Sweet sixteen schedule

Hi everyone, this last month I was FINALLY diagnosed w Endometriosis through a Lap. It took four years (I know many women/people w uterus’ have waited longer for help) which felt like forever. I just think it’s interesting, my fight to find this out, because I went to doctors over and over to be ignored, and I was in utter-shock when the first doctor to truly listen to me was a MAN.
I started university in 2020, I moved away from home and had to find new drs but where I moved even ER drs express how difficult it is to get a PCP. Anyways, I have always had issues with my period. I got it when I was 13 & I would bleed for weeks rather than one, I had cramps so bad I couldn’t physically move, I would throw up repeatedly due to the pain. As I got older it of course got worse, and after I gained my “freshman 50” everything got worse. I had my period for three months STRAIGHT. I went through at least 30 pads and tampons a day. It was really bad. I had cl0ts the size of my fist. I ended up taking myself to the ER a couple of times & was continuously put down and dismissed about my concerns and pain. I even went as far as to refuse any pain medicine in fear they thought I was seeking drugs and that’s why they ignored me.
At some point I ended up getting the same er physician (as I said, no PCP) who would constantly tell me that I was over reacting, that it’s just menorrhagia (heavy period). I would break down in tears begging her to help me and she said “just go see a specialist” in a very rude tone. At that point I was fighting with insurance to get it and had no options to see a specialist, and when I said I didn’t have insurance she said and I quote “that’s not my problem, I can have someone bring you paper work” and I was so upset. Eventually I ended up going to my local planned parenthood, where I found out my insurance had kicked in (YAY). At the pp office I did the usual tests and my dr was very sweet. They were so attentive to my issues and during the tests immediately recognized obvious issues. They ended up giving me my referral and telling me they hope that I get the answers I need. I finally got in to see the OBGYN specialist here in my town, and was very worried when I noticed it was a male dr (since it was hard enough to get a woman to listen to me) but he really truly listened to me, and scheduled me for blood work follow ups and eventually my LAP. I have had quite the life growing up and in the last four years everything has been crazy but the satisfaction of being listened to and told you were right was something I had never felt before and I was so relieved. I was wondering if anyone has used Zolodex as a treatment? As I have just started it (as of yesterday) and I don’t know anyone personally who suffers from endometriosis.
Thank you for any answers. I’m happy to be a part of this group and learn more!

TL;DR - I'm looking for recommendations on firearms (new or used) that will expand the game I can target and will be reliable enough to pass down to my kids as heirlooms, similar to my Browning Auto-5 and Winchester 63. Tentative budget is $1000.
I inherited a Browning Sweet Sixteen (16ga w/ fixed modified choke) and a Winchester 63 (22lr). I wasn't brought up hunting, but I've taken these both out a few times each and I'd like to raise my kids with at least some experience hunting. I'm limited in what I can target with these two firearms, so I'd like to add a couple firearms. Here are some rapid-fire thoughts:

1. I'm in Wisconsin, so I have lots of game available, mostly deeturkey/waterfowl/small game. All my hunting in the near term will be on public land.
2. A pump 12ga (with interchangable choke and able to take 3.5" shells) seems like the easiest way to open up a lot of game options. While I can technically shoot slugs or steel out of my Browning, I'd really rather not, and when you consider the fixed choke and small shell size (2.75), then you're dealing with a lot of game (deer, waterfowl, turkey) that I can hunt, but I'm not optimally set up for.
3. A scoped rifle seems like another good option to open up larger game like deer, and maybe predators/beaelk should I want to branch out into those in the future. (I understand that one rifle cartridge can't do it all, so I'll appreciate any recommendations for the cartridge you'd choose if you only had one).
4. Bonus points for reliability, I want to pass these down to my kids.
5. Bonus points for iconic/classic guns. People seem to have really high opinions of the guns I inherited. It would be nice to pass down similar firearms to my kids.
6. Budget is around $1000 total. If I can get two firearms for that, that's fantastic. If not, feel free to recommend just one. I'll probably be buying used and locally, just taking my time to wait for the right thing to come along.

Thanks in advance for your time.
Edit: here are pictures of the Browning and the Winchester.

Hi, I just want to include a disclaimer here: this script is NOT for the faint of heart. This shit gets dark, as both the speaker and listener characters are real sick, sadistic pieces of shit. Please proceed with caution or click off if you’re uncomfortable with any of the themes mentioned.
I’ve included a full list of tags here: [AFA] [M4A] [F4A] [Reverse-Yandere] [Yandere(?)] [Sadistic Speaker] [Not in the 'Fun' Way] [Private Eye] [Mystery] [Horror] [Thriller] [Stalking] [Betrayal] [Listener's Plan Backfiring] [Drugging and Mentions of Drugging] [Lots of Swearing] [Bad Jokes] [Coffee Shop AU Gone Wrong] [Being Tied Up and Gagged] [Speaker Character: So, Anyway, I Started Monologuing; As a Treat :)))] [Bad Policing] [Possible Nepotism] [Breaking and Entering] [Mentions of Murder] [Mentions of Torture] [Some Psychological Torture Elements] [Threats of Bodily Harm] [Death Threats] [Stress Positions at the End]
I am a keen fan of horror and it definitely shows. If you’re not a fan of the horror and/or thriller genres, this probably isn’t for you.
