Agm super start powersport battery

Kik Pals

2012.11.27 20:14 baldrad Kik Pals

A SFW place for people with Kik to meet
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2023.05.29 01:00 1twat NB sudden stalling anytime

Hello, I finally brought a Miata NBFL 1.8vvt yesterday and it drove home 2 hours fine, since then though it seems to be stalling at random. The only consistency I've found about the stalling is when the car jolts. I.e. if I accelerate hard in first it will stall, or if I make a poor up shift. When driving very cautiously the car seems fine.
I doubt the battery is an issue as the car starts right back up when rolling and from a stand still. My thoughts are a poor /rusty ground connection or something wrong with the coil pack.
Please if someone has met an issue like this before or has any ideas of what I should look at first, it would be greatly appreciated
submitted by 1twat to Miata [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:59 Reasonable_Sign9671 the end of my story

My story started nearly 3 days ago in the middle of the night. you can read more about it - here https://www.reddit.com/Sextortion/comments/13s5gve/i_fell_for_it_too/ Long story short - I did pay about 50 USD, I was asked for more and then I blocked the scammer on SC and IG and went dark, couldn't sleep for the first 24 hours at all, was scared and I was shitting in my pants. (NOT LITERALLY)
after 1 day the scammer SC account disappeared for me and I couldn't find it anymore. the IG account is until now still there, and his following and followers numbers change every day as also his profile picture. He can't contact me because I deactivated my accounts and therefore I think I don't need to be afraid anymore. as far as I know, he didn't end up creating a group of my followers on IG and didn't leak anything, I guess that if he did leak - his IG account would have been banned because I reported it multiple times, also reported the incident to the FBI and stuff at the beginning.
Now after nearly 72 hours - I think I'm good to go, reactivated my IG and changed my bio + username It may not be enough tbh (because he can search for my name in one of my followers that aren't private) but I think he won't make an effort to find me now anyway.

learned a lesson to not send nudes online with people IDK IRL, and if I do - it will be only done from an account that is brand new and is not connected to me and will never give my private details/account in those situations ever again. I was super depressed at the beginning and imagined how my whole life are ruined. but I will keep my head up and continue from here.

I'm pretty sure I won't post here in the future a post that says "After 5 months I'm still afraid" or something similar because if I'm in the clear and he won't contact me again or leak anything - all this situation will be totally behind me in a few more days.
REMEMBER, it's better to use PORNHUB, than send NUDES to STRANGERS and expose your private information to them.
even opening an OF account could get me out of this way cheaper. BE STRONG, LOVE, AND PEACE
submitted by Reasonable_Sign9671 to Sextortion [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:59 helpidkhowigothere i was having the juiciest conversation too and it logged me out stoooop😭

i was having the juiciest conversation too and it logged me out stoooop😭 submitted by helpidkhowigothere to CharacterAI [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:58 Shrimp-Crab I feel like we cannot rely on Reddit no more whenever we have some questions or issues. Redditors usually comment on things they have no idea about. Why?

Welcome to everybody on reddit, where people comment on posts they know nothing about without fully reading it or attempting to give a good answer. They all want to comment but have no experience and/or barely even know what you're talking about. This is why I started using Quora for my own personal questions, besides the super strict subreddit rules. I only come here to find already answered questions. I used to ask tech questions and say things like “I've tried this A1 plug and it did not work” and 6 people will comment “Try the A1 plug” or “Just get a whole new Station” or “who even cares just ignore it” Just not even worth using reddit at this point. Too many know it alls that know nothing at all. They don't even read the question, or they don't know the answer but still feel compelled to comment something irrelevant. Just like a guy who was too concerned with why you're asking the question than actually answering the question, because he doesn't know the answer but he still wants comment
submitted by Shrimp-Crab to SeriousConversation [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:58 TSMaynard1 [RF] ABP "Always Be Preparing"

Pine needles brushed across Paul's arms as he charged through the trees with his bugout bag slung over his shoulders. Weighing in at forty pounds, it hardly slowed him down as he’d practiced this hike many times. He flicked his wrist and checked his Garmin Solar 2 Tactical Watch. The timer read: 2:23.
“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.
submitted by TSMaynard1 to shortstories [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:52 Myeki S20FE (non 5g) dying. Should I get S21FE, Pixel 7A, A54.

So my S20fe is finally dying. Battery life is gone. Starting to get really sluggish at times as well. I don't care about flagship quality. Just want decent camera, fast and responsive and a full day battery life. Don't use wireless charging. Don't play games. Prefer smaller size phones. No bigger than s20fe. Was originally looking at s22 6 months ago for the size but heard battery is terrible. Don't want to spend more than $900 AUD.
Options I know are available are s21fe, pixel 7a, or a54. Happy to hear any other suggestions/recommendations.
Cheers
submitted by Myeki to PickAnAndroidForMe [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:51 AntiCitizenJuanMWO Don't Sleep on Streaming from Desktop

I just tried this for the first time after having my Deck for 9 months, I have a pretty beefy PC and decided to finally give streaming to the Steam Deck a go.
Instead of playing the game native on Deck at Medium settings with <2 hours battery life I'm playing it at Max with 7+ hours of battery life
Granted I have super fast internet, but my god this thing just keeps getting better and better
If you just play in bed or in the house and have fast internet this is the way
submitted by AntiCitizenJuanMWO to SteamDeck [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:50 laurenasdf The judge blamed me for being too frozen to scream “no” to a serial rapist. It’s been a month since court and I’ve lost all sense of self

