Cigarette lighter short saturn ion

I start to have feeling with boys since the age of 12, before that was girl since 7yo to 11yo (dream about kissing & hugging). Since then, I always noticing cute boy in school, especially boys with beautiful smile, short, lighter skin tone. I even like to smell their clothes or hair. At the age of 19, I started my relationship with younger boy, it happens that they are all bottom, so I didn’t think much about it and just be a top. When I get to know more about Top & Bottom things, I realise I’m versatile and I enjoy being bottom. But my bottom boyfriend cannot compromise to top me, we are in the relationship for 14 years, what should I do? I’m 181cm, 73kg, I prefer younger guy like age 16 to 26, best if they are top or vers. I always thinking I’ve very strange sex preferences. Anyone have the same issue like me?

Workout structure:

• warmup: cardio (run or jumprope) then “general developmental” (pulls, presses, front squats, swings, cleans) then flexibility, 16 minutes total
• 1 week= 2-3 “specific workouts” (jerk + snatch) and 1 “general” = long run. In competition preparatory period (month or so before comp) do jerk and snatch on different days
• 4-5 jerk sets, 2-3 snatch sets per workout. Volume wave using # sets: light week = J9/S5, heavy week= J18/S12 etc.
• intensity wave: not related to volume. intensity based on kb weight, rest time, rep count (as a % of max). Should grow continuously but not linearly
• once per week go hard on jerk or snatch if feeling good, once per month try to break your record
• Auxillary workout after jerk/snatch sets. Start with long cycle warmup, end with isometric holds. 3-5 sets, 4-8 reps of main lifts, 15-20 reps for calves/forearms/abs. Increase weekly on the main lifts, monthly wave
• Aux splits: (day 1- chest, tris, delts, abs) (day 2- deadlift, goodmorning,rows, biceps, traps, wrist extension OR flexion) (day 3- squats, calves, hamstrings (knee raise, double snatch) abs, wrist flex O ext)
• Specific aux exercises - bottoms up press, double snatch, kb handle levers, knee raise)
• noted strength training exercises- double snatch, good morning, squats, jump squats, deadlift, press, swings

rep schemes

• uniform: single, long set. light kb, long running. “upper limit aerobic zone”
• variable: pyramids/ladders (or uniform with intermittent “sprints”) - can be intense, do in light weeks
• interval: 1-2’, lift to increase tempo. regulated tempo + time, regulated rest. Can do multiple sets - 1’work/1’rest x 5 is one set, for example. More advanced
• repeated: 3-5’, unregulated rest to full recovery with longer (medium) sets. Do easy general-developmental exercises during long rest period to avoid cooldown
• competitive: test max, 5’+, once every 2-3 weeks. can be either light or heavy kb, but high intensity
• for beginners, uniform and variable are the best, with occasional competitive, while using repeated and interval occasionally to support qualities that need to be worked on

Rep Schemes for Specific Endurance

• uniform method classical lift 5-20min with light kb
• variable - same as above but varying tempo intermittently

variable method can use change in tempo. this is recommended for running (i.e. using sprint intervals during a run) or doing sprints after x reps in longer kb sets
complexes are mentioned especially as effective for stretching, multiple cycles of stretches
Strength training rep schemes:

• maximum: only used during early general preparation phase. 1-3 reps heavy per set. negative effect on endurance.
• repeated: 10-20+ reps per set with medium weight, complete recovery between sets is critical (or else it turns into an endurance workout instead of strength)
• isometric holds - heavy weight, to failure (?)

Cardio Endurance - running, increase duration over time, then increase intensity
Overall Training Structure
microcycle - days to week, mesocycle = month/s, macrocycle - yeaquarteper comp
4 stages of preparation (mesocycles)

1. 2+ months preparatory - uniform method, running, strength training. first increase volume, then increase intensity.
2. 1 month/5wks Pre-comp - variable methods, focus on specific endurance
3. “several weeks” to 1 month peak competition - lower volume, repeated and interval, focus on comp lifts, competitive estimates. still use at least 1 uniform workout per wk
4. 1-2 weeks post comp - light and short workouts, do not increase workload

in preparation phase 70% is strength training, 30% is classical, slowly moving to 50-50 over time
Ryabchenko Jerk Training Structure -
5 sets per workout. Main sets use kbs 4-6kg lighter than comp weight.

