEOUS | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Club Nintendo Mario and Friends Pin Badge Set | 10 | Pins were never used |
| CONSOLES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Gameboy Color - Atomic Purple | 60 | X2 |
| Gundam Char Red Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 550 shipped | Modded with Picoboot (will play USA discs), BlueRetro bluetooth internal adapter and SD2SP2. Comes with CIB Gundam Special Disc, CIB Cosmic Red PS5 controller, black Gameboy Player, all hookups, and 1 OEM memory card. AV cable is seemingly unused and will come in its original box. I'll throw in an unopened 3rd party s-video cable and a couple Japanese games as well! |
| Indigo Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) - Slightly discolored | 90 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Black Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 100 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Black Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 100 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. New yellow LED installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Pokemon Zacian Zamazenta Switch Lite | 200 shipped | Probably used about 5 times total. CIB, great condition, comes with screen protector installed and white carrying case. |
| Xbox 360 Console | 60 shipped | 60gb external hdd with internal 4gb. All hookups, 2 OEM white wireless controllers (with black battery pack covers) |
| Sega Genesis Model 1 Console (High Definition) | 50 shipped | 1 Controller, power adapter and RF cable. Crack in case. I'll throw in the boxed Retro-Bit controller that I have listed below if you want it. |
| JAPANESE GAMEBOY/GBC GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Kirby Dreamland 2 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Red (Japanese) | 10 | Loose, new battery |
| Pokemon Red (Japanese) | 65 | CIB |
| Pokemon Yellow (Japanese) | 65 | CIB |
| Pokemon Silver (Japanese) | 35 | CIB |
| Pokemon Crystal (Japanese) | 70 | CIB |
| Puyo Puyo (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Tamagotchi 2 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| GAMEBOY ADVANCE/SP ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| GBA to GameCube Link Cable (DOL-011) | 15 | X2 |
| SMB3 e-Reader card | 5 | Super Mario Bros 3 - Super Leaf (Power-Up Card) |
| JAPANESE GAMEBOY ADVANCE/SP GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa Dream Champ Tournament (Japanese) | 60 | CIB. Fairly certain it is brand new. |
| Super Mario Bros. - Famicom Mini Series (Japanese) | 15 | CIB |
| NES GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Super Mario Bros. | 10 | Loose |
| Super Mario Bros. 3 | 10 | Loose |
| SNES/SUPER FAMICOM ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| SNES Controller | 10 | |
| Super Famicom Controller | 10 |
| SNES GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Mortal Kombat 2 | 10 | Loose |
| Mortal Kombat 3 | 10 | Loose |
| X-Men Mutant Apocalypse | 15 | Loose |
| SUPER FAMICOM GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Super Gameboy (Japanese) | 12 | Loose |
| Super Gameboy 2 (Japanese) | 40 | Loose |
| Dragonball Z Super Butoden (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Final Fantasy IV (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Front Mission: Gun Hazard (Japanese) | 25 | CIB |
| Ganbare Goemon 2: Kiteretsu Shogun (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Kirby's Dreamland 3 (Japanese) | 20 | Loose |
| Magical Quest starring Mickey (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Rockman's Soccer (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Rockman X2 (Japanese) | 15 | Loose |
| Super Bomberman (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Super Mario RPG (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Super Momotaro Densetsu DX (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Super Puyo Puyo | 10 | CIB |
| Wagyan Paradise (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Island (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Island (Japanese) | 30 | CIB |
| Yu Yu Hakusho (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| N64 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Mario Party 3 | 45 | Loose |
| Rampage World Tour | 15 | Loose |
| JAPANESE N64 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Banjo Kazooie (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Bomberman 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Donkey Kong 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Mario Kart 64 (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Paper Mario (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Snap (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Stadium (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Star Fox 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Story (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| GAMECUBE ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Club Nintendo Memory Card - Half White/Half Blue | 30 | |
| GameCube to GBA Link Cable (DOL-011) | 15 | |
| Black Controller (Japanese) | 50 | CIB, new, open box. |
| White OEM Controller | 60 | Long cable |
| Emerald Blue OEM Controller | 45 | |
| Indigo/Clear OEM Controller | 20 | Discolored |
| Indigo OEM Controller | 25 | X2 |
| Black OEM Controller | 25 | X3 |
| Silver OEM Controller | 25 | X5 |
| GAMECUBE GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Viewtiful Joe | 15 | Loose |
| JAPANESE GAMECUBE GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Party 4 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Party 5 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Mega Man Network Transmission (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 2 (Japanese) | 5 | Game and case only |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 4 (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 4 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| SD Gundam Gashapon Wars (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Sonic Adventure 2 Battle (Japanese) | 15 | CIB |
| Super Smash Bros (Japanese) | 10 | X2 - Game and case only |
| Wii GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa | 25 | No manual |
| Wii Sports | 15 | CIB (sleeve) |
| Wii Sports Resort | 15 | CIB |
| Wii U GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Wipeout: Create & Crash | 5 | Game in Wii U case with game store artwork |
| SWITCH ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Switch AC Adapter | 10 | |
| Zelda Switch Lite Carrying Case | 10 |
| SWITCH GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Castlevania Anniversary Collection (Bloodlines Edition, Limited Run) | 70 | Sealed |
| XBOX 360 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| NCAA Football 13 | 15 | CIB. Disc is scratched but I was able to start the game and play it. |
| XBOX ONE GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Xbox One Controller | 15 | |
| Xbox One S Controller | 20 | |
| Assassin's Creed Unity - Limited Edition | 2 | CIB |
| Doom | 5 | CIB |
| Dragonball Xenoverse | 5 | No inserts |
| Lego Dimensions | 12 | CIB |
| Mortal Kombat X | 5 | CIB |
| Sekiro Shadows Die Twice | 25 | CIB |
| Wolfenstein 2 | 4 | CIB |
| PSP GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| One Piece Romance Dawn (Japanese) | 10 | Sealed |
| PS1 ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Gray Dualshock Controller | 10 | |
| Gray Memory Card | 5 | |
| Gray Memory Card with Game Sticker | 15 | X11, most come in official Sony protective case, various game stickers on these cards (Melty Lancer, Final Fantasy VII, Persona, Angel Graffiti, Bastard, Heroine Dream, Final Fantasy Tactics, Arc The Lad, Wizard's Harmony, Xenogears, Saga Frontier) |
| Light Gray Memory Card | 10 for both | X2 |
| Emerald Memory Card | 8 | X3 |
| Lemon Yellow (Clear Yellow) Memory Card with SD Gundam G Generation Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Crimson Red (Clear Red) Memory Card with Devil May Cry Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Emerald (Clear Green) Memory Card with Dragon Quest VII Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Crystal White (Clear White) Memory Card with Chrono Cross Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| White Memory Card with Dragon Quest VII Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| PS1 GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa Door To Phantomile (Japanese) | 25 | CIB |
| Grand Theft Auto [Collector's Edition] | 200 | Sealed |
| Tekken 3 [Greatest Hits] | 100 | Sealed |
| Contra Adventure | 15 | Loose |
| Mortal Kombat Trilogy | 20 | Loose |
| Pocket Fighter | 16 | Loose with gutted manual |