This is not and should not be interpreted as a kink/fetish thing. I am Ace and, consequently, I am very uncomfortable with my work being sexualised. That being said, while I do not approve of any of the genders in the script being changed (especially that of the listener, as I want to keep this open to everyone), I am more understanding towards rewording and/or leaving some of the more uncomfortable parts or trigger words out.
None of what’s mentioned here is meant to, in anyway, mock or glorify their real world equivalents. I just like writing evil characters who deserve everything that’s coming to them. They’re fun to hate and rip apart :)
Personally, I would be reluctant to classify this as ASMR. I feel that Audio Roleplay would a better title, simply because this is anything but relaxing.
If you want to monetise this mess, by all means feel free, aside from places with paywalls like Patreon, and give me credit. Please just send a link in the comments, so I can see it :)
Also, please don’t use stolen art in your thumbnails. Credit the artists. Thanks :)
(Wow, I have spent way too long on this lol; the brain worms demanded a sacrifice and they are finally satiated)
***
(For Speaker)
This past year had easily been the most terrifying in your life. It had taken an honestly embarrassingly long time to put the pieces together but you finally had the full picture. And it was a hideous, monstrous thing.
No-one was coming to save you. You’d learnt that lesson the hard way. You were alone, forced to placate and humour a monster that was drawing closer and closer, toying with its food. It wanted to hurt you. It would hurt you if you didn’t do anything.
So, how to you hurt a monster? You become one yourself.
And if you happen to get a little carried away? Oh, well. You’ve always been a strong believer in karma anyway…
***
(For Listener)
Finally, after years of waiting, this was it. It had taken so long and so much effort but it was finally going to pay off. That cute little barista (with a certainly interesting side-gig) was inviting you over to their house. It would just be the two of you. No friends. No family. No distractions or witnesses. You’d made sure of that.
They were finally within your grasp. They were finally going to be yours. To have. To love. To ruin.
It’s going to be exhilarating finally being able to watch their sweet face morph in pain, knowing you were the only thing on their mind.
Finally, you’ll be alone with them. Nothing can go wrong…
***
(Use general sound effects and background music to make scenes more immersive)
(Sound of knocking, followed by front door opening)
Heyyyyyyy! Good see you!
(Sound of hugging. Speaker then pulls back and claps listener on the back)
Come in, come in! Welcome to my humble abode!
(Sound of door shutting)
Shoe rack is over here and coat hooks are at the end of the hall.
Would you like anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?
[.]
(Customer service voice) And do you want any milk or sugar with that? I have soya or oat milk, if you’d prefer (a laugh).
[.]
Cool. I’ll be back in a moment. Make yourself at home.
(Sound of two pairs of footsteps and then listener sitting down on the sofa)
(Distant sound of kettle boiling and speaker humming)
(A few moments later the sound of footsteps and a couple of mugs being set on a table)
Theeeere we go. The green mug is yours.
It‘s not as nice as the stuff I make back at the shop. But I’m sure you can forgive me for the ‘egregious sin’ of not having an industrial coffee grinder.
Do you want to listen to some music?
[.]
(Sound of footsteps)
(Sound of radio switching various stations and loud static)
(Annoyed tone) Ah, it’s acting up again, stupid thing. Damnit.
(Sound of radio being turned off)
(Voice apologetic) Never mind. Sorry.
(Footsteps, followed by sound of speaker sitting down on sofa)
(Sound of listener picking up the mug and taking a swig)
Damn, already? That must be scalding!
[.]
Whatever you say. Weirdo. So, how have you been?
[.]
Yeah, I’ve been good, thanks. Working costumer service has been as much of a blessing as ever! (Short laugh)
[.] (Sound of listener taking a sip)
(Joking tone/banter) Oh, don’t you dare give me that ‘tHe CuStoMeR iS aLwiSe rIgHt’ crap! Do you have any idea how many lectures I get from my boss? All I do is reflect particularly rude customers’ energy back at them. With the way she goes on, you’d think I murdered babies for a living and drank their parents’ tears. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t fired me already. It would be a blessing by this point. But I’m pretty sure she can’t afford to.
Oh, yeah. That reminds me. Get this, right? I swear to God, just the other day, there was a lady who came in and demanded so many shots of espresso I was worried her heart was going to give out there and then. I asked if she was sure and she just looked me dead in the eye, eye bags plain as day, and said: ‘Straight caffeine powder isn’t legal anymore; so, this’ll have to do.’ Honestly, main character energy.
[.]
Exactly. It’s her world. We’re just living in it.
[.]
She’s come in a few times but I wouldn’t call her a regular. I think I saw her wearing a lanyard with the name of the local secondary school on it. So, I’m pretty sure she works there. ‘Can’t really blame her if that’s the case, can I? (A laugh).
[.] (Sound of listener taking a sip)
I’m mean, I probably should’ve refused to serve her. But I couldn’t bring myself to. She looked so dead inside and I’m not that cruel.
Besides, it’s not my responsibility if something happened, you know? It was her decision.
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Especially if you get caught out being an idiot.
[.]
No, I don’t think anything happened. I didn’t hear anything, at least.
