Shirt ids roblox


2020.12.22 04:30 Winniw123s robloxxclothing

Roblox shirt,pants and etc!

2020.02.08 22:14 BlogSpammr AntiDropShipSpamBot

IDs and reports/removes DROP-SHIP spammers including t-shirt/hoodie/mug/poster artwork thieves.

2019.07.11 00:41 xxDubbz RedwoodConspiracy

"In this forest, the trees grow down. This is for the die hard explorers, who work to uncover the dark secrets of the neon lit streets." - The official Redwood T-Shirt on the Zaibatsu catalog, on ROBLOX This is a community dedicated to attempting to solve Neon District's Redwood Apartments secret. The official ND game can be found here. All other ND games are fake.!/about

2023.05.31 18:11 TrackaLacker Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Espresso - S and 2 other listings are in stock at Skims

Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Espresso - S Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Espresso - M Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Espresso - L
As of 05/31/23 12:10 PM EDT
submitted by TrackaLacker to SkimsRestockAlerts [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:49 ReVGC Battle Network 3, and me

It took a loooong time but I'm finally able to do my BPT (Bullet point thoughts) on BN3! Keeping the tradition going as I've done for MMBN1 (discussion post here) and MMBN2(discussion post here). If you've completed either of these games and want to share/read other discussion points feel free to post a reply to any of these threads, regardless of when you come across them. Unless I've edited otherwise, I'm still accepting new notifications for these kinds of posts. There is ALOT to talk about here and I honestly am forgetting some things. If you get tired of reading, skip to the bottom for the TLDR.
MMBN3 was probably the game I played the most on GBA. My cousin was randomly playing it on GBA emulator and I was like "hey, that looks like MMBN2!" and the rest was history. I think we eventually had three GBA carts we played on? Though we interestingly really never got that far and that's saying something, lol. MMBN3 not only had a postgame, it had a postpostgame!! From 20 years ago! And its postgame itself was already as long as a real game! Soooo much freaking content in this one title and it made sense as it was originally intended to be their Swan Song ... until Capcom said "No, develop MMBN4 ASAP" and then MMBN4 became the highest grossing MMBN title riding off the coattails of BN3's success. ._. But that's neither here nor there for this conversion so without actual further ado, lol:
SPOILER WARNING for MMBN3! I've easily over 150 hours in this entry alone and that's 93% my fault but the other 7% ... I blame the changes. Going to recollect my thoughts and emotions from the beginning as best as I can so there'll be moments of praise and criticism randomly structured together.
TLDR: I think BN3 is overrated and I've a loooot of bones to pick with it.
I also think BN3 is peak BN and for now still remains as the one I consider the best.
But BN2 is still my all time favorite.
(We'll see how I feel after I get through Vol2)
submitted by ReVGC to BattleNetwork [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:37 TrackaLacker Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Cielo - XS and 1 other listing are in stock at Skims

Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Cielo - XS Fits Everybody Long Sleeve T Shirt - Navy - L
As of 05/31/23 11:37 AM EDT
submitted by TrackaLacker to SkimsRestockAlerts [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:36 Acomplished_mess11 I need T-Shirt advice

Suddenly realised all the T-shirts I own are too light weight and even though I wear a binder they kind of cling to my chest and make my tits more obvious than I'd like them to be. Where do you guys buy T-shirts?
I'm fairly skinny so it's hard to get ones that actually fit right in the mens section and tbh I wanna be in and out as quick as possible because I feel like an absolute imposter even though nobody cares and I'm very ok with my identity.
Any advice for a dude looking for lil gender euphoria boosts is appreciated!
submitted by Acomplished_mess11 to ftm [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:35 redbullgoblin Mil to Mil with spouse ID??

I have both a CAC and a spouse ID card right now and I’m not sure why. My spouse and I are both active duty and have the same rank. We went in to MFP to get our marital status updated the other day and the TSgt helping us was very adamant that I needed a spouse ID card. Every mil to mil couple I’ve spoken to said this didn’t happen to them. We also both have over two years left on our contracts. I tried looking in the 36-2930 but I’m either blind or it’s just not there. 1st Shirt isn’t here right now and none of the leadership I’ve spoken to has ever seen this happen. It doesn’t seem to be adding up. Should I even be worried about this? Any insight is greatly appreciated.
submitted by redbullgoblin to AirForce [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:32 TrackaLacker New Vintage Scoop Long Sleeve T Shirt - Marble - XL is in stock at Skims for $54.00

View current status at
As of 05/31/23 11:32 AM EDT
submitted by TrackaLacker to SkimsRestockAlerts [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:31 bie716 2023 Festa Events/Promos by the official partners

Note: Almost everything is in Korean language only
  1. Photoism: Artist Frame Open tweet website
  2. Lotte Cinema: BTS Festa with Lotte: website
  3. Visit Seoul: Seoul in Purple: website
  4. W Concept Korea: BTS Festa 2023 t-shirts: website
  5. Conrad Seoul Hotel accommodation package & other activities: website
  6. BT21: Line Friends Collection New Arrival. website
Others coming soon
submitted by bie716 to bangtan [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:23 BringWater41 What might make someone feel very attached to their own back/body hair?

I've (30f) started sleeping with one of my long-time friends (25m). I held out for quite a while--even though I find him very attractive and there's been a lot of sexual tension-- because he is very hairy. Like, VERY VERY hairy. I'm talking not just chest, but back, arms, shoulders, bum... And it grosses me out :(
As a woman I've been painstakingly removing every strand of hair from my eyebrows down all my adult life. It's time consuming, expensive, and sometimes painful, but I do it because I don't feel comfortable leaving the house fuzzy. I've always been attracted to guys that have little to no body hair because it's just my preference. I think a nice smooth chest is super sexy.
I've brought it up, gently, with my friend (now fwb I guess) several times. I've told him the sex is great but I want to touch and explore his body as much as he does mine. I've made it clear that I'm having a really tough time moving past his body hair and that I'm disappointed that it's not something he's considered doing anything about.
I take full responsibility for my preferences but I think I'm allowed to have them, right ?
Yet he says his body hair is "something he likes about himself" and it's "part of his identity". I have a feeling this is because one time many years ago, his buddy's girlfriend caught him with his shirt off and blurted out, "Wow you're so hairy!" and then quickly followed up with "That's very masculine" ...and he took it to heart. (If I could find that girl, I would ask her if she was genuinely admiring it or if she was just trying to backpedal so as not to offend him. I strongly suspect it was the latter. Either way, I would love to give her a good kick in the shin for that haha 🙄)
Whatever the reason, it's taking away from what is otherwise a really great relationship. He says he finds me very sexy and he's always wanted me. As friends we've already been saying "I love you" to each other for a while. I don't doubt he has very strong feelings for me. And clearly I feel the same about him, because I've started going for it even though I can't bring myself to touch him much when we're rolling around.
A kind of perplexing part of it for me is also the fact that he DOES shave his pubic area. It's like this weird clean hairless oasis in the middle of his otherwise Chewbacca-esque body lol. I asked him what the logic was there and he just shrugged and was like, "That's how I like it."
He's such a laidback, easy going guy. He's sweet and communicative and very attractive with clothes on lol. I adore him and I want to keep exploring this new aspect of our relationship but I don't know how much more him-doing-all-the-touching sex I'll enjoy. I also don't know if it's fair to either of us for me to even be sleeping with him after stating my opinion so clearly. Actions speak louder than words, right? I'm worried how this will end if I ask him to transition back to friends "without benefits". I feel like we've crossed a very intimate line and it would be monumentally difficult to go back to the way things were.
I would never give him an ultimatum or shame him for his own preferences; it's his body and obviously he should do whatever makes him comfortable! But like I said, it's really getting to me that he just keeps shrugging it off and flat out refusing to consider even talking about it, especially when he talks all the time about how smooth and soft my skin is and how much he loves touching me. It's a lot of work to stay smooth and soft and touchable! And I honestly hate doing it, but it's a part of my routine that I've accepted because I like to be touched.
Should I stop sleeping with him before this gets any more complicated? Is there anything I can try to say to him to get him to reconsider? Should I risk pushing the issue and try to ask him more about his choices? I'm sure it's selfish of me, but am I really that bad of a person for feeling sad because his refusal to do anything about it makes me feel kind of like, I'm not worth making changes for?
If anyone here has any insight, or even an anecdote about what made you decide to start "manscaping" I'd love to hear it. But if you think I'm just a superficial jerk, maybe try going easy on me because trust me I'm already feeling pretty bad about all of this.
Tldr - my new fwb says he loves me and really enjoys the sex we've been having but he won't address the issue of his excessive body hair even though I've made it clear that I'm having a very hard time looking past it
submitted by BringWater41 to Advice [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:22 EleteesFashion We Don’t Skip Steps Shirt

