Gingerbread man microsoft word

The man who assaulted me now runs a psychedelic retreat to help people.

2024.05.17 00:41 handmedownss The man who assaulted me now runs a psychedelic retreat to help people.

I don’t even have many words but listening to these strangers testimonies on their page about how much they loved their experience with this man as their guide or whatever the fuck and how they have never felt “so safe” and “taken care of”. is like watching a horror film. if only they knew what he put me through as a young teenager. this man touched me in my sleep, sent me lewd photos of his gf (they are still together and have two children and multiple businesses), tried to make me believe he just wanted to feel closer to me. that he loved me. maybe i did i don’t even really know. part of me felt like i loved him. i knew it was all horribly wrong but he was the only person i had close to me in my life and he took advantage of it. i was 16/17 he was 21/22. i felt alone without him. i “forgave” him as i felt at the time he was just going through shit (relationship problems, his friend suddenly passed) and had a low moment and maintained a friendship and even worked for his business down the line. it wasn’t until a couple years ago i really came to terms with what he did to me. i hate him for it and i hate myself for not cutting it off. i just couldn’t bring myself to. the years of grooming. the abuse. the trauma bonding. it’s all so fucked. i blocked him randomly almost a year ago. he does business with my brother across the country and no one knows. i just want to scream. i ache for teenage me , i want to tell her non of it’s okay.
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2024.05.17 00:39 The_Average_Asshole Me All Week.

Me All Week.
Anybody else feel like they’re picking up what the cat man is putting down? While also feeling like you may actually be losing your mind a little too…
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2024.05.17 00:34 EmpireOfTheDawn Ronnel Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Guarded Domains, the Last King

PC

Discord Tag: 7up
Name and House: Ronnel Arryn
Age: 33
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: Cheekbones poised like a falcon perched, an aquiline nose after a raptor's beak, a stature rivalling a mountain's (if it were the size of a tall man), and blue eyes the same color as the sky. Aside from a propagandist's parallels to whatever sigil their patron displays, Ronnel Arryn errs from the example of the aloof falcon. Once possessed of a heedless will, a brashness and an impatience, those qualities have been tamed in turn by fatherhood, husbandhood, and rulership—though those traits still persist, merely tinged by the manner that an elder brother might take with the younger. His hair has shifted from dirty blond to sandy brown with age, and a trimmed beard covers his jaw.
Trait: Inspiring
Skill(s): Blunt Weapons, Cavalryman, Tactician, Cunning (e)
Talent(s): Falconry, hunting (non-mechanical 🤫🧏‍♂️), dragonriding
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Lord of the Eyrie, Lord of the Vale, Defender of the Guarded Domains of Arryn, Warden of the East, Warden of the Green Fork, First and Last of His Name, the King Who Flew, Rider of Vhagar (sometimes), and the Last King in Westeros
Starting Location: Feast
Family Tree

AC

Name and House: Marq Hardyng
Age: 32
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: A broad and ruddy man, blonde, brown-eyed, and bearded. Marq Hardyng wears his duty on his sleeve; that duty mostly being hunting with his milk brother.
Trait: Hale
Skill(s): Swords, Investigator (e)
Talent(s): Tourney lore x3
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Scion of House Hardyng
Starting Location: Feast

Biography

Little of the Last King’s early years are of much import; Ronnel Arryn was born to King Joffrey I and Queen Sharra Arryn. His few memories of his father were that of a pallid man, wan and sickly but still a king who bloody well fought the illness that plagued him.
Or perhaps those were just fanciful tales, an imagined story that supplanted the truth of the matter.
Joffrey Arryn did at least survive, if he did not fight. Ronnel’s siblings, Jonos and Roland, would be born in succession. The falcons grew in number, Joffrey’s ailment ceased, and—the gods took him away and brought Arwen Arryn into the world.
Shortly after his sister’s birth, Sharra Arryn dressed her son in royal regalia and placed a crown on his head, assuming rule as sole regent while the boy distracted himself with toys and games. He would be nursed with Marq Hardyng, and he and his milk brother grew to be quick friends.
The Queen Sharra could not rest. There were new contenders on the horizon, greater than what meager assaults the Hoares could occasionally muster against the Bloody Gate: the threefold conquerors atop their dragons. Where the ravens sent by Aegon were met with scorn by Durrandon and hubris by the Hoares, Sharra offered alliance. Her hand in marriage and the left bank of the Green Fork to be annexed into the Guarded Domains.
The dragons rejected the offer, and instead, a Velaryon fleet was sent to take Gulltown and establish a foothold. They were repelled and the Targaryen ships were sunk for that transgression, but Vhagar’s fire consumed the Grafton fleet with them.
Ronnel knew what war was. It was like those tales in storybooks, that of the Griffin King and the Winged Knight, the legends of the Battle of Sevenstars. He, Jonos, and Marq fashioned themselves as Jaime Corbray or Luceon Templeton and fought each other over who could best live up to Artys Arryn’s example. When the Gates of the Moon swelled with men-at-arms, knights, and levied smallfolk, the three would find the most fearsome looking of them and challenge them to duels. Once he heard of dragons, though, Ronnel was consumed. He begged his mother to let him lead a parlay under a peace banner just so that he could see them, but Sharra sent him off to the nurses or left him to kick rocks in the courtyard.
The banners gathered, and the defenses were headed by Lord Rodrik Hardyng. Orders were given, the soldiers were drilled. And Vhagar’s wings cast a shadow so large that it engulfed the Bloody Gate whole. Shouting on the ramparts and in the valleys, but high above in the Eyrie? Ronnel, then just eight, was in awe at the sight.
Sharra could only muster a smile when she returned to find her son on Visenya’s lap. An accord was struck, on Ronnel’s terms this time: he asked to fly on Vhagar and his mother would surrender the crown to the Targaryen Queen. The mercy that Visenya afforded was well-taken, though in Sharra’s mind, the threat of dragonfire crystallized.
A marked shift came then. There were no battles to be won, no politicking to be done that outweighed the import of her sons and her daughter. The Queen-Regent, now the Lady-Regent, empowered her son’s advisors and devoted her time to looking after her children. When Visenya returned after burning House Sunderland whole and gave reprimands, Sharra frowned and offered blunt words in turn, which the Queen acquiesced to. Their relationship thawed hence, though Ronnel had never wavered in his admiration of the Targaryen. A Winged-Knight-Come-Again. Perhaps he could ride a dragon of his own one day.
Ronnel was a rowdy lad and by the time he was of squiring age, he was content to leave the rule of his lands to his mother and whoever she picked as an advisor. Lords such as Lyn Egen, Willem Ryger, and Rodrik Templeton would come to advise the young lord or hawk with him. Lord Mathos Grafton became the most prominent of that cadre, his wisdom in old age allowing him more room for criticism. Ronnel wanted to while his time away with falconry and training, while the old lord reminded him of the issues that Targaryen reign brought.
At four-and-ten, Ronnel stole away from the Eyrie and gathered what boys and knights he could to face the mountain clans. He knew what war was; it was the Root Father and his savages, stealing and laying waste to the lands he was sworn to protect. It was in the throes of battle that Ronnel would be dubbed as a knight by some unknown dying man. The knighthood was left unmentioned, though the purpose he found for his rule—no, his guardianship—lingered.
In his victorious return to the Eyrie, Ronnel would be clouted on the ear for the stunt then barred from leaving for months. Visenya Targaryen landed once more in the Vale. This time, she took it as a home, and she was welcomed with open arms. Aegon’s heir was born in the Eyrie that year, dubbed as Laenor Targaryen and soon practically adopted by the Arryns as their younger sibling. Sharra would grow close to the dragon queen in the years to come.
A year later, Ronnel was sent to King’s Landing to squire for Orys Baratheon. Only a few months elapsed before he grew incensed with the Hand over one thing or another, and the squireship ended when the Arryn came to blows with his knight-master. Ronnel was sent back to the Vale, where he earned his spurs once more. Publicly this time, before a crowd of tourneygoers and then holding a vigil with oaths modeled after those of the Winged Knights.
Though he gave off the impression of a true knight by that time, he was more preoccupied with wine and women and the hunt than statecraft. In any room he entered, he laughed the loudest, boasted the loudest, fought the hardest, always with Marq at his side. Nothing but a scolding from his mother Sharra or a clout on the ear from his second mother Visenya could fetter him. He was a falcon, and he flew high and bright.
Such a lofty stature is bound to attract envy. As any elder brother would, he butted heads with his siblings often. His rivalry with his brother Jonos was much more than a sibling spat, however, though the nature and root of their rivalry is unknown to all but a select few. In later years, their quarrels grew louder and their rifts deeper, with Jonos having been sent thrice to play second fiddle to the Knight of the Bloody Gate, and threatened with taking the black twice as many times. Still, their early quarrels proved to be mere distractions, and they wreaked what havoc boy-lords would in taverns and winesinks.
But his lip had to become stiff the day his mother died, just a few months after he came of age and assumed power. Sharra Arryn's last words of advice ate away at his spirit.
"Kill the boy."
So he was offered at the altar, and so did Rhaenys Targaryen seize the opportunity. Ronnel Arryn would be wed to the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, Serena Stark, and that match was confirmed by Sharra’s will. Yet numb, he received his wife to be in Gulltown with courtesy, and they were wedded with haste. Once a Princess of the North and now the Lady of the Vale, Serena found no home in the Eyrie. Ronnel came to avoid her; going on hunts, staying at the Moongates or even the Bloody Gate, and offering only short conversation in their rare meetings.
It came to a head when Serena stated her intention to return to Winterfell. Ronnel gave a shrug in response, and asked when she wanted to depart. Jonos could be his heir if need be, and his mother’s death still dragged his thoughts, so why bother at all?
The intervention of one dragon queen then another halted the split: Visenya reminded Ronnel that Aegon made two marriages work at once. A raven carrying a letter from Queen Rhaenys arrived, affixed with a ring wrought of Valyrian steel. Ronnel gave it to Serena as a peace offering.
There was no parting from the Targaryens’ grand plans, it seemed. So Ronnel’s marriage with Serena began anew. She would be introduced to the Vale and its customs with feasts and tourneys, sitting on councils and holding court as the Lady of the Vale. In the same vein, more familiar items and furnishings were brought in from the North, and Ronnel would journey to the weirwood tree that the mountain clans held sacred to try to pray with his wife. He did not hear the old gods’ whispers and could not bear the stillness, but the two came to understand one another, and their marriage grew warm. Their first child, Robar Arryn, was born a year later, and the Tourney by the Maiden’s Bay would be held in his honor.
Ronnel settled into his reign. His liveliness returned, though boyish pursuits were restrained with fatherhood. He replaced the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon after the Cavaliers proved more competent, sent tax collector after tax collector when Witch Isle grew silent (and nearly called the banners before being dissuaded), and ensured that the mountain clans and any other would-be invaders were quelled while Lae Targaryen was raised to be a greater king than their father. The Brotherhood of the Winged Knights, once decrepit, grew stronger after pieces of the Winged Knight’s armor were found.
His second child, a daughter, would be born then. Faced with the choice of naming her after Sharra or Visenya, she would instead be named after her great-grandmother Cynthea. Artos Arryn would follow four years later, his name chosen by the Lady Arryn.
Another day in the Eyrie. Five-and-twenty years after Aegon's Conquest, and near thirty years into Ronnel's reign. He slides a razor over his cheek and coughs once into a fist. Ronnel opens his palm to see droplets of blood. He wipes his cheek. A shaving cut, no doubt and no matter.
The next week while he sups with his family, the coughs come back. He excuses himself, blames his trip to the valleys with a chuckle, and Jonos meets his gaze with a sidelong glance before shirking away.
He sees his maester without telling anyone. And once more after a hunt. Soon, he is left sitting on his bed with grains of sweetsleep in hand and a warning: he would die. And soon.
Ronnel Arryn is honorable. He is just, or at least just enough. But when he bounces his son on his knee and looks into smiling grey eyes where his Stark mother's are oft stern, he wonders whether the next Targaryen to come to the Eyrie would let little Artos fly or burn him and his family whole.
It is not enough. Ronnel Arryn is not just enough. As the last king yet walking on the earth of this damnable regent's kingdom, he needs to ensure that the next monarch in Laenor Targaryen sits firmly on the Iron Throne before he dies—honor be damned if need be, by any means fucking necessary. That is his duty to the realm. That is his duty to his wife and children, and that will be his legacy.

