Carnival cruise rooms with bunk beds

Spider family in my bedroom

2023.06.07 14:58 Hot_Purple6914 Spider family in my bedroom

Spider family in my bedroom
Hi there spider experts. I have what I presume are Pholcus phalangioides nesting above my bed.
I don't have much problem with the odd spider lurking in my room. Especially these guys who I believe have an extremely minimal history of biting humans and whose venom is supposedly not dangerous to humans.
Recently, I noticed a mother holding onto an egg sac and didn't quite anticipate her hatchlings to emerge right away. After going away for the weekend I returned to find around 30 little ones all chilling in the web. I found the empty egg sac on my pillow and realized I now had a family of spiders hanging out above where I sleep.
I have since watched the father (or another male?) presumably court the mother several times which is usually in the morning when I open my curtains. This morning I definitely found them mating after a little tapping display and I'm now wondering if I am soon going to be faced with another 30 or so spiderlings.
I'm clueless when it comes to spiders, which I'm sure is apparent by now, and am wondering how to proceed here. I'm not really keen on having hordes of spiders continuing to hatch in my room but am very much against harming or killing spiders. I usually set them free from my room if they look like they aren't safe to have around.
I wonder if anyone has advice around how I can safely relocate this spider family? Or if there is an expected pattern where they will all leave my room and not camp here for the long-haul?
Any help would be appreciated. Thanks!
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2023.06.07 14:57 bullshitaltaccount I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m tired of FOMO about it

(31F) I’ve never been in a relationship and never plan on being in one. I just can’t wrap my head around the idea.
Why would I want to live with someone and share my personal space with them? Why would I want to share my bed with them (I HATE sleeping with someone besides my dog in my bed or even in the same room)? Why would I want to be around someone 24/7 and force myself to make conversation? Why would I want to switch my daily routine to revolve around a partner and what they want to do? Why would I want to give up my personal free time on weekends to force myself to go out with this person? Why would I want to spend months and months dating and getting anxiety every time I go to meet them? Why would I want to risk my sanity and safety (what if the person is an asshole or creep?)
I like routine. I don’t want to have to give up my routine and happiness for a relationship that I know will just cause me immense amounts of anxiety. I’m happy just having a few friends to hang out with one or two weekends a month.
But yet, relationships are the norm and what society pushes and expects out of us. So of course I’m always second guessing this decision to not be in a relationship. It’s just tiring always worrying about it. Because I’m afraid when I’m old I’m going to look back and regret never trying for a relationship. But then I know I’ll hate it for the reasons listed.
That’s it. End of rant. Thanks if you got this far.
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2023.06.07 14:50 kiplet1 [City of Roses] no. 27.2: “The first order of Business” – at This table – antique Punk bullshit – the Basics of Security

[City of Roses] no. 27.2: “The first order of Business” – at This table – antique Punk bullshit – the Basics of Security
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“The first order of business,” says the man at the head of the table, “in any face time we take with potential occupancy partners, we need to assess how the anticipated anchor’s gonna impact their appraisal and availability approach.” It’s a long table, a slab of wood the color of pale flesh, polished to a striking gleam that’s broken here and there by a phone or a computer tablet laid before this person or that, until down at the very other end of it, a couple of comb-bound reports bristling with post-it flags, a spill of colorful diagrams, a worn redweld holding a couple of file folders upright, a small black notebook splayed open, the wispy scratch of a fountain pen, APPRAISAL written in ruddy black ink, AVAILABILITY , then three sharp underscores. “It’s not,” the man at the head of the table is saying, “that we anticipate an antagonism toward the anchor, on the part of any potential partners?” His flat grey suit’s a touch too big, the collar of his soft blue shirt’s undone, his sparse beard neatly trimmed. “But by anticipating,” he says, “their respective stances vis-à-vis their individualized brand engagement profiles which, let me assure you, we will be reviewing in a thorough manner before we, we take up any,” he’s trailing off, “tête-à-têtes,” blinking quizzically. The room about them’s walled in cool sheets of green-tinged glass on all four sides and more beyond refracting, reflecting, shimmering desk lamps and fluorescents, computer screens, heads popping up over cubicle walls, turning, following the figure swimming up through them, one glass door after another opening before her, “I,” says the man at the head of the table, “excuse me,” as the final glass door swings open, she’s sweeping into the room, Ysabel in her long white coat. “I tried to tell her,” someone’s saying, a receptionist maybe, bobbing in her wake, and “Do you mind,” says an older man, halfway down the table, a hand on his phone on the wood, but she’s glaring at the very other end of the table. “How dare you,” she says.
“Sorry, folks,” says Lymond, screwing the cap onto his fountain pen. “Think we might have the room a minute?”
“I, um,” says the man at the head of the table, “we just got started?”
“And we’ll get right back into it,” says Lymond. “I’m really looking forward to hearing more about this brand engagement. Now,” pushing back his chair, “if you don’t mind,” but already they’re filing out, shirts and blouses of dull green, milky blue, an intrepid puce, awkwardly around past Ysabel all in white. “Um,” says the man who’d been at the head of the table, in his flat grey suit.
“Thanks,” says Lymond, cheerfully. The green glass door swings shut. “How dare I?” he says, to Ysabel. “I’m the King. A certain latitude’s expected.”
“You could’ve gotten her killed,” says Ysabel.
“They’re watching, you know,” he says, tucking a report into the redweld. “Go on. Lean over the table. Slap me. That should be enough to undo all his sacrifice secured.”
She blinks at that, draws back. “Sacrifice,” she says.
“He thought of it as such,” says Lymond, stacking up those diagrams, tapping their edges against the wood. “Now. Slap me, or turn about, and go home.”
“Not until you explain yourself, brother.”
“Oh, Ys,” he says. “If you would play at this table,” he’s tucking the diagrams into a file folder, “you must pay attention.” A wince, as he sets the folder aside. “We find ourselves upon a crux: the duel between the Devil and the Huntsman redounded to our favor, yet the wound’s but freshly healed. Any sudden shift might tear it right back open.” His hands, folded together before him, a thumb pressed tight against a knuckle. “Is that what you would have?”
“I’ve seen the wound,” she says. “He nearly cut her through. The owr does what it can,” and she looks up from the tabletop to meet his eyes, one brown, one blue, both cold. “She sleeps. She’s been asleep since the Mason brought her home.” Leaning down now, both hands planted on the glossy wood. “I’m doing you a courtesy, by answering a question I assume you would eventually have asked?”
A bitter something of a smile. “How is Jo,” he says, “how Jo is, I know how is our Gallowglas: loyal, and effective. I trusted her to do what needed doing, and she went and got it done. Now,” over her sharp intake of breath, “I ask, once more. You know what is at stake. Do you mean to stand against any particular point of our plan?” Leaning in close. “Slap me,” he says. “Or go home.”
She steps back, she turns away. Before she can open the green glass door he says, “Take care, sister, where and when you might vent any further displeasures?” Looking down, at his folded hands. “Our tantrums are expensive.”
“You’ve no idea,” she says, “what could’ve spilled from her heart, had his stroke been a whit more true.”
She opens the door. He shifts his thumb. The thin line of a neat straight cut along the edge of his forefinger, sewn with tiny beads of dark red blood. He lifts it to his lips. “Um,” says someone, the man in the flat grey suit a touch too big, peering into the room. “Everything good?”
“Paper cut,” says Lymond, waving him in. “C’mon, let’s go. Take it from the top.”