1. “Power” set 1: Main weight + 4kg. low reps, emphasis on static holds (top and bottom). Followed by 3-5min rest
2. “Power” set 2: Main weight + 2kg. 2x reps of 1st set, followed by 3-5 mins rest
3. “Main” set 1 - 40-50% of max 10 minute reps. followed by 30s-2 mins rest (ideally 1’) but not enough to recover
4. “Main” set 2 - Main1 reps + 2. followed by 3-5mins rest
5. “Light” set, Main weight - 2kg, reps = two thirds of (main set 1+ main set 2)

Exponential Growth of the Main sets - 5+7, 8+10, 12+14, 17+19, 24+26, 32+34
Jerk Pace 6-22rpm depending on weight, main sets are ~3 minutes, light set is ~5 minutes
Microcycle of 2 weeks, 5-8 workouts. The last workout in the microcycle is the “peak” where max reps are recorded. Last 2 workouts in a microcycle are easier - no “light” set, “power” set reduced in the 2nd to last and ommitted in the last.
Every microcycle, increase the main weight (and therefore everything else) by 1-2 kg

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

For a bit of context, the last 4 years, my father was very sick with a multitude of illnesses. Heart disease, kidney failure, possible lung cancer, etc. etc. Even before this, he was an abusive man. Physically, especially when we were younger but verbally when we got older. He died just last summer, and all the problems we ignored are bubbling up. I have become a sort of therapist for my family during this time. Which is a bit inappropriate considering I was only 16 when this all started. Now on to the actual issues. This all started over something stupid, a cardgame, I asked my mom if she was willing to playa game after dinner with my younger sibling, who i will now refer to as Saturn, and myself. She agreed until dinnertime came around and she got a horrible migraine. She went up to bed after dinner to hopefully ride out the migraine. I of course was a little disappointed but I didn't make a big deal out of it. I get migraines too and know how bad they can get. Saturn went upstairs shortly after. I was left alone downstairs by myself with all of our family photos and my mind started to wandor back to my dad. He wasn't the best father but he loved us the best he could. And on nights like this he would have played with us instead and I got stuck on memory lane amd got emotional. Whenever I get emotional I go non-verbal. So fast forward an hour or so and mom comes down. I am still non-verbal and she notices something us wrong. She questions me but u can't talk. She gets upset that I can't answer her. Saturn comes down and I text them so they can talk to mom. Mom gets upset again that I was upset. Something important is that we never do anything I suggest. I express interest in something and she says she'll take me and never does. I brought this up to her. She said she'll work on it. She didn't. She than goes off on a rant about how she is trying hard to be good mother and that we don't appreciate it and that she most be a failure all because she has a migraine. We try to explain that no, we aren't upset. You wanted to know why I was upset and didn't wait to let her explain. She goes upstairs. Saturn and myself sit in the living room seething. We go uo to try to talk to her. And she is very impatient and flippant. I am not aloud more than two words at a time. The worst part is that everything that happened tonight I have talked to her about before. She promises to change and never does. I am sick of fixing everyone else's problems and shouldering all of the emotional baggage for everyone in my family. If I show any emotion that isn't joy or numbness I am yelled at. I am belittled. I am told that I am overreacting and that I need to get myself under control. I am sick and tired of being everyone's emotional and verbal punching bag. I wasn't even mad about the migraine. I just missed my dad. He may not have been the best father but he was still my dad. And it wasn't all bad. He got worse after he got sick.She didn't even let me explain before rushing off upstairs. She only stayed for 10 minutes. I can't take this anymore.

I have an older surly cross check setup for road riding and I need a new seat post. My frame is large so I ride with the post almost entirely pushed down into the frame, so I need a short post. Wouldn't mind carbon if it's lighter.
I have the tools to cut it if that helps with weight? Hoping to find something around $30 or less.

o-or anything else if u want haha
idk hi my names sarah and im a silly lil lady lookin for cool chats n stuff before bedtime~
im into lots of different music, i like knives and videogames and energy drinks and cigarettes, i know, im boring bleh but ill try my best!!
i got bpd and schizofwenia and im highly desensitized to violence~
we can do long term or short term i dont mind, maybe we can even move to discord, but thats only for the most RADICAL of bros n broettes

Any suggestions for a new guitar?
Nine months after getting laid-off, I've got a new job! I promised myself that I'd get a new guitar once I found my next job. Wife is OK with it and the bills are paid. (The idea of getting a new guitar was such a great motivator for finding a new job. Being able to pay the bills is OK too...)
I've set a budget of $500-1000. I'd like to spend less if possible. Being unemployed has chewed into our savings and I'd like to start repairing the damage there too.
I've got an Epiphone LP Standard PlusTop Pro that I really like. (My first guitar) The downsides are that it's heavy. The coil splitting tones are nothing to write home about. The neck feels like it dives a bit too. I'd like something lighter with single coils or P90s. Here's my short list:
1.) Epiphone Casino: $699 USD
2.) Fender Player Strat: $679.99
3.) PRS Silver Sky: $849? (Not on sale yet)
4.) Fender Player Plus Strat: $999.99 (in Tequilla Sunrise)
If anyone has any better ideas, I'm game.