We Don’t Skip Steps Shirt submitted by EleteesFashion to u/EleteesFashion [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 17:14 VictoryNo4804 Conflicted between presenting myself as more like how I’ve always looked and wanting my elderly grandparents to see my “real self” while I still can

I hate feeling conflicted between this self imposed feeling like I need to “tone down” me being trans for my elderly grandparents to preserve some idea of the “person” they knew since I’ve been born and make it easier for them to adjust if it’s more subtle and this worry that if I don’t show them the “real me” there’s a real unfortunate possibility they pass away with out ever really seeing me fully which I would hate. They are like both 90+ and have been supportive in the sense that they love me and treat me the same but I think there’s also a sense that they don’t really understand what it means that I’m trans. As good as I am with German, there’s still like a language barrier and they still refer to me with masculine pronouns and stuff (thank god I didn’t have to change my name) or refer to me as my parents “son”. As much as Id prefer it to not be the case, I also really don’t feel like I can expect them to change it, or at least not yet, It’s only been 4 months since I’ve been on hrt and they found out. If I “try” with makeup and feminine clothes I can definitely pass (just with shorter hair than I want I guess) but I just couldn’t bring my self to present to them so insanely drastically different from the last time they saw me, with a beard and everything. I hit kinda the middle ground with just a baggy T-shirt and pants but with my hair tucked behind my ear (it’s finally able to do that!!) a little makeup like light foundation and mascara.
Idk I feel conflicted and I don’t even know if there was a “right” decision between the two that I could’ve made. I guess I just want them to understand and see me how I want them to see me as but I also don’t want it to be so drastic and hard to accept I guess, I really love them and I know it’s confusing especially at their age. if there was a “right” decision between the two that I could’ve made. I guess I just want them to understand and see me how I want them to see me as but I also don’t want it to be so drastic and hard to accept I guess, I really love them and I know it’s confusing especially at their age.
submitted by VictoryNo4804 to MtF [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:37 FestiveBen Can I be sacked for being unable to wear polyester shirts?

So today was my second day at a new job as a delivery driver. Yesterday everything went well except I was particularly smelly, which I now realise is due to a negative and sweaty reaction to the 40% polyester shirts that are uniform.
Cut to this morning when I was called into the office and had a rather embarrassing conversation about the issue of my body odor as I had managed to sweat through the shirt and start smelling within the half hour drive from home to work. They then asked me to leave for the day, and stop in at the pharmacy to get some different deodorant on the way home.
I received a phone call this afternoon from my employer asking if I had managed to resolve this issue, at which point I informed them I'd replaced my deodorant but was certain that the polyester on the shirt is the issue and will continue to be so. I asked if there was an alternative available, or if I would be permitted to buy my own shirts in a matching colour, just lacking the logo. I was informed that neither of these would be an option, and that my employment would not be continuing due to the smell issue.
Is there anything I can do here, or am I just shit out of luck with no job to fall back on? As my previous employer has filled the vacancy asking for my old job is not an option.
Edit: This is in England, if that matters
submitted by FestiveBen to LegalAdviceUK [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:30 Arkey-or-Arctander Jersey #19 bug

Not sure where to send these, so I figured I'd post it here. It's a minor graphics thing, but two of my players are wearing solid blue shirts instead of the correct Jersey #19 with the swoop on it. I show my catcher so you can see all the players in the dugout are wearing the correct Jersey #19 - except Veronica who bats next and is wearing a solid blue shirt. Weird.
Jersey #19 bug
submitted by Arkey-or-Arctander to SuperMegaBaseball [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:16 Redheadjvp I use to be a go-getter at any job I worked in. Now I'm feeling like I need to just do the bare-minimum.

For starters - to explain a bit of my "drive". I don't have much in the ways of family or friends, so work is often my social time. I care about those I work with and seeing these people 40 hours a week, I learn a lot about them and take genuine interest in the comings and goings. This has led me to work insanely hard to ensure a smooth work environment and keep drama out of it. The job I'll be talking about was just a simple line cook at a Cracker Barrel. Anyone familiar can probably relate to what it's like having a motivated cook vs an unmotivated one. I genuinely loved that job and I loved the environment and the people I got to meet. I got to be myself, expressive, listen to my own music and made guests happy with great food. I took great pride in every presentation. I worked my way up into management - could work any position and all. I wanted it all.
Flash forward a little bit - covid was ROUGH on us as it was many others. I was a new manager still dealing with many of the covid related stressors. I got assigned to a smaller store to start off with and it was a challenge. The GM quit and after only 4 months of being there or so I ended up in charge of the whole store because the other 2 managers (while great people and LOADS of experience had some issues that made them....not so dependable.) I ended up working 70 hour work weeks, and conference calls on my days off plus non-stop group chat. It had totaled to almost 2 years with no vacation and I was making around 50k a year for that position. I had asked to formally apply to take the position permanently since I was being thanked and told how great I was doing especially for how new I was. I was turned down for being "too new" although the store improved in all aspects during that time. But I was left to keep running it as there were no other options. So I asked for a raise since I was working so much past my contract of 55 a week every week and the extra duties I was assigned plus maintaining things from home. I was turned down. My mental health went down and so I asked for a vacation and was turned down due to having no one to cover. So I kindly stepped down and went back to an hourly rate as a shift leadecook in my original store.
Things were great here, it's a team I had worked with. The team that trained me. I've known for years. Some managers even as long as 10 years. Being on the inside though as Shift lead I was catching conversations of how management was looking for ways to let people go without firing them. To change policies to weed people out. To set people up. They didn't respect anyone. One poor kid put in his two weeks but still needed to work cause he just got his first place, 19 years old. They took him off the schedule, not fire, but gave him zero hours. I remember seeing him cry as managers ignored his questions as to why they would do that and they just walked past him letting him cry in the middle of the isle. Any time someone put in their two weeks - they were immediately let go. They made up policies and refused to put any notifications down. Nothing in the break rooms. Nothing on the clock in stations. Nothing on the office windows and then would write people up for not following them. Firing people who would reach X amount of write ups. I can't tell you how many people would go to back room and cry.
Due to this - and me caring for my fellow employees and knowing as a previous manager that what they were doing was morally wrong (although I was unsure about legal factors) I had asked the manager I had known for ever what was going on. Our GM was out sick for 3 months almost and this woman took over. She was known for being petty and she made the schedule and would make it as she wanted and not what was best for the employees. Well I had asked her what the new policy was that people were upset over and her answer was "Well you're not in trouble with it yet and it doesn't concern you so why do you care and why should I tell you?" . And so we had a public little conversation where I stated that what they were doing was wrong and they should at least notify the team of the changes instead of getting them into trouble. That what they were doing made it seem like they were trying to get people in trouble. She got incredibly upset and my schedule the next week went from 45 hours to 18. And for the next 2 months under the promise of more hours but we were just "slow" I worked what I could, tried to pick up shifts and all. Asking every week and telling them that I couldn't survive off of 18 hours. That I didn't understand because I could shift lead, line cook, grill cook, prep cook, back up, dish, inventory, food order, truck, host, cashier, serve, to-go, SA. Anything. It made no sense that I was the most versatile worker they had and they couldn't find hours for me. Yet they hired like 3 more cooks and many others in the other positions. My stress level grew, anxiety and all and tension was breaking out sure. Finally the GM come back and I asked her if we could sit down and discuss the situation and get everything cleared up. That I needed to go back to full time or I'd have to find another job in order to survive. She talked to the other managers and came back to me saying that the reason my hours were cut was because of my attitude. That the managers were scared to work with me. That I made workers cry and refused to do any work. And that once I proved myself I'd get my hours back. And she even stated "i've worked with you for years and that's never been you so I don't understand what's going on". I tried to tell her she's been gone for 3 months and none of that stuff happened. I asked her to show me the write ups that I would HAVE TO HAVE if they were punishing me for attitude problems. Not a single write up in my file. One week later - schedule comes out, 18 hours. So I told them I had to quit or I couldn't pay my bills. They refused one last time to give me more hours so I took another job that was offered to me. Two managers afterwards told some people I was close with that the situation was wrong and that it was all planned in order to get me to quit. Those two have since left as well.
Fast forward - Due to some military disability issues, the factory life isn't going great. So I have recently applied and interviewed to go back to a DIFFERENT cracker barrel that's close to home. They want to hire me on the spot and everything. Give me shirts and talk about management again and everything. Then when I go in today - it comes back that the previous store put me as a Do not re-hire due to not giving a 2 weeks notice. I explained to the GM that I gave them 2 months notice and tried to resolve any issue I had including going to HR to try and clear things up when the manager involved refused to speak to me. I promised him that I'm nothing but a positive asset to the team and he's reaching out to the District manager to see if they can over-turn my Do not re-hire status. The problem is - the same GM I had is now one of the two DM's that help manage the area I'm in. So I feel that 4 years of my hardest work, dedication, and love for a job is threatened because of a manager who got embarrassed for doing the wrong things decided to put me under. I feel that If I just kept my head down, didn't stand up for the other workers I'd be fine. That's not me, but also financially - I can't let a situation like that happen again.
But how the heck am I suppose to love working again when it can all turn around so easily? How am I suppose to feel motivated and part of a team at any job again? I know to look for other job fields and I'm actively applying to jobs. Due to the military disability I'm trying to find something more remote and easier on me - but cooking wasn't too bad. It's just, I'm struggling hard on my end right now and this job would be the break I need in order to get life together and an issue from 2 years ago for standing up for the team may ruin it for me.
submitted by Redheadjvp to antiwork [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:11 CompMedChem Tour shirt has a hole under one of the sleeves

