Infected hair follicle pictures

I (27F) last last winter (2022) wrote a long letter to my mom. I poured my heart into it, I cried the whole time writing it. I showed it to my husband to make sure I wasn’t being too mean in my writing towards my mom. I showed it to my stepsister to again make sure it was okay and made sense and to get emotional support (I’m Mexican and I didn’t want to push too far because i understand how deep generational trauma is and the parent child dynamic) I even showed it to my stepdad who immediately called me apologizing for the things I wrote in the letter (which I will get into in a moment) and was telling me about how he will divorce her (I didn’t want that and made me feel shitty) and explained why some scenarios ended up the way they did. Everyone encouraged me to send it. I was so confident that my mom was going to read it and drive over ? Write back? Call me. Something ! So I mailed it. (I mailed it because I instantly cry every time I try talking to her in person about not surface level things, it would of been easier getting words out especially when having to translate to Spanish)
In the letter I wrote about:
-Feeling emotionally neglected -the name calling my mom would do (calling me “retarded” and mimicking noises and movements of people with disability towards me among other things -My uncle being a pedo and scaring me into not saying anything to them, i later said something to a friend in HS who went to the counselor who called the police and I made up a person to protect my uncle, I was then grounded for over a year. -the carpet in my bedroom always being wet when it rained which is a lot where I live ruining my feet with a fungal infection that was just ignored (i understand it was a money issue but the hurt remains) -being blamed for high utility bills n being expensive for needing braces -my boyfriend in high school being suicidal when I would try to break up with him and hurting that I couldn’t go to them for help -saying that I tried to hit her to my dad when I moved out of the way of her too quickly and making a scene about it leaving me confused -understanding that i understand she probably had a rough childhood and that all I wanted was a normal mother daughter relationship
That’s pretty much the gist among a bunch of other little things that really hurt me and I explained that it was hard to form a relationship with her in my adulthood and trust her with my kids until we addressed these things. I wanted to be acknowledged. Not even an apology really. But a conversation. I wanted to understand her more because I literally don’t know anything about her. We would never talk unless it was to eat dinner or clean something. I was always in my room during that time.
I waited a few weeks, my stepsister would visit them here and there and tell me how my mom appears sad? And maybe she needed more time.
A few months pass by I see my mom smiling in Hawaii having a good time.
At this point I’m in therapy because I’m losing hair from the stress of this and severely depressed.
Fall comes around and I finally go to visit with the encouragement of my husband, stepsister and stepdad. She acts like I’m not even there. This makes me angry. At one point my mom goes outside to smoke a cigarette im at the table with everyone and I start just talking about the hurts again, I say my mom is a narcissistic. My mom comes back inside. And for an hour. I’m complaining and she’s in the living room a few feet away saying absolutely nothing.
I leave feeling so weird. So lonely? We are now I’m 2024. I don’t have a relationship with her or my step dad really. I had to block her because she would go to Hawaii again and just living her life having a great time I was trying not to be bitter. Or angry. My step sister and step dad eventually started to question how legitimate my statements were it was so painful being misunderstood. Being told that that’s just the mom that I have. Being told that things were maybe my fault for having a problem with everything (I would always speak up when my parents would be racist and things)
I few months ago I did send her a text as a final effort. I asked why she never responded. If she wants to just leave this alone that’s okay and I will move on. And she told me that all that was on the letters were complaints. And told me about how when I was 20 I made a comment on a Facebook post about bad parenting and how everyone saw. About how embarrassed she was when people reached out to her. About how I wrote that I felt like I was in a dark environment. I didn’t know everyone saw it. I apologized for that. She told me to come over to talk because she personally has some complains about me. But she never acknowledged me. I didn’t want to go, to feel yelled at and again taken back to being a child getting yelled at.
I’m currently feeling grief. Mistrust to my family. Lonely. Jealous? About how my other siblings seem to be having a better time. How do I move on from feeling misunderstood. I feel like everyone is okay and I’m abandoned. I feel guilt for pulling my small family away from them from how hurt I am. Most times I’m okay until I see my stepsister at a family gathering that I’m never invited to. And then I’m back again to being a lonely child.

What the title says.
Basically, I've been crushing hard on this girl who I'll call R that I met one day by chance due to our paths colliding. I remember one day about 2 months or so ago I saw her and 4 others talking outside one of the study rooms in the library. I had just finished meeting with the board games club I was in so I decided to approach the group since I had never seen them and because this girl made my heart skip a beat when I saw her for the first time.
Anyway, I approach them and discovered that they were a pre-med fraternity and then we all kinda shared our majors and such and had a nice round of small talk. I tell them that I'm majoring in Geography with a concentration and minoring in economics with the hope of eventually being an urban planner or ecological consultant and they all think it is cool and then, one of the pre med people says they're majoring on biochemistry and I make the joke that he's going to end up polluting or contaminating the city I work for or smth like that which ends making the whole group laugh, including R and she generally seems to enjoy my presence albeit in a non romantic way since... we had just met so I wasn't too deeply into her other than thinking ahe was pretty.
Anyway, I had to leave due to unrelated reasons and I left feeling good since I had just met some new people and because I made R laugh. Some time passes and even though I continue my life and such and I generally move on but for some reason in my unconscious mind whenever I pictured the scenario of having a loving gf, I would always picture R as being my lover which confused me since we had barely met. Anyway, after some time, I sort of admitted that I liked her and I look up the fraternity she's in and found R and some stuff about her via the fraternity's instagram and, on the advice of my cousin, I email the fraternity if they'd want to do a joint meeting with the board games club as like a fun stress relief activity since my cousin explained that when she was in college she would invite groups over for joint meetings with the clubs she was in.
Anyway, When im reading the stuff on insta, my minds going like "what the fuck, she's so similar to me" since she's majoring in public health and minoring in sociology which while those are different from what I'm studying exactly, they're pretty similar and we would have a lot to talk about if we ever went on a date since our interests seemed to align. I also discover via the same post actually that, like me, she likes her field since it gives her the chance to learn new things all the time, which is something I also think about my field, hobbies and life in general. Anyway, ik it may be weird but I felt like we were really similar people in terms of values and shit like that which, combined with her being absolutely stunning, made me begin to really like her. Anyway, I later looked up her name out of curiosity and discovered via her LinkedIn and a post my university made about her and some other pre med people and I discover that... like me, she also wants to eventually work internationally, wants to help others, and wants ti use her discipline to teach members of the public about her field to help make the world a better place. I remember after that I took my family's dog for a walk and I was just kind of emotionally paralyzed and repeating the phrase "what the fuck" in my head over and over since I wasn't expecting her to be that similar to me.
Later on, I also discovered via the same insta post as before that, as a hobby, R is also part of a Bollywood dance group at our college which, while I'm not particularly interested in dance or that style of music, is still a green flag for me since, as my joined subreddits and some posts of mine suggest, I'm an avid drummer and love to listen to and play music and even though my favorite styles are more prog and groove based stuff like jazz, djent, funk, progressive metal, fusion, latin music, samba, kletzmer(I'm also jewish and have fond memories of hearing that music when I was younger) and a pinch of Indian classical music, I can still very much use our hobbies relating to music as a fun conversation starter.
After I sent the email to the medical frat, some more time goes by and one of the members responds to me and says that the frat is doing a games thing at a local coffee shop. When I found that out, I just about jumped for joy since I thought R would be there since she was important in the frat. Anyway, I go there and she isn't there due to coincidence and whatever and I still have fun but I'm also on the verge of tears because I had been looking forward to getting the chance to talk to her in a low-key, friendly way to see where it would go.
After that, about a week passes and I'm talking about this whole thing with my therapist and how the unknown aspect of it was bothering me and she suggested that I email the person who invited to the games thing and see if him, R and others would want to hang out once finals were over and kind of see where it goes with R and because of this, I emailed the person who invited me out and now here we are.
I know my story's long but I just really adore this person so I remember even the small details of our interactions, learning about her and finding ways to meet her again but anyway, it's gushing time!
She's soooooo fucking pretty!!!!! She has this beautiful jet black hair that perfectly compliments her beautiful brown eyes and her smile could make the Mariana trench look like a disco club since it is so radiant and lovely😍. She's also sooo intelligent and I absolutely love her values and the way she wants to make the world better and help people❤️ I also can't help but marvel at how driven she is as a person too since I can relate and because I've always liked women who are intelligent and independent❤️ Lastly, she also seems like such a nice person since she was so easy to talk to during our first interaction and I just imagine us talking for hours🥰
In terms of imagining her and I and my dreams with this, I always imagine us just enjoying each other's company, us going to each other's events to support one another, us supporting each other through tough times, us communicating openly and honestly and being the type of couple who always talks things out and never goes to bed angry since we're nearly always able to work past our problems in a diplomatic way that works for both of us equally, me laying my head on her lap or vice versa while we watch movies and such, us just enjoying each other's company, her laying her head on my chest or vice versa, us doing it(this is reddit lol), and us generally just being an egalitarian, honest, communication based and happy couple😍😍😍

Back in 2017, my brother Brian died in a horrific car accident. Both of our parents had died earlier so this was huge to me.
Fast forward to earlier this year, I get a private message off FB from this girl asking me if I was Brian's brother. I was said yes. He passed away. She said that she was the mother of his son. I said he didn't have any kids. She said he had hooked up with her before he died. She showed me pictures and this boy was an absolute deadringer for my brother. Everything. The blonde hair, blue eyes, cleft chin. Then I'm quickly reminded of my brother's face and how he had no nose and his head looked like a pumpkin.
I said if what she said was true then why reach out and what did she want. She said she didn't find out that she was pregnant months after Brian died and didn't know how or if she should reach out to me so basically she had the baby and had her family help raise him. She said "Landon" is almost 7 and asking lots of questions about his dad. He knows he passed away and has an uncle. He would like to meet me and see where it goes.
This kid is so much like my brother. He's very social, sporty and funny. She said that she'd love for me to meet him on Friday at a park. I haven't gotten back to her. It'd be like seeing my brother all over again. Me and my brother were tight. I don't know if I'd cry or be cool. This kid could be the best thing that ever happened to me or the most traumatizing thing.
BTW this is legit. I checked my brother's cell and sure enough they had a booty meetings around the time she would had gotten pregnant. She said she doesn't need or want money but Landon needs to know his father's side.