I visited this beautiful country between May 1 - 11, but was not prepared for the amount of tourism, which I must say ultimately left me a little sour about the experience. We stuck with all the major attractions and sights so I know we shouldn’t be surprised by the crowds, but I’ve still never seen tourism at this level. That said, I may have had a better time if I didn't try to pack everything in as much as I did.
Our itinerary was:
Day 1: Land in Milan
Day 2: Train from Milan to Lake Como
Day 3: Train from Lake Como to Cinque Terre (my favorite part of the trip)
Day 5: Train from Cinque Terre to Florence
Day 8: Train from Florence to Rome
Day 10: Train from Rome back to Milan for our departing flight the next day
Lake Como and Cinque Terre (CT) were my favorite parts that I wish I allotted more time for.
While Lake Como is beautiful and I wish we had more time to explore some spots I had saved, it did feel a little soulless. We stayed in Varenna and took the ferry to Bellagio. Both areas feel like resort towns that exist solely for tourism. Other areas might have a less catering vibe. Also, the number of young women taking shots for the 'gram and giving you dirty looks because you ruined their 20-minute photoshoot is nauseating.
The train that runs between the 5 towns in CT gets packed to the brim with people during peak hours (~10 a.m. - 5 p.m.). On our arrival day I tried to get off the train for our final stop and I literally got stuck between people; I was able to lift my feet off the ground for a few seconds and not get anywhere like a cartoon character.
We visited CT to hike the Blue Path and no regrets there. Absolutely stunning and the only time we didn't feel overwhelmed with people (started hiking around 8 a.m. in Monterosso). But if you're just taking the train between towns you'll do almost as much hiking from the train stations to the main parts of all 5 towns. The only one we didn’t properly visit was Manarola so maybe that town has a short walk from the train station? I think there are vans/buses that take people from some of the train stations into town, but you'll be waiting amongst crowds and nothing is clearly noted.
Florence: we stayed right near the Ponte Vecchio and I do not recommend. Again, the number of people and crowds ruin it. I thought it would be nice/convenient staying near the Uffizi and the bridge, but it wasn't worth it. Unless you’re shopping for jewelry, the bridge can be much more appreciated from a distance. The location also isn't ideal because no matter what I tried we couldn't get a taxi; I downloaded apps, called taxi hubs, tried Uber, but no one would come to our location or offer alternative pick up spots. The city is very walkable, but we came down with food poisoning so by the end I was hoping to grab a taxi to the train station to alleviate some of the dejectedness I was feeling. We visited the Uffizi, Accademia, and the Piazzale Michelangelo, but I was happy to leave Florence. I felt like I couldn't escape the smell of cigarettes the entire time.
Rome: I think by this point were a bit weary from the food poisoning, crowds, and the amount of walking we did with our backpacks. Thankfully though no issues getting taxis/Ubers around Rome. Despite what people say about Trastevere being "overrated" now, stay there. It's easily the nicest part of Rome. My second recommendation would be Prati. We had tickets to visit the Vatican Museum and I wish we made the effort but this was the last leg of the trip and we were just over it so we spent our full day in Rome walking to all the sights: Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, Roman Forum, and Janiculum Hill.
Rome was nice and I enjoyed it more than Florence, but it also felt run down. We had a running joke that ambulances were following us because we could not escape the sirens. I know, it’s all part of history and maybe I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate its historical magnitude, but honestly, pass.
Public transit: Getting on ferries and trains felt like a fight each time which added some physical and mental fatigue. I highly recommend sticking to high-speed trains if possible because you can reserve your seat; it doesn’t matter if you book first class or standard, they’re basically the same. Trains where you don’t reserve your, good luck. We stood for 1.5hrs from CT to Florence CRAMMED in. Each time the train stopped more people would squeeze in but eventually we had to stop people from boarding.
The trains were occasionally running a couple minutes late and there was a 24hr strike during our stay but nothing that impacted our trip. Don’t feel like you must show up for your train more than ~10 minutes in advance, your train’s platform number likely won’t be displayed until about 5 – 10 minutes out. You’ll just stand around unnecessarily stressing yourself out otherwise.
Was this a magical trip? No, not really. Would I visit Italy again? Possibly with some time and with plans to stick to the more natural scenery. I did want to visit the Italian Dolomites but they were still snow covered during our visit.
I think another factor that contributed to it not being the “magical” experience you hope for is we had to stick to schedules the entire time and that’s not a typical fun vacation for me; whether it was the trains, museum/attraction entrance times, or dinner reservations, we frequently had somewhere we had to be. This type of trip didn’t allow for spontaneity. E.g. when we visited Scotland we rented a car and were able to visit random castles and museums without prep work or fighting crowds. Perhaps I could’ve had more fun or spontaneity by seeing less (I definitely wouldn’t want a car within Florence or Rome proper but I think the countryside/smaller towns would be okay), but when you only get so much time off for work, you try to squeeze it all in.
Food: Everyone comes for the main attraction which of course is the various pastas, but Italy does so much better than pasta. Yeah, I said it. The chicken I had there on two separate occasions from two different restaurants? Immaculate. I’ll never have more perfectly cooked chicken again. The deli meats? So flavorful. I ordered a yogurt with lemon and honey in CT (where they grow a lot of lemons) and I’ll think of that fondly for years to come. I also had a fantastic affogato in Florence.
As I mentioned, we did get food poisoning which can happen while traveling, but I did notice unless you’re going to a proper sit down restaurant, you might see people handling your food in ways that are unappetizing. In cafes and sandwich shops and quick bite places like that you won’t see food handlers using gloves and you’ll likely have dirty cups/plates/utensils. Not a big deal for some, not for me though.
We avoided the super touristy areas for our real dinners, but while the pasta was done well, the red sauce just wasn’t hitting for either of us.
I apologize if this comes off as a less than idyllic portrayal of Italy. It’s a beautiful country that is worth a visit, but I wanted to share my experience and maybe highlight it’s not for everyone and that’s okay.
Edit: formatting

