How to take off an ankle bracelet

BadMensAnatomy

2016.01.12 21:31 illuminatedcandle BadMensAnatomy

Bad Mens Anatomy
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2013.03.13 21:41 JoshTheDerp An ode to Ken M.

Welcome to KenM! This subreddit is dedicated to posts of a quirky old man, who is known as KenM. Please review the rules before posting!
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2011.10.04 04:09 jspsfx Casual IAmA

The casual version of /IAmA. Anyone's welcome to host or participate in an AMA. Topics may involve anything from ordinary to extraordinary subject matter. The environment is relaxed, we just ask that you have fun!
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2024.05.15 21:07 rephlexi0n Disagreement "I should've just gone to Walmart"

NoSleep link
“Ugh, Emma, can you get the trunk for me?”
The dim winter sun was setting over the parking lot, nearly devoid of shoppers at this late hour, aside from a van in one distant corner that had just started backing out of its spot.
I set my bag down in the passenger seat and rounded the side of my mum’s penicillium-green Camry, met with her impatient and lightly sweating face. I popped the trunk, allowing her to practically collapse into it with the weight of the groceries. Something burst in one of the bags, prompting her to curse under her breath.
“I just don’t get why you won’t stick a quarter in those trolleys over there. You get it back afterwards.”
Mum, still arranging the bags into a position that would stop them toppling over on the drive home, looked at me scornfully.
“The Walmart downtown doesn’t make you pay. None of the stores around here do, so why should I? You know we only come here to Aldi ‘cause it’s cheaper.”
“I just said you get the quarter back afterwards. It’s to make sure people put the trolleys back,” I sighed, knowing there was no swaying her. Instead of shooting back with some flimsy reasoning, mum patted her pockets and swore.
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ve gone and left my wallet at the till again, haven’t I?”
Before I could get a word out, she was gone like a rocket, racing against the store’s closing time. Night’s chill descended, raising gooseflesh, so I slammed the trunk and hopped back into the passenger seat, out of the cold.
I sat there, praying my mum had the haste to get back soon with the keys and start up the heating. There was something else, though. My heart made itself known with a rising, incessant pulse. Was something wrong?
“Not this again,” I groaned, shutting my eyes and following a basic breathing routine to calm my nerves. The anxiety was bad enough, but the anger I felt at the nonsense panic had always been worse for me.
“Just stop it. Lasagna’s waiting for us at home. It’s gonna be so g–”
I opened my eyes.
Had I heard something? No, not heard, felt? I leaned forward to scan the parking lot. Nothing. Then I jumped back in my seat. There it was again. It was subtle, so much so I was surprised I’d even noticed it. A light, but bone-deep vibration was emanating from somewhere. Almost like someone nearby was subtly trying to pull down on a gigantic zipper, one tooth at a time. The comparison should’ve sounded silly, but my heart continued to pound faster and faster until I was sure beyond a doubt that something bad would happen. Something was wrong.
It took me longer than I’d have liked to get out, with the seat belt clamping as I struggled to unbuckle. There was no smell in the air. Did it smell before? I couldn’t remember. No more cars in the lot, only the Camry. No more noise.
Again, that slight vibration in the air. Too low a frequency to determine its source, but enough to sense it was there. I tilted my head, staring up at lumpy clouds that cast shadows on each other. Ah, those clouds. I’ve always loved how they look around sundown. It helped to ease my heart a little.
Until one of the shadows moved.
I’m not stupid, I thought it was just a cloud’s shadow matching its slow drift across the sky - I squinted. The shadow wasn’t being cast on a cloud. It was above, or behind them, which made me realise whatever I was seeing, it wasn’t a shadow.
What happened next is hard to articulate. I’ve never seen anything else like it, before or since. The dark mass above the clouds began to sort of extend, beaming down at an angle, like sun rays but moving at a steady pace, or how water or ink moves up paper by way of capillary action. A black beam. But, it was more than that.
I was so absorbed in the spectacle, it hadn’t fully dawned on me that this thing was getting closer. Closer to me. And as it closed in, there was no mistaking it. While it continued to stretch all the way back above the clouds, the outline of it, the cross-section, was almost human-shaped. Arms, head, body, and legs, but the limbs ended in stunted nubs, like a stick figure.
By the time it stopped a good three or four storeys above, I still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. I could do nothing but watch in disbelief as lights and layers of colour began to flash inside the human-ish figure, seeming to have parallax, as if whatever lay beyond was a space of its own.
Amazingly, something managed to distract me for a moment. A flash of light in my peripheral. A phone torch.
“Emma? Emma! Are you having a stroke or something?”
I blinked.
“What– no? I mean, I…”
Mum was back, apparently still without her wallet, now scanning the asphalt for any sign of it. Why didn’t I hear her coming back?
She clicked her tongue.
“Then stop standing there like an idiot and help me find it. Come on, it’s getting late.”
I did, in fact, keep standing there, glancing between her and the flashing shadow prism above us. I did a double take. Those glaringly bright, almost offensively coloured layers were speeding up towards the end of the beam, towards me, piling up on themselves to assemble a figure, stepping soundlessly out into thin air.
Mum kept calling for me. I heard her, but couldn’t process her words. Everything else was secondary to the figure above us. It had fully formed, cloaked in a coarse-looking gown, with skin so pale and shadeless it was as if it radiated a faint glow. The sound of rapid footsteps brought me back to myself, and I looked down just in time to see my mum, face painted in a teetering mixture of worry and annoyance. She went to speak but I held up a hand, and pointed to the figure.
Squinting at me, she looked to where I was pointing, and froze. The whole time, I’d secretly been hoping I was just hallucinating, but she saw it too. She saw something, at least, and that was enough to confirm what I’d been dreading.
“...who is that?” she asked. Her voice sounded so small and dry. If I could’ve spoken I’d have asked, “what is that?”
Instead, I watched on in terror as the figure began a slow descent, straight down. The closer it drew, the more of it I could make out. There were these iridescent lines floating across the surface of its skin, moving like sun patterns on the bottom of a swimming pool. Like the silhouette it had emerged from, it had no hands or feet. Just rounded nubs, although those on its arms had the same slight depression in the centre.
“Car… the car. Mum, the car, get in the car, now,” I whispered. No response. I reached out, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. She was absolutely rigid. One of us had to move, and I imagined we were both hoping the other would do so.
A second figure emerged from the prism, identical to the first, except it was wearing a plain T-shirt and shorts. At the same time, the first one finally touched down on the asphalt and stood, tilting its head up, apparently waiting for the other to arrive.
If I had any lingering doubt that these things weren’t human, it was squashed when I saw their faces - or, lack thereof. I couldn’t see any ears, and where a face should’ve been was only a circular metal grate. Maybe gold, or brass.
The four of us stood there, still and silent. They stared at us, and we stared right back, completely lost in the foreign sight of the beings. A breath, then they turned to each other. I don’t know if I expected them to talk, but they didn’t. Not in any language I know. Faint at first, getting brighter with every pulse, constellations began to flash behind the metal face-grates of each of them. I heard nothing aside from a few damped vibrations, yet somehow, I knew there was a conversation going on.
Very slowly, I took a step back, and reached an arm behind me to feel for the car. All the while, my eyes stayed locked on the beings. I kept reaching, further and further. My fingers brushed nothing but air.
One of them abruptly turned and looked at me, or at mum, I couldn’t tell. My chest tightened. This wasn’t happening. It raised one stunted arm to point at my mum, releasing another cascade of flashing lights behind its grill face. The other crossed its arms and looked over too, like it was waiting for something.
I had to risk it. I pivoted, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The car was twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away. I didn’t remember wandering that far from it. I noticed something else then: the trees, the grass, all of the greenery surrounding the parking lot was… gone. It gave me the impression of a planet that had never evolved life, or where all life was extinct. There was only bare, dark soil enclosing the lot.
Seconds before I went for the car, mum let out a scream. One that I still hear from time to time, in dreams and background noise. I spun around to see the first being, the one wearing a gown, gliding across the ground with an arm outstretched. Mum didn’t have time to move. It came to a dead stop before her, arm still raised, and I saw something emerging from the small depression at the end of its stump - what I now understood was a hole. Whatever came out was darker than the night sky, and I couldn’t place its shape, but it looked like it was made out of a mass of ever-shifting black crystals.
Mum screamed again. It was more of a gasp actually, a gasp that lasted barely a second before a bubble broke free of the shifting appendage and fixed itself over her mouth, silencing her. Another four floated down to her wrists and ankles, binding her in place and stopping her from moving as one more broke off from the being. It looked a little like an arrowhead, or some other sharp, triangular tool, a razor edge cutting through the air and hovering just over her stomach.
I understood the danger then - not for me, but her. Abandoning caution, I leapt forward, yelling,
“Get away from her!”
But I rolled my ankle and went crashing down onto cold, hard asphalt. Dazed, I tried to lift myself, and managed to look up at the beings with blood pouring from my nose and a cut on my cheek. The one in front of my mum barely seemed to notice me, giving me a quick look then getting back to the matter at hand, whatever that was.
Mum squirmed against her restraints, issuing muffled groans through her nose. I forced my limbs to work, but I was held fast. Mounds of that shifting black crystal had smothered my hands, binding them to the ground.
I looked at my mum, helpless, terrified. She met my eyes, blinked away a tear, and squeezed her eyelids shut. At the back, the being wearing a T-shirt made some kind of gesture, like it was impatient, and the robed being nodded, turning back to mum and directing the arrow-shaped object. At the same time, her blouse began to lift up and off her, pulled by an invisible force and exposing her belly. The being hesitated for a second, and I felt a spark of hope, that it might show mercy.
But of course it didn’t.
The dark arrowhead pressed into her skin, slicing through layers like butter and dragging a line downwards, leaving a clean incision. Wasting no time, the being reached inside, fiddled around for a moment, then pulled out the severed end of my mum’s intestine. Blood and shit splattered the ground, trailing away from her as the being floated backwards, keeping hold of the organ until it was stretched to its full length.
I tasted bile.
STOP! You fucks, you fucking–”
A gush of vomit interrupted me, flooding out onto the ground and mixing in with the intestinal fluids to create a disgusting, speckled pattern which prompted another wave of vomit from me and tears to cloud my vision.
“Please…”
I wiped my sleeve over my eyes so I could see. The being in a T-shirt had a long, pole-shaped protrusion stretching out from the end of its arm, extending to match the length of my mother’s intestines. It studied something for a second, before shrugging, and nodding at the robed being.
In the blink of an eye, the intestines retracted back like a frightened snake and piled back inside mum’s body. I just stared, not able to understand. The sides of the incision pulled into each other and appeared to heal completely in a matter of seconds. As soon as I’d processed this, I felt my restraints slacken then disappear entirely, and I shot to my feet, nearly tripping over again, and grasped onto mum’s arm.
I pulled, under the assumption that she’d been released. She wasn’t. Why weren’t they letting her go?
Freezing up, I cranked my head to look at the beings. More flashing lights. The one in a T-shirt was handing something over to the other, but I couldn’t see anything passing between them. Maybe it was something invisible, or something my mind just wasn’t built to perceive.
I continued to tug mechanically, trying to free her. Her skin was cold and slick and she was shivering. It did no good. The black crystal held fast. I nearly collapsed in relief and shock when the robed figure began to ascend back up to the prism it had come from, but the other grabbed onto its gown, communicating something. The robed being dropped back down, but threw its arms out in what I’d guessed was frustration. T-shirt gestured towards us again, still conversing with the other, waving its arms around. Still, the robed figure seemed to acquiesce and slid across the ground towards us again. Lights continued to flash behind its grill-face, all varying shades of orange and red. Like it was angry.
I couldn’t let it happen again, and lunged at it, planning to do - I don’t really know. I just wanted to protect my mum. Right as I made contact with the being, I felt a shift in the air. The fluid in my ears swirled. It made me dizzy. When my eyes stopped rolling to the side, I realised I was being held still by two pale, stunted arms, with odd patches of hot and cold travelling around on its skin. Somehow, I’d wound up in the arms of the being wearing a T-shirt, and those arms held me tight, tighter than any living thing should be able to.
GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!” I screamed, flailing and lashing out. In a desperate bet for escape I tried to bite down on one of its arms. It felt like I’d been curb stomped, like I’d bitten down full-force on granite.
I kind of gave up after that. It just hurt too much to think. Instead, I took in my surroundings. Where was I again? Mum… mum.
The robed being was standing in the way of her, but it was doing something. I couldn’t see what, but by the way mum was squealing behind her gag, it made the first procedure sound like a pillow fight. I just cried. There was no other avenue for relief except the tears.
Then, everything went quiet. Mum trailed off into a whine, and then nothing. No wind, and no trees or leaves rustling, because they’d all vanished. Just me, mum, and these things. The one holding me loosened its grip and I gasped, gulping down stagnant air. It floated over to where mum was and the robed being stepped aside, finally letting me see what was happening.
I didn’t really want to know. I really, really didn’t. But my muscles were locked in place.
In one… hand? The robed being held one end of an artery it had pulled out of mum’s chest. Without warning, the two entities shot up into the air, coming to a halt somewhere above. As they moved, more blood vessels phased through the skin of mum’s body, contorting and straightening to fuse at their ends, forming an unholy, pulsing rope.
With speed faster than I could process, the beings flew away, vanishing into the night while clutching the single fused vessel of veins, arteries, and capillaries. There was blood, yes, but only a little. It all seemed to be contained in that one long tube they continued to pull along through the atmosphere.
From the opposite direction, they passed once. I saw them pass over one more time and disappear into the distance before the meaty vessel pulled taut. At the time, I hadn’t really pieced it together - I think they’d looped around the entire planet. Not once, but twice, and then some, in what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds.
I blinked, and they were back, standing in the parking lot and flashing their lights at each other. I didn’t even have the energy to whisper in protest. T-shirt looked reluctant in some way, and handed over more of something I couldn’t see to the robed entity.
As they did this, the red string they’d made from mum’s blood vessels pulled back by itself at impossible speeds, retracting out of over two loops of planet Earth and back into my mum, breaking apart, phasing back inside and reassembling into their proper structure. That’s what I’d guessed, anyway.
Glassy eyed and so, so pale, the crystalline restraints dissolved and my mum slumped limp to the ground. I stood motionless for a second before realising my own restraints were gone as well, and I bolted over to her.
I was whispering something. Assurances, maybe apologies, I can’t remember. The two beings watched us, then they ascended, back up to the dark prism and out of sight. It began to pull back, up into the sky, and when I blinked, all the trees and the grass were back.
It all felt normal. Almost normal. The only change was that the sky was a little darker, and my mum felt a little colder. Then a lot colder. I placed two fingers on her neck. There was no pulse.
When the paramedics arrived, they rushed over to us. Their movements were frantic but controlled. Just thirty seconds later, that urgent energy was gone, replaced by a dull rhythm that told me all I needed to know.
She was pronounced dead on scene.
The coroner later concluded that mum had simply ‘died’. No cause could be found, but brain damage signified a level of hypoxia. I guess that’s what happens when your blood is outside of you, even if just for a minute.
Strangely, I found my anxiety to diminish after that night. It still flares up now and then, but most of the time, there’s just this hollow feeling in its place. I don’t go to Aldi anymore. Seems silly to mull over something like that, but I can’t even be near those big parking lots now. I get my groceries delivered.
Maybe it sounds like I’m managing - I am. Inside, though, there’s a crack that can’t be fixed, can’t be filled. It’s worn down over time, gotten less jagged and easier to deal with. Things don’t really shock me anymore, or at least, the shock is dulled.
There will be no justice for her. Even if I sought it, I doubt we could ever even access whatever plane those beings hail from. Whatever power we think we have, all those things see when they look at us is a world of monkeys, banging stones together. I’m sure of it.
In fact, I’m willing to bet on it.
As much as they bet on my mum.
submitted by rephlexi0n to rephlect [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 21:01 rephlexi0n I should've just gone to Walmart