I purchased 3 Final Tour shirts at the Atlanta show, and one of them had a hole under one of the sleeves. I didn't notice it until the next day. Anyone know who I should contact to get a replacement? I emailed the Dead & Co online merch store (Merch Traffic) a couple days ago and I'm waiting for a response from them.
My fiancée has had a similar issue with another artist's merch, and the online vendor wasn't the one handling merch sales at shows, so I thought I'd preemptively ask here in case I get a similar response.
submitted by CompMedChem to deadandcompany [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:10 Sinpleton025 Galactic Pit - Chapter 5

"Are you awake? You gotta wake up, silly.", a voice called to me. A woman's voice. A familiar voice. Soft and beautiful. Like a song. I lay on my back, my face looking up at the pale ceiling.
"Come on. I know you can hear me, your eyes are open.", she spoke again. Was it…? No. How? I turned my head ever so slowly to my left. It was. It was her. How?
She smiled. That beautiful smile. How could I forget it? How could I forget her long black hair and emerald eyes? Eyes that I could drown in if I stared too long.
"Did you forget who you spent the night with?", she playfully asked me, "Am I really so much like the other girls?"
I couldn't help but crack a smile, "What other girls?"
She giggled and kissed me, her soft lips pressing into mine. So passionate. So loving. When they parted, she brought her hand to the side of my face. She stared into my eyes with worry.
"Are you alright?", she asked me.
I took her into mine. It was so small and soft compared to my palm. "Yes. Yes, I'm… I'm good. Great even. You're here."
She smiled again. I could look at her all day. She cuddled close to me, her body pressing into mine and her head laying on my chest. Her hair smelled so nice and it was so soft to the touch. My finger massaged her scalp as she playfully scratched my chest. We were like polar opposites. I was taller, broader, scarred. My skin was rough and in some cases ugly.
My tattoos were horrid. Lines counting the jobs I carried out. Daggers on my forearms, to show how lethal my fists were. A target on my hard, an invitation saying "Go ahead, stab the heart. It's that simple.". A giant cross on my back with the Latin phrase "si vis pacem para bellum". If you want peace, prepare for war. Ironic considering my line of work.
I hated myself for it. For all of it. For all that I've done and become. And yet she… she never once turned her back on me.
Good God, she was beautiful. A curvy figure with soft skin. Toned but not firm. No scars or ink. She was pure. She was innocent. Her blood wasn't but I didn't care.
"I'm glad we're here.", she said, "I wish we could stay like this forever."
"Me too. But you know your dad-"
"I don't care what he thinks or says.", she cut me off, her voice shifting in tone, "Please, let's not talk about it."
"Joan, he-"
"Please, Adrien.", she started crying a little, "I don't want… I don't want him in this. Not in this. Please."
I didn't speak as she cried. It was the only thing that could break my heart. I couldn't let it go on. I raised us both until I was sitting up straight with her in my lap. I dried her tears and kissed her forehead.
"Alright. I won't bring him up anymore. I promise."
She nestled her head on my chest again and I held her firmly but gently. I wanted to protect her. To care for her. To love her. Like she loves me.
"We can stay like this as long as you want.", I said as softly as I could.
She raised her head and caressed my face, "No. No, we can't. You still have to wake up."
I frowned, "I'm awake. I'm with you."
"No, you're not. You need to wake up."
I shook my head and held her tighter.
"Wake up, Adrien. Wake up. Wake up now!"
I opened my eyes again and jolted upward, grabbing the thing closest to me. It turned out that the thing closest to me wasn't a thing. It was a person. Well, something like one. One of those toad aliens was shaking and begging me to let it go. I could barely feel it in my hand as I tightened it around its collar.
"W-Wait, Adrien!", someone shouted, "Let her go! No one's going to hurt you! Please!"
I turned my head to see the familiar face of Shapa. Her eyes widened in horror and desperation as I continued to hold the alien. After a few more moments I let it go and rub the side of my forehead. There was a piece of rubber stuck to it so I pulled it out. Several more were around my head and I removed them one by one. I looked at Shapa, demanding an explanation.
"Y-You were acting strangely in your sleep.", she said, "I c-called the medical staff and t-they started monitoring you. Your brain waves were somewhat frightening. We didn't know what it was that caused it."
Just then I noticed I was sweating and panting. I stood up and walked to a mirror. My face was red and my shirt was soaked. I quickly took it off and started drying myself with a towel. The alien doctors left the room but Shapa stayed. She slowly walked toward me, still frightened by my outburst.
"Are you alright?", she asked me.
Was I? Was I really? Probably not. But I nodded my head anyway as I sat back on the bed. Shapa sat down next to me and took my hand. She put it on her head. She reminded me of a dog. A golden retriever. Not just in looks but also her attitude. She could be shy and reserved, often awkward. But when she got used to me, she became somewhat happy and even caring. I did not doubt that the rich toad director sent her to be my therapy pet or something. But I saw her as more than that.
She was smart, organized, and genuinely seemed interested in helping me. The first time I rubbed her fur I hesitated a lot. Shapa wasn't and isn't an animal. She's a person. I couldn't treat her like a dog. And yet she didn't mind and even encouraged me to continue. Even now I don't know if she's actually fond of this or not.
Our time was cut short when the door opened and a familiar bloated shape walked in.
"There he is!", Coblo shouted in excitement, "There's my champion! I heard the medical staff gave you trouble. Just say the word and I'll have them scrubbing the lower decks of the docking bay."
"Everything is fine.", Shapa said, "No need for any scrubbing."
"Excellent! Now, onto the good news. Your fight against Kuldar was seen by the entire sector. I've been getting calls non-stop ever since you caved that ape's head in. Oh how spectacular that was."
Caved his head in? How about I cleave yours off? That fight was no joke. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a rush. My gut still felt sore after his punch. His fists felt like bricks when they connected. No surprise there, I guess. His face on the other hand was surprisingly soft though. A few good hits made him lose his balance. It was then that he realized he was going to lose. But by then it was too late. Once I did enough damage he went wild and then all I had to do was finish it.
"I even got calls from three other of my fellow leaders. They're begging for me to let them meet you. I'm hosting a party in honor of your first victory in three days. By then I'm sure the others will be in the system. They'll probably bring their fighters along with them so it'll be an excellent opportunity for you."
"Which leaders if I may ask, sir?", Shapa asked.
"Kataraga Shipping, Topul Electronic, and Kan'Bul'Dul Heavy Arms. I have to admit, the Kantalans are a surprise. They usually keep to themselves. This should be interesting. Make sure to read up on them, I don't want to get embarrassed."
"Yes, sir.", Shapa said, "I'll make sure he's ready."
"Terrific. See to it then, I have much to do and much to prepare. Three days, remember that."
Coblo left the room and Shapa growled a little, "Bloated toad. Treating you like a damn trophy."
Her attitude really has changed. Coblo's mentality didn't surprise me. If anything it's justified. He owned me, for the lack of a better term. Of course, he'd want to show me off. On the other hand, it was a good opportunity. Chances are I was going to fight them sooner or later. At least now I could get a measure. Three days. I'll have a lot to learn.
"Don't worry.", Shapa said as she grabbed my hand, "You won't need to do or say anything. I'll be your voice."
This was strangely comforting. I felt more at peace when I was like this. Is it because she was like a dog? A woman? Because she genuinely cared? I didn't know. And it didn't matter right now. I stood up and walked over to the desk where the tablet was. I typed in a few words and showed it to Shapa.
We need to start now.
"Learning?", she asked and I nodded, "Alright. What do you want to know first?"
That's how we spent our time. Studying. I never went to a real school so the act of learning was a learning experience in itself. The more she showed me the more I became fascinated but also frightened. I always knew the galaxy was big but I never thought it was this massive. Hundreds of species over thousands of planets. Something many of us back home believed to be impossible and just a work of fiction. Whether I should be glad or concerned was a dilemma for me. If they could just show up and kidnap me, they could just as easily send more and more aliens over there. The possibility of an invasion lingered on my mind for quite a while.
Dammit, that was a headache.
And hell, for all I knew, there could be more humans out there. Each one owned by some egotistical corporate fuck that wants to keep them a secret. I prayed that wasn't the case. Not just for my sake but for theirs as well. If we were forced to fight I wouldn't hold back.
Three days passed rather quickly and it was time to see the other aliens. One of Coblo's secretaries called Shapa and me to the entrance of the main hall. The tailors of this place remade the clothes I was in when the lemurs took me. But they felt different. My army boots were softer and my jacket hung a little more loosely on my shoulders. Not to mention the material, while aesthetically the same, felt different to the touch.
Shapa looked nice. Her red and black dress went well with her golden fur. She kept saying how it was uncomfortable. Not the dress itself but the idea of wearing it. She preferred simple and humble things so wearing a dress this exotic felt foreign to her. I reassured her, saying how good she looked in hopes that it would ease her mind during the party. Coblo was already waiting for us in front of the door. He was in his trademark suit with his arms crossed behind his back.
"Alright, this is it.", he spoke, "Be on your best behavior and do as I say. Under no circumstances should a fight break out. Do you all understand?"
We both nodded and Coblo then opened the door. The hall wasn't packed with people per se, mainly because it was so large. A few hundred people were probably there. Drones buzzed around and served food and drinks while music played over the speakers. Already I was overwhelmed by the sheer diversity of the crowd. There were tall and lanky aliens as well as short and broad ones along with everything in between. Some were blue, some brown, some red, and even orange and yellow. Some had scales and long teeth while others had fur. A few looked like crustaceans with two legs. I swore I even saw a fucking centaur and a half griffin.
In one of the corners, I saw the oh-so-familiar lizards. Skelians. I looked at them with disdain. Those things tried to kill me. Then again, those ones were pirates. They looked back at me in confusion and awe. They weren’t the only ones. Most of the aliens were smaller than me in one sense or another. The ones that shared the most similarities with me gave me the most questioning looks. By most similarities I mean they were bipedal, walked upright, and had no animalistic features as more than half of the others did. That was something I noticed rather quickly. Most of the aliens looked like animal and human hybrids. Some looked more like animals than others. There were even some fish that had tanks of water on the back of their robot suits. At this point, I would hit myself to see if I’m dreaming. But I already knew I wasn’t. This was real. This place, these people. All of it.
“Ah, my friends!”, Coblo suddenly exclaimed, “I am so glad that you could make it. I must confess when I received your call I was rather… skeptical, shall we say?”
“You would be.”, the alien in the middle spoke. A Malnian, Shapa told me. Grey-skinned, bald, medium height with lanky four-fingered limbs. His eyes were orange with black pupils and his lips were rather thin. His most distinguishable features were the flaps on the sides of his neck. I had no idea what they were meant for and frankly, I didn’t care. This one was Halimur Kataraga, the director of Kataraga Shipping. “A luxurious event, you organized here. Though it is a bit much for such a small victory.”
Coblo smirked at that, “Well, it is the first victory for my newest fighter.”
“Speaking of which.”, the smallest alien spoke, “Where is he?”. This one was a Condolie. I remember these gremlins. Friendly and curious. This one was Xanti Xadal, the director of Tapul Electronic. Finally, someone who didn’t treat their company like a damn dynasty. She rode a two-legged walker like someone would a horse. This was so she could speak eye to eye with people.
I stepped forward and Shapa spoke for me, “Adrien Lopez, the Goliath. It is a word for someone very large and powerful. His planet is unknown.”
“A fitting title.”, Xanti said, “I saw your match with Kuldor. Very impressive.”
I nodded in response.
“Can you not speak?”, Halimur asked.
“No.”, Shapa said, “His voice box is very damaged and his anatomy is very foreign. It would be difficult to fix it.”
That was a lie. The fat toads didn't want me to speak. Just tell them that.
“Unfortunate.”, Halimur said, “I would have loved to hear more about your planet and people.”
“There will be time for that.”, Coblo said, “Now where’s Kanahn?”
“Right here.”, a voice spoke from the right and we turned to see a bulky brown alien approach. Kanahn Bul’Dul, director of Kan’Bul’Dul Heavy Arms. A weapons manufacturer, the biggest in The Conglomerate. He was a Kantalan. Tall, broad with two large three-fingered arms. His legs were a bit short for someone of his size. He had four red eyes and pointy ears along with a wide mouth. The top of his head was level with my eyes but we were about the same build.
“Big.”, he said as his eyes trailed my body, “Take that thing off.”
I hesitated for a moment before looking back at Coblo. He nodded his fat head and I did as I was told.
“And that.”, Kanahn said, pointing at my shirt. I complied. Now everyone was staring at me. At my scars and tattoos.
Kanahn gripped different parts of my upper body with his large hands and bumped my chest, “Strong. Sturdy. I like it. What do you think, Magala?”
Another Kantalan approached. But this one was larger. Shapa told me that female Kantalans were larger than the males. When she got close to me my eyes were leveled with her throat. It was the first alien I saw that was objectively bigger than me in every sense. She looked down into my eyes and smirked before grabbing my shoulder and squeezing it. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But I didn’t let it show. I stared back at her. Unflinching. Unmoving.
“Not bad.”, she said in a deep voice, “Better than most anyway.”
“Can you take him?”, Kanahn asked.
She contemplated it so it seemed. Then she smirked again and mockingly lowered her head toward me, “No problem.”
She probably could. Kuldor might have been tough but this one was a different beast altogether. If I ever had to fight her, I’d be severely disadvantaged.
“Oh? What do we have here?”, I heard a voice behind me as I put my shirt back on. A Kyslan was talking to Shapa. One of her people but he looked different. More like a wolf than a dog. He kept trailing his hands all over her body and whispering something into her ears. She looked uncomfortable so I stepped in and grabbed his arm.
He looked up at me with a casual look, “And you are?”
“Adrien Lopez.”, Shapa said immediately, “Octon Corporation’s fighter.”
“Really now?”, he asked in a mocking tone, “You’re the one who fought Kuldor, right? I heard you beat his face hard his head turned into a bowl. His brain literally got squeezed out of his ears. Wow, was that hilarious or what?”
This guy seemed like a complete douchebag. I’d like nothing more than to beat his face in, too. As if he read my mind, the smug smile faded away and he looked at me with a predatory grin, like he was about to pounce on me.
“That’s enough.”, Halimar said.
“Oh come on, boss.”, the Kyslan whined, “I just wanted to have some fun.”
“You can have your fun elsewhere. This event was organized for that purpose."
"Fine.", he said and I let go of his hand, "I'll be seeing you, Lopez."
"We should all go enjoy ourselves.", Coblo said, "Business can wait."
"Sure.", Kanahn exclaimed, "Where's your booze?"
One of the servants led him and his fighter down to another corner of the hall. I turned around to look at Shapa, who seemed nervous and uncomfortable. I put my hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. She smiled back and held my hand. The rest of the night went by alright. More introductions with other fighters. Most of them didn't bother me. But there were a few I kept an image of in my mind. Those would prove to be the biggest challenge.
It didn't in the end. This is a war. Like every other I've fought. And like those, I'll win.
End of Chapter 5
First / Previous / Next
Thank you very much for reading
If you'd like to support me and my work feel free to upvote, follow, and check out my Patreon where you can get access to early chapters, a private Discord server, a chance to commission, and even influence ongoing stories:
submitted by Sinpleton025 to HFY [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 16:02 EquivalentGrand7273 🚶‍What are the essential items to pack for a trekking trip in Rajasthan? 🌞🌵🔍