| Ridge Racer Revolution | 15 | CIB |
| Street Fighter Alpha 3 | 12 | X2, Loose |
| Super Puzzle Fighter II Turbo | 15 | Loose with gutted manual |
| PS2 ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Midnight Blue Controller | 25 | |
| Black Controller | 15 | X2 |
| Black Memory Card with FMCB Installed | 10 | |
| Black Memory Card | 5 | |
| Black Memory Cards with Various Game Stickers | 10 | X6 - Final Fantasy X, Ridge Racer, Dragon Quest VIII |
| White Memory Card | 12 | |
| Island Blue Memory Card | 10 | |
| Emerald Green Memory Card with Dragon Quest VIII Sticker | 10 | Looks like plastic is cracked near the screw holes |
| Crimson Red Memory Card | 5 | Has a little bit of damage on the front |
| Lemon Yellow Memory Card | 15 | |
| Midnight Blue Memory Card | 20 | X2 |
| Midnight Blue Memory Card with Battle Stadium DON Sticker | 20 | |
| Zen Black (Clear) Memory Card | 15 | |
| Fujiwork Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 6 different colors - Gold, Red, Teal, Blue |
| Kemco Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 4 different colors - White, Red, Teal, and Black |
| Hori Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 2 different colors - Clear Black/Clear, and White |
| PS2 GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| .Hack Mutation Part 2 | 20 | Boxed, no manual |
| Dragonball Z Budokai Tenkaichi | 10 | Boxed, no manual |
| Namco Museum 50th Anniversary (Greatest Hits) | 10 | CIB |
| PS3 GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Sixaxis Controller - Black | 5 | |
| Playstation Eye | 5 | |
| Playstation Move Controller | 15 | |
| Rocksmith (Big Box with Cable) | 25 | CIB with cable |
| PS4 GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Red Dualshock 4 Controller | 22 | |
| Bloodstained Curse of the Moon 2 (Classic Edition, Limited Run) | 60 | Sealed |
| Pocky and Rocky Reshrined | 15 | CIB |
| GENESIS ACCESSORIES/GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Retro-bit Super Retro Gen Controller | 6 | Boxed |
| 6-Pak | 5 | Loose |
| Aaahh!! Real Monsters | 15 | CIB |
| Bubsy | 10 | Boxed, missing manual |
| Bugs Bunny in Double Trouble | 8 | Boxed, missing manual |
| Decap Attack | 15 | Loose |
| Game Genie | 20 | Black label, comes with original manual. Loose |
| Game Genie | 15 | X2, gold label. Loose |
| Ghouls 'N Ghosts | 25 | Loose |
| Golden Axe II | 16 | Loose |
| Lakers vs. Celtics and the NBA Playoffs | 3 | Loose |
| Pac Man 2 The New Adventures | 8 | Cardboard box, CIB |
| Sonic & Knuckles | 20 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog | 10 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog (Not for Resale) | 10 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 2 | 8 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (Not For Resale) | 8 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 3 | 15 | Loose |
| Spiderman Maximum Carnage | 12 | Loose |
| Super Monaco GP II | 16 | CIB |
| Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 | 20 | Loose |
| Vectorman | 20 | Cardboard box, no manual |
| X-Men | 5 | Loose |
| DREAMCAST | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Caution Seaman | 50 | CIB, no mic |
2024.05.12 00:20 Eternal_Spring1350 Graffiti on our trees overnight?
 | Hello everyone, submitted by Eternal_Spring1350 to plano [link] [comments] Today, we found graffiti on our front yard. Have any of you experienced a similar issue? Does this graffiti hold any significance? I attached a picture. It says "SSS CMO" with an odd symbol. We already filed a report on Fix It Plano, and are considering filing a police report. Thank you in advance. |
2024.05.11 00:48 SpringRabbit1 The School (Creepypasta)
In the area that I lived in, there were a lot of abandoned buildings and houses. There were old theatres, restaurants, motels, and houses that had long been vacant for whatever reason. The most interesting was a high school three blocks from my house.
The high school was built in the 1940s, however, in 1977, it was destroyed by a fire and sadly, 45 students and 12 adults, including my mom, who was a lunch lady, and my dad, who was the vice principal, lost their lives. I was only twelve and my sister was eight. We had an older brother named, Mike, who went to that high school, however, after the fire we didn't hear from him for several hours. We eventually caught up with him and we all moved to a relative's house. It was Mike who helped me and my sister through our parents' deaths because it tore us apart. Sometimes he would take puppets he made out of his backpack and just put on a silly show and very often it cheered us up. After some years passed, Mike finally left the house, due to the relatives we lived with, ignoring him all the time and we didn't really see him much. We would occasionally get letters from him and as years went by, and we would get the occasional phone call to see how we were doing and such.
My sister and I, today, were urban explorers; we searched through long forgotten, vacant buildings and sometimes bring souvenirs from the past. Some examples were: a film reel of King Kong from a 1930s theatre, a calendar dated 1959 from an old office building, a record player from a house, hell I even took and restored a 1940s pickup truck which I still drove today. My siste and I had expressed interest in going to the school, however, just the memory of that school being the last place my parents were at, kept us from going. We decided though that once we both had spare time from working, that we were gonna go. And the next time we both were available was next weekend.
When the weekend came, my sister and I gathered our flashlights and everything we needed. As we were getting ready to head out, I got a call from Mike saying he heard that we were gonna go to the school and he warned us that we may not like what we see. I didn't understand what he meant but we were gonna go anyway. As my sister and I arrived at the school, the destruction was still evident. We held back tears as we went through what was once a window. Everything was charred and you could still see things like shoes and burned remains of school supplies in some of the classrooms. I spotted at least four classrooms that were unaffected by the fire and you could still see what the assignments were for that day. One classroom had been reading MacBeth by Shakespeare. In that classroom were articles of clothing like jackets and several backpacks. One backpack in particular caught my eye so I decided that would be my souvenir, the rest I left alone.
We went to the cafeteria and boy was it a mess. There were still plates on the tables and several patches of graffiti as neighborhood hoodlums had been known to gather in the cafeteria after it burned down. Some hallways are also clearly marked with graffiti but the deeper in the school you go, the less common it became till it just disappeared. In the areas with no graffiti, it ranged from severe damage to the unscathed classrooms mentioned earlier. We headed to our dad's old office and saw it suffered little damage. His table and chair were still in good condition but old. We saw photographs on the floor and when we picked them up; we saw they were old family pictures of us. One was me, my sister, and Mike making a snowman the one time it snowed when we were young. There was another where my dad was holding me as I went to my first day in elementary. The rest was of him and my mom looking happy.
Tears were coming to me and my sister's eyes as my sister took the pictures and put them in her backpack carefully. We decided we had enough and went straight home. When we got home, I went through the backpack I picked up. Most of it contained just random drawings but as I went through it more; I discovered puppets that looked extremely familiar. I looked at the school assignments and read the name on all of them. Each paper said Mike Duran. It couldn't be. I called Mike but there was no ring. I then called one of the relatives I lived with after my parents' deaths and asked where Mike was. Her response chilled me to the bone.
She said, "Bobby, I thought you knew? Mike died in the school fire along with your parents. I thought it was strange when you and your sister would mention him but I thought it was something that would help y'all cope so I never said anything. He's buried in the same cemetery as your parents. Go six headstones to the right and you'll find him. I'm so sorry."
This could NOT be true, I told my sister and we went straight to the cemetery, and sure enough, six headstones to the right of my parents, was Mike. We both broke down in tears as we realized Mike was never with us, that he died with my parents.
My sister said, "So everything was just us being so heartbroken and all that bullshit huh?"