I’m sorry in advance, I don’t mean to make this a “woe is me” a story, but I’m really lost.
Long story short, my attacker (26m) was 6’8” and supposedly my partner of 8mo. Three different women have pressed charges against him in nine months for the same thing (he lied and said we were exclusive and that he wanted to “have my (latinx) children”… we’ll skip past that lmfaoo). Turns out he was f*cking and assaulting four other women simultaneously and I didn’t know it was all true until he tried to do it to me. There are like 20 holes in his walls from where he’s swung at different women. He told me they were old and from self defense with a crazy ex). I’m (24F) 100 pounds and overly nice. I got away by escaping and locking myself in the bathroom after asking him for four hours (over text) to not have sex (wanted a whole some night, and he had been acting in ways that made me so confused and uncomfortable) and him coming over and starting to force it anyway. The judge (no lie) blamed it on me, and said he was a POS but it didn’t legally count as assault because I didn’t scream “no” as it was happening as i was frozen and terrified. He literally admitted to it over text too, saying he “felt me trying to pull away from him and it was not okay with him” and that “i’d never be a wife if I deny myself to man”. None of it makes any sense. I was raped before in the past (he knew this), I have had a stalker and been groped, followed, pinned down. This was the first time I pressed charges because I was absolutely terrified, I found out how many of us there were, he had no remorse, and I learned he was starting with a new woman. He was literally out on bond for kidnapping and rape when he tried to do it to me and got out on bond AGAIN (third time this year).
Sorry this is a poorly written, chaotic post but my thoughts are so scattered. I go through waves of feeling like I’m going to be okay and then suddenly I tank.
I wrote to RAINN and another place trying to speak on my trial because it was the most absurd failure of the justice system but haven’t heard back from RAINN yet. I know this is a super poorly written post because it’s on my phone and I’m exhausted but I genuinely love to write and speak. Regarding the case, I wanted to appeal but apparently the way the law is written, my lawyers said I would likely go through more trauma for nothing, which is absolutely beyond wild to me
I don’t know the point of this post, I guess I’m just venting but I’ve slowly drifted from all my friends and family. A few years ago, I was a pre-med student at a top tier school with hopes and dreams and now I feel like I am a broken human. I feel absolutely powerless, like so-called “justice” is an absolute joke. I feel disconnected from my support systems about I don’t know how to fix it - it sounds dumb but I legitimately don’t know who I am anymore. I live alone and I can’t imagine ever dating again. I’m just… gone.
I guess my questions are - 1) does it ever get any better? I’m so sad watching all my friends get married and start families. It’s been 6 months since the offense and I truly don’t know how I would ever date or be intimate again and it kills me. I see a therapist every few weeks and have a virtual support group of amazing ladies but I feel absolutely alone in a crowded room. And 2) do you know of anywhere I can speak out? I want my voice to be heard. I’ve been overly nice my whole life - I’m ready to be loud, because I’ll be [email protected] if this ever happens to another survivor.
Thank you so much for listening, truly. 🙏
submitted by laurenasdf to sexualassault [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:49 Plumpum Worst holiday weekend river/camp story!

It’s Memorial Day weekend! What’s the best/funniest/worst/most disturbing thing you’ve witnessed while fishing or camping on a holiday weekend?
I’ll start with a few good ones:
4th of July weekend a few years ago. Drunk kayak girls flipping in a log jam 3 miles or so from our planned take out. Gave em a ride in the boat for a couple bends, dragged their kayaks to the take out, and got ~10 free beers and half bottle of fireball. Worth it. Barely put a dent in our day of fishing and we had plenty of booze (maybe too much?) for our mouse float later on.
Labor Day weekend a few years ago, and a cold and rainy one at that. Presumably sober cub scouts on a canoe float with what appeared to be their grandparents. Must’ve stopped 20 times that day to drag flipped canoes out of log jams and empty water out of em on the bank. Gave away two mexican blankets and all the emergency blankets I had in the boat. Total shit show. Super fishy day though, insane streamer bite.
Last story is from Fourth of July last year. Middle school aged girl (I think?) kayaking and asked to borrow a phone. Called her mom and started screaming and crying about being lost and not being able to find her dad and brother. Said the last time she saw them she paddled ahead of them 30 minutes ago. I told her the livery take out was an hour away and that she she could either wait there or paddle an hour and she couldn’t miss the take out. Mom wanted to call the cops and for search and rescue, and she started screaming and crying too. After sitting there anchored up for 10 minutes convincing the mom that she did not need to call 911, dad and brother came paddling down. Turns out, if you paddle ahead of your group, you simply stop and eventually they catch up. Can’t blame the girl for scaring herself, kids can be dumb. But mom? Guess mom doesn’t understand the concept of a river? Not to mention, poor dad and the screaming he must’ve endured too! And worst of all, we didn’t catch the rising fish we anchored up to work.
How about you all? It’d be nice to enjoy the great fishing Michigan has to offer every day/weekend, but we all know these holiday weekends bring out the crazies. Let’s hear some stories!
submitted by Plumpum to michiganflyfishing [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:47 BarryTownCouncil Kids book series for advanced 6yos