I (27F) last last winter (2022) wrote a long letter to my mom. I poured my heart into it, I cried the whole time writing it. I showed it to my husband to make sure I wasn’t being too mean in my writing towards my mom. I showed it to my stepsister to again make sure it was okay and made sense and to get emotional support (I’m Mexican and I didn’t want to push too far because i understand how deep generational trauma is and the parent child dynamic) I even showed it to my stepdad who immediately called me apologizing for the things I wrote in the letter (which I will get into in a moment) and was telling me about how he will divorce her (I didn’t want that and made me feel shitty) and explained why some scenarios ended up the way they did. Everyone encouraged me to send it. I was so confident that my mom was going to read it and drive over ? Write back? Call me. Something ! So I mailed it. (I mailed it because I instantly cry every time I try talking to her in person about not surface level things, it would of been easier getting words out especially when having to translate to Spanish)
In the letter I wrote about:
-Feeling emotionally neglected -the name calling my mom would do (calling me “retarded” and mimicking noises and movements of people with disability towards me among other things -My uncle being a pedo and scaring me into not saying anything to them, i later said something to a friend in HS who went to the counselor who called the police and I made up a person to protect my uncle, I was then grounded for over a year. -the carpet in my bedroom always being wet when it rained which is a lot where I live ruining my feet with a fungal infection that was just ignored (i understand it was a money issue but the hurt remains) -being blamed for high utility bills n being expensive for needing braces -my boyfriend in high school being suicidal when I would try to break up with him and hurting that I couldn’t go to them for help -saying that I tried to hit her to my dad when I moved out of the way of her too quickly and making a scene about it leaving me confused -understanding that i understand she probably had a rough childhood and that all I wanted was a normal mother daughter relationship
That’s pretty much the gist among a bunch of other little things that really hurt me and I explained that it was hard to form a relationship with her in my adulthood and trust her with my kids until we addressed these things. I wanted to be acknowledged. Not even an apology really. But a conversation. I wanted to understand her more because I literally don’t know anything about her. We would never talk unless it was to eat dinner or clean something. I was always in my room during that time.
I waited a few weeks, my stepsister would visit them here and there and tell me how my mom appears sad? And maybe she needed more time.
A few months pass by I see my mom smiling in Hawaii having a good time.
At this point I’m in therapy because I’m losing hair from the stress of this and severely depressed.
Fall comes around and I finally go to visit with the encouragement of my husband, stepsister and stepdad. She acts like I’m not even there. This makes me angry. At one point my mom goes outside to smoke a cigarette im at the table with everyone and I start just talking about the hurts again, I say my mom is a narcissistic. My mom comes back inside. And for an hour. I’m complaining and she’s in the living room a few feet away saying absolutely nothing.
I leave feeling so weird. So lonely? We are now I’m 2024. I don’t have a relationship with her or my step dad really. I had to block her because she would go to Hawaii again and just living her life having a great time I was trying not to be bitter. Or angry. My step sister and step dad eventually started to question how legitimate my statements were it was so painful being misunderstood. Being told that that’s just the mom that I have. Being told that things were maybe my fault for having a problem with everything (I would always speak up when my parents would be racist and things)
I few months ago I did send her a text as a final effort. I asked why she never responded. If she wants to just leave this alone that’s okay and I will move on. And she told me that all that was on the letters were complaints. And told me about how when I was 20 I made a comment on a Facebook post about bad parenting and how everyone saw. About how embarrassed she was when people reached out to her. About how I wrote that I felt like I was in a dark environment. I didn’t know everyone saw it. I apologized for that. She told me to come over to talk because she personally has some complains about me. But she never acknowledged me. I didn’t want to go, to feel yelled at and again taken back to being a child getting yelled at.
I’m currently feeling grief. Mistrust to my family. Lonely. Jealous? About how my other siblings seem to be having a better time. How do I move on from feeling misunderstood. I feel like everyone is okay and I’m abandoned. I feel guilt for pulling my small family away from them from how hurt I am. Most times I’m okay until I see my stepsister at a family gathering that I’m never invited to. And then I’m back again to being a lonely child.

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 32:‌ ‌ The Pale Wanderer
Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1
Edited‌ ‌by‌ PatrollinTheMojave
 
Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon
 
Arc: Flesh and Bark‌ ‌
 ‌ ‌
‌  ‌ ‌
Then
An arc of purple lightning flashed across the night sky of the Boneyard, splitting the dark sky in twain as Capucine trudged across the ashy wastes of the realm. A cold gale ripped through the land, chilling the warrior to the bone, yet after centuries of time living in the Rot’s home realm, it felt identical to the ocean breeze that graced her every evening of her monastic childhood. Anxious, she fiddled with her leather armor, tightening every strap and support to make sure they were all in the right positions. She double checked that her sheath was properly tied to her belt, and that the steel sword within was sharp and clean.
He would catch up to her sooner or later, almost certainly before she made it to the portal. It wasn’t hard to pick that fact up. The Boneyard always became a little rougher when he wasn’t happy. She’d endeavored to spare him a difficult conversation, but perhaps that was too optimistic a hope. He was smart for someone his age, even if he’d made such a grave mistake.
Perhaps she was trying to spare herself the labor of having a conversation, rather than trying to keep the adolescent Avatar’s emotions in check. Perhaps she was just running from her problems, something she couldn’t remember ever doing before. Perhaps her ambitions to steer the young Avatar towards better decisions was the wrong choice on her part.
…No. Her advice was invaluable, she knew that much, and William Holland took that advice well. She just wasn’t in much of a position to give advice anymore.
Climbing atop an gray, dusty hill, Capucine gazed at the portal back to the physical world, composed of a miasma of swirling bones and inky fluids. To the unadjusted nose, it smelled absolutely foul, but to Capucine it smelled no different than the rest of the Boneyard. This was her ticket back, to somewhere where she’d do… something.
She didn’t know what that something was. In fact, she felt nauseous at the idea of wandering the world for centuries yet again with no real goal or purpose, though when considering the alternative, Capucine was ready to step right through the portal, even if her reason for leaving was so small in the grand scheme of things.
Breathless, Capucine took one step towards the portal, only for a boom of thunder to shake the realm. Capucine stopped dead in her tracks, sighing. William didn’t need to say anything to get her attention, as she turned around, coming face to face with the young Avatar.
He’d grown quite a bit in the three years she’d been advising him. His mane of red hair had regained some of its color, and across his pale face stood the beginnings of a beard, with bits of pronounced stubble around his chin and above his lips. He remained as gaunt as ever, yet he’d also grown much taller since his beginning as the Rot’s leader. He looked Capucine in the eyes, keeping his expression as blank as possible, “I got your note.”
Capucine narrowed her eyes, “So you did.”
William’s bottom lip quivered, “There’s no way I can change your mind…is there?”
“Not that I can see,” Capucine remarked.
William’s head drifted to the side as he attempted to avert his gaze, hiding his eyes from Capucine behind his wild hair. He choked back something, maybe a sob, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was a mistake.”
Capucine took a step forward, feeling the urge to console the boy, yet as she reached out towards him, she found herself frozen by trepidation. She was not a woman of gentle words, and this was a situation that called for them. Rescinding her hand, she stepped back towards the portal, “What’s done is done. I do not hate you, William Arcane, but I cannot stay here.”
Capucine turned her back on William, readying herself to step through the portal. She took one step, then another before William spoke once more, “Tefé.”
Capucine stopped, electing not to turn back and face the young Avatar. Realizing that she was waiting for him to continue, William spoke again, “My sister. I know her, she’s got a good heart, but she’s not like me. She’s not an Avatar. She could always use someone to watch her back.”
For a moment, Capucine did not answer, and the silence seemed to push William to take a few steps back. Turning, he began to walk away, unable to think of much else to say, when Capucine finally answered back, “If she is the sister of William Arcane…then I know her to be someone of good character. Your advice is invaluable, Avatar. Thank you.”
Without another word, Capucine stepped through the portal, disappearing from the Boneyard. William stared at the portal for what felt like hours before he finally shuddered, his shaky breathing accompanied by a single tear that froze up on its way down his cheek, stopping short as a bead of ice just before it fell off of his jaw.
Now
“So you’re here because my brother suggested it?”
“That’s correct.”
Capucine answered Tefé’s inquiry in a dry manner, keeping most of her focus on cleaning the gasoline off her sword with a rag. She sat upon the corpse of the formerly living infected tree, using it as a comfortable log of sorts while Maxine and Tefé remained in their canoe, having managed to dock it by tying it to a nearby set of protruding roots. It was about noon now, and the Florida heat had become unbearable. Maxine wiped her forehead, expecting that she’d probably be dead without the trees as a shield from the sun.
Tefé rubbed her throat, recovering from the vice grip of the tree, “I…how is he? He’s not in trouble is he?”
“Far from it. Your brother is doing better than most. He’s got a keen mind for leadership, and the Rot endures with him as its head,” Capucine sheathed her sword. “He doesn’t need my advice anymore, and I do the world no favors remaining at his side. If I am to continue the preservation of a better world, then it’s best I accompany you instead.”
Tefé grumbled a little, but also couldn’t help but smile, “So the little rascal thinks I need a hand, huh? Thinks I need advice.”
Tefé smirked, then looked up at Capucine, “Got any words of wisdom for me?”
Capucine looked down at the tree carcass, then back at Tefé, “Don’t get grabbed by monstrous trees.”
Tefé swallowed, “Yeah…sound advice.”
Maxine stared at the water, noting that its viscosity had remained unchanged, “Uh…guys? I think there are more gasoline trees somewhere out there. I feel like it would’ve cleared up at least a little bit.”
Capucine jumped into the canoe, breaking the rope keeping it moored with her bare hands, “Then we find the source of the infestation, and remove it.”
Maxine and Tefé didn’t do anything to impede Capucine’s actions, though they were certainly taken aback by this old English era woman taking charge of their mission. Without a word, Capucine grabbed a paddle and began rowing upstream, her toned build making what was a laborious task for Tefé effortless. The trio moved upstream at a rapid pace, with Capucine barely making a single grunt or noise as she paddled onward. As the hours went by, the water to gasoline ratio of the river continued to tip in the gasoline’s favor, to the point that eventually Capucine looked like she was putting real effort into her paddling.
Tefé stared at the woman, unsure of what to make of her, “So…Capucine?”
“Yes?”
“I know your name, I know you’ve been…advising my brother. What else do you do? What’s your story?”
Capucine frowned, “To be brief…I was born over a thousand years ago in Lindisfarne Abbey. What happened after is a personal matter, and one I’d rather not discuss. Similarly, discussing how I came to be immortal, and what I’ve done in the many centuries afterwards would doubtlessly be a fruitless and boring exercise. That energy is better spent rowing.”
Tefé raised an eyebrow, “Okay….then, why are you doing any of this? What drives you to help us?”
Capucine paused for a moment, allowing the canoe to slow in its approach upriver. Then, she snorted, a small smile forming as she began to paddle once more, “I’ve lived long enough to know this is a good place, a good world. I like it intact and alive, and I’d do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”
“Uh…good answer,” Tefé turned her attention to the rest of the forest, watching carefully for threats. Capucine was certainly blunt, and maybe a little scary looking, but from what she could tell the woman wasn’t much of a danger. If she wanted to learn more, she could do that after the case of Silver Springs was solved.
Maxine grimaced, staring at the thick gasoline they were rowing through, “What do you think is causing this stuff? The closest thing I can think of is the Rot but…part of me can’t put that picture together.”
“Because this is not the Rot’s doing. William is well aware of these kinds of problems, and manages them well. He would never allow something like this to escalate as far as it has,” Capucine grunted, her sheath rattling against the interior of the canoe. “This is something different.”
“Oil’s a fossil fuel, right?” Maxine asked, “Could there be any connection?”
“Perhaps, but this isn’t just oil, it’s gasoline. It’s processed,” Capucine grunted, the act of rowing becoming tougher. “Something is turning the oil into Gasoline. Maybe it’s the trees, maybe it’s something else.”
“But what force would do that? There’s definitely something magical going on about these things,” Maxine asked.
Capucine frowned, “I am…unsure. I’ve not heard of any force that pertains to these properties. Perhaps one of them has evolved. Such an occurrence is not unheard of; the Red does it all the time.”
“Or maybe…someone’s twisting a force into something it isn’t,” said Tefé. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Eventually, the boat rounded a corner, passing another infected tree. Maxine and Tefé readied themselves, only for Capucine to keep paddling, “Do not bother with them. They’re symptoms, not the cause.”
Maxine raised an eyebrow, “And the cause is….where?”
Capucine pointed down the river, and past a muddy, poisoned shore sat an entire row of the ailing cypresses, encircling a clearing of some kind. As the canoe pushed up against the mid, Capucine trudged out, making her way towards the clearing with her hand on her longsword’s hilt. The trees seemed to regard her, blatantly still conscious, yet they did not attack. Maxine and Tefé followed in trepidation, eyeing the trees in suspicion.
“Why aren’t they attacking?” Maxine asked.
“I don’t know,” Capucine remarked. “Perhaps they’re afraid.”
“Of you…or of something else?” Tefé wondered aloud.
As the three entered the clearing, they came across a sight none of them would have expected…a human heart.
It laid in the mud, rooted by cartilage that snaked its way beneath the earth. It beat with a satisfying rhythm, pulsating as if it still rested inside the body of a living man. A thick liquid permeated the mud, shifting outward from the heart.
Gasoline.