“Ugh, Emma, can you get the trunk for me?”
The dim winter sun was setting over the parking lot, nearly devoid of shoppers at this late hour, aside from a van in one distant corner that had just started backing out of its spot.
I set my bag down in the passenger seat and rounded the side of my mum’s penicillium-green Camry, met with her impatient and lightly sweating face. I popped the trunk, allowing her to practically collapse into it with the weight of the groceries. Something burst in one of the bags, prompting her to curse under her breath.
“I just don’t get why you won’t stick a quarter in those trolleys over there. You get it back afterwards.”
Mum, still arranging the bags into a position that would stop them toppling over on the drive home, looked at me scornfully.
“The Walmart downtown doesn’t make you pay. None of the stores around here do, so why should I? You know we only come here to Aldi ‘cause it’s cheaper.”
“I just said you get the quarter back afterwards. It’s to make sure people put the trolleys back,” I sighed, knowing there was no swaying her. Instead of shooting back with some flimsy reasoning, mum patted her pockets and swore.
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ve gone and left my wallet at the till again, haven’t I?”
Before I could get a word out, she was gone like a rocket, racing against the store’s closing time. Night’s chill descended, raising gooseflesh, so I slammed the trunk and hopped back into the passenger seat, out of the cold.
I sat there, praying my mum had the haste to get back soon with the keys and start up the heating. There was something else, though. My heart made itself known with a rising, incessant pulse. Was something wrong?
“Not this again,” I groaned, shutting my eyes and following a basic breathing routine to calm my nerves. The anxiety was bad enough, but the anger I felt at the nonsense panic had always been worse for me.
“Just stop it. Lasagna’s waiting for us at home. It’s gonna be so g–”
I opened my eyes.
Had I heard something? No, not heard, felt? I leaned forward to scan the parking lot. Nothing. Then I jumped back in my seat. There it was again. It was subtle, so much so I was surprised I’d even noticed it. A light, but bone-deep vibration was emanating from somewhere. Almost like someone nearby was subtly trying to pull down on a gigantic zipper, one tooth at a time. The comparison should’ve sounded silly, but my heart continued to pound faster and faster until I was sure beyond a doubt that something bad would happen. Something was wrong.
It took me longer than I’d have liked to get out, with the seat belt clamping as I struggled to unbuckle. There was no smell in the air. Did it smell before? I couldn’t remember. No more cars in the lot, only the Camry. No more noise.
Again, that slight vibration in the air. Too low a frequency to determine its source, but enough to sense it was there. I tilted my head, staring up at lumpy clouds that cast shadows on each other. Ah, those clouds. I’ve always loved how they look around sundown. It helped to ease my heart a little.
Until one of the shadows moved.
I’m not stupid, I thought it was just a cloud’s shadow matching its slow drift across the sky - I squinted. The shadow wasn’t being cast on a cloud. It was above, or behind them, which made me realise whatever I was seeing, it wasn’t a shadow.
What happened next is hard to articulate. I’ve never seen anything else like it, before or since. The dark mass above the clouds began to sort of extend, beaming down at an angle, like sun rays but moving at a steady pace, or how water or ink moves up paper by way of capillary action. A black beam. But, it was more than that.
I was so absorbed in the spectacle, it hadn’t fully dawned on me that this thing was getting closer. Closer to me. And as it closed in, there was no mistaking it. While it continued to stretch all the way back above the clouds, the outline of it, the cross-section, was almost human-shaped. Arms, head, body, and legs, but the limbs ended in stunted nubs, like a stick figure.
By the time it stopped a good three or four storeys above, I still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. I could do nothing but watch in disbelief as lights and layers of colour began to flash inside the human-ish figure, seeming to have parallax, as if whatever lay beyond was a space of its own.
Amazingly, something managed to distract me for a moment. A flash of light in my peripheral. A phone torch.
“Emma? Emma! Are you having a stroke or something?”
I blinked.
“What– no? I mean, I…”
Mum was back, apparently still without her wallet, now scanning the asphalt for any sign of it. Why didn’t I hear her coming back?
She clicked her tongue.
“Then stop standing there like an idiot and help me find it. Come on, it’s getting late.”
I did, in fact, keep standing there, glancing between her and the flashing shadow prism above us. I did a double take. Those glaringly bright, almost offensively coloured layers were speeding up towards the end of the beam, towards me, piling up on themselves to assemble a figure, stepping soundlessly out into thin air.
Mum kept calling for me. I heard her, but couldn’t process her words. Everything else was secondary to the figure above us. It had fully formed, cloaked in a coarse-looking gown, with skin so pale and shadeless it was as if it radiated a faint glow. The sound of rapid footsteps brought me back to myself, and I looked down just in time to see my mum, face painted in a teetering mixture of worry and annoyance. She went to speak but I held up a hand, and pointed to the figure.
Squinting at me, she looked to where I was pointing, and froze. The whole time, I’d secretly been hoping I was just hallucinating, but she saw it too. She saw something, at least, and that was enough to confirm what I’d been dreading.
“...who is that?” she asked. Her voice sounded so small and dry. If I could’ve spoken I’d have asked, “what is that?”
Instead, I watched on in terror as the figure began a slow descent, straight down. The closer it drew, the more of it I could make out. There were these iridescent lines floating across the surface of its skin, moving like sun patterns on the bottom of a swimming pool. Like the silhouette it had emerged from, it had no hands or feet. Just rounded nubs, although those on its arms had the same slight depression in the centre.
“Car… the car. Mum, the car, get in the car, now,” I whispered. No response. I reached out, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. She was absolutely rigid. One of us had to move, and I imagined we were both hoping the other would do so.
A second figure emerged from the prism, identical to the first, except it was wearing a plain T-shirt and shorts. At the same time, the first one finally touched down on the asphalt and stood, tilting its head up, apparently waiting for the other to arrive.
If I had any lingering doubt that these things weren’t human, it was squashed when I saw their faces - or, lack thereof. I couldn’t see any ears, and where a face should’ve been was only a circular metal grate. Maybe gold, or brass.
The four of us stood there, still and silent. They stared at us, and we stared right back, completely lost in the foreign sight of the beings. A breath, then they turned to each other. I don’t know if I expected them to talk, but they didn’t. Not in any language I know. Faint at first, getting brighter with every pulse, constellations began to flash behind the metal face-grates of each of them. I heard nothing aside from a few damped vibrations, yet somehow, I knew there was a conversation going on.
Very slowly, I took a step back, and reached an arm behind me to feel for the car. All the while, my eyes stayed locked on the beings. I kept reaching, further and further. My fingers brushed nothing but air.
One of them abruptly turned and looked at me, or at mum, I couldn’t tell. My chest tightened. This wasn’t happening. It raised one stunted arm to point at my mum, releasing another cascade of flashing lights behind its grill face. The other crossed its arms and looked over too, like it was waiting for something.
I had to risk it. I pivoted, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The car was twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away. I didn’t remember wandering that far from it. I noticed something else then: the trees, the grass, all of the greenery surrounding the parking lot was… gone. It gave me the impression of a planet that had never evolved life, or where all life was extinct. There was only bare, dark soil enclosing the lot.
Seconds before I went for the car, mum let out a scream. One that I still hear from time to time, in dreams and background noise. I spun around to see the first being, the one wearing a gown, gliding across the ground with an arm outstretched. Mum didn’t have time to move. It came to a dead stop before her, arm still raised, and I saw something emerging from the small depression at the end of its stump - what I now understood was a hole. Whatever came out was darker than the night sky, and I couldn’t place its shape, but it looked like it was made out of a mass of ever-shifting black crystals.
Mum screamed again. It was more of a gasp actually, a gasp that lasted barely a second before a bubble broke free of the shifting appendage and fixed itself over her mouth, silencing her. Another four floated down to her wrists and ankles, binding her in place and stopping her from moving as one more broke off from the being. It looked a little like an arrowhead, or some other sharp, triangular tool, a razor edge cutting through the air and hovering just over her stomach.
I understood the danger then - not for me, but her. Abandoning caution, I leapt forward, yelling,
“Get away from her!”
But I rolled my ankle and went crashing down onto cold, hard asphalt. Dazed, I tried to lift myself, and managed to look up at the beings with blood pouring from my nose and a cut on my cheek. The one in front of my mum barely seemed to notice me, giving me a quick look then getting back to the matter at hand, whatever that was.
Mum squirmed against her restraints, issuing muffled groans through her nose. I forced my limbs to work, but I was held fast. Mounds of that shifting black crystal had smothered my hands, binding them to the ground.
I looked at my mum, helpless, terrified. She met my eyes, blinked away a tear, and squeezed her eyelids shut. At the back, the being wearing a T-shirt made some kind of gesture, like it was impatient, and the robed being nodded, turning back to mum and directing the arrow-shaped object. At the same time, her blouse began to lift up and off her, pulled by an invisible force and exposing her belly. The being hesitated for a second, and I felt a spark of hope, that it might show mercy.
But of course it didn’t.
The dark arrowhead pressed into her skin, slicing through layers like butter and dragging a line downwards, leaving a clean incision. Wasting no time, the being reached inside, fiddled around for a moment, then pulled out the severed end of my mum’s intestine. Blood and shit splattered the ground, trailing away from her as the being floated backwards, keeping hold of the organ until it was stretched to its full length.
I tasted bile.
STOP! You fucks, you fucking–”
A gush of vomit interrupted me, flooding out onto the ground and mixing in with the intestinal fluids to create a disgusting, speckled pattern which prompted another wave of vomit from me and tears to cloud my vision.
“Please…”
I wiped my sleeve over my eyes so I could see. The being in a T-shirt had a long, pole-shaped protrusion stretching out from the end of its arm, extending to match the length of my mother’s intestines. It studied something for a second, before shrugging, and nodding at the robed being.
In the blink of an eye, the intestines retracted back like a frightened snake and piled back inside mum’s body. I just stared, not able to understand. The sides of the incision pulled into each other and appeared to heal completely in a matter of seconds. As soon as I’d processed this, I felt my restraints slacken then disappear entirely, and I shot to my feet, nearly tripping over again, and grasped onto mum’s arm.
I pulled, under the assumption that she’d been released. She wasn’t. Why weren’t they letting her go?
Freezing up, I cranked my head to look at the beings. More flashing lights. The one in a T-shirt was handing something over to the other, but I couldn’t see anything passing between them. Maybe it was something invisible, or something my mind just wasn’t built to perceive.
I continued to tug mechanically, trying to free her. Her skin was cold and slick and she was shivering. It did no good. The black crystal held fast. I nearly collapsed in relief and shock when the robed figure began to ascend back up to the prism it had come from, but the other grabbed onto its gown, communicating something. The robed being dropped back down, but threw its arms out in what I’d guessed was frustration. T-shirt gestured towards us again, still conversing with the other, waving its arms around. Still, the robed figure seemed to acquiesce and slid across the ground towards us again. Lights continued to flash behind its grill-face, all varying shades of orange and red. Like it was angry.
I couldn’t let it happen again, and lunged at it, planning to do - I don’t really know. I just wanted to protect my mum. Right as I made contact with the being, I felt a shift in the air. The fluid in my ears swirled. It made me dizzy. When my eyes stopped rolling to the side, I realised I was being held still by two pale, stunted arms, with odd patches of hot and cold travelling around on its skin. Somehow, I’d wound up in the arms of the being wearing a T-shirt, and those arms held me tight, tighter than any living thing should be able to.
GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!” I screamed, flailing and lashing out. In a desperate bet for escape I tried to bite down on one of its arms. It felt like I’d been curb stomped, like I’d bitten down full-force on granite.
I kind of gave up after that. It just hurt too much to think. Instead, I took in my surroundings. Where was I again? Mum… mum.
The robed being was standing in the way of her, but it was doing something. I couldn’t see what, but by the way mum was squealing behind her gag, it made the first procedure sound like a pillow fight. I just cried. There was no other avenue for relief except the tears.
Then, everything went quiet. Mum trailed off into a whine, and then nothing. No wind, and no trees or leaves rustling, because they’d all vanished. Just me, mum, and these things. The one holding me loosened its grip and I gasped, gulping down stagnant air. It floated over to where mum was and the robed being stepped aside, finally letting me see what was happening.
I didn’t really want to know. I really, really didn’t. But my muscles were locked in place.
In one… hand? The robed being held one end of an artery it had pulled out of mum’s chest. Without warning, the two entities shot up into the air, coming to a halt somewhere above. As they moved, more blood vessels phased through the skin of mum’s body, contorting and straightening to fuse at their ends, forming an unholy, pulsing rope.
With speed faster than I could process, the beings flew away, vanishing into the night while clutching the single fused vessel of veins, arteries, and capillaries. There was blood, yes, but only a little. It all seemed to be contained in that one long tube they continued to pull along through the atmosphere.
From the opposite direction, they passed once. I saw them pass over one more time and disappear into the distance before the meaty vessel pulled taut. At the time, I hadn’t really pieced it together - I think they’d looped around the entire planet. Not once, but twice, and then some, in what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds.
I blinked, and they were back, standing in the parking lot and flashing their lights at each other. I didn’t even have the energy to whisper in protest. T-shirt looked reluctant in some way, and handed over more of something I couldn’t see to the robed entity.
As they did this, the red string they’d made from mum’s blood vessels pulled back by itself at impossible speeds, retracting out of over two loops of planet Earth and back into my mum, breaking apart, phasing back inside and reassembling into their proper structure. That’s what I’d guessed, anyway.
Glassy eyed and so, so pale, the crystalline restraints dissolved and my mum slumped limp to the ground. I stood motionless for a second before realising my own restraints were gone as well, and I bolted over to her.
I was whispering something. Assurances, maybe apologies, I can’t remember. The two beings watched us, then they ascended, back up to the dark prism and out of sight. It began to pull back, up into the sky, and when I blinked, all the trees and the grass were back.
It all felt normal. Almost normal. The only change was that the sky was a little darker, and my mum felt a little colder. Then a lot colder. I placed two fingers on her neck. There was no pulse.
When the paramedics arrived, they rushed over to us. Their movements were frantic but controlled. Just thirty seconds later, that urgent energy was gone, replaced by a dull rhythm that told me all I needed to know.
She was pronounced dead on scene.
The coroner later concluded that mum had simply ‘died’. No cause could be found, but brain damage signified a level of hypoxia. I guess that’s what happens when your blood is outside of you, even if just for a minute.
Strangely, I found my anxiety to diminish after that night. It still flares up now and then, but most of the time, there’s just this hollow feeling in its place. I don’t go to Aldi anymore. Seems silly to mull over something like that, but I can’t even be near those big parking lots now. I get my groceries delivered.
Maybe it sounds like I’m managing - I am. Inside, though, there’s a crack that can’t be fixed, can’t be filled. It’s worn down over time, gotten less jagged and easier to deal with. Things don’t really shock me anymore, or at least, the shock is dulled.
There will be no justice for her. Even if I sought it, I doubt we could ever even access whatever plane those beings hail from. Whatever power we think we have, all those things see when they look at us is a world of monkeys, banging stones together. I’m sure of it.
In fact, I’m willing to bet on it.
As much as they bet on my mum.
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2024.05.15 20:35 eli_ashe The 451 Percenters, Puritanism At The CDC And Other Fascistic Fallacies

Bit of a longer post, sorry bout that, but I felt it was time, perhaps once again, to point out the flaws and limitations in the CDC’s stats on sexual violence, specifically as they relate to the National Intimate Partner Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS), which is the source of all the fun stats on sexual violence that get thrown around by the 451 percenters. Who are the 451 percenters? Those the folks who believe and spread the lies bout sexual violence being endemic to society. Everyone’s a sexual predator! All 451 percent of women are violated, and all 451 percent of men are violators.
TL;DR: An analysis and rebuttal to the CDC and NISVS’s statistics on sexual violence. The CDC uses NISVS to generate the stats on punny sexual violence that make wild claims, like one third of all women, etc… the 451 percenters’ claims bout punny sexual violence. They use a ‘yes means yes’ method of determining what counts as punny sexual violence, which is aesthetics based. Elevating aesthetical concerns to ethically obligatory concerns is fascistic, and a grave moral fallacy. ‘Yes means yes’ is also puritanical, meaning it overly moralizes sexuality. Putting puritanical fascists in charge of determining how many punny sexual offenses are happening is like putting the KKK in charge of determining how many jews are sexual predators. “All 451 percent of them, obviously!”
Body Of The Post
‘Yes means yes’ is an aesthetical ethical concern, ‘Do I want it or not’. This is what the National Intimate Partner Violence Survey (NISVS) and the CDC use and reflect in their stats on sexual violence. Vibes. They are the ‘emmitt till got what he deserved’ crowd. Whistling at a lady is a criminalizable offense to these folks, a ‘punny sexual violence’.
‘No means no’ is an ethically obligatory concern, ‘Did I refuse it or not’. This is what the criminal stats on sexual violence use and reflect in their stats on sexual violence. Hard data. They are the ‘emmit till did nothing wrong’ crowd. Whistling at a lady is at most tasteless, emmitt till could do far better.
‘Wanting’ or ‘Not Wanting’ something does not consent make. I can want to fuck someone, but not consent to do so. I could not want to fuck someone, but nonetheless consent to do so. The former perhaps because I think it is a bad idea to fuck ‘em even tho I want to. The latter, perhaps because I think it is a good idea to fuck ‘em even tho I don’t want to.
The ‘yes means yes’ folks, the CDC & NISVS stats on sexual violence all mistake ‘wanting’ and ‘not wanting’ for ‘consenting’ and ‘not consenting’; these are not the same things. This is deliberate on their part too. They believe that ‘yes means yes’ is what ought to constitute a determination of sexual violence. Regardless of how y’all view that, it is a deeply controversial notion, and not necessarily reflective of what most people think of when they think of sexual violence.
‘Unwanted’ essentially means ‘I don’t like it’. It is a complaint bout the aesthetical qualities of the sexual encounter, not its consensualism. If this is at all unclear, the simplest method to understand why this is so is to note two unrelated aspects.
One is racism. People regularly ‘feel fearful’ of men for no reason at all, but they also feel fearful of men because of racism all the time. That fear factor ™ is what makes the encounter ‘coercion’ or ‘unwanted’. The person literally does nothing wrong, *just exists* and the other person freaks out.
Note in the quoted sections at the end of this post how much of the stats rely on fear and feelings to generate their numbers.
Two is the person came on too strong or in an undesirable way. The person flirts in a normal and perfectly fine way, but the other person freaks out. Think bout it people, for the love of god think bout it. ‘Coming on too strong’ and ‘an undesirable flirtation’ are being counted as ‘punny sexual violence’ in these stats.
It’s entirely puritanical, and entirely a concern bout aesthetics.
There are other sorts of coercive methods, but the point here is that the terms ‘unwanted’ and ‘coercion’ only really cash out as ‘I don’t like it for some reason or another’ in the CDC’s and NISVS’s stats.
When you see that lady spouting off bout her fears of mexican rapists, she’s reflected in these stats folks. They’re just surveys. People who lock their car doors in ‘bad neighborhoods’ are reflected in those stats.
These all translate to ‘I felt threatened’ (big black boy vibes) or ‘felt pressured’ (scary white guy vibes), or ‘felt in danger’ (native american coming to get you vibes), or ‘felt uncertain if you wanted it’ (arab terrorist vibes) or 'felt like I was being manipulated' (angry asian martial artists vibes) . Doesn’t have to be racism at play here either, women can be irrationally fearful of any man. Vibes.
The actions themselves are not criminalizable.
Non p-hacked stats try to avoid these kinds of obvious ambiguities in the language used to generate the 451 percenters’ stats. These folks however lean into the lies and deceptions, and deliberately use language designed to deceive people reading the stats into thinking that people have been harmed. They take language that means literally ‘I like or don’t like it’ and translate that to mean ‘I was sexually harassed, sexually assaulted, or even raped’.
This is how they inflate the numbers, so we get to the 451 percenters’ wacky ass beliefs; ‘451 percent of women will suffer egregious sexual violence to them at least fifty times in their lives’. All this means is vibes. 451 percent of women get some bad vibes bout some dudes.
You can hear it echoed in the bear or man discourse. Why do women choose the bear? Vibes and irrational fears. ‘We choose the bear because we don’t feel safe!’ translates directly to ‘Emmitt till whistled at me, and he’s a big black boy, that’s scary’ and ‘the mexican rapists are swarming over the border to get me’.
These are the stats that people point to when they try to justify their misandristic hot ass takes. They are self-referential to that same fear based aesthetic the stats are. The stats are reflective of peoples’ irrational fears, and people use those stats to justify their irrational fears, and people spread those fear based stats thereby spreading their unjustified fears. It’s a circle rub.
To criminalize these kinds of things is to be fascistic (treating aesthetics as if they were of obligatory concern), to believe that they are morally reprehensible is to be a puritan (overly moralizing sexuality).
The folks deriving these stats translate ‘unwanted’ (aesthetical ethics) to ‘sexual assault’, ‘sexual harassment’, or ‘rape’ (obligatory ethics), then lump everything together as ‘punny sexual violence’ to get the big numbers used to scare people and terrorize men. That’s called fascism.
“[T]here remains a likelihood of underreporting due to the sensitive nature of SV”.
This justification means that they do not trust people to report SV, ‘don’t believe women when they say they haven’t suffered any SV, manipulate the questions so they say yes to something they don’t think is SV, or which simply isn’t SV, and we’ll just call it SV of this or that sort. Later we’ll propagandize people so they too come to believe our puritanical misandristic hot ass takes.’
There is no lie nor hyperbole in what I am saying here. That is the rationale and the method. If you bone up on your academic lit in the topic, this is, well not verbatim what they say, I am lambasting them here, but this is the crux of what their argument and justifications are, and they explicitly hold that they ought be propagandizing people to their puritanical beliefs.
They push the fascistic (aesthetical ethical) and puritanical (overly moralized sexual ethics) discourse into the public by presenting stats that merely reflect fears and pretend that they are reflective of sexual violence. People then come to believe that those kinds of fear based concerns are actually sexual violence. An ‘unwanted flirtation’ becomes in their minds and only in their minds a sexual violence.
Emmitt till got lynched for whistling at a lady. They only disagree bout the racism, but he definitely deserved to be punished in some way like all men do for whistling at someone they think is hot af. Puritanism.
All just vibes, all but aesthetics, and all fascistically raised to a level of ethically obligatory concern.
“Just as SV is not limited to physically forced penetration, its perpetrators are not limited to strangers. Indeed, perpetrators of SV are more likely to be someone known to the victim. Sexual violence is a problem embedded in our society and includes unwanted acts perpetrated by persons very well known (e.g., family members, intimate partners, and friends), generally known (e.g., acquaintances), not known well or just known by sight (e.g., someone in your neighborhood, person just met) and unknown to the victim (e.g., strangers). “
Be afraid of everyone, any man out there could be your next rapist! That’s right ladies and gents, you’ve been raped several times already, you just didn’t know it. But don’t worry, the statisticians know better. They asked you an unrelated question you said yes to since you were too dumb to know that you were raped, and counted it as rape. Then they informed you that you ought be afraid of everyone in your community, lest they also rape you, unbeknownst to you of course. But again, don’t worry, the statistician will count those too.
As a measure of fear the 451 percenters capture, well or worse who knows, all the racism, sexism, bigotry, and various phobias in the society, and how those fears are transferred onto masculine bodies as imaginary perpetrators of punny sexual offenses. None of it is real, there are not 451 percent of sexual violences happening, 451 percent of men are not sexual predators, and 451 percent of women are not victims of sexual violence.
‘Safety culture’ mostly reflects irrational fears.
Ask the kkk how many black people are rapists, you’re gonna get a high number. Ask puritans how many people are punny sexual offenders, you’re going to get a very high number. Such is the most tame interpretation of what is going on. The 451 percenters are puritans, they’ve overly moralized sexuality, counting offenses to their sensibility rather than criminal actions.
Puritans informing you how ‘vile and wicked’ your sexual ways are; advocating to make their puritanical beliefs bout punny sexual offenses into legally enforceable laws. These are the same kinds of concerns bout a someone dressing too provocatively, such is a ‘punny sexual violation’ to the sensibilities of others.
The less tame version of this is that it is exactly what fascists do. Lie to people especially bout punny sexual offenses in order to ratchet up the fear levels in the population, so they run to them to solve the ‘problem’.
Could be both tho.
Either way, their misandry murders little boys. They celebrate terrorizing men, and rejoice in lynching folks. They’re despicable people.
Solutions?
Ruthlessly love them. Write them love poems, show them kindness and generosity of spirit, but give them not a dime in money, nor ever relent to their irrational fears. Extol their beauty and virtues, make love with them, utterly ruthlessly. Be overtly sexual bout it, in this give them no quarter, bring to an end their puritanism by giving them no plausible cause to be thus. No one under the duress of loves’ enticements and sexual pleasures be puritans. Be relentless, show them masculine sexuality; give them nothing to complain bout, but give them masculine sexuality. Don’t fall for their puritanism, be the boys of summer.
Respect a ‘no means no’ ethic as a code of obligatory actions. Use aesthetical ethics towards good sex with mutual respect given; don’t ever take that as a one way thing. Do not conflate the aesthetics of good sex, 'enthusiastic yeses’ with those of the ethics of obligation ‘no means no’. Don’t be puritans, don’t be fascists, be sex positivists.
Call out the stats when folks bring them up, refer people to these points, feel free to refer people to this post and/or the attached video. ‘But the CDC said’ is not a valid argument; they have put puritans in charge of determining punny sexual offenses. They find punny sexual offenses everywhere they look.
If you’re super coolio, start advocating against the CDC’s use of NISVS to determine what constitutes sexual violence. It doesn’t match with criminal data’s methods, it doesn’t utilize the metrics of ‘no means no’ which are the proper metrics to use, instead it utilizes what amounts to peculiar beliefs bout the aesthetics of sex as a means of measure for punny sexual offenses.
They are spreading a puritanical belief system bout punny sexual offenses, nothing more, and they are causing public health problems by spreading their lies. They are not counting sexual offenses, they are not a criminal justice system, they aren’t technically even in the business of understanding sexual violence. They are the Center For Disease Control, not the ‘center for social engineering sexual practices control’.
Original video on the topic, with some additional resources for understanding these issues in the description.
The Rest Of This Post Is References To The CDC, NISVS, And Crime Data Reports, Along With Some Quotes Thereof With Short Specific Retorts Highlighting The Relevant Info In The Quotes As It Pertains To The Post. This Is But A Small Sample Of How They Use Language Of Aesthetics To Make Their Ethical Claims, And How Their Language Is Misandristic.
sv_surveillance_definitionsl-2009-a.pdf (cdc.gov)
Fast Facts: Preventing Sexual Violence Violence Prevention Injury Center CDC
Key Terms & FAQs National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS)Funded
Programs Violence Prevention Injury Center CDC
Some key quotes from this, Bolded text hereafter are coded for ‘yes means yes’ methods of understanding sexual violence, and sometimes misandristic language. Italicized text are quotes from the sources:
“Rape is defined as any completed or attempted unwanted [unwanted is an aesthetic criteria, not a consent criteria which is ‘a no was stated’ attempted while a real thing allows for further insertion of scary vibes to pad the stats, e.g. the blackness of the lover] ...includes times when the victim was drunk, high*, drugged, or passed out and unable to consent.* [puritanical belief bout drinking and drugs, e.g. one cannot consent if drunk or high. Note that it is separate from being drugged or passed out and unable to consent, and that criminally speaking being drunk or high is not indicative of a lack of capacity to consent, also note this is de facto applied to women only].
“Sexual coercion is defined as unwanted sexual penetration that occurs after a person is pressured in a nonphysical way. In NISVS, sexual coercion refers to unwanted vaginal, oral, or anal sex after being pressured in ways that include being worn down by someone who repeatedly asked for sex or showed they were unhappy; feeling pressured by being lied to, being told promises that were untrue, having someone threaten to end a relationship or spread rumors; and sexual pressure due to someone using their influence or authority.”
Unwanted is an aesthetic category, not a consent category. ‘Sexual coercion’ is not a criminal offense either. It is a puritanical belief bout sexuality that is based on a sex negative view, e.g. that sex is a bad unless and until magical words are said to make it into a good. Calling it ‘sexual violence’ is just lying. Coercion is defined misandristically to only be bout penetration, which precludes all the ways that women use sex and sexuality to manipulate, use, abuse, and harm people; note that there are essentially zero surveys done that include some ‘feminine coded coercive behavior’ into these stats. That is by design. Including not incidentally the way that women have historically and currently used irrational fears over their sexuality to terrorize men and get people murdered.
“Unwanted sexual contact is defined as unwanted sexual experiences involving touch but not sexual penetration, such as being kissed in a sexual way, or having sexual body parts fondled, groped, or grabbed.”
Unwanted is aesthetics, not consent. Also this literally describes flirting. I know they want to try and capture some other sort of notion, grossy mcgrosser pinning someone down and groping them, but all this describes here, and all the stats can possibly reflect, is flirting.
“Non-contact unwanted sexual experiences is defined as those unwanted experiences that do not involve any touching or penetration, including someone exposing their sexual body parts, flashing, or masturbating in front of the victim, someone making a victim show his or her body parts, someone making a victim look at or participate in sexual photos or movies*, or* someone harassing the victim in a public place in a way that made the victim feel unsafe.”
This category is quite broad and puritanical in its disposition, as it assumes there is something wrong with seeing naked images unless and until expressed verbal consent is given, and undoubtedly ignores the en masse flood of naked images of women online to which basically every guy is exposed to. Compare again to people who claim that women ought not be allowed to show their ankles as it causes a ‘harm’ to those who are ‘forced’ to see it. Exact same shite. Aesthetical concerns of wanted or unwantedness, and also notice the expressly stated vibes check ‘victim feel unsafe’. Look out for the black boys, they make them feel unsafe!
Crime/Law Enforcement Stats (UCR Program) — FBI
Quick Facts on Sexual Abuse Offenses (ussc.gov)
It’s worth mentioning that statistically speaking, if one uses the stats derived from crime data as opposed to statisticians making numbers up, the percentages of men who do sexual violence, depending a bit on how you count it, are: 0.0516% or .478% or .0957%. Although the video goes over this all in pretty good depth, just do a little sniff test here; are .478% of the male population sexually violating a third of all women, 55.5 million women?
submitted by eli_ashe to LeftWingMaleAdvocates [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 20:32 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 4)

Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 19:51 RVAIsTheGreatest Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down, or Thumbs Across on Cody Williams

Former Colorado G/F Cody Williams, a McDonald's All American and top 5-10 recruit in the 2023 class, entered the NBA Draft and is all in: https://twitter.com/wojespn/status/1782484315122614490 Cody missed 13 games this season with wrist, eye, and ankle injuries and after a very strong start to his season, which saw him skyrocket to the top 5 of mocks with some flirtations with the #1 overall pick, he cooled down and has seen his stock mostly sit from around the end of the top 10 to mid-teens.
Williams measured in at 6'6.5 without shoes and 7'1 wingspan at the combine. He's about 6'8 in shoes, and combined with his awesome wingspan and reach, is fantastic size for a combo forward. His wingspan is central to some of his biggest strengths as a prospect. On the downside, he only weighed in at 178. He's a thin guy with a thin frame and he'll likely always be on the thinner side. Strength is a big concern of his as a prospect, both as a player and in terms of his ability to remain durable throughout an 82 game season.
Williams is a good athlete. His athleticism is a little distinct from many. He's very fluid and light on his feet as an athlete. He has very good body control in the air. He can really jump with a little space and when on the move. But he doesn't have tremendous pure burst/explosiveness from a standstill. He has good quickness and accelerates through the gears quickly and the fact he's light on his feet and has good timing as a driver makes his first step a decent one, but he doesn't have an elite top gear.
Williams not having elite burst and being on the frail side means he's not too much of a pure self-creator at the moment. When he gets to the rim, it's usually in translation, off rips from the perimeter, out of DHO/PNR's on ball, or off curls and screens off the ball. He gets to the rim off designed actions and he gets to the line at a decent rate on these actions, but not much off his own creation.
Williams was a fantastic finisher at the rim this year. He gets great extension around the rim. He takes long strides as a driver. He's really light on his feet as a driver. He will change speeds, give a defender a hesitation move before attacking out of the PnR and does a good job slithering his way to the rim. He's decisive when he decides to catch and rip from the perimeter and has really good timing as a driver. His timing, his stride length, solid quickness and fluidity makes him hard to contain when he's catching and taking it to the rim off spot ups, he's a fantastic finisher on these plays, and he's very good off curls/screen actions designed to get him downhill; his size, his strides/quickness, timing, means he's usually gaining advantages on defenders he faces. The extension he gets around the rim, and his very soft touch with floaters and hooks around the rim, gives him a lot of range around the rim to finish. He has fantastic ability to adjust in the air. Very good body control. He can finish with up and unders around the rim. He can start his flight to the rim from pretty far out and he generates contact that way...it makes his shots difficult to contest around the rim.
Williams is also an awesome cutter. A lot of his cuts for baskets were off designed plays. He does a great job reading when his defender is ball watching, does a great job manipulating defenders into creating opportunities for himself for cuts to the basket, and he dives quickly to the basket. He has great instincts as a cutter and find his way into a few easy baskets a game.
He has mismatch potential in the post with his size/length. He has nice footwork in the post. He likes turning into the basket and taking a hook/floater and his touch is also excellent on these shots. This is a part of his game that could be leveraged a bit more at the professional level and as he gains strength.
Williams isn't an awful ballhandler but he's not a great one either. He can handle in transition and he can bring the ball up and facilitate. He's not that great when handling the ball in tight spaces and can be insecure. He doesn't have a tremendous amount of shake. He does have a deceptive crossover that allows him to gain space but he doesn't have a ton of shake outside of that. He has a nice spin move and has some impressive possessions breaking free from a defender with the spin move, but he can overuse it. He's right hand dominant as a driver and will spin back to his right on left drives. He gets stripped using the spin move or stripped looking to drive down the middle of the lane quite a bit. He will get cut off on drives because he's unable to gain separation. The combination of his only average handle, lack of strength, and pedestrian burst I think is partially responsible for his passivity on the offensive end. He doesn't have a ton of middle game at this point; he's a mediocre pull-up shooter. He's fantastic in transition with his athleticism and his ability to both push it with the ball and be a play finisher, but he's just not a halfcourt self-creator. The question is whether or not people feel this is a part of his game that he can develop in the years ahead. Because his ceiling on the offensive end hinges quite a bit on this part of his game taking a jump.
He does get to the rim out of the PnR. As said above, he does a nice job slithering to the rim out of the PnR. Plays under control and is able to maneuver his way to the basket. He finds rollers out of the PnR and he can make the skip pass. He is a fair drive and dish option. He's not an advanced playmaker or passer but has some flashes. He moves the ball well and he does a pretty good job getting his team into offensive sets as a facilitator. He will find cutters as a facilitator from the key. He turned the ball over too much...had a fair few miscommunications with teammates, lazy/poor passes, and he's not strong enough with the ball right now. He will get bumped off spots when looking to drive and not be able to get to the rim. He gets pushed away from the rim on drives a decent amount but his length still allows him to finish on a lot of these drives; but it also makes him more vulnerable to turnovers as defenders can take away his air space and force him into picking up his dribble.
Williams has a mechanically sound shot and 41.5% from 3 but only on 1.5 attempts. He shot 71% from the FT line. He is elite in the C&S. He's someone who needs a little space to gather his footwork but he does a good job at making himself a presentable target from the perimeter and hitting the open looks. He's not the most dynamic shooter currently, but I do think the C&Sing is for real, and combined with his secondary creation ability and ability to make plays off closeouts, he's someone who's a solid option as an off ball scorer.
Williams is not much of a rebounder for a 6'8 player. This is another red flag that many have regarding his desire to take on contact, lack of aggression and lack of physicality. He was a good defender anyway at Colorado this year....he flips his hips very fluidly. He is very light on his feet. Moves really well laterally overall, although he doesn't always react to initial moves as well as he needs to. His wingspan is of big benefit to his ability to recover when beat and contest shots. He has urgency/quickness in recovering when he's beat, but he can be beaten a little too often.
Screens can really bury him at times, but he's not a disaster in dealing with traffic/navigation. It's not a positive for him at the moment overall, which further illuminates the necessity in he gaining muscle going forward. He will at times shy away from contesting shots around the rim. He isn't super active off the ball defensively. He does a good job using his length to deter passes in passing lanes but he's not a ball hawk and he plays a pretty contained brand of defense. You appreciate the fundamentally sound nature of his defense but also believe there's defensive playmaking ability there that's gone untapped.
Cody will get pushed back on ball defensively against guys who drive into his chest. He's a really good isolation defender, and also a strong PnR defender where his length really comes to fore, he does a good job rotating and has strong overall defensive instincts, but he will give up buckets to drivers going downhill off DHO's/screens. He can't wall them off. He can be pretty jumpy on rotations...he bites on fakes and flies out of plays too often. He has moments of discipline but too many mistakes. Ball watches too often on defense. Freshman mistakes. His defense overall was good, and the upside is excellent on this end as/if he gains strength, but he can certainly be better than he was this season at Colorado.
Cody Williams had his ups and downs as a freshman at Colorado, but remains a very intriguing prospect with his physical tools, versatility on the offensive end, and ability and upside on the defensive end. I think he was clearly a bit oversold as a #1 pick. He's too much of a project on the offensive end and is simply not enough of a finished product to be a #1 selection even in a class like this. He has a lot of upside on both ends of the floor and simply gaining strength would be a huge boon for him as a player, but there are questions surrounding his mentality and whether he's someone who has the mental makeup of a star. There are questions surrounding how much strength he'll be able to add. Even with all of the questions, many view him as one of the highest ceiling prospects in this draft class. If it all comes together, you could see why that is, this season at Colorado.
Are you all Thumbs Up, Down, or Across on Cody Williams?
Note: Gonna make a post on all three Colorado prospects coming up. Everyone has their scouting report and personal opinion. I wanna cut to the chase...are you all down or up on these three. First things first with the highest rated of the three.
submitted by RVAIsTheGreatest to NBA_Draft [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 18:09 DrDoritosMD [Stargate and GATE Inspired] Manifest Fantasy Chapter 16: Power Play (Part 2)