Well and I don’t know, dim voices floating up through floorboards loosely laid across the joists, not what we discussed, poets and junkies, epic, like some, there’s a mirror, there’s no one in the mirror, there’s a crack in the glass of it jagged, chased and dappled, splotched with gold, a spangled haze, such a history, working together, that didn’t work, a drip-drip trickle from the faucet, puddles on gold-streaked marble about the sink, but there, it’s gonna be epic, dust gone dark to grey, to black, a lump of it mucked up under the mirror, with the shreds of a burst plastic baggie, this, or this, or this. There’s music, too, loud but languid, strummed guitars, a melodeon, but she’s sitting up in the dark, her head in her hands, and there is no mirror, no light, no sinks or water, no marble countertop, but there is the dust, spangled, glimmering in the milky cloud of her hair, and still the music.
“Well if we have to have a name,” says Gloria Monday.
“It’s something to put on a poster,” says the woman sitting on the nubbled pea-green couch, one hand braced on the curled handle of an orthopædic cane, a big brown scaley purse in her lap.
“Well if that’s all we want,” says Gloria, wrestling to one side a great stretched canvas, a twirling figure calligraphed in slashes of black, to reveal another propped behind it, the next wild scribble of dance. She steps back, behind a tiny silver camera atop a stolid tripod, stoops to peer through it. “We could call it the Lawn,” she says, snapping a picture. Straightening, she looks back and forth, from the painting, to the image of it, now on the enormous white-framed monitor behind her there on the worktable.
“As in get off the?” says the woman standing off to one side, her long black coat done up with brightly silver buttons, and a little grey snap-brim hat on her head.
“That’s not what we discussed,” says Anna in her houndstooth trousers, narrow black-rimmed glasses glaring in the light.
“The house,” says Gloria, taking hold of the canvas. “Run-down and falling apart and poets and junkies and twenty bedrooms to one bathroom and full of,” lifting, “epic,” hoisting it aside, “legend, and, and art,” to reveal the next. “The Lawn,” says Gloria Monday. Her feet are bare, laddered tights printed with overlapping gears, her vast white T-shirt says Robot Fightin’ Boots.
“I liked Weatherall’s,” says Anna. “If we’re going to change it.”
“Yeah, well,” says Gloria, stooping behind the camera again.
“Sounds like some Harry Potter shit,” says the woman in the long black coat.
“Jilting of,” says Gloria, snapping another picture. “Granny Weatherall? Been a while, since you been in high school?” The woman on the couch snorts up a laugh, sits up, hefting her cane. “How about,” she says, pointing the wide rubber foot of it out, toward the cavernous space beyond, “this building,” the boxes, equipment, the bulks of whatever it is under tarps shoved off to either side, stacked in the stalls that one by one march down the long high walls, “the history,” soaked in soft grey light depending from up under the rafters, the windows there scrubbed clean of filth, scraped clear of paint, “a name should honor that.”
“It was a warehouse for vegetables,” says Gloria.
“A farmers’ market,” says the woman on the couch, “built by Italian immigrants, working together. Cooperatively.”
“Snot Market,” says Gloria, “Grime Market, that didn’t work,” grabbing the next canvas, “Pus Market has a certain punch,” hauling it aside, “but Anna didn’t like any of those, and anyway it’s antique punk bullshit. Effluvial Plane I kinda liked, but that’s too, much, y’know?”
“How old are you?” says the woman all in black.
“Fuck you,” says Gloria. “That’s how old I am.”
“Gloria,” says Anna.
“No, fuck this,” snarls Gloria. “We got the space. We’re doing the thing. It’s gonna be epic. And you can either get on board, get your, people, involved,” the woman on the couch, clutching her purse, “you can write about it like you know what’s gonna happen,” the woman all in black, hands in her pockets, smirking, “or you can scramble to catch up after, like everyone else.”
“Ms. Thorpe, we must apologize,” says Anna, after a moment, but “No, no,” says the woman all in black, “tempers run hot and you let them out and that’s fine, and then you stop and you take a deep breath and you think. Maybe you do this, or maybe tomorrow you’re kicked out for squatting. You don’t – ”
“Hey, Anna!” says Gloria. “What’s the owner got to say, about us being here?”
“There are no objections,” says Anna, but Thorpe looks away, rolling her eyes. “I did my homework,” she says, lifting her little grey hat, “or I wouldn’t be here at all,” scratching her head, her dark hair short, swept back. “You’re Suzette Wilson, you’re Tom Wilson’s daughter, and I’m sorry for your loss, but the title to this pile is hardly as clear-cut as,” but Gloria’s saying, “This, this is my place,” as Thorpe says “that’s before we even get into the questions of insurance, and zoning, and inspections,” but Gloria’s shouting “S1! Last Thursday! The Teahouse! You think they waited around for fucking paperwork?”
Anna and the woman on the couch, watching them both, Gloria seething, Thorpe settling her hat on her head, “Well,” she’s saying, tucking her hands in the pockets of her coat, “S1 is street-legal now, yeah, and the Teahouse? That was in Sellwood? Long gone. And you have any idea how much the merchants on Alberta pay the city for extra cops?” A shrug, and that smirk warms to something more sympathetic. “You want to beg forgiveness instead of ask permission and I can respect that, but there’s this delicate balance. You gotta be big enough to get noticed, but you can’t be so big you get noticed, you know?” Looking out, over the cavernous space below. “And all this you want to do in a week.” Turning back, hands spread in a hapless shrug, a burble of sound, “I like you,” she says, “I do, I like the idea,” looking up. It sounds like someone’s singing up there.
Up there, up at the edge of the planks laid across the joists, up by the brief ladder bolted to the wall a couple of long bare legs kicked over and orange underpants, ee, ee-oh nor, the keening voice a grunt, doo da-da dee, doo da-da dee, down the ladder to the walkway up there, a wild mad cloud of white-gold hair, “and quickly was received, enthusiastically,” and Thorpe looks down, over at the paintings leaned, at the image on the enormous monitor. “Some say that it had more to do with her,” the singer’s making her way, hand on the railing, “improper sense of dress, than her talent, or her diligence,” opening a door up there, painted with letters that possibly once said Ranchers, or Gardeners, and closing it muffles her song. “I’m sorry,” says Anna, drawing back their attention. “It seems Marfisa forgot we were meeting this morning.”
“I’ve seen,” says Thorpe, “I’ve heard her, before.”
“Salt and Straw,” says the woman on the couch, but then, lifting a finger, “no, that’s the ice cream.”
“She kinda came with the place,” says Gloria. Up there a crash of water, flushing, that door opens, Marfisa’s stepping out, “Cartier Bresson!” she shouts. “Max Ernst, Paul Eluard, George Bataille,” as she’s making her way back along the wall above them. “Their misogyny really irritated her, but she wasn’t, she,” stopping, standing there, wavering a little, looking down at them. Absently scratching just beneath a breast, and sunlight flashing from the gold dust spangling her skin.
“I heard you play once,” says Thorpe, abruptly.
Her wide smile spreading, Marfisa tips back her white-gold head, “Lee, ee-oh nor!” she sings, reaching for the ladder. “Lee, ee-oh nor!” Climbing back up toward the makeshift floor above.
“Stone and Salt!” says the woman on the couch. “That was it.”

Ding the microwave, she opens the door of it, reaches in with a hot pad for a steaming pink mug that says Sophia & Dorothy & Blanche & Rose. In she dunks a purple octopus infuser, dandling its delicate chain a moment. Color blooms.
Out of the kitchen, across the living room, dark wood paneling, grey-green shag, shuff and snap of her slippers into a nook of a hall, too brightly lit. She nudges open a door left ajar, into a small dark room lit only by sunlight staining the edges of heavy curtains drawn, and almost entirely filled by a great wide bed. “I’ve brought tea,” she says, setting the mug on the nightstand in the corner. “Hey.” Sitting on the edge of the bed. “I called Reg,” she says, reaching along the margin of the thick dark comforter, and a gentle stroke for the blond head there, turned away. “Told him we’d need another week. He wasn’t happy, but hey. Fuck him.” Tucking a lock of her own hair, as blond, as straight, behind her ear. “Chrissie,” she says. “Chér.”
“I don’t want any tea.”
“Yeah, well,” says Ettie, and she gets to her feet with a sigh. “This would be why I stick with men. They can’t break your heart.”

The door swings open, for a moment all’s revealed, scarred floor and drifts of grit against the bar, peeling dimpled paint along the front of it and its cracked vinyl bumper, dust furring the bottles along the top shelf, the washed-out flyspecked neon lights, the bartender, spiky hair flared palely to a golden brown, hand up against the raw daylight, skinny arm festooned with shadowy tattoos, “Jacks?” says Jessie, blinking, but the light’s swallowed away as the door swings shut, and dimness closes about the warm neon, the sparkle of glass, the rattle of drums and a couple of jangled chords, bubbling bass, “Jackie?” says the bartender, his hair gone black. “Ah, naw. She ain’t here.”
“Oh,” says Jessie, in her puffy pink parka. “Sorry. I thought,” and she shakes her head, Americans were thus denied, someone’s singing, with the guitar and the drums, all right to travel to the other side. “She usually works mornings,” says Jessie. “Any idea when she’s in next?”
“No, see,” says the bartender, “I mean, she’s not here? Anymore?” Folding those skinny arms, leaning his elbows on the bar. “And we can’t be giving out people’s schedules, come on. Basic security.”
“I’m a friend,” says Jessie, and then, “I used to dance here? About a year, year and a half ago. Went by Rain?”
“If you’re a friend,” says the bartender, “I mean, she left, what, right after the holidays? Two, three months ago? So, I mean,” and he spreads his hands. “Want something to drink?”
“Where’d she go?” says Jessie.
“I don’t know, Eugene or something? But even if I did I couldn’t tell you, because, security, you know. Coffee? Anything?”
Betcha my life, there’d be no violence there, and she opens her mouth to speak but everything lights up again, washed out, as the door swings open, two women, raincoat, trench coat, gym bag and backpack, nodding to the bartender who waves hello as they head through empty tables past the empty little stage, toward the nondescript door back there. “How about Chilli,” says Jessie. “He back there?”
“He, naw, Chilli, we’re,” the bartender jumps as she walks away, “we’re under new management,” he calls after her, “so,” but there’s confusion by that nondescript door as it opens, those women stepping through around and past a man who’s stepping out, brown leather vest and rich red hair flopping from a widow’s peak, “I need you to,” the bartender’s saying. Jessie waves him off. “It’s Gaveston,” she says. “I know Gav.”
But Gaveston’s holding the door for someone else, a tall woman in a white track suit, short hair greenly yellow, and Jessie stops short, in the midst of the empty tables. “Chariot?” she says. The tall woman’s saying something to Gaveston, as she heads off past the little stage. “Iona?” says Jessie, and the tall woman looks over to see her there in pink. “Oh,” she says, stopped short. “Rain.”
“Is she here?” says Jessie. “The,” a cough, “the Princess? Uh, Queen? Ysabel?”
Iona’s shaking her head, “I’m merely here on her behalf,” she says, stepping away, but “Iona,” says Jessie, “Chariot, tell her, please,” and Iona stops, looks back. “Yes?” she says.
Jessie looks away. “Nothing,” she says. “Don’t tell her anything. Not even, that you saw me.”
“As you wish,” says Iona. Jessie’s still looking away, there among the empty tables. I’d want the giddy-up, the guitar jangles, I’d want to live it up, I’d want the pick-me-up, and the nondescript door back there’s now shut. The bartender isn’t behind the bar that flares, scoured once more by daylight as Iona opens the door outside. She steps through, the door swings shut, the darkness returns.

Nox Sea Raid say the letters punched in light across the screen. Choose Your Squad swooshes in below. A husky contralto says Set em up Sarge over the speakers, and the guy on the beanbag thumbs and clicks the controller in his lap, wheeling the view on the screen about a motley crew of centaurs, each stepping up to present arms as the focus settles fleetingly on them, uttering a catch-phrase, Rock an roll, rack em and pack em, they will fear my song, buzzbombs why’s it have to be buzzbombs, reportin for beauty! rock an rack em rock an pack em why’s it have to fear my rock an roll an reportin! “This is gonna suck,” says the guy on the beanbag, “I need more’n one tank for this.” Wrinkles about his eyes and gingery stubble along his jaw. “Whaddaya think,” he says, looking away from the screen, “would a Mixolydian,” but there’s nobody beside him, there’s a man headed away, over toward the grand dark staircase, dodging around a dark wood column, his sweater bulky, red, he’s looking up to the woman stopped there on the stairs, black trousers, a bowtie unclipped about her winged collar. “Long as he needs,” she’s saying, and “Oh,” says the guy on the beanbag, turning back to the screen, “Ellen’s home.” Clicking through the figures on the screen, rock an roll, reportin for beauty, they will fear, “The hell was he doing, wearing my shirt?” and the guy on the beanbag looks up again at that, the man in the red sweater a step or two up the stairs, and Ellen above him, maybe a shrug, “It looks better on him,” she’s saying, turning away. Why’s it have to be, says the centaur on the screen. Rack em!
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2023.06.07 14:49 writingforthefeels My Grandpa was a Dragonslayer.

