Christmas ornament for deceased loved one
For everything Toradora!
2012.08.12 04:06 ikadono18 For everything Toradora!
Toradora is a Japanese manga/anime series, featuring the kind but scary looking Ryuji Takasu who is in love with Kushieda Minori (Minorin), a care-free softball loving girl, who is friends with Aisaka Taiga (Tenori Taiga), a rich, tsundere that is in love with Kitamura (Takasu's best friend)
2018.08.12 23:35 Rage-o-rama Life After Suicide
This community is designed to help heal the hearts and minds of the survivors of suicide. We are a respectful space for people to grieve and vent their feelings. If you or someone you know have been affected by suicide, you belong.
2021.08.15 23:13 triad1996 r/ripantivaxxer
ripantivaxxer is about responsibility to ourselves, others and the consequences when those responsibilities are not taken seriously or mocked.
2023.03.22 07:27 LingonberryOk560 Not sure to keep asking about toys
Been in a relationship for 15+ years, the love is there, has always been there. However, I've always tried to introduce toys into the relationship and they seem willing, but never overtly excited. I understand for some guys shoving a toy in & out might not be fun for them. They want to use their dick/tongue/fingers etc.. However, I genuinely enjoy toys very much and want him to enjoy using them on me/with me. I want to just ask straight out does this turn you on, but afraid they'll just say Yes/of course because he does love giving pleasure & wants me to be happy. I know it seems odd considering how long we've been together, but yes some conversations are still awkward & this is one of them. I just don't know if I should just use them when alone (not a replacement at all) and stop trying to incorporate it into our sex routine, or keep pushing. Confusing
submitted by LingonberryOk560 to sex [link] [comments]
2023.03.22 07:25 CyberEcstasy Swine Wine
Today was the factory tour. I had won a spot through our local radio station. They were giving out two free passes, but I had no one else to take so I sold the other. I had called mostly out of boredom and to try out my luck. I was, to my surprise, the first to call in.
Pickup was at 9:00 AM. It had been arranged by Ardec & Ordec Winery. The cab had arrived five minutes past the pickup time: a factory van hosting the company logo on its side pulled up. I stared at the large, superimposed face of a larger woman drinking from a glass of wine. Her lips were bright red, her cheeks rosy; hair long and brown.
The door had slid open by itself. Inside, several other guests - I counted seven - greeted me with excited smiles. I stared up at the blistering sun and stepped in. The fresh air conditioning was paradise, and it smelled of lavender. The seats and floors were especially clean, as if someone had meticulously gone through every corner, crevice, and hole.
I introduced myself to the other guests, whom I noticed were holding glasses of freshly poured wine, and they introduced themselves in return. One woman, Maria, had caught my eye; strangely resembling the woman on the side of the van. Before I could utter a word to her, a glass of white wine was handed to me.
"Freshly made," said the man who had handed it to me. "Bottled just this morning."
I gave my thanks, sniffed it, and took a snip. I wasn't a wine connoisseur, but I loved the taste of it. It was exquisite, refreshing, fruity, and sweet. My personal favorite.
The tour group and I chatted on our way to the factory.
I noticed the windows were dark. When I asked why, the same man who had handed me my wine stated, "Long drive, not much to see but countryside."
Seeing the countryside was my favorite part about leaving the city on road trips. But soon, videos advertising Ardec & Ordec wines were projected onto the windows. A young woman, donning a white coat with the factory logo embroidered on a pocket, appeared as b-roll of the factory played behind her. She discussed the process of collecting the swine for winemaking and then a brief overview of what to expect during our factory tour. They gave away very little about the winemaking process, which I appreciated.
We arrived shortly after 9:30.
Upon our arrival, we were offered several more samples of their wine. One in particular, a chardonnay they had said, was especially tasty. I felt partly out of place, unable to engage with the others as they discussed different notes and characteristics of the wine.
A buzz had settled in, though, and soon, I stopped caring. I promised myself I'd enjoy the tour, and think little about whether I could participate or not. The wine tasted good. The fresh, country air was refreshing.
The factory, from what I could see, shielding my eyes from the sun, was its own small town; made up of several tall and large brick buildings. Before we could enter, our tour guide, John, instructed us to put on masks; the kind you see doctors wear.
"It's to help mask the smell," he stated, handing masks out to each member of our group. We put them on quickly, eager to get started with the tour already.
We entered through a side entrance, directly onto the main floor where the swine were housed and their sweat collected for winemaking.
The heat was almost unbearable.
Our tour group had begun to fan themselves with their hats and shirts; some pressed the still-cold wine glasses to their foreheads and cheeks.
John explained the heat was generated by industrial heat lamps. They hovered above the swine and were used to accelerate perspiration. He claimed the sweat was a key and "secret" ingredient used to give the wine its distinct flavor.
Despite the masks, it smelled foul - mostly of bacon when it's cooking and feces. Some of the other guests turned their faces away from where the smell was emanating. John noticed and instructed us to pinch the top of our masks, where the bridge of our noses met. A new smell, one of perfume, quickly replaced the former one.
John smiled up at us. "Better right?"
We nodded in unison and made our way over to a brightly lit hallway.
This hallway was as clean as the van had been. We were instructed to stand under several different shower heads. John said this would help sanitize us, as we might be bringing in germs and bacteria from the outside that could infect and harm the swine.
Finished, we entered the main factory building. It was a large, open space comprised of three rows. Each row contained six large cages where the swine were numbered and housed. The cages were made of thick iron bars and an electric netting above to keep the swine from escaping.
As John had stated, round industrial heat lamps hung from the netting. The cages contained two long troughs: one for feeding and another filled with water. They sat atop a soft, netted floor, where the sweat fell through and collected in large tanks. Large ostomy bags hung from their sides, but some were ripped open; likely from stress.
Beyond this, there was little space for the swine to move around; not that they could have moved much if they had the space.
Some of the swine weighed near 600 pounds - the illegal weight limit for our country - but most were far bigger than this, having been here for so long. They were naked; their bellies full of dirt, dead skin, and grime. Their entire bodies were soaked in sweat. Their backs and scalps were singed from being so close to the heat lamps. Some of the swine had lost their hair from so much pulling, exposing raw patches of scalp that had begun to cook underneath the heat. Flies swarmed around them, feeding and breeding on the exposed flesh.
One in particular, a female, cried out for her mother. She was the smallest of them. Number 23.
John explained she was new and had not yet acclimated to her new home. She was collected at seventeen years old, having reached the illegal weight limit a year earlier but hidden by her mother. The mother, he explained, had been executed.
One of the members of our tour group broke away, teasing number twenty. He looked over at us and, asking John, said, "What happens when they die?"
"Leather," he replied. "And meat."
I looked at my watch, noting the leather band had a small stamp on it: A&O.
Maria approached Number 23, with a look of recognition and sorrow on her face. She held onto one of the bars with a shaky hand.
Before anyone could take notice of her, an older woman approached us with two silver plates of freshly poured wine. They were passed around quickly, as the heat had become truly unbearable at this point. We drank in the wine, savoring more of the taste, just as Number 23 had begun to claw at her thick bed of hair; crying still for her deceased mother.
submitted by CyberEcstasy to nosleep [link] [comments]
Pickup was at 9:00 AM. It had been arranged by Ardec & Ordec Winery. The cab had arrived five minutes past the pickup time: a factory van hosting the company logo on its side pulled up. I stared at the large, superimposed face of a larger woman drinking from a glass of wine. Her lips were bright red, her cheeks rosy; hair long and brown.
The door had slid open by itself. Inside, several other guests - I counted seven - greeted me with excited smiles. I stared up at the blistering sun and stepped in. The fresh air conditioning was paradise, and it smelled of lavender. The seats and floors were especially clean, as if someone had meticulously gone through every corner, crevice, and hole.
I introduced myself to the other guests, whom I noticed were holding glasses of freshly poured wine, and they introduced themselves in return. One woman, Maria, had caught my eye; strangely resembling the woman on the side of the van. Before I could utter a word to her, a glass of white wine was handed to me.
"Freshly made," said the man who had handed it to me. "Bottled just this morning."
I gave my thanks, sniffed it, and took a snip. I wasn't a wine connoisseur, but I loved the taste of it. It was exquisite, refreshing, fruity, and sweet. My personal favorite.
The tour group and I chatted on our way to the factory.
I noticed the windows were dark. When I asked why, the same man who had handed me my wine stated, "Long drive, not much to see but countryside."
Seeing the countryside was my favorite part about leaving the city on road trips. But soon, videos advertising Ardec & Ordec wines were projected onto the windows. A young woman, donning a white coat with the factory logo embroidered on a pocket, appeared as b-roll of the factory played behind her. She discussed the process of collecting the swine for winemaking and then a brief overview of what to expect during our factory tour. They gave away very little about the winemaking process, which I appreciated.
We arrived shortly after 9:30.
Upon our arrival, we were offered several more samples of their wine. One in particular, a chardonnay they had said, was especially tasty. I felt partly out of place, unable to engage with the others as they discussed different notes and characteristics of the wine.
A buzz had settled in, though, and soon, I stopped caring. I promised myself I'd enjoy the tour, and think little about whether I could participate or not. The wine tasted good. The fresh, country air was refreshing.
The factory, from what I could see, shielding my eyes from the sun, was its own small town; made up of several tall and large brick buildings. Before we could enter, our tour guide, John, instructed us to put on masks; the kind you see doctors wear.
"It's to help mask the smell," he stated, handing masks out to each member of our group. We put them on quickly, eager to get started with the tour already.
We entered through a side entrance, directly onto the main floor where the swine were housed and their sweat collected for winemaking.
The heat was almost unbearable.
Our tour group had begun to fan themselves with their hats and shirts; some pressed the still-cold wine glasses to their foreheads and cheeks.
John explained the heat was generated by industrial heat lamps. They hovered above the swine and were used to accelerate perspiration. He claimed the sweat was a key and "secret" ingredient used to give the wine its distinct flavor.
Despite the masks, it smelled foul - mostly of bacon when it's cooking and feces. Some of the other guests turned their faces away from where the smell was emanating. John noticed and instructed us to pinch the top of our masks, where the bridge of our noses met. A new smell, one of perfume, quickly replaced the former one.
John smiled up at us. "Better right?"
We nodded in unison and made our way over to a brightly lit hallway.