Imagine a pro wrestleboxer vs a mini amateur Jon Jones (EDIT: or an NFL linebacker, or just a random big strong guy with an atheletic base but minimal fighting training and experience) in an unarmed street fight
Wrestlers: Half of your stuff is not going to work because you're going to get kicked/kneed/punched in the face when you try to do a take down. And once you get a take down your weird wiggle attacks are useless conpared to punches, elbows, stomping, choking, etc.
Boxers: You can't just run away and hide and hug. You're going to get kicked in the leg, you're going to get swept. In real life we don't have enormous boxing gloves to act as shields for your face. You can't play peek-a-boo all day. Real fights aren't 12 rounds. They're short and cardio doesn't matter as much.
EDIT: I'll rephrase my point
A random strong athletic guy with good reactions (say, an NFL linebacker, or maybe a big guy you come across on the street, or maybe 50 cent) has a higher chance of beatin a pro boxer, pro wrestler, or pro MMA fighter than most professional boxing/wrestling/MMA fans would like to admit.
Fighting is not like hockey. A pro hockey player would definitely demolish someone new to hockey, because it takes time to learn how to skate, how to control a puck with a stick on ice, etc. Fighting is more primal. A big strong guy with good reactions is automatically a threat, even with literally 0 fighting training or experience. Most pro fighting fans think that it's a given that the pro fighter would automatically demolish the not-pro fighter or the person who doesn't fight at all, but I don't think it's a given.
EDIT 2: Conor McGregor vs a 300lb NFL line backer in a street fight.
Is it a given that McGregor wins?
EDIT 3: In my hypothetical street fights there are no weight classes people. Are there weight classes in the NFL or height classes in volleyball? This is your chosen pro boxewrestling champ/MMA fighter, INCLUDING the lighter ones, vs big athletic strong people with minimal fighting experience. It would for sure even out at some point. No way the the lightest Olympic-level wrestler is going to beat a strong athletic NFL player in a real life street fight.