🚶‍What are the essential items to pack for a trekking trip in Rajasthan? 🌞🌵🔍
"Pack your essentials, embrace the adventure, and let Rajasthan's diverse landscapes become the backdrop of your memorable trekking journey."
Planning a trekking trip in the diverse landscapes of Rajasthan? Proper packing plays a crucial role in ensuring a comfortable and safe journey. In this blog, we will explore the essential items you need to pack for a nature adventure in Rajasthan, helping you make the most of your experience. Let's gear up and get ready!
1. Trekking Gear: ⛰️👟
When it comes to trekking in Rajasthan, investing in proper trekking gear is essential. Carry sturdy and comfortable trekking shoes that provide good grip in ride adventures, as you may encounter varying terrains. Additionally, pack moisture-wicking and quick-drying clothing to tackle the arid climate. Don't forget to bring a lightweight and waterproof backpack to carry your essentials.
2. Sun Protection: 🌞🧢
Rajasthan's desert landscapes mean exposure to intense sunlight. Protect yourself from sunburns and heatstroke by packing sunblock with a high SPF, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and a lightweight, breathable scarf or buff to shield your face and neck from the sun's rays. Stay hydrated by carrying a water bottle and electrolyte packets.
3. Appropriate Clothing: 🌵👕
One important traveling trips is Rajasthan's climate can be hot during the day and considerably cooler in the evenings. Pack lightweight, breathable, and loose-fitting clothing, such as cotton or moisture-wicking t-shirts, long pants, and a light jacket or sweater for cooler temperatures. Don't forget to include a rainproof jacket or poncho in case of unexpected showers.
4. Hydration and Snacks: 💦🥪
Stay hydrated during your trek by carrying an adequate supply of water. Consider using a hydration bladder or water reservoir to ensure easy access. Pack energy-boosting snacks like granola bars, trail mix, and fruits to keep your energy levels up during the trek. Opt for lightweight and non-perishable options that provide a quick source of nourishment.
5. Navigation and Safety: 🧭🔦
Safety should be a priority while trekking in any region. Carry a reliable map, compass, or a GPS device to navigate through the tour trips. A headlamp or flashlight is essential for trekking during early mornings, late evenings, or if you encounter low light conditions. Include a first aid kit with basic supplies for any unforeseen injuries or emergencies.
6. Other Essentials: 📷💵
In addition to the above, pack a camera or smartphone to capture the mesmerizing landscapes of Rajasthan. Carry extra batteries or a power bank to ensure your devices stay charged. Also, keep some cash handy for emergencies or to purchase local products along the way. Finally, don't forget to pack a travel towel, toiletries, insect repellent, and any necessary medications.
Conclusion: 🚶‍⛰️🎒 Packing the right essentials can significantly enhance your trekking experience in Rajasthan. From proper trekking gear and sun protection to hydration supplies and navigation tools, each item plays a vital role in ensuring your comfort, safety, and enjoyment throughout the journey. So, pack smart, stay prepared, and embark on an unforgettable trekking nature adventure amidst the enchanting landscapes of Rajasthan. Happy trekking! 🌞🌵🔍
You can also check this :-
submitted by EquivalentGrand7273 to u/EquivalentGrand7273 [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 15:23 Hairy-Lover-83 Anyone know who this doll is?

Anyone know who this doll is?
Looking to id the doll and the shirt(shirt has barbie tag)
submitted by Hairy-Lover-83 to Dolls [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 15:23 chuckhustmyre [TH] THE DETOUR by Chuck Hustmyre