This hallway was as clean as the van had been. We were instructed to stand under several different shower heads. John said this would help sanitize us, as we might be bringing in germs and bacteria from the outside that could infect and harm the swine.
Finished, we entered the main factory building. It was a large, open space comprised of three rows. Each row contained six large cages where the swine were numbered and housed. The cages were made of thick iron bars and an electric netting above to keep the swine from escaping.
As John had stated, round industrial heat lamps hung from the netting. The cages contained two long troughs: one for feeding and another filled with water. They sat atop a soft, netted floor, where the sweat fell through and collected in large tanks. Large ostomy bags hung from their sides, but some were ripped open; likely from stress.
Beyond this, there was little space for the swine to move around; not that they could have moved much if they had the space.
Some of the swine weighed near 600 pounds - the illegal weight limit for our country - but most were far bigger than this, having been here for so long. They were naked; their bellies full of dirt, dead skin, and grime. Their entire bodies were soaked in sweat. Their backs and scalps were singed from being so close to the heat lamps. Some of the swine had lost their hair from so much pulling, exposing raw patches of scalp that had begun to cook underneath the heat. Flies swarmed around them, feeding and breeding on the exposed flesh.
One in particular, a female, cried out for her mother. She was the smallest of them. Number 23.
John explained she was new and had not yet acclimated to her new home. She was collected at seventeen years old, having reached the illegal weight limit a year earlier but hidden by her mother. The mother, he explained, had been executed.
One of the members of our tour group broke away, teasing number twenty. He looked over at us and, asking John, said, "What happens when they die?"
"Leather," he replied. "And meat."
I looked at my watch, noting the leather band had a small stamp on it: A&O.
Maria approached Number 23, with a look of recognition and sorrow on her face. She held onto one of the bars with a shaky hand.
Before anyone could take notice of her, an older woman approached us with two silver plates of freshly poured wine. They were passed around quickly, as the heat had become truly unbearable at this point. We drank in the wine, savoring more of the taste, just as Number 23 had begun to claw at her thick bed of hair; crying still for her deceased mother.
2023.03.22 07:25 HughEhhoule The Klink Mike's Story Part 1
Link to original story
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/10meqmh/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_part_1/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Name’s Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that don’t, Jesus I don’t know exactly where to begin.
The Cliff’s notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I won’t try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. I’m not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, I’d seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since I’ve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the world’s unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
“Looks like your little plan didn’t work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didn’t see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? “ Art gloats.
“Cards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you can’t really ‘flip off his lightswitch’ if he didn’t let you screw around with his wiring, can you? “ I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, I’ve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality don’t really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, that’s half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, I’d be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of God’s and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ‘death fears me ‘ persona.
Between you and I? Death doesn’t fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
“Oh, fuck Kev. He’s smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you haven’t seen anything.
I won’t spoil it for you, the devil’s in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isn’t fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I can’t wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. “ Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, “ Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. “
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
“For the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? I’m right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, I’m going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. “ My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
“The ego on you kid, you think you’re that guy don’t you?
They exist, don’t get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isn’t some ‘Arch’ idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Don’t flatter yourself. “ Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
“Before your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I don’t know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldn’t hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. “ I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Art’s knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isn’t heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
“I am, but you will never see that. You’re not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. “ Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, “ Proud of your face paint were you? “
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, it’s presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I don’t know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I don’t care.
I read Kev’s journals, and they paint me in a really… positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, I’m some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, I’d have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
I’m great at seeming horrifying, and that’s a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, I’m already awake. I’ve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
I’ve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other hand…
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesn’t quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasn’t obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me I’ve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I can’t see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but I’m left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ‘civilian’ clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish I’d have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
“You sit with us. “ I can’t tell if it’s an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
“No disrespect intended, I’m not one for clubs. I’m going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. I’m a ghost. “ I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, that’s just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, that’s another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
“Not asking. You got friends. “ The massive clown moves his bulk closer, it’s like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. I’m full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didn’t sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasn’t gentle. My heart races.
“I don’t play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, I’m sure, but the clown part, it’s tacked on.
Myself, I’m a killer clown…. “ I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that don’t speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he let’s me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you don’t want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I don’t want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, “Anything we can help you with? “ he says, fearless.
“Yeah, despite the face work I’ve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I don’t want to get involved in bloodshed.
I’m Mike “ I know, that’s only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
“Chris. “ the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, “Those stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If you’re telling the truth, that’s great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, that’s even better. “ Chris’s tone is mirthless, I read him easily. He’s been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the… reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someone’s soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonight’s events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldn’t give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what I’m in for.
I’m wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, I’ve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, I’m positive I can wing it.
“So, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, it’s more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? “ I stretch, trying to see if I’m getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasn’t nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ‘ last time’, and that’s because up until this moment, I haven’t learned a fucking thing here.
Mike’s first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
“It’s you” the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
I’m not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop it’s arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasn’t in the best of places when I did.
I’ll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, he’s my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kid’s father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wife’s hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasn’t a Saint, but he didn’t do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
“I found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. “ The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
“No kid, don’t think that. “ I mumble, I’m shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
I’m sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
I’d assumed because Art couldn’t screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
“My told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldn’t keep hurting people. “ I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
I’m counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that I’m just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
That’s not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young man’s rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, I’m surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. I’ve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
“This place didn’t bring us here.
We’ve been right next to you for years Mike. We can’t leave. “ The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as I’m pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
I’m a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
… and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
“Junior? “ I say, stunned.
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The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Name’s Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that don’t, Jesus I don’t know exactly where to begin.
The Cliff’s notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I won’t try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. I’m not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, I’d seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since I’ve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the world’s unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
“Looks like your little plan didn’t work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didn’t see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? “ Art gloats.
“Cards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you can’t really ‘flip off his lightswitch’ if he didn’t let you screw around with his wiring, can you? “ I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, I’ve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality don’t really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, that’s half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, I’d be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of God’s and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ‘death fears me ‘ persona.
Between you and I? Death doesn’t fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
“Oh, fuck Kev. He’s smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you haven’t seen anything.
I won’t spoil it for you, the devil’s in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isn’t fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I can’t wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. “ Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, “ Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. “
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
“For the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? I’m right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, I’m going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. “ My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
“The ego on you kid, you think you’re that guy don’t you?
They exist, don’t get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isn’t some ‘Arch’ idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Don’t flatter yourself. “ Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
“Before your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I don’t know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldn’t hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. “ I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Art’s knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isn’t heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
“I am, but you will never see that. You’re not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. “ Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, “ Proud of your face paint were you? “
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, it’s presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I don’t know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I don’t care.
I read Kev’s journals, and they paint me in a really… positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, I’m some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, I’d have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
I’m great at seeming horrifying, and that’s a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, I’m already awake. I’ve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
I’ve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other hand…
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesn’t quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasn’t obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me I’ve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I can’t see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but I’m left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ‘civilian’ clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish I’d have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
“You sit with us. “ I can’t tell if it’s an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
“No disrespect intended, I’m not one for clubs. I’m going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. I’m a ghost. “ I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, that’s just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, that’s another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
“Not asking. You got friends. “ The massive clown moves his bulk closer, it’s like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. I’m full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didn’t sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasn’t gentle. My heart races.
“I don’t play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, I’m sure, but the clown part, it’s tacked on.
Myself, I’m a killer clown…. “ I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that don’t speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he let’s me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you don’t want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I don’t want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, “Anything we can help you with? “ he says, fearless.
“Yeah, despite the face work I’ve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I don’t want to get involved in bloodshed.
I’m Mike “ I know, that’s only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
“Chris. “ the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, “Those stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If you’re telling the truth, that’s great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, that’s even better. “ Chris’s tone is mirthless, I read him easily. He’s been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the… reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someone’s soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonight’s events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldn’t give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what I’m in for.
I’m wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, I’ve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, I’m positive I can wing it.
“So, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, it’s more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? “ I stretch, trying to see if I’m getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasn’t nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ‘ last time’, and that’s because up until this moment, I haven’t learned a fucking thing here.
Mike’s first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
“It’s you” the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
I’m not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop it’s arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasn’t in the best of places when I did.
I’ll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, he’s my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kid’s father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wife’s hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasn’t a Saint, but he didn’t do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
“I found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. “ The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
“No kid, don’t think that. “ I mumble, I’m shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
I’m sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
I’d assumed because Art couldn’t screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
“My told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldn’t keep hurting people. “ I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
I’m counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that I’m just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
That’s not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young man’s rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, I’m surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. I’ve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
“This place didn’t bring us here.
We’ve been right next to you for years Mike. We can’t leave. “ The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as I’m pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
I’m a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
… and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
“Junior? “ I say, stunned.
2023.03.22 07:25 Agitated-Risk-8455 Loosing my mind
I don't know what I'm really looking for, maybe advice, opinions or I'm just venting. Either way taking the time to read this is enough and I appreciate it.
I'm 27F my ex 27F
So I have reddit and have had reddit for a long time. My ex as of yesterday saw I had reddit about a month ago, made an account and was watching me on there. We had a falling out, I don't have many people I can openly talk to so I asked reddit for advice about the relationship. At this point I didn't know my ex was on reddit until she started screenshotting things and sending them to me and her friends. I felt embarrassed and like my place to go had been somewhat taken away. I deleted reddit to make life easier for her as she was worried. I downloaded it again 2 days later without her knowing. She found it again yesterday, searched through my profile, sent screen shots to me and her friends again. She asked if it was me and I flat out lied. I shouldn't have and I hate that I did. I was so angry, I just wanted a place to vent and ask for advice without all my stuff being shared. I told her the truth, it's my reddit account. I feel like a piece of sht for lying and I understand her anger and disappointment towards me. I'm a fuking idiot!
We were together for 4 months. This is a bit about our relationship. Just a snippit as I can't fit everything in.
Whenever we had a disagreement or an argument she would message her group chat and usually before I'm even aware there is a problem, she's already discussed it with her friends. It's not like 1 or 2 friends, from what I'm aware of its atleast 7. This makes me uncomfortable because it was our relationship and I feel she should discuss those things with me. I have no problem with her talking to a friend as I'm aware it's good to talk about things, but I don't have the same back from her. She shares everything with everyone, people she's not even close to and I struggle to understand or relate to this.
She has people on her social media's that want to "get lucky" with her, but refuses to remove them even tho they actively message her. I know if that were me it wouldn't go down well and tbh I wouldn't want to keep people on my socials that were messaging me like that, knowing I was in a relationship.
