Added a picture to illustrate exactly where I feel the pain.
I (35M) will start by stating the following: I am going to include all background information I believe may be pertinent towards the diagnosis of this pain, and investigations that have taken place up until now. It will include me mentioning the covid vaccine. I am not an anti-vaxxer or a conspiracy theorist.
I have had this pain almost continuously since late-December 2021. Up until this point I had never had any physical or mental health issues, other than GERD which I had been taking Omeprazole for since my late teens. I had also been taking over the counter ibuprofen every day for 3 years due to a leg injury sustained in a car accident in 2017. I haven't taken any for about a year by now.
I got my second Covid booster (Pfizer) on 22nd December 2021. After having zero ill-effects from the first one, the second floored me for a couple days with strong flu-like symptoms but I was generally ok by Christmas day, other than a burning feeling in my stomach. However, as mentioned above, I have GERD so I thought nothing of it.
A few days later, the burning in my stomach had turned into more of an ache and although this was initially positioned to the upper left of my abdomen (just behind my bottom couple of ribs) it eventually settled exactly where my Xiphoid Process is. On top of this, my urine became very frothy (something that's persisted to this day) to the extent where it looked like I had been mixing it with dish soap! I became very worried about this, so called NHS24 (I am in Scotland) and got referred to emergency out of hours doctor. The took my bloods and ran a urine sample. Urine came back normal which gave me relief, and later that week the bloods came back. I can't remember exactly what was "raised" but it showed that my body had been dealing with trauma. Their solution to this was to wait it out a couple weeks, give me painkillers, and then do a new blood test to see if the levels returned to normal. They did this as planned, and by that point my bloods then showed as "normal" and NHS basically didn't want to do anything more about it.
However, for me the pain persisted and it was now the pain and location it has been ever since. It is with me all times of the day, it doesn't seem to matter if I am full or hungry, moving or sedentary. The pain is always there. Sometimes it is barely noticeable, other times it is uncomfortable but never excruciating. The only thing I have noticed that seems to make it worse is caffeine intake. Painkillers have no effect. Omeprazole has no effect. Stretching doesn't do anything. Nothing I have tried has any impact on the pain at all. When I touch/push in the area around the Xiphoid Process, it always feels tender and bruised, as if I have just taken a really hard punch the day before. It's been like that now for 3 years.
I went to my GP in Feb 22 - she ordered more bloods (looking for infection) and ordered me a chest x-ray. Again the bloods showed trauma! The x-ray didn't show anything. New round of bloods had returned to normal. At this stage, the GP didn't know what else to look at (NHS albeit a free service, are very reluctant to order additional tests they may deem as unnecessary). GP tried to say it would just go away on its own, was probably a strain in my rib cage - I work out 3 times per week, weight lifting - and threw more painkillers at me.
My job provides me with private medical care, so I went to a specialist who ordered a CT scan and more bloods. Once again the bloods showed trauma levels which suggested to him I was fighting something off in my system. The CT scan didn't show any abnormalities and the specialist basically put me on a "wait and see" solution, which was to go away for 3 months and see how I got on. I lost hope with this and eventually stopped any further medical interventions at that point. It was clear to me I wasn't about to drop down dead any time soon, and all major illnesses had been ruled out, so I left it at that. I subsequently haven't had it seen to since then, which was mid-2022. Yet some 2 years later, I still have this persistent pain.
I am wondering if anyone else has experienced similar and got anywhere with this? It's driving me crazy not knowing what is wrong with me and has me worrying about my future. I have 2 young kids and feel I am doing them a disservice by just ignoring this in case it gets worse.
TLDR Summary: Have an aching/bruised-like pain in my Xiphoid Process area for 3 years. Never goes away with different levels of severity. Had bloods, urine tests multiple times. Chest x-ray and CT, all normal apart from bloods frequently showing trauma reaction. Started almost immediately after my second Pfizer jab. Have told this to all doctors, largely ignored. Specialist did acknowledge it but admitted medical knowledge hadn't yet caught up with possible side-effects.
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I don't really no where to start. I feel I've lost myself, consumed with anxiety and guilt and fear and regret and I fear, this new fear, that it's going to be the end of me if I don't start to get it out in some way, shape or form.
I guess I'll begin at the beginning...
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I had a difficult childhood with fairly neglectful parents. A mother who openly expressed she never felt she really stepped into her mom shoes until she gave birth to my younger sister, who is three years younger than me. She is my only sibling. My mother told me when I was a kid that she "had to love me", but when my sister came around "she was finally a mother and over the moon", or simply "I always always wanted a girl". I'm not sure if this could be attributed to Post-partum depression, not that she ever researched that or was daignosed with it. That's probably just me trying to pardon my mother or something to the effect. She was 17 when she had me and I'm sure times were different then, my parents both were raised religious, father christian, mother mormon. Maybe their guilt. I ask myself why they brought me into this world if I wasn't wanted to begin with. Or, give me up for adoption to a set of guardians that would have loved me better. I know I was an accident and that's not what gets me down, I get that life be lifing and what happened happened. My difficulties stem from the feeling that my presence never gave my mother any sense of purpose, responsibility or love, or concern. She was emotionally unavailable to me virtually my entire life and I feel like that caused many issues later in my life and how I perceive myself and what I deserve. Coupled with the fact that my neglect met such extremes that I am frankly shocked that I was never picked up by child care services, maybe things were different in the 90's. I'm not sure, I was just a child then.
Much of my upbringing I didn't receive a lot of the things most people would consider essential. As a baby my crib was the sock drawer, then I grew large enough to have a closet, then slept on the floor of a walk-in closet, then I had a single bed from what I recall for maybe a year or maybe two years and I remember feeling metal springs poke me in the my ribs and I recall it being uncomfortable enough for me to move back to sleeping on the floor next to the ratty old used mattress my father found from who knows where. I remember feeling like I had to keep that secret, that the mattress they gave me was uncomfortable enough for me to sneak sleeping on the floor next to it. I think I was really afraid as coming across as ungrateful. My father came from a third world country, so the "gratefullness issue" was address frequently by my mom because "I don't have it even half as bad as what my father had to endure. And she was probably right. But it just silenced me ultimately, didn't put things into a mature context for me. I just learned that I can't complain about anything ever. Anyway, that trend didn't really change when I grew older. grade 9-10 I was sleeping on the living room couch so my sister could have privacy and a bedroom to exist in for herself - which I realize is important for an individual so I encouraged her to have the bedroom. Although I figured my parents expected me to do this for my sister regardless. I was okay with making sacrfices for those I love, it was instilled in me from a very very young age.
I do feel like my father took advantage of me in the form of labour as well, having to do custodial work with my father from 10pm to 3am, at two highschools I believe he was contracted, at that young age I honestly enjoyed just spending time with my father I think, working alongside him. When I was in grade 2 and 3 I had garbage bag duty for all the students bathrooms, and I remember loving snapping the bags open by rushing air into the bag and making it blow up like a baloon. I remember the scary unlit shadowy hallways that I couldn't perceive the ends of. No bodies to see, it felt eerie but exciting in a way - like it was a whole different world.