Not every town is on the map.
"Daddy, I gotta pee."
Dale Thornton looked over his shoulder at his six-year-old son belted into the back seat of their Jeep Cherokee. As the boy squirmed around, Dale looked at his wife in the passenger seat beside him. "Didn't he just go?"
Carol glanced at her watch. "That was over an hour ago." She twisted to look into the back seat. "Can you hold it?"
In the rearview mirror, Dale saw Jesse shake his head. His wife checked her watch again. He could almost see the wheels turning inside her head. She was the family mediator, and she had just come up with something that made perfect sense. One of the reasons he loved her so much was her ability to change gears. In himself, Dale recognized his single-mindedness as a drawback. He admired her flexibility. In more ways than one, he thought. She was a good wife and a good mother.
"It's almost five," Carol said. "Let's stop at the next town. We can all use the restroom and get something to eat."
Dale tugged the spiral-bound road atlas down from where he had wedged it between the visor and the roof. They had left Tulsa that morning, headed for Mardi Gras, and he hoped to be in New Orleans by 10 p.m. Looking at the LOUISIANA page, his eyes traced the route he had highlighted in yellow. They had detoured down old U.S. 167. Rural America was disappearing and Dale wanted his son to see something of it before it was completely gone.
They were somewhere south of Ruston. He couldn't remember if they had passed Jonesboro or not, so the next town was either that or--if they'd already passed it--Winnfield. The gas gauge was on a quarter of a tank. They needed to stop anyway. "All right, honey," he said. "We'll take a break."
Carol laid a hand on his leg. "I'm glad we came this way. You can't see anything from the Interstate."
Ten miles later they sprang upon a small town. There was an old-fashioned, carved wooden sign posted beside the highway. Dale read out loud, "Welcome to Batesville. Population 875."
"What's that mean," Jesse asked.
Dale glanced at his son in the rearview mirror. "That's how many people live here."
"When somebody dies, do they change the number on the sign?"
Carol smiled over her shoulder at Jesse. "I bet they change it when a baby is born."
Just like her. She didn't like to talk about death or dying. Instead, she liked to focus on the good things in life, babies, birthdays, and family vacations. She had always been like that but more so since her grandfather passed away last year. She had been very close to him, closer than she had ever been to her father.
Dale sneaked a glance at her. She was his angel but an angel with dark secrets. She had shared some of those secrets with him but not all of them, probably because she knew the abuse in her life disturbed him so much. "That sign probably hasn't been changed in twenty years," he said.
"Why put it up if it's not right?" Jesse asked.
Good question. "I don't know, son."
As they got into the little town, Dale was impressed. The side streets that cut off of the highway were lined with neat wooden houses, most of them with white picket fences. A lot of the little towns they had passed through looked run down and dirty, but not this one. Batesville was clean and pretty.
When they came to the town's only traffic light, Dale saw a business on each corner: a hotel, a gas station, a restaurant, and the Batesville General Store. Before the light turned green, Dale pulled the Jeep beside the pumps at the gas station. A middle-aged man wearing oil stained coveralls stepped out from the office. "What can I do you for?" he asked. His tone was friendly, something you didn't hear at many gas stations these days.
Dale stepped out of the driver's seat and stretched. "I need a fill-up and some food." Then he jerked his thumb toward the back seat. "And my son needs to use the head."
The man wiped his hands on a rag he pulled out of his pocket. Then he shook Dale's hand. "Dudley Simpson. I can help you with the gas and the bathroom for your boy, but as for food, afraid all I got is potato chips and sodas." He pointed to the restaurant across the street. "Right over there is the best food in town." He laughed. "Only restaurant we got, but I wouldn't kid you. It's really good. Restroom's not too bad either."
Jesse said he could hold it until they got to the restaurant, so Dale sent him and Carol across the street to get a table. When he reached for the gas pump, Dudley Simpson stopped him. "I don't charge extra for full service. Every car comes through here I pump the gas, look under the hood, and check the tires."
"Don't see that too much anymore," Dale said.
"Guess I'm kind of old-fashioned."
After Dudley finished, Dale added a couple of bucks to the bill. He felt a little awkward, unsure if he could tip the owner of a gas station without insulting him. But Dudley took no offense, just said thank you and asked him to stop in again on their way home.
When Dale turned the key, nothing happened. He turned it again and still nothing happened. Just a click. No dash lights, the motor didn't turn over, nothing. Dudley told him to pop the hood again. After Dale turned the key a couple more times with Simpson's head buried under the hood, Dudley said he'd found the problem. "Alternator's shot. You must've been running on battery for a good while."
"Can you fix it?"
The gas station owner looked at his watch. "Not today. Parts store is closed 'till tomorrow."
Great, just great, Dale thought.
"I could arrange a tow to somewhere else, next town down the highway has a Goodyear Service Center," Dudley said, "but even they won't get to it until tomorrow."
Dale nodded, his mind stuck on having to spend the night in Batesville instead of New Orleans.
"I'll get to it first thing," Dudley said. "Have you out of here by ten o'clock." He pointed at the hotel. "Mrs. Jensen has a nice place. A-C, cable TV, and no bugs."
Great. No bugs.
Dudley told Dale that he could leave the Jeep right where it was. No need to worry about it, he said. They had a town marshal but nothing ever happened in Batesville. So quiet the state police never even came by.
"Sorry I'm blocking your pumps," Dale said.
Dudley shrugged. "Other side's open." Then he looked at his watch. "Besides, it's five-thirty. I close in half an hour."
As he crossed the street, Dale remembered his gun. A Smith and Wesson .357 revolver that he always brought with him on road trips. You never knew what could happen. They might break down on the highway and get attacked by a drug-crazed motorcycle gang. The gun was in the cargo compartment, wrapped inside a cloth and tucked between the spare tire and the side wall. It would be safe enough.
At the restaurant he told Carol the news and in typical Carol fashion she looked on the bright side. "It'll be fun being stranded in a small town," she said. "Who knows what'll happen?"
"Do they have TV?" Jesse asked.
A cute young waitress served them. The plastic tag pinned to her blouse said her name was April. When she brought out their food she set Jesse's down first.
"That's the cutest little mark on your face," she said. "Almost looks like lipstick."
Unabashedly, Jesse pointed to the red oval shaped birthmark set high on his right cheek. "It means I'm special."
She smiled. "It looks like a kiss."
"Really?" Jesse asked.
Dale saw a look of contentment on Carol's face. Jesse's birthmark was something she'd never wanted their son to be shy or embarrassed about.
The waitress set out the rest of the plates. "I heard a mark like that means that right before you were born an angel kissed you."
Jesse turned to his mom. "Is that true?"
Carol smiled at her son and nodded. "I think she may be right."
April bent down and kissed Jesse on the top of his head. "I'm not an angel, but there's a kiss from me."
Dudley Simpson had been right; the food was excellent. After they ate, Dale got up to use the bathroom. "You need to go again, Jess?"
The boy shook his head. "No thanks."
Dale handed Carol a credit card. "Let's save our cash."
She nodded. "All right, baby."
"Back in a sec," he said as he turned away.
When he came out of the men's room, Carol and Jesse weren't at the table. The waitress had been quick. Most of the dirty plates were gone; the only ones left were his. Dale looked for his family near the front door, then up by the cash register, but they weren't there.
Maybe Jesse had changed his mind and Carol had brought him into the bathroom with her. So Dale waited, but after several minutes passed and they didn't come out, he decided to check outside. They might have gotten cold or Jesse could've gotten restless and they were waiting out front for him. But they weren't out front, either.
Across the street the lights were out at the gas station--Dudley was closed for the night. The Jeep Cherokee sat at the pumps. Anxiously, Dale looked at the hotel. Maybe...but they wouldn't do that, wouldn't have gone without him. That wasn't like Carol. Smart and independent, but she liked her husband doing the man things, and in her mind, checking into a hotel was a man thing.
Back inside he knocked on the door of the women's restroom. No one answered, so he cracked it open. "Carol?" No answer. "Carol, Jess, you there?"
"Can I help you, sir?" It was their waitress.
Embarrassed, Dale forced a laugh. "I seem to have lost my wife and son." He nodded toward the men's room. "While I was in there."
"Your wife and son?" She looked confused.
"When I came back they were gone."
She had a blank look on her face.
Annoyed, he said, "I ate with them."
The waitress furrowed her brow. "Sir, I didn't see you with anyone else."
Dale stared at her. For a second he thought that maybe he was wrong, maybe this wasn't his waitress. He checked her name tag, saw it said April. "You waited on us." Dale pointed to his right cheek. "My son has that little birthmark. You said an angel kissed him."
She shrugged. "I think I'd remember that."
He pointed to himself. "You remember me?" Then at their table. "We were sitting right there."
She nodded. "Yes, sir. I remember you, but you ate by yourself." She turned to the table where Dale's dishes still sat. "I was just bringing you your bill."
He raised his voice. "Is this some kind of a joke?" People began looking at him.
April took a step back and raised her hands. "You need to talk to Mr. Simms."
"Who's Mr. Simms?"
"The owner."
"Well that's who I want to see."
Mr. Simms was already scurrying over. "What's the problem?"
Dale turned to him. "I can't find my family." He pointed at the girl. "She was our waitress and she's telling me she doesn't even remember them."