She wants me to talk about my friends because it's weird that I don't. We're the type of friends that check in every 6 months or so and pick up where we left off. I just don't feel like I need or particularly want to talk about my friends, and I'm sure it's the same for them, we also live hours apart. The 1 time I did go out with a friend she wanted thier first and last name so she could look them up on Facebook. She asked how long I had known this friend have I ever fancied her or done anything along those lines. She talks to alot of people and that might seem like an exaggeration, but it is constant. At one point she told me she always has to have someone else incase we break up. When we first started dating she was seeing someone else incase we didn't work out. These are things that she has told me. At one point she told me no one will ever love or care about me as much as she does. I don't know if it's normal, but I didn't take that very well it kind of upset me.
She's now joined the groups I am in on reddit and has started posting in them, so once again I've lost something that I enjoy and I find helps me. I will have to remove my account, I have blocked her so I can't see her stuff and she can't see mine, but in all honesty I don't trust her to just make another to find me. She didn't want to share her reddit username with me, I only know what it is because she has posted. She hates reddit doesn't understand it, her words, but now she's using it. I guess I just don't understand.
I have let things slide, and stuck by her. I've always chosen her and done what she's asked of me, even things I don't necessarily agree with.
Before this relationship I was with someone who was abusive, so much so I attempted suicide and have had years of therapy for. I was open with my now ex about this and I thought she was understanding, however the last thing she said to me was my previous relationship was my fault. I feel like she's attacking things that are personal to me. I feel like she has dismissed the things I went through in order to hurt me. I let it get to me I went numb and I self harmed and I'm full of regret and guilt.
I'm by no means perfect, and I make mistakes.
I just want to make clear that I had no intentions of cheating, entertaining anything or anyone along those lines. I was happy with her. I use reddit to ask and offer advice, aswel as finding gaming friends and sometimes I'll make a funny comment here and there.
submitted by Agitated-Risk-8455 to LesbianActually [link] [comments]
I'm 27F my ex 27F
So I have reddit and have had reddit for a long time. My ex as of yesterday saw I had reddit about a month ago, made an account and was watching me on there. We had a falling out, I don't have many people I can openly talk to so I asked reddit for advice about the relationship. At this point I didn't know my ex was on reddit until she started screenshotting things and sending them to me and her friends. I felt embarrassed and like my place to go had been somewhat taken away. I deleted reddit to make life easier for her as she was worried. I downloaded it again 2 days later without her knowing. She found it again yesterday, searched through my profile, sent screen shots to me and her friends again. She asked if it was me and I flat out lied. I shouldn't have and I hate that I did. I was so angry, I just wanted a place to vent and ask for advice without all my stuff being shared. I told her the truth, it's my reddit account. I feel like a piece of sht for lying and I understand her anger and disappointment towards me. I'm a fuking idiot!
We were together for 4 months. This is a bit about our relationship. Just a snippit as I can't fit everything in.
Whenever we had a disagreement or an argument she would message her group chat and usually before I'm even aware there is a problem, she's already discussed it with her friends. It's not like 1 or 2 friends, from what I'm aware of its atleast 7. This makes me uncomfortable because it was our relationship and I feel she should discuss those things with me. I have no problem with her talking to a friend as I'm aware it's good to talk about things, but I don't have the same back from her. She shares everything with everyone, people she's not even close to and I struggle to understand or relate to this.
She has people on her social media's that want to "get lucky" with her, but refuses to remove them even tho they actively message her. I know if that were me it wouldn't go down well and tbh I wouldn't want to keep people on my socials that were messaging me like that, knowing I was in a relationship.
She wants me to talk about my friends because it's weird that I don't. We're the type of friends that check in every 6 months or so and pick up where we left off. I just don't feel like I need or particularly want to talk about my friends, and I'm sure it's the same for them, we also live hours apart. The 1 time I did go out with a friend she wanted thier first and last name so she could look them up on Facebook. She asked how long I had known this friend have I ever fancied her or done anything along those lines. She talks to alot of people and that might seem like an exaggeration, but it is constant. At one point she told me she always has to have someone else incase we break up. When we first started dating she was seeing someone else incase we didn't work out. These are things that she has told me. At one point she told me no one will ever love or care about me as much as she does. I don't know if it's normal, but I didn't take that very well it kind of upset me.
She's now joined the groups I am in on reddit and has started posting in them, so once again I've lost something that I enjoy and I find helps me. I will have to remove my account, I have blocked her so I can't see her stuff and she can't see mine, but in all honesty I don't trust her to just make another to find me. She didn't want to share her reddit username with me, I only know what it is because she has posted. She hates reddit doesn't understand it, her words, but now she's using it. I guess I just don't understand.
I have let things slide, and stuck by her. I've always chosen her and done what she's asked of me, even things I don't necessarily agree with.
Before this relationship I was with someone who was abusive, so much so I attempted suicide and have had years of therapy for. I was open with my now ex about this and I thought she was understanding, however the last thing she said to me was my previous relationship was my fault. I feel like she's attacking things that are personal to me. I feel like she has dismissed the things I went through in order to hurt me. I let it get to me I went numb and I self harmed and I'm full of regret and guilt.
I'm by no means perfect, and I make mistakes.
I just want to make clear that I had no intentions of cheating, entertaining anything or anyone along those lines. I was happy with her. I use reddit to ask and offer advice, aswel as finding gaming friends and sometimes I'll make a funny comment here and there.
2023.03.22 07:25 slut4sushii do y’all think destroying things is emotional abuse?
during a confrontation, for example, about lying, my partner just explodes and immediately starts to destroy anything in sight. they act so erratically that they even start to hurt themselves/me or put us both in danger. i try to be as calm and collected and mature as i can but i just can’t win. i am not allowed to express my feelings. i understand no one wants the finger pointed at them but every relationship has some basic expectations…like not lying, being faithful, being kind and loving…..and i end up cleaning the mess every time. i can’t tell you the amount of times i have cleaned up the destruction they cause when they’re angry. it’s not right and it’s scary and let alone humiliating…i don’t know why i can’t just walk away…and when i try to walk away, why do they beg me to stay? why do they threaten me? am i just supposed to be ok with the infidelity? with the neglect? with the hateful words and behavior? i am so lost and i feel like i will never be strong enough to let go because i love them and am holding onto the hope that maybe one day they will realize i’m worth it and decide to treat me correctly. i keep trying to be the best girlfriend i can be by going out if my way to help them and be there for them so they don’t feel alone or abandoned, hoping that they see how much i care. we used to be happy, i used to feel lucky to call this person mine. i’m scared that no one will love me the way they do. this is all over the place, sorry.
submitted by slut4sushii to emotionalabuse [link] [comments]
2023.03.22 07:24 SchoolOver1087 Am curious, what does this verse mean to anyone?
John 3:16
16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
submitted by SchoolOver1087 to Bible [link] [comments]
16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
2023.03.22 07:24 AnyStandard47 Who else gets obssessed over one hobby for awhile and eventually gets burnt out?
I'd love to hear anyone with a similar experience about this. For pretty much my entire life I would usually get obssessed with 1 topic or subject for a varying amount of time until I eventually lose interest. For example for years I really into history. I'd watch a bunch of yt videos, play and watch historical games and movies (even if they were historically innacurate), would research a lot lf topics for fun, draw historical figures, and pretty much spent most days thinking about anything related to history. After about 3 or 4 years I eventually just lost interest. Nowadays while I still like history and would definitely ace a history class, it's not something I obsess over anymore. Last historical activity I did was watch dunkirk like a month ago.
Recently I got obssessed with Superheroes. I read and watch a lot of superhero movies and comics and I pretty much think about it all the time. I am enthusiast for other topics and enjoy other hobbies, but I almost see everything else as "background hobbies" while the current thing I'm obssessed with is my main interest. My brain gets hooked on one thing, sucks it dry and then moves on to the next. It does suck because in 2-4 years I'm probably going to lose interest in superheroes and with it most of the comic books and action figures I've bought.
submitted by AnyStandard47 to CasualConversation [link] [comments]
Recently I got obssessed with Superheroes. I read and watch a lot of superhero movies and comics and I pretty much think about it all the time. I am enthusiast for other topics and enjoy other hobbies, but I almost see everything else as "background hobbies" while the current thing I'm obssessed with is my main interest. My brain gets hooked on one thing, sucks it dry and then moves on to the next. It does suck because in 2-4 years I'm probably going to lose interest in superheroes and with it most of the comic books and action figures I've bought.
2023.03.22 07:24 Unstable_Erection Please tell me what you think about this story so far, the beginning is a little lackluster, but I’m liking the plot I set and I see many routes for some added twists.