Capucine drew her sword, preparing to stab the heart with it. Eyes wide, Maxine jumped in front of her, “Woah woah woah, what are you doing?!”
“I’m removing the problem,” Capucine remarked.
“But…but…we don’t know what this thing even is?”
Capucine sneered at Maxine, “Is it not obvious? Someone or something has perverted an object of the Red, and that infection is spreading to the Green. With its removal, this area can begin healing.”
“How can you know that for sure? I’m the Avatar of the Red, and I can’t feel any trace of the Red in there,” Maxine exclaimed.
“Then the corruption of the object has completely overridden its connection to the Red. All the more reason to destroy it.”
Maxine whirled around, staring at Tefé for help. Tefé opened her mouth to protest, yet she was unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, the Green was suffering, this place was suffering. Getting rid of the heart seemed like the right answer, yet Maxine was right as well. They knew practically nothing about this heart, and if the trees weren’t attacking them, maybe it was an invitation to learn more.
Before she could voice her opinion on one approach or the other though, a new voice made itself known, a raspy, texan accent that came from vocal chords that didn’t realize they were long past their expiration date.
“Well, if you’d let me speak…I’d love to tell you why I deserve to live!”
The trio assumed defensive stances as the ground rumbled around the heart, at which point a dozen or so ribs began to poke out of the mud around the heart, followed by rotten yet well preserved flesh. The heart and ribs rose with the flesh, revealing a man with an open chest as he picked himself up from out of the mud. He was wearing an old coat and pants, and wore only one sock on his feet. Inconsistent, matted hair hung from his head, covered up slightly by a ruined cowboy hat. An ugly stubble dotted his cheeks, paired with yellow teeth and milky white eyes. He smiled, raising what looked to be an old revolver to his chin to scratch it with the barrel. With the other hand, he reached out to shake any of the trio’s hands, “Howdy folks. Pale Wanderer, representing the Parliament of Gears…how are you doing this fine day?”
The trio looked at each other in confusion, then Capucine spoke, “What are you? Are you the cause of the Malady plaguing this land.”
“Well…I wouldn’t call it a malady per-se! More of a necessary sacrifice.” The Pale Wanderer tipped his hat up. “As for what I am? Well honey…I’m a crusader. A force meant to alleviate suffering, and right now? That suffering is…well, it’s not exactly something any of the flora or fauna here really give a shit about.”
“And what’s that?” Tefé asked.
“Well…it’s a bit of a logistical nightmare to explain, but it starts with oil!” The Pale Wanderer gestured towards the ground. “We’re a car based society, here in the United States I mean! Trouble is, gas prices are fuckin’ outrageous these days, right?”
Capucine narrowed her eyes, “I do not see how that should concern us.”
“I’m not finished!” The Pale Wanderer remarked. “The average American has to pay an arm and a leg for gas nowadays, and they need gas if they want to get anywhere. Have a job, wanna see family, need to make a trip to the grocery store? Need to pay for gas if you wanna to any of that! Trouble is, gas comes from oil, and oil? It’s getting rarer by the minute…that’s why I made this place!”
The Pale Wanderer raised his arms, gesturing to the gasoline laced mud and the producing trees, “Think about it! More Gasoline means the market price of Gasoline’s gonna go down, which means gas is cheaper for everyone! At least, I think that’s how it works! Plus, my Gas is A+ quality, even comes in Diesel!”
As The Pale Wanderer continued on about his tirade on Gas prices, Maxine and Tefé shared a confused glance at each other. They’d never encountered something like this before, something this unusual, this keyed in and calculated in purpose yet scattershot in reasoning. The only thing two of them seemed to fixate on though was something the Pale Wanderer said when he introduced himself.
The Parliament of Gears.
Tefé stepped forward, “You said you were part of the Parliament of Gears? What is that? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh, That’s cause we’re new on the block, sweetie, but glad to be here,” The Pale Wanderer remarked. “Not qualified to sell them overall though, you’ll have to talk to marketing for that.”
“Enough!” Capucine declared, holding the point of the sword at the Pale Wanderer. “Your reasons for poisoning this place are simplistic and needless. Leave, or I will make you leave!”
The Pale Wanderer raised an eyebrow, “See, now I don’t like comments like that! We’re all just having a lovely discussion and now all you wanna do is escalate! Things don’t have to be this way! Maybe we can work something out?”
Tefé glanced between Capucine and the Pale Wanderer, making an educated guess that Capucine wasn’t the type to back down in these sorts of situations. Furthermore, she had a point. This place was suffering, and no matter the Pale Wanderer’s intentions, that was something that wouldn’t stand, “We don’t want to fight you, but what you’re doing is…horrifying. You’re killing everything around here for…Gasoline! We can’t stand by and let that happen.”
The Pale Wanderer glanced at Tefé, a glum look on his face. Maxine seemed to be holder her breath somewhat, but there was no question that she was on Tefé and Capucine’s side. Sighing, The Pale Wanderer scratched his thigh with his gun, “So that’s how it is?”
Capucine’s grip on her sword tightened, “That’s how it is.”
The Pale Wanderer pursed his lips, “...Well, if we’ve got no more words to share…I guess we better hop to it.”
The wanderer raised his revolver, only for Capucine to surge forward at lightning speed, piercing him in the heart with her sword. For a moment, he was still, motionless, and Capucine stared him dead in the eyes. Then, he shifted, and after meeting her gaze, he began to laugh, his guffawing causing gasoline to spurt from his heart and onto Capucine’s sword and armor, “Hah! Good try!”
Capucine attempted to back away from the Wanderer, only for him to grab her wrist, keeping her and the sword wedged firmly in his body. Raising his weapon, he prepared to put a bullet in Capucine’s eyes, only for her to deliver a swift fist to his arm, knocking the gun out of his hands. Smiling, he took advantage of his newly freed hand, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing tight. As Capucine struggled for air, the Wanderer could only hoot and holler, “Whooo-weeee! We’re getting down to it now!”
Maxine and Tefé rushed to help the ancient warrior, only for a mob of living trees to encroach upon them, blocking their way while attempting to grab or smash them with their heavy branched arms. Maxine dove to the left, dodging the crushing slam of one tree, while Tefé slipped through the roots of another, narrowly avoiding being picked up again. Separated, the two tried to get a read on each other while avoiding harm, yet it was difficult for either of them to really do anything to help Capucine.
They were both far from the Red and the Green’s safety. No animal would go anywhere near the Pale Wanderer, meaning Maxine’s powers were utterly neutered. Similarly, there was no living plant life near the battlefield, meaning Tefé couldn’t use her powers either. If they wanted to get out of this, they would need to think outside the box.
And that’s when Tefé spotted the Wanderer’s revolver sitting in the mud, and a wild idea crossed her mind as she scanned it and the gasoline laden ground around it. She glanced at Maxine, then to the gun, and Maxine seemed to pick up on what she was thinking. It was a gambit, an insane gambit, but without much power to draw on, it might be their only shot.
Together, the two began to race for the gun, trying desperately to keep out of the reach of the trees. Tefé tried to get there quickly, yet she found herself pursued by a half dozen trees, pressured by their presence. Maxine was closer, and managed to pick up the gun as Tefé was halfway over, only for a tree to come barreling towards her. She whirled around to run, only to snag her foot on a dead root, causing her to trip and fall. Afraid of losing their one chance at Victory, Maxine shared a split second look with Tefé before throwing the gun towards the Pale Wanderer, just as the tree came down on her. It stretched out its arms, its branches ensnaring her and trapping her in place.
Her mind in overdrive, Tefé pivoted and raced for the Pale Wanderer, leaping over the swinging branches of another tree in order to catch the gun. Capucine gasped for air, her eyes glazing over as the Wanderer choked the life out of her, laughing like a madman. With the trees about to grab her, Tefé leapt for the Wanderer’s back, looping one arm around his neck to hold on while planting the gun’s barrel against the gasoline soaked sword, “Stop!”
The trees froze in place, including the one holding Maxine captive. The Pale Wanderer raised his eyebrow, loosening his grip on Capucine and allowing her to breath, “What’s this now? Ready to call it quits?”
Tefé gritted her teeth, “I’m ready to make a deal, and if you refuse, I’ll blow us all sky high! Even you won’t survive that, will you?”
“The hell’re you…” The Pale Wanderer looked down at the gun planted against the sword, and finally realized what was at stake. There was a reason smoking a cigarette at a gas station was a stupid idea, and Tefé was willing to demonstrate. A bullet crashing against steel would cause sparks, and sparks can light many fires, especially ones where the ground was soaked in gasoline. She’s set miles of forest on fire, to nuke the entire place from the ground up….and from the tone of her words, the Wanderer knew Tefé meant it, “Ohhhhh…Clever girl….Ha! So, you’ve got me. What do you want from me?”
Tefé let out a grunt of exhaustion, “I want you…to fuck off and never come back here. Got it?”
The Wanderer chuckled, then winked at Capucine, letting go of her and allowing her to pull out the sword, “Well then, a deal’s a deal.”
Snapping his fingers, The Wanderer watched as every tree around him began to dissolve into an inky ooze, including the one holding onto Maxine, who became drencheds in the stuff. Similarly, the Wanderer himself began to dissolve, though much more slowly. As he sank into the earth, he looked up at Tefé and Capucine, “This place’ll return to what it once was, but don’t count me out just yet. We’ll be seeing each other…oh, and keep the gun. Think of it as a gift from little ol’ me.”
Eventually, the Pale Wanderer was gone, not even his hat remaining, leaving Maxine, Tefé, and Capucine to stare at the spot he once occupied. The crisis at hand was solved, at least as far as they knew, but the problems were only just beginning.
A new force of nature was here, and it did not seem to be a peaceful one.
 