Mr. Simms looked at April.
She shrugged again. "I'm sorry but he was alone. I've never seen his family."
Simms looked like he didn't understand. April tried to explain it again, but Dale cut her off and pointed to the table. "My family and I ate right there. I went to the restroom, came out, and they were gone."
Mr. Simms clapped a hand on Dale's shoulder. "Maybe they're outside waiting for you."
"I've checked outside," he barked. "They're not there."
Simms glanced at the waitress. "Why don't you get back to work. I'll handle this."
Dale grabbed her by the arm. "She knows where they are."
Everyone in the restaurant stared at him.
Mr. Simms jerked Dale's hand away from the girl. "Sir, she said she doesn't know where your family is."
April pleaded with her boss. "He didn't have his family with him."
"She's lying!" Dale said, as he inched closer to April.
Simms stepped between them. Looking at Dale, he said, "Have you checked your car?"
He nodded. "It's broken down at the gas station across the street. We've got to spend the night at the hotel."
Mr. Simms smiled. "That's probably it."
"I bet they're at the hotel."
"He was by himself," April said.
The restaurant owner snapped his head towards her and pointed to the dinning area. "Go."
She looked at her boss for a second, a half-formed protest on her lips; then suddenly she spun on her heel and stomped away.
Simms looked back at Dale. "Have you checked the hotel?"
"They wouldn't do that."
"Have you checked?" Insistent.
Dale could feel himself losing control as the sweat dripped from his armpits. He took several deep breaths, trying to force himself to calm down. "No, I haven't."
"Maybe your kids got tired."
The deep breathing had made him light-headed. "Just the one boy." As Dale turned toward the door, Simms patted him on the back. "I'm sure everything's going to be fine."
But things weren't fine. At the hotel, he woke up Mrs. Jensen. Turns out she and Mr. Jensen had an apartment behind the office. Dale had banged on the glass door of the office for five minutes before a light came on.
Mrs. Jensen had come out first. A white haired old lady, covered in a paper-thin pink housecoat, imprinted with blue flowers the size of a quarter. A minute later, Mr. Jensen, looking about seventy, dressed in a full set of dark green, silk pajamas and a pair of matching slippers, stumbled into the office, smelling like he'd taken a bath in Jack Daniel's.
Dale's heart sank. He went through the story anyway, but as he expected, the Jensens said that no one had checked in or even come by since mid-morning.
Walking back to the restaurant, he looked at his Jeep. Still empty and no one near it.
A marked police car was parked near the restaurant's front door. As he got closer, Dale read the decal on the side, BATESVILLE TOWN MARSHAL. Maybe now he could get some help.
Just inside, near the cash register, Dale found April the waitress, Mr. Simms, and a heavyset man in jeans and a T-shirt, talking. As he walked up, all three stopped and stared at him. He felt like a freak in a boardwalk exhibit.
"Did you find them?" Simms asked.
Dale shook his head. "The people at the hotel haven't seen them."
The big man in jeans took a step toward him. "Mr...?
"Thornton. Dale Thornton."
The man stuck out his hand. "Jerry Stillwell. I'm town marshal."
"Saw your car outside." Dale shook the marshal's hand. "My wife and son are miss--"
"I understand there was a problem here earlier."
"Yeah there's a problem. My family disappeared."
The marshal and Simms traded glances; then he looked back at Dale. "So I heard. What do you think happened to them?"
Something didn't feel right. "If I knew that, they wouldn't be missing."
Marshal Stillwell stuck his belly out. "No reason to get smart. You all ready scared some customers. Don't make--"
"Scared some customers. Is that why you're here, because I scared some customers? My wife and son are MISSING!" Everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating and was watching the soap opera at the door. With a sharp edge to his voice, Dale said, "What are you going to do about it?"
The marshal jabbed a finger at him. "You better calm yourself down or I'll do it for you. Now I need to ask you some questions," his eyes swept the customers, "and I don't think this is the place to do it."
"I'm not going anywhere." Dale pointed to the completely cleaned off table where they'd eaten. "Half an hour ago my family and I ate right there. Now they're gone. Someone in here knows what happened to them."
The marshal dropped a big hand on Dale's shoulder and tried to guide him out the door. "We're going to find your family, but not here, not like--"
Dale pulled away. He pointed to Simms and the waitress. "They coming with us?"
"I don't see the need for--"
Dale reached out for April. "She's lying!"
With surprising speed, the town marshal slipped behind him and clamped a meaty forearm around his throat, sealing off his windpipe. Dale grabbed at the hairy arm and tried to twist it away as the marshal whispered in his ear, "Take it easy, son." Then something jabbed him in the kidney that sent waves of pain shooting up his back.
Seconds later, Dale was on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cool tiles, as the marshal handcuffed his wrists behind his back.
"She said it was the kiss of an angel, huh?" Marshal Stillwell asked. Things had calmed down some. Dale and the town marshal were alone in his office. Dale was still handcuffed, but the marshal had moved them to the front. He sat in a chair in front of the lawman's desk, watching him fill out forms with a ballpoint pen. Stillwell touched his finger to his right cheek. "That mark you're talking about is right here?"
Dale nodded.
"That's strange."
The handcuffs were uncomfortable. Dale twisted his wrists, trying to get some circulation back. "What's unusual about it?"
"We had a preacher in town few years back with the same kind of mark on his face." Stillwell traced a small circle on his cheek. "Heard him say once during a sermon it was from an angel's kiss."
Dale stared at the marshal, his flesh suddenly crawling with goosebumps.
"But he was a strange one. Lots of rumors. Guess it goes with the territory."
"What territory?"
"Young, good-looking preacher. Single. Moves into town, starts preaching all hours of the night." He gave Dale a knowing wink, like they were sharing a secret. "Giving special counseling sessions to half the women in town."
Grasping at straws, looking for anything. Dale said, "Is he still here?"
Marshal Stillwell shook his head. "Church burned down."
"What about the preacher?"
"We never found his body."
"He was the only one in the church?"
Stillwell looked down at the form on his desk and pressed his pen to it. "He had six or eight ladies in there with him. Supposed to be some sort of social club. Fire was so hot, we couldn't tell one body from the next. That was when the rumors really started."
Dale flexed his fingers. His hands hurt. "What kind of rumors?"
The marshal laughed. "Just gossip. People 'round here are simple minded, superstitious, that's all."
"What kind of gossip?"
Stillwell looked up. "Not everybody you understand, but some people have been talking about how the preacher isn't really dead, about how he's gonna come back some day."
Dale needed to get out, to find Carol and Jesse. There was something terribly wrong here. "Am I under arrest?"
Stillwell nodded.
In the corner stood a single holding cell, the door gaping open, waiting. "What's the charge?"
The marshal jerked a thumb in the general direction of the restaurant. "Disturbing the peace."
"What about my family?"
The man tapped the pile of forms in front of him. "I'll forward these missing persons reports to the state police in the morning; then I'll call the judge and try to get a bond set for you."
Dale sprung to his feet. "I've got to find my family tonight!"
Marshal Stillwell eased out of his chair and stood up. "Just calm down. Soon as I get this information to them, the state troopers will be on the lookout." He jerked his thumb toward the south. "Their office is just five miles down the road."
Dale nodded at the phone on the desk. "Call them now."
The marshal shook his head. "Can't do that."
"Why not."
"I got procedures to follow."
Dale Thornton squatted and shoved the desk into Stillwell. The marshal's chair rolled back on its casters but snagged on something and tipped over, spilling Marshal Stillwell onto the floor. Dale scrambled over the desk, knocking papers, pens, and a near full cup of coffee on top of the lawman, then dropped a knee into the man's big belly. The marshal curled into a ball and moaned.
Stillwell didn't have a gun on him, at least not one Dale could find. The way he was dressed it looked like he had been called out from home. Maybe he forgot his gun, or maybe he just didn't carry one. Dale grabbed a handful of shirt and dragged the marshal into the open holding cell, then kicked the door shut. It locked automatically.
By the time Stillwell staggered to his feet Dale was searching his desk. The marshal tried to rip the steel bars apart with his bare hands. "Let me out of here, you crazy bastard!"
Dale ignored him. In the bottom right hand drawer he found a gun, a .38 caliber, five-shot Smith and Wesson. Stillwell started shouting for help. Dale leveled the gun at him. "Shut up."
Stillwell quit yelling.
Dale kept searching.
A few seconds later, the marshal said, "You'll never get away with this."
Holding his wrists up, Dale rattled the handcuffs. "Keys?"
The cop pointed to the desk. "Bottom left."
After he got the handcuffs off, Dale finished going through the desk, then did a quick search of a filing cabinet that was set against the wall. There he found keys to the holding cell and a roll of duct tape.
As Dale approached the cell, Marshal Stillwell backed against the far wall. "What are you gonna do?"
Aiming the revolver at Stillwell's belly, Dale ordered him to lie on the floor. A few minutes later he relocked the cell door, leaving the marshal with his hands cuffed behind his back and a strip of silver duct tape wrapped around his head that sealed his mouth shut. On his way out of the marshal's office, Dale tossed the revolver back into the desk drawer and kicked it shut. That was trouble he didn't need.
The state police. "Their office is just five miles down the road," the marshal had said.
Darkness had settled over the Batesville. How long had he been in the marshal's office? Everything in town was closed and locked up tight. There wasn't a light to be seen, and not a soul on the street. He didn't see any payphones.