A child fell into hell. The demons all seemed puzzled and afraid. Children are barred from being sent to hell, due to the impressionable nature of children. The demons start to panic, terrified to approach the child. He was no more than 3 years old, yet because the demons had never heard of a child being sent to hell they were scared of the child and what he might be capable of. They created a net of sorts and captured the child and took him to the devil. The devil surprised by the child’s presence instantly held the crying child and began trying to calm him down. The surrounding demons gasped and began to cry out, “My lord! Do not touch that child! We don’t know what he can do!” The devil ignored the demons and continued calming the child. Once the child was asleep the devil gathered his most elite and devout subjects and asked them one simple question. “Why do you think this child is here?” The demons all hollered at once overlapping each other. Some proclaimed it was a ploy set by Him, others stated that they should just kill the child right now. The devil simply tapped his finger on his throne and the room fell silent. “I understand your reservations, children are not allowed into this realm so I am curious as as to how the child got here.” “However”, he continued, “this is an opportunity we cannot squander.” The demons all looked puzzled, one of the devils top generals interjected, “Opportunity my lord? With all due respect, how could this abomination be an opportunity?” The devil remained silent for several seconds. Finally he spoke, “Do you not see the stark differences between this child and yourselves? This child still has his human form. All of you used to be humans, but of course because of your actions in your human life you were sent here to this realm. Upon entering this realm your human bodies were confiscated from your trinity; revealing each of your true spiritual identities. This child however, has retained his human form.” The demons groaned, “Yes this is why we need to get rid of the child!” One of the lower demons exclaimed. The devil shook his head. “Don’t you see, He has made a mistake. This will be His downfall. He will do anything to get this child back; once He finds out we have the child of course.” The demons began to snicker. “We can lure Him down here and finally kill Him!” One of the captains screamed. The devil once again shook his head. “I really wish more smart people sinned. You’re thinking too small. I just said He would do ANYTHING to get him back. That means our freedom.” The devil’s top general laughed with a mighty bellow, “My lord I know we aren’t the brightest, but do you hear yourself? He would never release us from this prison for one measly child.” The devil’s anger quickly rose, his eyes turned blood red and suddenly his top general bursted into flames and was turned to dust within seconds. The demons all looked shocked and terrified. That was his number one general with 15 centuries as his right hand man and he just killed him without a second thought. “If anyone would like to laugh like that fool, do it now.” The devil roared. The demons remained silent. “As I was saying He will do anything to protect a child’s soul, especially one that has entered our realm and has retained a human form.” The devil reiterated. After a long pause and some chatter between the demons the devil tapped his throne again, the room fell silent instantly. “Here is the plan, we will keep this child here in hell and keep him secret. I will create humanoid AI and a living space that mimics earth for the child and he will grow not knowing he is in hell or that everyone who has raised him are actually robots. Then when the time is right, we will reveal the child to Him.” The demons became unruly, “if we reveal the child to Him He will just take him away.” The new head general said. The devil looked up towards the ceiling. After a short pause the devil said, “He doesn’t come down here. Do you know why?” The demons stayed silent not answering the question. “He’s afraid.” The devil proclaimed. “Afraid that by coming down here we will somehow taint His perfection. Even though He has used humans for centuries to do His bidding under the guise of love and compassion. We will expose His fakery to this human boy after he has grown some and adopted His religion.” The demons began an uproar “His religion is an abomination!” “Why would we willingly give him another warrior?” The devil smiled one of his most sinister smiles. “Do you not remember a story about a particular fall from grace? This boy shall become the epitome of a human Lucifer. We will first get the boy to believe he is on earth and that he is surrounded by humans just like him. Then we will have the child start to learn about that blasphemous religion. Once he is devout to Him, we will reveal ourselves to the boy and show him what He did to one of his most devout followers. The boy will certainly not be able to hold his anger in and He will hear the boys curses towards Him. At which point He will try to locate the child on earth and when He fails to find the child, well that’s when He will be forced to come to me, for only I can find his fallen soldiers. I will create His most powerful soldier with that boy and then crush everything the child has ever known and declare victory.”
submitted by Unstable_Erection to Feedback [link] [comments]
2023.03.22 07:23 lemondrop7723 I’m so scared. Is this endo?
Hi! First time poster. I’m feeling completely terrified and would love some feedback around my symptoms. I’ll keep it simple(ish).
Period Past: - Period started around 12. They were uncomfortable and HEAVY, but not very painful. - I started the pill around 15 to help with cramps, acne, and heavy flow. - Switched to IUD around 22. Removed at 24. - Worked on hormone health and had super simple periods and good health.
Period Present: - I’m now 32 and have my period every 27-28 days like clockwork. - I have two days of spotting, heavy-to-moderate flow for two days (heavy meaning I may change a Super tampon every 3-4 hours for about 12 hours), light for one day, spotting for two days - I recently got diagnosed with PMDD based solely on depression during my luteal phase. My doctor added some supplements and the depression is resolving quickly. - My cramps have gotten worse over the last year, from absolutely none to moderate now. I usually have a heating pad, ibuprofen, and stick to the couch for about half a day each period. I generally can weight lift and resume activities the rest of my period. I feel fluffy though.
Why I’m Concerned: - I had a random fertility assessment as I want to have kids soon (so desperately 🥺) and thought to get checked due to my age. I have a lot of follicles (27), but my AMH was on the lower end (1.09). I was not on my period during this test, which apparently can change things? She also said my uterine lining was thick (this was one week before my period). The doctor (not my primary gyn) mentioned looking into endometriosis. - During this assessment, they discovered two cysts: one was 2.9cm and the other was 1.5cm. I am unaware of any other cysts in my life. - One week later (last Friday, four days ago), on the first day of my period, I was cooking dinner and got lightheaded. This happens sometimes if I take an edible, so I just laid down. I did not have any cramps at the time. I then went upstairs to change my tampon and immediately felt immense pain…like a cramp from hell. I also felt like I had to poop so I tried and was about 50% productive. But the cramps kept coming and I was blacking out, fainting, screaming in pain, sweating all over my entire body, nauseous, lightheaded. Still trying to poop with little success. The cramps felt how I imagine contractions do…intense for 2-3 minutes, 30 seconds of relief, then again, repeating for about an hour. My husband drove me to the ER at this point as I’m still screaming in pain and couldn’t walk. It didn’t feel like stabbing pain, it felt like cramps deep in my body. - As soon as I get to the ER, I feel 98% fine. Of course. Felt totally fine the rest of the time - Ultrasound comes back normal, no fluid which rules out cyst rupture (I think). I never spoke to a doctor though, just discharged. - Some light cramps the rest of my period and some abdominal discomfort. I was still able to weight lift the next day, run, and live normally. Mostly felt like maybe some gas pains or soreness. Ibuprofen knocked it out. - Finished period today, still slightly sore. My back feels sore, like it’s craving a massage.
Other Thoughts: - I don’t have painful sex unless my partner hits a weird angle and then we resume (idk if that’s normal) - I can’t recall painful poops or pee…maybe? - I sometimes cramp around ovulation, though not significantly - I don’t spot bleed, although I did last year post-COVID vaxx for about 2 months
I have an OB/GYN appointment next week, but between this wild cramp episode, concerning results from my fertility test, and the cysts (with no evidence of rupture), I’m really scared. My life has been a living hell the last 18 months and I’m finally feeling like myself again…until this.
Should I be concerned or am I overthinking?
Thank you. 🤍
submitted by lemondrop7723 to endometriosis [link] [comments]
Period Past: - Period started around 12. They were uncomfortable and HEAVY, but not very painful. - I started the pill around 15 to help with cramps, acne, and heavy flow. - Switched to IUD around 22. Removed at 24. - Worked on hormone health and had super simple periods and good health.
Period Present: - I’m now 32 and have my period every 27-28 days like clockwork. - I have two days of spotting, heavy-to-moderate flow for two days (heavy meaning I may change a Super tampon every 3-4 hours for about 12 hours), light for one day, spotting for two days - I recently got diagnosed with PMDD based solely on depression during my luteal phase. My doctor added some supplements and the depression is resolving quickly. - My cramps have gotten worse over the last year, from absolutely none to moderate now. I usually have a heating pad, ibuprofen, and stick to the couch for about half a day each period. I generally can weight lift and resume activities the rest of my period. I feel fluffy though.
Why I’m Concerned: - I had a random fertility assessment as I want to have kids soon (so desperately 🥺) and thought to get checked due to my age. I have a lot of follicles (27), but my AMH was on the lower end (1.09). I was not on my period during this test, which apparently can change things? She also said my uterine lining was thick (this was one week before my period). The doctor (not my primary gyn) mentioned looking into endometriosis. - During this assessment, they discovered two cysts: one was 2.9cm and the other was 1.5cm. I am unaware of any other cysts in my life. - One week later (last Friday, four days ago), on the first day of my period, I was cooking dinner and got lightheaded. This happens sometimes if I take an edible, so I just laid down. I did not have any cramps at the time. I then went upstairs to change my tampon and immediately felt immense pain…like a cramp from hell. I also felt like I had to poop so I tried and was about 50% productive. But the cramps kept coming and I was blacking out, fainting, screaming in pain, sweating all over my entire body, nauseous, lightheaded. Still trying to poop with little success. The cramps felt how I imagine contractions do…intense for 2-3 minutes, 30 seconds of relief, then again, repeating for about an hour. My husband drove me to the ER at this point as I’m still screaming in pain and couldn’t walk. It didn’t feel like stabbing pain, it felt like cramps deep in my body. - As soon as I get to the ER, I feel 98% fine. Of course. Felt totally fine the rest of the time - Ultrasound comes back normal, no fluid which rules out cyst rupture (I think). I never spoke to a doctor though, just discharged. - Some light cramps the rest of my period and some abdominal discomfort. I was still able to weight lift the next day, run, and live normally. Mostly felt like maybe some gas pains or soreness. Ibuprofen knocked it out. - Finished period today, still slightly sore. My back feels sore, like it’s craving a massage.
Other Thoughts: - I don’t have painful sex unless my partner hits a weird angle and then we resume (idk if that’s normal) - I can’t recall painful poops or pee…maybe? - I sometimes cramp around ovulation, though not significantly - I don’t spot bleed, although I did last year post-COVID vaxx for about 2 months
I have an OB/GYN appointment next week, but between this wild cramp episode, concerning results from my fertility test, and the cysts (with no evidence of rupture), I’m really scared. My life has been a living hell the last 18 months and I’m finally feeling like myself again…until this.
Should I be concerned or am I overthinking?
Thank you. 🤍
2023.03.22 07:23 Personalhealth1 Happy Chaitra Navratri 2023
 | Navratri is a Hindu festival that celebrates the victory of good over evil. During this nine-day festival, devotees worship the goddess Durga and seek her blessings for prosperity and happiness. It is a time for family gatherings, feasting, and dancing. If you want to send Navratri wishes to your loved ones, you can say, "May the blessings of Maa Durga bring happiness, peace, and prosperity to your life. Happy Navratri!" submitted by Personalhealth1 to u/Personalhealth1 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/bz5883znh8pa1.jpg?width=940&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=89f00cdbb4d28e6a0b75d9dd450ca3ef397a6cb5 |
2023.03.22 07:22 WastedLife2023_ can someone draw one of my very strange ocs?