Our small person is almost 6 but able to read around 8yo standards and loves a GOOD book. I got her hooked on Stinkbomb and Ketchup Face, and am now struggling to find anything remotely as captivating for her. Those books are AMAZING. Super self aware books where the characters talk about how a chapter can end in the middle of a
And in other books the story starts and nothing is happening and then the story realises it's still 4am so waits a while and then has another chapter 1. Or another book where the Evil Badgers get hold of a pre-release copy of the book itself and start replacing the pages which th ones from literally classics and crashing into their storylines and rewriting it in crayon and what they write starts happening ... omg these books are fan bloody tastic, and she understands all of it. Seriously, got book loving kids under 10? Buy the box set now!
So outside of the celebrity author type books, walliams etc... Are there any amazing, funny and really engaging kids books that you can suggest that sound similar? We're trying lots but nothing is coming close!
submitted by BarryTownCouncil to u/BarryTownCouncil [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:47 Think-Phrase-331 2k23 The Lock story is disappointing

It started off so good and I really liked it in the beginning, I even thought it mighr be better than 2k19 but it ended being disappointing.
Why do I fight Orton at the end? The match itself is not bad since (if you chose Evolution) you still had some beef with Orton, and if you chose The Hurt business... well, this is awkward. Anyway, Slade is the one pushed as your nemesis, he is the one who becomes what The Lock was supposed to be, why add that pointless switch at the end? Only to have Slade turn on Orton and walk away? And then end the game like that? When the credits started rolling I was like "wtf was that". It could have been good if we got like another chapter for a Slade redemption arc but yeah... this game as a whole could've done great with one extra chapter.
Speaking of another chapter, what's up with Sami's cash in? Somehow I understand how everything comes full circle but it doesn't really because you don't lose to Sami. It would've been super cool if he won and we got another chapter to chase him wround for the belt, or go in a triple threat storyline with Slade, hell imo it would've been better if he just won the WWE Championship and then the game ended, at least it would've been full circle. But if none of that is going to happen, why even have the cash in after what was supposed to be the pinnacle of the story? What's the point if it literally adds nothing?
The Evolution part of the story was lackluster and it had the potential to be a lot better in my opinion.
You spend most of the game outside of WWE fighting randoms, which isn't necessarily bad by itself but I expected to get a bit more time in WWE, which a 5th chapter could've helped with.
I also had Roman and Brock in my faction and I promised them both a title shot, so I was expecting a triple threat or something, which would've been cool. I was starting to wonder if choosing your allies was actually a more complex system since you want strong guy to win the War Games but you don't want to be in a triple threat with the strongest. It turns out it's not tho.
My biggest issue with this game is that some of the decisions seem like they were made by Vince and it ends so abruptly. I literally finished the game vs Orton, Slade walked off and I thought "please don't tell me it ends like this" and then Sami cashed in and I was super relieved, thinking there would be something more, only for it to actually end like that but with extra steps.
I just finished it, wanted to rant and didn't know where.
submitted by Think-Phrase-331 to WWE2K22 [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:46 Pika-thulu Starving in suburbia

I had bariatric sleeve surgery on May 9th. It took so much work to get there but most importantly was a sugar-free liquid diet ( broth, sugar-free drinks, sugar free jello, no sugar protein drinks) my doctor put me on for 2 weeks prior to surgary and to remain on for 3 weeks after. My surgery came and went. It was painfull of course. I took some time off work and started recovery.
Long story short I slowly started feeling worse and worse. I was having a hard time walking and eventually even standing. I was extremely nauseous, which only started on May 20th along with vomiting mostly blood but small amounts.
I saw my doctor on May 23rd and let him know all my symptoms. He made sure I was following my plan. He stated that I should stop drinking protein drinks. that I start drinking a homemade electrolyte drink, and that he "never tells patients this" but to take caffeine tablets. I then told him that I felt like I was starving and I felt like that the entire time I have been on the liquid diet. He then laughed at me and said "people experience hunger in different ways"... It had been 29 days since I had eaten anything. He said to maybe take some more time off work and to call if things got worse.
I took more time off. I put myself on bedrest. I cant do anything. I can barely get to the bathroom I am miserable. after two more days of this I am so much worse. The only thing I can consume is water and the electrolyte drink. I am still having a hard time keeping that down. It takes so much energy to get to the bathroom. I am eventually sobbing and feeling the worst Ive ever felt. I call my doctor. They at first tell me to come in for labs. Then they call back and change their minds and say go to the ER.
Another long story short at the ER they order a bunch of super expensive tests and it all comes back fine. ER doc says I am starving to death and I need sugar and a snack. I am SUPER pissed. At myself sure, but mostly at my doctor. Even his "dietician" told me "youre going to feel like youre starving, but I swear you're not" Well I have medical fucking proof I was. So gfy
I am just wondering if there is any way to get the doctor to pick up this up coming ER bill? I just know it is goint o be massive. This is all his doing and I was just following his orders.
This happened in Idaho.

TLDR; Weight loss surgery> Dr. says no food> Almost die>Can he pay my ER bill?