Next Issue: A Trip to somewhere new!
 

Ive been trying to remember what this game was called for years. Small ramble one of my aunts passed away( i think I was 12 at the time so thats why I put 2012 but i think Ive heard mention of this aunt passing in 2006 so thats why I gave a year time span) I would go over to her house for a while after and play games on the consoles she had with my brothers she had a ps2 I think a ps1 and a gamecube.
Console:ps2
Graphics: mix of kingdom hearts final fantasy
Genre: Fantasy,open world, turnbased combat
Estimated release year: 2006-2012
Other details: I swear it wasn't final fantasy but it felt like it. From what I can remember it was like 3d and the camera followed your character
It was open world I think there was a brother and sister I think they got separated, they had some kinda catchphrase they would say a lot
the battle sequence would happen as you ran around and maybe you bumped into something and then you entered into turn based combat.
I think you could have a team of like 4 characters when you fought. I do remember some minor cursing in the dialogue I think you played as the brother mostly.
There was a cave area and it wasn't far from like a big town pretty sure the town had windmills and water wheels it seemed like kind of a busy town and it felt like a fantasy story.
I swear if I saw pictures of like the main characters and gameplay areas I could tell you immediately if it was right. The character I'm assuming is the brother did seem to like to curse quite a bit in his dialogue.
It was pretty colorful and adventurous along with the fantasy aspects of fighting creatures and monsters and I think there were points you fought some people too. I didn't play it very long but it was very interesting to me
The brother character may have had gray or silver hair and he has some muscle too him. I dont remember being able to use characters that had spells in the turn based combat sequences but I won't completely rule that out.
I think you did get a minimap on your screen and in the big overworld map you may have been able to teleport I'll add more info as I remember it.
I know for a fact it wasn't Blue dragon

I did that helix myself 5w ago and plan to add a flat in about 5 months. I am guessing I need to place it a few mm away from where the back of my ear is touching my head but how far away does it have to be from the inner corner on the back of the ear? I have a clamp so I can bend and hold my ear while I do this. This area is so thin, the helix has a 6mm stud and almost 2mm is visible from the front, and the flat spot I'm going for is even thinner. Would you still start with an 8mm stud? If it's thin and I'm adding a chain eventually, is 16g still fine?
As far as pulling my motorcycle helmet on/off, does that spot above the rook/just under the helix look best for the flat? i wear a neck gaiter over my head so the ear doesn't fold and things don't catch.
Pain prevention question also: I shook sooo bad when I did my first helix and it was so painful that when I did the other side (pictured), I used the clamp. I took advil, tylenol, and used lidocaine before the 2nd one and it did help, but I feel like a few beers alone would have just been better for pain. Your experience with this?? I feel so much pain/detail. Wouldv'e had to be REAL careful with the angle! LOL. It never showed any sign of infection until I let my ear get too hot and irritated in my motorcycle helmet only 10 days after piercing, then I had to use neosporin for a few days because it got so inflamed it was heading toward infection after having been healing beautifully.
https://preview.redd.it/96icgguerp0d1.jpg?width=1284&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b9a88d4f4559b2b9cb2aa32ba61b1673e0e82a7d

As the tile says lol, I have relatively long hair right now but I want a better style and I’m wondering how I should ask for Revenge of The Sith Anakin hair without just showing pictures of Anakin lol. Any help would be greatly appreciated!!

Growing up, I (16F) was never seen as the pretty friend. Everyone I was friends with was ALWAYS seen as prettier than me. It always got to me. The one thing I wanted in the world was to be pretty.
Lia (16F) was one of my best friends and very gorgeous. Every guy wanted her, no matter the age.
Fast forward to our last year of school. We go to a private school so that means a lot of students that didn’t get a high score in their finals could come back to our school and redo the last year of school to rewrite again.
Lia’s ex, Mikey (17M), was one of the many who repeated the last year of school. He was average height, dark curly hair.
Lia and Mikey were in a talking stage two years before, they did “stuff” together and I can’t quite remember if they were together officially then but I know they did do stuff.
Then, before the last year of high school had started.. they both got to talking and decided to date for a few days before Lia broke up with him because she didn’t really like him in that way anymore.
Anyways for some reason, Mikey had taken a liking to me. He would flirt with me and use every opportunity to touch me (not in a weird way).
We messaged on Instagram a lot, and we eventually exchanged n*des. He did ask for a picture of my kitty but I had refused because I was very insecure of my body at that time and it had even took so much energy to send the boob pic alone.
Anyways, fast forward to a party. We were both there. Lia wasn’t. I was there with Ally and he was there with his friends.
I got really drunk, he was really drunk and I found myself dancing on him. Dancing on him then led to him pulling me towards a seat and making out with me.
He also pulled me into the bathroom for (glock glock) and I had motioned the help sign for Ally before she entered.
Luckily, she had saved me before anything too bad had happened. (Unfortunately, his d*ck was in my mouth and unfortunately it was not even clean).
Lia was the type of girl that EVERY guy wanted and she could get ANY guy. If she wanted Mikey she could have gotten him but she didn’t care about him so that was okay, right?
I didn’t even enjoy it, I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. So that doesn’t mean anything, right??
I genuinely did feel guilty but he was the first guy who had ever wanted me, the first guy who had ever seen me. I had craved that type of attention for forever and then I had finally gotten it.
I know it’s horrible, but I still have to ask.. AITA?