He had to get out of town. Which way had the marshal pointed when he mentioned the state police? Thinking about it, Dale decided it had to be south. They'd driven in from the north and he was sure they hadn't passed a state police troop.
The night had turned cold. If he was going to walk for five miles he needed a jacket.
It took just a few minutes to make it to the gas station. His Jeep was right where he'd left it, but when he reached into his pocket for the keys they weren't there. An image flashed through his mind. A close up shot just like in a movie. His hand reaching toward Dudley Simpson's, and in his hand, his keys.
He looked into the rear window, saw their luggage lying in the back. Dale thought about breaking the window and getting a jacket, maybe his gun, too. Not the gun. He was in enough trouble all ready for what he'd done to the town marshal. Assault, kidnapping--maybe not kidnapping, he hadn't taken him anywhere, just locked him in his own cell--but something like kidnapping. Desperation had driven him to it. That's the only reason he had done it. Because he had to find Carol and Jesse.
He could make it without a jacket.
Old Highway 167 south. Dale Thornton started walking. Ten minutes later he saw headlights behind him, coming from town. He crouched in the bushes beside the highway, but the beat-up pickup glided to a stop next to him. An old man sat behind the wheel, alone in the truck. "You need a ride?"
Feeling like a complete fool, Dale stood. "Yeah, I guess."
"Where you headed?"
"You know where the state police office is?"
The old man nodded, then jerked his head toward the passenger side. "Hop in."
As he climbed into the pickup truck, Dale shot a glance at the old man. Probably at least seventy, with long ghost white hair and a bushy mustache, wearing a stained undershirt and a pair of denim overalls. Dale scanned the dashboard for a clock but didn't see one. "What time is it?"
The old man shrugged. "Haven't worn a watch in thirty years. Do things as quick as I can. A timepiece strapped to my wrist ain't gonna make me move any faster."
The drive was torture. Never did the old man go over thirty-five miles an hour. Only good thing was that he didn't ask any questions. Just dropped Dale off in the parking lot of the state police troop. As he walked through the door into the police station, Dale glanced over his shoulder and saw the old man's pickup rumbling down the highway.
Inside, sitting behind a chest high counter, was a uniformed trooper, sergeant stripes on his sleeves. Mid-40's, with an iron gray crew cut. "Can I help you, sir?" the sergeant said.
Dale spat out the story as fast as he could, leaving out the part about how he'd handcuffed the town marshal and left him gagged in his own jail cell.
The sergeant's face had remained inscrutable while Dale talked. "What was the name of that town again, sir?"
The sergeant wheeled his chair over to a map hanging on the wall. "And where'd you say it was?"
The state cop demonstrated the same bureaucrat mentality as the town marshal. Any minute now he'd break out a sheaf of forms and start filling them out. Dale pointed north. "Five miles that way."
"What'd you say your name was again?" The sergeant glided the chair back over to his work area and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket.
"Thornton. Dale Thornton."
As soon as the sergeant finished jotting Dale's name on a pad, he looked up. "There's no town named Batesville."
"I was just there!"
The sergeant stood up. "Take it easy, sir. I'm sure you just got the name mixed up."
Just like in the restaurant.
"...get to the bottom of it." The desk sergeant was still talking, but Dale hadn't heard everything. He felt dizzy. Was everyone around here crazy? "We ate dinner there," he mumbled. "I left my car at the gas station. Dudley Simpson's gas station."
The sergeant nodded as he walked around the counter. A big man, at least six feet, with the beefy build of a weightlifter. "I know Simpson's place. Old 167 and Highway 90. But there's no town there, just the gas station."
"The gas station's smack in the middle of the town. There's a restaurant, a general store, and a hotel, too."
The sergeant closed on him, his body bladed, his gun side away from Dale. "I need you to put your hands on the counter, sir."
With his right hand resting on his holstered pistol, the state trooper took hold of Dale's wrist with his left hand and pushed it to the top of the counter. Dale's other hand followed. The sergeant said, "Pull you feet back."
"What are you doing?"
"You have any weapons on you?"
"No! Of course not." Glad he'd left the marshal's gun, glad he hadn't gotten his own out of the Jeep.
"I'm just gonna pat you down."
"Why?" Dale said. "I haven't done anything. My family's missing?"
The sergeant slid his hands over Dale's waist and the outside of his pockets. "It's for safety, sir."
"Yours and mine," the trooper sergeant said as he stepped backward a few feet.
"Something's happened to my wife and son. I came here for help."
"What happened to them?"
"I don't know," Dale said. "That's why I need your help."
"Mr. Thornton, I've worked this area for nineteen years. There is no town called Batesville."
"I don't care what you call it, but there's a town five miles away and we need to go there right now."
"Closest town is twelve miles from here and it's south."
The gas station. At least the sergeant knew about the gas station. Dale looked over his shoulder at the big cop. "Can I stand up?" After getting a nod, Dale pushed away from the counter and stood straight. Arguing wasn't getting him anywhere. "Look sergeant, maybe I seem a bit confused, but I know my wife and 6-year-old son are missing. Our car broke down at Simpson's gas station. Can you drive me there and help me look for them?"
The sergeant took his hand off his pistol and relaxed a little. "How'd you get here?"
"An old man in a pickup gave me a ride."
"You get his name?"
Dale's mouth opened but nothing came out as he realized he couldn't remember a thing about the old man or his truck. No details at all.
"What's the matter?"
Dale shook his head. "He...he just gave me a ride. I didn't get his name."
The trooper sergeant held up his hand. "Stay right here. Soon as I get someone to cover the desk, I'll give you a ride back to Simpson's."
Ten minutes later Dale climbed into the passenger seat of the state police car. The sergeant looked over at him. "Put your seatbelt on." Dale strapped himself in but noticed the sergeant didn't.
On the highway the trooper asked him to go over the story again. As Dale repeated what had happened, the sergeant asked several questions about Simpson's: what time of day, what was wrong with the car, who had the keys; but he asked nothing about what happened in the restaurant. The restaurant that wasn't there, according to the sergeant.
A few minutes later the police cruiser's headlights lit up the darkened gas station and Dale's Jeep parked at the pumps.
There was nothing else--absolutely nothing else.
The sergeant slowed down as he turned into the parking lot. "That your Cherokee?"
Stunned, Dale couldn't answer. Staring out the window, struck dumb by what he saw, or didn't see. No restaurant, no hotel, no Batesville General Store--no town. Just empty farmland and a few trees surrounding the gas station.
The trooper pulled his car up behind the Jeep, leaving a car-length gap between the two of them. "Stay here," he said as he pulled a flashlight from a charger mounted to the dash.
Dale leaned his head against the window and watched the sergeant creep up to the driver's door of his Jeep Cherokee, flashlight held out in front of him, his other hand on the butt of his pistol. The state cop opened the door--the locked door--and poked his head inside the passenger compartment of Dale's Jeep. The trooper backed out and held up his hand, Dale's keys dangling from his fingers. "Keys were inside," he shouted.
With legs quivering, Dale stepped out of the police car. He couldn't understand this. The Jeep had been locked, Dudley Simpson had the keys. He stumbled toward the trooper.
The sergeant shined his flashlight into the back, into the cargo compartment. Suddenly, his face turned to stone. He dropped the keys, drew his gun, aimed both it and his flashlight at Dale. "Don't move!"
Dale stopped dead. What the hell was...
"Get on the ground!"
Not comprehending, Dale just stood there.
The trooper screamed at him, "Get on the fucking ground--now."
Dale Thornton dropped face down onto the pavement. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sergeant side-stepping around him until he was behind Dale and to his left.
The trooper said, "Turn your head to the right."
Dale did as he was told. Then the sergeant closed in and cuffed his hands behind his back. Just the second time in his life Dale had been handcuffed, both on the same night.
After backing up a few steps, the sergeant keyed the radio clipped to his belt and called the state police troop. When the dispatcher answered, the sergeant said, "I need back up units," Dale heard him take a deep breath, "and notify the corner."
The tinny voice from the radio said, "What you got, sergeant?"
"Homicide," the trooper answered. "Suspect is in custody."
The sergeant hooked Dale's elbows and jerked him to his feet, then picked up the keys and opened the tailgate of the Jeep.
Lying in the back, in the cargo space, arms and legs twisted into a torturous configuration, was the naked body of his wife, Carol. At the back of her head, her golden hair was tangled and caked with dried blood. Her face chalk white, her forehead blown out where the bullet had exited. On the carpet next to her was a .357 revolver--Dale's .357 revolver.
She was alone.
"Jesse!" Dale screamed at the dark and empty fields.
In 1885 the town of Batesville, Louisiana burned to the ground. Scores of people were killed in the predawn fire that swept through the town. Among those reported killed in the blaze was the town's only minister, but many bodies were so badly burned that positive identification was impossible.
The fire started in the Batesville church and was allegedly set by a preacher from a nearby town. The preacher, a God-fearing and righteous man, was said to have been outraged at the evil deeds going on in Batesville, which he had called a modern-day Sodom.
The town of Batesville was never rebuilt.
submitted by chuckhustmyre to shortstories [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 15:04 gnitsuj Does anyone here have anything for sale/trade that *isn't* Eras related?