Timeline

Sup porting Characters

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2024.05.17 00:34 tsfy2 Suggestions For Computer For Elderly Mother

My mother in law is in her 90s and lives in a different state from my wife and I. She uses a very old desktop computer almost exclusively just for email, a little bit of web surfing and maybe reading Microsoft word document every once in a while.
She is constantly screwing up the computer and the. Can’t figure out how to get to her email, etc.
Do you think a basic chromebox might be a good option for her? She doesn’t want a laptop (Chromebook) since she wants a larger screen and separate keyboard. I’m thinking chromeos might stop the pop ups she gets and keep things simpler for her. Thoughts?
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2024.05.17 00:34 Intern-Entire First attempt a writing / feedback appreciated

Title: None (suggestions welcome) Genre: Sci-fi Word count: 2694 Feedback desired: general impression
Chapter 1: The boy and his mother
1.1 The farm
Hagr stood at the edge of the farm, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of Zandarius stretching out before him. The sky above was a canvas of swirling purples and blues streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the enticing scent of Heyla flowers.
With a sigh, Hagr set down his mechanic wheelbarrow, the last of his chores for the day completed. He began to make his way back towards the farm, his footsteps crunching softly against the rocky terrain. As he passed through the pink and green garden, the aroma of his mother's porridge drifted towards him, tempting his hunger.
Despite eating the same meal every day, Hagr's stomach grumbled with anticipation. The suuka porridge was all he needed right now, its warm, comforting embrace promising to chase away the chill of the evening.
Arriving at the farm, Hagr took in the familiar sight of their plascrete igloo. Half of the structure was comprised of little octagon windows, through which the warm glow of a fire emanated from the chimney. It was home, humble yet comforting in its simplicity.
Entering the igloo, Hagr found his mother, Altha, bustling about the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hagr, dear, could you set the table?" she called out, her voice gentle yet firm. Hagr nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he arranged the mismatched dishes in their usual places. Each plate was different, yet they always ended up in the same spot, a testament to the routines of their daily life.
Once the table was set, Hagr ignited the moonlamp, casting a soft yellow glow across the igloo walls. Altha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of suuka porridge. "Careful, Hagr," she warned as she placed the pot on the table. "It's hot." Hagr nodded as he heard this many times before, his mouth watering at the sight and smell of the hearty meal before him. They ate in silence, the only sound of the clinking of spoons against bowls as they savored each mouthful.
After a moment, Hagr broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder what's beyond Zandarius, Mumu?" he asked. Altha hesitated, her expression guarded. "I don't know, Hagr," she replied softly. "But we have everything we need right here on the farm." Though disappointed by her response, Hagr nodded in understanding. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to explore together. Altha caught his eye and winked, a small glimmer of hope in her gaze.
As they finished their meal, Hagr and Altha moved to the small kitchen area to wash the dishes. The kitchen was cluttered yet cozy, with shelves overflowing with pots, pans, and utensils. Beyond the kitchen, the interior of the igloo was a snug retreat from the harshness of the outside world. A small cupboard, crafted from Zandarius rare Bennam wood, stood in one corner, its doors closed tight to conceal its overflowing contents. Nearby, a plush couch with pillows offered a comfortable spot to relax after a long day's work. Opposite the couch, a large hammock hung from the ceiling. Above it, a smaller hammock swayed gently in the breeze, providing a cozy nest for Hagr during the night. Every inch of space was utilized to its fullest, creating a sense of warmth and intimacy within the cramped confines of the igloo.
As the hour grew late, Altha reminded Hagr of their upcoming journey to Kihar. With a yawn, Hagr climbed into his hammock, gazing up at the stars through the little octagon windows above. "Goodnight, Hagr," Altha whispered, her voice soft in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Mumu," Hagr replied, his eyes closing as sleep overtook him. And with that, he drifted off, thoughts of tomorrow's journey fading into the comforting embrace of dreams.
1.2 The Trip
Hagr awoke to the gentle light filtering through the little octagon windows of their igloo. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that his mother's hammock was empty. Mu-mu?" he called out, but there was no response.
Curiosity piqued, Hagr peered outside and spotted his mother tending to the kikkamoos, their pig-like creatures with reptilian legs and Fluffy tails. With a swift motion, he leaped out of bed, his movements practiced from years of experience. After quickly dressing himself, he hurried outside, calling out to his mother. "Altha!" he yelled, using her full name in his urgency. His mother turned towards him with a warm smile. "Haggie!" she called back, using his pet name.
Hagr wasted no time and dashed off to fetch Tsjoopa, their trusty mechanical unicycle cart already loaded with goods for trade. As he returned with the cart, he found his mother waiting back at the farm. "Ready to go, Hagr?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Absolutely!" Hagr exclaimed, brimming with energy. And so, they set off on their journey to Kihar, the nearest town for trading.
The road ahead seemed endless, traversing through vast and barren plains broken only by occasional patches of vegetation. Sparse woods flanked the roadside, offering concealment but little wildlife, a testament to Zandarius' unforgiving environment.
After a few hours of travel, they finally reached a landmark known as the Sharp Knives, a crossroad marked by sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. "We’re here, the Sharp Knives," Altha remarked, her gaze sweeping over the rugged terrain. "We're halfway there, Hagr." Hagr nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Already? Time flies when you're in good company." A mischievous glint sparkled in Altha's eyes as she reached into the cart. "Speaking of good company, I brought something special for our halfway mark." Hagr's interest was piqued. "What is it?" With a dramatic flourish, Altha revealed a small container of sosuuka, a sweeter version of yesterday's porridge. "Sosuuka!" Hagr exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic despite his familiarity with the dish. Altha chuckled at his feigned excitement. "I thought it might be a nice treat for our journey." Hagr grinned, playing along. "Absolutely! Thanks, best mumu on Zandarius." Lost in thought, Altha gazed into the distance, her attention drawn to the gathering ominous clouds on the horizon, a harbinger of stormy weather to come. "We might have some rough weather ahead," Altha remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Hagr glanced up at the darkening sky. "Should we stop and wait it out?" Altha shook her head. "We need to keep moving. We can't afford to delay our journey." Guess we'll have to save the view for another time," Hagr sighed, reluctantly agreeing with Altha's decision while she nodded in understanding. "But, after all," Hagr declared, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride, "at ten years old, I'm practically a grown man! I can handle anything, even eating sosuuka on the way without spilling a drop." Altha burst into laughter at his boast. "Sosuuka without spilling? I'd sooner believe kikkamoos could fly!" Hagr joined in her laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape as they continued on their journey to Kihar.
1.3 Arrival in Kihar
As Hagr and Altha approached Kihar, the plascrete town sprawled out before them, its streets winding like intricate mazes through the heart of the city. In stark contrast to the barren landscape of Zandarius, Kihar was a vibrant tapestry of life, with lush vegetation adorning every corner. Hagr’s eyes roamed over the cityscape, taking in the sight of the bustling alleys and the constant mist of smoke that hung in the air. Despite having visited many times before, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the bustling energy of the tradetown.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, the tantalizing aroma of food mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter, tempting Hagr's senses and reminding him of the porridge-filled days back on their farm. Finally, they reached the local market, a bustling hub of activity where traders hawked their wares amidst the thick scent of spices and exotic foods. "First stop, Old Taramor's," Altha announced, her voice carrying above the din of the market. Hagr's thoughts drifted to Taramor, the old, grumpy trader who had been a fixture in Kihar for as long as he could remember. Despite his rough exterior, Taramor was one of the few honest traders left in the city, and Hagr had always respected him for it. "Sounds good to me," Hagr replied, his tone positive.
As they approached Old Taramor’s, Altha hopped off the Tsjoopa and turned to Hagr. "Hagr, could you fetch a crate of Heyla bottles from the back of the cart?" she asked. Hagr nodded silently, already moving to comply.
Entering the shop, they found Taramor snoozing behind his counter, the cluttered shelves and dusty displays a testament to his lack of care for his surroundings. Altha hesitated, reluctant to disturb the old trader, but time was of the essence. "Taramor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. No response. Again, a bit louder this time “Taramor”. Still no response. Growing impatient, Hagr couldn't help but raise his voice. "Taramor!" Startled awake, Taramor shot upright, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell's going on?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it's just you two," he muttered, recognizing Altha and Hagr. Altha gestured to Hagr to take a look around while she spoke with Taramor. Hagr nodded and wandered through the cluttered shelves, his curiosity piqued by the assortment of strange and exotic items on display. In the background, a television played the news, and the volume turned low but still audible. A news reporter's voice cut through the air, reporting on the recent assassination of a high-ranking official. The military had already neutralized one suspect, but two others were still at large. The camera footage showed two figures cloaked in dark red and black, their faces obscured. Zooming in on one of the suspects, the reporter noted a tattoo of a three-headed monster on their neck, linking them to the notorious syndicate known as the Three-Headed Beast. "People are urged to remain vigilant," the reporter concluded, "and to report any sightings of the suspects to the authorities." "Hagr," Altha called out, pulling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he set down a strange-looking coffee maker he had been inspecting and hurried over to join them.
Outside, Hagr turned to his mother, concern etched on his face. "How did the trade go?" Altha hesitated before answering, her tone guarded. "It wasn't as successful as we had hoped, but we'll manage." Trying to sound confident, Hagr responded, "No need to worry, Mumu. We'll make it work."
As they made their way back through the bustling market, Hagr glanced at his mother. " Can we get some Uja skewers now?" Altha smiled warmly. "Absolutely, Hagr. Let’s grab some delicious Uja," she said, turning on their trusty, albeit rusty, Tsjoopa.
1.4 No place like home
As Altha and Hagr made their way home in the fading light, a bird soared above them, its silhouette dark against the dusky sky. They were nearing their farmstead, the exhausting trip almost at an end. Hagr turned to Altha, his curiosity piqued. “What is coffee?” he asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Altha pondered for a moment before responding, “I’ve heard of it. It’s some sort of black drink. Similar to Puggatree juice, they say it gives you energy.” Hagr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never been fond of Puggatree juice, finding its thick texture and slimy consistency unappealing. With a shake of his head, he decided he didn’t want to try coffee after all.
As they chatted, unaware of the figure watching them from afar, the landscape growing darker with each passing moment, they finally arrived at the farm.
Altha unloaded the traded goods from the Tsjoopa, and with a nod to Hagr, she motioned for him to stow it away in the barn. Hagr complied, placing the Tsjoopa in the barn, where sturdy plascrete walls and reinforced wooden beams protected it from the harsh winds. With the task done, he made his way back to the igloo. As he approached, he noticed that the interior was unusually dark, the comforting glow of the moonlamp absent. With a sense of unease gnawing at him, he entered cautiously.
To his horror, he found himself face to face with a cloaked figure in dark black and red, his alien eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Before he could react, he spotted his mother on the floor, tears streaming down her face, with another figure standing over her, a scarred human face, and a sinister three-headed beast tattoo on his neck. “Mumu!” Hagr screamed in terror. The figure with glowing eyes uttered incomprehensible words, while the scarred man cursed, "We can't leave any witnesses, Deskva.” Altha whispered urgently, "Hagr, stay calm. Everything will be fine." Hagr looked at his mother in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's going to happen?" his voice trembled with fear. The scarred human scoffed, "We can sell the boy on the black market, but the woman? She's too old to bother selling. Not worth the hassle, Des." With brute force, Deskva grabbed Hagr, who fought against his captor with all his might. "Please, let me go!" Hagr pleaded, his voice desperate as he struggled against Deskva's grip. As Hagr cast a desperate glance at his mother, tears welling in his eyes, the scarred man turned his attention to Altha, deeming her of no value. Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired, the shot piercing through Altha’s skull with a sickening thud echoing through the silent igloo. Hagr’s world shattered as he watched his mother fall, tears blurring his vision, bile rising in his throat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a brutal blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.
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2024.05.17 00:33 No-Accountant3751 Figuring things out