Cigarettes and rebellion have always gone hand-in-hand, and in an age of cigarette packet-sized health warnings, now more than ever, smoking a fag says: 'I do not give a fuck.' But if Brandon Flowers is hoping to strike a seditious pose by sparking up at the start of the interview, it's not going according to plan. The Killers' frontman is on all fours rooting through the junk that carpets the anteroom at the band's rehearsal space. "Has anyone seen my lighter?" he asks, rocking back on his heels. The question hangs in the air while Brandon cocks his head, waiting for an answer like a meerkat listening for a predator. Twenty-five years old and with a delicate bone structure, there's something almost dainty about him. Receiving no response, he returns to his search. "Oh, Jeez," he sighs. "I had it just a minute ago."
It's a scene that emphatically does not suggest a rebel without a cause. The mess isn't helping. The Killers' HQ - an industrial unit sandwiched between a construction supplier and the offices of a housing development just off Dean Martin Drive in West Las Vegas - is ankle-deep in designer clothing. A Dior Homme suit lies crumpled by the door; there's a pile of shoes topped like a sundae by a pair of Marc Jacobs trainers; and anyone wishing to enter the shoebox room the band use as an office must negotiate a mountain of discarded jeans. Many items are identifiable as coming from the wardrobe of Hot Fuss, The Killers' hugely successful 2004 debut album - triple platinum in the UK with two weeks at Number One and five million sold worldwide. Look! There are the shirts, ties and suit jackets they wore when they thrilled Glastonbury 2005 with indie rock anthems Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me. That was the crowning moment of a two-and-a-half year tour that finally concluded in October of last year. It seems that after playing that final date in Miami, they returned to Vegas and shrugged off their image onto the floor of this bland white box.
Now a fine layer of dust covers the dead clothes. The Killers have no further use for white tuxedos on their second album, Sam's Town. Today, Brandon wears a black polo shirt, black pin-stripe waistcoat, black jeans and black boots. Where there used to be a layer of foundation, there is now a beard - an untrimmed beard at that. Dave Keuning (30, guitar), Mark Stoermer (29, bass) and Ronnie Vannucci (29, drums) all echo Brandon's black ensemble. Ronnie has added Aviator shades and a handlebar moustache for a dash of motorcycle cop, Dave's frizzy bubble of hair gives him a Marc Bolan-ish air, and there's something very teenage about Mark's scuffed Vans.
Short of walking around wearing sandwich boards saying, "Our new record is a bit heavier than the last one," The Killers couldn't hope to communicate that message more effectively. And they have gained some musical girth on Sam's Town. The pop hooks that made Hot Fuss so irresistible survive intact - see the ringing guitar riffs on first single When You Were Young - but there's a newfound punchiness, coupled with an epic sweep. The minor-to-major uplifts on Bones are fabulously dramatic, the coda to Why Do I Keep Counting? thrillingly intense. Comparisons to Bruce Springsteen have been made. If they overstate the case a little, they are at leaset qualitatively accurate. The Killers are back and this time it's serious - they've got the bootlace ties to prove it.
"Hey, it says here that Springsteen's headlining Glastonbury next year," shouts Ronnie, who's flicking through the NME. He nods sagely at the page without looking up.
"Really?" asks Dave, nicknamed Crazy Dave on account of his alledgedly volatile nature.
"The Boss is headlining one night, we're playing second on the bill the next night and Kylie's headlining the Sunday," says Brandon, charging like a bull through Michael Eavis' as-yet-unannounced line-up with what subsequently proves to be a characteristic gaucheness.
But that lighter is proving elusive. This being America, none of the people hurrying to-and-fro prepping the world for the release of Sam's Town smokes. Manager Robert Reynolds - Bobby Rey to the band - barks into his mobile, booking his band onto eye-wateringly demanding tours. "We're going to make a lot of money," he cackles to himself before switching calls to make a series of stern pronouncements on legal matters. Dave, Mark and Ronnie disappear for a jam session. Artwork is approved, B-sides are decided on and schedules are hammered out.
"I can't find it," Brandon says, finally. But he's not going to be denied the opportunity to underline The Killers reinvention with a puff of smoke. "Let's go to the gas station. I'll have to buy one. It's too busy to talk here anyway."
+
Brandon's black (of course) Volkswagen Touraeg four-wheel drive is barrelling down West Flamingo Road into town. "I was a bell boy there," he says, pointing out of the driver's window at the stucco facade of the Gold Coast casino. "I was working there when we were signed."
Coming from Las Vegas, it is perhaps inevitable that casinos play a big part in The Killers' story; not only is Sam's Town named after one, it was recorded in one, too.
The band began writing songs while on the road with Hot Fuss, turning up early for soundchecks to run through new ideas. On a trip home to Vegas, George Maloof, a hotelier known for cultivating famous friends, invited them to record the album in the new studio he'd built at The Palms, his flagship hotel-cum-gambling den. When the tour finished in October 2005, they returned to Vegas and spent five month finessing the songs they'd sketched out on the road. Then, in February, they decampled to the third floor studio at The Palms and recorded Sam's Town over 11 weeks.
Producer Flood (U2, Depeche Mode) encouraged them to experiment. They overdubbed, fiddled with synthesizers and played with new equipment. It took them five weeks to get the backing vocals right. The band sang the harmonies, then double-tracked them four times. The end result recalls Queen wondering, "Is this is the real life? Is this just fantasy?" When Ronnie, a trained classical percussionist, brought some kettledrums down, eyebrows were raised; but the fabulously bombastic coda on Why Do I Keep Counting? vindicates his indulgence.
"That's kind of the Ben Hur of the album," he says. He's not wrong. Sam's Town is a record on an epic scale. "Yeah, it has drama," he continues. "But, at the same time, I think it's a little more exposed than Hot Fuss. It's a little more naked. Last time it was about a lot of fictional things." By "fictional", Ronnie means that Hot Fuss wore its predominantly British influences for all to see. Brandon's taste in music is rabidly Anglophile - he constantly references The Smiths, The Cure and Joy Division - and it showed. By contrast, Sam's Town is an unequivocally American record. The lyrical imagery is pure American dream - cars, girls, wide-open spaces and escaping to a better life. "We're burning down the highway skyline/On the back of a hurricane that started turning/When you were young," sings Brandon on When You Were Young. That's the basis of the Springsteen comparisons then, though the lack of pathos more closely recalls another blue-collar rocker from New Jersey - Jon Bon Jovi.
The phrase "this town" recurs throughout the album, and it's always receding into the distance as The Killers escape to a new life. "This town was made for passing through/I never did get along with everybody else," sings Brandon on This River Is Wild. On Read My Mind he "never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town", while on the title track he offers something of an explanation: "Nobody ever had a dream round here."
"With the first record, there was this feeling that there was this world out there that we didn't know," says Mark later in the day. Before The Killers, he studied philosophy: now he's their quiet one. "We wanted to get out and away from this and be somewhere else. We hadn't had a lot of experience - hadn't travelled much - then we were gone for three years. We didn't sit down and say that we wanted to make a record about how we're glad to be home, but that's what happened naturally."
It's not an angsty record. The Killers have already escaped with Hot Fuss, and, having done so, they view the experience fondly now they're back. There's a mistiness to Brandon's eyes as he explains how the album got it's name.
"Sam's Town is a casino on the edge of Vegas," he says. "I grew up in Henderson, which is out on the way to the Hoover Dam. My mom and dad lived in a trailer park, and my dad used to hitchhike up and down Boulder Highway, which is the only way you could get to Vegas. Sam's Town was the first thing you saw on your way in to town. So, when you're driving down Boulder Highway from Henderson, I always thought you finally knew you were getting somewhere when you saw Sam's Town. It was kind of like a beacon."
"It's not a completely American album," contines Brandon. "We still have our English influence, but we're also from the Wild West. Somehow we've managed to unify all that on this album. it's just such a perfect resemblence of what we are."
At the petrol station, Brandon rummages through the glove box looking for change to buy a lighter. "This is a great album," he says, pointing at Highway Companion, the latest from iconic American rocker Tom Petty. "I've always been a big fan of his. He's such a great American artist."
Yes, Brandon: we get the point.
+
When Brandon finally lights his cigarette, he smokes it awkwardly, like a child mimicking something he's seen the grown-ups doing. However, when he cheerfully admits that, "I feel the same mentally as I did when I was 12," it's not a knowing nod to the fact that he sometimes behaves like a loveably precocious child, but a reference to an unusually comprehensive grounding in pop music at an early age.
When Brandon sings about "this town", he doesn't mean Las Vegas. He means Nephi, Utah or Henderson, Nevada, where he spent his childhood. His parents are Mormon and he is the youngest of six children. "I was a surprise," he says. "I've got a 42-year-old sister." If he was issues about his "surprise" status, he chooses to gloss over them. "It turned out perfect because my brother was a teenager when I was a kid," he says. "He would bring home things like Rattle And Hum by U2 and I would watch it. I remember he bought Live In Dallas by Morrissey. It was always him watching these things, or his door was shut and you'd hear The Head On The Door by The Cure blasting through the house and rattling the walls."
The Killers were formed when Brandon answered an advert Dave had placed in a local paper in late 2002. Dave cited Oasis as a big influence; Brandon had seen them play recently and responded; and, as Dave has said in previous interviews: "He was the only person to reply to my ad who wasn't a complete freak." However, the band was born in Brandon's brothers bedroom.
"His room was like a shrine," enthuses Brandon. "It was a holy place. I wish I could show you a picture of it. It was covered in posters. There'd be a big picture of Elvis wearing a bow tie that just said 'The Smiths' [the artwork for The Smiths 1987 single Shoplifters Of The World Unite]. You had The Cure wearing face paint [the artwork to The Cure's 1985 single In Between Days] - all that kind of stuff. I remember Morrissey being on the cover of the NME, with the halo [from 1985] - stuff like that. You just wanted to know about these people 'cause they were so cool. My brother seemed like such a cool person. But he was a teenager, so he wasn't going to be that nice to me, a kid."
Brandon was fascinated by his brother's collection of music, magazines and posters, but he was denied access to them - officially, at least. "I would sneak in," he says. "I knew he'd be angry if he found out, but I would go in as soon as he left the house." For a long time Brandon was too scared to actually play anything. "That didn't come 'til later. I just used to go in there because I liked it. Then I got to the point where I'd actually take a tape out and put it in. It took more guts to do that."
It was a life-changing moment. "I was ten and the first song I played was Sing Your Life by Morrissey. I remember dancing about to it."
The lyrics to Sing Your Life include the lines, "Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone/And name all the things that you love/All the things that you loathe." It's intriguing to wonder what Morrissey makes of the neophyte he inspired with these lines.
Eventually, Brandon inherited his brother's tape collection. "It was around the same time CDs started coming out in a big way. He started buying CDs and gave me his tapes. And that was it: it took off from there. I got a hundred of the best albums - all the New Order, all the Morrissey, all The Smiths, The Beatles. I started buying posters. I went to see The Cure in concert. It was just kind of a continuation of my brother. And it was nice because, though my parents were strict, they were already used to it from him. There was no, 'My dad doesn't understand me,' or any of that kind of stuff. My mum likes The Smiths."
Brandon was 13 and his favourite band was late-'70s/early-'80s American new wavers The Cars, and particularly their jaw-droppingly catchy 1979 single Just What I Needed.
"I wouldn't exist without that song," he says. "That was the one. I remember driving around with my mum when I was 13, and we're living in Nephi - a really small town - and I felt so cool when I put that song on. Like: 'I have something that none of these kids I'm going to middle school with tomorrow have.' That excitement is what music's about, isn't it? That's why I understand the mentality of people that don't like us because we've sold so many records. I used to like it when no one else knew about a band. So I get that - I do."
+
Brandon's first band was called Blush Response. It was never going to work out. Not because he refused to move to Los Angeles with them, but because he is utterly - comically - shameless. He's given to making outrageously boastful statements like: "It's not like the '60s, '70s and '80s now. There are only a few bands around that are really good, that just do it. I mean, there's what, five or six of us?"
For the record, in Brandon's estimation, those bands are Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, The Strokes, The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and, of course, The Killers.
"I don't want people to think I'm lumping myself with other people just to make us sound cool," he says. Really? It sort of sounds like you are. But he just steamrolls through it. "Yeah, but you know what I mean," he says, grinning at his own cheekiness. He's so disgracefully forward you can't help but laugh along with him - Oh you are awful, Brandon! But joking aside, The Killers are the most commercially successful of all the bands he mentions.
Later, back at the rehearsal space, the band run through Sam's Town at deafening volume in preparation for the forthcoming tour - first the US, then the world. The infectious, almost contagious, chorus of When You Were Young sounds fabulous, as do the U2-like guitars and Twin Peaks synths of Read My Mind. Meanwhile, Smile Like You Mean It and Somebody Told Me benefit from the newfound harder edge.
They somewhat heavy-handedly underline the new direction by playing Paranoid by Black Sabbath and Get It On by T Rex. That's the thing: The Killers are not a subtle band. Their songs are like a wet kiss from a girl who's a bit too drunk. They are big and brash, and not everyone loves them for it. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me might go down as well at hip nightclubs as they do on the festival circuit, but the DJs play them with the same guilty look they wear when playing a pop record.
"I hate that," says Brandon. "Like writing a song you can hum somehow cheapens it? It makes me think of this quote by Morrissey. Everybody knows how he read Oscar Wilde, Keats and Yates when he was growing up and that he wanted to be a writer. He was talking to this journalist who asked why he hadn't become a writer, and Morrissey said: 'What I do is more powerful than what you do because I can write down these words and you get it to a melody. How can you beat that?' I'm of the same opinion. I don't understand why a good melody that's memorable is a bad thing."
Being dismissed as pop particular aggrieves Ronnie. "When we first came out we got compared to Duran Duran all the time. Jesus Christ! We got a keyboard player now all of a sudden he's Nick Rhodes! Come on!"
"The people who criticise us for being too poppy don't get it," agrees Mark. "I think that's the problem with a lot of rock music. People are afraid to write a song any more. Either that or they can't. And that attitude hurts music in general. The best bands ever have all written great songs. You can still do it and do it intelligently and it can be original. This isn't a studio creation with a producer writing these songs for us. We're not Avril Lavigne, or something like that. We're a real band writing real songs, just like a punk band would do, except that we write pop songs."
You get the impression that The Killers knack for showboating pop hooks that border on vulgar is inextricably tied up with the brazen side of Brandon's personality. But while his ebullient charisma, not to mention the songs themselves, mitigates his outrageousness, there is a less attractive side to his ego. He has a combative streak. He can't resist taking pot shots at emo bands, notably Fall Out Boy, whith whom The Killers share an A&R man.
Has he heard how many emo kids it takes to change a light bulb? "No." None. They just sit in the dark and cry. It's a full 30 seconds before he stops laughing. When he does he admits: "Yeah, we've had problems with other bands. You know, when you walk in the room it's like..." He whistles the theme to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. "We're like gangs."
And while the other members of the band are diplomatic on the subject of Brandon, you don't have to read too deeply between the lines to conclude that there have been internal issues, too.
"Some people will think Brandon's the big genius," says Dave, visibly bridling. "There are songs, such as Why Do I Keep Counting?, where he's written every note. But there are others, like When You Were Young, that were more of a collaboration - like Mr Brightside, where I had some of the music and Brandon came up with the lyrics. We always have arguments about who wrote what. The truth is that we all help in that process."
When asked how success affected them, Ronnie says: "There were certain things that needed adjusting. When you're on tour for two years, people can get a little needy. It doesn't help that you're surrounded by yes men and everybody's working for you. At times we've had to say, 'Who do you think you are?' to people. No one wears the trousers, but some people would like to. I think if it wasn't for the people in the band kicking each other in the ass... Let's just say there was some ass-kickin'."
It doesn't take a genius to work out whose ass needed kicking most often.
+
It's the following day and The Killers are back at their rehearsal space. The topic of discussion is what to wear in the video for Bones, the second single. It's a big deal: the director is Tim Burton. "I feel like Frank Sinatra when I sing it," announces Brandon. "With maybe a little bit of Morrissey and a little bit of Elvis, too."
Of course he does. But if securing the services of Tim Burton tells you one thing, it's that The Killers are about to get even bigger, perhaps even make the leap to the same level as Coldplay et al. Already stars, they are about to become superstars. Brandon can hardly wait.
"Do you know that Rolling Stone didn't want to put us on the cover last time," he says indignantly. "They didn't think we were stars. We sold five million albums! What more do they want from a band?"
Whatever was required, Brandon would be happy to do most things. "I'll do stuff that some people don't want to do, 'cause I want people to hear the music," he says. However, even he has limits. "The Rolling Stone thing made the record label think: 'What can we do to make them stars?' If I go on vacation with my wife, do they have to send somebody to be there to take pictures of me? Is that how you become a star? I don't want that. I walked down the red carpet one time and I realised I don't like it. But you don't have to walk down the red carpet for people to hear your music. We do still have some of that indie blood running through our veins."
He heads off at a tangent: "When you walk around Liverpool, you think of The Beatles, or you go to Manchester and you think of The Smiths or Oasis. I want you to come to Las Vegas and think of Sam's Town. And I think we've started to capture that, which is a truer version of The Killers, 'cause that's where we're from."
He pauses.
"I used to live across the street from Sam's Town. Maybe it'll be like our Abbey Road where people go to take pictures."
Is that what he'd like?
"I wouldn't mind it," he says, desperately hoping it will come true.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, looks down at his trouser pockets and pats them in search of the lighter he bought yesterday.
"Hey, I don't suppose you've got one?"