Admittedly, I haven’t seen her at the shop since. But I also haven’t seen any new job listings at said school. So, you never know… (A laugh).
Maybe I’m being haunted by her eternally-caffeinated spirit for my coffee-related crimes against humanity (speaker makes silly ‘OoOoOoOo’ sound).
(Sound of mug falling over and tea spilling)
Oh, fuck!
(Sound of both speaker and listener getting up)
(Voice sound exasperated) Fucking Hell!
(Voice gentler) Did any spill on you?
[.]
Good. You wait here. I’ll go grab some paper towels.
(Sound of speaker walking away and coming back a few moments later)
(Sound of speaker wiping up the spill)
[.]
Hey, don’t apologise. I was the one who knocked it over because I was being a dumbarse.
Maybe that was Espresso Lady’s revenge! Forever dooming me to spill hot drinks to protect future victims from my wrath.
(Sound of heart beat suddenly thundering in the listener’s ears)
Shit are you okay? You look faint.
[.]
I’ll go grab you some water, hold on.
(Sounds of hurried footsteps, as speaker walks away)
(Sound of hurried footsteps approaching a few moments later)
Bloody Hell, my life is turning into a fetch quest. Okay, maybe not the time for jokes.
Here.
[.]
(Sound of water being drunk from a plastic cup)(Continuous throughout section)
(Placating tone) Thaaaaaat’s it. Small sips. Don’t want you vomiting.
Thaaaaaat’s it. Don’t fight it. You’ll only give yourself a headache. Shshshshsh…
Thaaaaaaaaat’s it. You’re doing so well.
A little more to fully wash it down and… theeeere we go…
(Sound fades out)
***
(Sound fades back in and speaker is humming ‘Final Girl’ by Graveyardguy)(Ignore if not safe for copyright. Replace with general sounds of busywork)
Ah, back with me? Well, at the risk of sounding like a Skyrim NPC, you’re finally awake. You took your sweet time.
Too bad for you Espresso Lady spilled the wrong one, huh? … Nevermind, that was terrible anyway.
Don’t struggle, don’t struggle. Well, I mean, you can if you want. I doubt the circulation to your hands and feet would appreciate it though. Just take a second to get your bearings.
Also, don’t mind the gag. I’m just not in the mood for your screaming.
I know it must be torture, not being able to run your mouth for once in your life. But, honestly… seeing you like this is (tone slightly breathless) so cathartic. Look at you.
To be honest, I was worried that seeing you like this would make me chicken out. It’s one thing to fantasise about something; it’s another thing entirely to see it in front of you.
That wide-eyed expression. ‘Surprisingly cute and innocuous for a creature so vile. You should make it more often. And I’m more than willing to help.
(A laugh) It’s funny: before all this, the last thing I would’ve regarded myself as was a sadist. A strong believer in karma, yes, but not a sadist. But, then again, I’d never despised anyone so entirely before either. I’ve never wanted hurt someone so badly before. You really do bring out the worst in me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Sooo, let’s address the elephant in the room: I know you’ve been stalking me. It’s why I brought you here, actually. I’ve been investigating you for a while.
I know! The resident private eye decided to do a background check. Shocker(!)
Turns out I can do a little more than just latte art, huh?
(Tone mocking) Awww, poor thing. How does it feel to be outplayed, for once?
Does it hurt? Does it scare you? Not knowing what was happening just under your nose? Thinking that you could trust someone, only to find out they had their own ulterior motives?
It scared me. More than you know. But I’m sure you’re going to become very familiar with that feeling. Very soon. Just like I did.
But I’m sure if you could talk, besides the screaming for help, you’d be asking a lot of questions. Like why I’m doing this? Or how I found you out?
I owe you nothing. I really don’t. But because I’m nice, I’ll tell you a little story. A truly ‘captivating’ tale. I know, I know, bad joke.
I have a lot I want to say. Self-indulgent, sure, but I think I more than deserve it, given all the shit I’ve been through. Consider this my ‘villain’ speech. Doomsday weapon not included.
It all started when I was realised I was being followed home. I won’t lie, I was embarrassingly slow on the uptake. Ironic, given my job but what can you do?
It had been late at night, having just closed up, and I was headed to the bus station. The streets were almost entirely deserted, aside from the occasional night owl or drunk. It was peaceful.
And then I saw a figure, with their hood drawn up, out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t think anything of it. Why would I? So, together we walked down to the bus stop, not saying a word, and got on a bus. So far, so normal.
When we got to my stop, I got off. And I noticed that that same person had gotten off with me. Again nothing really unusual. Except we were taking the exact same route. Both at the same even pace, except that the mystery figure followed from just further down the road. Just far down enough that, if I hadn’t seen them get off at the same stop, I honestly wouldn’t have thought anything of it. We matched each other perfectly, road for road, turn for turn.
I’ve always been mildly paranoid. Kinda need to be, for the type of work I do. So, as we got closer and closer to my neighbourhood, I started to get anxious. We’d been taking the same route for a good half hour and I still hadn’t seen their face.
So, I decided to test my hypothesis. I took a left. They took a left. I took another left. They took another left. I took yet another left. They look that same left. I went straight. They went straight. I took a right. They took a right. I took another right. They did too.