School was a different experience for me. It was very stressful, my parents had to move a few times a year because they would dodge rent or just generally be selfish with their dual income. They loved to party hard on the weekends. I remember wondering why my father did this to himself all the time. Hoping that we could spend quality time on a saturday, but he wouldnt get out of bed until just before dinner. I didn't really understand hangovers or alcoholism and how it meant our plans would get cancelled. I think I remember trying to wrap my head around willful self-poisoning for entertainment and how could that be more enjoyable then spending time with your son? I couldn't tell my mother why I was so sad about it. Why I didn't want to move again and again and again. Why I found it so difficult to make new friends everytime I had to switch schools. Why I couldn't just do one single full school year with one class of students. It was so hard and at the time, I didn't know anything different. It was so hard to make friends and I think it created this approach to making a "new family" of friends when I became a teenager and young adult.
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I remember always wanting to be a "good kid". The "best kid" for my parents. I feel like my parents attached this moniker to me that made things harder for me to mature into a rounded adult later in life. My parents always flaunted me as this point of accomplishment, the accomplishment that I was "so extremely well behaved". I would strive to be super polite, and a good host, try to help out when my parents had their friends over, literally fill their cups when the opportunity presented themselves. I think I did this because I must have made the conclusion that if I was quiet, super polite, helpful and useful then I had value. That I could be loved. That I could earn this love from my parents through acts of service.
I remember feeling like my sister and I had extremely different experiences growing up. When my parents were at work I took care of her, cleaned and cooked. one time my sister told my mom to eff off when she was 5 and I was 8. My mind was blown. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she had the bravery and courage to defy my mother. Looking back, my sister was just mirroring the language she learned from my parents from whenever they fought. I remembering seriously worrying and getting scared that my father was going to belt her, or use the coat hanger, which was his preference with me. I feel like my mom was always checked out and I'm hurt that she allowed my father to take his rage out on me. That my mom could care less about me being beat, but never my sibling. It was very confusing and difficult for me to process. Not that I really processed it much as a kid. I honestly just wanted to be loved and be the best child possible. Honestly though, 'm seriously so glad that my sister was spared all of that complete non-sense. I don't wish that on anyone in the world. There were some punishments where he would walk in and tell me to pull my pants down without explanation. I have memories of tearing up and saying I didn't know why this was happening, asking what I did wrong and he would just remind me that if I resisted then I would get it worse and to hurry up and get ready. My father has since apologized. I think it is how he was raised. I didn't know what to say in response, but I told him I loved him and it's in the past. But I don't know if I was being honest when I said that. My mother would still gaslight me to this day if any of this became topic of discussion, not that I'm guessing. A year ago she told me that much of my pained memories were false and this never happened. My father on the other hand typically stays pensive and unchallenging.
It seems so damned crazy writing all of this out, it feels like a heartbreaking novel and not my life at all. But it was and is my life. I have difficulties opening up and expressing my feelings and advocating for myself when the moments are true and appropriate to do so. I know it's the healthier way to communicate, but I was literally taught to stay quiet and be useful. Fast forward 20-25 years and I'm going to be 35 and I feel like just ending it all. Every year my birthday passes and I'll get a text from my family happy birthday. But they know I'm in a difficult place, they know I miss them, they know I love them and forgive them, I try the high road whenever I can but I just don't see the point anymore. they won't celebrate my life and existence, but they'll throw family gatherings for each other, birthdays, christmas, fathers day and mothers day.
On that note, another mother's day has recently passed and my mother never invited me over, I texted my father three weeks in advance in hopes of securing a time to come over and celebrate my mothers life with my family as a family. I felt particularly stung this mother's day when they celebrated and didn't text or call to invite me over. I live in the same small town so it's easy to hop over. I literally live three blocks away.
Anyway, my mother was diagnosed with cancer over christmas this year and I have been worrying for my mother ever since and thinking about my life with her and the mortal coil and the finite mount of time I may have with her. I feel like there is a large empty part in my heart that wishes my mother and I could go grab a coffee together. She can show me her ipad app art that she has been really excited about for a couple years now. She loves showing off her digital art and I love seeing her joy and how proud she is about her art. I just don't know why she couldn't feel the same for me, her only son. Maybe I'm just a her dissapointment.
I dropped out of highschool and left the family home when I was 16. I just couldn't work for my dad during the night AND go to highschool AND socialize. Something had to give. Unfortunately it was highschool and my parents didn't really care about that at all. They were just... fine with it. they supported my sister through college and she was fortunately able to graduate with a veterinary degree of sorts. she still lives with them now as she pays off her student debt, but I left and travelled and worked on music for over a decade so I admit that I was entirely out of the family picture for some time. But as I get older, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of my parents I fear that that is precisely what's been creeping up in my life.
five years ago I met the absolute most wonderful human being and I am so lucky to have my partner in my life. She and I are engaged now and set to be married. I hoped that the news would overwhelm my parents with excitement and joy. Maybe a facebook post about their son, share some family pictures or something. But they did nothing at all. I think they showed off pictures of the trip to Mexico that week instead.
I just don't really understand how I'm this unworthy of their love and unfortunately now I'm realizing that illusion that I am unworthy has infected my relationship with my fiance. I love her so much but when I can't fix everything in her life I feel like I am the failure and the guilt overhelms me so much and the guilt is such a strong motivator for me, and it usually motivates me into becoming the biggest doormat in the world. I've never worked harder for a relationship or invested this much energy. I feel she deserves it. But I don't advocate for myself. So I build up resentment. Like I clean the house constantly and work and help bail out of her bad spending habits and cover her rent without question and this and that. To be clear, she doesn't take advantage of me and that's not how I feel about it. But I do let this annoyance build up inside of me because I don't know how to communicate my feelings in a healthy way. I'm scared I'll lose the person if I speak up, or I'll be gaslit. Again, that's not my partner that gaslights. That's just generally how I feel I'll be treated if I open up with people. It all goes back to my childhood. It's affected every friendship and work relationship I've had since.
When I was 20-ish, 15 years years ago I did the classic, "seek the relationship that most comfortably fits into the patterns you experienced with your parents". And so I trapped myself in a horrific and extremely damaging relationship with a girl I'll call K. She has undiagnosed bipolaBPD, she would never seek help but self-medicate. She ended up in the hospital maybe four times for self-harming and this where she was considered to have these diseases by a few doctors on different occasions. Anway, it turned into a relationship of abuse and it wasn't exactly new territory for me. I was ashamed in that 8 year relationship. I wanted out so bad, but she would threaten to unalive everytime I tried to get away. Of course, some weeks would go by and i would get my hair pulled out of my scalp, a knife waving in the air in front of my face, spat in the face, kicked, punched, bit, a pot of freshly boiled ramen soup thrown in my face and eyes. What's worse is that I seeked police intervention on multiple occasions. Every single time the police visited, they talked me out of pressing charges, asking me " well if she doesn't have any place to go, then do you have a place you can stay at, or the shelter?". twice they talked me out of a restraining order, that legal proceedings would take forever. Adn de-escalting me from wanting to take measures to ensure my safety because she may end up on the street as a result. To this day, I absolutely wish I advocated for myself here and pushed for a restraining order. I'm so mad at myself for not doing so.
Unfortunately, fast forward a couple years into that relationship and one evening everything would finally hit the fan. I told her to never touch me again and I absolutely meant it. she had just yanked out the largest chunk of my hair to date, to the point where my scalp was bleeding and I could even see epidermal matter still attached to the folicle ends that were in her clenched fingers. My head bled a bit and I pushed her off of me. Telling her that I needed to leave, that I was walking to my secure jam space just a 10 minute walk away. It had a leather couch in a cold concrete basement, but hey at least I would be safe for the night and I could play my drums and try and blow off this anxiety and fear in a way that was safe albeit very noisy.