Kenta Light
he is a normal 16 year old overweight japanese boy who was given powers by the god of female. and with these powers when he activates them. he becomes a cat girl with cat like abilities. and also when he becomes a cat girl. he swaps genders and species and also in that cat girl form he is 19 years old. and he also was chosen by the god of female to deliver her justice to those evil doers who want to harm others. here is his cat girl her form. Kitty Love-Heart. and also the last one i have to talk about is God Of Female. she created all females ever in the universe. and she has knowledge of all things in the universe. she also can give others some of her powers. she only gave the boy Kenta 000.1% of her powers. anyways yeah. would anyone like to draw any one of theses ocs for me?
submitted by WastedLife2023_ to ICanDrawThat [link] [comments]
he is a normal 16 year old overweight japanese boy who was given powers by the god of female. and with these powers when he activates them. he becomes a cat girl with cat like abilities. and also when he becomes a cat girl. he swaps genders and species and also in that cat girl form he is 19 years old. and he also was chosen by the god of female to deliver her justice to those evil doers who want to harm others. here is his cat girl her form. Kitty Love-Heart. and also the last one i have to talk about is God Of Female. she created all females ever in the universe. and she has knowledge of all things in the universe. she also can give others some of her powers. she only gave the boy Kenta 000.1% of her powers. anyways yeah. would anyone like to draw any one of theses ocs for me?
2023.03.22 07:21 Expecting_The_Best New adventure, jump for the joy of life
I'm lookin for a kick in the ass kind of. I realize having a woman in my life and starting a family would fuel a lot in my determination.
About me:
Now I am going to talk myself up something fierce here, but take every bit of information you read as my inner truth. While I don't mean that in a way of "personal truth which affects no one but me and my little world", but inner truth that is a reality which affects the outer.
I am a creative, writer, and overall lowkey genius type. I have lots of multi-million dollar projects on my drawing board and a to-dolist which includes being big on a level not reflecting my current status in life. Honestly I am motivated on a level, but I procrastinate a ton and now that I am 40, I'm really finding the desire to shift gears. I'm way past the stage of saying I have potential as it just sounds a bit pathetic at my age. So thats my current motivation and its probably enough. That being said I am just throwing this last bit of fishing line out there before I become the stable individual whom I know will have no trouble finding a woman. I think what I want is a connection with someone who can see me for who I am without any financial showings. I'm deeply into people and I want someone who connects with me in the logical world. A meeting of the minds is more important to me than status or lifestyle. As I am a person who has lived many different lives in my little 40 years on this earth, one thing I do know is that change is the only constant. I fully expect whomever I am with to be capable of growing and adapting as I have.
So in short: I am a fully realized being who is capable of both emotional intelligence and indepth human connection. I find my balance in both emotion and logic is a thriving for both man and woman. I'm all about balance and logic. I'm a capricorn. I have a deep love of God and I always strive to understand more about the great puzzle of life. (not in any traditional religious sense) Not mediocre in any sense of my mental understandings and I want to start a family because I know that I have a lot to give in regards to my knowledge and understanding. Not really a direction most average people are looking for. I have no kids atm and I have always wanted to get that part of my life right. I know that I want my kids to grow up never knowing poverty so I know that would be a great motivation and doing things for others has always been a great motivator for me.
submitted by Expecting_The_Best to Arrangedmarriage [link] [comments]
About me:
Now I am going to talk myself up something fierce here, but take every bit of information you read as my inner truth. While I don't mean that in a way of "personal truth which affects no one but me and my little world", but inner truth that is a reality which affects the outer.
I am a creative, writer, and overall lowkey genius type. I have lots of multi-million dollar projects on my drawing board and a to-dolist which includes being big on a level not reflecting my current status in life. Honestly I am motivated on a level, but I procrastinate a ton and now that I am 40, I'm really finding the desire to shift gears. I'm way past the stage of saying I have potential as it just sounds a bit pathetic at my age. So thats my current motivation and its probably enough. That being said I am just throwing this last bit of fishing line out there before I become the stable individual whom I know will have no trouble finding a woman. I think what I want is a connection with someone who can see me for who I am without any financial showings. I'm deeply into people and I want someone who connects with me in the logical world. A meeting of the minds is more important to me than status or lifestyle. As I am a person who has lived many different lives in my little 40 years on this earth, one thing I do know is that change is the only constant. I fully expect whomever I am with to be capable of growing and adapting as I have.
So in short: I am a fully realized being who is capable of both emotional intelligence and indepth human connection. I find my balance in both emotion and logic is a thriving for both man and woman. I'm all about balance and logic. I'm a capricorn. I have a deep love of God and I always strive to understand more about the great puzzle of life. (not in any traditional religious sense) Not mediocre in any sense of my mental understandings and I want to start a family because I know that I have a lot to give in regards to my knowledge and understanding. Not really a direction most average people are looking for. I have no kids atm and I have always wanted to get that part of my life right. I know that I want my kids to grow up never knowing poverty so I know that would be a great motivation and doing things for others has always been a great motivator for me.
2023.03.22 07:21 Jessie-bunny A failing relationship
Hello I'm not sure if this is the right place to post this but I need to get it off my chest. So I've been seeing this guy (M22) and I am an 18f. Now for a backstory I've know him for about three year and in the last year I've grown feelings for him. We ended up dating and well we dated we met another couple over PSN (we are both gamers) well a month passes and him and the female (15 when we met 16 as of last week or so) had seem to get clos. Well I don't usually mind especially if it's a "Hey let's game" situation it grew into more then just that, from him getting her Instagram, discord and Snapchat. Again I was uncomfortable but never said anything as I didn't have proof of anything actually happening other than just them gaming. When her and her boyfriend (17) broke up I noticed an increase in her and my bf (22) playing a lot more one on one and me and his play time decrease to about two hours once every other week, and our chats going longer and longer without being open (his end) he went from an immediate response to anything I said or asked to nothing at all for a few hours if I'm lucky. She recently had a birthday (turned 16) and since her birthday her and his Snapchat emoji has when from black to super BFF's and although he tells me he loves me and what's me as the mother of his children I'm highly uncomfortable with this and it makes me feel something more is going on between them than just a "hey let's play" or a meme spam between each other.
Please if anyone has advice please tell me
submitted by Jessie-bunny to WhatShouldIDo [link] [comments]
Please if anyone has advice please tell me
2023.03.22 07:21 Kirito-112 M/21 looking for [friendship]
Hey hooo, :)
I'm looking for longperm friendship, or people who want to write for a longer period of time. We can talk about everthing! We can talk About books, movies, videogames, hobbies, deep talks and so on:D I'm open to everthing. I can also just listen to you buddy. Also I like to help people. I like listening to other people's stories. And I can talk you're my story;)
My intrests are photography, read books, listen music, play videogames, I'm a big overthinker and I'm a voluntary firefighter from Germany:))) I'm interested in everything that has to do with emergency vehicles and emergency services:D I also love star wars.
My English is not so good but I want to work on it;D That's also one of the reasons why I try to meet new people here.
I would prefer someone from Europe because of the time difference. But if you not it's ok:) Please only write me if you are interested in something longer term. It's sobering if you only write to each other for a short time please introduce yourself when you write to me and what your looking for:)
If something appeals to you or interests you then just write to me:D
submitted by Kirito-112 to MeetPeople [link] [comments]
I'm looking for longperm friendship, or people who want to write for a longer period of time. We can talk about everthing! We can talk About books, movies, videogames, hobbies, deep talks and so on:D I'm open to everthing. I can also just listen to you buddy. Also I like to help people. I like listening to other people's stories. And I can talk you're my story;)
My intrests are photography, read books, listen music, play videogames, I'm a big overthinker and I'm a voluntary firefighter from Germany:))) I'm interested in everything that has to do with emergency vehicles and emergency services:D I also love star wars.
My English is not so good but I want to work on it;D That's also one of the reasons why I try to meet new people here.
I would prefer someone from Europe because of the time difference. But if you not it's ok:) Please only write me if you are interested in something longer term. It's sobering if you only write to each other for a short time please introduce yourself when you write to me and what your looking for:)
If something appeals to you or interests you then just write to me:D
2023.03.22 07:20 minidisc3000 I've been a KPOP DJ for 6 years. Ask me anything!
Hello. KPOP DJ here. I hope you all are doing well.
I won't disclose who I am because this account is more or less supposed to be a throwaway, but I recently have come across this subreddit and thought I'd share my two cents about what's been going on when it comes to KPOP Nights that have been happening in general in the last couple of years. I also want to answer some questions that some people may have.
I've been a DJ'ing for the last 6 years. I got a good start doing KPOP Nights at one of my favorite clubs in my city and basically have been hosting and doing shows since then. I've traveled to different cities and worked at different festivals. I even have had the opportunity to work with a few KPOP artists. Most of the shows I do are pretty fun. I prioritize and take great pride in simple mixes in between songs and incorporate music videos in my sets whenever I can. It makes it easier for me workflow wise and I think people tend to have a good time. It's also hard work.
I've worked with both UH2T and KPOP CLUB NIGHT (ran by POPGOESTHEWORLD) in the past as a DJ for their events. If you are unfamiliar with either of these entities, they basically talk with LiveNation or some other third party venue acquisition company and hold KPOP Night events at these venues all over North America. These venues include places like House of Blues arenas, Irving Plaza and etc, places that can hold up to a 1000 people or more. The nights are similar to what many have seen with stuff like Shrek Rave, Spongebob Squarepants rave and a host of other themed raves. I had the pleasure of covering shows for both, but personally prefer working with the good people at KPOP CLUB NIGHT because the owner of that company actually likes KPOP and when I had the opportunity to cover for their shows, the hospitality was always top notch.
With UH2BT, I can tell that the owner of the company is simply looking for a cash grab. Making requests for accommodations that should be standard and simple feels like pulling teeth.
I personally prefer doing smaller KPOP NIGHTS at smaller clubs and venues in my city, because it feels like you're more so growing a community as opposed to just playing music for a large crowd. I also really enjoy playing at cupsleeve events, vendor events and at Boba shops. There have been some ups and downs over the years, but I honestly wouldn't change anything. I enjoy what I do. I have been feeling like I should be doing something different lately but I don't see myself stopping anytime soon.
I started listening to KPOP shortly after I got into J-POP and JRock. Back in the day, we had this channel called the International Channel. On certain nights or mornings, you could catch Japanese and Korean music shows, so thats where I got hooked. I listened to some stuff on and off. Believe it or not, the first K-POP song I remember hearing was Baby VOX's "Xcstacy," which illegaly sampled and featured 2pac on the song. I remember seeing the video and being floored. After that I started digging. I discovered groups like Dynamic Duo, Big Bang, Se7en, TVXQ, Epik High and Girl's Generation. I remember hearing Gee being played on the radio when I was in college. It was surreal. Now it's everywhere. Currently, my favorite groups/artists are Red Velvet, Twice, BTS, Seventeen, Nieah, Hoody, Yummda, Jay Park, Jessi and ITZY.