That's what my parents told me.
It was the end of summer, the cold fall air was starting to come in, when my parents sat me down to give me a talk. My mother took a long breath,
"Lucas, your grandpa is going through a very tough time right now, he is currently fighting a ferocious dragon, and so he may seem a little off sometimes, but just know he is very tired from fighting the dragon"

I was a bit confused at the time. A dragon? I had no idea my grandpa was a Dragonslayer. My 6 year old brain was overjoyed.
"Grandpa fights dragons?! He's even cooler than I thought!"

There was a somber look in my mother's eye, but she said nothing afterwards and just rubbed my shoulder.


A couple weeks later we went over to my grandparents house for a visit. The waft of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies fills the air as we walk in, my grandma made the best cookies in the world. My grandpa sees me and his eyes light up with that same joyous love they always do.
"Heya there sport! How's my favorite second baseman doing?"
"Grandpa! I play third base, you know this!" I respond while giggling
"Oh r-right of course, I'll grab the gloves and we can go toss the ball around"
He walks towards the kitchen before catching himself, then walks upstairs to go grab our baseball gloves.

The autumn leaves were starting to fall as we went outside to play catch. My grandparents house was in a nice neighborhood that had a lot of trees. Ray's of sunshine were flowing through the trees as we tossed the baseball around. After we play for a bit, we go back inside and help ourselves to my grandma's favorite chocolate chip cookies.

"I can't believe you're really a dragon slayer grandpa!"
My grandpa's eyes widened for a half second before going back to his usual, joyous self.
"Haha, well an old man can have a few secrets can't he?"
"I want to help you fight it!" I insisted
"Haha! I'd love to have you help me, but sadly I fight the dragon after your bedtime every night"
I pouted, but that seemed like a reasonable enough explanation for my 6 year old self.

Shortly after we finish eating the cookies, my parents and I pack up in our car and wave bye as we pull out of the driveway.
That was the last time I saw my grandpa at his house.
That night I dreamt of a dragon. It spouted fire from it's mouths and snarled as it stared at me. I shook in fear as the dragon raised it's claw and began a massive swipe at me. I could see the razor sharp edges at the end of each finger that looked about as big as me.
But all of a sudden my grandpa was there, clad in shining silver armor. he raised a mighty shield and deflected the dragon's claw, before shouting to me
"C'mon sport! We got a dragon to fight!"
All of a sudden I realized I also had a sword and shield, perfectly fit to my size. My fear had evaporated when I saw my grandpa, and I let out a roar as I charged to follow my grandpa towards the dragon.

I woke up with a start immediately after. I felt frustrated I couldn't end up fighting the dragon, but I was still smiling thinking of my grandpa being a heroic dragon slayer.
The months go by as school starts and we aren't able to visit my grandparents, though I did manage to talk to them on the phone sometimes. My grandpa started to seem less like his usual self; he was still the kind old man I came to know and love, but he seemed to be talking like he was distracted by something, and lost his train of thought frequently.

My parents told me he was just tired from fighting the dragon.

6 months after I had the dream about fighting the dragon, I had another similar dream. The dragon was there, and my grandpa was too, but things were different. My grandpa was pinned under the dragon's talons, and looked to be struggling.

"Grandpa! GRANDPA!" I shouted

My grandpa looked at me, but the usual joyous glow that was always in his eyes wasn't there.

He looked scared, confused.

I wasn't about to just let the dragon win though. I drew my sword and charged towards the dragon, it stared at me with dark, soulless eyes.

I woke up with a jolt, panting. I was scared, not of the dragon, but of what was gonna happen to my grandpa.
2 months later, my parents tell me we are gonna meet grandpa at the hospital. When we walked in the room, my grandma was crying quietly. She quickly wiped her eyes as we walked in the room.
"Hey buddy, grandpa might be a bit confused right now, he's very tired from fighting the dragon, but just know that he loves you and that will never change.
I give my grandma a big hug. I didn't want her to cry, I wanted to be brave for her.

My parents and I walked up to my grandpa. He was laying on the hospital bed, he looked like he was looking at something a million miles away.
My mom was the first one to speak
"Harry… this is your grandson, Lucas. You remember him right?"
"Lucas? Hmmmmm. Oh right! How could I forget! My favorite baseball player! You play for the Detroit Tigers right? 3rd baseman?"
I giggled
"Grandpa! I'm only 6! I can't play for the Tigers yet!"
"Oh r-right, I'm sorry buddy"

He's never called me buddy before.

I was confused, but at the time I chalked it up to him being tired from fighting the dragon. Still, I couldn't help but feel a hint of sadness as we walked out of the hospital room. But right as I was about to head through the door my grandpa shouted.
"Hey sport!"
I looked back and for just a glimpse, I saw that same joyous love in my grandpa's eye.

"I'm gonna beat that dragon"

I smile at him before heading out the door. The drive home was quiet, I could tell my mom was sobbing quietly into her coat, my dad was driving, his eyes looked somber in the rearview mirror.
"Dad, is the dragon too strong for grandpa to beat?"
My dad looks at me and sighs deeply.
"I don't know Lucas, but I know he's gonna try"

That night, I had another dream.

The dragon was there, and so was my grandpa. But this time, the tides had turned. My grandpa fought furiously, all while laughing with his same, joyous laugh. I see him climb onto the back of the dragon, the dragon bucking wildly to get him off.
"Grandpa! Grandpa, I'm here!" I shout
He looks at me with those same joyous eyes.
"Heya there sport, toss me that rope! I know you got a mean throw!"
Right as he said it I realized there was a bundle of rope right next to me. I pick it up and throw it with all my strength. Miraculously, my grandpa reaches out one arm and catches it.
"Thanks sport! I can always rely on you!"
My grandpa swings the rope around the dragon, getting it right through it's mouth. The dragon bucks even more wildly, but my grandpa holds on. Eventually, the dragon submits, and stops bucking.
I stare at my grandpa on the back of the dragon. He was not only a Dragonslayer, he was a dragon rider!

"We did it grandpa! We beat the dragon!"
He takes a long look at me, with those same joyous eyes, and smiles. Then he guides the dragon into the air as he flies away.


My grandpa died that night.


It was a sad day, my mom was sobbing the whole time as my dad tried to comfort her, and I couldn't even bring myself to cry. I was confused, I thought we won. If we beat the dragon, why did my grandpa die?
The funeral was a few days after. A soft breeze made the trees rustle. It was a small event, he wouldn't have wanted anything else. There was a lot of crying, and a lot of speeches about the great person he was. As the ceremony came to a close, my grandma came up to me and tried to smile.
"Your grandpa wrote this for you a few months ago, as he was first starting to fight the dragon"
She handed me a letter. I thanked her and gave her a big hug, promising I'd find the dragon that did this.

As the sun started to set, my parents started to pack up the car. On the ride home I decided to open the letter. It read:

Dear sport,

I know how this must feel right now. I was supposed to beat the dragon! Then why am I not there still?
Well Lucas, there's something you should know about this dragon. Truth be told, I had no idea this
dragon was coming; it came out of nowhere, and was as surprising as it was scary. I was scared, sport.
I know that might seem surprising to you, your brave old grandpa being scared, but I was. Dragons
are scary, even to old-timers like me. But one thing kept me pushing on, kept me fighting. That thing
was you, sport. You were my sword and shield, my shining silver armor. I couldn't have fought the
dragon without you. I know you can't see me now, but trust me when I say I'm out there going on
adventures. I carry you and your grandma and your parents with me, you guys are my courage, my
protectors. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm gonna be okay because I have you with me. I
love you, sport. Hit a home run for your old grandpa huh?

Your favorite Dragonslayer,

Grandpa.
submitted by writingforthefeels to creativewriting [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:48 march302023 Baby slept well… now I have a clogged duct 🥲

My husband and I talk shifts at night with our 10w. Last night, baby went to bed around 7 and didn’t wake up before I went to bed at 9, so I used my manual pump on the couch while my husband and I finished a TV show. I was asleep by 10. At 3:00 am, my husband came up to bed to do the trade off and the baby was deep asleep. Wanting more sleep since I had the opportunity, I took the baby straight to the guest room and went back to sleep myself. Baby woke up STARVING (lol he was very dramatic) and he drank from the firehose of my right breast while I used my manual pump to relief engorgement on one side. I got three ounces out of my left breast but it still hurts SO BAD. I managed to get another ounce off the right side even after baby ate.
It’s now 5:45 am and my boobs hurt bad enough that I’m not sure I’ll get back to sleep, even though baby is again fast asleep in my lap.
Sigh.
submitted by march302023 to breastfeeding [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:48 KoreSharpTest Fractured my ankle or something

So since the boys were talking about brokey brakes or something and they were disappointed by the subreddit, I'm gonna tell a story of when I fractured one of those fore arm bones.
I was playing timeshift (GREAT GAME!!!) on my ps3 while sitting on the top bunk of my bunk bed. And I guess I got really hyped up and I fell off the bunk onto my arm and fractured one of them white fore arm sticks.
It hurt really bad. I'd describe it as like... When your tooth gets sensitive when you eat icecream. It felt like that.
Also years later I punched a wall because I was raging at clasH royalE and got a boxer's fracture. (Basically the bone at the pinky side of your palm gets fractured) But I didn't want to tell my mem that I FRATURED A BONE BECAUSE I WAS RAGING AT A MOBILE GAME, so I told her that I ALSO fell of the bunk bed that time as well. The doctor obviously didn't believe me. He was like. "Huh... So you fell and hit the floor with your fist then? Sure buddy."
But when I took the cast off both times was cool.
It sucked showering though.
submitted by KoreSharpTest to goons [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:48 Rekerer97 My TV remote shattered reality