Ok so, for context: I've been a "closeted femboy" for a couple of years now, and didn't think much deeper of it other than being very insecure about it, I've had a partner for half a year now and told her about the whole femboy thing quite early on in our relationship, she has been nothing but supportive and ever since then I've felt a lot more comfortable exploring my femininity and just being myself feeling like I'm not alone anymore.
Recently, my partner (18 AFAB) told me that she might be genderfluid (still prefers to go by she/her) and that she's still figuring things out. I've done my best to show her my support and reassurance that I'll stay by her side no matter what. Now, a couple of days ago while we talked about this and I asked her how she felt to try to understand her better and offer my support in the best way possible, we realized that I related to some of the things she feels a little too much... but I brushed it off for the most part (other than being happy that I can understand my partner better than I thought and the fact that she doesn't feel alone in this).
However, something else happened that has made feel kinda cofunsed and questioning some stuff...
First you'll need a tad bit more context; We're from a spanish-speaking country, which means all words (be it adjectives, nouns, etc) are gendered. Now the thing is, yesterday I was feeling a little insecure about being a femboy (nothing bad happened, just the usual insecurity that I feel from time to time) and I was talking to my partner about and and I asked her if she would still find me attractive if sometimes i wanna go for a full fem look, to which she answered "claro que seguiría viendote atractivo... o más bien atractiva" (of course you'd still be attractive(masc) to me... or rather attractive(fem) ) and hearing those words felt... strangely nice(?, like I just got all nervous (in a good sense) all of a sudden, and she noticed it and asked me how I felt. And I was just like "hearing that felt confusingly good" and asked her if she could keep talking to me in a fem manner and istg with every word she said I felt more happy, nervous and extremely confused...
It was an incredibly strange feeling but also a really positive one, and after talking more to my partner about it, she asked if I may be genderfluid too (since I do very often feel just like, male, but sometimes I feel more feminine) and the thing is... I don't know. Like, it felt really good hearing refer to me with feminine pronouns but despite this I don't really think I ever feel like full on girl, just sometimes I feel like masculine man and sometimes i feel like, well, femboy, so I don't really know if the genderfluid label applies to me (and also I just feel more comfortable using femboy) but like... is that valid? Can I have an extremely similar experience to a genderfluid person and enjoy feminine pronouns sometimes yet not identify as genderfluid myself?
I am very confused about all this but also it's nice to explore and get to know myself better, and not being alone in this since, well, both me and my partner are figuring things out.
I know I will figure it out eventually but I would also appreciate if anyone could share some advice <3
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2024.05.17 00:23 harrystylesswift Sketchy Agent / Client over $

Hi everyone! I have been signed to a well known agency in the midwest since April of last year. When I say well known I mean there has never been an instance where they were called out for being scammers and are #1/#2 in the midwest as far as agencies go. Think of the two biggest in Ohio.
Around February or March, I reached out to both of my agents to request a copy of my contract. It wasn't for any specific reason, but I thought I should hang onto it. It’s my fault that I lost the copy I signed originally. My request was ignored. I have asked again and again (over text because they prefer it) with no response. I have even gotten texts back later about other things I've asked, so it's not that they don't see the texts at all.
Fast forward to the end of April. January 30th and 31st I did a job for a very large company through my agency. Large as in on the same level as H&M, Abercrombie, etc. I was to be paid 400 per day (800 total) with a 20% agency fee. My agency, since I first signed, have consistently stated that we are to be paid within 90 days. I worked another job with this same company on March 6th and 7th.
90 days after my first gig with the company, April 30, I text my agents. I remind them that it's been a full 90 days and I've gotten nothing from this company. I asked again for my contract, realizing something may actually be sketchy now. They do not respond to any of my texts. A few days later, on May 3rd, a man calls me from our agency's finance department. He tells me that the company I did the jobs for had filed for bankruptcy in March. (This has been fact checked and I have found it to be very clearly true.) He said I'd probably not get the money from the March job (red flags in my mind), but that the company had sent the money for the January job to my agency and that I would get it very soon (“phew okay at least I’ll get that”). He confirmed, in his words over the phone, that my agency had the money in their possession and it was now their job to send it to me.
It is May 16th. 106 days post-gig. I have since texted my agents asking again for my contract and to have an update on my payment. Nothing. I called the finance guy this morning with no response and left a voicemail. He was kind and said I could contact him any time.
When does this become a legal matter? Has it already warranted moving forward in some way?
My biggest concerns are that I literally cannot contact anyone within my agency. No one will respond to me, so how do I even begin to "get out?"
submitted by harrystylesswift to EmploymentLaw [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:23 mega6382 Well duh!

Well duh! submitted by mega6382 to comedyheaven [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:22 mscmomo13 Shrek Homebrew

Hey everyone!
I've been storytelling for about a year now, But i've never made a home brew. As a joke my players are calling our next session, This saturday, The Shrek appreciation day session. As a joke, I said I would have to make a shrek inspired script. Somehow that rolled into a whole shrek homebrew. I'm very excited about the idea, But as I don't completely know what I'm doing with a homebrew.I wanted to ask for advice. I'm trying to include some already established abilities. As well as character specific inspired abilities.
Any and all help or ideas would be greatly appreciated!
So far I have Merlin (knight esque) Queen Lillian (monk) Sleeping beauty (excorcist) Doris (Savant but would maybe switch to a drinking role) Blind mice (village idiot esque) Donkey Dragon Arthur Pendragon Gingerbread man Poss In boots Shrek (huntsman esque on the hunt for princess Fiona to transform her to an Ogre) Ogre fiona (slayer esque) Three little pigs (tea Lady)
Princess fiona (Damsel esque turned evil or to Ogre Fiona) King harold Big bad wolf Pinocchio (madness mechanic)
Prince charming (huntsman esque on the hunt for princess Fiona to turn her evil) Magic mirror (info role with poison mechanic) Stromboli (cerenovus esque) Thelonious (Assassin)
Lord Farquad Fairy godmother Rumpelstiltskin Evil queen
I'm Open to changing a few of the characters. As well as changing their abilities.
Edit to add I have no idea why but it removed all my separation between the characters
submitted by mscmomo13 to BloodOnTheClocktower [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:17 techiewench This feels weird. TW: Setting boundaries with abuser.