By that point I was certain, so I crossed as many random roads as I could, provided they were well lit, until I was satisfied that I’d lost my pursuer. And then I headed home.
I would’ve forgotten about it, written it off as just a random mugger. But I couldn’t. Not given the then-recent disappearance. Disappearances happen all the time. It’s a big city, with plenty of shady alleys and shadier people. The world isn’t going to stop turning just because one poor soul vanished off the face of it. But this one stood out. It was an old classmate of mine, I believe, back in college. The guy was an arsehole; nobody liked him. Least of all myself, given how he used to torment me. But, still, the effect was the same. It just… stuck with me.
I wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of travelling via public transport. But I didn’t have a choice. My car had failed its MOT spectacularly. So, I was in the middle of the long, painful process of finding another.
It set me on edge and I started to feel like I was being watched every time I headed home. Did you know there’s a word for that? The sensation of being watched. Scopaesthesia. For some reason, I’ve never thought that sounded right.
But regardless of whatever it’s called or should be called, it started to freak me out, the longer it went on. I kept seeing that same hooded figure, out the corner of my eye.
I stuck to the lit streets, even if it took me a good 15 minutes longer. None of my co-workers could walk me home, as they lived on the other side of town.
Maybe that’s why I noticed the pattern. Because I was already on-guard.
I enjoyed your company. I’d even argue that I looked forward to it. I started working at that café when I was strapped for cash and it was the only place that would take me. ‘Not exactly my first choice and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to get a second job, in the first place. But you made it bearable.
You were nice. Maybe a little overly flirty but nice. You were the type of person to chat at the counter, while I made your drink, and just ask how I was doing. Who I told which drinks to try and which tasted foul. Who I gave occasional discounts to, just for the sake of it.
You treated me like an actual person. Not dirt under your shoes or a convenience to be tolerated. (Voice sounding mildly hurt) Perhaps I would’ve even gone as far as to call us friends.
I kept seeing you outside of work, from time to time. At first I thought nothing of it. Given how frequently you visited the shop, it wasn’t hard to imagine that you lived or worked locally. But then I kept seeing you. And kept seeing you. And kept seeing you.
I saw the way you side-eyed me. The way you often had your phone angled at me, like you were taking a photo.
It didn’t take long to guess that I was being tailed. Given my line of work, it’s not rare for PIs to be followed by other PIs. Das ist the beauty of counter-surveillance. And it’s not like you were being very subtle. That’s what I thought at first. So, I did some digging.
It would take way too long to describe everything that I did. So, I’ll give you the cliff notes version.
During one of your visits, I said that there was an issue regarding your membership and that I’d need your details, including your full name and email. That’s how I got hold of your surname.
Using that, I looked on various public databases and found your address. And, sure enough, you lived maybe 5, 10 minutes away from my place of work.
Moreover, your license plate matched that of a car that had been parking outside my house for weeks.
Googling your name, I found your LinkedIn. No mention of any affiliation with any kind of PI agency, law firm or police department. Nothing that seemed to suggest any training either. You were in a completely different field. That set off immediate red flags.
If you weren’t a PI then why were you following me?
At that point, I tried to report my findings to the police. Multiple times. Even if you lacked a criminal record, beyond a couple of speeding tickets, it was obvious I was being stalked. But everything that I had gathered was circumstantial. Even the photographic evidence of you following me was apparently questionable, as it could’ve been just a bad case of wrong place, wrong time. So they did nothing.
They just… brushed me off.
(Sarcasm) Which was extremely helpful.
Can you imagine that for a moment? Assuming you’re even capable of empathy. The very people who had hired you in the past, who understood your capabilities and trusted you because of them, suddenly dismissing you? Despite how many times they’d relied on you gathering evidence? …Despite how much time you’d spent with them?
If I’m being honest, it stung. But fine.
If they weren’t going to do anything because of a lack of poof, then I would find proof.
So I kept digging.
I looked at your social media and searched for who was most frequently tagged or mentioned. From there, I approached those that I could and struck up casual conversation. Most of it was superficial fluff. Nothing of substance, even when I mentioned being a loose friend of yours. After the sixth attempt that had gone absolutely fucking nowhere, I was tempted to call it a dead end. But I decided to head down to the local pub and try again anyway.
Jackpot.
Admittedly, it was probably because he already had a few drinks in him, but your friend Jake was most forthcoming. Very friendly bloke. When I mentioned you, he was more than happy to talk about your relationship. Ranging from what the pair of you did at work. To the fact you didn’t like inviting others over. To your little ‘thing’ for a quote unquote ‘cute local barista’.
As you can imagine, that latter part peaked my interest.
Apparently, you’d been meaning to ask for their number, for who knows how long. That’s what you told him, at least.
So, you were so very lucky when that same barista offered you a wink and their number a few days later! The look on your little face… honestly, precious…
(Tone sour) It was a little less ‘precious’ when I started to notice my possessions going ‘missing’.
It was mostly small things, at first. Things that, if I hadn’t been looking for them, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
But as the months went by and we talked more and more, you got bolder.
It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore and I knew if I didn’t say anything it would start to look suspicious. Who wouldn’t start getting pissed off and ranting at not being able to find whatever they were looking for? Especially to their friends?