She hated that I wanted to leave and convinced herself I would never return. To be fair, that was the energy I had. I never wanted to see her face again and have her name on my lips after that night. So her tactic was simple, to threaten me with calling the cops and tell them that I violently pushed her. I called her bluff and said "go ahead and I will just tell them everything you've done - yet again. All I am doing is going to the space to sleep, I said, maybe play drums." She called the cops and told them she was pushed into a wall, and she felt very unsafe. Which yes, I did push her off me when she attacked me. In the past, I tried various tactics, to run away didn't work, she just always chased me down. Or sometimes I would just sit there while she was violent against me and I just "dissapeared" kind of like how I would when my dad used his coat hanger. This time, I just pushed her off of me, I was done with the relationship at that point and we both knew it. Anyway, she called the police, they arrived and when questioned I told them that I pushed her off of me in self-defence. I was drinking that night and it didn't help my case as I was arrested without question that evening and I was charged on the spot without question with domestic assault. It devasted me. I asked the police how this could happen lawfully. That she is an abuser and there is a history of this multiple times. That I've requested a restraining order. They explained that in quebec the laws are a little different and in the case domestic cases, if there is a male aggressor against a female, then the male is automatically charged to the fullest extent. I was absolutelyu devasted by this. I can't tell you the amount of fear and anger I felt in that jail cell that night.
I feel so incredibly betrayed by the justice system, keep in mind, this is law that from what I understand is only in Quebec, I was there for music at the time with an old friend whom I am no longer in contact with. I don't think the rest of the country operates under law in this way. Now I appreciate that they are vigilant about woman abuse victims, but the law shouldn't be this absurdly biased. It just doesnt feel just and fair to me. Covert abusers shouldn't be able to take advantage of the justice system in this way, but it happens.
It was an awful experience, I was homeless for a couple months afterward, not allowed to retrieve my belongings, so I lost all of my life "crap" that I had built up, years of hardwork and investment. I mention this because I realize later in life that I have intense collecting behaviour. maybe as a self-soothing behaviour. But I love building up collections of my hobby stuff as I have many and I feel they keep me regulated and it's a form of therapy for me. In any case, I lost everything when I left that whole situation. It sucks, although ultimately it's clearly best that I got out of that dreadful circumstance. I flew across the country to my hometown and to be closer to my family and old friends from highschool. It's quite a small town mind you.
Unfortunately, my classic tendency to hide and not advocate for myself created an opportunity for my abusive ex. A year following those events, despite me assuring her that I had to block her because I flew away to start a new life provinces away. That I wished her the best. That I even promised I would never tell a soul what she did to me. Not to mention that unfortunately we live in a society where nobody really has an ounce of sympathy for a male abuse victim. I had every intention to keep that promise, but she couldn't trust me ultimately. I think her logic was maybe to just beat her ex to "the punch". Kill or be killed or something like that. I don't live my life like that so I don't really know what her plan was. But she made a bunch of posts on various social media platforms for all of our mutual friends, music friends, coworkers etc. that the relationship was over and she was free. That she got out of a cycle of abuse and she was ready to start a new chapter of her life. She never used my name, just that she was glad she got away from her toxic and abusive ex once and for all.
It was exactly like that night a year prior, she threatened me with this outcome she could design for me, and I called her on her bluff by saying I was still going to block her and I can't control what she does with her life or how she conducts herself, but that I was out and to never contact me ever again. She made me regret that decision.
The posts she made that day got so many likes and support from so many of our mutual friends, even musician mates that were closer to me than her, and it absolutely destroyed me, not just internally but socially. I no longer make music anymore and it hurts to go outside into the world because it feels like everybody sees me as this monster. And still I don't have a voice to inform anyone otherwise - except my family and my fiance. I have no friends anymore. They all left my life with the belief that I did all of these horrible and awful things.
I just don't trust people anymore as a result and it's just caused me to become extremely bitter and depressed. I ruminate on the past, maybe in attempts to fix the past so I can move on. So I could do better, so I don't have to punish myself for my mistakes in the past. But it just reopens every emotional wound I have and they never get a chance to heal. That was maybe 7 years ago now and I'm still replaying these events in my head every single morning for about 1 - 2 hrs. Then I go completely numb for the majority of the rest of the day, shallow breathing, and the mildest sadness that mascarades as fatigue and disinterest.
There are some days where I seriously fear for the future and I just feel like every cruel soul will inherit this earth and that's the future, they built this world of suffering and they deserve to inherit it. Their toxic flag staked so deep into the earth in reclamation. The future isn't holding any seats for people like us. I'm so heartbroken and defeated. I feel like white-wolfing my fiance because she deserves better than this traumatized person that hides from the world. I feel like giving her my collection of collections so she can sell it all off and pay off her 10k of credit debt, then with this act of kindness I can go out not feeling like a guilt-ridden defeated loser. And leave on a high note.
When I'm alone, I get trapped in these ruminating cycles and it's the angriest I ever get. It's reached the point where I feel like I am actually reliving all this past trauma every morning and I can't do it anymore. I just feel like I am so at the end of whatever this ride was.
I don't have any friends anymore and everyone but my fiance thinks I am a monster and it's just unbearable.
I just don't even know. I am even afraid that someone will read this post and suss through all of this and make the connection. Then I'll get another new email or random throwaway account with an insta message that says "I told you you would never be able to get over me. You can move on, but you will never be able to erase the past. Never truly. You know where to find me."
It's haunting and it's poisonous. I just feel haunted and poisoned and I don't know if there is a snake oil potent enough or antitode true enough to get me back to the generous, lighthearted, energetic kid I once was.
To whoever was willing to read through all of this, thank you for hearing me out. I don't know what advice I am even asking for here. I'm hoping just speaking this out into the world in some way can alleviate this misery. I don't know.

I didn’t do it. I didn’! I didn’t! I’m no murderer, no, listen! I will tell you your a killer. You do not believe me? Even for a moment? But little is my own sentence even a concern for me, the freedom in society has little left to offer me. Grief and horror are all that fill my mind, the only residents remaining in my home. And you’d expect it to be such an oppressing grief. But no, no, no…it is much more the horror. It is much more the intense fear, the great disgusting and evil works that wait for me in the dark. The grizzly voice that reassures me of fate in its worst forms. It is here now. Cackling at its maniacal work. I hear it. What are you worth wretch! You’ll burn all your years and infinite more! But forgive me, my anger is difficult to suppress against my enemy. He lingers still. A lover of deception however, would be a fool in his own craft to reveal his intentions. Thus, would be a fool to reveal their own horrid form. Therefore, relinquish some of your repulsion of me, so that you may have at least some possibility of belief in what I say. I understand the situation I’m in, but why should I refrain from telling the truth simply because it is unlikely you will believe me? Especially when you condemn me? Listen then!