And that's when behind us, we heard, "It wasn't bullshit." We turned around to see Mike, looking like a teenager. Looking just like he did the day the school caught fire, now transparent like a stereotypical ghost. He said, "It wasn't bullshit because I knew that if y'all found out I died too, y'all would go nuts. So I asked the Big Man upstairs if I could at least stay with y'all until y'all were ready. He agreed, however, he said that until y'all find out the truth about me, I shall remain on Earth. Don't you see? I didn't want y'all to be alone, to suffer through the death of the whole family. But my work here is done and now you know the truth. I must go now, take care. I love you two."
We told Mike we loved him too and watched him vanish into thin air. We both knew that we would never hear from him until we too passed away. But instead of grieving, we accepted that our older brother stayed with us to take care of us, and even up from the heavens, he would always watch over us.
submitted by SpringRabbit1 to creepypastawiki [link] [comments]
The high school was built in the 1940s, however, in 1977, it was destroyed by a fire and sadly, 45 students and 12 adults, including my mom, who was a lunch lady, and my dad, who was the vice principal, lost their lives. I was only twelve and my sister was eight. We had an older brother named, Mike, who went to that high school, however, after the fire we didn't hear from him for several hours. We eventually caught up with him and we all moved to a relative's house. It was Mike who helped me and my sister through our parents' deaths because it tore us apart. Sometimes he would take puppets he made out of his backpack and just put on a silly show and very often it cheered us up. After some years passed, Mike finally left the house, due to the relatives we lived with, ignoring him all the time and we didn't really see him much. We would occasionally get letters from him and as years went by, and we would get the occasional phone call to see how we were doing and such.
My sister and I, today, were urban explorers; we searched through long forgotten, vacant buildings and sometimes bring souvenirs from the past. Some examples were: a film reel of King Kong from a 1930s theatre, a calendar dated 1959 from an old office building, a record player from a house, hell I even took and restored a 1940s pickup truck which I still drove today. My siste and I had expressed interest in going to the school, however, just the memory of that school being the last place my parents were at, kept us from going. We decided though that once we both had spare time from working, that we were gonna go. And the next time we both were available was next weekend.
When the weekend came, my sister and I gathered our flashlights and everything we needed. As we were getting ready to head out, I got a call from Mike saying he heard that we were gonna go to the school and he warned us that we may not like what we see. I didn't understand what he meant but we were gonna go anyway. As my sister and I arrived at the school, the destruction was still evident. We held back tears as we went through what was once a window. Everything was charred and you could still see things like shoes and burned remains of school supplies in some of the classrooms. I spotted at least four classrooms that were unaffected by the fire and you could still see what the assignments were for that day. One classroom had been reading MacBeth by Shakespeare. In that classroom were articles of clothing like jackets and several backpacks. One backpack in particular caught my eye so I decided that would be my souvenir, the rest I left alone.
We went to the cafeteria and boy was it a mess. There were still plates on the tables and several patches of graffiti as neighborhood hoodlums had been known to gather in the cafeteria after it burned down. Some hallways are also clearly marked with graffiti but the deeper in the school you go, the less common it became till it just disappeared. In the areas with no graffiti, it ranged from severe damage to the unscathed classrooms mentioned earlier. We headed to our dad's old office and saw it suffered little damage. His table and chair were still in good condition but old. We saw photographs on the floor and when we picked them up; we saw they were old family pictures of us. One was me, my sister, and Mike making a snowman the one time it snowed when we were young. There was another where my dad was holding me as I went to my first day in elementary. The rest was of him and my mom looking happy.
Tears were coming to me and my sister's eyes as my sister took the pictures and put them in her backpack carefully. We decided we had enough and went straight home. When we got home, I went through the backpack I picked up. Most of it contained just random drawings but as I went through it more; I discovered puppets that looked extremely familiar. I looked at the school assignments and read the name on all of them. Each paper said Mike Duran. It couldn't be. I called Mike but there was no ring. I then called one of the relatives I lived with after my parents' deaths and asked where Mike was. Her response chilled me to the bone.
She said, "Bobby, I thought you knew? Mike died in the school fire along with your parents. I thought it was strange when you and your sister would mention him but I thought it was something that would help y'all cope so I never said anything. He's buried in the same cemetery as your parents. Go six headstones to the right and you'll find him. I'm so sorry."
This could NOT be true, I told my sister and we went straight to the cemetery, and sure enough, six headstones to the right of my parents, was Mike. We both broke down in tears as we realized Mike was never with us, that he died with my parents.
My sister said, "So everything was just us being so heartbroken and all that bullshit huh?"
And that's when behind us, we heard, "It wasn't bullshit." We turned around to see Mike, looking like a teenager. Looking just like he did the day the school caught fire, now transparent like a stereotypical ghost. He said, "It wasn't bullshit because I knew that if y'all found out I died too, y'all would go nuts. So I asked the Big Man upstairs if I could at least stay with y'all until y'all were ready. He agreed, however, he said that until y'all find out the truth about me, I shall remain on Earth. Don't you see? I didn't want y'all to be alone, to suffer through the death of the whole family. But my work here is done and now you know the truth. I must go now, take care. I love you two."
We told Mike we loved him too and watched him vanish into thin air. We both knew that we would never hear from him until we too passed away. But instead of grieving, we accepted that our older brother stayed with us to take care of us, and even up from the heavens, he would always watch over us.
2024.05.10 10:44 Reopado Hotfix Update 13.4.0 - Released 9th May 2024
 | The next hotfix is already in development - more details soon. And if you didn't know it yet: submitted by Reopado to PoliceSimulator [link] [comments] The Highway Patrol Expansion is launching June 18th!Changelog - Update 13.4.0Gameplay * Fixed an issue causing many callouts to not appear anymore * Fixed show police presence task failing to progress at high crime areas * Fixed Liability Reasons to not be reset which might lead to wrong interaction wheel, grayed out options, etc. * Fixed accidents sometimes missing the driver * Fixed medics not taking slightly injured NPCs to the ambulance at crime scenes * Fixed that pedestrian criminals could be wrongly arrested for Missing Driver License * Fixed First Shift Introduction playing instantly * Fixed an issue with graffiti sprayers not running away anymore * Fixed CP loss upon ordering NPCs to evacuate the area after securing the crime scene * Fixed no injured NPCs appearing in Major Crime Scene scenarios * Fixed Major Crime Scene who were not finishable * Fixed that some element at the accident callout can not be captured by camera Crash Fixes * Fixed a crash that occurred when medics arrived at the scene * Fixed a crash that occurred when medic leaves their ambulance car after arriving at an accident site * Fixed crash when letting a traffic car continue driving * Fixed crash when continuing after going game over, after an accident was accepted but one didn't arrive on scene yet * Fixed Injured NPC callout can create a crash when adding action to encounter report Patrol Car & Traffic Car * Fixed vehicles staying in their place after being sirened * Fixed issues with tow trucks and EMS path finding * Fixed an issue with tow trucks spawning inside the player's patrol car * Fixed some parked cars not being interactable Added spotlight to WPV patrol car NPCs * Fixed several issues with floating NPCs * Fixed incorrect states of several NPCs * Fixed drivers not leaving their vehicle when involved in a passive accident scene * Fixed an issue that caused NPCs to take ages to get back to their vehicles after being let go * Fixed an issue with injured NPCs who were spawned at dynamic accidents, but being the same as the driver that causes them to spawn in the first place * Fixed NPCs talking to their phone while holding a wallet * Fixed First Aid Paramedic walking through patients on the ground * Fixed NPC circling around vehicle entry point * Fixed wanted NPC not moving or fleeing from player * Fixed wallet thieves to not be interactable after being tasered UI * Fixed an issue with callouts not appearing inside the UI * Fixed an issue with the interaction wheel not appearing for vehicles involved in an accident * Fixed report intuitions are being triggered incorrectly with the progress at accident callouts * Fixed missing accident investigation options after interacting with NPC Drivers Graphics & Game World * Fixed missing rear license plate in accident not breaking off and lying on ground * Fixed license plate to keep spawning at accident sites * Fixed multiple issues with license plates * Fixed some broken animations for NPCs * Fixed a bug where NPCs would be standing inside of cars instead of sitting while driving Multiplayer * Fixed minimap not appearing on the client in Multiplayer * Fixed an issue causing desync between the server and the client on accident sites * Fixed highlight arrow to either be not visible for the client or not disappearing * Fixed clients callout progress is always zero * Fixed taking pictures of accidents by the client is not rewarded with SP Sound * Fixed no voice-over playing during the first shift introduction dialogue * Fixed service vehicle siren sound effect being too loud Modding * Fixed ELS and Siren mods not working anymore * Fixed ELS Sequence Modding could lead to a crash due to invalid data |
2024.05.10 02:15 vites70 [For Sale] Free Shipping - Black Sabath, Grateful Dead, Steven Wilson, The Pretty Things, Wings, Beach Boys, Blur, Neil Young, Blind Melon, Suede, Bruce Springsteen, American, Syd Barrett, The Charlatans, Derek & The Dominos, The Kinks, Paul Weller, Traffic, Elton John, CSN, AP, Mofi & more
Updated pricing; need to spend $12 in order for me to ship.