Extra rant if you're interested in my bitching:
I am just so beyond frustrated. Of course I am so happy that nothing was wrong! Relieved beyond belief. I was so sure I was dying. My partners were sure I was dying. I was being stubborn and didnt want to go to the ER before my doctor told me to. Literally, the ONLY reason I went to the ER is because I knew that if I didn't go to the ER after my doctor told me to is I knew my life insurance wouldn't pay out and my family would be fucked if I died. I suffered for weeks and it slowly got worse as I approached death slowly and it was excruciating. Of course some people are going to think I am an idiot. I am right there with you. Fuck me. My family is pissed at me too. Why did I do this? Well, a doctor told me to do it. I told him I felt like I was starving and he laughed in my face. He has hundreds of other patients not dying. Which, I dont understand. Even the ER doctor told me that he found it strange that I was placed on this diet in the first place. Also, I was also so impressed by my discipline. I never thought that I could stick to something like that long. I was proud, honestly. I am still disappointed with it all. I will now have to go into my new stomach and dietary needs myself. I can seek professional assistance but I am just over that for now.
submitted by Pika-thulu to legaladvice [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:46 wonderwoman095 I think it might be time for me to go back in the closet completely.

It seems like everywhere I look there's hate crimes being committed against LGBTQ people. Everywhere I look there are people who want us dead because of who we love, and there are people who want our trans siblings dead because of who they are. I just feel like I can't take it anymore, I can't even go to local pride events without fearing that a mass shooter might show up. I live in a rural, conservative area in a blue state so while at the state level my rights aren't being threatened, I can't go to the local grocery store wearing a pride shirt without fear of someone screaming at me. I work with kids and all I ever seem to hear is about how predatory people think gay people are, despite the fact that 78% of sexual abuse perpetrators are straight men and LGBTQ kids themselves are more likely to be preyed upon. I keep reading stories about LGBTQ people and our supporters getting attacked in bathrooms, getting the police called because we're existing in public, getting harassed just because we're at events to celebrate. People being horrible to us just for existing.
I've never been super open about my being gay because I've never wanted to cause trouble for my family. My father is a minister, and while he's been a supporter of gay rights and gay affirmation in the church since before I was born, it would still bring a lot of retribution his way if the community knew his kid's gay. I live with my parents after getting my masters degree and it would just make things harder for them and myself for me to be too open, so only a select few people outside the family know.
I've been toying with the idea of going back into the closet or even faking being straight for a guy for a while now, partially because of the rampant homophobia and the other part because I feel no other girl I vibe with wants to have kids, which is something I've wanted for a very long time. It would just be so much easier for me to pretend to be straight. When I was a teenager who hadn't realized that I was gay I thought "If I just find a guy who's nice to me and I can tolerate having to let him touch me then I'll be ok." I'm starting to think more and more that that might be the best way to go about things. I just want to live a normal life: have a spouse, a job that pays well, maybe a house, and a couple kids. That typical "American Dream." But I'm thinking more and more that the way things are going and with the United States trending fascist I'm not going to be able to get that if I'm openly a lesbian. I'm not going to get that if I marry a woman, and my life would be that much more dangerous. I've not even been fully out of the closet in my life, but I think it's time for me to go back into it because I just can't take what's happening around me any more. I feel horrible for complaining because I know there are people in red states and other countries who have it so much worse. Our trans siblings have it so much worse. I just don't think I can deal with everything that comes with being open anymore.
submitted by wonderwoman095 to actuallesbians [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:46 throwaway_67890246_ im 20 and my parents won’t let me move out, what do i do?

hi, i know i’m saying they ‘won’t’ let me move. i know i’m 20 and fully capable of leaving, however they make it extremely difficult to do so.
for context, back in october was the first time i tried moving away. they freaked on me and demand i be back or they would call the cops on me. at the time i was super emotional and they like to manipulate me with my emotions, so i gave in and came back.
fast forward to last tuesday, i did it again. for more context though, i moved in both of these times with my boyfriend who lives two states away. this time however was different, i packed all my shit and basically moved out in the middle of the night. i left a note letting my parents know i moved out and i was safe and where i was. they still freaked out. my phone was blowing up, and they basically started harassing the other people my boyfriend lives with via instagram and facebook. my mother called me and kept me on the phone for two hours, basically telling me that i’m not allowed to move away and do this, and that i’m tearing this family apart and that ‘this is the end’. she said she failed at parenting me and must’ve not raised me right. if you can’t tell by now, my parents are incredibly controlling. i can’t do anything without their approval and it makes it even worse because i don’t have my own car, or a job to even get a car. this is due to them trying to shelter me as much as possible basically. so now today is sunday, im back at my parents but not permanently. they however do not know this, i only came back because i have a court date to show up to (we got hit by another car back in november). so in two weeks, i’m leaving again. how do i go about this? i know fully well i am allowed to leave, they just make it extra difficult by yelling and manipulating me to stay. i’ve seen online people say to call the cops to help escort me off the property, or to simply just tell them i’m leaving. i unfortunately can’t just say i’m leaving, it’ll cause hell and chaos. i’m taking a train back to where i moved with my bf. any advice on how i should go about this?
submitted by throwaway_67890246_ to Advice [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:45 Illah DIY battery swap for MK7 GTI?

Went out of town for a few weeks and came home to a non-starting car. Luckily it wasn't completely dead, just low enough to not turn the crank, so a quick chargeup got it going again without all the electronics resetting. None the less figure it might be time to replace the OEM batt.
Googling around yields inconclusive opinions, with some saying it's fine to just drop in a new batt while others say anything other than OEM (or matched specs) need a reprogram of the system computer. Anyone here have any advice or experience?
FWIW the O'Rieley autoparts store near me has several "Super Start" batts in stock that will fit per their parts finder. Was hoping to pick that up and slap it in and drop the old batt for recycling.
submitted by Illah to GolfGTI [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:44 Godorok [Bug?!] Game drops at like 2 frames per second after killing specific bosses. Anyone else?