I lived in Soviet Russia and it was a cold night. I was bored watching the television like a boomer. I couldn't hear it so I got the tv remote and turned the volume up on the tv but nothing changed, I kept pressing it and pressing it but again nothing changed. I pressed it a final time before realizing something was changing in the corner of my eye, through the window. I saw something terrifying. I didn’t want to believe it at first so I ignored it then went again to try and turn the volume up on my tv. I turned my head sideways to the left out of my window and saw it… the moon was getting larger or closer or both every time I used that volume button and it freaked me out.
So what did I do? I tried turning the volume down on my tv to see if that would make the TV quieter, no nothing happened, I did it again whilst looking up at the sky the moon didn’t change it was still three times larger than what it usually looks like. What was happening when I tried turning it down though? I tried reducing the volume a few more times then I realized what was happening. My middle finger was growing. I was scared as fuck at this point, I must be high or I must be in a dream. I tried pinching myself but it didn’t work. My middle finger was twice as long as what it used to be, is this some kind of joke I thought, whilst my inner evil side was telling me that it was a good thing that I could swear at someone with my hand twice as good as before. Was the fuck was going on? I didn’t want to fuck myself up anymore but I needed to experiment so I tried to use the channel changing buttons on my remote.
I tried to hit the channel up on my remote. It was as I predicted, no response from my TV at all, I looked outside, no difference to the moon, I looked at my double length middle finger, no difference. What changed? I hit it a few more times and I felt something strange. There was a tight feeling on my right hand, my right arm was very slowly shrinking. I couldn't believe it. I was so disturbed I started to cry because my body was now actually fucked up. I didn’t want to use that remote anymore but my curiosity got the better of me so I had to try the opposite to channel up, which of course was channel down.
I hit the button, this time I noticed a difference without hitting it multiple times straight away. I felt dizzy, slightly but enough to tell. I hit it again to just see if it would affect me again… it did. The room was spinning a bit but not so much that I felt like passing out or anything. There is no way this isn’t a dream, it's just not possible otherwise it would be on the news about the moon getting closer or larger but nope my TV was stuck on the shitty film channels that don’t broadcast anything good like they used to.
I went online to check the news, social media or anything else that was my intention but I never got there as I found myself back on my bed lying down with my eyes closed.
Was it a dream? Yes, my body was normal. Thank god, I looked outside, the moon was still there but normal sized and how it should be. The TV however was extremely loud so I picked up and went to turn the volume down but I stopped myself… instinctively. I was scared to use that remote but I thought to myself, it was just a dream right… it was just a dream I'm being silly now so I went to turn the volume down, it didn’t work… My worst nightmares were now reality as my middle finger became tense. I looked at it but it didn’t seem to look any different. I couldn’t risk it so I opened my window and threw my remote outside and it smashed on the concrete below. BIG MISTAKE.
I should have tried the power button, or any other way to solve my problem but i was acting dumb, after the remote hit the floor and smashed, my head was spinning at a million miles an hour, my middle finger smashed through my bedroom window and the moon was crashing down into earth, my finger penetrated the moon and my body flew towards it like it was being used as a grappling hook. As my right arm diminished into my body, my body started diminishing but my left arm was growing with my middle finger. My head was spinning so fast that my body started spinning too, the moon was spinning on my finger and going so fast that it caught fire. I felt heat, burning and intense pain. My brain was inside the moon and my middle finger was still growing far beyond the universe crashing inside multiple different alien planets. I was the destroyer of worlds but for the extreme pain I was in no way of feeling like I was going to die.
The moon was still growing also, it was consuming the universe but it was spinning through my middle finger like a wrecking ball. The speed was uncalculated and impossible but it was happening. In all of the chaos and destruction through all of the shit that was happening a thought entered my mind… this was not a dream, this was reality and thought that there was no way back, no return journey and my fate was sealed. Something strange happened, everything stopped, time itself prevented any more chaos. My brain was at the core of the moon and had grown alongside the moon, and my colossus universe expanding finger was my only tool, the rest of my body was nothing. So there I was stuck… stuck just there with nothing but emptiness. It was hell that I was and hell that I never imagined.
Millions of years passed and I was still here, all I could do was think, just think and think some more. I could do nothing. My middle finger grew to the point where I couldn't move it anymore as it had burst out of the 100th dimension. It was over for life itself. The only thing left in the universe was my brain, the moon itself merged with it and my brain was just there. After all this time being doomed like this there is nothing left to tell but to just think about my previous life and how I just wanted to adjust my TV volume. I then thought, what if this was a story… What would the moral of it be? The only joy and happiness came to me in the answer of a useless question… the moral of the story is that in Soviet Russia… remote controls you.
submitted by Rekerer97 to copypasta [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:46 aesa1 My husband has been WFH since 2020 and I’m sick of being around him 24/7

My husband and I have been together for a long time. We have almost 20 great years together under our belt. We have two kids. Our life is really amazing and we are fortunate to be able to enjoy many small luxuries and afford to do the things we want to do. My husband is a wonderful person that would do anything for us, which makes me feel really awful for what I’m about to write…
When the pandemic hit, his company had him start working from home. It was great for a while but it’s been over 3 years and he’s never gone back to working in an office. He is still with the same company, but I guess they figured out he can do his job from home just fine so he now works from home, maybe forever? I don’t know.
I have always worked from home and set my own schedule, so I was already here during the day. Now that we’re both home 24/7, it’s really starting to grate on my nerves. In the beginning, I was able to carve out alone time for myself when I did things like go to the gym, or taking a walk outside alone…. Aside from working, I have a pretty full routine myself. I am also an athlete and I spend a lot of time on fitness and nutrition - these things are important to me but I always fit it into my day in a way that doesn’t take away from my family. Working out became one of the only times I got to spend alone, without my husband or kids being up my a** like hemorrhoids.
Over the last 3 years, my husband has decided to get in shape too. At first, he would go to the gym at a different time than me, but now he insists on going in together. I hate this. He has started to tag along with me when I go for walks. This is made doubly irritating because many times I’ll be ready to go and he’s like “I just need a few more minutes” or maybe one morning it will be me that’s moving a little slower but he will be making me feel rushed or like he’s waiting for me even though I never asked him to wait for me to do anything (and literally don’t want him to… I want to do these things by myself.)
Even if I say I’m just going to run to the store real quick, he tries to insert himself into the activity. The other day I just wanted to get out of the house and meander around Home Goods and my husband practically gave me an interrogation about it…. “Well what do you need? Are you looking for something in particular? How long will you be gone? Are you going to get food when you’re out? Do you want company?”…. Meanwhile I’m thinking to myself, “I’m actually just trying to get away from you for a few minutes and get some time to myself.”
I rarely do anything alone and it’s starting to get on my nerves. At home, he literally follows me around if I leave the room. I don’t think he realizes he’s even doing it, but if I get up to go to the bathroom in our room, I’ll come out and see that he has also come in and is laying on the bed just looking at his phone. But It’s like why are you in here? Or for another example, I’ll be standing in the mirror doing my hair or makeup and he will decide he just has to jump in the shower at that moment….. another example is the other day I was in my closet just trying on different outfits and he came in and sat down and lingered there watching me and asking me what I was doing, if I was going somewhere….. I wasn’t. I’m a woman that just likes trying on clothes.
I can’t even find personal space in my own home. This is super hard for me because I am someone who needs their alone time and space. I don’t like being questioned about everything I do or having to explain why I’m going somewhere. Back when he worked outside the home he has no clue what I did all day. I could go to the gym any time I wanted, run any errands I wanted, buy myself lunch out, etc. and no one was here to slow me down or ask me a million questions like I’m a child that can’t be alone.
I can’t exactly tell my husband I want him to leave me the F** alone (respectfully) without hurting his feelings but I am 1000% fed up with his constant presence and infiltrating things and activities that were previously my only alone time.
submitted by aesa1 to Vent [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:39 Upstairs-Lie640 Move my furniture, my turn

TLDR at the end. This happened when I had only just moved from home and got my own place. Super proud of myself as I’d saved like a demon and bought (with mortgage, obviously) my first place. Lovely little 2 bed flat in a slightly rough area but I loved it and it was all mine!
My mum and step-dad came to visit for a few days a few months after I was settled in, nicely decorated in my style, all my own furniture. One of the evenings they stayed I had to work a late shift. They planned to go out for dinner and to the pub and I left them to it. Came home at 11pm and my mum had moved nearly all of the furniture around and all my books and kitchen stuff were moved to different shelves or cupboards. She even moved my bed in my room so when I opened the bedroom door it hit the bed. I was pissed. So I angrily fixed what I could that night before going to bed. Spoke to her about it the next day, explained its my home and I had it how I liked it so stop please. I put everything else back which took hours, she grumbled the whole time that it looked better her way. Their last day I nipped out to the shops to get us some nice bits for lunch and in the hour I was gone she’d done it again. Moved all my kitchen stuff around to where she liked it. Again I told her off, my house, my rules. She still maintained it was better her way and I should just let her crack on. Fine, I let her do what she wanted and put stuff back when they left.
My revenge, I went to visit their house 6 months later and did it to her.
She went out to work one day and I rearranged every bit of furniture I could by myself. Everything. Swapped the dining room and living room furniture over so you had to walk food through the living room and across the hallway to get to the dining room. Swapped their bedroom and guest room curtains over (the windows were different sizes so their now bedroom curtains were 2 foot too short). Even the pointless little things like moving the spoons to a different side of the drawer and moved every photo on the walls to a different wall. Rearranged the fridge. Took me 7 hours. My step dad was home while I did it and laughed his head off the whole time. He refused to help but understood so let me crack on.
Neither me nor my step dad said anything when she got home, we just sat watching tv (which was now in what was their dining room) and I asked her how was work. She didn’t say a word. She walked round the house, taking it all in, for 20 minutes. Then came and sat down, looked at me and said “point taken”. They’d put it back to how it was the next time I visited.
We’ve not spoken of it since.
TLDR: my mum moved my furniture in my new house so I rearranged her whole house in return.
submitted by Upstairs-Lie640 to pettyrevenge [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:38 charlotthome Ballet Elegance Unleashed: Degas Deux Danseuses Tapestry Pillow Cover - Affordable Artistry for Your Home Decoration

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submitted by charlotthome to u/charlotthome [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:35 Good-Pomegranate-841 My Aunt knows no privacy

Throwaway cause I have family on my main
So I get out of the bath, and go into my room. I’m cold so instead of towel drying I just sit in my bed in my towel, staring at the wall and zoning out. Eventually when I’m warming up, I pull my laptop out (my Aunty has taken my tv off me so I watch Netflix on my laptop) and put on the Big Bang Theory. Suddenly my Aunt barges in, my towel had fallen down so she saw my bare chest. I quickly pull my towel back up and tell her to leave as I’m about to get dressed. She looks at me, then my laptop (which is facing away from her) and shrieks “What are you watching whilst naked?” She pulls my screen down and almost looks disappointed to see it was just an innocent tv show. I can’t watch porn on any technology anyway because she has safety lock on all my devices (I’m 16 btw) she walks out my room and I’m left upset and angry.
Another time I was taking too long in the bath so she tried to come in the bathroom to get me but the door was locked. So she gets the garage key and shimmies the bathroom lock and barges in. I had no privacy.
We recently had a huge argument and I’ve moved in with my grandad. Me and Aunty get on ok now we’re not ripping each others throats out. But I’m still mad that she thinks our miserable relationship was all my fault.
I lived with my Aunty cause my parents died of cancer when I was 9/10
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2023.06.07 14:31 Una_gatita03 Gallbladder removed two days ago!