So, I complained to you about it. Ranting on and on about how I’d put something down and it’d ‘magically disappear’. It’s not like I wasn’t frustrated. And every time I mentioned it, all you did was laugh and say that I was ‘scatter-brained’ and ‘it would probably turn up eventually’.
You were toying with me. I could see it in the way you looked at me, that glimmer of possessiveness in your eye. I could feel it in the way you stalked me, like a predator circling prey, drawing ever closer but not willing to end the chase just yet. I wasn’t a person to you. I was a prize, a thing to be won.
Hell, at one point, you even had the audacity to mention that one of your hobbies was lock-picking.
You were so sure you were pulling one over on me. (Voice full of vitriol) It was disgusting.
(A pause for a few seconds)
I got a home alarm soon after that little chat. I’d been meaning to for months. But you mentioning that particular little detail made it apparent that I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was only a small thing. ‘All I could afford at the time. (Voice sounding defeated) It never worked.
Hell, I don’t think it even worked as a deterrent.
(Half-muttered to self) Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure my radio started acting on the fritz around the same time. ‘Thought that was probably only coincidence. I can’t blame you for everything that’s gone wrong in my life. Only most of it.
Knowing that started making me even more paranoid. Sometimes, I’d swear that I saw movement in the corner of my eye. Or heard footsteps down the hall. I would look around but never found anything. I wasn’t sleeping well, as you can imagine, so my first impulse was to blame that. Surely you wouldn’t be so brazen or stupid as to break in when you knew I would be home… would you?
That didn’t stop me from keeping 999 on speed dial though.
Sometimes, I’d even call you, just to keep account of where you were or what you were doing. Sometimes you picked up. Sometimes you didn’t. The times you didn’t scared me.
You loved it. I could hear the smug smile in your voice whenever I called you. Knowing that you got off to it, that you though I was weak and just that desperate for your company… It was humiliating.
If I couldn’t get through to you, I called my friends. I always made sure that I had at least one person on the line, at any point that I felt eyes burning into the back of my head. So that if anything ever happened to me, someone would know.
Even as some of them grew increasingly distant or stopped responding all together, I kept calling. If my old friends refused to pick up, I made new ones at work or online. Co-workers, patrons. Anyone that was practically chatty, really. It wasn’t the best solution and I’m pretty sure that my calls at three in the morning weren’t best appreciated but it was the best I could do.
I’ve always been good at saying what people want to hear.
As time went on, things started to slow until they just kinda… plateaued. I couldn’t find anything else. Sure you had a life online but nothing that I could use to incriminate you. Using open-source intelligence was proving painfully fruitless. Brute-forcing your credentials wasn’t working. At least you weren’t enough of a ‘lovesick’ fool to use my name as a password.
I even managed to find out your Wi-Fi password. Only for my moment of triumph to be crushed by finding out you used a VPN on all your devices. There was nothing Wireshark could do about that. I considered slamming my head into a wall, after that little discovery.
But beyond that, the constant dread became almost routine. When I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend it was like before. That I was just laughing and joking with my friend, rather than teasing a bear trap, hoping to God that it wouldn’t spring on me.
(Deep breath)
Of course, after I’d been talking, hanging out in public and following you for a while, I had a pretty good idea of your general schedule.
So, I decided to pay your home a visit while you were out.
Now, normally, I wouldn’t do anything so blatantly illegal. It’s a major risk to my credibility. But I was getting desperate… and off the clock, sooo…
(Sigh)
(More serious tone) Despite everything, I wanted to be proven wrong, you know. That I was just being paranoid. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Maybe you were just someone with a crush, who was visiting a friend or family member in my neighbourhood. Even though I knew none of them lived nearby.
Maybe I really was just an idiot losing their shit and you just had poor timing and some unfortunate hobbies.
Maybe you were just socially awkward and I was seeing things that weren’t there.
I got inside and the first thing that struck me was the smell. The place reeked of rot and cleaner, sharp and acrid, making my stomach churn.
I crept through the darkness, despite myself. I knew you weren’t home. I had watched you leave and had meticulously checked your schedule for hours beforehand. I know I should’ve turned on my torch sooner. But I couldn’t help it. It felt wrong, even when I was trampling paper underfoot. I strayed deeper and deeper into the darkness, until I found what I assumed would be your bedroom, if the single lit window at night was anything to go by.
Finally, I turned on my torch and…
(Horrified tone) The walls were covered in hundreds, upon hundreds of pictures of me. Some at my places of work, some while I was asleep, some from inside my own home.
I barely suppressed a wave of bile and a horse cry died in my suddenly-too-dry throat, giving way to a low moan of terror.
All I could do was stare, unable to tear my eyes away. Scanning over row after row after row of photographs.
(Incredulous laugh) I still don’t know how you took some of them. I pretty much always keep my curtains and blinds shut.
All those private little moments. Rereading an old favourite. Singing along to a shitty pop song on Heart with a little too much enthusiasm. Just taking a nice hot shower for a little longer than strictly necessary. Violated.
There was even a fucking shrine.
You had stolen so much. Including stuff that I hadn’t even noticed, despite actively being on-guard. Clothes, the contents of my bins, post that had never arrived… (Tone of revulsion) underwear… And that’s just stuff off the top of my head.