Elden Ring is now super broken for me at this moment for some unknown reason (never was like that before). Basically whenever I kill a MAIN PROGRESSION BOSS while playing, the game just starts lagging like crazy to the point where it becomes so slow and broken that I believe it’s on the brink of crashing but refuses to. This occurs when “Great Enemy defeated” appears on screen and the boss dies. Bosses I’ve observed this happen on are bosses like Margit and Godrick, yet field bosses and small dungeon bosses (catacombs and caves) never have this problem. I really doubt that this is a Bad PC problem since I have very good specs. Has anyone else been affected by this or is it just me? Btw this lasts all the way back to the main menu until you completely close the game (i just wanna play normally again 😭☠️)
submitted by Godorok to Eldenring [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:42 Terrible-Parsnip5731 Can anyone try and find the original name for this?

Can anyone try and find the original name for this?
This is the watch I would like to get but i do not know the name of it from Casio and would like to know
submitted by Terrible-Parsnip5731 to casio [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:41 Fellow_Throwout Can stress make it harder to lose weight?

I’m 17f 5’8 and 69kg. My whole life I’ve found it super easy to lose weight (not to brag, it was just how I was) I would fast a little bit and doing some calorie counting and I’ll drop 1/2kg a week.. this was aged 15-16.. but when I moved out at 16, started to manage a florist, and lived 6 hours away from my family, I’m also completely financially independent. (Not by choice i did this is was more I was left behind by my family) (there’s a few other things going on but I’m leaving that out of it)
During this time I’ve noticed my periods go super long (up to 70days In between each cycle) I thought I was hormones so I got them checked and I’m completely normal, I also randomly grew a couple of cm in hight? And I haven’t grown since I was 14…
I also have noticed Im gaining weight it doesn’t matter how many calories I eat, how many steps I’m taking it’s going up.. I’m so confused… I don’t know what the hell to do.. can please some give me some advice?!!
submitted by Fellow_Throwout to loseit [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:41 Chattaway1990 [PC] How to change Icons for each controller type? XB/PS

I just started playing the game again after a super long time and using my xbox controller I had full PS5 controller shown and button icons in game, google nor support on discord could help me figure out why till I deleted the INI file and then the xbox controls showed. I copied the old ini back and the PS5 icons were back.
I can't find when comparing the ini files what would cause the icons to change and be xb or ps. So now I have xbox icons with my fresh ini but lets say I wanted to use my DS5 controller again, how would I get those icons back?
submitted by Chattaway1990 to AssassinsCreedValhala [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:40 purplehashira My collection (Super Mid)

Collection 5/23
Hey everyone, Saw some people do this and I thought it would be fun to see this and possibly get some feedback and/or answer questions!! I am also going to add the ones I am still getting shipped to me; I'll add them at the very end. Im going to talk about why I like them, give them my rating based off of everything, and for the memes, put how many compliments I've gotten from them LOL hahaha.
(Row by Row)
Row 1 ________________________________________________
YSL Y EDT: Super Aromatic, I feel like it has a mass appeal. Its super fresh and this is my 2nd bottle of it since I liked it so much. 8.5/10 (4 compliments in 2 years (Lol))
YSL L'Homme: Nice, Calm, and Cirtus-y scent. Doesnt really project too much but the dry down is super nice. Wish it lasted longer but it is an EDT. 6.5/10 (1 compliment in 1 year)
Versace Pour Homme: You can wear this cologne for most occasions and it really does show. Its super popular and it shows, it has a really nice dry down and I pick up on the grapefruit top note HEAVILY. I like it a lot. 7/10 (0 compliments in 1.5 years)
Haltane Parfums de Marly: My first niche cologne that I hesitantly spent 300 dollars on LOL. So worth it. It lasts for so long on clothes and skin. It has a nice sweet oud scent that I love and so do other people that arent my mom! I was really reluctant buying my first niche cologne, but I really like this one and I am going to get a few more from De Marly for sure. 8.8/10 (2 compliments in 6 months)
Xerjoff Uden: I bought this because someone gave me a sample, and I kind of felt like pressured to buy it lmaooooo. I liked it a lot and to be honest I bought this during the end of the Souths winter. It was way too warm to wear this sweet scent. Nevertheless, it is a very calm and sweet scent. I cant wait till it gets a little colder to wear because it really does smell amazing. 8/10 (0 compliments in 5 months)
Touch Burberry: I got this as a gift 3 years ago, its nice, I dont personally love it. I wore it here and there, and everytime I wore it, my friends told me I smell like baby powder and it pissed me off. I dont smell that. I smelt the ocean and the dry down is not my favorite on my skin 4.5/10 (1 compliment in 3 years)