Author’s Note:
Upvotes and comments go a long way in helping me reach a larger audience <3
First
Inside GB-2
“Huh, that wasn’t there before,” Ron said, pointing to a new hole in the wall – another passageway.
Henry turned to look where Ron pointed. Sure enough, there was a new doorway. It must’ve been a section that opened after they restored the power. “Huh, yeah. Let’s check it out.”
He went through, finding a short hallway past it and another room just beyond. Henry signaled for his team to form up, preparing to breach. As they stepped in, they found themselves in a brightly lit room filled with various types of furniture – empty pedestals, comfortable-looking single couches, and empty desks with opened cabinets.
Henry stepped further into the room, eyeing the oddly arranged furniture. The single couches were lined up in neat rows, all facing the same direction – towards the empty desks. It was like some sort of waiting room, but for what?
“Is it just me, or are these couches set up weird?” Isaac asked, voicing the question on everyone’s mind. “I mean, who lines up a bunch of single couches like this?”
“Strange, indeed,” Sera agreed. “They seem arranged as though for spectators, yet naught lies before them to behold.”
Like a movie theater, Henry thought. However, there weren’t any screens or holograms to watch. If there was a clue, it would probably be within the couches themselves.
Dr. Anderson approached one of the desks. “Perhaps this was some sort of office or workspace? The desks and cabinets certainly suggest that.”
Isaac then decided to touch one of the seats, eliciting no reaction. He pushed further, sitting down on one of them. At that point, the couch began to adjust its form to better suit Isaac’s envirosuit, as if able to optimize its comfort for the user. Then, a nozzle slowly stretched up from the seat’s headrest area, stopping just short of Isaac’s neck. “Woah!” Isaac bolted up as the nozzle bonked against his helmet.
“Neural interface, maybe?” Henry wondered. “I think we should leave this to the researchers… unless you wanna volunteer as a lab rat?”
“Hell nah,” Isaac vigorously declined the offer. “Hey, there isn’t anything on my helmet is there?”
Henry dusted off the back of Isaac’s helmet with his glove. “Nope, you’re clear. Just gotta hope it ain’t grey goo.”
He could see the dread and uncertainty through Isaac’s visor. Henry gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Well, think about it this way: if it really was grey goo, it would’ve gotten to us – or the Spiranids, for that matter – long ago. C’mon, let’s secure the next room.”
With a nod, Isaac fell in line behind Henry as they moved towards the doorway leading to the adjacent room. Peeking inside, it couldn’t be further from the rest of the room’s they had encountered so far; not at all what they could’ve possibly expected inside an ancient, high-tech alien facility. It was expansive, with a layout that reminded Henry of a high-end restaurant. Comfortable booths lined the walls, while tables of varying sizes filled the central space. The furniture looked almost human – perhaps even indistinguishably so.
The room was tinted with a soft, cozy yellow light. The warm and inviting ambiance felt soothing compared to the clinical feel of the previous areas. The lighting, combined with the plush booths and elegant tables, gave Henry a nostalgic impression.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ryan remarked. “Think they got any cheesecakes?”
If it wasn’t for the alien decor and helping of sleek devices scattered around the room, Henry would’ve thought they were back home. Hell, there was even a bar, filled with exotic liquors that could probably fetch millions at an auction – or give them the trip of their lives. Beside it however was something unusual. Where he might’ve expected a path leading to the kitchen, he instead found a wall with a slight, rectangular-shaped recess that was just big enough for a tray.
He glanced at Isaac, who returned a knowing look. “Replicators,” Isaac said.
Henry smirked. “Personally, I’m partial to synthesizer, but to each their own.”
They gathered around the wall, which didn’t seem to respond to their presence. Taps on the wall didn’t seem to do anything, either. Henry considered probing further, but decided against it. “Alright, let’s not take any chances. We’ll make a note of this for the research teams to analyze later. Let’s keep looking around.”
Henry split apart from the others, pairing with Ron as they continued to walk around the room. They soon came across another doorway on the far side of the room, which opened up into a short corridor that led into multiple sets of doors. Each had a symbol on the wall beside the doors – one that depicted the basic figure of a person.
Ron pushed open one of the doors, taking a peek inside. “Looks like even the Gatebuilders needed restrooms.”
Finally! “Alright, let’s take a quick break here. Bring everyone else over.”
Thankfully, the amenities within were easily comparable to those of modern society. The toilet looked like a toilet, and the sink resembled a sink. Even in a space as mundane as this though, the Gatebuilder’s technology was evident: self-cleaning surfaces and enough technology to put a high-quality Japanese bidet toilet to shame. At least, that was just from the look of things. Henry didn’t think now would be the best time to check whether the restroom had ass-washing robots or not.
After a few minutes, Henry regrouped with the rest of the team around a central table in the ‘restaurant’. Dr. Anderson was already present, his archaeological kit opened and a spread of alien items organized on the table.
“Ah, Captain!” Dr. Anderson noticed him approaching. “We found cabinets that weren’t empty. Most of the artifacts appear to be personal effects.” He held up a necklace, emphasizing his point. “Jewelry, memorabilia, and some other artifacts that I – admittedly – can’t quite describe.”
Dr. Anderson pointed his pickup tool at a small disc laid out on a padded mat. “It hasn’t shown any active properties yet. It’s rather peculiar; it seems to be a solid disc. Lightweight, unblemished surface, no visible markings or etchings.”
“Have you tried touching it directly?” Henry asked.
Dr. Anderson frowned, manipulating the claws of his pickup tool. “Well, not directly.” Catching the implications in Henry’s query, he continued, “I’ve checked for radiation, toxins – all clear. While I’d advise against direct contact, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit curious.”
Henry nodded. Yeah, the Doc was probably right, but what was discovery without risk? He reached out and picked it up, rotating it in his hands. As his gloved fingers brushed against the surface, the disc suddenly emitted a soft glow.
Henry flinched slightly, almost dropping the disc in surprised. As he fumbled with it, the disc seemed to respond to his touch. Suddenly, a series of objects materialized on the table, appearing out of thin air.
“Oh, shit!” Ron exclaimed. “It just… spawned a bunch of stuff!”
Henry stared at the new items. Several containers, probably holding some kind of food, were still sealed tight and impossibly effective at insulating its contents. It was crazy to think that the food inside might still be hot after who knows how long.
Next to the containers was a bracelet. Possibly normal, possibly enchanted or integrated with technology they couldn’t hope to understand. There was also a bottle of some bright blue liquid – probably for drinking, but there was no way to be sure until Perdue tested it. And then there was the picture, showing a strikingly human couple, holding each other underneath a gorgeous alien sky. It reminded him of memorabilia people would sometimes keep in their wallets, though why humans were there was a mystery.
The last object the disc spat out was a thin, transparent sheet. Coincidentally, it was about the same size as a smartphone. If he had to guess, it probably had the same function as one, too.
“Incredible,” Dr. Anderson gawked at the items. “The disc must be the Gatebuilders’ version of a wallet, somehow using dimensional storage technology!”
“Akin to the Holding Bags,” Kelmithus noticed. He peered into his own Holding Bag, his expression indicating that he was connecting the dots. “Fascinating!”
Dr. Anderson then inspected the image, his face reflecting the same confusion Henry felt when he first saw it. While they continued to sort through the items, Henry explored the sheet further. The moment he tapped the screen, a holographic interface sprung into existence above it.
What he had initially thought was a simple hologram was something far more advanced, almost indistinguishable from reality itself. Almost instantly, they were surrounded by mountains and valleys, details springing up to form a realistic, three-dimensional map.
It was like a pocket holodeck. The only anchors the projection had were the various icons and pockets of text floating around – and the fact that the hologram was transparent enough for him to see his surroundings and his teammates.
Sera seemed to be the most shocked out of all of them. He couldn’t blame her. The sight was surprising enough for himself, who was even familiar with the concept through sci-fi; how much more alien would it seem to someone from – effectively – the past?
“I’ve not beheld such a spell… ever!” she exclaimed softly, pausing to gather her thoughts. “Hold on…” she continued, pointing to the distant peaks. “Why, yon mountain range! Does it not strike you as familiar?”
“Huh?” Ron squinted at it. “Does it?”
“No, yeah, it does!” Isaac said. “Shit, uh, is that the Ovinne Mountain Range?”
Henry brought up the file for the Ovinne Mountain Range on his visor, comparing it to the hologram. “Huh, yeah, it is. What’s a map of that doing in here, though?”
Dr. Anderson raised his hands in the air and spread them apart, mimicking a zoom. Lucky for them, the alien tech seemed to understand what they were going for. Now up close and in full detail, the Ovinne Mountain Range dominated the room. Somewhere in the mountains, an icon that looked like a pair of glasses sat right on top of a Gatebuilder tower, barely poking out of the mountainside.
Ryan crossed his arms as he scrutinized the hologram. “Is this what, Find My iPhone?”
“Hmm… rather likely,” Dr. Anderson agreed. “This device must be some sort of Locator.”
“Locator, huh?” Having this clue was an incredible breakthrough, but he noticed something else. “And right where the Ovinne Mountain Campaign’s supposedly taking place, at that.”
“Indeed, that you mention it, such alignment is surely noteworthy,” Kelmithus remarked. His voice took on a more excited note, “Be it fate, perhaps?”
Henry smirked. “Hah, you’re sounding a bit like Sera, now. Well, looks like fate’s telling us where to go next. Let’s pack this up and head back.”
They carefully stowed the various artifacts in their holding bags, Henry holding on to the Locator. They made their way back to the locker room where they first entered, everyone excited for the next step in their mission.
Henry stepped through the airlock first, emerging on the other side. As he did so, a faint sound caught his attention. It was distant, muffled, but definitely not a sound that belonged to this facility. He wanted to take off the envirosuit, but it seemed that had to wait.
Ron came through the airlock after him. “Bro, you think –”
Henry held up a hand, stopping him short. He raised his weapon, picking up on the ‘something’s not right’ vibe.
Activating his infrared vision and using the laser mounted on his M7, Henry searched for signs of thermal distortions, just like he’d done back at Duke Vancor’s mansion. Ron did the same. As the rest of the team emerged from the airlock, they quickly caught on to the situation. Without a word, they joined them in securing the room.
After clearing the locker room, Henry signaled to move on to the lab next door. It was just as empty as the locker room, but now the sounds were more audible, definitely coming from the hallway just outside. Instructing his team to hold still, he crept toward the doorway to investigate.
He peeked around the corner, and felt his stomach drop. There, in the main hallway, was a group of soldiers. They were decked out in distinctive black armor and cloaks. They had no identifiable markings or insignia on their armor, but it was obvious – these were Nobians.
Henry pulled back, returning to his team. “Contact outside. At least a dozen Nobians securing the hallway.”
Ron’s expression grew serious. “Shit. Any idea on their entry point?”
Henry positioned himself behind a desk, aiming his weapon at the doorway. “Probably the same way we came in.”
“Main corridor’s the only play, huh?” Ryan said.
The main hallway only had one line of sight, and it just happened to be the only way out. Well, the only one they could reasonably access. The facility probably had other exits or fancy teleporters, but they’d already scoured the area for the former and wouldn’t be able to figure out the latter.
“Dozen hostiles doesn’t seem like a lot,” Isaac pointed out, taking out another Black Hornet from his bag. “We’re still good on ammo, too.”
Ron shook his head. “Dozen? Yeah, a dozen that we can see.”
“Owens is right,” Henry agreed. “We can’t confirm their numbers outright. If I had to guess, it would probably be at least fifty. Manageable, but I’d prefer that to be our last resort.”
“How might we fare with a disturbance?” Sera offered.
Kelmithus gripped his staff. “I might conjure an echo of noise distant hence. It shan’t last, but it can afford us enough time for our escape.”
Kelmithus’ plan seemed like it could work, but only if the Nobians didn’t know they were here. “No,” Henry disagreed. “They’ve seen our MRAPs outside. We’d get surrounded.”
“How about negotiation?” Dr. Anderson suggested, a hopeful note in his voice.
“Negotiation? With the Nobians?” Kelmithus questioned.
They all knew what the Nobians were like. It really did come off as a ridiculous idea, but what if Dr. Anderson was right? The archaeologist defended himself, “I know, I know. However, we have yet to confirm their hostility, and it would not serve us well to initiate hostilities with the Nobians.”
Taking in the silence as contemplation, he continued, “If talks break down, we hold our ground here. It’s not ideal, but we’ll control the engagement area and prevent them from flanking us.”
Henry reviewed the situation again. 12 hostiles, but they should expect the worse, so at least 50 hostiles plus failed negotiations. Holding the only way out, they were likely spread out between the hallway, the cave system, and possibly even the forest outside. Dr. Anderson’s plan was solid, but he had a few minor qualms. In particular, holding the line meant possibly exhausting themselves in a battle of attrition.
“Alright. We’ll open with negotiations. I’m skeptical, but it's worth a shot. Should that fail, we can’t engage in a drawn-out conflict. We’ll disrupt their positions and quickly move to the cave outside.”
“Smoke grenades and flashbangs,” Ryan muttered.
“Affirmative,” Henry said, nodding in agreement. “If we can’t see them, we’ll level the playing field so they can’t see us.”
“Captain,” Kelmithus quickly interjected, “Bid me aid your efforts. I’ve insight enough to create fog. I’ve learned from our encounter with the Sentinel Lindwyrm.”
“You can replicate that heavy fog?” Ron asked.
Kelmithus held up his palm, producing an opaque puff of steam to prove his point. “Indeed so, Lieutenant. Adequately do these envirosuits shield us, that I might harness more extreme temperatures for more effective casting.”
Henry was impressed with how quickly the archmage grasped such a concept. “Good. Yen, get that drone into the cave. We’ll hold for updates.”
Yen nodded, carrying out Henry’s order silently. The drone’s feed directly streamed to their HUDs, and after a few minutes, Isaac looked up. “Done.”
Henry analyzed the data. They had visual confirmation of a dozen Nobians inside the facility itself and a staggering forty outside, both in the cave and around the cave entrance. It was an assumption, but there probably weren’t many cloaked soldiers past the hallway. He sighed; the worst-case scenario would have them facing a hundred men in total.
It was a challenge, but the drone’s intel granted them a critical tactical advantage. He analyzed his minimap, selecting and sharing a route with minimal enemy contact. “After clearing the facility’s entrance, we’ll proceed along the designated path. Upon exit, I’ll deploy a flare to signal our movement to the MRAPs for extraction. We will then rendezvous with Zulu-9 and coordinate with air support before re-engaging to secure the site.”
His team nodded, fully on board with the plan. He took a deep breath to steel himself before checking his watch – 16:24. “Alright, time to show ourselves.”
Letting his M7 sling over his chest, Henry prepared two flash grenades – one in each hand – before stepping out. With his team in tow, he moved to the center of the hallway, catching the attention of one of the Nobian patrols.
“Attention, Nobian forces! We request parley. I am Captain Donnager of Alpha Team, Tier 6 Adventurer. We are on an official quest sanctioned by the Adventurer’s Guild. We have no intention of hostilities and seek to discuss our presence and objectives to ensure mutual understanding.”
As Henry’s words echoed through the hallway, the Nobian soldiers snapped into action. He heard the sounds of bowstring being drawn taut and the rasp of metal as swords cleared their scabbards. His hands tightened around the flash grenades.
He kept his gaze steady, projecting a sense of calm; of confidence – enough to convince the Nobians that even outnumbered, he and his team were still no match for them. More soldiers joined the patrol, until all twelve of the previously identified Nobians were upon them. They kept their distance, but Henry could feel the tension boiling.
Just as the standoff seemed to reach a critical point, the air in front of them seemed to fold outward from itself, like watching the effects of gravitational lensing on light. A figure coalesced from the distortion – so this is what invisibility magic looked like.
The man was broad-shouldered and tall, seeing eye-to-eye with him, even despite the extra inches in height the envirosuit gave. As the last wisps of the cloaking magic faded away, Henry found himself staring into a pair of piercing gray eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul.
The newcomer had an angular face and was clad in black armor with a different sheen than the black armor of his comrades. Silver trimmings and an insignia emblazoned on his chestplate – a dagger through a swirl of mist – differentiated his status. A cloak of the same dark hue billowed behind him as he walked forward and drew his sword.
Keeping his sword to the side, he stopped a respectable ten meters away from Henry. “I am Carvus Alnect Virelius, Umber Vicearch of the Order of the Shadow.” He then pointed his sword at Henry, declaring, “Of desecrating sovereign Nobian territory, you stand accused.”
As Carvus spoke, more soldiers materialized alongside him, shimmering into existence as they dropped their cloaking spells. Henry had expected this to happen, but seeing it play out still sent a chill down his spine. How many more were still lying in wait?
The Vicearch kept his weapon on Henry, eyes narrowing. “Commander unto commander, I offer a choice: cede your Holding Bags, that secure passage may be granted unto you. Refuse, and you shall be declared as spies and enemies of the Nobian Empire, your lives forfeit to swift execution.”
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2024.05.15 14:36 Angel466 [Bob the hobo] A Celestial Wars Spin-Off Part 1012

PART ONE THOUSAND AND TWELVE
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
Lucas stretched and yawned in bed, taking a moment to enjoy the complete lack of needing to rise before his hand stretched out in search of Boyd.
And once again, that side of the bed was empty.
Biting back a whine of dismay, Lucas rolled until he was face down on Boyd’s pillow, breathing in the cologne they both now wore. The detective in him quickly deduced that Boyd had been gone a while based on the chill in the sheets. He curled his hands around the pillow and hugged it tight, wishing it was the big mountain of a man himself instead of this weak substitute.
As thrilled as he was about Boyd finding a new career that he was so passionately driven about, he was equally happy that his fiancé took his responsibility to his clients seriously. Still, would it have killed him to sleep in just one morning instead of abandoning their wrecked bed the morning after their engagement party?
After several minutes of wallowing, he finally accepted the inevitable that no amount of wishful thinking was going to make Boyd appear and climbed out of bed. He removed his snore rings and took a quick shower.
Once he was dressed, he felt a little better.
The next thing he had to do was strip down the bed and remake it. They’d been very busy last night, which was why he’d only just woken up at—his gaze fell upon the clock— DAMN! It’s nearly lunchtime!
“I’m gonna kill him for letting me sleep in so long,” he muttered under his breath, carrying the linen through the apartment and into the kitchen, which doubled as a laundry on their end. After nine years of living in this layout, he didn’t need to see over the pile in his arms to know precisely where he was, and with the load balanced on one arm, he turned at the right moment, opened the massive frontloading washing machine and stuffed it all in.
“Hey, Unca Luke!” Maddy’s shrill voice had him leaping into the air, slamming the door shut and swivelling around in front of it to hide the evidence. “Didja pee the bed?”
His brother and his niece were sitting at the island, Maddy with her breakfast of honey-and-cream-covered waffles, which were only half-eaten, and Levi patiently waited for her to finish since the plate in front of him was empty. The latter was grinning at him as only a brother could.
He’d forgotten all about them staying over.
It took a hot second for what Maddy asked to register with him, and when it did, his mouth dropped, and he glanced at his brother, who was twisting himself into a pretzel to avoid laughing out loud. Asshole. “No, Peaches,” he said, glaring daggers at Levi for not even trying to help him out. “Boyd and I like clean sheets every day, and it’s not fair to make somebody else wash them for us, is it?”
Bright red ringlets of hair swayed as the little girl shook her head. “Daddy makes me fix stuff too.”
Lucas moved the three feet between the washing machine to his brother sitting in Mason’s seat at the corner. “That’s because Daddies always know what’s best.” He wrapped an arm around his brother’s neck in a loose chokehold and gave him a noisy morning kiss on the cheek. “Ain’t that right, Daddy?” He said that last word in a sultry purr the way Robbie would, and the reaction from Levi was priceless.
“Fuck off with that shit, you prick!” his brother swore, shoving Lucas away with all his might.
“DADDY!” Maddy squealed in horror, and Lucas clapped his hands together once behind Maddy’s chair and raised his clenched fists in victory. He’d been angling for one swear word, maybe two to distract young Maddy from his not-so-discreet linen run. Three was a veritable home run.
Snickering quietly to himself, he went back to the washing machine, loaded it up with soap and softener and turned it on. Then, he walked over to the wooden box under the window. ‘Just think what you want,’ Charlie had told him at the party. ‘It’s a Nascerdios box that Robbie fills up throughout the night.’
He stared hard at the box while he considered his options, settling on a plate of breakfast tacos with seasoned mince, fried eggs, tomatillos, shredded lettuce, and cheese wrapped in soft tortillas buttered with a thin spread of mashed avocado.
After the last month, it didn’t surprise him in the least when he opened the lid and found that exact meal sitting there, waiting for him. Maybe the quantity, since they were piled three high, but not the meal itself.
The same could not be said for Levi when Lucas turned around with the plate in his hand. “Robbie had that ready for you too?” he asked, as Lucas grabbed a glass from the cupboard and placed it and the plate in his regular sitting place adjacent to his brother before sliding into his seat. He knew Levi wasn’t questioning Viola since the box itself was made and gifted by someone with the last name Nascerdios.
The veil was an ass.
“I told you; he did most of the catering yesterday, too,” Lucas said, reaching for the jug of juice. He was curious what it would be today. Yesterday, it had been orange and mango juice, with apple the day before.
A quick sniff made it most likely grapefruit.
He tightened the roll on the first taco and lifted it to his lips, enjoying the flavours that exploded in his mouth. Because Levi had finished whatever had been on his plate, he was watching him eat as if he’d never seen it before. It finally clicked why. “You want to try one?” Lucas asked, nudging his plate towards his brother. “There’s plenty here if you want one. Too many, if anything.”
Levi didn’t need to be told twice and reached over, using his fingers just as Lucas had. “How did he learn to cook so well?” Levi demanded, almost fitting the whole thing in his mouth.
“He’s always cooked,” Lucas answered, fudging things slightly. “When he was growing up, cooking was his chore while his mom was at work. He only stopped because Mom refused to let him help in the kitchen.”
“I would’ve fought that a lot harder if I’d have known he could produce this.”
“Yeah, you and me both, bro. Even when we were upstairs, he was forever watching the cooking channels for new ideas.” Lucas didn’t want to mention that these days, Robbie only did so to critique the so-called experts. “Have you seen Boyd?”
Levi shook his head. “I was assuming he was still in with you. If I’d known you were in there alone, I’d have sicc’d Maddy onto you.”
“I can wake Daddy and Unca’ Austin good!” Maddy said proudly. “I gets me a dolla’.”
“Ssshhh, Peaches. That’s out secr—wait. Does Uncle Austin pay you, too?”
Maddy was adorable the way she looked at Lucas like he would intervene for her. “Sorry, baby girl,” he laughed, eating another taco. “You’re on your own.”
The two brothers bantered as Lucas ate, with Levi stealing another taco, bringing Lucas’ total number down to five. Maddy told them both about wanting to be a vet, and Lucas knew precisely who to blame for that. Still, it was better than her previous choice of ‘stripping’ the way Robbie and Angelo used to. Levi’s meltdown over that revelation had been priceless, even if he, too, was firmly in the ‘fuck that noise’ camp.
When he polished them and half the juice off, he poured the last into Maddy’s cup and put his things and the jug in the dishwasher. “You can hang out here if you want,” Lucas said. “The guys and I are heading out this afternoon to play some ball over at Angus’ place, but if you call Austin and find out Pepper’s roommate is still with him, the TV over there has…”
“Every cable channel imaginable, I know. Charlotte—”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie told us last night.” Levi sat back in his seat and stared at his brother. “What do you make of Larry, Luke? Does he have kids?”
“Why?”
“He watched Maddy for me last night while I was having a shower, and Maddy loves him. You know how picky she is about people she doesn’t know.”
“I know he’s married to a career soldier and was one too before being assigned to us. I’m not sure about his past, but he’s a good guy and ridiculously protective of those either in his charge or that he happens to care about.”
Levi grunted. “Charl*—lie* said so too. He certainly knows his Spongebob.”
Lucas squinted. “Why all the questions?”
“Just thinking out loud. If he’s going to be here all the time with Robbie, and Austin and I get called into the house together, it’s always been a struggle figuring out where we can leave Maddy on short notice. We don’t exactly have time to drive all the way over to Queens to drop her off at either Mav’s or Mom and Dad’s. I mean, so far, we haven’t needed to, but it’s a constant concern.”
Lucas frowned at him. “We’ve been here for years. Why didn’t you ask before now?”
Levi seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “You know…” he said, gesturing to the ceiling without finishing that sentence.
And just like that, Lucas did understand.
Six men, all sharing one shoebox-sized apartment with two of them being sex workers, was not where anyone would want to drop off a little girl. Even if Lucas did vouch for all of them and swore they’d all be protective as hell over little Maddy. “Look, I can’t speak for them specifically, but Charlie’s here under house arrest for the next ten months, and Boyd now works out of his studio, so technically, someone will be here all the time. There’s not a chance in hell we’ll turn you away.”
“I’ll ask her and Miss W before we go.”
Lucas looked at what the two of them were wearing. “You know, I could duck out and grab you and Maddy some clothes just as soon as I check in with Boyd, if you like.”
He watched Levi look down at the shirt and boxers that were a little big on him width-wise and across at Maddy, who still wore Charlie’s favourite Giants’ shirt.
“That’d be good, thanks,” he admitted.
“I’ll get extras, and that way, she can have a few changes of clothes here. Actually, do you want me to grab you some spare stuff too?”
Levi stiffened in his seat. “I don’t need you to buy me clothes.”
Lucas wanted to slap him in the back of the head (and would’ve if Maddy wasn’t there). “Stop,” he commanded instead. “I’m already going to a clothes shop. It’s not going to be anything fancy, and if you hate it, you can swap it out with your own stuff later.”
Knowing his brother was still uncomfortable, Lucas waved his hand at the kitchen. “Seriously, Levi, look around. Look at how I’m living, and I’m not paying a dime in rent. Llyr won’t let me since we’ve been looking out for Sam for years. Let me do this for you, so you’ll always know you and Maddy have somewhere safe to go.”
Levi glanced around, his lips tightening before he finally nodded, unwilling to say the words out loud, and Lucas clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re family, dumb-ar—dumb,” he amended, with little ears sitting on the other side of his brother. “Dumb-dumb. I meant Dumb-dumb.”
Levi chuckled and patted his brother’s hand. “I appreciate it, bro. We’ll chill here until you get back. Don’t rush … apparently, you have a gazillion cable channels to choose from, and Maddy doesn’t want to leave until she’s seen them all.”
“I don’t think you’ll live that long,” Lucas laughed and headed back to his room to grab his gear since he was now leaving the apartment. As he clipped and slid everything from sunglasses to his wallet, keys, phone, badge bifold, and ankle-holstered BUG, he almost envied women with carryall handbags that could be grabbed on their way out the door.
Almost.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!
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2024.05.15 07:26 zxskittlesxz Wanted To Share