I was watching television, and my roommate was out the entirety of this night. My family remained in Los Angeles during this time, so they are not making any affect on what occurred. But you want me to tell of my roommate? I am telling you! You ask about the murderer, so you must listen to all I know of him. It was in the most ordinary of circumstances and activity when such a striking and alarming voice pierced the room. The TV was quiet, and I lounged about with dull mind. When I heard someone call for my name from down the hall, whom which I couldn’t see since the door was closed, I of course simply responded, “Yeah?” This was the very first of the remarkable experiences I began to have. I realized what had just occurred. I was home alone, so who could be calling to me from my own room? Well I suspected then my roommate. But I had trouble reconciling the voice I heard with that of my roommate. It had such an eerie tone to it. Almost as if it were teasing me. Yet, it was such a convincing and deceptive call, that the mocking tone it had was almost imperceivable. As if maybe this creepy inflection was a result of my own nerves or unfamiliarity with the event.
Regardless of it’s true nature, this odd quality roused my attention. Was I indeed not alone? But then it must be my roommate, since it was my name. I could not get over the gross friendly tone it called to me with. It’s as if it was bragging about knowing my name. I froze for a moment with the TV playing, listening for another call. “Javier” a woman's voice called out gently and compassionately. But such disgusting compassion did it call out. It seems it couldn’t itself disguise just the slightest hint of malevolence that just snuck under the tone. Or perhaps it meant to say it how it did. But it terrified me. I reasoned it must be somebody I know. But I couldn’t bear the action of getting up looking around. I was simply frozen, wishing not to move and cause myself to miss out on hearing more by making a racket myself. it didn’t even come from behind the door, it was as if it was somewhere far away. Yet it was so clear and punctual in volume.
This left me more at unease and helpless to find a solution. This time I did not respond. I greatly regretted responding the first time. I only paused the TV and looked about myself anxiously, dreading that something would speak again. After many moments of silence, I compromised to rest from my alert. And as the words spoke drifted deeper into the past, the simple abnormality of them caused them to resist their place in my mind as credibly existing. Though it happened not long ago that same hour, I questioned if I did indeed hear a call out for my name in such a mysterious and ugly tone as I had. This was just before the most morbid of calls occurred. It spoke to my name again, “Would you come, Javier?” But such terror came over me in that delicately rude and friendly tone which it spoke to me in. The suspense and anticipation for the call was intensely surmised to a realization as my heart began a sprint. This voice was not just a woman's, it was my sister. How incredibly unlikely she would be here, unannounced and somehow in my home without my knowledge. I still held intense fear, for you must understand the uncanny sense from this call. It was as if someone was inciting their vocals and tone to imitate or mock a human. It seemed not as if they were doing an impression of my sister—no, for it sounded exactly like my sister—but instead it seemed as if they attempted an impression of a human. Such a perfect quality, yet just so slightly imperfect that I may subconsciously perceive something wasn’t quite genuine in this call. I darted my perceptions across the room wide eyed. I quickly looked about myself, checking behind me multiple times.
Now, the following details not only enhance the unbelievable notions of my current situation, but may in fact completely discredit me in even speaking about them. But you must hear it! I implore you to imagine this! It is the truth—all of what I say is. For the night I heard her—my sister that is—speak to me in my own apartment, was the same night, as I learned weeks later, is the same night she had died. Sophia, that is her name, had killed herself.
Many nights passed like this when I was alone. I was tormented by calls with no direction or location. I shuddered at creepy voices beckoning in the dark. Sometimes, even in daylight, things spoke to me while I was alone. Unrelenting and disturbing voices within my home. Now, you may presume at this moment I am clearly schizophrenic. Indeed, I too had this notion. I seeked a psychiatrist during this time, to which medicine was prescribed and an indefinite period of shipping as well. But I perceived far too many REAL things. Yes, these could be hallucinations, but you couldn’t possibly have that conclusion if you hear what else this has done to me.
It happened after many terrible nights that I heard of my sister’s death. I was very shocked at first. But sadness was not next door, grief did not have time to move in. Instead, a realization taunted and teased my peace. I would hear her tonight, speaking to me. You may not imagine the dread that filled my day. I went to work and back home as a zombie. The tasks and conversations passed me by as dreams. I was incredibly absent and void of presence in my own life. My head spun before it comprehended any purpose of grief and despair. When I returned home I found myself double, triple checking that the lights were on and the blinds shut. Even though these things were clearly in my sight. I also locked doors and called my roommate to make sure he was home. I begged and pleaded with him, but he only brushed me off telling me he can't ditch his shift. I paced back and forth within the rooms pitching the plan to myself to have a hotel room. I eventually settled on this as it brought peace to me. And that night passed, at least before I slept, how I hoped. My sister did not speak to me from the darkness. But woe had not stopped its intention upon me that night.
I managed to fall asleep. In my dreams that night, I was visited with a vivid nightmare. I stood in my childhood home waiting at the door with a bat in my hand, standing between my sister and the entrance. I had this feeling that something bad was going to happen, and that I had to protect her, though nothing in particular was occurring. Then, with a gentle creek, a clawed hand reached and pushed the front door gently open. A demonically horned monstrosity stepped into the room. Its hooves clopped upon the wood floor. I intended to combat it, but my muscles took no command from me, and I swung the bat as if I was in molasses. It lunged with a deep roar to my sister, digging its hands into her stomach and viciously tearing it open with ease. It dug through her chest cavity as a dog digs holes in the dirt, spewing and tossing guts and organs out slashed and mutilated. I stood helpless and disgusted, until it turned towards me. It dropped my sister to the ground like a doll it no longer wanted to play with. It approached and grasped me tightly, growling a deep animalistic anger, its stature looming over me. It took its claw and dug it into its own eye, slicing it and tearing it open. It leaned over me, inches from my face. I screamed in horror. Black blood seeped and dripped from its swollen socket into my mouth. I struggled ferociously but the blood continuously poured from its eye into me.
I awoke sweating in pitch black, feeling Intense fear in myself. As a child that had not had their night light. I was terrified of the thought of something being in the darkness. I knew I was awake, and I was in a hotel in the middle of the night, but my heart started racing in irrational fear. I didn’t even have the courage to lift my head and look about the room to satiate the tormenting curiosity in the mystery of a possible supernatural visitor. But, I did. There was a demon sitting on the chair. A darker than dark silhouette of someone sitting hunched, looking at me. It was a shadow. But I knew, even then, this was a devil. I felt it. The blood in my skin fell away. I was mortified; in absolute terror. I stared unmoving with my heart beating out of my chest at this figure.
I slowly began to hold disdain for it. It did not move, it did not speak. But, I was beginning to be relieved of my fear. Instead, it was replaced with hate. Burning, mean hate. I hated it. No, I abhorred it. I was angry. The most intense rage fell upon me. I stood up from my bed, looking about the darkness. I stomped and clenched my fists. Captured in the most ridiculous delusion of fury, I began yelling and thrashing my room. I broke vases and electronics. I smashed the TV to the ground. I bit and gnawed at the chair leg which the thing sat on. I flipped the mattress and kicked doors off their hinges. I scratched and tore pillows like a feline. I was filled with so much hate and anger. I remained like this until hotel staff came to subdue me. Which, at their arrival, the feeling subsided suddenly.
I now was plagued daily by these voices, and nightly by this demon. The visits were not as dramatic as the first, but still, It watched me from different places in the dark each time. All it did was sit there. Weeks passed like this, I lost tremendous amounts of sleep attending to fruitless solutions and avoidances. Either I slept not a wink the night and evaded my tormentor, save for the voices if I’m alone, or I had to face my tormentor in the midst of night with a bravery I did not possess, awoken by various nightmares or visions designed for me that night.