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In True Crime
Issue Sixteen: Dark Hair And Face Paint
Written by ClaraEclair
Edited by PredaPlant & DeadIslandMan1
 
<< < Previous Issue Next Issue > Coming Next Month
 
 
Gotham University’s winter term was coming to an end, and that meant the resident varsity football team was finishing out their season — on home turf, no less. The Nighthawks were on a winning streak and were looking to finish off the season with a championship. The entire team felt the energy coursing through them as the stadium filled and crowd chants grew.
There were always major league scouts within the crowds at these types of games, especially for teams as impressive as the Nighthawks had been. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that some of the players on the varsity team would be making it to the national league. The coach, as hard as he could be on his team, felt nothing but warm pride in his heart and mind.
Zack Howard, the captain of the Nighthawks, looked over the 120 yard field from the player entrance, listening to the roaring crowd chanting for the Nighthawks — even fans of the Princeton Tigers felt the pull toward cheering on the Gotham University team. Just as much as his coach, he felt pride in being able to carry his team this far. He hoped to give the best game he’d ever played, to be noticed by big league coaches and scouts.
“Zack!” He heard his coach shout from behind him, no doubt trying to shift his attention back to the locker room and preparations for the game ahead. Zack exhaled deeply and turned around to see Coach Fremlin approaching with a light jog, holding something in his hand. “Delivery for ya,” he said, handing the envelope to the captain. “Some girl said to give it to you, said there’s somethin’ special inside.” With a smirk, Fremlin clapped Zack’s shoulder before turning back toward the locker room.
Zack’s mind flooded with possibilities and fantasies about what could’ve been in the envelope. Something special could have been anything, and it excited him as he ripped it open. His expression quickly shifted, however, as he pulled a handwritten note out of the envelope, scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting.
”Zack Howard,” it read. He opened it, his brow furrowed, and watched as an instant print photograph fell out of the fold and onto the ground. One piece of clear tape had been shoddily applied to the corner and had clearly lost its adhesion. Leaning down, Zack picked up the photo and squinted, trying to make out the subject.
It took a few moments, but the longer he stared at the photo, the more it dawned on him what was depicted in it. Instantly, upon realising what he saw, he rushed back to the locker room and forced himself through his teammates to Coach Fremlin, who was dragging out his playbook. He grabbed the coach by the shoulder, twisted him around to face him directly, and planted the photo firmly on his chest.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded. Confused, Fremlin chuckled nervously as he tried to grasp the small photo on his chest, not able to see the subject but only the fury in Zack’s face. The room fell totally silent as the entire team watched the coach and their captain with bated breaths.
“What do you mean?” asked Fremlin, turning the image over and squinting at it, trying to make out the details. Just as fast as Zack had initially made out the details, Fremlin’s face dropped at the realisation. “Holy God, Zack, I–”
“What the hell is this?!” Zack demanded once more, resisting the urge to grab his coach by the collar and push him against the wall. “Who gave this to you?”
“I– I don’t know, it was some girl,” Fremlin stuttered, fumbling over himself. “She was short, had black hair, face paint…”
“What’s it say on the back?” asked Tim Teslow, the team’s best running back, pointing toward the image and the messy scrawls on the back of it. Zack snapped it back out of Fremlin’s hands as the coach sat down, head in his hands.
“Section 204, Row 8, seat 9,” Zack read the note aloud. “I’m going to go see what this is,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Dude, that’s across the stadium,” said Cutter Karznowski, the wide receiver that had only joined at the start of the season. “The game’s starting in a few minutes.”
“I don’t care,” Zack snapped back. “I’m going.”
 
 
Good evening, Gothamites, I hope you enjoyed that last one — Barcode by Self-Sacrificial. It’s always been a personal favourite of mine, straight to the point with the best beats and deepest riffs.
In the same spirit, I’ll get straight to the point of why today’s a big day for me — you’ve all known this was coming but I never quite said what it was. When I started this show a little over a year ago, I wanted to look at the dirt of the world. I wanted to bring you my favourite music while trying to figure out my favourite events in this city.
I’ve talked about all the legends, I’ve talked about Joker, Mister Freeze, and so many others. I’ve talked about new shooters like Man-Bat and Professor Pyg. I’ve even, unfortunately, shed some light on the unoriginal copycat hacks that have started popping up in recent years. It’s all been out of love, though. Love for the mind of those who would commit these atrocities, appreciation for what they are and what they represent.
There’s a reason why they are what they are, and it’s always been a goal of mine to love and appreciate what they put into the world. It’s all about the chaos.
But, today, I won’t be talking about that. Today, I’ll be talking about football. Before you all start booing me, it’s my special day and it’s my show, so I get final say. Specifically, it’s the big championship game for the Gotham University Nighthawks. I went to school with these guys, I feel… an obligation.
I’m excited to see how the game will turn out. I get the nagging feeling that their winning streak might come to an end.
 
 
Section 204 in the Gotham Knights stadium, on the north side of Tricorner Island, the southernmost landmass of Gotham, was filled to the brim with spectators and fans. All were cheering as they waited and watched the Gotham University Nighthawks enter the field below, while Zack spent his time searching the section for a small woman with black hair and face paint.
Despite the difficulty of sifting through the crowded seats, he couldn’t find a woman matching that description. He looked back down at the photograph’s note and read it again, making sure he was in the right spot. The location remained the same: Section 204, row 8, seat 9.
People called out his name, but he was quick to shrug them off. He was too focused on finding the woman who’d sent him the photograph. Even asking those who’d been sitting within section 204 had proved fruitless, with no one being able to say anything about the described woman.
Angry and dejected, Zack turned back toward the steps between sections to head back down to the field when something caught his eye as he moved.
“Sir!” He called out, angling his head toward a man two rows above him, pointing beneath his seat. “Sir, what’s that under your seat?” There was some sort of flashing light taped to the bottom of the seat, slowly pulsing between purple and green.
The man looked confused, leaning forward to take a look at what Zack had pointed at, eyes widening the moment he saw the wiring that he sat atop. A complex series of wires and lights traced their way around each seat in the section, though neither he nor Zack could see what, exactly, the wires were attached to.
“I don’t–”
The man could only shout out those few words before a loud explosion rocked the stadium, blasts running down the portion of the stadium from rows 12 to 4. Dozens of seats were annihilated as smoke, fire, and green gas erupted. Cries of pain and fear replaced the cheers of the spectators.
Blood tainted the intact seats while the smoke rose into the air, infiltrating the sky of southern Gotham, visible from all along the city’s coast. What fell across the stadium, permeating nearly every seat on the west side of the stadium, making its way into the halls that traced the inner workings of the building, was a thick green gas, forcing its way into the lungs of the men and women who were running for their lives, trampling each other.
Those closest to the explosion felt intense convulsions in their abdomens and spasms in their faces, involuntarily forced to bear wicked grins while their shattering breaths overtook the screams of terror in the form of wicked laughter.
Amidst the chaos, the charred photo that Zack once held fell slowly and gracefully, slightly charred, ignorant of the horror that it had been subject to. Slightly charred, it landed a few sections away from the explosions, trampled upon by infected spectators who had no idea what was being done to them.
 
 
A Few Minutes Earlier…
James Gordon’s office at the Gotham City Police Department headquarters was quiet as he sat at his desk, resting his elbows on its surface with his hands clasped, opposite Astrid Arkham, the frail-seeming daughter of Jeremiah Arkham. She had requested a meeting with him, and he had assumed it was for an update into Batman’s investigation into her father.
“Gotham City needs something new,” she began, catching him by surprise. His eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed. “We’ve been in this… this state of insanity for decades now, and it is only getting worse. This city is no longer livable, Commissioner.” He resisted the urge to groan. The only difference in Gotham City as it was and the Gotham City of before was that the murders had become spectacle.
When supervillains pushed out mobsters and gangsters, there was a shift in crime, but the results remained the same. Salvatore Maroni and Carmine Falcone knew how to keep their business quiet to the public unless they were in active war. Those were the good old days, now.
“Insane, maniacal supervillains,” she continued. “They rule the streets whenever they so choose. The police cannot deal with them, not under you. You rely on the Batman,” there was venom in her voice as she spoke the name, “and she sweeps up the problems while bringing deranged cultists and assassins into this city. She’s the heir of a small personal army with untold technology and she runs free. The Joker Riots, the assassin siege, Simon Hurt, all because the Batman has infested this town with these misguided thoughts of the supernatural, supposedly haunting our city.” Gordon remained silent.
“Essen’s incentives are now failing,” she said, watching Gordon closely for a reaction. If he gave one, she couldn’t see it. “How many companies that were enticed by her incentives have moved headquarters out of Gotham? They pay nothing in taxes, they have Essen licking their boots, and it’s still not enough. Despite all that’s happened, we haven’t been through hell yet, Commissioner. We’ve only arrived at the gates.”
“If I may, Miss Arkham,” said Gordon, leaning back in his chair, scanning the young woman up and down. “What’s your point?” He understood what she was saying, and he feared she was right, but he didn’t like the conclusion she was bringing forth.
“You are antiquated, Commissioner,” she replied, her face straight. “Obsolete. Your methods don’t work anymore, the law you uphold is no longer effective. Besides that, you are getting old. I can see the fatigue in your face, the bags under your eyes, your paleness. You’re not the detective you used to be.” Astrid leaned forward in her seat, putting her weight on her cane. “Gotham needs something new.”
Gordon’s phone rang, and for a brief moment he was thankful for the reprieve — but only for a moment.
 
 
I’d say I feel bad for the people at the Nighthawks game, but, if I’m totally honest, they had it coming. It’s about time everything caught up to them.
While we all ruminate on what’s happening at the game right now, let’s listen to some good music. This is Confetti by Viscera.
 
 
Batman had listened to as many notes as she could about a green gas that made anyone who inhaled it laugh uncontrollably. It typically led to suffocation through the inability to control the diaphragm, but this time it didn’t, and it confused the Dark Knight. A familiar sight, an attack that resulted in eery laughter, and yet it wasn’t what the city had seen before. None of the victims that hadn’t been in the initial blast had died, though medical care for each of them was necessary.
As much as she cursed herself for being late, not able to save anyone as the events unfolded, she knew that she needed to take control as fast as possible. She, along with every person in the city, dreaded what this attack meant. The name of a particular clown lingered on everyone’s tongues, though no one dared invoke his name.
Batman wasn’t so sure, and she hoped that her gut feeling was right. Most of the bodies that were recoverable had been extracted from the blast zone, over a dozen dead and dozens more injured. Blood and soot equally covered the destroyed seats, and even more on the concrete below.
One thing caught Batman’s eye amidst the mess, two sections away from the initial blast. A small instant print photograph, half burnt, laid on the ground, covered in dirty boot prints. She picked it up and looked it over, squinting as she studied the subject.
It was a blonde woman, head down with wet hair covering her face. Almost lost in the details was a small trail of blood behind the hair, mixing with trailing makeup. Batman frowned as she flipped the image over, seeing the note for a specific seat in the section of the stadium that had been blown to bits.
She approached the seat and kneeled, ducking down to see under the seat. It was one of few that remained intact after the explosions. Zack Howard’s Final Stop was scratched into the bottom of the seat, and at the sight of it, Batman signalled to Oracle to scan the engraving. She couldn’t identify the woman in the photograph, but she could see clearly enough that the attack was targeted at a specific person.
Another killer, she thought to herself, fearing what it could mean for the city. Pyg almost tore the richest members of the city’s economy apart, and they were ready to throw their own to the wolves. Now, there’d been a deadly gas attack at a football game — one that had been sponsored by many of Gotham’s elite.
The idea that the Clown Prince of Crime had returned was already making its way through the city — Batman knew she would have to exert control over everything she could to keep it from tearing itself apart at the seams. She was more than prepared to do so.
“It doesn’t look good,” she said to Oracle.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice distant. “I hope it’s just another copycat, they’re much easier to deal with.”
“I don’t know,” Batman replied, looking back at the photograph. “Something’s different.”