I don’t really know where the story of my alcoholism begins, though I only admitted I was an alcoholic about one month ago, and as of the time I’m writing this, I’ve only been sober for about 30 hours.
I never remember drinking in any meaningful capacity until I enlisted into the Marine Corps at 18, directly following high school. I’d rather not go into much detail about my service, but I remember many times partying with fellow Marines on the weekends or on leave and getting absolutely shitfaced, but it was never a regular occurrence, and I never drove drunk, got caught by my superiors, or ever really thought about anything other than the horrible hangovers I would get.
After getting medically retired, and moving back home, this is where I believe it slowly began. I started processing the unaddressed traumas of not only military service, but as I reconnected with family for the first real time in adulthood, I began to realize how my family had adversely affected my formative years, and how the mental, verbal, and sometimes physical abuse began to come up to the surface of my daily reality.
But even still, I was a cigarette smoker and would very seldom do things like smoke weed. Drank socially and rarely to excess.
Between 2012-2014, I believe, is where things began to start escalating, though still slowly. I had a horrible relationship end horribly. Got fired from my first job. Had to drop out of school. I was quickly going broke (due to said lost job). I got fortunate in mid 2014 to land a cool healthcare job. I worked nights. I began to notice I would come home every morning and drink 2-3 VERY stout martinis. And it got worse on my off days. That is until I discovered bourbon.
I loved everything about it. The history. The process of making it. The diversity. The taste. I found myself going out more and more to bars, distilleries, etc. Buying, collecting, building a network of friends who also enjoyed bourbon. Talking about bourbon to fellow coworkers.
In 2017, following multiple break-ups/get back togethers with my girlfriend at the time, I found out she was pregnant, and I had just started working for a very busy EMS system while also in school. The relationship was not stable, and shortly thereafter, I had the final falling out with my family after their despicable behavior in the final months of pregnancy and when my girlfriend delivered my beautiful daughter.
Due to an absolute shit work schedule (24 hour shifts), a hectic school schedule (typically 2 school days and at least two clinical days), an unstable relationship, and new parenthood, I believe this to be the turning point. I remember not wanting to come home. I remember wanting, needing to drink. I remember my anxiety and depression beginning to unfold rapidly. But somehow, it still never reached a critical mass. When my daughter was 3 months old, I broke off the relationship, we moved to our own places, and decided to coparent.
As time moved forward, I began collecting and consuming more bourbon. At first, I was very good about not drinking much or anything at all on my days with my kid. I started working a lot of overtime, sometimes working 2.5 shifts (60 hours) straight, because money I guess. But this added stress on my body and mind and the constant exposure to the ugliest of illness and injury, trauma and despair drove my need to drink, my anxiety and my depression even further.
I began driving tipsy. Getting in stupid arguments with my next partner and leaving to go on a bourbon “hunt.” I began working more because I was spending insane amounts of money on allocated bourbons. And I would be surprised and somehow prideful that I’d put down a half bottle of rare, high proof bourbon the night before, but ignoring the fact I couldn’t remember shit about that night until my partner reminded me of how much of an asshole I’d been.
That relationship eventually ended. In truth we weren’t good for each other for many reasons on both sides, but on my side, my drinking got way out of hand. I drove tipsy or drunk regularly. We got in an argument one time downtown and I left her there because she didn’t want to be in the car of a drunk driver. My drinking, among other things, caused me to become emotionally abusive and an emotional roller coaster.
After it ended, I found a new version of myself after a long period of severe depression and anxiety and got back in to many of the passions I’d neglected for years. But I still drank. Heavily.
I left EMS to work in the ER for better hours, pay, more professional support, etc. It was a godsend. Or so I thought.
Then I met my new partner, my current one. We’ve been together for over 3 years. We both struggle with depression and anxiety. But I’m the only one who still struggles with alcoholism. And as it has gotten worse as each new relationship begins and ends, I’ve found that in this one it’s reached the absolute critical mass.
I’ve gotten so drunk that I had a massive panic attack and held a gun to my head. Thankfully my former best friends were also there to talk me down (I say former because I recently had a bender where I kicked them out of my life).
I’ve gotten so drunk that I’ve continued to drive drunk, and that has resulted in my flattening a tire on my car, and backing into a parked care at a Mexican restaurant. The latter generated a county sheriffs deputy to come out for a police report and I somehow did not get a DUI.
But I continued.
Countless drunken fights. Countless times of us fighting and me kicking her out of my house, for her to drive 35 mins back to her house and for us not to talk for a few days.
And then the past month.
I drank so much over a few days that I was suicidal, so much so that my partner couldn’t get through to me, it turned mildly physical (from what she said, me grabbing her arm, which I’d never in my life done before), and ended up leaving my house and calling crisis, and because I was also making threats and am a gun owner, it generated a SWAT response in my neighborhood. Somehow SOMEHOW, I was never pulled out of my house and taken to get committed.
I stopped drinking entirely after that. Went through moderate alcohol withdrawal for three days. And then started drinking again after six days following a very mild disagreement with my partner that set off my anxiety. And, me being the idiot I am, didn’t realize that drinking would make it worse.
I managed to not drink liquor for roughly two weeks following that argument, but drank beer instead. Never really got drunk or even tipsy, but was still drinking. I was “cutting back.”
Then this past Monday, another bender lasting 48 hours. Back in the bourbon. Started by a mild argument that escalated, and quite frankly almost ended us due to a breach of trust (I was at fault). She needed to take a day to process and I got pissed and went out and bought $130 worth of bourbon and finished a 1.75 liter bottle of 101 proof bourbon in 24 hours. She came over, we fought, she left. She came back over, we fought, tried to leave and I physically wouldn’t let her, she left, she came back.
I ended up stopping, but not until I began having quite literally the worst pain, located in my lower abdomen, that I’ve ever experienced in my life. She forced me to go to the ER we both work at. I wasn’t acting drunk, but people, my coworkers knew. I wasn’t admitted because my abdominopelvic workup was negative. But at least now I understand why people get addicted to opiates. And after the truckload of IV Dilaudid (hydromorphone) I received, and the horrible constipation that has followed, I don’t ever want any of that shit again.
And now, today, I don’t ever want alcohol again.
I’m so tired of not remembering. Of having intimate moments with my partner and not remembering them. Of missing sunrises because I can’t get up before 2 pm. Of being fooled that I’m drinking to cure my anxiety and depression when, in fact, it makes it so much worse. I’m 35…I don’t want dementia when I’m 50 because I’ve damaged my brain so much. I’m tired of the person that alcohol makes me.
I had myself convinced for so long that I was a happy drunk, a fun drunk. And maybe I was in the past. But I was still an alcoholic. And while I may always be, I don’t have to be addicted to it anymore.
I have a long road ahead, and I hope to not fall down again. I realize I may, due to the stressors of life and parenthood and relationships and my job. But I can choose to not stop at the liquor store before I go in to work tonight so I can drink tomorrow morning after my ER shift. I can choose to not drink when my partner and I go out to eat Monday evening for our weekly Mexican food. I can choose each day to be sober.
And I’m gonna try.
—-If you read this entire post (long I know) I hope you realize the two things I’ve realized in my very brief period of not drinking:
That, one, alcoholism is such an insidious, sneaky evildoer that tricks you into believing you’re not guilty while also tricking you into using it to calm your depression and anxiety, even though it exacerbates them. It shifts the blame and convinces you that it isn’t the problem, much like a partner or employer might gaslight you.
And, two, that me telling my partner I’m an alcoholic and trying every day to stay clean, while only being in the second day has been simultaneously the most defeating and hopeful feeling I’ve felt in a very long time.
My second day. I hope for many more.