But this is merely his entrance, I must now speak of the acquaintance he made with me. It was another terrible midnight where I stared at it, in whichever spot it had chose for the night, contemplating the nature of such a gross presence and its effect on me. When, filled with a ridiculous exhaustion and exhasperation, I called out to it, “What do you want!” I saw a slight twitch in its head, which struck me with more surprise than fear, although I had both. “Do you know me?” It spoke in a low and growled voice. It had such a tone of malevolence and mocking speech, it even felt as if it spoke condescendingly, as if I was a child it was reducing to. “No.” I said, my breath failing me. “I knew your sister.” The demon stated with a snicker, which developed into a chuckle, then an intense and hearty laugh. He wailed and howled in laughter even, he sounded insane. Such a disgusting sound it was to hear its voice in the darkness so pleased with itself. It confused and frustrated me in fear greatly, and it became so loud and went on for so long I couldn’t stand it. “Shut up!” I yelled finally. It stopped laughing immediately. “But you know Javier, you know me too.” It spoke very seriously. I stared in bewilderment. “You’re guilty! You’re guilty! You love murder! Haha! You love yourself! You stroke huh?” The demon spoke without relent and enjoyed his own hilarity. “What the fuck?” I said in a trembled whisper. “Yea, you hate clothes, you little pathetic bitch.” It cackled.
I was roused again with the most extreme and unimaginable anger. I yelled my defense at him. He grew in laughter. I screamed any kind of profanity and slur I could think of at his station, and he only grew in volume with me. This went on until I finally arrived at my king accusation, which was finally enough to have it stir, “You’re a failure of creation!” He was silent for a moment. “What is it you know of creation?” It spoke with such a terrible and tremendous tone. “Are you worth any more than me? You’re subject to death the same. I’m a connoisseur of freedoms, yet, what are you? You are a slave of fear, scared of your own desires. And, even more so, subject to me.. As much as a mouse loses its life to the metal spring when it grabs cheese, so do you spoil by me.” “You speak nonsense!” I retorted “You’re very stupid, it’s difficult for you to grasp.”
Then, without much more deliberation, it simply began roaring with the most horrific and inhumane noises. It began screeching—it screeched with blood curdling yells and sorrow. It screamed as if it was lit on fire. At once, in the shadows, it began clawing at its own face. I heard sounds of ripping and tearing—with noises as if pounds of deli meat were slammed onto the cutting board. This was accompanied by an intense and putrid smell of rot, and I began weeping. This experience was more than I could bare, and I couldn’t describe to u what was unnaturally filled in my mind. This night felt as if i was never going to escape the moment, like the present moment was my eternity. This sight annoyed me to my soul for what seemed like hours, and I even conjectured to myself that this torture was eternal.
But soon, he did indeed cease. A gentle glow of orange illuminated the end of my bed. He stood before me, tall and with elegance in the light. He was skinned, his jaw dislocated, his face scratched bare and raw so that no features were pertruding. He was completely nude, with hooves and fur patches among his disfigured appearances. He wore this boldly with shame, yet, overcame it with overwhelming pride.
Such beauty it was to admire his stature. I could not help but gaze with wonder and pleasure. I must have admired him for a while, perhaps even hours. I became mad with lust for him, such a delicious sight he was! I should give up my other fruitless endeavors of life if I could just have the delight to taste him.
But just as I settled on my prospective bliss, my roommate entered the room. His yell of terror attacked my ears, interrupting us. Why scream? Why that hideous look on his face? What was he so scared of? What possessed him to be worthy of beholding any sort of indignation upon my beautiful companion? A little worm—that ugly little leech that dared breath the same air as us. “Get rid of it.” The demon told me, but I hardly needed a command to conceive of my goal.
Oh, what fun I had! It was like the first fresh sip of lemonade on a summer day! Like the sunshine that seeps through window seals—like the birds chirping in the dewy mornings. Like the adrenaline of a rollercoaster—the tickle of a drop. Like the intoxication that gives you belief of so much confidence. And to feel it on my hands? It was the joy of a child when he smashes his fingers into the moist sand—that innocent satisfaction of destroying a castle. Like the excitement of opening your favorite bag of chips—grabbing the ends and pulling the plastic with might until bursts open with goodies; yes, that’s what it was like for me to stick my thumbs deep into his eye sockets, and pull to open—if only I could. It was such, as when I bit down on his throat with all my might and sipped. It was indeed so, when I scratched and clawed till my nails came off, opening his chest and pulling at ribs like discarded hot wings, ripping at organs and intestines, pulling of nails, bending fingers two loops around, snapping his arms, smashing his head with my foot—but again my happiness was destroyed. For my companion had fled the scene, and he was no longer present. At once, I recovered some coherence and realized the tragedy of what I had done. How would I hide this? How could I discard of blood evidence all over me? How was he going to chip in on rent in this condition? I obviously had not calculated all the required considerations before doing such a thing. I was enraged by the black magic possessed by the demon, stupid, tricky, evil thing. So you see, it was his fault.

The following is an original work of fan fiction. It will only make sense if you’ve read Corpies and SP4
“Fucking bullshit cock-garglers!” Hannah, formerly known as Hexcellent, uttered louder than she intended.
Luckily, she was sitting by herself in a third floor private room in the brand new wing of the Sizemore undergraduate library. On the main floor, any sound louder than a fart would’ve earned a collective, “shhhhh,” and annoyed stares from half the people studying. And frankly, as difficult as these Gen Chem practice exams were, the former PEERS would be spitting out a few more expletives before she was done.
Hannah glanced at her watch and sighed heavily. It was 4:43 PM. She still had two and a half hours before she’d need to head to the lift to meet Devon and Kacey, two other first year HCP students, for some evening training. Okay, you got this girl. You just fucked up some amped criminal supers, you can handle goddamn mass to mole composition formula and stoichiom-whatever-the-fuck, she thought to herself. With resigned determination, the HCP student began swiping through class presentation slides on her tablet, reviewing problems she had trouble with. For a solid 2 hours her eyes never left the material and she honestly started to feel more comfortable with what she needed to know. Hannah was in the zone. That was until she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“What. The actual. Fuck?“ Hannah said slowly as she looked up towards the door and the adjacent window.
The summoner saw two boys standing outside, one of whom was a short muscular guy with dark brown hair that she recognized. She was fairly certain his name was Lucas, and that he was another HCP first year. He was in the alternative class though, while Hannah was in combat, so they hadn’t been around each other a whole hell of a lot. The other seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger or on where she’d seen him before. They were each moving their mouths, and pointing a finger at themselves and into the room clearly asking if they could come in. Hannah got up and opened the door.
“Hey, Helen, right? You think that we can study in here with you? All the good tables downstairs are full. I just met Tristan here and he’s in the same predicament as me,” said Lucas before he lowered his voice to a whisper, leaned his head in, and pointed to the boy he referred to as Tristan. “He’s in the same ummm…special program as us. In his 2nd year.”
With that information, Hannah realized where she’d seen that guy. He was at the freshman party hosted by the second years. She remembered thinking that he came off as kind of a douchebag by the way he was standing around, nursing the same drink with a smug look on his face the whole time.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. As long as you guys dont act like complete assholes and make a bunch of noise. I gotta focus for about another 30 minutes then the room is yours. Cool?”