I began TTC at age 35. My periods have never been very regular. In my early 30s, it got worse: I had a 60-day cycle. I went to a gyno and she wasn't concerned since I was on progesterone-only birth control. After, I began having more hairs on my chin, my cycle length became even more variable, and I have had a few hot sweat nights (maybe 5-10 over 4 years).
Fast forward a few years. We got pregnant on our first attempt at age 35 (even I had my second ever 60-day cycle right before). I was absolutely shocked. Unfortunately, it turned into a TFMR for chromosomal abnormalities at 18.5 weeks (December 2023).
I'm now 36. I've had 3 cycles since my TFMR, and we haven't gotten pregnant yet (I know this is normal). I've had my hormones tested twice (all normal). I had a normal US with a normal number of follicles (12). I had a normal HSG. I have confirmed ovulation with a progesterone test.
I'm considering jumping right into IVF, because I want to test our embryos, and because we'd like to try for two babies, and I know it'll just get harder as we get older. I know all of my tests have been normal, but my body doesn't feel normal. I'm concerned about egg quality and I know I can't actually test it without trying to make some embryos.
Has anyone gone through anything similar? What are the pros and cons of IVF? If I somehow actually don't have any fertility issues, is the likelihood of success higher? Has anyone else had all normal test results and still struggled? (Is that what unexplained infertility is?).
My insurance luckily covers 3 attempts per live birth 100%, so money isn't an issue.

my cat looks like she scratched away her hair on one of her ears. (picture 1 & 2) about a month or so ago she had this mysterious scab on her back(picture 3) (not sure if they are related) i brought her to the vet they gave me prednisolone and we have finished that prescription and her back scratch has finished healing . does anyone know what is wrong with her ear? could this be from stress, we have been introducing a new cat into the home, so i’m not sure. she also does have dry skin so could this be a cause of that as well?

hey y’all, i’ve had more time on my hands recently than i’d like. soooo, i’m looking for people to text and fill up some of that time! i love: fashion (hair, piercings, jewelry, and especialllly thrifting!!), traveling, food (probably my #1 interest), and music!!
let’s swap pictures of our recent fits, places we’ve been, and send memes! looking for more of a long term connection - let’s keep in touch and share things about each other’s days!! please send your ASL (age, sex, location) as well as a brief intro! looking forward to hearing from you and getting to know you :-)

I've been using the Ulike 10 every other day for just about two weeks, as suggested. I'm currently focused on the knee down and my armpits, but I am also running it over my thighs and bikini line as well. One thing I'm not completely sure on is if in this beginning phase I should be shaving before each session. I can tell my hair is growing back kinda patchy so something is definitely happening, but it seems like a lot of work on the onset to shave every other day (I can get away with every 4 days) just to make sure the device is truly focusing on the hair follicle.
Should I 1) go ahead and shave before each session for the next few weeks and then see how it goes, 2) shave before every other session, or 3) start seeing how long I can put off shaving and see how well the device is working?
I've had no adverse skin reactions after use and am comfortable using the high setting on my legs and SHR on my armpits and bikini line. I have fairish skin and dark hair. Admittedly, after reading more posts and comments here, I wish I had done more research before making the investment.

Hi, I just started a new birth control the Opill it's a progesterone only oral pill l've been on it for 19 days I got off my period 5 days ago. Is this discharge normal or is it a yeast infection or some type of thing like that? I've always never been able to tell if my discharge was normal or not but recently l've gotten on here and realized others have been able to get answer here so please if anyone could help me that'd be appreciated WARNING: PICTURE BELOW !!

So my ex and I (23f, 25f) broke up a little over 3 months ago. It was really brutal, I was blindsided, but at the same time I hurt her quite a bit as well. We were really toxic towards the end and I genuinely think this was for the best.
Like an hour and a half after we have the breakup conversation, Im at home trying to process things and she texts me a picture of her mom’s dog wearing a kansas city chiefs shirt and says “I fear you would have left me over this anyways” (Context for anyone who doesn’t care about sports, I just straight up don’t like the Chiefs and they were playing in the super bowl again that weekend). I didn’t respond at all and just felt really hurt, we broke up under strange circumstances and I was left feeling like she just didn’t like me and I was resigned to the fact that she didn’t respect me anymore, so getting a joke text within 2 hours of breaking up hurt a lot tbh. Like what was I supposed to say?
Fast forward two days, I didn’t respond to her dumb joke and she texts me at like midnight saying “Im sorry, I’ll learn forgiveness, you were my best friend and I hope we can be friends again” and then says a bunch more stuff the next morning like “We should talk soon”, “nobody understands me like you, I just want to speak with you about this and nobody else but we can’t and it sucks”. My sister and my friends told me to block her but I held strong for some reason. I just couldn’t let go.
Then a few MORE days later I decided to respond with no words, I send her the laundry/taxes meme from Everything Everywhere All at Once, partly because it was sentimental and we did have a really special relationship at one point, and also because lowkey the last thing I dropped off for her was her W-2 and her laundry. She responds saying we should talk soon, and says all kinds of stuff like “I miss you lots”, “Maybe we just need time to be our own people”, “Im still wearing the ring you gave me” (context: It wasn’t a promise ring or engagement ring or anything, just was one of the first birthday presents I ever got her and was one of the first gifts I ever bought someone where I spent real real money on, so it at least meant SOMETHING to us), and a whole bunch of other sentimental stuff, concluding with “Im here whenever you’re ready to speak.” These messages all really hurt me and multiple ppl told me to block her but once again, I just couldn’t bring myself to.
Now, a few more days go by and she texts me about a performance one of our mutual friends’ invited us to. She asked if I was gonna go and said if I was then she would back out. This just bothered me SO MUCH, not only had I forgotten all about this performance and had zero intention of going given the state I was in, but it was just a question that NEEDED an answer, I couldn’t just leave her on read again, right? I responded and kinda showed too much of my feelings and how hurt I was, and we spoke a bit over text. She admitted she handled our breakup inappropriately and also said that marriage was still a possibility for us (Mind you, in our final argument as a couple she pointed at me and goes “Does this even look like marriage material?” which I still think about to this day). It was….jarring. I pretty much clung on to that hope. Then at the end she completely switched her stance and said SHE needed time and that she would let ME know when she was ready for a conversation, saying she needed two weeks.
Fast forward a few weeks, we had been in contact only to exchange our belongings, but she blocked me after I told her she could leave one of my hats in the mailbox if she didnt want to see me. So I message her dad a week later in order to get my things back and get that all sorted. However, one of my friends informed me that she was speaking to a boy in one of her psych courses who had been hitting on her. This kinda sent me down the rabbit hole and I message her dad again asking for some of my stuff back. Mind you, Im still blocked at this point so if I wanted it back, I had to go through him. The thing she still had of mine was my nice pillow which i had given to her to take to her dorm, and even a few days after the breakup she had said stuff like “Im still sleeping on the pillow you gave me” so at this rate I just wanted it back. Her dad immediately assumed I had blocked her and he tried to speak to me like I was his kid and I told him “your daughter is the one who blocked me” and he got really embarrassed. I get unblocked and get my pillow back bc I dont know how youre still sleeping on it while speaking to the first dude that hits on you (Mind you this girl swore she was a lesbian and was always worried I would cheat with a boy). I get the pillow back, she compliments my hair bc I had gotten it done, and we go on our separate ways.
Now, I messaged her a couple more times because I kept finding stuff of hers at my place. Id dropped some of it off at her dad’s place bc he lives in town. Fast forward to my birthday exactly 2 months after we breakup, she texts me at 9pm saying “Happy birthday” and nothing else. Wtf. I didn’t reply and I actually was super lonely on my bday so she was the last person I wanted to hear from.
I think I made the mistake of trying to bring one of her things to her a week later because I was visiting a friend who lived by her campus. This is where I feel she thinks I might be the one trying to drop breadcrumbs. It was super awkward, i just handed her her stuff and she said something completely inaudible but sounded like “take care” or something along those lines. And NOW is where I make the ultimate mistake of asking why that was weird once she got back into her building. She was basically like “im still healing, don’t message me unless theres stuff of mine thatyou have. I dont want to speak to you for a very long time if not ever”. So in 2 months I go from “im here whenever youre ready” to “dont speak to me ever”.
I told her that I am still healing too and dont even want to have a conversation yet, and I make the mistake of asking why she bothered telling me happy birthday if thats how she feels. The response i got from her was “I did it because it would have felt bad not saying anything, I wont say it again next year”. I got blocked permanently a few messages later.
So basically, just go no contact and stick to it. I should have taken my friends advice and blocked her a long time ago, and because I didnt I got my hopes up and got hurt again. Apologies for the long post, but seriously sometimes people just say things because they are emotional and not because they mean them. I held out for hope for way too long.
Apologies for the long ass post