So I just had a rough conversation with my ex-husband.
I set boundaries. Then I actually silenced notifications on the text chain.
Then I had a panic attack.
I’m okay now. I’m safe. But it was the first time it’s ever happened while I’m on meds and safe. It feels weird in a way I can quite put words to yet. Even though the panic attack has subsided. Thank god I never had children with that man.
submitted by techiewench to CPTSD [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:14 ormaybemok My dad got approached by a magician(?)

Salam aleykum,
Today my dad told me a Pakistani man approached him and asked if he is overworked or doesnt sleep good. My dad nodded and said"who doesnt?" The pakistani then handed my dad a paper and asked to tell a number between 6-8. My dad said 7 and the man said that within 1 week there's going to happen something great in his life. The man then asked to tell a type of flower so my dad said a rose. The man asked to open the paper and on the paper was the number 7 and the word 'Rose' and the man asked if they could meet again soon. I immediately told him hes probably a sahir and to avoid him if he ever sees him again. What do you think, is this a sahir?
submitted by ormaybemok to islam [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:12 Hospitalized_Enby Creepy Short Story: Çåmþ άνω κάτω

I wrote this back in 2020, apologies for any spelling mistakes or cringe. I wanted to post this for fun, to see what sort of theories people would have in the comments! Feel free to have discourse over the story, and I welcome constructive criticism. I will be continuing this in the form of a novel at a later date.
Deep in the woods, where the stink of decay invades your senses and you can't see your hand in front of your face, lies a foreboding structure. Most of the year it is quiet, watching, waiting for someone like you to come along and stumble into its trap, to become ensnared by chaos and pure evil.
However, today it shakes, creaking with excitement as an old man with gray hair and sideburns hobbles his way up the front steps, pausing every now and then to rap his cane on the enormous building.
"Hello again, old friend," His raspy voice calls out into the silence, the birds and crickets knowing very well to avoid this place.
The storm windows slam against the sides of the house, creating a cacophony of noise in the evening air as it welcomes the man inside, a plush chair sliding under his feet and a fire lighting itself in the fireplace.
"Do you know what today is?" The walls curve in closer, desperate for the answer to the question, hoping for the one request the house has had all year to be true.
And it was.
The old man smiled and stated calmly, "It is time. In one week they will arrive, and you will feast once more."
The whole building shook with youthful exuberance, almost seeming to be jumping for joy as it heard his words.
And then, there was silence once more, and the building resumed its duty of watching, waiting, and, in a way, smiling.
submitted by Hospitalized_Enby to wendigoon [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:12 nekomeiko Need Advice- Male Doctor at Urgent Care popped a cyst on my labia without my consent, even after asking him to stop

Hi Ladies, I need advice. I'm planning on leaving a review and reporting him to the Texas Medical Board but I feel like I'm going crazy and don't feel justified in reporting. I'd like to hear what y'all think (TLDR at bottom)
2 days ago I noticed what looked like a boil or cyst on my right labia. Yesterday this boil started to grow and become very irritated making it hard to sit down and hurt to walk around. I checked google and started putting a warm compress on it throughout the day to get it to drain naturally but knew I would probably need to get antibiotics to keep from infection. The boil (now know it was a cyst) was about 1cm big, pea-edamame sized and looked like it was possibly infected, hence the urgent care trip, and very red and inflamed. Wanted to be safe rather than sorry and decided it was better to go get antibiotics and start them that night just in case it started draining. It was pretty late at night and there was only 1 urgent care open, which was not the urgent care I typically went to.
Get to the urgent care, fill out the papers. Receptionist sees my paperwork and lets me know they only have a male doctor, and if that would be ok. Male doctors doing my exams in sensitive areas wasn't my favorite thing. Had some good experiences, had some bad. I said it was fine, since I assumed he was just going to examine if it looked infected and maybe prescribe some antibiotics. Wait for a bit in the waiting room then the nurse pulls me back for vitals. She was extremely sweet, talked about her bartholin's cyst and how it sounded like that could possibly be my problem. She told me to get undressed from the waist down, gave me a cover up, and she let me know she would be in the room with me while the doctor took a look.
Doctor comes into the room. It was an older man in his 70's or 80's. He did not introduce himself, he did not ask me what I was in for. I said hello, tried to start talking about my problem and he interrupts me with just a "show me it.". Rude and weird as we haven't even had a conversation yet but whatever, it's late at night.
I get on my back, there were no sternups or anything so I kind of awkwardly had my legs frog style. He immediately began touching the area- which was very red and tender and painful without a single word. Not a huge fan of that. My gyno's and dr's have always told me what they were about to do, especially when touching in or around my vagina. I asked him to tell me if it looked infected, if I could just let it drain and if I would need antibiotics (been super anxious about sepsis recently which was the biggest factor for coming in). He mentions that it looked like it may have started draining and then asked the nurse to grab him a paper towel.
Suddenly I felt a huge stinging pain on the area where the cyst was. Enough to make me yelp in pain and scoot back from him. He was popping my cyst. Popping it! No lancing, no gentle squeezing, no pain relief, NOTHING! He hadn't even wiped the area before popping a cyst, possibly making it more infected if it wasn't already. After the first wave of pain, nearly passing out he kept squeezing very hard I said "that hurts really bad can you stop?" and he did not stop. He squeezed again, and I yelped again and said "I'm serious I haven't had any ibuprofen or anything this hurts so bad please stop". Still no words spoken to me at this point. I was pissed, and in a lot of pain. I had wanted it to drain naturally because I didn't want to risk any extra scarring even with a cut or lance, but I will get even worse scarring from this doctor popping it! He took the paper towel and kept wiping and I winced in pain and told him to seriously stop touching it. He finally backed off, and waddled over to his clipboard all without saying a single word to me. The female nurse was in the room, silent this entire time- mind you.
He finally spoke up to ask me how much I weighed and if I was allergic to any medications because now that it's ruptured I needed to be on antibiotics immediately so I don't get infected. I couldn't believe what had just happened. He had not asked me if I wanted it "drained" if you could even call it that. He had not talked to me about what he was going to do. And if he had listened to me as he waddled over, he would have heard me say that I've been doing warm compresses to get it to drain naturally. I had to ask the female nurse for a panty liner so that I wasn't (TMI) leaking puss and blood all over my panties while I waited 45 minutes at a CVS to start my antibiotics. He left the room, without sharing any aftercare, without asking me if I had any questions. Nothing, just left. I just have this big gaping wound on my labia that I guess I'm just trying to keep clean and not pee on?
I have gotten cysts drained before at doctors offices, by the way. Cysts on my vaginal opening and urethral opening have been drained at gyno appointments. They are supposed to give you some kind of local numbing and it is done on request with either a lance or a cut. They certainly didn't squeeze-pop them without consent and they were explaining everything they were doing, before doing it. And the most important thing was when the pain was bad and I said "break" or "stop" and they would stop.
I left the clinic feeling violated. I'm upset that this cyst is going to scar more because he ruptured it without a care in the world. I had not asked him to drain my cyst on any kind of paperwork. I am upset he had not asked for any kind of consent before doing it. I was not there on request of a cyst draining. I had requested an exam to check for infection and to possibly get antibiotics.
I will be following up with my primary care physician, just to check for damage and proper aftercare instructions. I am planning on leaving a review on the clinics google page, which I found also had a few 1 star reviews about "the older gentleman" that took care of them. I want to also report to the medical board, but I have no strong evidence against him. I am a SA victim, and I'm already very uncomfortable with people touching me in that area. And I feel like he scarred me without my consent.
Any and all advice or support is greatly needed right now <3
TLDR: Went to doctor for centimeter sized cyst on labia to examine if it was infected and to get antibiotics. Male doctor refused to speak to me, and squeeze-popped my cyst without talking to me, without consent, without pain relief and refused to stop squeezing after I had asked him to stop, twice. My risk of infection is higher, and the area is going to scar. Left me no aftercare instructions. Gave me antibiotic prescription. This was a *non-emergency* urgent care trip.
submitted by nekomeiko to WomensHealth [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:11 Peacock-Shah-III The Farmer-Labor Presidential Primaries of 1952 Peacock-Shah Alternate Elections