Haven’t posted here before but this page and everyone’s advice and stories was a huge support and helping force for me to get my gallbalder removed and I got a lot of positive tips from reading everyone’s posts so I wanted to say a collective thank you to the community :)!
I’m 22 female, curious to see if there are other people on the younger side who have had to get their gallbladder removed! I’ve had lots of general remarks from people that they’re not used to someone in the you get side having to go through a removal. I had two pretty back good back attacks end of February that landed me in the ER and I was highly recommended getting it removed, ended up waiting until after grad to get the deed done (exactly a week after I graduated such a lucky duck).
Anywho! I woke up from the surgery in a lot more pain than I anticipated, particularly a very persistent shooting pain on my right side that took a good amount of fentanyl and something else to ease down. I was in recovery for about four hours before I was able to sit up and change, the car ride back home was a pretty big haze and spend most of the day in bed. The hospital gave me a waist compressor that’s helped a lot when I’m walking around to keel everything feeling tight and my back straight, it definitely helped with reducing inflammation.
Yesterday was better, had a big energy bursts in the am and walked around, sat in the living room to watch tv, but lost steam by the afternoon and wasn’t able to last being out of bed much. My incisions were definitely more bothersome yesterday. I’ve been icing my stomach a lot with lots of cold gel pads my family got me. Very minimal eating since I haven’t been too hungry. Sitting up from bed has felt quite difficult but I’ve finally found an awkward roll over process that’s less painful.
I’m definitely going to try to get up more and wobble around extra today. Anyone have any tips for first week/ second week? I’m feeling a lot better, still some discomfort in the incisions but not super bad, haven’t been able to achieve any bowel movements (mostly because I’m scared it’ll hurt a lot, making any pushing pressure hurts my cuts and old gallbladder spot).
Sorry this is all just mainly unorganized ramble, I appreciate anyone who reads it and goodluck to all in whatever step of your gallbladder journey you’re in!
submitted by Una_gatita03 to gallbladders [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:21 Rare_Parsley3160 My oldest child (NB22) is currently homeless and I have not invited them to move back home

They live about an hour away. Last week I visited them with plans to help them move into a new apartment. Once there, I found out that they hadn't actually talked to the new landlord (only the other existing tenants) and couldn't move in until they did so. Ended up that there was no way to reach the landlord so we put most of their belongings into storage. I believe they spent one, maybe two, nights in their old apartment before they were evicted. They've spent a few nights couch surfing with friends, and they've visited their local homeless shelter looking for a bed. Last night they called looking for help, but I didn't know what to tell them. They have not asked to move back home, and I have not offered.
The reasons behind that are complicated. They moved out of the house when they were 18 because we were not getting along as a family. They were messy, rude and fought with us continuously. Their little sister spent most of her time at the neighbors to avoid the fights, and we had to put her into therapy. (All of that ended when they moved out.) Looking back I know that they will say I kicked them out, but in my view point they were the one who walked out the door. I remember going out of my way to deliver some personal items to them about a week later and they wouldn't even say "thanks". Them moving out was probably a good thing for the rest of our household.
We continued to support them financially over the past few years. We paid for a semester of college which was a stupid thing to do. I'm not blaming them at all for that, I should've known better but at the time we were desperate to help them find some "structure" in their life. They used a car we owned and maintained until it fell apart. We provided them with money for security deposits for 3 to 4 different apartments over the years. And we helped them with rent money when they needed it.
We've also tried to support them emotionally as well within some limits. They've been home for short (2 to 3 day) visits at holidays. Unfortunately during at least one of those visits they went through things they were specifically told not to touch, and ended up taking an old skillet and some dresses. (They had been caught stealing several personal items from their mom when they lived at home.) They could've asked for those things, but by sneaking them out of the house it brought back all the old feelings of distrust.
They've had similar relationships with their roommates. Most places they have ended up renting a room in a house with strangers. (This last place was an exception in that they knew at least one of them in-person, and the other on-line.) Every roommate experience has ended up with fights, accusations of theft and declarations that the other people are terrible. It just makes me think of the expression that if everyone around you is an asshole, maybe you're the asshole. I saw how they were living when I helped them move out of their last place, and I would not want to live like that.
So, that's it. I can't invite them home because I'm concerned about the safety and stability of my family. I can't give them money because I've been doing that for years and it just never stops. We've tried to help them find housing resources but there just aren't any with how things are going. And if we try to help too much we're afraid that we'll be seen as the primary resource, and we just can't do that.
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2023.06.07 14:20 3FS_Reddit What a morning

What a morning submitted by 3FS_Reddit to CharacterAI [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:17 Emil8ner warthog-orgyfart.edu

warthog-orgyfart.edu submitted by Emil8ner to IASIP [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:17 yabighoul work rant

work rant because I'm so frustrated today…I was already frustrated with my coworker who ever since I started working here 3 months ago has been treating me like a child. she does the same thing my dad does where she repeats something she just told me, but in a slightly different way, like I didn't understand the first time. over and over. or a coworker from an outgoing shift will say something to both of us and she'll turn to me and tell me like it's brand new information. like we just heard him, you don't need to repeat it to me. the SAME coworker is causing problems with a resident of mine (I work with adults with dementia) and a resident in my section is exit seeking (constantly setting off the door alarms), so I try to distract her by guiding her back to her bedroom since it's the middle of the night. she ignores me, and I know she's gonna get tired eventually, so I make sure every resident's room is locked so she doesn't just climb into the first bed she sees. the only unoccupied bedroom is because another resident likes to sleep in the living room, so I make extra sure THAT room is locked because the exit seeking resident has a history of sleeping in that room. and that same repeating coworker unlocked that one door, and exit seeking resident is now sleeping in someone else's bed. it usually wouldn't be a big deal, except she has major hygiene issues. won't let anyone try to clean her. she may look small but she will rock your shit if you try to touch her. so when she gets up, that residents sheets are gonna need to get cleaned. when I told my coworker all of this, she laughed like it's funny. and I'm just so over it.
submitted by yabighoul to Vent [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:05 Bean_juice9772 AITA for asking my mum not to scream at my dog?

For context, I (26F), live with my mum and her partner (both 51, F & M) in their house. I moved in about a year ago after separating from my partner of 4 years. When I moved in, the initial agreement was that I had to get rid of my dog as they didn’t want pets, but after a week or so, they decided they would let me keep him. My dog has bonded with them both as they both work from home, whereas I work hospo so I can’t do that.
It’s important to note that my dog is extremely anxious and nervous and training him to be somewhat calm in a range of situations has taken almost the entire 5 years I’ve had him. We still have a long way to go but he’s improving.
Because of this, I have rules and training strategies in place to try and alleviate his negative behaviours (such as barking). As they’ve bonded, my mum and her partner have slowly started to ignore what I’ve asked of them regarding my dog. For example, they feed him human food (which in turn means he stops eating his own food), and I’ve noticed he gets super nervous on walks after they’ve taken him for a couple days.
The other night, my mum and her partner got takeaway for dinner & the delivery driver rang the doorbell. This usually sets my dog off barking, and I’ve been trying to train him to come and sit on his bed, partly to get him away from the door, and partly to get him to stop barking sooner. However on this instance, my mum reacted first and started screaming (and I mean S C R E A M I N G) at him to stop. So I came out of my room and asked her to stop yelling at my dog, to which she replied that he doesn’t stop unless they scream at him. I said “yes he does” and I was trying to get him to sit on his bed by calmly calling him (shock, he did what I asked). I got frustrated after a few back and forths and snapped, saying “oh like I don’t know my own dog?!”. Mum and her partner both start yelling at me saying “WE know him, WE know him, you’re not here, you don’t know him like us”.
I took my dog and went into my room and I’m still pissed. I’ve talked to my friend and she’s offered to let me move in with her because this is a repeat pattern of my mum not respecting my boundaries, but I overheard my mum bitching about me saying because it’s her house I should respect her rules. I don’t want her to not bond with him, but at the end of the day, he is my dog and I don’t feel like I did wrong asking her to stop screaming. But I just need another’s opinions. So AITA for asking y mum to stop yelling?
Edit: I don’t know if this helps, but it’s coming up a lot. When mum and her partner told me I could keep my dog, I made it really clear to both of them that they had absolutely no responsibility to him because I know he needs a lot of work - I don’t expect them to help me out caring for him whatsoever, including with training, even now. He’s had the same training since he was a puppy because this is what I’ve found improves his anxiety and makes him a lot happier
submitted by Bean_juice9772 to AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 14:00 Ashesbro The Psych Ward- How I came to realize that autism still seems to be so misunderstood (Long read, possible TW)