During my sets, I play some of this stuff today, but if I'm being honest, a lot of the new audiences that are tuning in to KPOP now may consider 2nd gen KPOP to be too old and won't vibe with it as much. I also feel like people who go to KPOP Nights typically don't like to hear too much Korean Hip Hop or R&B. I usually play mid to late in the 3rd gen and 4th gen KPOP. I try to please everyone that comes to my events and make myself open to requests. Lately, my goal is to host a full-on KHH night at a small speakeasy in my city soon and grow that into something bigger.
Anyways, I won't write too long because I know you all have some questions about KPOP Nights in general and about how DJ's typically approach their work. I've seen some good and I've seen some bad. I have plenty of stories to share and have some opinions about certain fandoms in the wild, so just ask. I will be very blunt. I also would love to hear your opinions about KPOP Nights in general and if you have any of these type of events in your city at all. I'd be down to pass on some info to industry people if you have ideas, suggestions. I will try to respond to everyone who has a question.
If you'd like to follow my work, message me privately and I'll share some links. I just don't feel comfortable or right self promoting myself on this post.
Thanks.
submitted by minidisc3000 to kpopthoughts [link] [comments]
I won't disclose who I am because this account is more or less supposed to be a throwaway, but I recently have come across this subreddit and thought I'd share my two cents about what's been going on when it comes to KPOP Nights that have been happening in general in the last couple of years. I also want to answer some questions that some people may have.
I've been a DJ'ing for the last 6 years. I got a good start doing KPOP Nights at one of my favorite clubs in my city and basically have been hosting and doing shows since then. I've traveled to different cities and worked at different festivals. I even have had the opportunity to work with a few KPOP artists. Most of the shows I do are pretty fun. I prioritize and take great pride in simple mixes in between songs and incorporate music videos in my sets whenever I can. It makes it easier for me workflow wise and I think people tend to have a good time. It's also hard work.
I've worked with both UH2T and KPOP CLUB NIGHT (ran by POPGOESTHEWORLD) in the past as a DJ for their events. If you are unfamiliar with either of these entities, they basically talk with LiveNation or some other third party venue acquisition company and hold KPOP Night events at these venues all over North America. These venues include places like House of Blues arenas, Irving Plaza and etc, places that can hold up to a 1000 people or more. The nights are similar to what many have seen with stuff like Shrek Rave, Spongebob Squarepants rave and a host of other themed raves. I had the pleasure of covering shows for both, but personally prefer working with the good people at KPOP CLUB NIGHT because the owner of that company actually likes KPOP and when I had the opportunity to cover for their shows, the hospitality was always top notch.
With UH2BT, I can tell that the owner of the company is simply looking for a cash grab. Making requests for accommodations that should be standard and simple feels like pulling teeth.
I personally prefer doing smaller KPOP NIGHTS at smaller clubs and venues in my city, because it feels like you're more so growing a community as opposed to just playing music for a large crowd. I also really enjoy playing at cupsleeve events, vendor events and at Boba shops. There have been some ups and downs over the years, but I honestly wouldn't change anything. I enjoy what I do. I have been feeling like I should be doing something different lately but I don't see myself stopping anytime soon.
I started listening to KPOP shortly after I got into J-POP and JRock. Back in the day, we had this channel called the International Channel. On certain nights or mornings, you could catch Japanese and Korean music shows, so thats where I got hooked. I listened to some stuff on and off. Believe it or not, the first K-POP song I remember hearing was Baby VOX's "Xcstacy," which illegaly sampled and featured 2pac on the song. I remember seeing the video and being floored. After that I started digging. I discovered groups like Dynamic Duo, Big Bang, Se7en, TVXQ, Epik High and Girl's Generation. I remember hearing Gee being played on the radio when I was in college. It was surreal. Now it's everywhere. Currently, my favorite groups/artists are Red Velvet, Twice, BTS, Seventeen, Nieah, Hoody, Yummda, Jay Park, Jessi and ITZY.
During my sets, I play some of this stuff today, but if I'm being honest, a lot of the new audiences that are tuning in to KPOP now may consider 2nd gen KPOP to be too old and won't vibe with it as much. I also feel like people who go to KPOP Nights typically don't like to hear too much Korean Hip Hop or R&B. I usually play mid to late in the 3rd gen and 4th gen KPOP. I try to please everyone that comes to my events and make myself open to requests. Lately, my goal is to host a full-on KHH night at a small speakeasy in my city soon and grow that into something bigger.
Anyways, I won't write too long because I know you all have some questions about KPOP Nights in general and about how DJ's typically approach their work. I've seen some good and I've seen some bad. I have plenty of stories to share and have some opinions about certain fandoms in the wild, so just ask. I will be very blunt. I also would love to hear your opinions about KPOP Nights in general and if you have any of these type of events in your city at all. I'd be down to pass on some info to industry people if you have ideas, suggestions. I will try to respond to everyone who has a question.
If you'd like to follow my work, message me privately and I'll share some links. I just don't feel comfortable or right self promoting myself on this post.
Thanks.
2023.03.22 07:20 Kirito-112 [21/M] looking for friendship
Hello there, :)
I'm looking for longperm friendship, or people who want to write for a longer period of time. We can talk about everthing! We can talk About books, movies, videogames, hobbies, deep talks and so on:D I'm open to everthing. I can also just listen to you buddy. Also I like to help people. I like listening to other people's stories. And I can talk you're my story;)
My intrests are photography, read books, listen music, play videogames, I'm a big overthinker and I'm a voluntary firefighter from Germany:))) I'm interested in everything that has to do with emergency vehicles and emergency services:D I also love star wars.
My English is not so good but I want to work on it;D That's also one of the reasons why I try to meet new people here.
I would prefer someone from Europe because of the time difference. But if you not it's ok:)
Please only write me if you are interested in something longer term. It's sobering if you only write to each other for a short time
please introduce yourself when you write to me and what your looking for:)
If something appeals to you or interests you then just write to me:D
submitted by Kirito-112 to MeetNewPeopleHere [link] [comments]
I'm looking for longperm friendship, or people who want to write for a longer period of time. We can talk about everthing! We can talk About books, movies, videogames, hobbies, deep talks and so on:D I'm open to everthing. I can also just listen to you buddy. Also I like to help people. I like listening to other people's stories. And I can talk you're my story;)
My intrests are photography, read books, listen music, play videogames, I'm a big overthinker and I'm a voluntary firefighter from Germany:))) I'm interested in everything that has to do with emergency vehicles and emergency services:D I also love star wars.
My English is not so good but I want to work on it;D That's also one of the reasons why I try to meet new people here.
I would prefer someone from Europe because of the time difference. But if you not it's ok:)
Please only write me if you are interested in something longer term. It's sobering if you only write to each other for a short time
please introduce yourself when you write to me and what your looking for:)
If something appeals to you or interests you then just write to me:D
2023.03.22 07:20 Beau_Buffett My raft so far
This is where I'm at:
https://imgur.com/a/zSihCRr
https://imgur.com/a/fM6IpkG
https://imgur.com/a/ch1Avzz
https://imgur.com/a/Tr8dR0V
A couple of fundamental ideas that this mess is based upon:
-I knew early that draw distance can affect your game speed, so I wanted things spread out.
-I still wanted to be able to see my core raft from the days when I wasn't sure I would survive.
-I wanted to have silly physics that didn't make sense. The upper 80% of what you see is attached to one staircase.
And:
-I love this game to death and have plans that will take forever playing solo and gathering materials.
-It's really hard to see all the things I've put in here but want to save that for the day it's finished. This is just a teaser.
-I still haven't found one tiki head and that makes me crazy.
I'm switching into creative mode because I'm tired of harvesting and just want to spend my time building. I want to thank the devs for the climbing zipline because that's what makes the upper areas easier to develop.
submitted by Beau_Buffett to RaftTheGame [link] [comments]
https://imgur.com/a/zSihCRr
https://imgur.com/a/fM6IpkG
https://imgur.com/a/ch1Avzz
https://imgur.com/a/Tr8dR0V
A couple of fundamental ideas that this mess is based upon:
-I knew early that draw distance can affect your game speed, so I wanted things spread out.
-I still wanted to be able to see my core raft from the days when I wasn't sure I would survive.
-I wanted to have silly physics that didn't make sense. The upper 80% of what you see is attached to one staircase.
And:
-I love this game to death and have plans that will take forever playing solo and gathering materials.
-It's really hard to see all the things I've put in here but want to save that for the day it's finished. This is just a teaser.
-I still haven't found one tiki head and that makes me crazy.
I'm switching into creative mode because I'm tired of harvesting and just want to spend my time building. I want to thank the devs for the climbing zipline because that's what makes the upper areas easier to develop.
2023.03.22 07:20 JustMadeThus New to Blood Meridian, question about Captain White?
[minor spoilers] I’m new to Westerns, but Blood Meridian lives up to and exceeds the praise I heard about it. Matter of fact, it’s maybe not even a Western. The Man with no Name Trilogy is a Spaghetti Western. Unforgiven is an anti-Western. Is Blood Meridian an anti-Western?
Whatever it is, somehow it feels both incredibly brutal and incredibly Theological. Those things are part of being human I guess?
Little details matter in this book. We learn Toadvine got branded on his face for committing a crime, but the extra detail that explains the branding iron was left on a bit too long really highlights the world of violence we’re in for.
Which brings me to my question about Captain White! (About time lol). My interpretation, I don’t mean to offend anyone who’s patriotic about the U.S. Military, so keep that in mind as I explain what his character means to me.
The boy cracks bottles over the head and gouges out the eye of a bartender who doesn’t “speak American” and it’s all based on a misunderstanding. This violence could have been avoided, but we choose our path in life and the boy’s path leads him to pass out drunk in a church.
Ironically enough, this senseless act of violence gets him noticed by Captain White’s recruiter. For consequentialist reasons and not moral ones, the boy agrees to meet Captain White.
I believe Captain White represents the ugly side of Protestantism and Racism being used as justifications for war in American History. The contradictory way he talks about Mexico, the way he mentions the Monroe doctrine, his implication that Mexicans “deserve” to be governed by civilized White Protestant Christians.
I think there’s a reason the author compares men of God to men of War.
Now my bias may be showing here from my Christian faith.
I mentioned this book is very Theological. I personally think McCarthy wants to believe in Jesus and/or a higher power of some kind, but the ugliness of history makes it hard for him to do so.