The Farmer-Labor Presidential Primaries of 1952 Peacock-Shah Alternate Elections
Seeking a third term to finish his construction of a new dawn for the republic once and for all, incumbent President Philip La Follette has rallied his supporters within the party to almost guarantee his renomination after four years of intraparty purges of his detractors following his narrow triumph over John L. Lewis in 1948. Yet, inspired by former Vice President Lena Morrow Lewis’s deathbed plea to “save our party’s democratic soul,” burgeoning efforts from within statewide opposition groups have sought to mount opposition from within the presidential nominating process as a means of reconquering state parties.
Presidential portrait of Philip F. La Follette.
Philip F. La Follette: The heir to one of the nation’s great political dynasties, Philip Fox La Follette would emerge from the Great War and Revolution as a war hero, a reputation that, with his last name, would carry the once outspokenly anti-war young man to the Governor’s office, Lindbergh’s Supreme Court, and finally the upper echelons of the Army, where his ability to avoid taking positions on controversial issues would win him the Farmer-Labor nomination for the presidency in 1944–and finally the White House itself. Alienating much of his constituency from the outset with his determination to prosecute the war effort to its fullest, La Follette would respond to the battlefield use of two atomic weapons by Japan with a series of nuclear strikes upon the Japanese mainland that would claim final victory for the United States at the cost of the lives of over two million Japanese civilians. Appointing General Douglas MacArthur, hardly a Farmer-Laborite, as Secretary of State, La Follette has pursued the rebuilding and rearmament of a ring of anti-communist nations in Asia while pledging to avoid any future war.
Declaring that, with the age of war having closed, the republic must “win the peace,” La Follette allied himself with much of Charles Lindbergh’s base of support, saluting alongside the fascists of Alabama as he presided over the sharpest GDP growth in American history and buoyed it with executive orders to nationalize the healthcare industry while engaging in the mass sterilization of Americans and constructing an interstate highway system and hydroelectric power grid without congressional approval. With an investigation into the disappearance of Smedley Butler yielding evidence of an assassination organized under former President Lindbergh and a litany of arrests of leading anti-La Follette figures stuning the nation, the opposition would unite in an unprecedented impeachment effort.
Now, months after having saved his presidency from the first impeachment in American history, 55 year old incumbent President Philip F. La Follette has sought a new mandate for his call to “win the peace” in a quest for a third term; further, the President has taken his first major post-impeachment use of executive power to reorganize the cabinet into umbrella departments of Peace, Production, and Prosperity. Pointing to the successful slaying of the dragon of inflation and the first space launches in human history, Phil has sought the passage of a constitutional amendment reducing the legislative power to that of a veto and expanding that of the presidency while instituting a nationwide referendum system. Although practically guaranteed renomination after his purging of opponents from national power within Farmer-Labor following his narrow 1948 triumph over John L. Lewis, La Follette’s re-envisioning of Farmer-Labor has nonetheless continued to fuel a dogged but disorganized opposition movement despite the winning over of former opponents such as Washington’s Scoop Jackson, who nearly mounted a bid against La Follette himself.
Conservative former President Alf Landon, socialist Representative Norman Thomas, and the widow of Franklin Roosevelt, Anna Eleanor, campaigning in New York.
Nationwide Opposition Candidates:
With efforts to discourage any opposition campaigns in full swing, only one major figure has stepped forth to win ballot access in most states continuing to hold primaries, although many states have seen independent organizing efforts in tandem with the shared ultimate goal of the demise of fascism.
Alf Landon: 65 year old former President Alf Landon has his cross to bear. Refusing to endorse against Charles Lindbergh after withdrawing from the party’s 1936 primaries, Landon’s inaction as his 1932 campaign manager Rush Holt put Lindbergh over the line would see the Lone Eagle’s flight path on a course to the White House, from where he would crush the remaining loyal Landonites in the midterm elections of 1938. Landon emerged triumphant in 1928 by pitching his moderation as a formula for long term Farmer-Labor dominance of government, only to see the party implode under his watch. Losing the popular vote only to win a contingent election via the machinations of Clarence Dill, Landon's presidency proved eventful, most notable, perhaps for its domestic inaction. While concentrating his focus upon the Molotov-Lundeen Pact establishing friendly diplomatic relations with the Soviet government in Russia, a policy Landon championed as the catalyst for the wide scale withdrawal of foreign forces from American soil, Landon would cut economic aid across the board and refuse to bail out banks & big business in the face of record unemployment rates following the worldwide depression brought on by the collapse of the Japanese economic bubble, while focusing on driving up interest rates to control inflation.
Pitted against a hostile Congress led by Clarence Dill, the man whose legislative acumen carried him to the White House and who now stands as La Follette’s loyal Secretary of Peace, Landon found much of his party arrayed against him in the face of a veto of the Thomas Bill nationalizing natural gas distribution & the telephone industry despite prior promises from Landon to support both proposals. With the complete breakdown of legislative-executive relations, Dill forced through the Recovery Act of 1931, the largest omnibus bill in American history, enacting vast economic reforms over the disgruntlement of Landon. Winning the primaries of 1932 in a landslide, only to lose at the convention in the face of the backroom dealings of Clarence Dill, Landon would fail in a 1936 comeback attempt that would inadvertently pave the way to fascism.
In partisan exile, Landon would unsuccessfully organize against President Lindbergh, only to watch his followers be resoundingly defeated in the midterm elections of 1938; finding himself at the upper echelons of power anew as an unofficial negotiator with the United Kingdom under President Luce, Landon would organize political comeback in 1945 by winning election to the United States Senate after the death of George Norris. Working from there on policy issues such as advocacy of the Parliament of Nations and support for presidential programs such as the Interstate Highway system, Landon and his remaining caucus of conservatives have been at the fore of anti-La Follette intraparty organizing from the campaign of John L. Lewis to the movement for impeachment. Throwing his hat into the ring once more, Landon has used his stature to argue that only his brand of moderation can resurrect the Farmer-Labor of old as a viable party independent of the control of the fascists brought to power by his own neglect.
Commodore Robert A. Heinlein photographed shortly before his role in the Attack on Pearl Harbor. Heinlein has mounted a presidential bid separate entirely from other opposition efforts.
Robert A. Heinlein: Launched to international fame as the senior naval officer during the American attack on Pearl Harbor, 45-year-old former Commodore Robert A. Heinlein has used the events of December 7th, 1941 as a springboard for a lucrative career as a science fiction author. Emphasizing scientific accuracy in novels with titles such as Red Planet and Rocket Ship Galileo, Heinlein would step from the military and literary arenas to the political at the urging of his publisher James Laughlin and associate Ezra Pound, the poet and former New York Governor who has attempted to revive the American social credit movement. In turn, with Laughlin, Pound, and office holders such as Senators Hans Wight and John Horne Blackmore and Representative Solon Earl Low in tow, Heinlein has capitalized on his war hero stature to campaign for the presidency entirely unrelated to those of every other candidate campaigning against La Follette and instead intended to revitalite the American social credit movement.
Falling curiously between the social credit wing of Farmer-Labor and radicals of the Liberty League, Heinlein has described himself as a libertarian while supporting a social credit monetary system balancing a nationalized monetary supply with a requirement of a 100% reserve on money lending as described in his seminal novel For Us, The Living; further, he has coupled his experience in the Navy with his science fiction work to argue that he is uniquely able to continue President La Follette’s attempts to reach for the stars through a space program and argued for a currency backed by the very goods owned by the government itself. A firm believer in the concept of a national draft and a militarist at heart, Heinlein has resurrected positions such as support for the repeal of the Jesus Amendment, the concomitant secularization of the United States government, and support for a constitutional amendment requiring a national referendum prior to any declaration of war resulting in the drafting of supporters.
A comic book promoting Sid McMath for office.
Regional Opposition Candidates:
Note: If voting for the regional opposition, please leave a comment indicating to whom you wish your support to be counted.
With opposition Farmer-Labor organizations persisting around the nation and fighting to recapture control of their state parties, anti-La Follette factions across the nation have rallied around regional candidates in states permitting competitive primaries in an attempt to rise the tide of the down ballot opposition. Thus, all of the following candidates are only on the ballots of one or several states.
John Haynes Holmes: 73 year old Unitarian minister John Haynes Holmes served as a leading advisor to William Jennings Bryan, guiding the post-revolutionary nation through the unsteady waters of foreign occupation as he used the White House pulpit to preach his gospel of pacifist socialism. Playing a key role in the pardons of former revolutionaries, Holmes would serve in Alf Landon’s inaugural diplomatic delegation to Bolshevik Russia before reluctantly supporting Charles Lindbergh for his opposition to war with Japan. Nonetheless, a consistent opponent of fascism from his days as a seminary student denouncing young Governor Milford W. Howard’s new order in Alabama, Holmes has been a consistent bulwark in the struggle against the party’s fascist wing, renouncing President La Follette once it became clear that he would not end the Third Pacific War and using the word impeachment as early as the atomic bombings of 1945, which Holmes has denounced as a violation of the Jesus Amendment. Running on restoring the party’s former core of Christian socialism, Holmes has been put forth across New England as the flag bearer of the opposition, with a fundraising team led by widow Anna Eleanor Roosevelt, a distant cousin of the former President.
Sid McMath: Hoisting the banner of opposition across the Deep South and Southwest is 40 year old Arkansas Senator Sid McMath. Primarying longtime incumbent Farmer-Laborite Garrett Whiteside in 1948 only to face off against the organization of Progressive strategist Osro Cobb, known as the “wizard of Arkansas” for his success in what was once the nation’s most Farmer-Laborite state, McMath would win an upset victory running on his record as a war hero and ties to Smedley Butler and Evans Fordyce Carlson. Horrified at revelations of the murder of Butler by the Lindbergh Administration, McMath would vote for the removal of Philip La Follette after a midnight visit from his former commanding officer in the Marine Corps David Shoup, transforming himself from an enigma to a pariah overnight as fascists across the nation have descended upon Arkansas to challenge him in 1954, with La Follette forces already organizing behind challenger Orval Faubus in a move that has placed McMath in an unexpected alliance with former rival Osro Cobb.
An interview with Governor Frank Zeidler.
Jimmy Hoffa: 39 year old labor leader Jimmy Hoffa inherited the mantle of leadership of the Congress of Industrial Organizations from longtime President John L. Lewis after the arrest of Lewis and his deputy Tony Boyle. A moderate with sympathies to both the party’s right and left seen as balancing with fellow CIO leader Walter Reuther’s socialism, Hoffa has put the interests of labor above all from his days leading the Teamsters Union. A fiery speaker who many credit with saving the CIO from collapse after the arrest of its leonine leader, Hoffa’s name is only on three ballots, but he has emerged as the choice of handfuls of CIO-affiliated delegates across the nation as a protest vote against the continued nationalization of the General Trades Union.
Jerry Voorhis: The Senate’s sole member from the Single Tax Party, California’s Jerry Voorhis has nonetheless served as the lightning rod around which disparate California anti-La Follette Farmer-Laborites have organized owing to the state ordinances permitting political crossfiling. Having described “the Kingdom of God” as being a world “all producing wealth is owned publicly” in his Claremont University thesis, Voorhis would oppose President Lindbergh from the beginning as a Farmer-Labor socialist before joining the Single Tax Party in 1946, reviving it in the state of California in an attempt to find a new vehicle for his politics. Seen as a contender for the presidency regardless of party affiliation, Voorhis’s draft movement among California oppositionists has been heralded as the first step of the left wing knight’s hypothetical return to a rebuilt Farmer-Labor Party. Among his surprising supporters has been former Lindbergh-La Follette stalwart Reverend Robert P. Shuler, who has praised Voorhis for crossing ideological and party lines to defend his right to free speech in moralistic attacks on Henry Luce’s romantic life.
Frank P. Zeidler: 40 year old Wisconsin Governor Frank P. Zeidler has stood as a socialist in the heart of La Follette country, successfully resisting primary challenges to maintain his grasp on the office amidst a tenuous alliance with Joseph McCarthy. Entering politics following the death of his rising star brother Carl, Frank has accepted the ballot line of the opposition in several Midwestern states following the death of former Senator Herbert S. Bigelow, once anticipated as a socialist challenger himself. A socialist to the core, Zeidler supporters point to his history of fiscal success and balanced budgets as evidence of his acumen in economic management and ability to control inflation as a possible future chief executive.
View Poll
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2024.05.17 00:09 Low-Analyst969 Maldivians are relentless when it comes to mocking/putting down other Maldivians. Why?