There were pieces of paper and notebooks everywhere. Some were filled with nothing but my name, over and over and over again. Others were filled with declarations of ‘love’. And some were filled with fantasies about what you’d do to me. Many of which were… violent.
I rifled through your drawers and found everything, ranging from ropes to what looked like possible roofies to copies of my work diary
I kept looking around. I couldn’t stop myself.
I thought this had been going on for a few months, outside. But I was wrong. This had been going on for years. I’d been watched for years and had never realised.
Eventually it reached a point that there were so many pictures and pages and papers that they almost became mundane. Almost.
I don’t know how long I wandered there. Minutes? Hours? It was like time itself understood the horror of what I’d found and stood still in shock. For such a moderately-sized home, the corridors were strangely endless. Like they wanted to entomb me. That’s obviously what their owner wanted.
Finally, on the ground floor, I saw the door to your cellar. It was white. Simple. Non-descript. And, yet, it felt… off. It was weirdly compelling. Like I needed to go down there. Like I needed to know what was down there.
The closer I drew, the more magnetic it became, emanating this strange ‘aura’, for lack of a better term.
Of course, I realised how stupid it was. Everyone knows that the idiot who wanders down into the murder basement in a horror movie doesn’t make it out alive.
But you were gone and I was already snooping, so what was a little more?
It was locked but only with a simple padlock. Nothing too difficult.
I picked it with little resistance and started to walk down the stairs. They were unlit. And kept going down and down and down, deeper and deeper. It felt far too deep for a normal basement. Like the earth itself was trying to swallow me whole.
When I reached the bottom, it was pitch-black, with only the torchlight to illuminate my surroundings, barely piercing the darkness.
The air was thick with dust and bleach. So much bleach it made my eyes water and my head spin.
Eventually, I managed to find the light switch. I pawed at it and a single, naked bulb spluttered into life, momentarily blinding me. When my sight finally cleared, I peered around the room now cast in a sickly-yellow hue.
It was… small. No, not small. Small is the wrong word. Cramped. Suffocating. The walls felt close and oppressive. The wall closest to me was covered in shelving, littered with various boxes, tools and general DIY stuff, like paints and solvents.
But that wasn’t what drew my eye.
No, what filled me with abject horror was on the other side of the room.
It was a cell, made up of floor to ceiling bars. Each black pillar easily as thick as my forearm. With just enough room to fit an arm through but nothing more. The door was open.
In front of it was an old, wooden table. It was worn but clearly still sturdy, with various objects scattered across it.
I drew closer. I wish I hadn’t.
On the table was a box and a few small black things. At first I thought they were wing nuts. But as I got closer and my eyes adjusted to the low light, I realised they were part of larger mechanisms. I picked up one of the strange objects to get a better look and something black flaked off in my hand. It was too course and gritty to be paint.
It took me a few moments to recognise it but as soon as I did I felt my stomach drop.
It was a thumbscrew. A fucking thumbscrew that had been used.
I put it back on the table and immediately tried to rub off the sensation of brittle rust. I rubbed and rubbed until my skin felt raw, a dull sting drowning it out.
I turned my attention back to the table. The box sat there, innocently.
I had to open it. I knew I did. I was in too deep now.
So, I watched, numb, as my hands reached towards it. As they unhooked the simple latch, the only thing keeping it closed. As they took out piece after piece of paper.
It felt like my mind was underwater and, for a moment, the only coherent thought that filtered through was that the paper felt weirdly tacky against my glove. Like photo paper.
I looked and, sure enough, that’s what they were. Each picture perfectly glossy without a single finger print in sight. Each A5 piece depicted a close up of single person looking straight at the camera, expression blank.
Something about them struck me as odd and, as I peered closer, I realised their hair was wrong. Instead of fully falling down, like hair normally does, it instead seemed to slightly splay out to the sides. Like the people being photographed were lying down at the time.
I looked closer and felt my blood turn to ice.
These weren’t normal pictures or selfies.
No, these were different.
The subjects’ eyes were cold and glassy. Unseeing.
They were the eyes of corpses.
The photos were… trophies. Each commemorating a different person.
And I realised I recognised some of them. Each having harassed me at some point in my life. At school, at my work… I wasn’t exactly ‘normal’ growing up. I attracted bullies like moths to flame. And you knew it.
I don’t know how long I stared at them before having the common-sense to flip one over.
There was writing on the back, something in red pen. It was completely illegible.
I flipped over another. The same. I flipped over a couple more until I found one that had something actually readable on the back: ‘They’re mine to ruin’.
I didn’t understand at the time, still don’t, but if I had to hazard a guess as to why, I’d say that this wasn’t some attempt to protect me or my honour. This wasn’t you ‘eliminating any possible competition’. It was because you were jealous. You were jealous that they got to hurt me first, instead of you. You wanted and still want to ‘ruin’ me. To tear me down, bit by bit.
I counted 8 total. Only 5 were official missing persons’ cases.
Once my hands stopped shaking, I put the photos back in the box and redirected my attention to the cell, the door still open, as if beckoning me. The shadows were thicker inside.
I turned on my torch and entered. The stench of bleach and ammonia was almost unbearable. And for a moment, I was inexplicably convinced that the door would swing shut, trapping me inside. It didn’t.