Free shipping to the USA
Buy 1, get the second 25% off
Buy 2, get the third 50% off
Buy 3, get the fourth 75% off
Condition: vinyl / sleeve, link to the pressing is below
The Allman Brothers Band – Eat A Peach VG+/VG+ $32
https://www.discogs.com/release/1284784-The-Allman-Brothers-Band-Eat-A-Peach
America – America NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/18526771-America-America?ev=item-vc
The Association – Greatest Hits! VG+/VG+ $8
https://www.discogs.com/release/12053469-The-Association-Greatest-Hits
Aum – Resurrection VG/VG+ $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/616709-Aum-Resurrection
Badfinger - Magic Christian Music VG+/VG+ $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/10390165-Badfinger-Magic-Christian-Music
Badfinger - No Dice VG+/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/9969975-Badfinger-No-Dice
Syd Barrett – The Solo Works Of Syd Barrett NM/NM (The 45 single has a seam split) $88
https://www.discogs.com/release/28522522-Syd-Barrett-The-Solo-Works-Of-Syd-Barrett-?ev=item-vc
The Beach Boys – Smiley Smile NM/NM $75
https://www.discogs.com/release/9073465-The-Beach-Boys-Smiley-Smile
Black Sabbath – Reunion NM/NM $45
https://www.discogs.com/release/28571212-Black-Sabbath-Reunion
Blind Melon - Blind Melon NM/NM $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/4493495-Blind-Melon-Blind-Melon
Blood, Sweat & Tears – Self titled VG/VG $3
https://www.discogs.com/release/3367691-Blood-Sweat-And-Tears-Blood-Sweat-And-Tears
Blur - The Ballad of Darren (Blue vinyl) NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/27750243-Blur-The-Ballad-Of-Darren
Bread - Baby I'm-A Want You VG/VG $3
https://www.discogs.com/release/1578998-Bread-Baby-Im-A-Want-You
The Buckinghams – Greatest Hits VG+/VG+ $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/876803-The-Buckinghams-Greatest-Hits
The Charlatans – Different Days NM/NM $12
https://www.discogs.com/sell/item/2754539884
The Church – FurtheDeeper NM/EX $78
https://www.discogs.com/release/7238861-The-Church-FurtherDeeper
David Crosby – For Free NM/NM $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/22223533-David-Crosby-For-Free
Crosby, Stills & Nash – Crosby, Stills & Nash NM/EX $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/25455337-Crosby-Stills-Nash-Crosby-Stills-Nash
Derek And The Dominos – Layla And Other Assorted VG+/VG+ $35
https://www.discogs.com/release/1306997-Derek-And-The-Dominos-Layla-And-Other-Assorted-Love-Songs
DMA's -For Now NM/NM $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/11924334-DMAs-For-Now
DMA's - I Love You Unconditionally NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/20371672-DMAs-I-Love-You-Unconditionally-Sure-Am-Going-To-Miss-You
The Doobie Brothers – The Captain And Me. VG+/VG+. $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/18560596-The-Doobie-Brothers-The-Captain-And-Me
Doves - Universal Want NM/EX $55
https://www.discogs.com/release/15922232-Doves-The-Universal-Want
EL & P - Pictures At An Exhibition VG+/VG+ $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/4445497-Emerson-Lake-Palmer-Pictures-At-An-Exhibition
EL & P - Tarkus VG+/vG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/7694228-Emerson-Lake-Palmer-Tarkus
Ben Folds – What Matters Most Singed MN/NM $35
https://www.discogs.com/release/26455823-Ben-Folds-What-Matters-Most?ev=item-vc
Forest – Forest VG/VG $40
https://www.discogs.com/release/2430801-Forest-Forest?ev=item-vc
Graffiti – Graffiti NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/24742814-Graffiti-Graffiti
Grateful Dead – American Beauty NM/NM (opened, cleaned and not played) $48
https://www.discogs.com/release/30128726-Grateful-Dead-American-Beauty
Gypsybyrd - Eye Of The Sun NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/17592256-Gypsybyrd-Eye-Of-The-Sun
Gypsybyrd - Visions NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/23992589-Gypsybyrd-Visions
The Kinks - Pop Stars In Disguise NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/18319984-The-Kinks-Pop-Stars-In-Disguise
Lionel Limiñana & David Menke – The Ballad Of Linda L/The Devil Inside Me NM/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/23488313-Lionel-Limi%C3%B1ana-David-Menke-The-Ballad-Of-Linda-L-The-Devil-Inside-Me
Paul McCartney & Wings – Band On The Run EX/VG+ $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/4540878-Paul-McCartney-Wings-Band-On-The-Run
Moody Blues – Seventh Sojourn VG/VG $2
https://www.discogs.com/release/3345278-The-Moody-Blues-Seventh-Sojourn
Peter, Paul And Mary – Album 1700 NM/NM $60
https://www.discogs.com/release/24283970-Peter-Paul-And-Mary-Album-1700
Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here (CD) VG++/VG+ $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/729977-Pink-Floyd-Wish-You-Were-Here
Planet – Information Overload NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/22564604-Planet-Information-Overload
The Pretty Things - Box Set. NM/NM $290
https://www.discogs.com/release/26612645-The-Pretty-Things-The-Complete-Studio-Albums-1965-2020
Reverend & The Makers – Heatwave In The Cold North NM/NM $45
https://www.discogs.com/release/26918963-Reverend-And-The-Makers-Heatwave-In-The-Cold-North
Todd Rundgren - A Wizard, A True Star VG+/VG+ $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/380444-Todd-Rundgren-A-Wizard-A-True-Star
Todd Rundgren – Something / Anything? VG+/VG $28
https://www.discogs.com/release/19771591-Todd-Rundgren-Something-Anything
The Sherlocks – People Like Me & You (signed) NM/NM $55
https://www.discogs.com/release/27887013-The-Sherlocks-People-Like-Me-You
The Smile – A Light For Attracting Attention EX/NM $28 (Plays closer to NM, but grading EX)
https://www.discogs.com/release/23529293-The-Smile-A-Light-For-Attracting-Attention
Brue Springsteen - Lucky Town NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/12706383-Bruce-Springsteen-Lucky-Town
Brue Springsteen - Tunnel Of Love NM/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/12706339-Bruce-Springsteen-Tunnel-Of-Love
Steppenwolf - At Your Bday Party VG+/VG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/2697826-Steppenwolf-At-Your-Birthday-Party
Steppenwolf - Early Steppen VG+/VG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/4036665-Steppenwolf-Early-Steppenwolf
Steppenwolf - For Ladies VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/3090813-Steppenwolf-For-Ladies-Only
Steppenwolf - Hour Of The Wolf VG+/VG+ $8