Sharing my story to spread awareness as well as expressing my frustrations with the mental health care system in my area as an Autistic female. This is only based on my personal experience so please know that I'm aware that not every location/program/person is the same and each person's experience is unique to them. This is a long read so feel free to skip to bottom for TLDR.
I recently spent 3 months in two different hospitals after a breakdown during a mental health crisis. I was eventually transferred from the initial hospital psych ward to another inpatient hospitalization program that was supposedly geared towards helping people with "complex mental health issues." I was told that this was a great program that could help me as they offered therapeutic groups and specialized in mental health conditions such as Autism. During my experiences at BOTH hospitals I was continuously baffled by the lack of knowledge that many of the doctors and nurses had about autism. This post will focus on the Psych Ward experience.
The Psych Ward
Being admitted to a hospital can be very traumatic for anyone but even more so for an Autistic person. From the very beginning I felt shocked by the amount of doctors and nurses (I've met) who seem to lack a lot of knowledge and understanding of autism. Despite explaining that I was autistic, many still didn't understand my stimming/self soothing bvrs (and how they were escalating due to overstimulation). Instead I was heavily medicated/sedated right from the beginning and throughout my experience at both hospitals. (Level of medication depended on severity of stimming/meltdown as well as how uncomfortable it seemed to make others feel).
The psych ward is basically a waiting room/limbo for medication experiments. I felt like a lab rat as they tried to attach different diagnoses to me despite all of those labels tying into the one huge explaination: autism, burnout, trauma, eating disorder, depression/anxiety etc. All these mental health conditions interact, it's all interconnected.
Instead of being able to speak with someone who knows about autism I kept being giving different med cocktails and experienced many side effects.
Examples: -Oh you want to end your existence as you're struggling to function in a capitalistic society where we are slowly destroying our planet? Here let's take a med so you're too numb/tired to notice anymore. - Oh you keep having repetitive thoughts/words? Lets try an antipsychotic for intrusive thoughts. - Anxious and agitated from overstimulation in a place that has people screaming, alarms/phones ringing bright lights and being confined to 2 crowded hallways... Have a med! - Oh ADHD too? Let's up your dose since you're so tired and unable to function as a side effect of all the other meds you're on! - Oh she keeps walking in circles and humming, let's give her that anxiety med again she's agitated. - She keeps sensory seeking through self harm and using it as a coping tool for overstimulation? must still be depressed, let's up her dose! - She's having a public meltdown and is inconsolable! Let's inject her with a sedative to help everyone else feel comfortable and safe. - Still struggling with suicidal ideation and repetitive thoughts, switch the med! Keep her longer!
What helped me during my stay was doing puzzles for hours, but I got extremely triggered over missing pieces or when other people interfered. Having a meltdown over a puzzle was what led me to my first encounter of trying to help a kind nurse understand my autism experience.
This meltdown had confused her but she still wanted to help. After I explained a bit about autism she was so understanding and even asked questions in regards to how she can better help me (or future autistic patients) and further her level of understanding. Later that day she brought me brand new unopened puzzles and wrote on my file that I would be allowed to work on puzzles in my room alone! This accomodation became my new coping skill and hyperfixation.
That particular experience left me inspired and curious to see how familiar other nurses/dr.'s were with the autism spectrum and how it appears differently on an individual basis. Each day/night nurses rotated shifts and we frequently had different nurses who didn't know us yet. I found myself explaining my autism, triggers, and support needs (helpful vs not helpful) to each one of them.
Everytime I had a new nurse my first question would be, "do you know much about autism?". A few of them did know a bit, some would say they knew someone with autism (I even met a nurse who was also autistic which brought me so much comfort!). Often times though nurses would admit they didn't know much about it or only knew what autism looked like in kids. This was pretty shocking to me, how could so many of these professionals in the mental health field not even know much about autism?! Is my brain really that different or hard to understand?
It felt like most of them were familiar with and prepared to "help" with all the other mental health conditions/diagnoses EXCEPT for (something as simple as) autism. (I know autism is complex but so are many of the other conditions!) So many of the healthcare professionals I met seemed to have a very limited understanding of it. Like wait, what medication do we give for that?!
I made an experiment out of my whole hospital experience. I met many student nurses and I asked them if they were learning about autism in school and most of them said "no not really." I told them how beneficial it could be to learn more about it because so many people are autistic including patients like me in the psych ward. Patients that keep getting misdiagnosed and medicated for the wrong things because no one seems to know the signs to look for. If there was more of an understanding of Autism, accomodations could be made rather than constantly medicating and potentially making things worse.
I spent 4 weeks in the Psych Ward and I watched so many patients come and go. The doctor was frustrated because the meds weren't working and she realized I was right about her misdiagnosing me. She finally acknowledged my autism and admitted she didn't know much about it or how to help me. She then referred me to another program that she claimed "specializes in complex mental health issues including Autism". After having to wait in the psych ward for a bed to become available at the other hospital I was finally transferred. I had high hopes of finally finding the help I had been seeking in an environment that was supportive and understanding.
Spoiler alert. The program was not in fact helpful and I strongly disagree that they "specialize" in conditions such as Autism. Spent 2 months there and left feeling frustrated and discouraged about the lack of resources available for autism (in my area).
TDLR- 4 weeks in psych ward. (Many) Health care professionals had very limited understanding of autism. Misdiagnosed, Autism went unacknowledged, stims medicated & misunderstood. Failed med cocktails led to Dr. admitting she didn't know much about autism and couldn't help. Transferred to another hospitalization program that supposedly specialized in Autism. ***spoiler, program wasn't helpful and staff STILL didn't seem to be very knowledgeable about Autism.
Again for emphasis; every location, facility, individual, and experience can vary. This was only my personal experience.
submitted by Ashesbro to AutismInWomen [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 13:54 Athers99 Epix 2 -> Fenix 7 Pro conclusion

I’ve had an epix 2 since release, and received a fenix 7 pro sapphire a few days ago (I’ve had many fenix models over the years), main reasons were flashlight, battery life, readability when in the sun especially with sunglasses. Here’s my conclusion, in short, fenix 7 is boxed and being returned!
All the new software (endurance, hill score etc) is superb and better than Epix today, however that software is coming to Epix during next beta cycle so only a differentiator for a few months max.
Screen quality and readability (large part of a watch’s usefulness) when in the house (even when a light room) is poor though, meaning I had to get closer than normal to the watch to see figures/words on the watch face. Backlight helped but still a lot worse. Outside it’s pretty good but clarity on smaller fonts, which are otherwise easy to read on Epix. Yes I can see it at random angles with sunglasses, however with the Epix in direct sun with sunglasses on I sometimes can’t read it at extreme angles, straight on no issues at all. Epix clear winner with 1 negative which is easily liveable
Solar is a total gimmick though, lux hours is interesting but the fact that this doesn’t translate into battery % gain in any form, doesn’t add value, nor is the UI in the Connect app unless you dig into the depths which is a shame as that could be gamified etc if more visible, with a sustainability angle etc. Seems better implemented in Edge devices I’m told, maybe due to larger cells therefore there’s a point talking about the gain
Flashlight is superb, hard to believe it’s that bright but useful weeing the dog in the evenings or last night searching for dummies under my daughters bed when she was asleep (orange mode!), but not enough to retain the watch.
Battery life - well I get 5-6d from my Epix with 2h+ of gps activity a day, which is beyond adequate for me, marathons etc all fine. It’s nicer to have longer, but not necessary for significant downgrade to the screen quality.
Each person would need to work out their view based on their usage type but Epix feels the clear winner for all except very niche scenarios and I can now say that having used both!
Ask any questions you may have and will try to answer
submitted by Athers99 to GarminFenix [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 13:53 papabear513 The Experiments Beneath Green Haven Penitentiary