Row 2 ________________________________________________
Valentino Uomo Born In Roma Yellow Dream: Man, I LOVE this scent. I got a bundle of like 7 colognes at once from Kohls when I got my bonus and I spent them on a few things. You'll notice from the timeline of when I got them. This one of those colognes that I literally looooove. It just has such nice sweet and tame fruity scent. Super nice. Only downside is that it doesnt really last all that long, and the projection and sillage is only good for the first hour. 8.5/10 (3 compliments in 6 months)
Valentino Uomo Born in Roma: This fragrance is really woody and it works well. I didnt know it had a salty top note until I googled it, and whenever I went to spray it again, I smelt it. I wore this cologne everyday doing absolutely nothing. While I was working from home, getting groceries, filling up gas. I liked it a lot. Doesnt project the best on me. 8/10 (1 compliment in 6 months)
Acqua di Giò Profondo: I got this cologne because the lady at Kohls told me that it was perfect for the summer. Aromatic, fresh, aquatic. I liked the other Armani colognes and I loved this one. I wear it quite often since the weather is getting warmer. It lasts pretty long and it is definitley a go-to for me. 8.3/10 (2 compliments in 6 months)
Club de Nuit Intense Man: My brother bought this like 2 years ago because he really wanted the Creed Aventus cologne. I liked the way it smelt but it was my brothers so I never sprayed it. I always had doubts about it smelling like Creed but whenever my brother eventually pulled the trigger and spent 500 bucks of a bottle, he gave me this. My oh my does it smell exactly like his. Creed definitely lasts 3x longer but I will still wear this one here and there. 6.8/10 (0 compliments in 2 years)
Xerjoff Torino21: This is my most recent purchase. I went to Neimann Marcus to smell some samples that I saw on google and was really interested in a specific cologne. The lady offered this and when I smelt it, I fell in love. It was either this or the alexandria fragrance. Torino 21 is sooooooo fresh; Its the perfect spring scent. Top note of lemon, basil, mint, you smell all of those. The dry down is amazing, the sillage is great, the projection is out there. 8.9/10 (1 compliment in 1 month)
Dior Homme: I got this as a gift and I really liked it. It has such a manly smell to it and I wore this whenever I wore a suit or to a fancy occasion. I realized a lot of people have it and its clear to see why. The projection on this is pretty good for an EDT. Whenever my brother comes and visits, he ignores all my colognes and just sprays this on him while he plays video games haha. I pick up on a leathery and musky scent. 8/10 (0 compliments in 2 years)
Mr. Burberry EDP: I used to be a server back in 2019 when I got this cologne; it was a gift. I wore it every day and I got a few compliments from my coworkers. I sprayed in the car right before I left when it was the most prominent. Now when I smell it, I get really crazy flashbacks of when I was 19 years old; kinda makes me a little sad lol. Grapefruit and minty top note, amber base notes. Nice and masculine. 0/10 (I want to cry when I smell this.) (6 Compliments in 3 years)

Row 3 ________________________________________________

1 Million Lucky Paco Rabanne: This was my first real cologne and I got it back in 2018. I was a freshman in college and I kid you not, this was MY scent. I have so many stories on this cologne and I will share my favorite. I used to cheat this cologne by spraying it in the elevator coming up to the library where everyone used to hangout after classes, not only did everyone on the table smell me and compliment me, but I used to get texts from friends telling me that they smell me in the elevator. I used to get guys asking me to spray them because of how often I would get compliments and how people always asked me what I was wearing. I had people who would hug me and then come back and hug me again because I smelled good. I bought maybe 5 bottles total and I will buy my 6th if this runs out. it is my all time favorite cologne. My brother bought it for me in 2018 and I cannot thank him enough. The scent is a nice and sweet one with ozonic top notes, hazelnut middle notes, and amber base notes. The dry down is amazing and of course im biased and am going to say that the projection and sillage are 10/10, even for an EDT. 10/10 (70ish compliments in 5.5 years)
Titanium for men Aris: Got this as a gift from my aunt when she came back from Qatar. Its alright, I like to spray it whenever I am home and just want to smell something. Fruity top notes, Leather woody mid notes, and amber base notes. My mom complimented me on this once but that doesnt count. hahaha. Projection and Sillage are ehhh. 5/10 (0 compliments in 1.5 years)
K by Dolce & Gabbana: I got this in an airport because I forgot my GOAT 1 million cologne. My dad was hurrying me to get something because I have a fear of not smelling good, I couldnt find anything I wanted and so my dad picked this for me. Its a fresh aromatic and citrusy scent. Lemon top notes, cedar base notes. Projection is alright, sillage is not the best. I cant believe I paid 100 something dollars because my dad was yelling at me. lmao. 6/10 (0 compliments in 2.5 years)
The Most Wanted Azzaro: I remember asking my super-into-fragrance friend about what I should get since I liked amberish and sweet scents. He gave me this and scent me a link to buy it. I have worn this on a date and a few occasions considering the weather is too warm in the south to really wear this. The 4 times I have worn this, i got compliments. I got told it is alluring which is good? Lol idk. the projection is really good for the first hour and so is the sillage. 8/10 (4 compliments in 6 months)
Spicebomb Extreme Viktor&Rolf: I bought this at Kohls as well. Originally I didnt like the scent but when it dried down after like an hour, I went back the next day and got it. Its a sweet and spicy scent and its actually insane how it smells. My friend came over and smelt this and started to wrestle me because he wanted to steal it lol. It was super funny and I enjoy wearing it but again, the weather makes it tough to wear. The vanilla and spice really are prominent in this. Someone told me I smelt like Dr.Pepper and it pissed me off. 8/10 (3 compliments in 6 months)
Freshy R183 MAA ALTHAHAB: I got this as a gift from Saudi Arabia. I am super cautious with when to spray this because it is rare in my opinion. It is a sweet scent that smells holy-like. I dont know how to explain it. It is like spicy, vanilla, musky, etc. 9/10 (1 compliment in 1 year)
Hero Burberry: Woody and aromatic. Hints of citrus. Super elegant smell and I feel like you can wear this in whatever occasion. My brother also comes and tries to steal this one too. It smells amazing and I sprayed this once before playing sports and the people were telling me "why do you smell good when were playing soccer?" In my defense, I didnt know I was about to play soccer. 8.5/10 (2 compliments in 6 months)
________________________________________________