Hi, pretty long post, just want to share my story as reading all of yours has helped me these last few weeks, f(28). After Thanksgiving 2021, so early-mid December (I was 26 at the time), I somehow herniated a disc. Before this happened, literally right before, I was hurting with what I think was a pulled lower back muscle (hurt to sit and lay down but pain was only in my back right side and rest helped, something I dealt with several times in my life starting in like 7th grade, drs always said it was a pulled muscle). After about a week it was feeling better so I decided it was safe to roll onto my right side to sleep. Well, after that I started experiencing pain all down that side, I also had some tingling and slight numbness in my foot and ankle. It was bad enough that I wasn't comfortable for more than 20 minutes, standing was the least painful, lucky to sleep 3 hours at once even though I'd wake up in horrible pain, basically always in tears from the pain and discomfort. I went to the dr after a few weeks and was told it's sciatica and he referred me for an mri, gave me some kind of shots and ibuprofen. I don't remember what the shots were but they took away all of the pain for 8-10 hours and I was able to get some much needed sleep. One may have been toradol but I got a shot of it the day of my mri so laying on my back during the scan wasn't too uncomfortable, and it didn't help much.
About 2 months after my symptoms started, I finally got the mri and it showed a decent sized herniation. I don't remember exactly where it was in my low back, but I was then referred to a neurologist who evaluated me and suggested ESI, he was fairly certain it would get better on it's own and I wouldn't need surgery, he said it may or may not decrease in size as well. The ESI worked as far as I can tell, but at this point it had been about 3-4 months of healing on my own using heat, stretches, and ibuprofen and the pain was mostly gone, lingering around a 2 at it's worst, but 0 after the ESI. The tingling in my foot and ankle had gone away and I was slowly getting back to normal. Aside from the occasional leg muscle cramps and discomfort laying on my right side, I had been pain and symptom free for about 2 years. I went on vacation in June last year, we did a lot of walking and even a steep hike. I worked for a year and a half in a dispensary, on my feet a lot as well as bending, squatting or leaning down, lifting heavyish totes. I had no pain or symptoms from this. I was hopeful that it had healed up and I was going to be perfectly fine, but I was still mindful of my back. I quit working last year in September to go back to school, since then I had been generally sitting or laying most of the time doing homework, of course I still helped around the house and went out to do stuff. I just wasn't moving nearly as much as when I was working. I had also gone on a trip to Seattle in September where we walked almost everywhere. Again, no pain or symptoms.
That takes me to earlier this year, about late February or early March. I was doing alright, then I noticed my hips feeling a little sore, starting in the left then later on the right, like a toothache or a pinching feeling in the sides and sometimes front. I felt it most when laying on them at first. It also felt sore when I pressed certain areas on the side. It felt like my thighs or hips were a bit unstable, if that makes sense. I did stretches, no difference. One night, during a shower, I leaned down to move a bottle on the floor and felt a very slight twinge in my lower back. Still no back pain or symptoms down either leg though. I also had been randomly waking up with pain and stiffness in my right foot and ankle that would go away after walking on it. Naturally, all this scared me and I started sleeping only on my back with a pillow under my knees, no longer sitting cross-legged or with my legs tucked beside me on the couch, making sure I wasn't slouching and getting up every hour to walk for a few minutes, generally trying to take care of my back. I'm also sitting to get dressed right after most showers because of my hips and I'm nervous my legs will give out. I made a dr appointment early April and he suggested PT for my hips, he wasn't worried about my back or doing any imaging.
I started PT April 15th. She evaluated my hips, had me do some stretches (most were laying down with my knees bent, putting pressure on my low back, I'm wondering if this caused my situation) and gave me stretches to do at home 2x day, appointments 2x week for a month. I should also mention during her evaluation she pressed on my lower back and it sucked, no pain down my legs, just under her hand. The stretches helped my hips for the first week, then my lower back started getting stiff and sore when I would lay down for a few hours or more. I mentioned this to my PT, but she didn't say anything. I kept up with the stretches (on a thick mat on the floor at home, or on my bed) and my lower back slowly got worse each day. Finally, after about 4 PT appointments and 2 weeks of stretches I quit doing them. My back was in quite a bit of pain, I started occasionally getting tingling and slight numbness down both sides in my lower calves and feet (sometimes together, sometimes either side) and it was painful to lay and sit longer than an hour. Made another dr appointment, he suggested it was my muscles and told me to ice, take ibuprofen, and gave me Diclofenac 1% gel, assuring me that PT wouldn't likely cause or worsen a herniation. I was with a different PT for the next appointment and she tried a TENS machine with a heating pad for the pain after I did some stretches that didn't seem to bother my back. I didn't notice any difference. That same night I went to the ER because I got up from a nap and the tingling and numbness wouldn't go away so it scared me. They gave me a steroid shot, a steroid pack, a few T3's and 325mg Tylenols as well as an MRI referral. I don't know if the steroids helped or just the overall more aggressive and earlier treatment this time, but my pain and symptoms (despite being on both sides, not just the right side) aren't nearly as bad as the first time, yet. I'm still uncomfortable and having a horrible time, but it's been manageable. Hopefully I don't feel any worse after being off the steroids for a while. I finished them last Thursday (May 9th) and I've been taking the 325mg Tylenol as needed, making sure to take 2 before bed, I took all the T3's as needed. PT since has been focused on pain management, deep heat ultrasound, TENS machine and heat, also k-tape which seems to provide a small difference.
Yesterday morning (the 13th) I woke up to my back feeling a little stiff and sore but I'd been trying a few stretches the last couple days, maybe that's what's causing it so I'm gonna stop for now. I'm sleeping alright, thankfully, naps as I need or can. As my back has gotten better, my hips haven't. There's still a pinching toothache type of feeling in the sides and front and my thighs still feel unstable while I walk sometimes. I can't lean back on the couch, sitting in the car is uncomfortable so I keep the seat up straight, laying down I still feel pressure in my low back but it's been bearable enough to sleep so far. I haven't tried walking for longer than an hour at a time, slowly and carefully, it doesn't bother my back so much as it does my hips. I lay down for a break during the day if I need it, though I try not to lay down too much. I get up and walk around a bit every hour or so and I help with housework when I can. I use ice or heat for 15 min when I feel like it. I try to go to bed only when I know I'm sleepy so I don't just lay there. I sit outside in the Sun and try to distract myself from the pain the best I can by doing whatever. But lately, being up straight most of the day has been making my upper back a little sore and sometimes I feel what might be spasms along my back (a tense pain that goes away after a few seconds to minutes) and some cramping sensations in my legs.
My MRI is scheduled for the 20th, I'm hoping with all my heart that it's nothing horrible. I've been keeping a log of my symptoms and writing down questions for if I go back to the neurologist (which I would like to). Again, I apologize for the super long post, I just hope this helps someone feel less alone and scared. I know I've been feeling pretty awful the last three weeks, I can't imagine how you who have worse pain feel. I have so much anxiety and fear about this and all the possibilities and it makes everything so difficult. I'm 28, almost 29, and with luck, I have 50-60 years of living left and there's so much I want to do, without anxiety of injuring my back or being in constant pain. This is one of the scariest things I've ever gone through because it seems like it can get complicated really fast and really easy, no warning. I'm not giving up hope that I'll be alright, but it's hard when you get worn down through the day and feel so many different scary symptoms. Hopefully they make some kind of medical advancement in the disc herniation department that truly helps the pain or at least effectively reduces reinjury chances.
TLDR: Sharing my story, had a lower back disc herniation in Dec 2021 causing horrible sciatica all down right side. Had ESI a few months later even though pain was minimal at that point, got better and was generally pain and symptom free for about 2 years. Symptoms came back after a few weeks of PT for unexplained hip pain, this time it's effecting both sides. Been dealing with it for about 3 weeks now with various treatments, MRI scheduled for the 20th.
submitted by zxskittlesxz to backpain [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 06:35 _kaleb_ Me 32M, wife 28F, with child 7 together 11 years married 5. Years of hardship/bad luck, recent affair. LONG story. Advice?

So the last few years have been rough.
*note* if you're a "cheaters will always be cheaters type" tldr is don't bother reading or commenting
BACKSTORY 2019-2023 child nearly annual broken bones, lots of stress and specialist visits.
2018-2024 my wife got her associates as a medical assistant and is almost done with her bachelor's and final quarter internship while working full time and that has been hard for me. The lack of time for me and my son has really made an impact.
2019 I was injured at work and 2020 had my first surgery to try and preserve an ankle joint. That surgery ended up failing and while recovering I ended up mangling 2 fingertips in a wood jointer. 2020 I had to make the transition to a sahd on workers comp and have been since then. My lifestyle of hiking and fishing was upended because I could barely be on my feet 3 hours a day and uneven ground killed me not to mention the whole covid thing was pretty isolating.
All of 2021 was supporting her being a surrogate for a couple in City X (their egg/sperm). So, lots of trips checks and giving her injections. It was kind of proving myself to her because I was terrified when our son was born in 2017 and didn't help as much as I should have. Especially the first 3 months. Really, I didn't find out until later. We had conversations and fights at the time and id step up to do more and she would agree and tell me it was all okay. Then another fight saying I wasn't doing enough/anything and asking more and me being upset and confused. I guess at the time she was afraid to ask more, or tell me what she wanted, or her feelings, and the postpartum depression and initial feelings of abandonment didn't help.
Anyways the surrogacy went okay. I was there and supportive. Rubbing her feet and back. taking on extra load when she was tired etc. And hey I didn't pass out at delivery this time XD The end was a bit hard with 2 inductions needed and a massive 9.5lb baby and a stuck shoulder.
Then a few weeks after birth in November 2021 the nightmare began.
Out of nowhere she started hemorrhaging. She had to have an emergency D&C to stop the bleeding and scans showed a mass. Turned out the surrogate baby's placenta had some cells turn cancerous and attach to her uterus (Choriocarcinoma). 3 months later and the first 3 agent chemo failed, and her numbers were skyrocketing because it turned treatment resistant. They had to hit it with 5 types of chemo (EMACO) leaving future fertility a coin toss but more than a hysterectomy. By May 2022 the tumor marker was gone, but it was 6 months of intense monitoring and 6 months of monthly monitoring. The whole time she was in an intense spiraling depression questioning life. The meaning of all it, and how all her childhood trauma was fair. That no god would let a child live that. And questioning every decision in her life and wondering what things could have been like if she went a different direction. Feeling like she missed out on opportunities early in life. If this might be all there is (we have been together since she was 17). She said she felt like reality wasn't real and this was make believe at times.
Summer 2022 she made a new mom friend. She was pretty toxic and selfish. She used my wife for personal benefit and to go places. Yelled at her kids and treated the oldest from a prior marriage as less than (girl doesn't know her dad and when she mentioned she was part Mexican she freaked out and denied it because of how conservative and anti Mexican her new dad and his family is). Like never offered a dime, but expected food, gas, tickets, and gifts. She drove my wife nuts with that behavior. but she was desperate for a friend and loved her kids. Her friend would just talk shit about her partner pretty constantly and say my wife should be unhappy in her relationship too. Shit talking husbands behind their backs became like a mutual thing and I def hated it
Sometime 2023 she jumped into fantasy romance and fantasy smut /erotica. This progressed to an AI chat smut generator.
May 2023 monitoring was over and she was officially cancer free and had been on a health/mental health quest..
The mental health part started early in the year and she was seeing a therapist for depression and anxiety alone as well as her long list of childhood trauma. Off hand her therapist told her a few times she didn't know maybe just divorce me or something. I was super uncomfortable with this as it was completely outside her practicing scope and I didn't feel she should be providing relationship guidance, especially without me or the rest of the story. I felt a bit attacked and didn't even get the chance to give my perspective or account and felt that is pretty important after being here for a decade. A lot of negative points get omitted by her.
Summer 2023 she had some tough diagnosis for other chronic issues. Narcolepsy Dissociative Identity disorder Depression And a sleep disorder
I initially rejected this as I didn't want to accept these chronic and incurable conditions and insisted it has to be something else, that she's okay. It was taken as rejection of her.
Fall 2023 she reached out to a childhood ex bf a few states away and started an emotional affair. They kept in infrequent contact over the years and nothing ever came of it before. He has been unable to move past her or have meaningful relationships in 13 years. At first he pushed her away and rejected it, but after a month by Nov it was a thing. Texting saying I shouldn't worried because they dated before, but he ended up coming out as gay, calls in private, staying later after work. I gave it the benefit of the doubt but got burned. I found out in December the second time she wanted a private call in the car, and I checked her phone.
We started marriage counseling in Jan and I started my own therapy search as well as a condition of hers. She agreed to no longer contact the boy showed me the sent message ending it and blocked him. By Feb I found him listed in her phone as Saraa and found deleted texts and calls. In therapy she wanted to keep him as a friend and only friend and I tried this. She asked if a PO box would be okay for a birthday present, and I said no. That it crossed a line. It was also super close to Valentine's day. Next therapy I couldn't handle the anxiety and feeling physically ill when she used her phone, and we went through Jan again break off block etc.
In Feb the therapist recommended a separate space for conflict as we work on things. That too much conflict triggered her dissociative identity disorder. It was either a hotel as needed or a rv/camper. My wife was set on a camper and the only way to get a newer one was to add my credit/income to hers for a loan and I was uncomfortable on a $20k purchase. She assured me the intent of the camper was working on us and not separating/divorcing. She brought up me not having chores completely done all the time and I poured myself into it if that was making her unhappy over the years.
During this time in March I found out she got the secret PO box and had yet again resumed texting entirely deleting her logs. She had valentines gifts. birthday gifts, long distance electronic bracelets, and had an easter basket coming. Everything was put together into a box to be gotten rid of. That effort I had for chores and making everything spotless kind of died. Like there was that recognition that that obviously wasn't the problem. We lived completely separately for a few weeks until she could make a choice. We split our son and had almost zero interaction. Eventually she chose and I saw a notebook she used once in December. Basically she has started outlining a story envisioning herself as the lead character in once of her romantic fantasies and cast me and the other man as competing love interests
April and early may there was nothing. We did therapy and tackled our issues slowly. Together. Our future plans: college vs baby and the ticking clock of fertility and ifs after chemo. Etc
Last week she was going out for lilac picking and didn't text me for 2 hours and said she was at the beach. Later she showed me something in her email and I saw discord emails about a pw change and login. One bad gut feeling later and the next morning I see she deleted the discord emails and check our phone plan and her phone and see missing texts. I put in a phone record request for recent texts and text/call logs. She woke up and I said it did it and she said I was disgusting. Then admitted I was right.
She says after breaking it off she was worried he would hurt himself and just wanted to be sure he was okay and admitted to 3 texts and the discord call which i verified. Said that he was in therapy for his issues. She said she didn't want to bring it up to me because I would make it a fight and she thought she could just get away with a few texts to make sure. That she felt responsible for how much he had been hurt too.
So I did what I do with extreme anxiety and checked her work bag. I found an old journal they shared Jan to mid-march. Kind of confirmed again what was going on. Also revealed she lied to me about the trailer, or him? She couldn't get it without me and told him it was to work on separating from me easier. Yeah I kept pics in case this goes downhill because yeah, I'll gun for EVERYTHING. I'm sure that being tricked into signing a $20k contract under false pretenses for her personal benefit, secret po boxes, lying to our therapist repeatedly, secret texts, expecting gifts from the other man, career over spending time with family and a serious personality disorder on top of narcolepsy making a job hard to keep down wont do her favors at divorce/custody hearings.
So its all fresh for me again. I already have extreme anxiety and the autism doesn't help with reading/understanding people the best, although my gut intuition and pattern recognition are catching stuff fine.
WHERE I THINK I AM
Looking back, I can see that the personality disorder and narcolepsy are apparent. Dream delusion and memory issues from the narcolepsy make separating dream from reality hard as well as just recalling what happened. So whether not the "not feeling like reality is real" was a dream delusion or a full-blown dissociative episode... I can also see that messaging him was a "new" personality state. Maybe it's a manifestation of the trauma of nearly dying from cancer, maybe it's a fragment of her young identity that was created to survive her traumatic childhood resurfacing after nearly dying. But her interests and perspective massively shifted at that time and there was a clear separation between her with me and her with him. It was like this regression back to 15. Like she was molding an identity to fit his desires and interests. She took up tarot and witchy books, different music, painting, rockhounding (my interest), dried bouquets, dyed her hair and got multiple piercings. Even getting caught there was that click in her whole demeanor.
I can see how her friend may have jaded her towards me by all the shit she talked about HER husband. I can see that throwing herself into fantasy smut to cope flooded her with portrayals of unrealistic romance. That she progressed that by using an AI smut bot to hold those conversations with. Then she directly tried to process her own reality through the lens of those novels in that journal.
This "relationship" was "I love you, we can be together in 10 years". He wasn't going to leave his cushy job. Or his state. He didn't want to be a stepdad. He didn't want to support her career or have any involvement in it. She couldn't leave my state. Never saw illicit photos. No discussion of sex. It was like exactly what you think some lovestruck preteens would come up with. Like just a fantasy. No talk of bills or finances. Of moving. Of any substantial tangible entanglement.
Somehow that's easier to handle
I love her and don't want to leave her. But i desperately think she needs serious help and have told her I want her to do therapy 2x a month (on top of marriage therapy 2x).
I also think if a secret or deleted text happens again, I've got to take off the kid gloves and fight for it all. Cause well showing up at the dude's door would end in prison.
I'm sure this happening right as I fully got over last time and took a trust leap of faith on a "gay" friend that burned me will make it harder. I get the last few years have been garbage luck and I get almost dying can have profound affects though. She had been utterly loyal for 5 years (believe me I checked as we agreed to ie open book). Tying to see this with an open mind.
I get my exact expectations are muddy and part of this is just putting it into words to process for me, but I value if someone has any good input
submitted by _kaleb_ to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 03:18 Senior-Usual-4941 Severe nerve pain with CAM boot?

Not sure if this is the right group, but here goes.
3 weeks ago I had my second surgery to repair subluxating peroneal tendons which included a fibular groove deepening and some other work. I had existing sural nerve damage from my first ankle surgery. This surgeon attempted to free that nerve from its entrapment in scar tissue. That was unsuccessful. The nerve pain has been just egregious to the point he put me on Lyrica 75mg twice a day. It has helped tremendously. So now I'm out of the cast, sutures are out and I'm to be wearing a CAM boot. Everything feels relatively good for being 3 weeks post op UNTIL I put that damn CAM boot on. Instantly causes searing nerve pain from mid outer calf down thru the ankle bone and across the top of my foot into my first 2 toes. I also have severe pain in my Achilles area. It literally feels like my foot is being roasted on an open flame. It improves about 70% once I take the boot off but the nerve pain will last the entire rest of the day and night. If I leave the boot off-no serious issues that I can't tolerate. I've tried padding the boot, keeping the ankle wrapped in an ace wrap inside the boot, a compression sock, a wrap and a sock and nothing works. Is it bad to just leave the boot off? Has anyone experienced this and how did you manage? What did you try? What did your doc do for you-if anything? Going to cross post this into podiatry.
submitted by Senior-Usual-4941 to FootFunction [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 01:51 Xeon117 New player here. I blindly went into vault 51.

Shooting myself in the foot first of all because I should know better than to walk into any vault at low level so imagine my surprise when I make it all the way to the end and my level 8 ass has to fight a Scorched in Power Armor. I died three times. 1st time, I challenged him with an upfront assault and quickly went from home invader to missing person. 2nd time, I blew all my stealth boys trying to take out his fusion core. It's fun being new, because nobody's really there to tell you these things don't work until you find out the hard way. My final stealth wore off and I received my test results, I'm 100% USDA Prime. My final death, let's just say user error. The upside is I now know how throwing grenades work. I return one final time and that's when I realize he never leaves his room so I position myself at the end of the hallway where his Gatling laser can't reach, and begin slowly hammering away at his ankles with my scoped .44 Revolver. It took just about 15 minutes for him to finally go down and I get jack shit for a reward. The only thing I'm truly upset about, I wanted that damn Power Armor. One hell of a learning experience, but maybe a minimum level pop up when entering certain zones.
submitted by Xeon117 to fo76 [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 01:22 Sethm28 What does overstimulation/ meltdown look like is it the same thing?