“Cool,” the boys said in unison.
“And it’s Hannah by the way. Not Helen. You’re Lucas, right?” She held out her hand towards him.
Lucas politely shook her hand. “Sorry about that Hannah. I’m terrible at remembering names,” he said with a slight shrug. “Just gonna grab a seat on this side so I can stay outta your way.” He held out his arm towards the opposite side of the table from where Hannah had been sitting and started walking over there.
Tristan walked in and closed the door behind himself. He gave Hannah a simple head nod and smirk but never formerly introduced himself. Very similar to his demeanor at the party; as though he couldn’t be bothered.
Yep, arrogant douche, she thought. Then she pictured the look of surprise on the 2nd year’s face if she were to manifest her big furry friend to accidentally-on-purpose kick him in the balls.
Hannah had often wondered if anyone in the HCP realized her summon was the same giant bunny that helped save Brewster almost a year ago. Titan had told her the DVA would hide any association between the tower-sized rabbit and her PEERS persona but she figured that once classmates saw her summon for the first time they’d make the connection. That didn’t seem to be the case though, at least as far as she knew. It helped that when she summoned Hopcules these days, he was about the same height and stature as Titan. None of her combat training took place outside yet, so no one in HCP got to see her manifestation at his full potential size. He’d also taken on more humanistic facial expressions lately and had been appearing in a variety of different clothes and accessories. Hell, the last time she trained with Kacey, the hulking rabbit materialized in a denim vest, a blue bandanna on his head, metal spiked leather bracelets around his wrists, brass knuckles, and with gold chains around his neck. Kacey couldn’t stop laughing during their sparring session until Hopcules had her bound and hog tied. Even with her enhanced strength, she couldn’t break free of what evidently weren’t just plain gold necklaces. It hadn’t dawned on Hannah until later that, the night before, she’d fallen asleep to an old 80s action flick about a renegade cop taking on a vicious street gang. She wondered if tonight her childhood protector would show up in a lab coat, holding a periodic table. The Sizemore freshman briefly shook her head to snap herself out of her thoughts and sat down to resume her work. She’d gotten fully back into her study mode until…
“Yo, does sound carry out of this room?” Tristan asked.
“Seriously?! You do remember that whole bit about NOT being obnoxious assholes, right?”Hannah asked incredulously.
“Damn girl chill. I just wanted to ask my guy here a question and didn’t want to risk being overheard. You should smile more girl. You know what I mean?“
Relax. Breathe. You don’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. It would not be a good idea to kick this fucker’s ass while inside of the school library. Or would it be? No. No. Definitely not a good idea, she thought to herself.
“Well unless you two were standing outside of here practicing at being mimes as a back up in case you don’t make it to graduation, I’m pretty sure this room is well insulated to sound.”
Tristan grunted in indignation and sarcastically replied, “you’re hilarious.”
“I’m definitely going all the way through. No way I won’t graduate,” Lucas chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the tension that’d just arisen between the other two people in the room. I’ve known I wanted to be a hero ever since I was little. My parents have spent a fortune sending me to an elite training camp for the last seven summers to make sure I’d be as prepared as possible for the HCP. Plus I’ve had personal coaches work with me for years on new ways to use my power.”
“Bro! That’s what I was wanting to ask you about. I saw the logo on on your bag. Holy shit, did you do the SETA training camps?” asked Tristan.
“Yeah, I take it you’ve heard of it.”
“Hell yeah I have. The Super Elite Training Academy. Who hasn’t? I hear those workouts are so intense. No wonder you’re so jacked. You must’ve been in great shape for your first day here. Mad props bro. Is it true you get to fight against human looking robot…”
“Hey! Tweedledum and tweedle-dickless, I honestly didn’t know there was such a thing as a two-man circle jerk, so I really appreciate the show but is there any chance I can get back to work without any more distractions?“
Lucas had mixture surprise and guilt run across his face. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but glanced over to Tristan and stayed silent.
“What? You mad because you’re realizing you can’t stack up against the competition. Guess what. My guy here isn’t the only one who’s been preparing for this program long before he was admitted. I’ve been getting ready for years too. Trained in jiu-jitsu and boxing on top of honing my super abilities. Have you even done anything? Or did you just apply and cross your fingers?”
Hannah could see where this was going in. She decided in that moment to just let it play out. Fuck it, she thought. She was basically done studying. Even if she failed the final, which she was confident that she wouldn’t, she’d still pass the class. She stood up, pressed an icon on her tablet touchscreen and began putting other things away in her bag while she spoke. “Actually, I never had any special training as a kid. To tell you the truth, I shouldn’t even be here. I got into some trouble years ago. The kind of trouble that normally prevents one from getting admitted into an HCP. But, I was on a PEERS team for years and I got to do a lot of…
“Ha! You’re telling us you’re fucking a Corpie. Can you believe this, dude?“ Tristan nudged Lucas, looking for his agreement. To his credit, Lucas appeared visibly uncomfortable and leaned away from the other boy.
“Don’t know what it says about your class if they’re letting Corpies in,” continued Tristan with a sneer. “I guess you really do need to study. Obviously you’re the one that needs a back up plan. And here’s another thing little girl. It’s not just about how much you’ve trained beforehand, it’s also about who you know. And I know people. My mom‘s best friend is related to the Hero, Unseelie. So I’ve actually met a few Heroes who I’m sure will vouch for me when the time comes. Pity you can’t say the same. We all know Heroes don’t give two shits about Corpies.”
For a moment Hannah’s face expressed a flat affect. Then suddenly she burst into laughter. And not just some derisive laugh as though she was trying to convey to Tristan that she didn’t take his comments seriously. But an eye watering, oxygen depriving, honest to the Gods belly laugh. The kind of laugh that would’ve been contagious had she been around friends. She carried on for a minute until her amusement died down to a just a mild chortle. Hannah wiped her eyes. “You know people?“ She started laughing again, even louder than the first time. “Oh my Gods. Stop. Stop. I can’t breathe. Is this your fucking power?” Hannah was bent over at the waist still laughing hysterically, holding out one finger as to communicate, “give me a second.” After another minute, she wiped her eyes again, took a big gulp of air, and collected herself. “Woooh. Now that was some funny fucking shit.”
“Who in the hell do you think…“ Tristan started to say through gritted teeth.
“No no no. Please don’t get me started again. I don’t think my ribs can take it,“ said Hannah still chuckling some. “Let’s see what have I done and who do I know? You know I always knew that eventually I’d tell people about this, I just didn’t think it would go down like this.” The summoner raised her hand, then slowly curled it into a fist. Standing 3ft tall and leaning into the corner so as not to be visible to anyone who happened to be looking into the room at that moment, was Hopcules, adorned in the same armor he’d worn on the day he helped to save Brewster. “Look familiar to anyone?”
“That looks like the giant rabbit that fought robots with Titan. Hare-a-clees or something like that. My little sister has like 5 of its t-shirts,” Lucas responded.
“Wow kid, you really are shit with remembering names. Hop-cu-les is the name I gave him when I was just a child. Surprised the shit outta me that he came out the size of a skyscraper when those robots nearly killed me and my team, ” Hannah stated nonchalantly as she waved her hand and made Hopcules fade away.