https://www.discogs.com/release/2714940-Steppenwolf-Hour-Of-The-Wolf
Steppenwolf - Monster VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/10086841-Steppenwolf-Monster
Steppenwolf - Steppenwolf 7 VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/471410-Steppenwolf-Steppenwolf-7
Steve Miller - Number 5 VG+/VG $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/12304563-Steve-Miller-Band-Number-5
Steve Miller Band – Children Of The Future VG+/VG+ $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/20115676-Steve-Miller-Band-Children-Of-The-Future
Suede - Autofiction NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/25197715-The-London-Suede-Autofiction
Tears For Fears – The Hurting VG+/VG+ $40
https://www.discogs.com/release/23301-Tears-For-Fears-The-Hurting
Traffic – Studio Albums 67-74 NM/VG+ $115 (The covers have the glue issue the set has, they just need to be re-gluded)
https://www.discogs.com/release/13636262-Traffic-The-Studio-Albums-1967-1974
U2 – Songs Of Innocence NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/6173051-U2-Songs-Of-Innocence?ev=item-vc
U2 – No Line On The Horizon VG+/VG+ $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/1680455-U2-No-Line-On-The-Horizon?ev=item-vc
U2 – Songs Of Experience NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/11212071-U2-Songs-Of-Experience?ev=item-vc
Paul Weller – A Kind Revolution NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/10277601-Paul-Weller-A-Kind-Revolution
Paul Weller – Fat Pop (Volume 1) NM/NM $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/18705007-Paul-Weller-Fat-Pop-Volume-1
Paul Weller – Saturns Pattern NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/7027415-Paul-Weller-Saturns-Pattern
Paul Weller – True Meanings NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/12509150-Paul-Weller-True-Meanings
The Wild Thymes – Reflections NM/NM $28
https://www.discogs.com/release/22681934-The-Wild-Thymes-Reflections
Steven Wilson – Hand. Cannot. Erase. EX/NM $47
https://www.discogs.com/release/6678914-Steven-Wilson-Hand-Cannot-Erase
Steven Wilson – To The Bone EX/NM $50
https://www.discogs.com/release/10715967-Steven-Wilson-To-The-Bone
Neil Young + Promise Of The Real – Noise & Flowers NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/24093566-Neil-Young-Promise-Of-The-Real-Noise-Flowers
Neil Young With The Santa Monica Flyers – Somewhere Under The Rainbow (Nov. 5. 1973) EX/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/26762672-Neil-Young-With-The-Santa-Monica-Flyers-Somewhere-Under-The-Rainbow-Nov-5-1973
Neil Young + Crazy Horse – Fu##in' Up Sealed copy $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/30457400-Neil-Young-Crazy-Horse-Fuin-Up
submitted by vites70 to VinylCollectors [link] [comments]
Free shipping to the USA
Buy 1, get the second 25% off
Buy 2, get the third 50% off
Buy 3, get the fourth 75% off
Condition: vinyl / sleeve, link to the pressing is below
The Allman Brothers Band – Eat A Peach VG+/VG+ $32
https://www.discogs.com/release/1284784-The-Allman-Brothers-Band-Eat-A-Peach
America – America NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/18526771-America-America?ev=item-vc
The Association – Greatest Hits! VG+/VG+ $8
https://www.discogs.com/release/12053469-The-Association-Greatest-Hits
Aum – Resurrection VG/VG+ $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/616709-Aum-Resurrection
Badfinger - Magic Christian Music VG+/VG+ $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/10390165-Badfinger-Magic-Christian-Music
Badfinger - No Dice VG+/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/9969975-Badfinger-No-Dice
Syd Barrett – The Solo Works Of Syd Barrett NM/NM (The 45 single has a seam split) $88
https://www.discogs.com/release/28522522-Syd-Barrett-The-Solo-Works-Of-Syd-Barrett-?ev=item-vc
The Beach Boys – Smiley Smile NM/NM $75
https://www.discogs.com/release/9073465-The-Beach-Boys-Smiley-Smile
Black Sabbath – Reunion NM/NM $45
https://www.discogs.com/release/28571212-Black-Sabbath-Reunion
Blind Melon - Blind Melon NM/NM $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/4493495-Blind-Melon-Blind-Melon
Blood, Sweat & Tears – Self titled VG/VG $3
https://www.discogs.com/release/3367691-Blood-Sweat-And-Tears-Blood-Sweat-And-Tears
Blur - The Ballad of Darren (Blue vinyl) NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/27750243-Blur-The-Ballad-Of-Darren
Bread - Baby I'm-A Want You VG/VG $3
https://www.discogs.com/release/1578998-Bread-Baby-Im-A-Want-You
The Buckinghams – Greatest Hits VG+/VG+ $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/876803-The-Buckinghams-Greatest-Hits
The Charlatans – Different Days NM/NM $12
https://www.discogs.com/sell/item/2754539884
The Church – FurtheDeeper NM/EX $78
https://www.discogs.com/release/7238861-The-Church-FurtherDeeper
David Crosby – For Free NM/NM $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/22223533-David-Crosby-For-Free
Crosby, Stills & Nash – Crosby, Stills & Nash NM/EX $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/25455337-Crosby-Stills-Nash-Crosby-Stills-Nash
Derek And The Dominos – Layla And Other Assorted VG+/VG+ $35
https://www.discogs.com/release/1306997-Derek-And-The-Dominos-Layla-And-Other-Assorted-Love-Songs
DMA's -For Now NM/NM $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/11924334-DMAs-For-Now
DMA's - I Love You Unconditionally NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/20371672-DMAs-I-Love-You-Unconditionally-Sure-Am-Going-To-Miss-You
The Doobie Brothers – The Captain And Me. VG+/VG+. $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/18560596-The-Doobie-Brothers-The-Captain-And-Me
Doves - Universal Want NM/EX $55
https://www.discogs.com/release/15922232-Doves-The-Universal-Want
EL & P - Pictures At An Exhibition VG+/VG+ $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/4445497-Emerson-Lake-Palmer-Pictures-At-An-Exhibition
EL & P - Tarkus VG+/vG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/7694228-Emerson-Lake-Palmer-Tarkus
Ben Folds – What Matters Most Singed MN/NM $35
https://www.discogs.com/release/26455823-Ben-Folds-What-Matters-Most?ev=item-vc
Forest – Forest VG/VG $40
https://www.discogs.com/release/2430801-Forest-Forest?ev=item-vc
Graffiti – Graffiti NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/24742814-Graffiti-Graffiti
Grateful Dead – American Beauty NM/NM (opened, cleaned and not played) $48
https://www.discogs.com/release/30128726-Grateful-Dead-American-Beauty