Recently I’ve started to think I might be autistic not looking for a diagnosis or validation just wondering if this is normal it happens to anyone else so I get very irritated over small things like tiny small things and if I enough of them happen I start feeling icky like really icky and hot and like I can’t breathe sometimes I just burst out crying and can’t stop crying for hours or I’ll get angry soo angry like I just want to smash up everything and throw everything about for example about an hour ago I was about to go out for a smoke and it was dark in my room so I had my flashlight on my phone on and the light was bothering me but I ignored it and I was on call with my bf and I was trying to put on my house coat (like a robe if ur not British) and I was already too hot but I put my arm in the wrong side and I tried 4/5 times to put it on but it wouldn’t go on and I got so annoyed but I cleaned myself down even tho I felt like crying and then i couldn’t find my lighter then i couldn’t find my cig and I just felt so awful and icky and hot and like I wanted to scream and smash stuff up but I didn’t I went to the door to open it and because my door is a little broke if someone locks it it’s really hard to open so I’m standing unable to open the door too hot like far too hot not being able to breathe I jsut needed cold air so badly my bf is speaking but every word is jsut making me so irritated I went on mute got my brother to open the door went out side smoked came back in and then I can’t really remember what happened because it feels like a dream or like different moment put together but merged in my Brian idk what happened one second I was talking to my bf then the next I was in my room and everything was too hot and I took my shirt off but I could feel my pyjamas still and I took them off and I was still too hot and then I was pacing up and a down and I tried looking for different clothes but I felt so angry that I couldn’t even look and my head was banging and i couldn’t breathe or talk and every little noise was annoying me like I jsut wnated to grab my phone and throw it as hard against a wall as I could and punch my mirror into like a hundred different pieces and I got naked and I tried looking for my earphones to block out the sounds and i couldn’t find them so I had to put my hands over my ears to block out the noise and I hit my hands against my ears and head a couple times and then I found them and I could feel my jewellery (I wear like 5/6 necklaces and a lot of bracelets) and I tried taking my necklaces off but they wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I tried and I got most of them off and put my earphones in but the music was too loud and then i couldn’t breathe again and hit my ears a bit more and I felt a bit better after getting my earphones in and my jewellery off so I sat with like a small blanket over me naked and then my dog tried to cuddle and the feel of her fur just made me wanna die so then I moved to the other side of the bed and just lay there for like 15 minutes with my eyes shut and now with music as loud as I could get it I ended the call and I was gonna call him back but the idea of talking I just couldn’t take it I mean now I’m in bed with my blankets over me I’m the perfect temperature i cuddled with my dog to Make up for earlier and I loved the feel of her fur I’m wearing clothes and have my music in does anyone else experience this and is this overstimulation or a melt down if does have anything to do with the fact I think I might be autistic also I’m sure it was not a panic attack
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2024.05.15 00:30 Eana34 I want to go NC with my step mom but my dad is still married to her

So I'll try to keep this in chronological order. My birth mother was POS to the point where the judge gave my dad full custody and the option for child support (if he didn't take it, she wouldn't have rights to see me bc she wasn't supporting me) which he did indeed opt out of. (Prior to the judges decision this woman had taken baby me in the middle of the night from Anchorage AK to Savannah GA. When my dad and my uncle kidnapped me back {you know to the state I belonged in bc that's where the divorce was happening and I was an infant} he said I screamed for the first 2 hours on the road {they told my incubator's sister, so I guess my aunt, that they were just taking me to the park for a visit, and she handed me over} and when they finally stopped {bc trying to put some distance down between them than the crazy bitch that birthed me} dad said I had a diaper rash that was so bad I was bleeding in the entire diaper area. (Anyone who has kids knows it probably took much more neglect than a 2 hour car ride to get that bad.) So dad got undisputed custody of me when the judge made a decision with break neck speeds due to her actions. During her turn to try to speak for why she should have time with me, my then2 week old baby brother (we are like a year apart) began crying unconsolably out in the lobby, a different aunt poked her head in and told the incubator she need to feed the baby. (seems she was once set on breastfeeding) This bitch turned around and said that he could wait bc rn she was fighting for her daughter! The judge put the court in recess so she could feed him. He came back and had his decision made.
There was about a year more of dad and I living in AK (his family once lived out there, after my grandfather moved back to AR Dad went to work the pipeline {I was born in 87}) till the cost of childcare and the time need to take care of me and house hold chores and keep a full time job just got to be too much. At that point we moved down south in with my grandparents.
My dad's family is mostly men, I have one aunt and the rest of my grandparents children where male. So when my aunt had my cousin who was a male he was only doted on til I was born 4 yrs later. First female grandchild and boy did they make sure I knew it. Yeah I was a bit spoiled, but I was also kind and mostly respectful. My grandmother did most of my childcare and I remember in the evenings dad made sure she never had to wash the dishes, ever.
I feel icky typing this bit as I personally have a problem with age gaps, my dad and step mom are 10yrs apart. If they had met after she was 20 or so I would have no issues... But they met when she was like 16-17 and got married a month and 2 days after her 18 th birthday. I remember them discussing how they were gonna tell her father that they were already married!!
Which brings me to her family... You see her dad was abusive af, like picked her up by the ankles and shook the shit outta her bc she wanted the white shoes for school not the cheaper navy blue ones... This man thought that if one of his 14 kids pissed him off, it was totally acceptable to chuck things at them to include 15lb claw hammers. My step mom was his favorite child and she was the only one who took care of him in his later years, and yes the ankle shaking is the worst he ever go with her, but her siblings where not nearly as lucky.
She can't see that she holds a LOT of his negative qualities. When she was mad at my brothers and I as kids she would ball up her fist and hit us in the chest. There was once a time when she was so angry at me that she spanked me while in the corner... While the physical shit wasn't all that bad the psychological shit she did to me I am still working thru. Looking back now I was so far into what turns out to be a bipolar depression that I was beginning to question if I was developing a second personality. The self talks went like this " stop being so stupid, you know you can't kill yourself and you know you aren't wanted like her precious boys, but that doesn't matter. You know this is probably just how life is supposed to be, always feeling like shit and just putting on a happy face" Oh and precious boys indeed. My 3 younger brothers (that's she birthed) were allowed to have sleep overs and go out with friends. Hell they could even walk out to the car from the grocery store without an escort by the time they were 9... Meanwhile one of them was with me if ever I needed to go out. Until the day I left for the Army it was like this. (6, 10, & 19 yrs younger than me, not that I'm super fucked up about the little one, I was already grown when he came along) I on the other hand could only have friends over on Sunday, between church services, so long as the ppl coming over also attended our church. Outside of that I never left the house as teen other than school, which there was never skipping any school for me, the step mom is a school teacher. So "if I have to go to school, you have to go to school" At one point the grounding was so heavy that I was to be her "shadow" every where she went outside of school I had to be by her side. That meant I had to wait for her to use the restroom at church so I could too. She often told me that I was "too young" to even know what depression was. She is also sexist, taking out the trash is a mans job and she isn't going to do it. But she was totally fine with me doing it. She gave me my first bloody nose by backhanding me before school one morning. One of her darling boys was made to take the trash out the night before, all he did was set it on the back porch. Well they live out in the country so what are leash laws .. that's right all that trash is on the back porch by morning. I am sent to clean it up... I have already taken my morning shower and got dressed for the day.. meanwhile the brother who's fault it is doesn't have to clean it bc he's not dressed yet🙄 when I try to reason with her she backhanded me and told me to never back talk her again. (Even tho by this point my two younger brothers both openly tell her no and don't do the chores)
Flash forward some years and my son and I are on hard times so we move back in (23is at this point) she decided that even if she wasn't paying my phone bill I was not allowed to use it after 9pm, she undermined every single thing I said as a parent (at this point baby brother is an issue but more for my kid who's only 9mons younger than him) She forced me to go back to her damn church, and got in a fist fight (literally) with me when I told her I didn't believe the BS they tried to stuff in my head as a kid (still fukin hate organized religion.) The bitch caught me at a disadvantage and used my ankle length dress to shove me down. She has been my only mother figure, and she has been hell on the psyche. As for my incubator, well she is a compulsive liar and thinks she is a master manipulator. She only has a 9th grade education and uses big word out of context to make herself feel smarter. I did get back in contact with her as an adult... Worst decade of my life. And everything got soooo much better when I went NC with her. I have laid eyes on the incubator 5 whole times... She lies to my other siblings (bc ofc she went on to have more kids too) that she has met all of my 4 children. The truth is when she was telling my siblings she was with me, she was actually like 6 states away. She left my step dad high and dry, cleared the bank account (some of which was being saved to get baby sister graduation stuff and a prom dress, they live below the poverty line, so it was a very big deal) took the only working vehicle and ran off to be with an ex from before she met my dad. She had dropped baby sister off at school that day and even told her what all errands they were gonna run when incubator picked her back up, yeah she never came and my step dad works nights... My sister had to find her own way home after waiting so long pretty much everyone was gone from campus. So you can kinda see while I don't want to associate with her. My step mom thinks because she is a special ed teacher, bc she goes to church, and that it is difficult for her to lie she is better than my incubator. Truth be told, I have come to realize that yeah, step mom was a better mother, she never told any of her own kids they should have been aborted like the incubator did to baby sister, but that doesn't mean step mom was an amazing mother to me. I do not want to associate with her anymore but I know my dad isn't going to leave her (she makes his plate for him for crying out loud, who would wanna disrupt that after the age of 60) I want to expose my step mother to her whole community that she thinks she is a pillar of. I want this woman to be as distraught as the incubator was /is when/ bc I finally told her off. I strive to be a better mother to my kids. I don't want bad examples available to them if I can help it. The baby brother is 17 now and has dropped out of school and has moved out early. She acts like she doesn't know why... But it's bc step mom never stopped coddling my middle brother who is 26 and lives with my folks in a3 bedroom with his wife and kid. No plans to move out, my sil is a total cunt to baby brother and he has been a total dick to her right back... Stepmom did nothing to mitigate the situation. Ofc he moved out. All the boys have been cuddled, but the middle one the most so. I am also sure that going NC would cut me off from my nephew... (Not that he is being raised to respect anything or anybody) Should I just do it and deal with the fall out, or should I at least tell my dad all the torment she put me thru before I do it. (It will be a public shaming on her favorite media platform, fb, and then cutting off all contact forever.) TL;DR My birth mother is awful, my step mom was only slightly better which she thinks deserves an award, but in reality my childhood was a living hell. I wanna NC but I don't wanna hurt my dad.
submitted by Eana34 to TwoHotTakes [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 00:30 Temporary-Driver-772 Devil's Bargain Counter

Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."
submitted by Temporary-Driver-772 to creepypasta [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 00:02 e_hawthorne Emilie Autumn Did It Better: Mental Health Edition

Okay this is not specifically Taylor AND Travis, but I feel this sub would get where I am coming from.
Now I am not one to ever compare one individual's mental health conditions that may be with another person. Everyone has their own struggles and challenges they go through, even if the severity differs. However, in this situation, I would like to put my two cents in on a subject many of us already have started to discuss: Taylor's usage of mental illness, mental institutions, and just overall angst she has been harbouring since TTPD's announcement to present times. As others have pointed out before me, it has never been confirmed if Taylor has any medical condition or has any mental disorder. She did confirm back in 2019 though I believe, she has never gone to therapy as she sees her mom as the only therapist she ever could need (if it has changed since then, please let me know). To be honest, yes, it's not our place to know if she doesn't want to share, about anything involving herself, especially like mental health, as it's a personal subject for many, whether famous or not. Also I truly think therapy while super helpful for some, may not be the right for others in contrast. It genuinely depends on each individual on what they need and what works best for them. Alas, whatever we want to call Taylor is doing for the TTPD era with the usage and imagery of mental illness, personally I'm not only over it but disgusted by it.
For starters, we are led to think all this imagery and wordplay and overall presentation of mental illness and mental institutions and lobonomies etc are solely due to her broken heart over a former love (popular suggestion says it's for Matty Healy but some think it's still Joe and some think it's for other people completely or even other situations). We're left with solely her songs and her choices in words both in songs and in real life, to theorize what they could be alluding to. I have seen many Gaylors suggest these are influenced by the LGBTQIA+ was and have been treated in mainstream society. How, homosexuality was even listed an actual illness not so long ago unfortunately.
But for the sake of calling a spade a spade and being simplistic, I am just going to follow the popular belief that this era is just her choice of showing her reaction and feelings towards some ex-lover and feeling scorned by them, most likely it's Matty. Or least the grand majority of the songs seem to lean in his not so favour. That being said (and as someone who has been there with Taylor since Debut), she could have honestly chose a better direction. Mental illness isn't a joke to make people laugh at parties. It isn't a trend or the latest accessory to buy at the mall. It's not something you can just shake off and pretend it's done by the next album. It's real and it's really affects your every day life. Just as mental institutions are no joke. They're not fun playgrounds to meet potential besties at. It's literally a place that originally people were sent to against their will. Even in present times, some people are still sent to them against their will. Yes, some go now voluntarily, but it isn't always the case. I understand being heartbroken and something like ghosting can make one feel emotionally vulnerable and hurt on a multitude of levels. I just wouldn't justify making chronic word usage of "asylums", "madhouses", phrases like "they sent me away" or referencing coming straight from the hospital if she just meant it "symbolically". I get she could have easily meant Hollywood and stardom especially like she has experienced, is a crazy experience to endure, but in that case, it seems like her previous analogies of a circus works better without offending potential parties or people with actual experiences with mental institutions and/or mental illness. It reminds me of how several people say something like "I always wash my hands, I'm OCD" or "War time flashbacks, I got PTSD from *names a very underwhelming situation that disturb a person slightly*", It's careless and callous wording all around. The fact we have even seen some of Taylor's so-called fans start to make their own medical bracelets to play up this theme is disturbing in my opinion. Again mental illness isn't some necklace to show off like a diamond studded piece.
I'm not saying Taylor couldn't have felt maddened in a way by her experiences that inspired TTPD thus how she chose to display this era and such. In my own personal experience without going too much into it, I had my own ghosting experience a few years back that wasn't fun in any way, and it was with someone, who reassured me for months on end that they were going to stay and we'd always be in each other's lives so obviously my trust and faith were both shaken when I noticed one night, I got blocked from all their social media and they didn't answer any call or text I left. However, I didn't go around not only acting like a tortured Victorian woman, who was imprisoned against her own will in a sanitarium but marketing myself as one and even trying to trademark a term I clearly didn't create. Granted say Taylor hypothetically went through a whole bunch of worst case scenarios: loved ones dying, friends leaving her when she needed them the most, people she care for getting sick, potential bankruptcy, etc then fuck, I get her reason behind using all this theme and the imagery as well. But I am going to take the benefit of the doubt and say she really chose a serious topic and things associated with it, just because something went awry again with her and some person she dated unfortunately. And what makes it even more vulgar in my opinion is it's not even like her first break up. It's much more than her first rodeo at this game yet she chose to display all of her feelings for it this time in perhaps, one of the worst ways. She is being insensitive to the ones who actually have been in mental institutions, whether by choice or not, and/or are suffering from mental illness. Again maybe she has something too, maybe not but regardless, she seems tone-deaf to the bigger picture here, similar to her using soldier terminology despite never been at war or even in service.
Many musicians have used this imagery before as we've established but it doesn't make it any more right. Several artists in comparison have been public with their mental health situations and don't even choose to use this type of imagery for themselves. They'll mention it time from time, but it's definitely not treated like a personality trait from them. It's just an aspect of them but not the whole picture. The fact she's even referring to herself as "The Chairman of The Tortured Poets Department" sounds like the combination of one of the most pretentious and woe is me crock I have ever heard. We don't see Morrissey calling himself, "The Pope of Mope" (yes, the fans do but he doesn't) and I doubt we'd see Robert Smith call himself, "The King of Sad". Yet Taylor who has had what seemed like a well off childhood and many good things happen to her and never seemed to brand herself as anything less than cheery adjectives for more over a decade, it just sounds so off-putting now she's trying to play the tragic role like it's natural or genuine.
I find it important to note, one particular musician named Emilie Autumn, has been inspired by the Victorian era for her whole career and real life "tortured" writers , along with incorporating the whole asylum analogy long before Taylor, but in sheer contrast, it was documented she actually went to a psych ward in a book she published in 2009. In the book itself, she discusses what it was in both a fictional way and factual way of what she went through as well showcasing how women were treated there in present times compared with the 1800s hasn't changed that much. She wanted to write the book to empower women though and to rise above the turmoil and be stronger because of it. She was no victim here (nor trying to just use it "alt points"). She has since (and even before the book) been very open about her experiences with mental illness (she's openly bipolar and the abuse she's endured over the years, as well her songs show she's not afraid to tackle the harder subjects) and what's it really like to be in a psych ward. I feel Emilie Autumn accomplished making mental illness a subject we can understand and even relate to, without it feeling gimmicky or a cash grab until she comes up with another aesthetic. Again I'm not saying Taylor's life story has been nothing but peaches and cream though, I recognize it hasn't been. And again she isn't expected to tell us her entire medical history and every blemish she ever had, but I don't support nor think her going around at her concerts with her dancers dressed as nurses and doctors and her using mental institutions as settings when she has been so mum on the subject of mental health, whether hers or in general, is a good look especially if she's just doing it to songs about how a guy stopped pursuing her and they weren't even together for that long. It comes off disrespectful and even condescending to the ones, who really have mental conditions and we can't just shake it off with a dance number. I'm sorry she got hurt (whether she still is or was is debated), but it doesn't give her a free pass to use something as heavy as this as just an aesthetic and equally turning a blind eye when some of her fans think it's just a lighthearted thing too. I will never get over how so many are now using asylums so loosely, like "OMG this album makes me crazy, send me to an asylum next". That's fucked up to say the least. Ultimately, I just hope this phase changes fast, and hopefully, Taylor can heal from whatever she is or isn't singing about, and more people step in when an idea is just isn't a good one.
submitted by e_hawthorne to travisandtaylor [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 21:26 irageoversmallstuff Credits to "i-waited-for-you" on Tumblr. This really moved me and I hope it may move you too.

Before you self harm in any way, you should probably know what you’re getting into. Before you make that cut, please keep in mind that you will find the pain release, and blood, strangely addictive. You may think to yourself that you’ll be able to control it, that you won’t let it get out of hand. You may think that you can just stick to a few small, shallow cuts here and there that won’t be deep and that will heal quickly and easily. But you’re wrong. You can’t control it, it’s impossible to control. It controls you. It’s an addiction. The cuts will get deeper, they’ll scar. They’ll take weeks to months to heal and years for the scars to actually begin to fade. You’ll find that soon, you depend on it. You can’t go more than a few days without cutting. You’ll go crazy as your skin itches and burns, your hands shake, your head pounds, your vision goes blurry as you try to keep your mind off of it, try to hold back from giving in. But you will. If you think you can limit the cuts to just one area of your body, you better think again. It’ll spread slowly but steadily, like a deadly virus. It’ll spread as you run out of skin, from your wrists to arms, past your elbows, up your shoulders down to your stomach, across your hips and waist and soon will cover your every inch of your legs right down to your ankles. I hope you’re prepared to withdraw from others and live in a constant state of shame and guilt. Even if you have been the most honest person to ever live, you will lie to your friends, family members, everyone around you who you care about. You’ll find yourself jerking back from the touch of someone, as if their fingers and hands have been bathed in a toxic, burning poison. You’ll be terrified that they will feel a scar or cut from beneath the fabric of your shirt or because it just plain hurts so much to simply be touched. Be prepared to become your own worst enemy. You’ll fear yourself, your head, the urges that taunt you every minute of every day. You’ll come to fear the next time you cut because you don’t know how bad it’ll be. Wait for the 10 cuts to turn into 20 then 50 then 100. You’ll be covered in scars and cuts. Your entire life will begin to revolve around your addiction. You’ll constantly be thinking about cutting, covering up your cuts, how you’ll hide your blades, scissors, bobby pins and the other objects you use to destroy your body. And then..the first time that you cut “too deep.” The bleeding won’t stop and you’re gasping, shaking, panicking, fear takes over you. You pray and hope that the bleeding will stop. Your purpose wasn’t to die, you won’t ever go that deep again. Right? Wrong. You’ll go there again, and deeper. But don’t worry. You’ll learn how to take care of your cuts so you don’t have to take a trip to the hospital every night. The better you get at treating your wounds, the worse they become. You’ll lie to yourself and try to justify it when you go to the pharmacy and drug store, finding yourself spending 20, 30, 40 dollars on dressings, gauze, alcohol wipes and sterile strips. You’ll tap your foot impatiently, hoping that no one stares and asks you why you’re buying all of these things. But at the same time..you hope someone asks, so you know they care. Be prepared to spend even more money on an entire new wardrobe. Long sleeved shirts, hoodies, long pants, boots, bracelets, wristbands. The list goes on forever. You’ll keep scanning other people’s bodies for signs of self harm, hoping that there is someone else out there who feels the same way you do. Hoping, praying that they will be like you. But that will never happen. You’ll see clean, uncut, unmarred arms and feel even more alone and ashamed than before. You’ll do a lot of things alone, be prepared to kiss your social life goodbye. You’ll always be doing your laundry, always in private so no one sees the blood stained towels and clothes. You’ll be spending hours scrubbing blood from the bathroom floor, and wiping dried blood off of your keyboard. You won’t be able to make it a day without cutting. You’ll carry an emergency kit in your wallet or purse. A key, safety pin, a needle, a paperclip, even a pencil. Everything around you will become a weapon. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it gives you that feeling that sends you reeling. Next thing you know, you’re in the bathroom stall at your school or work, picking open the scab of an old cut with a needle. Say goodbye to all of the things you took for granted. Shorts, sandals, tank tops, swimming in the summer, going to the beach. All of these things will be a far off memory. I hope you like itching and scratching non stop. You will itch and itch and itch. It’ll be so much that it’ll look like you have some sort of flesh eating disease. You will become an expert on your body as you carefully destroy it, taking it apart piece by piece. You will dream of cutting, dreaming of getting caught. It will haunt you day and night, in your dreams and when you are awake. Cutting will take over your life. It now has it’s hold over you, it controls you. You’ll hate yourself, hate yourself for making that first cut that threw you into this vicious, neverending cycle. You’ll wish you never made that first cut. You’ll wish you had read something like this, or that someone had told you what would happen. But as much as you hate your addiction and self harm, you love it and can’t live without it. You’d rather die than go just a few weeks without cutting.
Now, I’ll tell you what the title pertains to. How to self harm. Here is where I tell you how to successfully hurt yourself. So put down what you’re about to use Because you are so much better than this. And believe me, you don’t want to get involved with the monster of self harm, it’s not worth it.
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2024.05.14 21:24 Ok_Entertainment9355 A negative entity was attached to my mom's ex husband