With a grudging realization, Tristan began to ask, “wait, you’re not actually saying…”
“Oh look, captain mc-douche-nozzle is catching on. Somebody give the kid a prize. Yes, dumbass, I’m actually saying I fought with Titan, yes, thee fucking Titan, with every other Hero team in Brewster to stop those mechs from destroying the entire city. I’m saying the strongest hero alive is my personal mentor and it was his recommendation that got me into this program.”
Lucas looked back and forth between Hannah and Tristan having already realized that the sophomore might be one of those guys who’d lash out over his perceived inferiority. Lucas was so curious though he had to ask, “but… But, that rabbit is everywhere these days. Not just T-shirts. Toys, a cartoon, and I just read there’s going to be a next-gen console video game based on his character. If you own the rights to that image, you’d be loaded.“
“Eh,” Hannah said with shrug. “Youre leaving out the movie deal Lenny just got for me, but not something I talk about too much . It leaves me enough to be comfortable and to be able to donate a library wing to the university thats giving me a shot at being a hero.” Hannah responded. She gave Tristan a quick wink and glanced over her shoulder towards the door.
Tristan looked in the same direction and noticed something he hadn’t bothered paying attention to before, a small engraving on the center of the door of a bipedal rabbit. This would’ve been the most surprising thing that he’d seen since he set foot in the room if it wasn’t for the photo that appeared on Hannah’s tablet now facing him. It was an image of five people: Graham De Soto, the new head of the DVA, Titan in his iconic Hero costume, Dean Jackson, a large muscular young man with a shit eating grin who Tristan didn’t recognize, and another person in a generic gray mask, presumably female, and wearing a smile of malicious enjoyment, the same as the woman standing before him.
Hannah saw what caught his attention and picked up her tablet. “Oh, did you notice this? I love this picture. Titan called me in for back up as a Temporary Emergency Hero Asset. We beat the shit out of a literal army of enhanced criminal supers and took this picture after everything calmed down. All the other HCP deans were there too. Mr. Desoto actually told me if I ever needed a favor, he owed me one.” Hannah wore a wistful expression as she thought back on that day with fondness.
“Anyway, I gotta get outta here. S’posed to meet up with my training partners. Cause no matter what your background is or who you know, no one is a shoe-in for the final 10. Lucas, feel free to meet us in the combat cells tonight if you want to get a work out in and get tired of hanging out with this fuckwad. Later losers!” Hannah said this last part as she turned around and headed towards the door while holding up her middle finger for all to see.
Tristan was obviously livid. His hands had been visibly shaking as he stood and listened to all the ways this 1st year had accomplished more than he’d even thought possible for student. Who does this little bitch think she is? She’s full of shit. She has to be. I’ll show her. From his elbows down, Tristan‘s arms began to darken. In seconds the two appendages looked like small tree trunks, with his fingers elongating into barbed tendril-liked branches rapidly moving towards Hannah.
Although Lucas had worked for years to improve his ability to cast his energy based illusionary environments-referred to by one quirky coach in the past as a “holodeck”- speed was an element that he continued to struggle with. He began to cast a simple illusion of darkness, so as to blind Tristan, but he knew almost immediately that it wouldn’t reach him in time. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw furry white movement. The miniature Hopcules had reappeared and was running towards the back of the chair Tristan had been sitting in. With a parkour maneuver that would make Jackie Chan jealous, Hopcules leapt from the floor to the chair, then from the chair to the rear wall. He torpedoed off of the wall with the force of both hind paws and made contact Tristan’s head, knocking the arrogant second year to the floor. He laid there dazed and confused about what had just struck him as his branches retracted and his arms returned to normal. The summon vanished before he even touched the ground.
Hannah smiled as she exited the room. Thanks be to the Gods. I was hoping that piece of shit would try something so I could have self-defense as an excuse. Kacey and Devon better be ready. I’m already warmed up.

We recently adopted a senior dog, who I think could stand to lose some weight. She’s got some mild mobility issues, and I think a little weight loss would go a long way. We got her in to see our vet today; she says our dog’s got a body condition score of 6/9, weights 58lbs, and that her ideal weight would probably be 54lbs. That doesn’t seem right to me. I’m not a vet, but I’ve had an awful lot of dogs, and this one definitely seems like she’s carrying a lot of extra. You can’t feel her ribs, she has no visible waist from above, and her belly doesn’t have that little up-tuck between her ribs and tail. Am I being too nitpicky here, or should I seek a second opinion? I really want to make sure this sweet dog has the best quality of life for the years she’s got left.
Edit to add: just looking at the BCS pictures, I’d put her around an 8/9

I'm in hell. I'm looking for a new binder and have needed to replace my current one for almost two years. I've been putting off because I've always used gc2b but their quality has gone down + I have medical issues that mean I really can't afford the chance of bruised ribs.
I have really large breasts and a tiny rib cage. I'm rocking a freaking triple D- I'm 5'7 and around 115 lbs for reference. Most binders flatten me a little but it never looks proportional the rest of my body. In general I'm very thin so I can't get away with the "it looks like pecs" thing. It just looks like smaller breasts. I also really don't like the gap underneath the compressed breasts. I was wondering if compression that goes down tank length would help with that?
I've listed/linked the binders I'm looking at and have been recommended. If you have experience with any of these or other recommendations I would really appreciate the help!! I'd also really appreciate any before/after pictures a lot.
Underworks' Mens Cotton Concealer Compression Chest Binder Tank and Mens Ultimate Chest Binder Compression Tank (Looking at these specifically because a friend of a friend also has large breasts and small ribs and swears by underworks, but I can't tell the difference between any of their binders.)
Spectrum Outfitters' Fair Short Chest Binder
And Sock Drawer Heroes' SDH Chest Binder Short

New spot randomly found in Fredericksburg today! We had beef ribs, brisket, baked beans, coleslaw, and deviled egg potato salad. Sorry, we didn't snap any pictures before digging in.
We just happened to swing by on our road trip and didn't expect it to be this awesome. Even though we got there 1.5 hours before closing, they were already out of chicken quarters, pulled pork, baby back ribs, smoked turkey, pork belly, and smoked crab cakes as a mother's day special. They just opened up the restaurant this February and it's run by a father and son, with cute pictures of their toddler grandson on the walls.
I was impressed by the young owner's passion for his food and the way he greeted guests. You can tell he really loves what he does. Check out their better photos and menu on Google. https://wildwaylonsbbq.com/
https://preview.redd.it/jvxdaa28e80d1.jpg?width=2048&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1c3c5f0a8b5f350b1fba31675c01f508630f561f
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Yesterday I got to celebrate my first Mother’s Day. It was a wonderful day with family and my husband and I even got to take our LO for her first swim. We are both intense water lovers so this was a big moment for us. And my mom, the wonderful person she is, took candid pictures of us in the pool. I’m very glad she did. But I’m struggling with the way I look in the photos. I’m a little over two months postpartum so I know it’ll take time to recover. But the stretch marks, the wider rib cage, the extra rolls and larger breasts make me so crazy. Then there’s the “mom posture”, that thanks to pregnancy, breastfeeding and frequent bouts of looking down to admire my baby, have given me a hump in my neck.
I’m proud of my body for doing something so wonderful. Logically I know that “bounce back” culture is toxic, but emotionally, I miss my old body and want it back.

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/Little_Feet1999
Originally posted to AITAH
Editor’s Note: added paragraph breaks for readability
AITA because I told my neighbour’s kid to “Fuck Off!”