Gypsybyrd - Eye Of The Sun NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/17592256-Gypsybyrd-Eye-Of-The-Sun
Gypsybyrd - Visions NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/23992589-Gypsybyrd-Visions
The Kinks - Pop Stars In Disguise NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/18319984-The-Kinks-Pop-Stars-In-Disguise
Lionel Limiñana & David Menke – The Ballad Of Linda L/The Devil Inside Me NM/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/23488313-Lionel-Limi%C3%B1ana-David-Menke-The-Ballad-Of-Linda-L-The-Devil-Inside-Me
Paul McCartney & Wings – Band On The Run EX/VG+ $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/4540878-Paul-McCartney-Wings-Band-On-The-Run
Moody Blues – Seventh Sojourn VG/VG $2
https://www.discogs.com/release/3345278-The-Moody-Blues-Seventh-Sojourn
Peter, Paul And Mary – Album 1700 NM/NM $60
https://www.discogs.com/release/24283970-Peter-Paul-And-Mary-Album-1700
Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here (CD) VG++/VG+ $70
https://www.discogs.com/release/729977-Pink-Floyd-Wish-You-Were-Here
Planet – Information Overload NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/22564604-Planet-Information-Overload
The Pretty Things - Box Set. NM/NM $290
https://www.discogs.com/release/26612645-The-Pretty-Things-The-Complete-Studio-Albums-1965-2020
Reverend & The Makers – Heatwave In The Cold North NM/NM $45
https://www.discogs.com/release/26918963-Reverend-And-The-Makers-Heatwave-In-The-Cold-North
Todd Rundgren - A Wizard, A True Star VG+/VG+ $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/380444-Todd-Rundgren-A-Wizard-A-True-Star
Todd Rundgren – Something / Anything? VG+/VG $28
https://www.discogs.com/release/19771591-Todd-Rundgren-Something-Anything
The Sherlocks – People Like Me & You (signed) NM/NM $55
https://www.discogs.com/release/27887013-The-Sherlocks-People-Like-Me-You
The Smile – A Light For Attracting Attention EX/NM $28 (Plays closer to NM, but grading EX)
https://www.discogs.com/release/23529293-The-Smile-A-Light-For-Attracting-Attention
Brue Springsteen - Lucky Town NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/12706383-Bruce-Springsteen-Lucky-Town
Brue Springsteen - Tunnel Of Love NM/VG+ $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/12706339-Bruce-Springsteen-Tunnel-Of-Love
Steppenwolf - At Your Bday Party VG+/VG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/2697826-Steppenwolf-At-Your-Birthday-Party
Steppenwolf - Early Steppen VG+/VG+ $6
https://www.discogs.com/release/4036665-Steppenwolf-Early-Steppenwolf
Steppenwolf - For Ladies VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/3090813-Steppenwolf-For-Ladies-Only
Steppenwolf - Hour Of The Wolf VG+/VG+ $8
https://www.discogs.com/release/2714940-Steppenwolf-Hour-Of-The-Wolf
Steppenwolf - Monster VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/10086841-Steppenwolf-Monster
Steppenwolf - Steppenwolf 7 VG+/VG+ $7
https://www.discogs.com/release/471410-Steppenwolf-Steppenwolf-7
Steve Miller - Number 5 VG+/VG $5
https://www.discogs.com/release/12304563-Steve-Miller-Band-Number-5
Steve Miller Band – Children Of The Future VG+/VG+ $10
https://www.discogs.com/release/20115676-Steve-Miller-Band-Children-Of-The-Future
Suede - Autofiction NM/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/25197715-The-London-Suede-Autofiction
Tears For Fears – The Hurting VG+/VG+ $40
https://www.discogs.com/release/23301-Tears-For-Fears-The-Hurting
Traffic – Studio Albums 67-74 NM/VG+ $115 (The covers have the glue issue the set has, they just need to be re-gluded)
https://www.discogs.com/release/13636262-Traffic-The-Studio-Albums-1967-1974
U2 – Songs Of Innocence NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/6173051-U2-Songs-Of-Innocence?ev=item-vc
U2 – No Line On The Horizon VG+/VG+ $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/1680455-U2-No-Line-On-The-Horizon?ev=item-vc
U2 – Songs Of Experience NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/11212071-U2-Songs-Of-Experience?ev=item-vc
Paul Weller – A Kind Revolution NM/NM $18
https://www.discogs.com/release/10277601-Paul-Weller-A-Kind-Revolution
Paul Weller – Fat Pop (Volume 1) NM/NM $15
https://www.discogs.com/release/18705007-Paul-Weller-Fat-Pop-Volume-1
Paul Weller – Saturns Pattern NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/7027415-Paul-Weller-Saturns-Pattern
Paul Weller – True Meanings NM/NM $25
https://www.discogs.com/release/12509150-Paul-Weller-True-Meanings
The Wild Thymes – Reflections NM/NM $28
https://www.discogs.com/release/22681934-The-Wild-Thymes-Reflections
Steven Wilson – Hand. Cannot. Erase. EX/NM $47
https://www.discogs.com/release/6678914-Steven-Wilson-Hand-Cannot-Erase
Steven Wilson – To The Bone EX/NM $50
https://www.discogs.com/release/10715967-Steven-Wilson-To-The-Bone
Neil Young + Promise Of The Real – Noise & Flowers NM/NM $14
https://www.discogs.com/release/24093566-Neil-Young-Promise-Of-The-Real-Noise-Flowers
Neil Young With The Santa Monica Flyers – Somewhere Under The Rainbow (Nov. 5. 1973) EX/NM $20
https://www.discogs.com/release/26762672-Neil-Young-With-The-Santa-Monica-Flyers-Somewhere-Under-The-Rainbow-Nov-5-1973
Neil Young + Crazy Horse – Fu##in' Up Sealed copy $30
https://www.discogs.com/release/30457400-Neil-Young-Crazy-Horse-Fuin-Up
2024.05.09 21:57 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1] : nosleep (reddit.com)
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
submitted by CIAHerpes to nosleep [link] [comments]
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.
2024.05.09 20:21 KMan93 [USA] [H] Consoles/Games/Accessories Japanese Stuff, Nintendo, Playstation, Xbox, Sega [W] PayPal
Only accepting PayPal F&F
Bundles take priority
Shipping not included in listed price
As long as the package is light (first class), we can add $5 for shipping. If it's heavier then I'll have to calculate it out for you.
Consoles and Games are fully tested and working unless otherwise noted.
Pictures can be found at the top of each table.
Don't be afraid to shoot me an offer on anything, worst I can do is say no! Please comment before dm'ing!
submitted by KMan93 to GameSale [link] [comments]
Bundles take priority
Shipping not included in listed price
As long as the package is light (first class), we can add $5 for shipping. If it's heavier then I'll have to calculate it out for you.
Consoles and Games are fully tested and working unless otherwise noted.
Pictures can be found at the top of each table.