Instead, I was stuck by how cold it was and, looking up, I could see a small vent directly above me. I was so distracted that I didn’t look where I was going until – clunk.
My foot hit something thick and heavy, like metal.
I looked down and saw a long cast iron chain, snaking across the floor. What the fuck?
I followed it, torchlight tracing it back to its source at the wall. It connected just shy of head height, doing nothing but leading me to further puzzlement.
I traced it back to the other end.
And then I saw it. At the other end was a large hoop of wrought black metal, with a piece that seemed to swing on a hinge. I couldn’t be…
I picked it up. I had to be sure.
I examined it closer. It was.
It was a fucking collar.
I ran. I barely remembered to turn off the light and lock the door behind me, before I was running out of that house like a bat out of Hell.
I ran all the way home, buses or taxis be damned.
I won’t lie, the first thing I did when I got home was have a panic attack. I didn’t fully calm down for another two and a half hours.
I know because every tick of my watch grated against my ears, causing fresh waves of hysteria to wash over me. Eventually, I ended up lobbing the damn thing across the room. It didn’t break. It was damaged, sure, but it still worked. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to cope if it had.
I didn’t sleep that night.
The next day, I called in to give an anonymous tip that you were potentially in possession of narcotics. It’s not like I could say: ‘Hey! I broke into this creep’s home and the walls were plastered with pictures of my face! I wasn’t trying to steal anything! Promise!’
I just had been so… dumbstruck… that I had forgotten to record, to take photos, to steal proof. To do anything. I’d found a goldmine of evidence. And yet, I’d squandered it completely.
I beat myself up for weeks, afterwards.
I couldn’t bring myself to go back though… not for a good few months.
You were never charged. To be honest, I don’t think they even searched your house. And I’m sure that had nothing to do with your finances. Or the fact that one of your close friends from university was on the local police force.
It didn’t matter anyway.
When I eventually did manage to force myself to go back, I took hundreds of photos, hours of video footage, documenting everything and sent them to the police via an anonymous email account.
Nothing.
I kept my ear to the ground for weeks and there was nothing. Just… dead silence. It was like I had never bothered in the first place.
I would say more on the matter but there’s really nothing else to say.
I sent more emails, all including detailed accounts of my experiences, photos, videos, everything that could be used to detain you. And nothing.
Not even a scolding for breaking and entering.
I didn’t know how you did it. Didn’t care, frankly. But I knew that it was your fault.
With every email, with nothing to show for it, I felt myself losing more and more hope.
Eventually, I just… stopped sending them. I felt entirely hopeless and alone. No-one was coming to save me. I wanted to give up.
You hadn’t hurt me. Maybe you wouldn’t. That’s what I tried to tell myself, at least. I knew I was lying. That cell was more than enough proof.
(Thoughtful tone) But then I had a thought… If no-one was coming to help then I was going to have to resolve things myself. My own way.
(Determined tone) And I’d make you pay when I did.
(A pause)
I don’t think I’d ever felt rage like that, before that day. Such visceral hatred. It felt so strange and horrible and weirdly violating. I felt dirty. And I hated it. But it wouldn’t stop. No amount of guilt would drown it out.
And I started to wonder what it would feel like to wrap my hands around your neck… and just squeeze.
(A pause)
Something changed in me that day. Permanently.
(Deep inhale and exhale)
So, I started to plan. I went back to that wretched house and took everything I needed. Called in a few favours with a couple old friends. Pulled more shifts at the café. Covered more cases. Cheating spouses, mostly. Not exactly the most riveting stuff. There are only so many telenovelas you can watch before they all blend together. But the important thing is that I saved like Hell. And I watched. And I waited. And I listened.
Drawing you in, closer and closer. But not like before. That was like trying to lure a stray mutt into a kennel. This was like luring a wolf into a slaughterhouse.
And after months of preparation and casual hangouts, I finally decided to bite the bullet and invite you over.
And here we are. With you right where I want you.
It wasn’t fun using myself as live bait. But, hey! You can’t deny it worked.
Besides, it’s not like you were thinking any differently. You thought this was your chance, didn’t you? You though ‘Finally, I’m alone with them. Nothing can go wrong.’
I knew full well what you were planning on doing to me. Do you really think I spilled my tea by accident? That I would be stupid enough to invite you into my home, without some kind of plan?
No.
We both had the same idea. After all, great minds think alike. But this is a monster eat monster world. And I was the hungrier monster.
Because this isn’t what good people do or even just what normal people do. This is what monsters do. You made me a monster.
(Introspective tone) … And I’m not as repulsed by that idea as I should be.
After all, it takes a monster to hurt a monster.
I wouldn’t say I’m worse, though. You know, considering (whispered in listener’s ear) I’m not a sick fuck like you.
I’m pretty sure anything I’ve done pales in comparison to the shit you’ve pulled.
Had things gone your way, you had some real twisted shit in store for me. The kind of shit that, once you know, you can’t unknow.
… I can’t even bring myself to say half of it.
And that’s exactly why I’m keeping you here. I follow the personal philosophy of: an eye for an eye. You fuck over me, I fuck over you. I think that’s fair.
Karma’s a bitch, huh?