Hi Courtney! I'm a huge fan of your channel and I've been watching you for a while now, and I would just die if you read my story! It's gonna be a little longer since I don't want to miss any important details. Also tag warning for some serious topics (drug use and pedophelia)
Okay so, let's start back in 2012. My mom worked in the NICU taking care of little premature babies. (I had been 6 weeks early, which inspired my mom) I was 11 at the time that she met her ex-husband, my ex-stepdad. We can just call him B (for bastard lol). They worked together, he was funny and stole her heart. Well at the time he was going through a divorce but lived in a house twenty minutes from where we were living at the time. B had told my mom that things were over with his ex for sure (he told his ex wife at that time that he wanted to work on things! She was so blindsided by the divorce papers!) <--- of course we didn't know about any of that until recently End of 2012 comes, he marries my mom and my older sister move in with him and his 7 year old son in this three bedroom house. Two rooms upstairs and a master bedroom downstairs. Now of the top two rooms, my ex stepbrother (lets call him C) had the larger room, while my older sister (who was high school age, I think she was a senior) and I shared the other room and slept in bunk beds.
Now C had a problem with sleeping in his room at night. He would tell us about how he was afraid of the closet (the closet also had a tiny door that led up to the attic). Ever since he was little it was always the same problem. C was simply terrified of something in the house. He had an experience where someone woke him up and warned him that there was a spider, he started screaming and sure enough they found a brown recluse spider under his bed.
Then my mom gets pregnant and gives birth to my little brother, H. My sister had moved out pretty much as soon as possible. B was awful. He would belittle us and talk down to us, constantly try to make everyone feel stupid around him- he had to be the smartest one around at all times. He was an asshole, and he would say rude stuff and then complain that we were taking him too serious and he was just being sarcastic. That we 'didn't get his sense of humor'. And for a while, he had my mom wrapped right around his finger. He was manipulating her from the very beginning. He even treated her like shit most of the time. 8th grade all the way through the end of my senior year I endured his treatment every day. I had to be careful about what I said at all times, about who came over, about being too loud at night. If my room was messy, he would take a garbage bag and take all of my stuff- I had to 'earn' back my stuff.
When the baby was born they had to do renovations on the house. There was a ton of attic space, so they ended up breaking into it- a game room leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. This was when things went from humanly hellish to supernaturally chaotic. During the renovations before any walls went up and it was mostly just wood and plastic, C and I had seen a dark shadow of a man pass behind a plastic tarp- and it was so clear because the sunlight was coming from the other side. When I checked there was no body there. Once everything was completed the feeling changed.
My room ended up being on the other end of the opened up attic.
At the time I was watching a lot of Supernatural- so my spooked ass started putting salt barriers on my bedroom door (which guess what! Yeah! It was one of those attic bedrooms!) and also on my window too. My mom and B would ridicule me for this but I stand by my decisions to this day!
This was mostly because of the feelings you would get in the game room. Even if you were just passing through. There were always eyes on you- especially when your back was turned. I never ever walked through that room without the light on. I didn't even sleep with the light off in my room. When I would I would get really bad sleep paralysis,
One of the worst ones I was laying on my stomach with my head turned to the side. I opened my eyes and I was utterly frozen. At first I know it's just sp, so I try to stay calm and take deep breaths but then I start to feel this pressure starting down on my feet. It feels like two hands grabbing my ankles and pressing down. Then the hands move up my body and then there's more pressure- like someone's whole body is crawled over top of me. It gets closer and closer to my head. All the while I'm trying to scream but I can't open my mouth so it's just coming out as quiet whimpers. I can feel it breathing on my neck and then in my ear. That's when it finally stopped and I jerked up and immediately turned on the light. I remember just crying for a while. At the time B had made it impossible to trust my mom- and they would've just gotten mad at me for waking them up.
There was another night where I had been up late, probably 3 or 4 in the morning and I was drawing or something just sitting on my bed. All of the sudden I hear 4 distinct knocks from INSIDE my closet! No joke I shit bricks. There was no rational explanation. Because there was siding on our house that was damaged and it would make noise but it was always specific like a scraping/tapping. But this was a knock, like someone is at your door with your DoorDash meal type knock. I always tried to rationalize what was happening. Make excuses for the weird stuff.
Then one summer, my cousin had come up from another state to stay with us. We spent a lot of time in my room, just hanging out. One day, we're both up there just chilling when all of the sudden I notice something under my door.
Someone was walking back and forth in front of the bedroom door. You could even hear the floor creaking on the other side. You could see the shadow pass to the right and then to the left. I remember locking my door and calling my mom to see if it was an actual human, nope. She ended up sending B up there (of course this made him mad for some reason) to verify that there was no person up there. Basically they just said we were being kids with overactive imaginations but I can tell you right now there was no rational explanation for that experience.
A lot of the time at that house you could feel constant eyes on you, mostly in the attic. Like always- at all times, someone or something was watching.
There were also times when there was a sort of 'mimic' situation where you could think you heard something upstairs but you really didn't; one time my sister went to pick up our dog- and she thought she heard the dog crying upstairs, she started to go up and get her when her boyfriend who was there at the time stopped her because the dog crate was downstairs in my moms room AND GUESS WHO WAS IN THE CRATE and NOT upstairs.
There was also one time I was babysitting my younger siblings and it was pretty late when I heard giggling upstairs. Thinking it was my brother, I went up to reprimand him and basically tell him to go to sleep but when I entered his room- he was dead asleep. Like fully passed out. I just shut the door and quietly went back downstairs. Nope nope nope.
B ended up doing work out of state- I was like 20 ish and moved back in with my mom and the kids. What was weird that during this time I didn't really have a lot of paranormal experiences. Once or twice you would hear weird things or my cat would get tiffed up staring at blank corners of the room. It was mostly really nice when he wasn't there.
A few years ago we ended up having to leave that house. B as it turns out had gotten himself addicted to meth and also started downloading explicit photos of underage girls (11-13 approx.) I was at the house when the police came and everything. He's still not in jail btw which is such bull. When it first happened, my mom reached out to B's ex wife to talk to her.
Turns out from the moment B and his ex bought this house, she immediately noticed negativity. Weird things and scary things that would happen. We sort of deduced that HE was the one bringing that negative energy into the house, which totally made sense because most of the extreme haunting stuff was happening WHILE HE WAS THERE. So yeah I blame him because he is a disgusting demon himself.
Anyway that's all I've got for now- thank you so much for reading! Love you girl!
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2024.05.14 21:02 anxiouspuppy001 potty training 6 months - any hope left?/need ideas for balcony potty station

My 6 month old Cavapoo is struggling with potty training. He was making slow progress until a Giardia infection with its diarrhea hit him a couple of weeks ago. We live in a highrise, and he's too scared of the streets to do his business outside, so we're relegated to our balcony.
Now he's having accidents about once a day inside with very little warning. He's had two today so far :( . This morning, I took him out (no poop). Fed him breakfast. As soon as he finished eating, he toddled near the door, and pooped before I noticed he was in a squat. (I was nearby but didn't keep my eyes on him while he was eating). I interrupted his squat and opened the door for him to go to the balcony. He finished pooping at his potty station.
So we know he knows where to go. He doesn't know not to go in the home as well.
I understand I need to go back to square one - take time off work or fake WFH while he's awake, tether him to me, take him out every... half hour? 45 minutes? Treat and celebrate each successful potty. I know it's recommended to confine them for a few minutes when they don't go (and to take them out again), but he doesn't tolerate being put in his crate or pen. Lots of barking. I tried crate training and crate games, but we couldn't get past the first couple of stages.
But for how long would I need to do this? 2 weeks? 4 weeks? Longer? I assume it just gets harder and harder the older they get.
His potty station is too small (it was not intended to be permanent when we put it together). He understandably doesn't want to step on his pee in order to poop. I'd love any ideas on diy potty station solutions for balconies.
Is there hope for us after 4 months of trying? Our trainer says he should be potty trained by 6 months, and every accident inside just rehearses the behaviour, making it harder and harder to correct. Meanwhile, I feel like a huge failure of a puppy parent, and am scared to leave him alone at all, in case he has an accident (not that it matters, it seems. I avert my eyes and he pees). The problems just compound.
Some of our potty challenges:
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2024.05.14 18:24 anxiouspuppy001 potty training 6 months - any hope left?/need ideas for balcony potty station

My 6 month old Cavapoo is struggling with potty training. He was making slow progress until a Giardia infection with its diarrhea hit him. We live in a highrise, and he's too scared of the streets to do his business outside, so we're relegated to our balcony.
Now he's pooping about once a day inside with very little warning. This morning, I took him out (no poop). Fed him breakfast. As soon as he finished eating, he toddled near the door, and pooped before I noticed he was in a squat. (I was nearby but didn't keep my eyes on him while he was eating). I interrupted his squat and opened the door for him to go to the balcony. He finished pooping at his potty station.
So we know he knows where to go. He doesn't know not to go in the home as well.
I understand I need to go back to square one - take time off work, tether him to me, take him out every... half hour? 45 minutes? Treat and celebrate each successful potty. I know it's recommend to confine them for a few minutes when they don't go (and to take them out again), but he doesn't tolerate being put in his crate or pen. Lots of barking. I tried crate training and crate games, but we couldn't get past the first couple of stages.
But for how long would I need to do this? 2 weeks? 4 weeks? Longer? I assume it just gets harder and harder the older they get.
His potty station is too small. He understandably doesn't want to step on his pee in order to poop. I'd love any ideas on diy potty station solutions for balconies.
Is there hope for us after 4 months of trying? Our trainer says he should be potty trained by 6 months, and every poop inside just rehearses the behaviour, making it harder and harder to correct. Meanwhile, I feel like a huge failure of a puppy parent, and am scared to leave him alone at all, in case he has an accident. The problems just compound.
Some of our potty challenges:
submitted by anxiouspuppy001 to puppy101 [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 18:08 Mophandel Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands

Archaeotherium, the King of the White River Badlands
Art by Bob Nicholls
Nowadays, when we envision the words “prey,” among modern mammalian fauna, few taxa come to mind as quickly as the hoofed mammals, better known as the ungulates. Indeed, for the better part of their entire evolutionary history, the ungulates have become entirely indistinguishable from the term “prey.” Across their two major modern branches, the artiodactyls (the “even-toed ungulates,” such as bovids, pigs, deer, hippos and giraffes) and the perissodactyls (the “odd-toed ungulates,” including horses, rhinos and tapir), the ungulates too have created an empire spanning nearly every continent, establishing themselves as the the dominant herbivores throughout their entire range. However, as a price for such success, their lot as herbivores have forced them into an unenviable position: being the food for the predators. Indeed, throughout the diets of most modern predators, ungulates make up the majority, if not the entirety, of their diet, becoming their counterparts in this evolutionary dance of theirs. They have become the lamb to their wolf, the zebra to their lion, the stag to their tiger. If there is a predator in need of lunch, chances are that there is an ungulate there to provide it. Of course, such a dynamic is not necessarily a recent innovation. For the last 15-20 million years, across much of the world, both new and old, the ungulates have served as prey for these predators through it all. Over the course of whole epochs, these two groups have played into these roles for millions of years, coevolving with each other in an eons-long game of cat-and-mouse. The shoes they fill are not new, but have existed for ages, and within their niches they have cultivated their roles to perfection. Indeed, with such a tenured history, it seems hardly surprising the ungulates are wholly inseparable from the terms “prey,” itself.
However, while this is the case now, as it has been for the last 15-20 million years, go back far enough, and we see that this dynamic is not as set in stone as we would think. Indeed, back during the Eocene and Oligocene, during the very earliest days of age of mammals, things were very different for the ungulates. While today they are considered little more than food for modern predators, during these olden days, the ungulates weren’t quite so benign. In fact, far from being fodder for top predators, the ungulates had turned the tables, instead becoming top predators themselves. Indeed, though nearly unheard of today, throughout much of the Eocene and Oligocene, carnivorous ungulates thrived in abundance, developing specializations for catching large prey and establishing themselves as top predators that competed alongside the more traditional carnivores, and even dominating them in some instances. Given such success, it’s no wonder that multiple such clades had arisen during this time. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of (ironically) hoof-less ungulates with large jaws and sharp teeth for capturing large prey. There were also the mesonychians, a lineage of dog-like ungulates with massive skulls and jaws that allowed them to reign as the top predator across much of the Eocene.
However, among these various lineages, one stands stands out among the rest, by far. Arising during the Eocene, this lineage, though superficially resembling modern pigs, hailed from one an ancient lineage of artiodactyls far removed from swine or most other ungulates in general, with few close relatives alive today. Through perhaps not the most predatory of the bunch, it was among the most formidable, as their superficially pig-like appearance came with giant predatory jaws and teeth unlike anything from the modern era. And of course, as if all of that wasn’t enough, this lineage also went on to earn arguably one of the most badass nicknames of any lineage of mammals, period. These predators, of course, were the entelodonts, a.k.a the “hell-pigs.” More so than any other predatory ungulate lineage, these formidable ungulates were the ones to turn the current paradigm upside down, becoming some of the largest and most dominant carnivores in their landscape, even with (and often in spite of) the presence of more traditional predators. Through impressive size, fearsome teeth and sheer tenacity, these animals became the top dogs of their time, ruling as behemoth-kings of their Paleogene kingdoms, domineering all comers, and throughout the ranks, one entelodont in particular demonstrated such dominance the best. Though not the largest or most powerful of their kind, it is one of the most iconic, being among the most well-known members of its lineage to date. Moreover, this enteledont also has some of the most complete life histories ever seen out of this clade, with its brutality and predatory prowess being displayed in the fossil record in a way seen in no other member of its kind. More than anything else, however, it was this predator that best turned the notion of “ungulates being prey” on its head, living in an environment that bore some of the largest carnivoran hypercarnivores to date and still reigning as the undisputed top predator of its domain. This fearsome beast was none other than Archaeotherium, icon of the entelodonts, terror of the Oligocene American west and undisputed king of the White River badlands.
The rise of Archaeotherium (and of entelodonts in general) is closely tied to the ascendancy of carnivorous ungulates as a whole, one of the earliest evolutionary success stories of the entire Cenozoic. Having become their own derived clade since the late Cretaceous, the ungulates were remarkably successful during the early Paleogene, as they were among the first mammalian clades to reach large sizes during those early days after the non-avian dinosaurs had gone extinct. As such, it was with incredible swiftness that, as the Paleogene progressed, the ungulates swooped upon the various niches left empty by the K-Pg mass extinction that killed the dinosaurs. This of course included the herbivorous niches we would know them for today, but this also included other, much more carnivore roles. Indeed, early on during the Paleogene, it was the ungulates that first seized the roles of large mammalian predators, becoming some the earliest large mammalian carnivores to ever live, well before even the carnivorans. Such predators included the arctocyonids, a lineage of vaguely dog-like, hoof-less ungulates with robust jaws and sharpened teeth that acted as some of earliest large carnivores of the Paleocene, with genera such as Arctocyon mumak getting up to the size of big cats. Even more prolific were the mesonychids. More so than what pretty much any other lineage of predator, it was the mesonychids that would stand out as the earliest dominant predators of the early Cenozoic. Growing up to the size of bears and with enormous, bone-crushing jaws, the mesonychids were among the most powerful and successful predators on the market at that time, with a near-global range and being capable of subjugating just about any other predator in their environments. Indeed, they, along with other carnivorous ungulates (as well as ungulates in general), were experiencing a golden age during this time, easily being the most prolific predators of the age. Given such prevalence, it should be no surprise that there would be yet another lineage of predatory ungulates would throw their hat into the ring, and by early Eocene, that contender would none other than the entelodonts.
The very first entelodonts had arisen from artiodactyl ancestors during the Eocene epoch, at a time when artiodactyls were far more diverse and bizarre than they are now. Through today known from their modern herbivorous representatives such as bovines, deer, and antelope, during the Paleocene and Eocene, the artiodacyls, as with most ungulates of that time, were stronger and far more predaceous, particularly when it came to one such clade of artiodactyls, the cetacodontamorphs. Only known today from hippos and another group of artiodactyls (one which will become relevant later), the cetacodantomorphs emerged out of Asia around 55 million years ago, at around the same time that artiodactyls themselves had made their debut. These animals included the first truly predatory artiodactyls, with many of them possessing large skulls with powerful jaws and sharp, predatory teeth. Among their ranks included animals as puny as Indohyus, a piscivorous artiodactyl the size of a cat, to as formidable as Andrewsarchus, a giant, bison-sized predator often touted as one of the largest predatory mammals to ever live. Given such a predatory disposition, it wouldn’t be long until this clade produced a lineage of truly diverse, truly successful predators, and by around 40 million years ago, that is exactly what they did, as it was at that time that the entelodonts themselves first emerged. From their Asian homeland, the entelodonts spread across the world, spreading through not only most of Eurasia but also colonizing North America as well, with genera such as Brachyhyops being found across both continents. Here, in this North American frontier, the entelodonts began to diversify further, turning into their most successful and formidable forms yet, and it was around the late Eocene and early Oligocene that Archaeotherium itself had entered the scene.
Just from a passing glance at Archaeotherium, it is clear how exactly it (as well as the other entelodonts) earned the nickname of “hell-pigs.” It was a bruiser for starters; its body bore a robust, pig-like physique, with prominent neural spines and their associated musculature forming a hump around the shoulder region, similar to the hump of a bison. With such a bulky physique came with it impressive size; the average A. mortoni had a head-body length of roughly 1.6-2.0 m (5.3-6.6 ft), a shoulder height of 1.2 m (4 ft) and a body mass of around 180 kg (396 lb) in weight (Boardman & Secord, 2013; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes, an adult Archaeotherium the size of a large male black bear. However, they had the potential to get even bigger. While most Archaeotherium specimens were around the size described above, a select few specimens, labeled under the synonymous genus “Megachoerus,” are found to be much larger, with skulls getting up to 66% longer than average A. mortoni specimens (Foss, 2001; Joeckel, 1990). At such sizes and using isometric scaling, such massive Archaeotherium specimens would attained body lengths over 2.5 m (8.2 ft) and would have reached weighs well over 500 kg (1100 lb), or as big as a mature male polar bear. Indeed, at such sizes, it is already abundantly evident that Archaeotherium is a force to be recorded with.
However, there was more to these formidable animals than sheer size alone. Behind all that bulk was an astoundingly swift and graceful predator, especially in terms of locomotion. Indeed, the hoofed feet of Archaeotherium, along with other entelodonts, sported several adaptations that gave it incredible locomotive efficiency, essentially turning it into a speed demon of the badlands. Such adaptations include longer distal leg elements (e.g. the radius and tibia) than their proximal counterparts (e.g. the humerus and femur), fusion of the radius and ulna for increased running efficiency, the loss of the clavicle (collar-bone) to allow for greater leg length, the loss of the acromion to enhance leg movement along the fore-and-aft plane, the loss of digits to reduce the mass of the forelimb, the fusion of the ectocuneiform and the mesocuneiform wrist-bones, among many other such traits (Theodore, 1996) . Perhaps most significant of these adaptations is the evolution of the “double-pulley astragalus (ankle-bone),” a specialized modification of the ankle that, while restricting rotation and side-to-side movement at the ankle-joint, allows for greater rotation in the fore-and-aft direction, thus allowing for more more powerful propulsion from the limbs, faster extension and retraction of the limbs and overall greater locomotive efficiency (Foss, 2001). Of course, such a trait was not only found in entelodonts but in artiodactyls as a whole, likely being a response to predatory pressures from incumbent predatory clades arising at the same time as the artiodactyls (Foss, 2001). However, in the case of the entelodonts, such adaptations were not used for merely escaping predators. Rather, they were used to for another, much more lethal effect…
Such notions are further reinforced by the entelodonts most formidable aspect, none either than their fearsome jaws, and in this respect, Archaeotherium excelled. Both for its size and in general, the head of Archaeotherium was massive, measuring 40-50 cm (1.3-1.6 ft) in length among average A. mortoni specimens, to up to 78 cm (~2.6 ft) in the larger “Megachoerus” specimens (Joeckel, 1990). Such massive skulls were supported and supplemented by equally massive neck muscles and ligaments, which attached to massive neural spines on the anterior thoracic vertebrae akin to a bisons hump as well as to the sternum, allowing Archaeotherium to keep its head aloft despite the skulls massive size (Effinger, 1998). Of course, with such a massive skull, it should come as no surprise that such skulls housed exceptionally formidable jaws as well, and indeed, the bite of Archaeotherium was an especially deadly one. Its zygomatic arches (cheek-bones) and its temporal fossa were enlarged and expanded, indicative of massive temporalis muscles that afforded Archaeotherium astoundingly powerful bites (Joeckel, 1990). This is further augmented by Archaeotherium’s massive jugal flanges (bony projections of the cheek), which supported powerful masseter muscles which enhanced chewing and mastication, as well as an enlarged postorbital bar that reinforced the skull against torsional stresses (Foss, 2001). Last but not least, powerful jaws are supplemented by an enlarged gape, facilitated by a low coronoid process and enlarged posterior mandibular tubercles (bony projections originating from the lower jaw), which provided an insertion site for sternum-to-mandible jaw abduction muscles, allowing for a more forceful opening of the jaw (Foss, 2001). All together, such traits suggest a massive and incredibly fearsome bite, perhaps the most formidable of any animal in its environment.
Of course, none of such traits are especially indicative of a predatory lifestyle. Indeed, many modern non-predatory ungulates, like hippos, pigs and peccaries, also possess large, formidable skulls and jaws. However, in peeling back the layers, it is found there was more to the skull of Archaeotherium that lies in store. Indeed, when inspecting the animal closely, a unique mosaic of features is revealed; traits that make it out to be much more lethal than the average artiodactyl. On one hand, Archaeotherium possessed many traits similar to those of herbivores animals, as is expected of ungulates. For instance, its jaw musculature that allowed the lower jaw of Archaeotherium a full side-to-side chewing motion as in herbivores (whereas most carnivores can only move their lower jaw up and down)(Effinger, 1998). On the other hand, Archaeotherium wielded many other traits far more lethal in their morphology, less akin to a herbivore and far more akin to a bonafide predator. For instance, the aforementioned enlarged gape of Archaeotherium is a bizarre trait on a supposed herbivore, as such animals do not need large gapes to eat vegetation and thus have smaller, more restricted gapes. Conversely, many predatory lineages have comparatively large gapes, as larger gapes allow for the the jaws to grab on to more effectively larger objects, namely large prey animals (Joeckel, 1990).
Such a juxtaposition, however, is most evident when discussing the real killing instruments of Archaeotherium — the teeth. More so than any facet of this animal, the teeth of Archaeotherium are the real stars of the show, showing both how alike it was compared to its herbivores counterparts and more importantly, how it couldn’t be more different. For instance, the molars of Archaeotherium were quite similar to modern herbivores ungulates, in that they were robust, bunodont, and were designed for crushing and grinding, similar in form and function to modern ungulates like peccaries (Joeckel, 1990). However, while the molars give the impression that Archaeotherium was a herbivore, the other teeth tell a very different story. The incisors, for example, were enlarged, sharpened, and fully interlocked (as opposed to the flat-topped incisors seen in herbivores ungulates), creating an incisor array that was seemingly ill-suited for cropping vegetation and much more adept at for gripping, puncturing and cutting (Joeckel, 1990). Even more formidable were the canines. Like the modern pigs from which entelodonts derived their nicknames, the canines of Archaeotherium were sharp and enlarged to form prominent tusk-like teeth, but unlike pigs, they were rounded in cross-section (similar to modern carnivores like big cats, indicating more durable canines that can absorb and resist torsional forces, such as those from struggling prey) and were serrated to form a distinct cutting edge (Effinger, 1998; Joeckel, 1990; Ruff & Van Valkenburgh, 1987). These canines, along with the incisors, interlock to stabilize the jaws while biting and dismantling in a carnivore-like fashion. More strikingly, the canines also seem to act as “occlusal guides,” wherein the canines help align the movement and position of the rear teeth as they come together, allowing for a more efficient shearing action by the rear teeth. This function is seen most prevalently modern carnivorous mammals, and is evidenced by the canine tooth-wear, which is also analogous to modern predators like bears and canids (Joeckel, 1990). Indeed, going off such teeth alone, it is clear that Archaeotherium is far more predatory than expected of an ungulate. However, the real stars of the show, the teeth that truly betray the predatory nature of these ungulates, are the premolars. Perhaps the most carnivore-like teeth in the entelodont’s entire tooth row, the premolars of Archaeotherium, particularly the anterior premolars, are laterally compressed, somewhat conical in shape, and are weakly serrated to bear a cutting edge, giving them a somewhat carnivorous form and function of shearing and slicing (Effinger, 1998). Most strikingly of all, the premolars of Archaeotherium bear unique features similar not to modern herbivores, but to durophagous carnivores like hyenas, particularly apical wear patterns, highly thickened enamel, “zigzag-shaped” enamel prism layers (Hunter-Schraeger bands) on the premolars which is also seen in osteophagous animals like hyenas, and an interlocking premolar interface wherein linear objects (such as bones) inserted into jaws from the side would be pinned between the premolars and crushed (Foss, 2001). Taken together, these features do not suggest a diet of grass or vegetation like other ungulates. Rather, they suggest a far more violent diet, one including flesh as well as hard, durable foods, particularly bone. All in all, the evidence is clear. Archaeotherium and other entelodonts, unlike the rest of their artiodactyl kin, were not the passive herbivores as we envision ungulates today. Rather, they were willing, unrepentant meat-eaters that had a taste for flesh as well as foliage.
Of course, even with such lines of evidence, its hard to conclude that Archaeotherium was a true predator. After all, its wide gape and durophagous teeth could have just as easily been used for scavenging or even to eat tough plant matter such as seeds or nuts, as in peccaries and pigs, which themselves share many of the same adaptations as Archaeotherium, include the more carnivorous ones (e.g. the wide gape, using the canines as an occlusal guide, etc.). How exactly do we know that these things were veritable predators and not pretenders to the title. To this end, there is yet one last piece of evidence, one that puts on full display the predatory prowess of Archaeotheriumevidence of a kill itself. Found within oligocene-aged sediment in what is now Wyoming, a collection of various fossil remains was found, each belonging to the ancient sheep-sized camel Poebrotherium, with many of the skeletal remains being disarticulated and even missing whole hindlimbs or even entire rear halves of their body. Tellingly, many of the remains bear extensive bite marks and puncture wounds across their surface. Upon close examination, the spacing and size of the punctures leave only one culprit: Archaeotherium. Of course, such an event could still have been scavenging; the entelodonts were consuming the remains of already dead, decomposed camels, explaining the bite marks. What was far more telling, however, was where the bite marks were found. In addition bite marks being found on the torso and lumbar regions of the camels, various puncture wounds were found on the skull and neck, which were otherwise uneaten. Scavengers rarely feast on the head to begin with; there is very little worthwhile meat on it besides the brain, cheek-muscles and eyes, and even if they did feed on the skull and neck, they would still eat it wholesale, not merely bite it and then leave it otherwise untouched. Indeed, it was clear that this was no mere scavenging event. Rather than merely consuming these camels, Archaeotherium was actively preying upon and killing them, dispatching them via a crushing bite to the skull or neck before dismembering and even bisecting the hapless camels with their powerful jaws to preferentially feast on their hindquarters (likely by swallowing the hindquarters whole, as the pelvis of Poebrotherium was coincidentally the perfect width for Archaeotherium to devour whole), eventually discarding the leftovers in meat caches for later consumption (Sundell, 1999). With this finding, such a feat of brutality leaves no doubt in ones mind as to what the true nature of Archaeotherium was. This was no herbivore, nor was it a simple scavenger. This was an active, rapacious predator, the most powerful in its entire ecosystem.
Indeed, with such brutal evidence of predation frozen in time, combined with various dental, cranial, and post cranial adaptations of this formidable animal, it’s possible to paint a picture of how this formidable creature lived. Though an omnivore by trade, willing and able to feast on plant matter such as grass, roots and tubers, Archaeotherium was also a wanton predator that took just about any prey it wanted. Upon detecting its prey, it approached its vicim from ambush before launching itself at blazing speed. From there, its cursorial, hoofed legs, used by other ungulates for escape predation, were here employed to capture prey, carrying it at great speeds as it caught up to its quarry. Having closed the distance with its target, it was then that the entelodont brought its jaws to bear, grabbing hold of the victim with powerful jaws and gripping teeth to bring it to a screeching halt. If the victim is lucky, Archaeotherium will then kill it quickly with a crushing bite to the skull or neck, puncturing the brain or spinal cord and killing its target instantly. If not, the victim is eaten alive, torn apart while it’s still kicking, as modern boars will do today. In any case, incapacitated prey are subsequently dismantled, with the entelodont using its entire head and heavily-muscled necks to bite into and pull apart its victim in devastating “puncture-and pull’ bites (Foss, 2001). Prey would then finally be consumed starting at the hindquarters, with not even the bones of its prey being spared. Such brutality, though far from clean, drove home a singular truth: that during this time, ungulates were not just prey, that they were not the mere “predator-fodder” we know them as today. rather, they themselves were the predators themselves, dominating as superb hunters within their domain and even suppressing clades we know as predators today, least of all the carnivorans. Indeed, during this point in time, the age of the carnivorous ungulates had hit their stride, and more specifically, the age of entelodonts had begun.
Of course, more so than any other entelodont, Archaeotherium took to this new age with gusto. Archaeotherium lived from 35-28 million years ago during the late Eocene and early Oligocene in a locality known today as the White River Badlands, a fossil locality nestled along the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains. Though a chalky, barren landscape today, during the time of Archaeotherium, the White River Badlands was a swamp-like floodplain crisscrossed with rivers and interspersed with by a mosaic of forests concentrated around waterways, open woodlands and open plains. As with most ecosystems with such a lush disposition, this locale teemed with life, with ancient hornless rhinos, small horse-like hyracodonts and early camels roaming the open habitats while giant brontotheres, small early horses and strange, sheep-like ungulates called merycoidodonts (also known as “oreodonts”) dwelled within the dense forests. Within this locale, Archaeotherium stalked the open woodlands and riparian forests of its domain. Here, it acted as a dominant predator and scavenger across is territory, filling a niche similar to modern grizzly bears but far more predatory. Among its preferred food items would be plant matter such as roots, foliage and nuts, but also meat in the form of carrion or freshly caught prey. In this respect, smaller ungulates such as the fleet-footed camel Poebrotherium, a known prey item of Archaeotherium, would have made a for choice prey, as its small size would make it easy for Archaeotherium to dispatch with its powerful jaws, while the entelodonts swift legs gave it the speed necessary to keep pace with its agile prey.
However, the entelodont didn’t have such a feast all to itself. Just as the badlands teemed with herbivores, so too did it teem with rival predators. Among their ranks included fearsome predators such as Hyaenodon, a powerful, vaguely dog-like predator up to the size of wolves (as in H. horridus) or even lions (as in the Eocene-aged H. megaloides, which was replaced by H. horridus during the Oligocene). Armed with a massive head, fierce jaws and a set of knife-like teeth that could cut down even large prey in seconds, these were some of the most formidable predators on the landscape. There were also the nimravids, cat-like carnivorans that bore saber-teeth to kill large prey in seconds, and included the likes of the lynx-sized Dinictis, the leopard-sized Hoplophoneus and even the jaguar-sized Eusmilus. Furthermore, there were amphicyonids, better known as the bear-dogs. Though known from much larger forms later on in their existence, during the late Eocene and Oligocene, they were much smaller and acted as the “canid-analogues” of the ecosystem, filling a role similar to wolves or coyotes. Last but not least, there were the bathornithid birds, huge cariamiform birds related to modern seriemas but much larger, which filled a niche similar to modern seriemas or secretary birds, albeit on a much larger scale. Given such competition, it would seem that Archaeotherium would have its hands full. However, things are not as they appear. For starters, habitat differences would mitigate high amounts of competition, as both Hyaenodon and the various nimravids occupy more specialized ecological roles (being a plains-specialist and forest-specialist, respectively) than did Archaeotherium, providing a buffer to stave off competition: More importantly, however, none of the aforementioned predators were simply big enough to take Archaeotherium on. During the roughly 7 million years existence of Archaeotherium, the only carnivore that matched it in size was H. megaloides, and even that would have an only applied to average A. mortoni individuals, not to the much larger, bison-sized “Megachoerus” individuals. The next largest predator at that point would be the jaguars-sized Eusmilus (specifically E. adelos) which would have only been a bit more than half the size of even an average A. mortoni. Besides that, virtually every other predator on the landscape was simply outclassed by the much larger entelodont in terms of size and brute strength. As such, within its domain, Archaeotherium had total, unquestioned authority, dominating the other predators in the landscape and likely stealing their kills as well. In fact, just about the only threat Archaeotherium had was other Archaeotherium, as fossil bite marks suggest that this animal regularly and fraglantly engaged in intraspecific combat, usually through face-biting and possibly even jaw-wrestling (Effinger, 1998; Tanke & Currie, 1998). Nevertheless, it was clear that Archaeotherium was the undisputed king of the badlands; in a landscape of hyaenodonts and carnivorans galore, it was a hoofed ungulate that reigned supreme.
However, such a reign would not last. As the Eocene transitioned into the Eocene, the planet underwent an abrupt cooling and drying phase known as Eocene-Oligocene Transition or more simply the Grande Coupure. This change in climate would eliminate the sprawling wetlands and river systems that Archaeotherium had been depending on, gradually replacing it with drier and more open habitats. To its credit, Archaeotherium did manage to hang on, persisting well after the Grand-Coupure had taken place, but in the end the damage had been done; Archaeotherium was a dead-man-walking. Eventually, by around 28 million years ago, Archaeotherium would go extinct, perishing due to this change in global climate (Gillham, 2019). Entelodonts as a whole would persist into the Miocene, producing some of their largest forms ever known in the form of the bison-sized Daeodon (which was itself even more carnivorous than Archaeotherium), however they too would meet the same fate as their earlier cousins. By around 15-20 million years ago, entelodonts as a whole would go extinct. However, while the entelodonts may have perished, this was not the end of carnivorous ungulates as a whole. Recall that the cetacodontamorphs, the lineage of artiodactyls that produced the entelodonts, left behind two living descendants. The first among them were the hippos, themselves fairly frequent herbivores. The second of such lineage, however, was a different story. Emerging out of South Asia, this lineage of piscivorous cetacodontamorphs, in a an attempt to further specialize for the fish-hunting lifestyle, began to delve further and further into the water, becoming more and more aquatic and the millennia passed by. At a certain point, these carnivorous artiodactlys had become something completely unrecognizable from their original hoofed forms. Their skin became hairless and their bodies became streamlined for life in water. Their hoofed limbs grew into giant flippers for steering in the water and their previously tiny tails became massive and sported giant tail flukes for aquatic propulsion. Their noses even moved to the tip of their head, becoming a blowhole that would be signature to this clade as a whole. Indeed, this clade was none other than the modern whales, themselves derived, carnivorous ungulates that had specialized for a life in the water, and in doing so, became the some of the most dominant aquatic predators across the globe for millions of years. Indeed, though long gone, the legacy of the entelodonts and of predatory ungulates as a whole, a legacy Archaeotherium itself had helped foster, lives on in these paragons of predatory prowess, showing that the ungulates are more than just the mere “prey” that they are often made out to be. Moreover, given the success that carnivorous ungulates had enjoyed in the past and given how modern omnivorous ungulates like boar dabble in predation themselves, perhaps, in the distant future, this planet may see the rise of carnivorous ungulates once again, following in the footsteps left behind by Archaeotherium and the other predatory ungulates all those millions of years ago.
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2024.05.14 17:36 AgreeableAd9816 I don’t feel like I have adequate emotional depth and empathy

I had social anxiety up until 4 years ago due to bullying and body image issues. I had a comfortable upbringing, which was rather sheltered. I’m a single child so my parents were and are overprotective. For some reason I don’t feel happiness easily, my default settings seem anger, broodiness, doubt towards and myself.
I have always found it difficult to associate with people, what they feel. For example about 6 years ago my friend showed me a new bracelet she bought expecting me to give a reaction. I just said “oh”, then she had to tell me that I was supposed to say it looks pretty or something in such a situation.
Whatever empathy I’ve learned has been over the past 3 years that too because I was forced to do so when someone I considered my only friend up and left because of my own sabotaging behaviour. I have made a few friends since then, my social life is better but I still feel this sense of disconnect with everything. My internship in medicine opened my eyes to the world and other’s suffering but even now I have to put a lot of effort to communicate and make others comfortable. I feel utterly exhausted later.
Now that I think back to my childhood I remember the good and the bad. My mother was extremely unhappy with her life, my father though good on paper is not good at showing affection. She halted her career progression to appease my father and grandmother , to take care of me. Her career is stagnant though she’s extremely intelligent.
My mother used to say things like “Don’t try to talk, you won’t know what to speak about. I know I can’t expect much from you. I’m disappointed in you, you are not fun to talk to.” All of this inspite of me being an obedient child, who was always appreciated at school for academics. Up until 10 years of age she used to help me study and hit me when I used to do something wrong. It also didn’t help that my parents fought a lot, it didn’t set a good example as to how I should communicate with others.As a result I didn’t communicate unless absolutely necessary at home up until 3 years ago.
My mother used to be affectionate at other times and really strived to make me nice meals and take me on vacations. My father too is very protective of me. I feel like I’m recalling the past because my mother recently asked me not to wear a particular set of clothes again while exercising because someone had commented on me being fat while wearing it. I don’t like that she wants me to take into consideration a stranger’s unsolicited opinion. Mind you I always dress conservatively, mostly in loose fitting clothes. She still says some mean things like “You are stupid”. I literally have to scream to get her attention.To top it all off she still says things like “Why can’t you be happy, you have everything in life “. I really want to move away for residency.
I feel like crying if I think of all this, I keep praying to God to make me feel different. To make me feel like a real human being and not a shell or some kind of android learning to self programme emotions. I was recently watching kimono mom videos and was crying seeing the kind of gentle parenting some children are afforded. I really wish to be a more gentle, happy, fulfilled person.
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2024.05.14 17:32 South-Proposal5691 I kicked my 1st grade teachers poop turd on my way to picture day

Ok, I was listening to the pod (I don’t remember exactly which episode bc I’m listening out of order but) Drew and Enya were talking about the person that shit all over the plane and Drew said something like “I don’t understand how they effortlessly shake the turd out of their pant leg like they’ve been doing it their whole life.”
This reminded me of a memory I BURIED yall so here it is
When I was in 1st grade, my teacher went on maternity leave early because she went into premature labor, so they didn’t have subs lined up and for the week, they just combined both of our small 1st grade classes. The other 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Joan (name drop bc she’s probably dead by now), she was old as actual dinosaur jizz like that bitch was taking her last breath basically.
Anyways, picture day happened and we all went in Mrs. Joan’s room and she had our 2 classes line up with each class next to the other. An important part of the story is that I was this week’s line leader. As we were walking down the hallway, that bitch started STANKIN. So all of us little 6 year olds were holding our noses and laughing like “oh this bitch crop dusting the hell out of us.” So like, I turned back to look at the boy that was standing behind me with my shirt held over my nose, and as I do I see his eyes widen and he points at her ass and when I turned there was a booty hole BULGE.
By this time, my class was convinced that Mrs. Joan wore diapers because she was that damn old. So everyone started chattering that she shat in her diaper. And she was also kinda deaf, so if you talked quietly she couldn’t hear you. But the tea was so hot that she turned back to tell us to quiet down. That turn dislodged the booty bulge and before my little 6 year old brain could process that that bulge was traveling, it rolled out the bottom of her pant leg and plopped onto the carpeted hall in front of me, so close that I couldn’t react and I kicked that damn turd. After that, I stepped out of the way but I think I was in such shock that I didn’t say anything and as I stood to the side, I watched the chaos go down as the people behind me stepped in the turd, more smaller turds fell out, and it all just got crushed into the carpet.
And I do wanna say, this was traumatizing to the point that I remember specific details. That shit turd was not a softy. That was not a “I think it’s a fart.” It wasn’t even something that could have slipped if you genuinely couldn’t hold it anymore. It was a solid scat. And BIG. Like the kind of thing that too much fiber builds in you. This bitch was dehydrated. Which means that unless she has been doing an ungodly amount of anal her entire life, that bitch had some force behind it.
The whole 1-3 grade wing got out of school early and got the next 2 days off because it was so squished in the carpets all up and down that hallway that they had to replace them and it was a biohazard.
Anyways, she wasn’t fired, because our town was so tiny there was literally not a single soul within 100 miles to fill her spot that quickly, but she was asked to not come back next year. And with our town being so small, a lot of the staff and teachers were close friends with my parents so not long after my teacher had her baby, they had a lil get together so that everyone could meet the baby and while us kids were playing, I went in the kitchen to eaves drop and my teacher was talking about the shit situation and I guess Mrs. Joan tried to blame one of us students but she had shit stain skid marks on the back of her ankle and cuff of her pants so she did not get away with it🫶
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