Don't be afraid to shoot me an offer on anything, worst I can do is say no! Please comment before dm'ing!
| FREEBIES(with purchase) | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Dualsense Shell and Assorted Buttons (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| Gameboy Cartridge Shell - Blue (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| Gameboy Cartridge Shell - Clear (Repro) | Free with purchase | |
| GBA Console Manual (Japanese) | Free with purchase | |
| PS2 System Manual - SCPH-79001 | Free with purchase | |
| Wii Stand - OEM | Free with purchase |
| MISCELLANEOUS | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Club Nintendo Mario and Friends Pin Badge Set | 10 | Pins were never used |
| CONSOLES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Gameboy Color - Atomic Purple | 60 | X2 |
| Gundam Char Red Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 550 shipped | Modded with Picoboot (will play USA discs), BlueRetro bluetooth internal adapter and SD2SP2. Comes with CIB Gundam Special Disc, CIB Cosmic Red PS5 controller, black Gameboy Player, all hookups, and 1 OEM memory card. AV cable is seemingly unused and will come in its original box. I'll throw in an unopened 3rd party s-video cable and a couple Japanese games as well! |
| Indigo Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) - Slightly discolored | 90 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Black Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 100 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Black Gamecube 001 Console (Japanese) | 100 shipped | Xeno installed, will play USA discs. Fresh Date/time battery installed. New yellow LED installed. Comes with all hookups, 1 OEM matching controller, 1 OEM memory card and 2 Japanese Gamecube games. |
| Pokemon Zacian Zamazenta Switch Lite | 200 shipped | Probably used about 5 times total. CIB, great condition, comes with screen protector installed and white carrying case. |
| Xbox 360 Console | 60 shipped | 60gb external hdd with internal 4gb. All hookups, 2 OEM white wireless controllers (with black battery pack covers) |
| Sega Genesis Model 1 Console (High Definition) | 50 shipped | 1 Controller, power adapter and RF cable. Crack in case. I'll throw in the boxed Retro-Bit controller that I have listed below if you want it. |
| JAPANESE GAMEBOY/GBC GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Kirby Dreamland 2 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Red (Japanese) | 10 | Loose, new battery |
| Pokemon Red (Japanese) | 65 | CIB |
| Pokemon Yellow (Japanese) | 65 | CIB |
| Pokemon Silver (Japanese) | 35 | CIB |
| Pokemon Crystal (Japanese) | 70 | CIB |
| Puyo Puyo (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Tamagotchi 2 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| GAMEBOY ADVANCE/SP ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| GBA to GameCube Link Cable (DOL-011) | 15 | X2 |
| SMB3 e-Reader card | 5 | Super Mario Bros 3 - Super Leaf (Power-Up Card) |
| JAPANESE GAMEBOY ADVANCE/SP GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa Dream Champ Tournament (Japanese) | 60 | CIB. Fairly certain it is brand new. |
| Super Mario Bros. - Famicom Mini Series (Japanese) | 15 | CIB |
| DS | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Kirby Squeak Squad -- Case Only | 10 | 'Subscribe to Nintendo Power' insert |
| NES GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Super Mario Bros. | 10 | Loose |
| Super Mario Bros. 3 | 10 | Loose |
| SNES/SUPER FAMICOM ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| SNES Controller | 10 | |
| Super Famicom Controller | 10 |
| SNES GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Super Gameboy | 20 | Loose |
| Mortal Kombat 2 | 10 | Loose |
| Mortal Kombat 3 | 10 | Loose |
| X-Men Mutant Apocalypse | 15 | Loose |
| SUPER FAMICOM GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Super Gameboy (Japanese) | 12 | Loose |
| Super Gameboy 2 (Japanese) | 40 | Loose |
| Dragonball Z Super Butoden (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Final Fantasy IV (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Front Mission: Gun Hazard (Japanese) | 25 | CIB |
| Ganbare Goemon 2: Kiteretsu Shogun (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Kirby's Dreamland 3 (Japanese) | 20 | Loose |
| Magical Quest starring Mickey (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Rockman's Soccer (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Rockman X2 (Japanese) | 15 | Loose |
| Super Bomberman (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Super Mario RPG (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Super Momotaro Densetsu DX (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Super Puyo Puyo | 10 | CIB |
| Wagyan Paradise (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Island (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Island (Japanese) | 30 | CIB |
| Yu Yu Hakusho (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| N64 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Mario Party 3 | 45 | Loose |
| Rampage World Tour | 15 | Loose |
| JAPANESE N64 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Banjo Kazooie (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Bomberman 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Donkey Kong 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Mario Kart 64 (Japanese) | 10 | Loose |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Paper Mario (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Snap (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Pokemon Stadium (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Star Fox 64 (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| Yoshi's Story (Japanese) | 5 | Loose |
| GAMECUBE ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Club Nintendo Memory Card - Half White/Half Blue | 30 | |
| GameCube to GBA Link Cable (DOL-011) | 15 | |
| Black Controller (Japanese) | 50 | CIB, new, open box. |
| White OEM Controller | 60 | Long cable |
| Emerald Blue OEM Controller | 45 | |
| Indigo/Clear OEM Controller | 20 | Discolored |
| Indigo OEM Controller | 25 | X2 |
| Black OEM Controller | 25 | X3 |
| Silver OEM Controller | 25 | X5 |
| GAMECUBE GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Viewtiful Joe | 15 | Loose |
| JAPANESE GAMECUBE GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Party 4 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Party 5 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Mario Tennis (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Mega Man Network Transmission (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 2 (Japanese) | 5 | Game and case only |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 4 (Japanese) | 5 | CIB, missing slipcover |
| Naruto: Clash of Ninja 4 (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| SD Gundam Gashapon Wars (Japanese) | 10 | CIB |
| Sonic Adventure 2 Battle (Japanese) | 15 | CIB |
| Super Smash Bros (Japanese) | 10 | X2 - Game and case only |
| Wii GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa | 25 | No manual |
| Wii Sports | 15 | CIB (sleeve) |
| Wii Sports Resort | 15 | CIB |
| Wii U GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Wipeout: Create & Crash | 5 | Game in Wii U case with game store artwork |
| SWITCH ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Switch AC Adapter | 10 | |
| Zelda Switch Lite Carrying Case | 10 |
| SWITCH GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Castlevania Anniversary Collection (Bloodlines Edition, Limited Run) | 70 | Sealed |
| XBOX 360 GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| NCAA Football 13 | 15 | CIB. Disc is scratched but I was able to start the game and play it. |
| XBOX ONE GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Xbox One Controller | 15 | |
| Xbox One S Controller | 20 | |
| Assassin's Creed Unity - Limited Edition | 2 | CIB |
| Doom | 5 | CIB |
| Dragonball Xenoverse | 5 | No inserts |
| Lego Dimensions | 12 | CIB |
| Mortal Kombat X | 5 | CIB |
| Sekiro Shadows Die Twice | 25 | CIB |
| Wolfenstein 2 | 4 | CIB |
| PSP GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| One Piece Romance Dawn (Japanese) | 10 | Sealed |