…does any of this make any sense? I love this book, and if my interpretation is wrong, feel free to brand me with an iron that says “TR” for talkative redditor. Lol.
submitted by JustMadeThus to cormacmccarthy [link] [comments]
Whatever it is, somehow it feels both incredibly brutal and incredibly Theological. Those things are part of being human I guess?
Little details matter in this book. We learn Toadvine got branded on his face for committing a crime, but the extra detail that explains the branding iron was left on a bit too long really highlights the world of violence we’re in for.
Which brings me to my question about Captain White! (About time lol). My interpretation, I don’t mean to offend anyone who’s patriotic about the U.S. Military, so keep that in mind as I explain what his character means to me.
The boy cracks bottles over the head and gouges out the eye of a bartender who doesn’t “speak American” and it’s all based on a misunderstanding. This violence could have been avoided, but we choose our path in life and the boy’s path leads him to pass out drunk in a church.
Ironically enough, this senseless act of violence gets him noticed by Captain White’s recruiter. For consequentialist reasons and not moral ones, the boy agrees to meet Captain White.
I believe Captain White represents the ugly side of Protestantism and Racism being used as justifications for war in American History. The contradictory way he talks about Mexico, the way he mentions the Monroe doctrine, his implication that Mexicans “deserve” to be governed by civilized White Protestant Christians.
I think there’s a reason the author compares men of God to men of War.
Now my bias may be showing here from my Christian faith.
I mentioned this book is very Theological. I personally think McCarthy wants to believe in Jesus and/or a higher power of some kind, but the ugliness of history makes it hard for him to do so.
…does any of this make any sense? I love this book, and if my interpretation is wrong, feel free to brand me with an iron that says “TR” for talkative redditor. Lol.
2023.03.22 07:20 Crimson_roses1 Please Critique my MC memory chapter
Peyre was a miracle.
Years before he was born, Cecilia’s mother had gotten sick. It was a terrible sickness that stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her legs. She was trapped in her bed for months with no real news from the doctors and consultants.
Cecilia would watch strangers from all corners of the world walk into the room her mother was trapped in. They had all kinds of education and spiritual presence. Monks from Theai-Tror, witch doctors from Astium, and highly skilled doctors from Caskel. Every single one of them walked out, shaking their heads and whispering soft apologies to her father.
They would give Cecilia a sad look or give her a small toy to make her feel better. Cecilia hated them. Hated the piles of empty promises in her room. She would listen to them tell her father over and over and over again, that there was nothing they could do.
One day, a new doctor arrived at the house. A tall imposing woman whose reddish-brown skin stuck out among the pale faces around her. She spoke slow and loudly, her thick speech not used to Otril’s delicate language.
The woman introduced herself as Balke, the chosen shaman of Scoaya. Balke had heard of the sickness plaguing the matron of the La Dubois family and left her country to help. Cecilia’s father was wary, beaten down by failure after failure, but he led Balke to his wife.
It was hours before the shaman left the room. The sky had darkened and a quiet hush fell around the mountain valley. When Balke came out, she was smiling. Two streaks of ash were smeared under her eyes and down her cheeks. She grabbed Cecilia’s father’s hands and held them for a moment, head bowed. Balke explained the sickness to him, telling him that his wife would recover if her faith was strong enough. In the same breath, the shaman explained how she wouldn’t be able to have another child.
After Balke had left, Cecilia snuck into her mother’s room. She saw her father standing over the bedridden woman, holding her limp hand in his own. She listened to him quietly whisper her name.
“Lecia.”
It was the first time Cecilia had really seen her mother after she fell ill. Her once vibrant red hair was dulled and her pale skin had a sickly sheen. Her brown eyes were dull and full of tears as she looked at her husband.
Cecilia’s mother did eventually recover, yet she could still barely stand or walk. Anyone could tell the sickness had an effect on her by looking at her eyes. They had dulled permanently, left unfocused and dazed as if she was in another world. Her mother didn’t smile, didn’t react to Cecilia when she tried to hold her hand or speak to her. Her father said that her heart was broken, torn to a point neither of them could fix it.
Then Peyre was born. Seven years after Cecilia, two years after being told he would never be.
After two years, Her mother smiled.
Peyre was small, with soft brown hair and blue eyes. He was the apple of their mother’s eye; a cherished angel sent from the Goddess.
He was a gift, sent from the Goddess herself. It was the only explanation. Cecilia could have hated him, yet she didn’t. For two years she was ignored and shunned by her mother, unable to make her smile. But Peyre did.
So Cecilia didn’t hate him. He brought back the mother she missed, healed her broken heart. She cherished her little brother, loved him with every ounce she could.
The day her family was attacked, Cecilia understood what her mother went through. The pain she had felt; a pain so strong it felt like Guillaume pulled her heart out with his bare hands. A pain that left her numb. A pain that left a hole in her chest. A hole that was ripped open little by little every time she looked at Guillaume.
This hole in Cecilia’s chest was not filled with a mind-numbing depression like her mother. Hers was filled with rage. A bitter, burning anger at Guillaume. An anger at the Goddess who gave her family a miracle with one hand and stabbed them in the back with the other.
Cecilia’s heart was consumed with a dark anger that festered in the background.
submitted by Crimson_roses1 to fantasywriters [link] [comments]
Years before he was born, Cecilia’s mother had gotten sick. It was a terrible sickness that stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her legs. She was trapped in her bed for months with no real news from the doctors and consultants.
Cecilia would watch strangers from all corners of the world walk into the room her mother was trapped in. They had all kinds of education and spiritual presence. Monks from Theai-Tror, witch doctors from Astium, and highly skilled doctors from Caskel. Every single one of them walked out, shaking their heads and whispering soft apologies to her father.
They would give Cecilia a sad look or give her a small toy to make her feel better. Cecilia hated them. Hated the piles of empty promises in her room. She would listen to them tell her father over and over and over again, that there was nothing they could do.
One day, a new doctor arrived at the house. A tall imposing woman whose reddish-brown skin stuck out among the pale faces around her. She spoke slow and loudly, her thick speech not used to Otril’s delicate language.
The woman introduced herself as Balke, the chosen shaman of Scoaya. Balke had heard of the sickness plaguing the matron of the La Dubois family and left her country to help. Cecilia’s father was wary, beaten down by failure after failure, but he led Balke to his wife.
It was hours before the shaman left the room. The sky had darkened and a quiet hush fell around the mountain valley. When Balke came out, she was smiling. Two streaks of ash were smeared under her eyes and down her cheeks. She grabbed Cecilia’s father’s hands and held them for a moment, head bowed. Balke explained the sickness to him, telling him that his wife would recover if her faith was strong enough. In the same breath, the shaman explained how she wouldn’t be able to have another child.
After Balke had left, Cecilia snuck into her mother’s room. She saw her father standing over the bedridden woman, holding her limp hand in his own. She listened to him quietly whisper her name.
“Lecia.”
It was the first time Cecilia had really seen her mother after she fell ill. Her once vibrant red hair was dulled and her pale skin had a sickly sheen. Her brown eyes were dull and full of tears as she looked at her husband.
Cecilia’s mother did eventually recover, yet she could still barely stand or walk. Anyone could tell the sickness had an effect on her by looking at her eyes. They had dulled permanently, left unfocused and dazed as if she was in another world. Her mother didn’t smile, didn’t react to Cecilia when she tried to hold her hand or speak to her. Her father said that her heart was broken, torn to a point neither of them could fix it.
Then Peyre was born. Seven years after Cecilia, two years after being told he would never be.
After two years, Her mother smiled.
Peyre was small, with soft brown hair and blue eyes. He was the apple of their mother’s eye; a cherished angel sent from the Goddess.
He was a gift, sent from the Goddess herself. It was the only explanation. Cecilia could have hated him, yet she didn’t. For two years she was ignored and shunned by her mother, unable to make her smile. But Peyre did.
So Cecilia didn’t hate him. He brought back the mother she missed, healed her broken heart. She cherished her little brother, loved him with every ounce she could.
The day her family was attacked, Cecilia understood what her mother went through. The pain she had felt; a pain so strong it felt like Guillaume pulled her heart out with his bare hands. A pain that left her numb. A pain that left a hole in her chest. A hole that was ripped open little by little every time she looked at Guillaume.
This hole in Cecilia’s chest was not filled with a mind-numbing depression like her mother. Hers was filled with rage. A bitter, burning anger at Guillaume. An anger at the Goddess who gave her family a miracle with one hand and stabbed them in the back with the other.
Cecilia’s heart was consumed with a dark anger that festered in the background.
2023.03.22 07:20 AutoModerator [Get] Dan Koe – Digital Economics Masters Degree Full Course Download
![[Get] Dan Koe – Digital Economics Masters Degree Full Course Download](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/4qevSf0xxID_IZtLVGuPvElLwqQDF1Ez50ZfrGwjoJg.jpg "[Get] Dan Koe – Digital Economics Masters Degree Full Course Download") | Get the course here: https://www.genkicourses.com/product/dan-koe-digital-economics-masters-degree/ Dan Koe – Digital Economics Masters Degree submitted by AutoModerator to Affordable_Courses [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/e5bm5i19z5pa1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b38f3d722558909f9bfa22127af1347efd52b4ef What You Get Phase 0) Digital Economics 101 The Digital Economics 101 module will open 1 week prior to the cohort start date.This is an onboarding module that will get you up to speed so we can get straight into the material.This will be required to finish before the start date.
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2023.03.22 07:20 Ryanlilman Coming from Dishonored 1
So I recently decided to purchase Dishonored 2. It was a game on my wishlist for many months, yet I didn't want to pay the full $40 Steam charges. I waited until it was 75% off and then proceeded to buy it.
So far I'm really enjoying it. Whether it be nostalgia or me being used to how Dishonored 1 played, I still prefer it over the second game. I'll go over some general changes and what I liked and disliked. I have yet to beat the game as well, but I've beaten 3 levels so far.