Before I get to the main point, I myself am not a sensitive person and can take as much criticism and mockery to my face.
I want y'all to acknowledge this. Just for awareness or whatever.
Bit of a rhetorical question in the title but, I've noticed that Dhivehin, especially in Malé (I myself am from Malé, fortunately for me I haven't received any direct form of mockery) region are vile when it comes to putting another Maldivian down or downright mocking them. Dhivehin love to do it often. I've heard and seen people saying God knows what about other people, mocking people right Infront of their face, try to hinder someones growth in something their working hard towards. Etc.
You might assume this is just Gen Z behavior, no it ranges from age 15-60 from what I've seen. YES, I said 15 to 60 believe it or not.
The following paragraphs contains some situations to give you an idea of how crude Dhivehin can be (some I've seen, some I've heard about).
Note: (I have to be vague and give fake initials for privacy reasons).
1) An individual I know who is in his late 40s has worked in a public business for over 10 years and their higherups/co-workers gave him words of torment every day, just because he got promoted. He quit his job because he couldn't take it anymore after 7 years.
2) Student A's peers discouraging student A because he is performing well in their academics, telling them that they'll never reach their desired career. He eventually gave up and failed due to his peers' naysaying.
3) Putting down someone elses profession in front of their face, telling the other person B to get a less significant job because person B's current one isn't a very "respectable" job. (The job was very respectable in this case) All because one is insecure is about their own job.
THERE ARE TOO MANY TO LIST, THE SIGNIFCANCE OF EACH SITUATION VARIES BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER HERE WE ALL NEED TO KNOW THAT PUTTING OTHERS DOWN/MOCKERY/BULLYING IS GETTING OUT OF HAND IN DHIVEHI SOCIETY.
It is much worse online too. I won't get into it that much, but it's basically self-explanatory. Try to share something positive, "Hypocrite". Try to share something religious, "Dheenveri kamah hedhigen ulhey meeheh". If it's not commented online, it's talked about behind your back.
I find this quite unbelievable, for hecks sake we all are brothers and sisters in Islam NOT SWORN ENEMIES. Where's the SENSE of EMPATHY man. We should be pushing each other to be better and stronger.
I don't feel the sense of community anymore, our kaabafain used to have very strong gulhun. I GET IT, TIMES HAVE CHANGED NOW, still, being polite, generous and supportive isn't outdated.
Anyways. Try not to be an A-hole to yourself and everyone else then, Maldivian society will go a long way.
// Looking forward for you guys' thoughts! //
submitted by Low-Analyst969 to maldives [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:07 Wizard_of_Ozymandiaz In Comics, Tropes are your Friends

One of the reasons comics is my favorite medium to write for is because of how effectively it distills the art of story telling to it's essentials. Comics, at the most basic level, are images and words. This concept is at the foundation of the most basic way humans understand the world.
Comics sit at this strange edge between cinema and literature because they're closer to films in the way they're written and often times processed as a reader. At the same time, they don't rely on acting, music, or even sound in the way movies do. In many ways comics are more simple than both. In other words, storytelling in comics is based character, action, and dialogue alone.
Tropes are often lauded as lazy forms for storytelling. When Tropes are done poorly, they tend to deserve the criticism. Yet, tropes in the right hands make up all of our favorite stories. So what's the difference between when they're done well or when they become cliches?
Well, this question is at the center of every artist's inner critic. If you're a writer and yours what shut up here is what I would suggest.
Tropes work best when they're balanced by an opposing force. Take Batman for example. Gotham is an awesome setting for a hero, but what makes his comics and movies so iconic is because at the center of his stories are characters who directly oppose the values that make up his "Tropes."
Batman is a man who doesn't kill, so the Joker is a villain who does anything to push him to kill.
Batman believes in law and order, but Harvey Dent is a representation of the failure of the system.
Batman is the "World's Greatest Detective" but the Riddler keeps him stumped.
This isn't just Batman. I think Avatar the Last Air Bender, Game of Thrones, Spider-Man are other similar examples that do this well.
(Example: Jamie Lannister, the world's greatest fighter, loses a hand.)
When you're writing you're own comics it can be helpful to think of what opposing forces directly confront the conflict of your protagonist and then try and attack that weakness. Characters that grow from conflict and experience are interesting.
Make them face their worst fears!
Sometimes Tropes can help.
submitted by Wizard_of_Ozymandiaz to ComicWriting [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 00:06 Different-Ad4862 [GM4F] The Marked Lands - A 5E DnD Campaign

Deeptown was aflame.
A large inferno raged, washing the town square in waves of sweltering heat and spitting sparks. The babbling surge of the River of Dreams was overwhelmed by the roaring of flames; heavy smoke stacks obscuring the light of the thin, silvery moon that stood vigil above the valleyed town. The windowed houses that ensconced the town square, built of oak and plaster, reflected back the orange illumination in haunting visage. Even the incessant warblings of hundreds of cicadas and katydids were drowned out by the sharp snap of stacked burning logs. There was only one sound that trumped all others.
Music.
Thin, bright trilling flutes. Heavy, rumbling drums. A singular lute whose owner took liberties in the finer points of playing. And, more than that, dozens of hesitant yet warm voices sang. They sang of life and love and hope. They sang of Tohlen and Sayn. They sang for the Festival of Plenty. Large stalls packed the corners of the space and, betwixt these stalls, a man from a group of pack-laden individuals cried out, "Trader, merchant, mender! Vendor, gossip, letter handler!" The merchants, misty-eyed and smiling wide, trudged down the road with graying travel packs nestled between peaked shoulders. "I've got gut and needle and knives and wines! Water for travel and open to haggle!" Each flat-footed step upon the ground lent itself to a grand chorus; a jumbled mess of metals, glassware, and other oddities heralding their arrival. Nervous lovers made wide, clumsy steps around one fire. In the center, a hurried stage had been constructed and was lit by the four bonfires. A troupe of performers acted out some bawdy play or another, making indecent jokes and enrapturing their growing audience.
At the height of this reverie, miles and miles away, a group of robed figures rode hard and fast with a purpose that would cause a few wandering paths and destinies to begin to intertwine…

🠪 20+ is a must on my end. I’d like experienced and mature writers who don’t have any qualms telling a story that veers into mature topics at times. 🠪 Third person literacy. This one is pretty self explanatory. I write strictly in third person and put my focus into quality before quantity. 🠪 Has a focus on pushing the story alongside the DM. There should be enough meat in the post and enough new content to give adequate space to formulate a response for all parties involved. I cannot tell you how many times I've worked up a post only to be greeted by a word by word response of what occurred in my own post and nothing more, leaving a sour taste in my mouth with nothing for me to build off of or react to. I hold to the philosophy of a 'give and take' in roleplay. No one person should be in control of the conflict or cliffhangers or what have you, though I as DM will have a heavier hand on presenting information. Poison a drink, introduce new character traits, or even piss off a new antagonist. Anything works as long as it's communicated and brings something of value to the roleplay. 🠪 Comfortable with expanding the world and creating the plot together. Like I previously mentioned, the pieces of The Marked Lands are together, though the specifics are things that must be worked out. I don’t care much for plotting out every exhausting detail prior to writing. I would just enjoy someone who didn’t mind adding their own twists and ideas into the story. 🠪 Discord only! — If any of this has caught your interest, feel free to send me a message detailing any ideas you might have and a little about yourself! The world of The Marked Lands is one of my new favorite pet projects that I’ve worked on and I’m excited to get to explore and flesh it out more in depth to tell awesome stories in.
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2024.05.17 00:06 Different-Ad4862 [GM4F] The Marked Lands - A 5E DnD Campaign

Deeptown was aflame.
A large inferno raged, washing the town square in waves of sweltering heat and spitting sparks. The babbling surge of the River of Dreams was overwhelmed by the roaring of flames; heavy smoke stacks obscuring the light of the thin, silvery moon that stood vigil above the valleyed town. The windowed houses that ensconced the town square, built of oak and plaster, reflected back the orange illumination in haunting visage. Even the incessant warblings of hundreds of cicadas and katydids were drowned out by the sharp snap of stacked burning logs. There was only one sound that trumped all others.
Music.
Thin, bright trilling flutes. Heavy, rumbling drums. A singular lute whose owner took liberties in the finer points of playing. And, more than that, dozens of hesitant yet warm voices sang. They sang of life and love and hope. They sang of Tohlen and Sayn. They sang for the Festival of Plenty. Large stalls packed the corners of the space and, betwixt these stalls, a man from a group of pack-laden individuals cried out, "Trader, merchant, mender! Vendor, gossip, letter handler!" The merchants, misty-eyed and smiling wide, trudged down the road with graying travel packs nestled between peaked shoulders. "I've got gut and needle and knives and wines! Water for travel and open to haggle!" Each flat-footed step upon the ground lent itself to a grand chorus; a jumbled mess of metals, glassware, and other oddities heralding their arrival. Nervous lovers made wide, clumsy steps around one fire. In the center, a hurried stage had been constructed and was lit by the four bonfires. A troupe of performers acted out some bawdy play or another, making indecent jokes and enrapturing their growing audience.
At the height of this reverie, miles and miles away, a group of robed figures rode hard and fast with a purpose that would cause a few wandering paths and destinies to begin to intertwine…