I had to go to the grocery store today. Was running out of food for the dog, short on milk and just needed some things. I haven't been out for a month because of my step dad.
I can't trust my step dad. He will just sit and watch TV while I am gone. He has dementia and 85 years old. Not too long ago he went outside in the shed. He slipped and fell. I didn't know he was outside he never tells me. His son came by for dinner and found him while I was outside vaping. I did walk around looking for him but just in the wrong places. But anyway I got out today because my step sister in law came by for awhile to keep an eye on him.
I went to Weis grocery store. While I was shopping I was getting my cat her canned cat food. It was taking me awhile because looking for different food for her I didn't find. I look up and this older guy is just standing there waiting for me. I told this guy he should have said something and I moved out of the way. We got talking about our cats. He has like fifteen plus cats that he takes care of, I have one. But I have my cat for a reason I believe
First of all I have had two cats. My first cat was about 18 years ago. She was a black cat that my neighbors supposedly were taking care of. My neighbors back then, at least the guy, were jerks. The father laid out in the sun in his bikini bottom and didn't do anything all weekend. I felt sorry for his wife and kids. They always had cats running around outside. This black cat came to me one day and I found some food for her. She kept coming back. She became my best friend.
I went through some very hard times. I even thought of suicide. You know what kept me from doing it? My cat Midnight. Just seemed like everytime she came to me I had peace. I go out for a cigarette she would come to me without me calling her. She would come because she knew I needed her. A few times she was sitting right outside the door. When she passed away she was in my arms. She was like my best friend, an angel at that. I really do believe God sent her to be my friend.
Then about a couple weeks before she passed away she ended up getting under the porch. We had a board off because we had to do plumbing work under there years ago and Midnight liked going under there in the winter. Now we had to get her out so she didn't just die. When we did we kept her inside and took care of her. A few days after this calico cat, her name is Reese, walks up to me outside. She's rubbing my legs and meowing. She just followed me inside. I kept her in my room until Midnight passed on. Now she is all over and a climber. My mom passed on a year later from pancreatic cancer. A lot of other crap happened in that year and if God hadn't brought Reese before Midnight passed on I don't know where I would be today.
I believe everything happens for a reason and what we decide changes our future. That's why we need to make sure we stay on a good path and not a bad one. Personally I don't think we need to try to be perfect because that's impossible but use common sense. There is always a better way and having faith is what helps you to get there. Sometimes we just need a little help and we get a friend