No shade or hate at all, I'm just looking for some older stuff and it seems 90% of posts are for Eras merch so figured I'd make a post to see if anyone's got anything.
I'm mainly looking for old (Fearless/Speak Now/Red) shirts or hoodies. Happy to buy but also have a handful of fun trades:
-1989 blanket
-Signed CD's - Folklore, Red, Lover (the return would have to be pretty good for me to let this one go lol)
-Hats - 1989 black & white trucker hat & the Taylor Nation "13 World Tour" hat
-1989 Polaroids
-Old magazines
submitted by gnitsuj to SwiftieMerch [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 14:47 Jordanlf3208 Anyone have info on something like this, I’m a bit skeptical but my group seems to be all in.

Anyone have info on something like this, I’m a bit skeptical but my group seems to be all in. submitted by Jordanlf3208 to LasVegas [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 14:40 RetroRocker I really like the music of the band UFO but I cannot stand their album artwork which is amongst the worst I've ever seen for a successful act. Does anyone else have this problem (with UFO specifically, or other bands/artists)?

I've not listened to everything UFO has ever done, mainly the Phenomenon-Obsession period (predictably), and the only one I can sort of stand is the Phenomenon album cover. The others I can hardly bear to look at.
Is it just me or did Hipgnosis* have more 'misses' than 'hits' with their album art? I know that, for example, the 1978 Yes album 'Tormato' was just going to be called 'Tor' until the band saw the artwork and Wakeman hated it so much he threw a tomato at it (well, allegedly- maybe that's apocryphal).
Another example I can think of is the sole album by the band Riggs. The art is black and white- a closeup of a dog in the foreground, amidst a white void, and some missiles in the background. Then on the back cover there's a really badly assembled photofit of the band. I think the music is awesome on that album but I'd never ever consider having a T shirt of the album cover!
EDIT: *Hipgnosis not Psygnosis. I always get those two mixed up.
submitted by RetroRocker to ClassicRock [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 13:25 ColdBlackWater Little man

When I was about five or six years old, I used to go watch my brother play soccer. Truthfully, the games didn't keep me very interested, so I would routinely explore areas around the different fields looking for bugs where while my grandpa would watch the games with the other parents.
During one particular game, my brother played in a field that was surrounded by a wooded area. I walked around the perimeter of the woods exploring and looking for critters like I routinely did. As I walked along, an animal came up to me from out of the woods.
I was astounded when I realized that it wasn't an animal; it was actually a little man.
Even though it was humanoid in appearance, I know it wasn't human. I was very short at that time, at the most four feet, and the creature I saw was extremely small to me, so it couldn't have been more that one foot tall. It had brownish skin, was very wrinkled and had tufts of gray hair sticking out of its head. It was very squat, almost square-shaped. Its body type resembled a person who looks short and squat in a funhouse mirror.
It was also fully clothed, which was a characteristic that really perplexed me. It wore clothes that looked as if they could have been handmade. From what I remember, it was wearing simple brownish pants and a shirt that resembled peasant clothing from movies about the Middle Ages. It was also wearing small shoes that were tannish brown and looked to be made of leather.
The thing that I remember the most was its beady black eyes. It did not have whites in its eyes like a human; they were all black. It looked at me for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds, and then it quickly ran off.
I ran back to my grandpa, and yelled, "Grandpa, I saw a little man in the woods." I recall the other parents just smiling, thinking it was childish make-believe and nothing more.
I forgot about this incident for a long time as I grew up, but one day about three years ago, I remembered it. I asked my mom if she remembered me talking about seeing a little man when I was a kid, and when she said she did, I was surprised. My grandfather had passed away a few years before this, but my mom said she remembered that he told her after the game that I had insisted that I had seen a little person in the woods, and that I was genuinely scared of something.
It was a long time ago and some of the details are hazy, but I do believe that I saw something very strange that day. I believe that I remembered it so well because I've never felt the way that I did when I saw it. I've never been a strong believer in otherworldly or mystical beings, I'd be much more inclined to believe it to be a naturally occurring hidden animal, but the feeling that overcame me when I saw it told me that it wasn't a natural creature.
The experience seemed to have an almost magical feeling to it, and as far as I honestly know it really did happen.
submitted by ColdBlackWater to timeslip [link] [comments]