🠪 20+ is a must on my end. I’d like experienced and mature writers who don’t have any qualms telling a story that veers into mature topics at times. 🠪 Third person literacy. This one is pretty self explanatory. I write strictly in third person and put my focus into quality before quantity. 🠪 Has a focus on pushing the story alongside the DM. There should be enough meat in the post and enough new content to give adequate space to formulate a response for all parties involved. I cannot tell you how many times I've worked up a post only to be greeted by a word by word response of what occurred in my own post and nothing more, leaving a sour taste in my mouth with nothing for me to build off of or react to. I hold to the philosophy of a 'give and take' in roleplay. No one person should be in control of the conflict or cliffhangers or what have you, though I as DM will have a heavier hand on presenting information. Poison a drink, introduce new character traits, or even piss off a new antagonist. Anything works as long as it's communicated and brings something of value to the roleplay. 🠪 Comfortable with expanding the world and creating the plot together. Like I previously mentioned, the pieces of The Marked Lands are together, though the specifics are things that must be worked out. I don’t care much for plotting out every exhausting detail prior to writing. I would just enjoy someone who didn’t mind adding their own twists and ideas into the story. 🠪 Discord only! — If any of this has caught your interest, feel free to send me a message detailing any ideas you might have and a little about yourself! The world of The Marked Lands is one of my new favorite pet projects that I’ve worked on and I’m excited to get to explore and flesh it out more in depth to tell awesome stories in.
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2024.05.17 00:06 hmwhatever_ AITAH, her dad called me and said i ruined her whole life.

I knew my gf for about 4 years and even rejected her once in the first year of our meeting because of certain conditions. We couldn't meet or talk to each other even on phone in the day and i would have to breach the local firewall and use instagram on a pc to talk to her... We met like 3 times in 4 years but we talked on the phone at night toooo much.... The hell(due to studies, asian families take away the phone and try to force you into the books) i was to experience the Hell for about 1 and half years more so i knew for a fact that if i started a relationship we would end up breaking up due to the long distance and totally no physical time together and even talking or chatting was hard i used to chat to her every 3 4 days due to the hell being at its climax... I needed her to hold out for 4 5 months more, i couldn't reject someone and make them stay for me for a year waiting... I was a coward not to tell her the true reason of me rejecting her..... And made it up that i think of her as only a bestie.....fast forward 4 months..... She suddenly chatted that she has a bf now after 20 days of not Chatting with me(she had her phone and she was out of her hell for about 4 5 months) she sent me a photo of her and her bf (🥺😣😣😔)heartwrenching pic man, he was holding her from behind and that was in the bathroon mirror. Pridefully and as a good man i told her to live happily and i understood that she has moved on and this is life.... I sat on that chair all night and didnt sleep that night..... Long story short she had to leave him because her ex was a abusing hitting bastard who would hold other girls' hand and sympathetically gain her trust back and even forced her to be intimate.... Fast forward 4 months..... I was out of the hell and we started talking where i tried to tell her to stay in the relationship but when i knew that he was a bastard i tried to break them up.... But still i knew i had no place in her heart.... She broke up.... I kept on talking.... Fast forward 6 months.... She once again went into a relationship for the same reason(insecurities) and now with a guy she knew just for 3 days and was even intimate with him.... That guy was too a bastard and only wanted a fbw.... She got tricked again and she started to talk to me again..... Now the third time she started talking to some other guy and they were dirty talking.... I found that out and i saud that she should push for a relationship and leave me..... I believe that only bf or bsf should exist at once.... So the other guy also wanted a fbw...... She git tricked again.... We met like 3 4 times in 4 years but we were so connected through phone that we knew everything about each others lifes..... One fine day we tried to secretly go on a trip.... It worked out and we went on a 10 day trip where our family didn't knew we were together.... I finally proposed her at the end of the trip and expressed all of thoughts and concerns and why i rejected.... She told me thag she loved me all this time but she couldn't help but think i only say her as a frd.... Fast forward to now... Due to her other relationships she was so insecure that even if i watch a movie with females in it she would start taunting me that i didn't like her and wanted to have sex with the actresses.... And i felt so wronged.... I finally bursted one day and confronted her that she was the one who went to other guys and i stayed single because i lived her all the time.... And she was even intimate with other guys(i cannot fathom this part man, i just cannot) but i love her..... So she taunts me until i break down mentally and start crying but then she says that she has no control and she is trying to fix the bad parts created by her past..... This continues for 3 4 months and i am now just exhausted.... I used the word breakup to threaten her to stop her taunting and even said that she was the one who was intimate with other guys.... She started crying very hard very hard..... And her dad called me up and confronted me that i ruined her whole life and her career and her studies..... Man her past relationships are what ruined her not me.... But when she taunts me i just keep seeing this scene of her kissing her ex or making out or being physical with her ex and it is unbearable.... Due to her trauma i have got a trauma now..... We were in a long dist frdship and now were in a long dist relationship.... And here dad said to never call her again......
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2024.05.17 00:05 elbj0009 PazSwagger x Gabowski 2

An evening calm, somewhere unknown, illuminated by fireworks.
“Four years, huh…” Paz sighs, pondering over the nostalgic scenes of the once known as the Paznation minecraft realm.
Throughout the past years, Paz has acquired a new penis after brutally being sliced off by Gabowski. This time the pazzness of trapness effect has doubled alongside its girth.
Every stride Paz takes across the crimson lit desert his heart sinks deeper. As the setting sun falls deeper into darkness, the evening chilliness worsens. Consequently shrinking his two incher.
The beautiful server was once brimming with life. However, now only echoes of laughter remain. As Paz readies his elytra, he plants his last step before taking off. Chasing the persisting rays.
After a long trip, Paz returns to the savanna, where it all started. He checks the chest where the nostalgic memories were once stored.
“Hello there.” A familiar voice approaches from Paz’s six.
Instantly popping a semi, Paz turns towards the doors. A 250lbs 6’7 black man was standing by the door frame. Standing equally as erect as his cock, Silly “Gabowski” Phillius, menacingly enters the building.
“Uh, uwu…” Paz utters, glancing at his past lover’s bulging 8 inch crotch shadow. “Gabey, I thought you went to Vietnam”.
In complete silence, Gabowksi’s gaze falls. “I’m sorry Pazzy.” he mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeats over and over again. Until a sudden burst, “We lost. I couldn’t spread the word of our lord and saviour CBT… Aspire will never be again”. Instantaneously white tears burst from his third leg.
“Gabey, it’s fine. As long as you got me.'' Paz’s pearly green eyes shimmer with a hint of purple as Gabowski further gets enraptured by the pazzness of trapness. “Come here and let me comfort you.” says the waving man.
This time I got you. 2 years of grooming to get you back just where I wanted. Paz thinks to himself, as Gabowski’s distance closes with each step. Eventually reaching Paz’s lap. “Sit my Gabey” says Nathan to lure the absolute stature of Gabowski.
Gabowski’s plump ass cheeks contacts Paz’s little pebble. However, Gabowski’s warlord instincts return. Using his right pinky, Gabowski propels himself 3 yards away from Paz, drawing his night’s edge once more.
“You devil. You have tricked me, again!” Shouts Gabowski as he takes his battle stance. “You witch, any last words?”
“No… You will join Akame and the others in my SEX DUNGEON!” exclaims Paz, as he draws his wand.
“龍神の剣を喰らえ!” Gabowski yells as the green dragon exits his penis hole and engulfs his body.
With one dash, one slash, after one second Gabowski sheaths his blade, as the cockless body of PazSwagger falls to the body.
In excruciating pain Paz utters “You bastard, once more you have taken my 2 incher, my power, my pazzness of trapness.” As a singular red tear falls down his face he continues “Why you? I already finished everyone else; Quakian, Akame, Masked, Magia, Lupa. EVERYONE FELL VICTIM. Why must you prevail from my curse? Why can’t you just accept my cock.
Without any reaction Gabowski asks “Where are the others? They are still alive. I can hear the blood flow of their cock veins. They must be close.
“Fine, take my keys. They’re in my sex dungeon behind the nether portal.” Paz says before sneakily casting a lurk spell and disappearing into smoke. Also taking his severed 2 incher and leaving no trace.
THE END
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2024.05.17 00:00 Corbast7 The sprinkle sprinkle movement is just a natural reaction to the rise in men adopting TRP