Prompt: The Variants of Vampires. Think of an alternative vampire that survives on something other than blood. Write a story or scene based on this character.
As the sun faded over the horizon, Vlad’s eyes opened slowly. A sigh escaped his cold lips, and he stretched his long legs onto the red velvet lining of his coffin. Another day has come. He thought sadly, as he had everyday for last 206 years.
He checked his timepiece in the left chest pocket of his silk pajamas, 8:36 p.m. Thankful for the spring sun that set earlier than it would in the coming months, he pushed on the heavy hardwood lid of his resting place. With a creak the wood swung open, landing heavily to the side. While a modern coffin would no doubt be lighter, and easier to open every evening, this one was sentimental to him. As he had been buried in this exact coffin 206 years ago, at 35 years old.
With a heavy sigh, Vlad rose and climbed onto the step that sat beside his coffin. His stomach rumbled, and he knew he had no choice but to venture to the kitchen of his estate home. With his head hung low, he began to undress.
You see, Vlad was not like other vampires. His long life was full of loneliness, even for one who was undead. When he had first been turned by his Maker he was optimistic, excited even, for the wonders of the world he would be able to see. With no time limit, no fear of death, and an infinite supply of food walking the earth- the possibilities stretched before him like the vastness of the night sky.
However, Vlad was unable to satiate the hunger that filled him, that turned him into a ravenous beast, night after night. The mere thought of blood churned his stomach, much to his Maker’s chagrin.
Isabel was her name. Even the thought of her filled him with longing. Her had loved her once, and she him, until they learned the truth: Vlad could not be sustained by blood, but one of the things that all Vampires feared: Garlic. Of all things. The thought still flooded him with embarrassment, even after more than two centuries of living as a Vampire.
He climbed the steps from his dirt cellar, whose entrance lay hidden behind a false door that led into the Master bedroom of his estate. He lifted the heavy wooden lever that would propel the door open to his closet. The clever vault disguised by many shelves of his expensive leather shoes. He kept an armoire near his coffin for convenience, as sometimes he awoke before the sun had set. A terrible habit he picked up 50 years prior.
He wound his way from the closet into the room, down the long hallway, and the curved staircase to the first floor. His heavy footsteps echoed eerily in his quiet manse, as his staff had already left at the end of their workday, thinking that he was abroad on business. A ruse which was quickly growing thin. Soon I shall have to replace my staff again, how much easier this dreary life would be if I could simply drink from them. He mused.
Vlad had no excitement for the night, as even the mere smell of his skin repulsed those of his kind. He was unable to rejoin his coven, the one that he had briefly reveled in. Expensive goblets of crisp red blood he could not drink, dances and guests from around the globe each night, the women with their necks adorned with jewels, some thought long lost to the mortals of the world, but safely stashed in the secret rooms of the elites of the Vampire world. The men in their black tuxedos, fashionable hairstyles and long white teeth often exposed in laughter. His tenure in his coven had been short, merely days, but it had been a lifestyle he mourned. He and Isabel had tried to make things work… But this train of thought was far too painful, and his stomach panged once again, so he quickened his steps and focused once again on his coming meal.
He made his way into the back kitchen, not the formal kitchen he would have likely entertained Isabel in (if he was a “normal” Vampire), but into the staff kitchen where the fridges were, and food was prepared and stored. Rows and rows of dried garlic bundles hung from the exposed wooden beams, all harvested from the garden on the grounds.
Vlad once again rued his life, as he wished the preparation of his meal didn’t fall to him each night. But he reached up and took down a bundle, released a corm from its tight knot, and sat at the stool at the quartz countertop, grabbing for one of his Japanese Damascus knives that made his task of slicing his garlic head easy.
Briefly inspired, Vlad decided a garlic comfit would be nice, and he got to work.

6ft
M34
Kiss-less virgin
Slim/small framed af bones for shoulders and stick arms with some pudge on abdomen
Long slim legs short torso (tho they’ve gotten thick the past year I didn’t do anything) but I still look lanky in clothes
Black hair receding high hairline
10-3 years ago I always Used to have white clear skin and looked well/healthy in the mirror but now I look bloated, dull/yellowy and fucked with bags and a pink nose*
I won’t even answer the door to the postman when 10 years ago i worked in a pub 6 days/nights a week
i smoke weed 2 a day and have 3 cigarettes in between with 20cl of scotch mixed with a can of coke a night to watch tv with and then bed at around 2am
I can’t go out, I only to go the shop over the road at night and ALWAYS have my hood up and a snood over my face partly (the shop guys let me do this thankfully)