THINGS THAT ARE STILL OTW AND BEING SHIPPED TO MY HOUSE


Millésime Impérial Creed: I went into the creed store to smell a few of them out of curiosity, I wish I didnt. I know creed is one of the most duped fragrances ever, however, I felt like a connection to this bottle along with the other one I was going to smell. It was truly amazing. Oceany, Fruity, Musky, Citrusy. It was just a holy grail of things. 9/10 (N/A)
Aventus Cologne Creed: My favorite creed, not to get confused with Aventus, this is a lot different. Perfect for warmer weather as it has citrusy, fresh, and woody smell. I cant wait to have this and get absolutely no compliments. LOL. But seriously, this is a very good scent and I love it. I cant wait till it gets shipped so I can start wearing it to sleep. 9.2/10 (N/A)
Galloway Parfums de Marly: When I smelled Haltane by de Marly, I went the next week to smell its other collections. I did some research on ones that I might like, and this one caught my eye. Citrusy and musky, fresh and sweet. I was hesitant to buy this so I got a small decant and wore it for a few days and I liked it a lot. So i bit the bullet and got it. Im really glad I did because the decant finished and Im waiting for this. 9/10 (1 compliment in 2 weeks)
Baccarat Rouge 540 Extrait MFK: yeah shut up i know. i know its basic, but guess what. IT SMELLS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD. The sample bottle was 15 dollars and I wore it out with my friends and they told me that I smelled so good. 6 hours after when I went to say goodbye, they said it was still really nice and strong. I cannot wait till this one comes in 10/10 (2 compliments in 6 hours)
Edit: yes i bought them at once (I had points about to expire so I used them and got a good deal)




I really hope you guys liked this. It took like 2 hours to do lol. If there is anything questions lmk! I am open to feedback and criticism!!
submitted by purplehashira to fragrance [link] [comments]


2023.05.29 00:40 RandomAppalachian468 Don't fly over Barron County Ohio.

The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County in Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a nearby ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, making a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.
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2023.05.29 00:40 gobananaslugsjk Bored, Lazy, slightly above average, Test-optional Hispanic CS-major Student Goes for Majority Reach Schools

Demographics
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Latino (Peruvian Descant)
Residence: Northern California (but not the bay area, its the Sacramento area)
Income Bracket: >50k
Type of School: very average public school (only a few [around 10-15] go to top schools like ucla, uc san diego, uc berkeley)
Hooks: First-Gen, Low income LOL
Intended Major(s): Computer Science/Data Science for UC schools; sociology for most of the private schools on the Common Application
Academics
GPA (UW/W): 3.84 UW and 4.19 W at the end of my junior year (this was the GPA I applied as to the UC schools). 3.78 and a 4.16W on my mid-year report sent to the private schools.
Rank (or percentile): 49/585 (although I lost my rank in the second semester of my senior year to a 65/601 and didn't even make the top 10%).
# of Honors/AP/IB/Dual Enrollment/etc.: 4 Honors, 11 AP courses, 7 Dual Enrollment courses.
Senior Year Course Load: AP Spanish Literature, AP English Literature, Computer Programming, AP Microeconomics, AP Government, AP Physics 2, Pre-Calculus Honors (I know, its bad) and Art 1.
Standardized Testing
SAT I: Didn't take the SAT Or the ACT test; Applied test-optional.
AP/IB: 3's on four AP Exams and 4's on two AP Exams. Failed AP Physics 1.
Extracurriculars/Activities
List all extracurricular involvements, including leadership roles, time commitments, major achievements, etc.
#1 National History Day Competition (State Competitor, 11th-12th grade, 4 hours a week, 23 weeks, won local county competition).
#2 City Hall Internship (intern, 10th grade, 23 hours a week, 4 weeks a year, made changes to city website)
#3 Elementary School Internship (Teacher's Assistant/Intern, 11th grade, 20 hours a week during the summer, helped support first-grade students with learning curriculum.
#4 Family Housekeeping Assistant (helper, 8 hours per week for around 34 weeks a year from 9th-12th grade, helped clean homes).
#5 Academic Decathlon Co-Founder (team member, 11th grade, 3 hours per week for 21 weeks, helped initiate after covid-19.
#6 Web Developer for my school's technology academy (11th to 12th grade, 2 hours a week for 20 weeks, informed 100+ people of club and community events & info).
#7 Robotics Team (coder, 2 hours a week for 20 weeks, 9th to 12th grade, made state competitions for the first time ye)
#8 MESA team (9th to 12th grade, 1 hour per week for 30 weeks, learned useful technical skills like python, inventor, fusion 360 and more).
#9 Web Developer for Key Club (11th to 12th grade, 2 hours a week for 15 weeks, no major accomplishments)
#10 Cashier and fast food worker (11th grade, 10 hours a week for 8 weeks, understaffed in many case).
Awards/Honors
List all awards and honors submitted on your application.
#1 History Day Special Award for Chinese American History (State Level Recognition)
#2 Sacramento County History Day (Local, regional recognition).
#3 School's Technology Academy Leadership Service Award
#4 AP Scholar (LOL)
#5 Honor Roll with Distinction (school recognition).
Letters of Recommendation
APUSH teacher recommendation (8/10): I think I got to know her pretty well and that she was really able to get to know me as a student. She told me she tried to really showcase the strong qualities of myself that really shined through and would serve me best. She also told me she liked how I overcame challenges on the history day competition and how I was persistent/a grit student. I also did try my best in APUSH class and i feel like she probably wrote a lot about that, including about my character.