(To be continued in Part 2 because Reddit was being a bitch)

Clan Name:
We Be Like Pew Pew
Platform:
Crossplay (Any)
Locale:
East Coast USA
Timing:
Peak hours are from 7pm - 12am ET during the week, later on weekends.
About Us:
Hello there,
Come Pew Pew with us! We are a friendly community of like-minded destiny nerds who love shooting aliens. We are almost entirely made up of working adults with families, our own little lights, other hobbies, etc., and while Destiny is our main jam, we totally understand that sometimes life can get in the way of your gaming. We love to run endgame PVE content such as raids, GMs, dungeons and some of us like to sweat it out in the crucible as well. We also help our fellow members, but most importantly we love to have fun while getting that sweet, sweet loot.
We have many sherpas to help teach you the raiding ropes. Depending on interest, our sherpas schedule multiple open raids in our discord's event channel, with dedicated sherpa runs Friday nights and older raids revisited by community demand. While sherpas will routinely set up runs they lead, any member is free to post any type of event for a time and day that works best for them.
We all play this game as an escape so It's important that we foster a community of friendly players. I make an effort to vet every new member to keep toxicity out of the clan. We will not tolerate racism, bigotry or bullying of any kind. That said, friendly ribbing amongst friends is highly encouraged!
We welcome new but dedicated players as well as folks who have returned from a long hiatus, so no matter what stage you are at in the game we’ve got you covered. We are looking for additional guardians with a positive attitude willing to get involved and looking to engage with the clan, to build up a great community.
Rules: A headset with a mic is a must! Participation in our awesome Discord server is also a must. It's where we communicate, there's news channels, helpful bots, announcements and LFG to make it easy to form groups. Discord participation is mandatory, otherwise you’ll miss out on all the fun and discussion throughout the day!
Other than that, our only rules are to be friendly and respectful to others, to be active and to have fun!
Contact: Send me a PM with your quick elevator pitch. It doesn't have to be too crazy (I've gotten several PowerPoint presentations that I will never forget), just a little about yourself, your experience with Destiny, and your favorite activities. Maybe toss in a unique talent or hobby
Thanks!

I’m going to lose it! I have BCBS since I was en utero. Started a new job and had to switch to Cigna, and their pharmacy plan is with CVS/caremark. I have been taking ozempic for t2d and weight loss for a year and it’s been working great but now I need a prior auth for Caremark and it’s been an absolutely nightmarish experience. I have spent HOURS on the phone between my pharmacy, Caremark and my doctor’s office trying to get my freaking medicine (which I’m now overdue on due to this, plus there’s a huge shortage on the medicine itself, so who knows when I’ll be able to get it). I was just able to get back on track with the schedule of getting it and now this. I’m so frustrated! Would these people rather pay for this medication or deal with diabetes complications down the road? Sweet Jesus this has been the worst customer service experience of my life! I am not easily frustrated at all, but these people are playing with my literal health.
The prior auth itself is annoying seeing as I have a history of already being on this med and I have the correct diagnosis… but the customer service. My god! People making promises and not fulfilling them. Not calling back. Not listening. God I just want my damn medicine before this becomes urgent. I have never had to fight with BCBS about anything before. I was so hesitant about switching but this is what my new employer offers and my BCBS plan was so incredibly expensive out of pocket.

Every Tuesday I’m going to try and post a Criterion movie on here to discuss. I am going to go in order of spine release and would love to hear from people who have already seen it or are curious to see it.
This week is Spine #94, I Know Where I'm Going!. As of March 28th, 2023 it is available to stream on the Channel with supplements, has a DVD release, and was laserdisc release #237.
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Dir: Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger 92 minutes They Shoot Pictures (2022): 410
A simple and charming romantic comedy set in the most Scottish environment possible.
This film is very sweet. Powell and Pressburger have delivered some of the most visually challenging musicals, some moments of pure terror, and now a family-friendly sweet story with no cynicism or malice. This is just 90 minutes of smiling and enjoying the nuances of a small Scottish island and a woman who always gets what she wants.
This is the kind of movie that is perfect after a long day or week if you just need something to smile at. If it was a subreddit it would be mademesmile or wholesome. I had just seen Black Narcissus from Powell and Pressburger, so the first few minutes of this film felt like whiplash as I readjusted my expectations for what I was going to see. In all of their films, I have to imagine this will stand out as the most pure and simple genre pic.
Wendy Hiller plays Joan Webster, a fiery baby, young child, teen, and adult who pushes through any obstacle to get what she wants. When we meet her, what she wants is to get to the Isle of Kiloran to marry an older industry magnate Richard Bellinger. Her route from Manchester is meticulously planned, and everything goes to schedule until a storm disrupts the schedule and she is forced to stay the night at a local house near the port that would take her to Kiloran. There is a stranger who is stuck with her, a gentleman later discovered to be a landowner from Kiloran itself.
The crux of the drama and romantic tension in the film is Joan being headstrong and making every effort to get to Kiloran despite mother nature having no intention of letting her. The urgency to get there is pure at first, but as the film progresses it becomes clear she is also trying to escape her burgeoning feelings for the gentleman Kiloran. It’s a story that is seen 100 times a year on Netflix specials now with an unwilling big city type getting stuck in a small town and growing to love their ways, but it was very pleasant and charming to see one of the original tellings of this story.