| PS1 ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Gray Dualshock Controller | 10 | |
| Gray Memory Card | 5 | |
| Gray Memory Card with Game Sticker | 15 | X11, most come in official Sony protective case, various game stickers on these cards (Melty Lancer, Final Fantasy VII, Persona, Angel Graffiti, Bastard, Heroine Dream, Final Fantasy Tactics, Arc The Lad, Wizard's Harmony, Xenogears, Saga Frontier) |
| Light Gray Memory Card | 10 for both | X2 |
| Emerald Memory Card | 8 | X3 |
| Lemon Yellow (Clear Yellow) Memory Card with SD Gundam G Generation Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Crimson Red (Clear Red) Memory Card with Devil May Cry Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Emerald (Clear Green) Memory Card with Dragon Quest VII Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| Crystal White (Clear White) Memory Card with Chrono Cross Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| White Memory Card with Dragon Quest VII Sticker | 15 | Comes in official Sony protective case |
| PS1 GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Klonoa Door To Phantomile (Japanese) | 25 | CIB |
| Grand Theft Auto [Collector's Edition] | 200 | Sealed |
| Tekken 3 [Greatest Hits] | 100 | Sealed |
| Contra Adventure | 15 | Loose |
| Mortal Kombat Trilogy | 20 | Loose |
| Pocket Fighter | 16 | Loose with gutted manual |
| Ridge Racer Revolution | 15 | CIB |
| Street Fighter Alpha 3 | 12 | X2, Loose |
| Super Puzzle Fighter II Turbo | 15 | Loose with gutted manual |
| PS2 ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Midnight Blue Controller | 25 | |
| Black Controller | 15 | X2 |
| Black Memory Card with FMCB Installed | 10 | |
| Black Memory Card | 5 | |
| Black Memory Cards with Various Game Stickers | 10 | X6 - Final Fantasy X, Ridge Racer, Dragon Quest VIII |
| White Memory Card | 12 | |
| Island Blue Memory Card | 10 | |
| Emerald Green Memory Card with Dragon Quest VIII Sticker | 10 | Looks like plastic is cracked near the screw holes |
| Crimson Red Memory Card | 5 | Has a little bit of damage on the front |
| Lemon Yellow Memory Card | 15 | |
| Midnight Blue Memory Card | 20 | X2 |
| Midnight Blue Memory Card with Battle Stadium DON Sticker | 20 | |
| Zen Black (Clear) Memory Card | 15 | |
| Fujiwork Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 6 different colors - Gold, Red, Teal, Blue |
| Kemco Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 4 different colors - White, Red, Teal, and Black |
| Hori Memory Card | 5 | Pick from 2 different colors - Clear Black/Clear, and White |
| PS2 GAMES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| .Hack Mutation Part 2 | 20 | Boxed, no manual |
| Dragonball Z Budokai Tenkaichi | 10 | Boxed, no manual |
| Namco Museum 50th Anniversary (Greatest Hits) | 10 | CIB |
| PS3 GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Sixaxis Controller - Black | 5 | Missing a few screws from the back |
| Playstation Eye | 5 | |
| Playstation Move Controller | 15 | |
| Rocksmith (Big Box with Cable) | 25 | CIB with cable |
| PS4 GAMES/ACCESSORIES | PRICES | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Red Dualshock 4 Controller | 22 | |
| Bloodstained Curse of the Moon 2 (Classic Edition, Limited Run) | 60 | Sealed |
| Pocky and Rocky Reshrined | 15 | CIB |
| GENESIS ACCESSORIES/GAMES | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Retro-bit Super Retro Gen Controller | 6 | Boxed |
| 6-Pak | 5 | Loose |
| Aaahh!! Real Monsters | 15 | CIB |
| Bubsy | 10 | Boxed, missing manual |
| Bugs Bunny in Double Trouble | 8 | Boxed, missing manual |
| Decap Attack | 15 | Loose |
| Game Genie | 20 | Black label, comes with original manual. Loose |
| Game Genie | 15 | X2, gold label. Loose |
| Ghouls 'N Ghosts | 25 | Loose |
| Golden Axe II | 16 | Loose |
| Lakers vs. Celtics and the NBA Playoffs | 3 | Loose |
| Pac Man 2 The New Adventures | 8 | Cardboard box, CIB |
| Sonic & Knuckles | 20 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog | 10 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog (Not for Resale) | 10 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 2 | 8 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (Not For Resale) | 8 | Loose |
| Sonic the Hedgehog 3 | 15 | Loose |
| Spiderman Maximum Carnage | 12 | Loose |
| Super Monaco GP II | 16 | CIB |
| Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 | 20 | Loose |
| Vectorman | 20 | Cardboard box, no manual |
| X-Men | 5 | Loose |
| DREAMCAST | PRICE | NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Caution Seaman | 50 | CIB, no mic |
2024.05.09 20:07 _chobit ⊹ Welcome and FAQ ⊹
 | Welcome to SuperDollfie! submitted by _chobit to superdollfie [link] [comments] Before posting, please read our RULES and the FAQ below: What is a Super Dollfie? A Super Dollfie is a resin ball jointed doll (BJD) created by VOLKS, a Japanese company that also creates hobby products such as garage kits. You can read more about them on the VOLKS USA Store, Wiki page, and Den of Angels! What are the different sizes of Super Dollfie? Please note: MSD = SDM This is an older image with a bit of outdated information, but it is the best example I could find for the full line of Super Dollfie sizes in comparison to one another. Measurements
Standard Model: Certain sculpts are available for purchase any time in the VOLKS stores. Each sculpt has a run for a certain length of time, then are discontinued as new sculpts are added. Standard Models are a full set and come with eyes, the standard face up (makeup), a random wig, the standard outfit that is pictured, and box/paperwork. Limited Model: Typically event specific, lottery based, and/or limited store runs. Come as a full set with everything exactly as pictured (limited outfit, wig, eyes, faceup (makeup), etc. Sometimes the limited outfits and accessories can be purchased separately from VOLKS, but sometimes they are exclusive only along with the doll. One-Off: aka "one-of-a-kind" Super Dollfie. They include everything pictured with them, including a unique outfit not available for purchase. Each face up (makeup) is done by and signed by a revered VOLKS face up artist. Lottery only. Coordinate Model: Similar to a One-Off and Limited Model, they have a unique face up but include clothing that is available to purchase on the website. Everything photographed is what's included with a Coordinate Model. Typically lottery only. Full Choice System: A one of a kind custom Super Dollfie where every part is picked by the customer, including the sculpt, body type, resin color, face up (makeup), hands/feet style, etc. Takes a few months from ordering to receive. Exclusive to Japan only and the USA during limited timed FCS openings. Where can I buy a Super Dollfie and accessories? You can purchase an official Super Dollfie as well as clothing and supplies online from VOLKS Japan (ships internationally, multi-lingual) and VOLKS USA (ships to US, Canada, and Mexico) or in person at their stores in Japan and California, USA. There are also many other places to shop for clothing, accessories, and even places to buy Super Dollfie secondhand. Den of Angels has a wonderful Shopping Resource List and there are community based Facebook Groups, Discords, and sale/auction platforms. Please be careful when buying secondhand, use discretion, and verify what you are buying is an official Super Dollfie and not a recast (counterfeit). What is the Full Choice System? / How do I buy a custom Super Dollfie? There are multiple locations that offer customers the option to order a custom Super Dollfie. You can do this through VOLKS USA (in person and online) when they have openings (follow their News for updates), in Japan at Tenshi no Sato, and Tenshi no Sumika, and Tenshi no Mado (a Japanese shipping address is required, so international customers need to use a Proxy Service to order unless they will be in Japan during the months it will take to receive the order.) What is a Dollfie Dream? Similar to the Super Dollfie, Dollfie Dream are also made by VOLKS but they are made of vinyl and have different measurements/proportions. While this group does not include Dollfie Dream for discussion, you can on BJD and the Doll Dreaming Forum! |