AP Psychology teacher (6/10): Wrote it in a couple of days, so not sure how strong it was. I feel like she somewhat got to know me in AP Psych class but nothing outside of the classroom. She also didn't know what COMMON APP when I asked her so this was probably a first for her, which is kinda a red flag lol but not anything bad. I feel like it was probably average to above average, but who knows it could have been well-written.
City employee internship advisor (5/10): I got the letter of recommendation after my internship and it was very generic, but i still asked her to fill it out for the community recommender part of the Common app recommendation section. I think she wrote like an extra sentence or two but people have told me it was very generic and didn't really demonstrate extra qualities about myself.
Interviews
Had 1 alumni interview with Dartmouth College. I would rate it a 7/10. I got along with her pretty well but I did have some hick ups but I really was able to express myself well. I did prepare for it but it wasn't anything extraordinary.
Essays
UC PIQ Essays (8.5/10): I spent a lot of time writing/editing my UC personal insight questions. I went to both my AP English literature and AP English language teachers, my counselor, one of my close friends, my APUSH teacher, and online "advisors" who somewhat helped although I did pay them upwards of $400 in total to review/edit. I started writing them on November 1st, but I went through so many drafts. I had like 40 pages of just drafts on the google doc. I did have lots of people go over it (which may have been a bad thing due to an overwhelming amount of different advice/feedback/edits they had). I also did pay for online college advisory services to look over my essays, which wasn't too helpful because they gave very minimal edits/feedback. I think three of my PIQ essays were pretty strong at the point . The fourth PIQ essay I started writing the week of the deadline and it turned out pretty good, but not super strong. I feel like one of my UC essays was especially strong for how well-written it was, how unique it was, and how much it demonstrated my personal values/challenges. I truly do feel like my essays on leadership, overcoming a challenge, favorite academic subject, and community essay shined through on me as an applicant and demonstrated who I was as well as my potential.
Common APP PS essay (7/10): As for my Common App Personal Statement Essay, I started on December 16th (one day after my birthday LOL). I tried being different and writing about an inanimate object I've had since I was young. I wrote about this and basically mixed in one of my strongest UC Essays from above into one really well-written essay. I think it was an alright essay but now looking back on it, it wasn't that well-written LOL. I didn't have a winter break and I remember editing one of my supplemental essays like 10 minutes before New Years LOL. I had like 20 supplemental essays to write and I think some of them were really well-written and insightful, while some were written as if it was written last-minute (because it was). But I really liked my community essay, at that point, it was really polished and well-written so I had that as my basis for all the community supplemental essays. For my common app personal statement and supplemental essays, i spent upwards of $600 for online college essay editing services, which was absolutely not worth it because I feel like i could just relied on my personal feedback and not others. However, I did spend all my winter break applying to like 16 private schools, including writing the supplemental essays and common app personal statement that winter break. The topic of my PS statement was more of a grit story and what I learned after working with my mom a lot with house cleaning and how it has changed my outlook on life.

Decisions: I only applied Regular Decision for all of them.
Rejections:
Amherst College (social sciences major).
Bowdoin College (social sciences major).
Brown University (social sciences major).
Colby College (social sciences major).
Dartmouth College (social sciences major).
Duke University (cs major)
Northwestern University (social sciences major).
Pomona College (social sciences major).
California State University - San Diego (cs major)
Swarthmore College (social sciences major).
UC Santa Barbara (cs major)
University of Southern California (cs major)
Washington University in St. Louis (cs major)
Yale University. (cs major).
Waitlists:
Cal Poly San Luis Obispo (SWE major, still waiting to hear back although I don't think i want to commit there ).
Grinnell College (humanities major) declined waitlist offer
Middlebury College (humanities major) declined waitlist offer
UC Davis (cs major) declined waitlist offer
UC Santa Cruz (cs major) declined waitlist offer
UCLA (cs + engineering major) I'm still waiting to hear back; might commit if i get admitted).
Acceptances:
California State University - Sacramento (computer science major)
California State University - Long Beach (computer science major)
Pepperdine University (computer science major)
UC Irvine (software engineering major)!
UC San Diego (data science major)!
Vanderbilt University (College of arts and sciences)!!!!
UC Berkeley (Committed!!!) Although I am a data science major and not comp sci, I really do feel like I can learn a lot at Cal!!

Additional Information: Although I only got I would get into mid-tier schools like UC Irvine or something, I am really happy about my results! Despite being rejected from almost all the private schools besides Vanderbilt and Pepperdine, I really did like how Vanderbilt chose me. It was a super difficult decision picking between Vanderbilt CS (intention to switch to college of engineering) and Berkeley Data Science, I ultimately chose Berkeley because of how prestigious it was for the technology sector and how close it was from home (around 2 hour drive). Although Vanderbilt truly did appeal to me with its student social life scene, academic and social life balance, good food, new location, happy student body, and rigorous academics, it was a bit too far from home. However, although I only got into 7 out of 27 colleges I applied for, I am happy that top universities did pick me and that I was able to choose from such excellent universities. Cal is where my next four years will be! Now, that's only if UCLA doesn't get me off their waitlist, but even then I might still choose Cal if I get off the waitlist. go bears!
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