Firstly, I love the ability to play as Corvo or Emily. I've yet to play as Emily, as I personally like Corvo better. Corvo feels like corvo, yet he actually talks. I'm very much glad he talks. In Dishonored one, he spoke none at all , making it very easy to put yourself in the characters boots and believe you yourself were Corvo. Like your motives and actions you performed were yours alone and not backed by some moral standpoint the actual character has (Obviously some decisions in game are Corvo's actual decision, but hopefully you understand what I mean). I'm yet to play as Emily, and once I'm done with my low chaos no kills hard mode playthrough of Corvo, I'll do a high chaos run of Emily. Whether there are story implications on high chaos and low chaos along with what character you play as, I have no idea. I've yet to beat the game and I've so far avoided most spoilers for this game.
The powers are basically exactly the same, at least for Corvo. I liked them being simplieifed a little bit more in Dishonored 1 where it was tier one, then tier two - and that's it. I don't mind some powers having a little buff, especially when the game coughs up the runes to get said upgrades. Only slight issue I have with that is the extra time it takes to get the runes. No big deal though.A power change I absoulutely don't like however is Dark Vision. Not how Dark Vision works, no. That's fine. It's how it visually works. Dark Vision (As I'm sure you all know) reveals enemies through walls and if upgraded can show items and collectables as well. In Dishonored 1 this was a big AOE for how far you could see enemies and collectables, so the nerf for it I don't mind. My bigges issue however is how items are highlighted. The hue that Dark Vision gives off is like a light orange, and the collectables are light orange as well. I can barely see the items right next to me on the table. It ends up with me missing most of the paintings, easily 2/3rd of the gold on the map, and much more. It's infuriating.
On to combat. Combat in Dishonord 1 was simple. You block, parry, and stabby stab. In Dishonored 2, there's still blocking, parrying, and stabby stabbing, but now there's big stabby stab. Along with more gruesome animations, more gadgets and ways to take out enemies nonlethally (thank god we can drop assasination non lethally now), amongst many other things, the game feels much more fleshed out and enjoyable. It's a shame I wont be able to kill anyone until my Emily playthrough, but I can wait.
Considering I haven't played through the entire game, I can't speak on the maps. I like what I've played through so far and I'm sure it'll only get better.
Considering I just 100% Dishonored early Febuary, I was definetely concered there were going to be some straight up bullshit achievements like Headhunter or Daredevil. Scrolling through the achievements, none of them seem horribly difficult, which is very refreshing to see. I like achievements based on skill and comittment, not straight up luck and RNG like Daredevil and Headhunter. Some may not care about achievements, but I personally do as they give a goal to go for if you chose to and often times require new playthroughs and playstyles. It gives a reason to replay the game long after you've beaten it.
submitted by Ryanlilman to dishonored [link] [comments]
So far I'm really enjoying it. Whether it be nostalgia or me being used to how Dishonored 1 played, I still prefer it over the second game. I'll go over some general changes and what I liked and disliked. I have yet to beat the game as well, but I've beaten 3 levels so far.
Firstly, I love the ability to play as Corvo or Emily. I've yet to play as Emily, as I personally like Corvo better. Corvo feels like corvo, yet he actually talks. I'm very much glad he talks. In Dishonored one, he spoke none at all , making it very easy to put yourself in the characters boots and believe you yourself were Corvo. Like your motives and actions you performed were yours alone and not backed by some moral standpoint the actual character has (Obviously some decisions in game are Corvo's actual decision, but hopefully you understand what I mean). I'm yet to play as Emily, and once I'm done with my low chaos no kills hard mode playthrough of Corvo, I'll do a high chaos run of Emily. Whether there are story implications on high chaos and low chaos along with what character you play as, I have no idea. I've yet to beat the game and I've so far avoided most spoilers for this game.
The powers are basically exactly the same, at least for Corvo. I liked them being simplieifed a little bit more in Dishonored 1 where it was tier one, then tier two - and that's it. I don't mind some powers having a little buff, especially when the game coughs up the runes to get said upgrades. Only slight issue I have with that is the extra time it takes to get the runes. No big deal though.A power change I absoulutely don't like however is Dark Vision. Not how Dark Vision works, no. That's fine. It's how it visually works. Dark Vision (As I'm sure you all know) reveals enemies through walls and if upgraded can show items and collectables as well. In Dishonored 1 this was a big AOE for how far you could see enemies and collectables, so the nerf for it I don't mind. My bigges issue however is how items are highlighted. The hue that Dark Vision gives off is like a light orange, and the collectables are light orange as well. I can barely see the items right next to me on the table. It ends up with me missing most of the paintings, easily 2/3rd of the gold on the map, and much more. It's infuriating.
On to combat. Combat in Dishonord 1 was simple. You block, parry, and stabby stab. In Dishonored 2, there's still blocking, parrying, and stabby stabbing, but now there's big stabby stab. Along with more gruesome animations, more gadgets and ways to take out enemies nonlethally (thank god we can drop assasination non lethally now), amongst many other things, the game feels much more fleshed out and enjoyable. It's a shame I wont be able to kill anyone until my Emily playthrough, but I can wait.
Considering I haven't played through the entire game, I can't speak on the maps. I like what I've played through so far and I'm sure it'll only get better.
Considering I just 100% Dishonored early Febuary, I was definetely concered there were going to be some straight up bullshit achievements like Headhunter or Daredevil. Scrolling through the achievements, none of them seem horribly difficult, which is very refreshing to see. I like achievements based on skill and comittment, not straight up luck and RNG like Daredevil and Headhunter. Some may not care about achievements, but I personally do as they give a goal to go for if you chose to and often times require new playthroughs and playstyles. It gives a reason to replay the game long after you've beaten it.
2023.03.22 07:20 Outrageous_Throat655 Ketamine + old trauma/suffering. How does it work for you?
TL/DR: Could you share with me how ketamine has helped your suffering? Did it make it worse in terms of understanding your trauma from a different angle? Or did it integrate the wound naturally into you?
I've done a lot of ignoring and stuffing my feelings over the years, which has helped me to ensure my own safety by trying to make everyone else happy. I really loathe the term "people-pleasing" because it seems like such an innocuous and belittling term for something which can be so dangerous for those who understand. For many of us, other people are incredibly dangerous and it's important to keep them happy.
The ketamine has completely upended that. I find myself no longer caring about what others think, and that is terrifying because I then panic and wonder what I'm missing. After my sits, I find myself rebounding for at least a week into severe anxiety around what I'm doing and what I'm missing. I remain overly anxious for about a month until it subsides into my natural anxious being that I'm used to and can handle.
A week after my last sit, I finally managed to process a major event for myself, something that I've blamed myself for over 20 years for with someone who truly loved me, but which I could never have done anything about. Something that no one could have ever blamed the other person for doing. It was a lose-lose situation.
That same night when I healed that wound, I had one of the worst nightmares I've ever had about a different trauma. I'm heavily medicated, so remembering my dreams is rare for me, let alone getting up in the middle of the night and re-enacting them physically. But that's what I did, and that fear has stayed with me. It opened the door to some self-compassion, though, something that I didn't really think was possible for me.
I'm curious about how old trauma is brought up for other people. Have you found that they just keep on coming?
I've also been drinking tonight. I had a problem a while back, but solved it by ensuring I was at the gym all the time. For some, I know that the ketamine stops that need to self-soothe. For me, I am good for a few weeks after the sit and then am overcome with the urge to decompress and not feel any more pain. That's where I find myself tonight, tipsy drunk and sad, but also seeking connection. I'll probably delete this at some point but for now, I'm curious.
If you've come to ketamine, it's probably because you're suffering in some way. And I'm deeply sorry for that. It amazes and angers me how many of us are out there. Could you share with me how ketamine has helped your suffering? Did it make it worse in terms of understanding your trauma from a different angle? Or did it integrate naturally into you? Have you had an experience like mine? Solve one, and another one instantly pops up?
For those of you on the other side of this, how long did it take? I've been at this for over a year and a half, and everything is still so messy, humiliating and painful. Stuff has come up that I never thought was a problem, and it feels/I know there is still something really ugly underneath that I'm actively blocking myself from looking at.
I feel like giving up, but I also know that whenever you feel like giving up out of shame or fear, that's the time to push through. So that's what I'm trying to do. Push through. Thx for reading.
submitted by Outrageous_Throat655 to TherapeuticKetamine [link] [comments]
I've done a lot of ignoring and stuffing my feelings over the years, which has helped me to ensure my own safety by trying to make everyone else happy. I really loathe the term "people-pleasing" because it seems like such an innocuous and belittling term for something which can be so dangerous for those who understand. For many of us, other people are incredibly dangerous and it's important to keep them happy.
The ketamine has completely upended that. I find myself no longer caring about what others think, and that is terrifying because I then panic and wonder what I'm missing. After my sits, I find myself rebounding for at least a week into severe anxiety around what I'm doing and what I'm missing. I remain overly anxious for about a month until it subsides into my natural anxious being that I'm used to and can handle.
A week after my last sit, I finally managed to process a major event for myself, something that I've blamed myself for over 20 years for with someone who truly loved me, but which I could never have done anything about. Something that no one could have ever blamed the other person for doing. It was a lose-lose situation.
That same night when I healed that wound, I had one of the worst nightmares I've ever had about a different trauma. I'm heavily medicated, so remembering my dreams is rare for me, let alone getting up in the middle of the night and re-enacting them physically. But that's what I did, and that fear has stayed with me. It opened the door to some self-compassion, though, something that I didn't really think was possible for me.
I'm curious about how old trauma is brought up for other people. Have you found that they just keep on coming?
I've also been drinking tonight. I had a problem a while back, but solved it by ensuring I was at the gym all the time. For some, I know that the ketamine stops that need to self-soothe. For me, I am good for a few weeks after the sit and then am overcome with the urge to decompress and not feel any more pain. That's where I find myself tonight, tipsy drunk and sad, but also seeking connection. I'll probably delete this at some point but for now, I'm curious.
If you've come to ketamine, it's probably because you're suffering in some way. And I'm deeply sorry for that. It amazes and angers me how many of us are out there. Could you share with me how ketamine has helped your suffering? Did it make it worse in terms of understanding your trauma from a different angle? Or did it integrate naturally into you? Have you had an experience like mine? Solve one, and another one instantly pops up?
For those of you on the other side of this, how long did it take? I've been at this for over a year and a half, and everything is still so messy, humiliating and painful. Stuff has come up that I never thought was a problem, and it feels/I know there is still something really ugly underneath that I'm actively blocking myself from looking at.
I feel like giving up, but I also know that whenever you feel like giving up out of shame or fear, that's the time to push through. So that's what I'm trying to do. Push through. Thx for reading.