I stared up at the magazine cut out of a Maxim model that was crudely pasted on the underside of the top bunk. Her pert breast shimmied ever so slightly as Pete tossed and turned above.
She was platinum blonde with legs long enough to wrap around me twice. Or so the camera angle made it seem. I felt a stirring below, that yearning for a woman’s touch… which I hadn’t felt in six years, three months, and eleven days.
I rolled to my side, stifling it. It was the wrong time to seek out an orgasm, and I knew after the release I’d just spiral into self-loathing anyway. I focused on a crack in the cinder block until my eyelids became heavy.
Static pushed the thought of women from my mind as I slipped into sleep. The smell of cigars and oil flitted through my mind in a memory. My dad’s repair shop. The one I was meant to take over, before the arrest…
------
“Aaaarrgghh!”
A cry echoing from somewhere deep within the prison startled me awake. My heart thundered in my chest like a rabbit thrashing against its cage.
I rolled over to see Pete crouching low, his face pressed against the bars.
“What’s going on?” I croaked.
“They’re taking Benny.” He whispered.
“Fuck, really?” I pulled myself to the top corner of my mattress, just enough to peer around the edge of the bars.
Two guards wrestled the young latino onto a gurney as a man in a lab coat watched from a distance. He fought against them but it was futile. Once the straps were locked in he screamed once more, pleading for help.
Dozens of eyes watched from dim lit cells, none of which stirring to offer assistance in the slightest. We knew there was no helping him. We knew what happened next…
His cries were muffled as the doctor jammed a syringe into the base of his neck. Benny’s muscles tensed and pulsed in the fit of a seizure, but then lay still. The cell block was silent once more as they wheeled him down the hall and into the catacombs.
I did a cross over myself but didn’t bother to pray. Once they took them, they never came back.
“A damn shame…” I muttered.
“Yeah, he was a good kid…” Pete stood and leapt back onto the top bunk.
A fire burned in my chest. I wanted to say something. To cry out about the injustice of what was happening to us. That committing a crime shouldn’t damn a man to whatever terrible fate they had instore for us below three feet of steel and a quarter mile of dirt.
But I didn’t… What good could it do? Other than drawing attention to me in a very negative way.
Once they took you to the lab, you were never seen again.
All you could do was hope that your number was never called, and that you got out of here before they visited your cell late into the night.
—-----
87…88…89…90…
My chest was on fire as sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. I couldn’t go back to sleep last night. Kept thinking about Benny.
91…92…93…
So began the push-ups. It was the only way to clear my head.
94…95…96…
My therapy.
97…98…99…100.
I rolled to my back, out of breath.
Three years, six months and change.
So much time left to go.
Benny had only been here for a little over a year. It made no sense…
None of us could figure out exactly why they took who they took. There seemed to be no method to the madness.
Just a couple weeks ago they took old man Tom Finch. He’d been here longer than any of us. A lifer on the account of premeditated murder back in the 70s. But they didn’t come for him until he’d served most of his adult life behind bars.
The red beacon suddenly swirled above. A buzzing sound hummed as the cell doors clicked and slid open.
Breakfast.
—----
I pulled my tray along the bar to be loaded with oats, powdered eggs and bread.
Meager rations.
I grabbed a small carton of milk and made my way over to sit with Pete. He was already nibbling on his toast while perusing a crossword puzzle.
We exchanged nods and I went to devouring the entirety of my plate.
Calories build muscle after all.
Which was something Pete had no interest in. He was a bookworm through and through. Rail thin too. When we’d met, I’d assumed it was from the drug problem he’d had on the outside, which ultimately landed him in incarceration. But come to find out it was just his metabolism and general lack of appetite.
“John…” He whispered.
I looked up from my feast.
He was looking to the corner of the cafeteria and I followed his gaze to see two men in lab coats surveying the crowd.
I grunted and squeezed the handle of my fork until my knuckles went white. The impulse of burying it into their throats was almost overwhelming.
“Their activity has been ramping up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been seeing them much more frequently as of late. They must be close to a breakthrough.”
“Breakthrough of what?” I furrowed my brow.
“Who knows? Whatever it is they are doing down there. They’ve been taking us more often as well.”
Pete sighed at the twist of confusion on my face.
“Think about it… Benny last night, then Tom two weeks before that. Then Eric ten days before that, and Deonte maybe three weeks prior. It’s never been that close together. Until recently, they only came perhaps once every other month. Sometimes only once a season.”
Shit… he was right. I hadn’t realized it before.
“So what does that mean?” I asked, shoving another hunk of egg into my mouth.
“I have no idea. But I’d say our odds of survival have been reduced dramatically.”
—-----
Pete might as well have been an oracle, peering into our grim and desolate future.
Over the next several months we started seeing the lab coats weekly. Sometimes even more often than that.
The prison yard felt empty. Sure there were still plenty of us left, but our population had been noticeably trimmed. One gang in particular only had two members left, which didn’t bode well for them. The others slowly circled them like sharks. I had no affiliation with any of them and kept to myself. But still, I could see their fate a mile away.
Although, despite the business as usual dog eat dog atmosphere, there was an undercurrent of fear rippling through the general pop. You could smell it, like a scent of decay and desperation. Hard faces that had once promised violence, now almost flinched around every corner and jumped at each shadow.
The energy of a couple of hundred men that felt like an animal backed into a corner was palpable.
But what could we do?
I didn’t know but I sure wish someone would tell me… I threw myself into my workouts and Pete hardly ever looked up from a book. Escapism was our only reprieve.
I went to bed with a prayer on my lips, hoping I wouldn’t hear those iron bars moving in the late hours of the night.
—-----
A loud clanking followed by footsteps pulled me from sleep.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut hoping it was the cell next to mine.
But it wasn’t…
Three guards hovered behind a fourth that was unlocking our cell. The bars clicked and began to slide open.
I jumped to my feet and backed up against the wall. I pulled my fists up into a boxing stance, I wasn’t going to go without a fight. My muscles tensed and flexed like coiled steel.
“In the corner inmate! We’re here for your cellmate.” A short and stocky corrections officer barked with his hand gripping the baton at his waist.
Pete squirmed into a ball at the corner of his mat and looked at me with wide, pleading eyes.
I put my face in the opposite corner as instructed. A mixture of fear and relief roiled in my gut, and I hated myself for it. It made me feel like a coward.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I heard Pete squeal from behind as guards flooded the cell.
I peaked over my shoulder and watched as they pried him from the top bunk. Pete tried to resist, but there was nothing to him. A bag of bones that they easily wrestled down.
That same fire ignited in my chest. Anger washed over me, cleansing away the cowardice. For God’s sake, he was my only friend.
All I could see was red.
I spun around bringing the back of my fist across a guard’s face, shattering the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from it as he dropped Pete’s legs.
With a giant step forward I brought an uppercut into the portly officer’s abdomen, dropping him like a ton of bricks.
I shoved a third into the corner, pinning him there as I screamed for Pete to run. He scampered out the opening and the last thing I heard were his footfalls as a baton smashed across the back of my skull. Everything went black before I even hit the ground.
—-----
I spent a month in solitary.
The room was so small it should have been inhumane to house a human being inside of it.
Still… I made the best of it with dips, pushups and situps. Countless reps of them. It was all I could do.
Some mornings I’d wake up with horrible migraines. I assumed it was a slight concussion from the impact of the baton.
I only hoped Pete could have somehow made it out. But somewhere deep down I knew that would have been impossible. Hopefully he at least gave them some hell before they took him below.
I stopped praying before bed. It didn’t seem like it did any good.
If there was a God, he didn’t exist inside these walls.
We were abandoned.
The unheard.
—-------
When I finally got back to my cell it had been emptied of everything. Pete’s books, artwork from his niece and even my Maxim cutout.
Just like he’d never existed. My heart sunk at the sight.
Later that day I’d learned from others that he had been captured just moments after escaping the cell.
But our actions weren’t wasted in vain.
We were the first to fight back against the abduction and it sparked something in the others.
They started talks of an uprising a few weeks back. A prison riot.
They even had a guard on the inside. C.O. Matthews. He was a very religious man and was just as horrified by what was happening as we were and had been looking for a way to help.
“It’s going down tonight John, just before lights out. Be ready.” Jerry whispered at the picnic table.
I gave a nod that I understood and headed off for my daily jog around the courts.
It wasn’t about getting out. Getting free. That wasn’t going to happen. It was about sending a message.
I let my mind go blank, filling with static as I enjoyed what could be my last day outside.
—------
The beacon swirled overhead in the common area.
“Inmates to their cells. Lights out.” The intercom buzzed.
There were over fifty men in cell block B, and not a single one of us moved.
The voice on the intercom repeated himself angrily as guards began to shuffle in closer. Nods passed like dominoes from one inmate to the next. We were ready.
“Get to your cell inmate.” a guard growled as he clamped his hands down on my shoulders.
I threw an elbow behind me into his groin, he howled in pain as he hit the floor. The other inmates sprung to their feet and flew off from their leaning places to join in the brawl.
Fists, feet and batons flew wildly across the cell block as we engaged in war with the uniformed officers.
I grappled with one until I was able to submit him in a choke until he went limp in my arms.
I stomped another in the face, spilling blood and brains on the concrete floor.
It had looked like we were winning until they sent the special response team in. We formed a line, many of us battered and bloody, in front of the row of riot shields.
We waited for their charge for what felt like an eternity.
But suddenly they backed out from where they’d come and slid the cell block doors closed.
What the hell…
The red beacon swirled once again overhead as a clicking sounded out behind us.
The rear entrance that the lab coats had always used swung open. I spun around to see…
“Mary, mother of God.” I gasped.
It was Pete…
But there was something horribly wrong with him.
His skin clung loosely to his body and had a terrible jaundice looking hue to it. His eyes almost seemed to glow and his hands… they were impossibly large like contorted branches.
I held my hand up to my mouth in disbelief.
A scientist stepped out from behind him.
“As you can see, we have a few kinks left to iron out, but we are making great progress. Would you all care to see what he can do?” He looked into each of our eyes inquisitively.
“If you don’t, head back to your cells now. You have ten seconds and then I shall release him.”
It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. But a violent and hungry energy filled the room, emanating from what used to be my friend.
Suddenly, over half the remaining inmates bolted for their cells out of fear. Not that I could blame them, my knees wobbled and threatened to buckle just at the sight of him.
But I stood my ground, as did a handful of others.
“Very well then. Specimen 3-1-0, engage.”
A growl reverberated through the cell block.
“Everyone rush him at once! It’s our only shot.” I hollered.
And we did, but it didn’t matter. It happened so fast. It was over before I could even comprehend it.
He moved like an animal, picking each of us apart almost in unison.
I lay on my back, unable to feel my legs as I watched Jerry be disemboweled. He was trying to shove his intestines back inside the tear in his abdomen before the creature came back to finish him off.
I did a cross over myself but didn’t bother to pray.
As Pete stood over me, with dead eyes, I knew there was no God.
He didn’t exist inside these walls.
We were abandoned.
The unheard.
submitted by papabear513 to HFY [link] [comments]