Gold digging women have always gotten a lot of smoke, but I think we need to look a bit deeper as to why it seems they’re on the rise. I’m not condoning gold digging, but I do think it’s just a defense mechanism for women who cannot find a more like-able, egalitarian partner.
Women have learned a lot about the manosphere in recent years due to it becoming mainstream. More specifically, more Gen Z men openly espousing that men’s value only comes from looking as hot as possible and making a lot of money. That women only like men for their money and superficial status, and that we’re lying when we say we want men who are kind and respectful (and who are attractive to us).
We all know gold digging isn’t new. But in the past, gold digging was just a survival strategy for women to access socioeconomic mobility when we collectively couldn’t access it except through marrying rich. Now that more women are able to earn enough money to not need to marry rich for survival, women have become more comfortable demanding that men need to actually be like-able as partners.
This is obviously a huge societal shift to demand men to now be kind (and attractive) as partners, and no longer just financial providers to their wives who stay at home to raise the kids alone. Earning a regular salary is no longer good enough to guarantee themselves a wife and kids; relationship skills have now become a requirement from most women. Cue TRP being born.
So the modern gold digger is different. I’ve noticed that these sorts of women come from a string of bad dating experiences with TRP-adjacent men, or in other words men who refuse to pull their weight in the domestic sphere, or men who see women as inferiors. I think the modern gold digger is just a woman who has for the most part given up on finding an egalitarian relationship, so the next best thing to settle for is the “modern provider”: This type of man is more like-able and respectful than a TRPer-ish man, but still not egalitarian enough to be ideal. These women believe that good, emotionally intelligent men who’ll help out at 50/50 at home are too difficult to come by, and they also won’t settle for a TRPer type either. The “modern provider” is a man who falls somewhere in the middle of this continuum.
This is why I think it’s a lazy cop out when TRPers say that women just want to have their cake and eat it too. I think this is the nuance that’s missing in the gold digger discourse.
The main thing that makes the modern type of gold diggers different from the old gen is at least these women seem to believe that women should still earn their own money to some extent and be able to be relatively self-sufficient, so that they can at least safely leave the relationship if things go south. Nobody should be financially chained to a broken relationship.
I think these women’s logic is that if they’re anticipating having the majority of the UNPAID domestic labor in the relationship fall on their shoulders anyway, then they believe that the least a man can do is take on more of the financial burden. I think this is what’s really behind the rise of more women starting to reject men who want to go“50/50.” Because there’s an implication that it won’t really be 50/50 in effort; just 50/50 financially.
Obviously not all women are going down the gold digging route. Some women do find egalitarian men. Other women are choosing to just stay single and celibate. And then the 4th group of women are still learning from being repeatedly hurt by bad men, and will keep going through that cycle until they come out the other end and join one of the 3 other groups.
So basically, if men want to discourage more women from becoming modern gold diggers (or even from them exiting the dating pool and taking a vow of celibacy), then they need to become more egalitarian as partners. Women want like-able, attractive partners just as men do. It’s really not more complicated than that.
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2024.05.16 23:55 Mystical_Legend Can I be broken beyond repair?

Hello everyone! I have decided to leave my thoughts here, so whatever happens, happens, I just feel like I should do it somewhere. Oh my, I typed a lot, I'm not even confident enough that this will be read, but hey I've got nothing to lose. So, I'm a guy who just recently hit 20 and the ways I think and feel are changing and I am having difficulties because of that. This will be related to my feelings, thoughts and my wishes, the last part is something I'm not used to having. The main problem will be my father who is not supporting that. However I wouldn't say it's just some "disagreement" or anything, but something bigger. So I will leave some stuff I've been through and how I felt at those times. I hope someone can help or anything
Before school: I would be super talkative with the family and neighborhood kids, just being annoying and putting out some childlike opinions and just being a little loud burden when I'm comfortable. When I'm not, I'd just be the quiet kid I've been taught to be, not nice bothering grownups, they're scary
Elementary school: As a kid I never had too many friends, I always attached to that one person and was connected with them the most and it was enough for me. However I happened to have some silly luck where whenever I'd get attached to someone they would magically appear to move out of the country and I'd find a new friend and repeat the same cycle. Definitely didn't hang out with multiple people at once. Wasn't aware this was doing something to me. A lot of them were friends that played a lot of video games and I got into playing video games too. A bit too much perhaps because it would happen to delay everything, including my knowledge of everything till this very day. Both in elementary and high school I was a straight A, "gifted kid" and all that nerd stuff. Of course I did it all because I feared the reaction of my parents if I wasn't doing as good as I was supposed to. My mom was more understanding than my dad. I could always ask her things like "Would you still love me if I wasn't getting As?" and she would comfort me and all the good stuff. I was always afraid of my dad so I never had deeper talks with him. Even today, I have deep talks with my mom and love spending time with her but I can end up being all day alone with my dad and we share 20 words. But now not that much because of fear but because of habit I guess. My whole life goal at this stage was just not making him angry. I didn't have any hobbies, just burning through games and school books. When it was time to go to highschool, I picked some random school not directed into anything, (uhh I don't know the words, gymnasium? the school that has a little bit of everything, nothing specific, English is not my native language) it was kinda directed to coding but not really, I picked it because, hey I like games, this should be fun, I could make games.
Highschool: My habits have hit me, and I realized I'm not really engaging in healthy human activities so I have been so afraid of not being able to make friends. Because I usually spent my social time with one friend in my house or their house I didn't really know anything about my town or places or activities or whatever at the age of 15. I was scared of simply being too far behind on everything and that I couldn't make friends. However I happened to find some kid who was just like me and I clicked with him. Oh my, repeating the cycle, am I not? However I didn't want to repeat the cycle. And I wanted to go meet more friends from the class and see what's up, I'm tired of feeling like an outcast. I've been lucky and I've met some great guys where I've seen what it means to have self-respect, self-love, a backbone, goals, how you can rebel against things you find ridiculous and all the most insane of them all, ~confidence~. Thanks to being in that group of 5 friends, I've been taught so many things I should have known ages ago and I was able to feel okay around people, start going to the gym, going out in town, advancing even as far as going to different towns and trying out things I didn't feel comfortable thinking about before. Was able to talk to girls on a deeper level and had an embarrassingly late realization of "hey, they're human too!". Things I did were nothing too crazy ever, I still had my dad's ideals hanging over my head, so I never felt comfortable engaging in some things like drinking or going to parties out late (well, he wouldn't allow me to leave the house late anyways). Eventually I figured out I can just lie to him to make things less complicated by twisting the story a little bit, that's how I ended up going to another town. The first time I confronted him about something bigger, is when I wanted to go to another country on my own so I could meet up with my girlfriend at that time and I was tired of him not allowing me stuff and I just dropped my first ever assertive-ish sentence to him. "I want to ask you something but I don't want your answer to be no". He allowed me to, was taken aback though. That trip was one of the most beautiful experiences I've ever had in my life. I think he allowed me to only because it was a girl in question, and I wasn't really having girl friends in highschool, was scared because of all the generalization I've heard from my father and the relationship between my parents, and I truly wasn't excited about the whole idea of marriage. My dad is very traditional and he loves being in control of my life because he believes that a man should fully provide for his family, that he should simply deal with this deal with that, that a wife must obey him, that parents are most important no matter how they act yadda yadda. A lot of old thinking I never agreed with but couldn't do much about it anyways so let's just live I guess. However one thing I did continue in highschool is my addiction to video games. But then I stopped because I felt guilty for not studying and felt guilty for not learning about music or town areas all my friends know. So I started listen to music properly and I got hooked to it. This has grown into a bigger problem now and I'll go in the final stage of my life because I feel like this is so much text.
University: (if I say uni/college, I'm talking about the same thing, I don't know if there's a difference between the two words) Oh well, you remember how I said that the addiction is gonna make a problem? Well, I started studying engineering. Thanks to my high grades and me doing the entrance exam relatively well, I got into the "toughest college in the country". Now, the fun part is that now that I have to detach from listening to music for multiple hours a day and absolutely doing stupid dances and releasing my energy outside because I don't know what to do with it, I realized I never thought about what I loved... And, well let's just say I don't really know if engineering, nor coding was the way to go. Crisis time. However I don't like anything, what do I do I'm gonna lose my mind. Well, let's just try having friends? I met some of the most beautiful souls ever on this university and I have reached the point of being able to "be myself" and show the world my weirdness and all the goofy opinions and statements my mind creates. I go to that college sometimes just to see all those beautiful people again and again. They're serious about what they're doing and about their studies, I wish them the best, I really hope I don't negatively affect them. However, I tried to research a bit on what I might actually truly love. And after stumbling through life this last year while pretending everything's okay when dad asked, and telling the truth to my mom, I stumbled onto psychology. And well I have went to that college, to see the lessons and classes and wow, studying can be fun? So I'm thinking about finally taking a wrong turn on this path I was always meant to take from the beginning of my life, and follow this, just to see what's gonna happen. What's the purpose of pushing software engineering when I know I'll feel about it like any other job. I'm not money hungry anyways, I'm hungry for being fulfilled. I've confronted my dad about wanting to change my career, to which I've been called many names, been extremely judged for my choices and I've been told to cut off my hair and stop going to the gym as punishment (I'm not planning on listening to this). I've never been physically abused by my dad, but I'm scared if he's insane enough to do something to me now because he set me a timer of 7 days to cut off my hair. Oh yes btw, I always wanted to have long hair and he never agreed, I was too scared to ever do it. Recently I've changed my mind and he hates it so now he wants it gone. I'm genuinely concerned if he's gonna launch on me with scissors or something ridiculous. You see, even now I am so easily manipulated and controlled by fear and I'm sick and tired of that. That's probably the reason I never got out of religion, my fear is just too strong for me to do it. I dislike that, I wish I could transfer fear into love, I have never learned how to do that though. Will I always be like this? Will I always be a coward and just say "yessir" to everything? I don't want to anymore. I'm tired of being a puppet. I'm tired of having to prove I'm smart or capable or hardworking. I just want to have something with which I can say "I did this on my own, I committed to this, I wanted this" not "well it was good for me". I want to start following my heart and throw my brain out of the window. And now I'm scared of things like "what if I was wrong all along and he was right", "what if I don't find any jobs in this country because of this", "what if he throws me out of the house or starts abusing me". Well I don't know, but I feel like I want to commit to psychology, and I'm gonna do it, I'll be on my own, no ideals from other people, just me, and my wishes. But these words and all the things affect me a lot and they always have. And I get demotivated and stop caring about everything, which just makes my addiction to blasting music on my headphones and badly dancing even stronger. I'm scared of it happening again. But I've never been this sick of it all, I feel like I won't go down without a fight anymore. So I ask in the text once more, can I truly be broken beyond repair, or can I break all the chains tying me down? Because I want to know if I should just abandon all hope and embrace the tradition and insanity along with it, or just run and not look back.
If you have read all of this, I am very grateful to you, hopefully I have been collected enough to construct sentences that make sense, or that it all makes sense overall. Anything is appreciated. I love you all and wish you the best <3
submitted by Mystical_Legend to Healthygamergg [link] [comments]


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