Hi Reddit, this is my first time posting on this site in years, for context on this story I am a 19-year-old girl residing in east London.
Two weeks ago, I was on a night out in my town, which I won't name, however, it is on the eastern outskirts of Greater London. It was a cold Friday night in early May when I began to walk home. By this time I was heavily drunk and had split off from my friends Sania and Marcus, who were also blackout drunk, they took the Elizabeth line to get home to their university digs in Harrow. So, I was left all by myself.
As I began to walk to the bus stop; which wasn't far from the club. I noticed a tall, skinny man with his head in his hands sitting on the red plastic bench at the stop. I couldn't see much of his face as it was obscured by his long, dark brown messy hair. I sat down on the bench, furthest away from him, because it was around 1 am, the area was deserted and honestly, this guy was giving me the creeps. He was wearing a dark brown leather bomber jacket, green cargos and a Mayhem band T-Shirt.
I sat, and waited for the bus, for around five minutes. Scrolling through TikTok. When suddenly, my focus was interrupted by the sound of sobbing coming from my left, I turned to see the man, head still in his hands sobbing uncontrollably. I glanced at the man several times before making my decision. I scooted over to him, put my hand on his shoulder (keep in mind I was still in my drink-induced, confident, sociable state). He looked up at me, admittedly I thought he was quite handsome, that was until I was hit by his breath, which was a fowl stench, a mixture of cigarettes, vomit and tooth decay.
He had thick, furrowed dark eyebrows, short yet unkempt stubble, tears rolling down his face. I asked him "Hey, are you alright?". At this point, his facial expression changed, he let out a loud smoker's cough, covering his mouth with his elbow. Wiping his tears away with the same elbow he looked me in the eyes and simply said: "I've hurt a lot of people". At this point, starting to sense the vibe was off, I asked "What do you mean?". I felt the alcohol starting to lose it's effects on me, I regretted interacting with this man at all.
He told me plainly, "I've killed someone." At this moment, my heart sunk to the bottom of my chest, I thought he must be joking, or lying. I timidly said, "Wait, what?" I was choking on my words. He went on to confess to me that he had killed a 17 year old boy after arranging a gay encounter with him over Grindr. He told me that he stabbed the boy in the neck with a screwdriver before burning his body in the woods with lighter fluid. I stood there aghast at this sudden confession, when I saw the headlights of the night bus approaching in the distance, without hesitating I boarded, tapped my oyster and looked back, he did not follow me on. The bus doors slam shut, I ride the bus, only for around four stops before reaching my house, as I step out from the bus, I look to my left only to see a dark figure with long dark hair running towards me down the street, I book it towards my house, shove the key into the lock before slamming the door shut and screaming for my mum.
That night I dreamt of the encounter in vivid detail, and the following night, and the night after. However, as the nights went on, I would see the act of murder in his eyes, as if it was a projection, the dream would pause as he looked up to me, and the pause would be longer each night, seeing more vivid details reflected from his dark green eyes. The dreams stopped around a week after the experience, but I was left deeply disturbed. What unsettled me the most was his voice, robotic and deep, sounding almost distorted as I dreamt of him more and more. My last dream was on the night of the 11th of May, a Saturday night. I was awoken to complete paralysis of my body, I heard as clear as day from across the room "There wasn't just one victim." Loudly in a female voice.
I made my official police report today (18/05/24), and was given a reference number, the police told me they would try to identify the man, as he was caught on CCTV walking past the club I was at several times that night (which ironically is opposite the police station).

I’ll start out with a short background. I’m a 38 year old Male. I remember getting my first cluster headaches when I was about 11-12 years old and I was diagnosed when I was about 25. Way back then I would take way too much Excedrin Migraine but looking back I don’t think it helped at all. When I got the sense the CH was coming, there was nothing I could do except get an ice pack, lights off, get a garbage can (for throwing up), and lay down while screaming in agony.
I will usually get my Cluster headaches for a few months once a year. Rarely it will skip a year. When I have them nothing stops them BUT I have noticed over the years that Heat, Alcohol, Caffeine, Cigarette smoke and maybe even Marijuana makes my headaches worse and brings them on faster. I absolutely get them more often in the summer during the warmer months as well.
About 2 years ago I went back to the Neurologist and got prescribed the 6mg Sumatriptan Rescue Injections.
My mind was blown the first time I used it last year and within 10 minutes the CH was gone. I couldent believe it. I used them briefly last year and have been using them for the last month.
I’m just here to give hope to some of you that are struggling out there. It’s impossible to explain to people how painful and debilitating CH’s can be. I’ve been through a lot of dark times because I thought I would have to deal with the pain my whole life….
If you have not yet tried the emergency triptan injections, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to take them TRY THEM. They have changed my life.
If anyone wants to talk or ask me questions you can just message me. I have quite a bit of experience dealing with CH and I know how hard this shit is to deal with sometimes.
Take care of yourself and keep positive! Treatments are getting better every single day!