2023.06.07 13:51 papabear513 The Experiments Beneath Green Haven Penitentiary

I stared up at the magazine cut out of a Maxim model that was crudely pasted on the underside of the top bunk. Her pert breast shimmied ever so slightly as Pete tossed and turned above.
She was platinum blonde with legs long enough to wrap around me twice. Or so the camera angle made it seem. I felt a stirring below, that yearning for a woman’s touch… which I hadn’t felt in six years, three months, and eleven days.
I rolled to my side, stifling it. It was the wrong time to seek out an orgasm, and I knew after the release I’d just spiral into self-loathing anyway. I focused on a crack in the cinder block until my eyelids became heavy.
Static pushed the thought of women from my mind as I slipped into sleep. The smell of cigars and oil flitted through my mind in a memory. My dad’s repair shop. The one I was meant to take over, before the arrest…
------
“Aaaarrgghh!”
A cry echoing from somewhere deep within the prison startled me awake. My heart thundered in my chest like a rabbit thrashing against its cage.
I rolled over to see Pete crouching low, his face pressed against the bars.
“What’s going on?” I croaked.
“They’re taking Benny.” He whispered.
“Fuck, really?” I pulled myself to the top corner of my mattress, just enough to peer around the edge of the bars.
Two guards wrestled the young latino onto a gurney as a man in a lab coat watched from a distance. He fought against them but it was futile. Once the straps were locked in he screamed once more, pleading for help.
Dozens of eyes watched from dim lit cells, none of which stirring to offer assistance in the slightest. We knew there was no helping him. We knew what happened next…
His cries were muffled as the doctor jammed a syringe into the base of his neck. Benny’s muscles tensed and pulsed in the fit of a seizure, but then lay still. The cell block was silent once more as they wheeled him down the hall and into the catacombs.
I did a cross over myself but didn’t bother to pray. Once they took them, they never came back.
“A damn shame…” I muttered.
“Yeah, he was a good kid…” Pete stood and leapt back onto the top bunk.
A fire burned in my chest. I wanted to say something. To cry out about the injustice of what was happening to us. That committing a crime shouldn’t damn a man to whatever terrible fate they had instore for us below three feet of steel and a quarter mile of dirt.
But I didn’t… What good could it do? Other than drawing attention to me in a very negative way.
Once they took you to the lab, you were never seen again.
All you could do was hope that your number was never called, and that you got out of here before they visited your cell late into the night.
—-----
87…88…89…90…
My chest was on fire as sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. I couldn’t go back to sleep last night. Kept thinking about Benny.
91…92…93…
So began the push-ups. It was the only way to clear my head.
94…95…96…
My therapy.
97…98…99…100.
I rolled to my back, out of breath.
Three years, six months and change.
So much time left to go.
Benny had only been here for a little over a year. It made no sense…
None of us could figure out exactly why they took who they took. There seemed to be no method to the madness.
Just a couple weeks ago they took old man Tom Finch. He’d been here longer than any of us. A lifer on the account of premeditated murder back in the 70s. But they didn’t come for him until he’d served most of his adult life behind bars.
The red beacon suddenly swirled above. A buzzing sound hummed as the cell doors clicked and slid open.
Breakfast.
—----
I pulled my tray along the bar to be loaded with oats, powdered eggs and bread.
Meager rations.
I grabbed a small carton of milk and made my way over to sit with Pete. He was already nibbling on his toast while perusing a crossword puzzle.
We exchanged nods and I went to devouring the entirety of my plate.
Calories build muscle after all.
Which was something Pete had no interest in. He was a bookworm through and through. Rail thin too. When we’d met, I’d assumed it was from the drug problem he’d had on the outside, which ultimately landed him in incarceration. But come to find out it was just his metabolism and general lack of appetite.
“John…” He whispered.
I looked up from my feast.
He was looking to the corner of the cafeteria and I followed his gaze to see two men in lab coats surveying the crowd.
I grunted and squeezed the handle of my fork until my knuckles went white. The impulse of burying it into their throats was almost overwhelming.
“Their activity has been ramping up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been seeing them much more frequently as of late. They must be close to a breakthrough.”
“Breakthrough of what?” I furrowed my brow.
“Who knows? Whatever it is they are doing down there. They’ve been taking us more often as well.”
Pete sighed at the twist of confusion on my face.
“Think about it… Benny last night, then Tom two weeks before that. Then Eric ten days before that, and Deonte maybe three weeks prior. It’s never been that close together. Until recently, they only came perhaps once every other month. Sometimes only once a season.”
Shit… he was right. I hadn’t realized it before.
“So what does that mean?” I asked, shoving another hunk of egg into my mouth.
“I have no idea. But I’d say our odds of survival have been reduced dramatically.”
—-----
Pete might as well have been an oracle, peering into our grim and desolate future.
Over the next several months we started seeing the lab coats weekly. Sometimes even more often than that.
The prison yard felt empty. Sure there were still plenty of us left, but our population had been noticeably trimmed. One gang in particular only had two members left, which didn’t bode well for them. The others slowly circled them like sharks. I had no affiliation with any of them and kept to myself. But still, I could see their fate a mile away.
Although, despite the business as usual dog eat dog atmosphere, there was an undercurrent of fear rippling through the general pop. You could smell it, like a scent of decay and desperation. Hard faces that had once promised violence, now almost flinched around every corner and jumped at each shadow.
The energy of a couple of hundred men that felt like an animal backed into a corner was palpable.
But what could we do?
I didn’t know but I sure wish someone would tell me… I threw myself into my workouts and Pete hardly ever looked up from a book. Escapism was our only reprieve.
I went to bed with a prayer on my lips, hoping I wouldn’t hear those iron bars moving in the late hours of the night.
—-----
A loud clanking followed by footsteps pulled me from sleep.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut hoping it was the cell next to mine.
But it wasn’t…
Three guards hovered behind a fourth that was unlocking our cell. The bars clicked and began to slide open.
I jumped to my feet and backed up against the wall. I pulled my fists up into a boxing stance, I wasn’t going to go without a fight. My muscles tensed and flexed like coiled steel.
“In the corner inmate! We’re here for your cellmate.” A short and stocky corrections officer barked with his hand gripping the baton at his waist.
Pete squirmed into a ball at the corner of his mat and looked at me with wide, pleading eyes.
I put my face in the opposite corner as instructed. A mixture of fear and relief roiled in my gut, and I hated myself for it. It made me feel like a coward.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I heard Pete squeal from behind as guards flooded the cell.
I peaked over my shoulder and watched as they pried him from the top bunk. Pete tried to resist, but there was nothing to him. A bag of bones that they easily wrestled down.
That same fire ignited in my chest. Anger washed over me, cleansing away the cowardice. For God’s sake, he was my only friend.
All I could see was red.
I spun around bringing the back of my fist across a guard’s face, shattering the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from it as he dropped Pete’s legs.
With a giant step forward I brought an uppercut into the portly officer’s abdomen, dropping him like a ton of bricks.
I shoved a third into the corner, pinning him there as I screamed for Pete to run. He scampered out the opening and the last thing I heard were his footfalls as a baton smashed across the back of my skull. Everything went black before I even hit the ground.
—-----
I spent a month in solitary.
The room was so small it should have been inhumane to house a human being inside of it.
Still… I made the best of it with dips, pushups and situps. Countless reps of them. It was all I could do.
Some mornings I’d wake up with horrible migraines. I assumed it was a slight concussion from the impact of the baton.
I only hoped Pete could have somehow made it out. But somewhere deep down I knew that would have been impossible. Hopefully he at least gave them some hell before they took him below.
I stopped praying before bed. It didn’t seem like it did any good.
If there was a God, he didn’t exist inside these walls.
We were abandoned.
The unheard.
—-------
When I finally got back to my cell it had been emptied of everything. Pete’s books, artwork from his niece and even my Maxim cutout.
Just like he’d never existed. My heart sunk at the sight.
Later that day I’d learned from others that he had been captured just moments after escaping the cell.
But our actions weren’t wasted in vain.
We were the first to fight back against the abduction and it sparked something in the others.
They started talks of an uprising a few weeks back. A prison riot.
They even had a guard on the inside. C.O. Matthews. He was a very religious man and was just as horrified by what was happening as we were and had been looking for a way to help.
“It’s going down tonight John, just before lights out. Be ready.” Jerry whispered at the picnic table.
I gave a nod that I understood and headed off for my daily jog around the courts.
It wasn’t about getting out. Getting free. That wasn’t going to happen. It was about sending a message.
I let my mind go blank, filling with static as I enjoyed what could be my last day outside.
—------
The beacon swirled overhead in the common area.
“Inmates to their cells. Lights out.” The intercom buzzed.
There were over fifty men in cell block B, and not a single one of us moved.
The voice on the intercom repeated himself angrily as guards began to shuffle in closer. Nods passed like dominoes from one inmate to the next. We were ready.
“Get to your cell inmate.” a guard growled as he clamped his hands down on my shoulders.
I threw an elbow behind me into his groin, he howled in pain as he hit the floor. The other inmates sprung to their feet and flew off from their leaning places to join in the brawl.
Fists, feet and batons flew wildly across the cell block as we engaged in war with the uniformed officers.
I grappled with one until I was able to submit him in a choke until he went limp in my arms.
I stomped another in the face, spilling blood and brains on the concrete floor.
It had looked like we were winning until they sent the special response team in. We formed a line, many of us battered and bloody, in front of the row of riot shields.
We waited for their charge for what felt like an eternity.
But suddenly they backed out from where they’d come and slid the cell block doors closed.
What the hell…
The red beacon swirled once again overhead as a clicking sounded out behind us.
The rear entrance that the lab coats had always used swung open. I spun around to see…
“Mary, mother of God.” I gasped.
It was Pete…
But there was something horribly wrong with him.
His skin clung loosely to his body and had a terrible jaundice looking hue to it. His eyes almost seemed to glow and his hands… they were impossibly large like contorted branches.
I held my hand up to my mouth in disbelief.
A scientist stepped out from behind him.
“As you can see, we have a few kinks left to iron out, but we are making great progress. Would you all care to see what he can do?” He looked into each of our eyes inquisitively.
“If you don’t, head back to your cells now. You have ten seconds and then I shall release him.”
It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. But a violent and hungry energy filled the room, emanating from what used to be my friend.
Suddenly, over half the remaining inmates bolted for their cells out of fear. Not that I could blame them, my knees wobbled and threatened to buckle just at the sight of him.
But I stood my ground, as did a handful of others.
“Very well then. Specimen 3-1-0, engage.”
A growl reverberated through the cell block.
“Everyone rush him at once! It’s our only shot.” I hollered.
And we did, but it didn’t matter. It happened so fast. It was over before I could even comprehend it.
He moved like an animal, picking each of us apart almost in unison.
I lay on my back, unable to feel my legs as I watched Jerry be disemboweled. He was trying to shove his intestines back inside the tear in his abdomen before the creature came back to finish him off.
I did a cross over myself but didn’t bother to pray.
As Pete stood over me, with dead eyes, I knew there was no God.
He didn’t exist inside these walls.
We were abandoned.
The unheard.
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2023.06.07 13:51 monroe_hawk12 Party of Five (and no this ain't the 90s) can't get dining reservations

So, here's the deal: our family of five is super excited about our cruise, but we've run into a bit of a snag with the app. It's been a frustrating experience trying to book tables for dinner in the Main Dining Room (MDR). The app just doesn't seem to be working properly, and we're getting a bit worried about not being able to secure reservations for our family.
We've already reached out to customer support, but their response has been a bit vague, suggesting we try again later. But we're concerned that if we wait until we're on the ship, it might be too late to get the dining times we prefer.
Are there any alternative methods for making dinner reservations once we're on board? Any tips or tricks that seasoned cruisers can share would be greatly appreciated! We want to make the most of our family time and ensure we have a memorable dining experience.
Thank you so much in advance for your help and suggestions. We're really looking forward to this trip, and with your guidance, I'm sure we'll find a solution to this booking dilemma. Happy cruising, everyone!
submitted by monroe_hawk12 to PrincessCruises [link] [comments]