Trigger Warnings: body injury, entitlement, verbal abuse toward a child
Original Post: March 26, 2024
I live on the top floor of a house. It’s a one bedroom and my boyfriend and I chop and change at where we decide to stay for some weekends. He has a 7 year old daughter but she doesn’t stay at mine because of the size…and the solid fact that we are not related, unless it’s an emergency and she has nowhere else to go. She’s visited. We’ve been together four years.
Downstairs is an unassuming family. A father, police officer, a mother, profession unknown, and a toddler. They are fairly quiet and utilise the space at the back for the child to run and play while I typically use and maintain the front yard. I’m not a child person and had refused their asks to babysit but do say hello to the adults when I see them. I wave to the child too.
The toddler is inquisitive. He tries to my open packages despite my saying how deeply inappropriate I find it (just bring it in, put it by the stairs and tell the kid to leave it alone) and most recently he has left some tacky toys on the stairs and there hasn’t been clean up. I’ve asked the parents to make their child tidy up because if I fall my insurance won’t be the ones paying. I have a joint condition and injure easily so don’t need the extra worry of some idiotic toy cars everywhere.
The child also has been constantly asking to go into my apartment to his mother, which she says “oH mY sWeEt BaBy, wE cAn AsK”. I’ve said no. I don’t like children. I don’t want one in my space. Running their sticky hands over my things. I don’t believe I owe them an explanation as to why I don’t want their child stinking my place up. I don’t believe I’m a teaching moment for their kid to learn boundaries and how he isn’t entitled to go wherever he wants to.
I shouted at him. Not only did he try to open yet another package (this one was a care package from my sisters as I live abroad) and screeched and cried “MiNe! MiNe!” to which I turned and said “No it isn’t yours. It is mine. Go away and find your parents.” before trying to ignore this pathetic tantrum and went inside. Only to be followed. EDIT with him trying to hit and bite. I turned around and said “Fuck off you annoying little brat. Cry to someone who gives a fuck!”. I then tripped on one of his stupid little toy cars and dislocated my knee. The toy was destroyed as it became dented and scratched because I stepped on it.
Of course the parents were horrified but I have, thus far, refused to engage. I have also had my packages rerouted to my boyfriend’s but he lives on LI and I live in Queens so it’s inconvenient. They called the landlord who reminded them that the opening of mail not addressed to them is a felony…
I’m sick and tired of parents who think their bratty children are entitled to go wherever they want, do whatever they want and touch whatever they want with their pinworm infested hands.
Just want to know though for my own sanity…AITA?
EDIT - I wish I hadn’t shouted at this child but my limit of asking the stairs to be clear, my packages to be left alone and my right to space respected were constantly violated. I don't want to be bitten and hit by a toddler because he can’t get his own way.
I also said I wasn’t a kid person not that I hated them. Not particularly enjoying the company of toddlers doesn't mean my boyfriend picked an absolute monster. A 7 year old isn’t a toddler. She has some respect for my space and isn’t a brat.
EDIT - I may have asked for judgement on the situation but I didn’t ask for judgement on my relationship. Jiggle your titties and flap those concerned vaginal lips elsewhere…the only person able to pass judgement on that is my boyfriend. Womp, womp ladies.
AITAH has no consensus bot, OOP was NTA, but YTA on her language toward the kid
Additional Information from OOP’s boyfriend on her relationship with his child

Boyfriend: “I am very aware of the situation thank you. I have been caring for my girlfriend since her damn knee dislocated (or are you expecting physical perfection from her as well as emotional?)! So how could I not be aware of how she acted?!
I am also aware that this child attempted to bite and hit my girlfriend. As a parent myself I have often warned my daughter that if she slaps me or my girlfriend she has to accept we are bigger than her and may hurt her if we act instinctively as humans do when confronted with an attack or pain. No adult is perfect. I have screamed at my daughter on more than one occasion during misbehaviour. I also accept my girlfriend is not perfect. She doesn’t have to love kids, that’s fine. She is however great with my daughter. She has never really been childish with her and spoke to her more like an adult, an equal, which I actually admire. Maybe know she keeps drawings from my daughter. My daughter loves drawing the flowers in the front yard my girlfriend mentioned she maintains. She doesn’t have to keep them.
Keep your nose out and my daughter and I’s name out of your mouth. How she acted with the child downstairs, however regrettable, is not how she acts with my child. As a parent even I would shout at a child acting aggressively. We are not required to like or love children that have no connection to us. From my standpoint this kid needs a spanking and a good shouting at. So do the parents quite honestly.”

Comments
OOP on being accused for escalating toward the child

OOP: You weren’t there. Please don't twist things when you were not present. I escalated nothing. I took my parcel back and went inside. He followed and hit and made attempts to bite, I turned and shouted and then dislocated my knee on his toy. The escalator was the child. No one else. I wish I hadn’t shouted but I was pushed to my limit.

OOP on if she knows why the child was left unsupervised

OOP: I don’t know why the child was outside unsupervised. I don’t really care and it’s not my problem. While I admit shouting was wrong children also need to learn the consequences of horrible behaviour like hitting and attempting to bite. They may get hit back or shouted at. The parents were asked multiple times to tell their child to leave my things alone and to keep the stairs clear. I lost it because their child was aggressive and this situation was weeks in the making.

 
Update: May 6, 2024
Update
So I posted my experience with my downstairs neighbours and their child. Go and see that post for the full picture.
https://www.reddit.com/AITAH/comments/1bokg6o/aita_because_i_told_my_neighbours_kid_to_fck_off/
I have since returned home from being cared for by my boyfriend and the issue has somewhat, though not quite, resolved. When I got back the first thing I saw was the child (4m) playing on the steps up to my apartment with his toys. Furiously my boyfriend knocks on the door and tells the mother to stop this nonsense and if we see any toys on the steps again they will be thrown out. The child is removed, kicking and screaming. When we got back we brought with us a lockbox for my parcels.
We had a conversation with our landlord who issued the family with a warning, as points of egress need to be kept clear and that allowing the child to fully open my packages is indeed illegal (though hardly able to be punished). Accidents do happen, I am aware, but they don’t happen more than three times. I also passed on my insurance bill to them because I refuse to pay for being in an accident that was wholly preventable by them.
I’m also in PT for my knee and back and am not paying for that either. The door leading to the stairs of my upstairs apartment has been fixed so the child cannot play there. This has upset the mother in particular who fully said “I want to teach my child that everyone loves and accepts him.”
“I don’t love your child.” I replied (something to this effect), “He doesn’t mean anything to me beyond the fact he is the child of my neighbours. You don’t love me, do you? You didn’t even listen when I expressed concern about toys on the steps or your child constantly throwing tantrums when I take my packages from him.”
I honestly couldn’t believe the entitlement. The father was not happy with our responses to each other but didn’t speak up. We left it at that and later, like a few days, I am sitting outside with my boyfriend and his child (7f) as they played with a frisbee. The downstairs child comes over trying to play, bf’s child says no (fair, she just wanted to play with her dad alone) and he is told to go back inside (because we are not responsible for some random four year old). The kid pitches a fit so my boyfriend goes to knock on the door to ask the mother to come get him, she insists we play with him. We insist we are not obligated to do so. The child has already hit my bf’s kid and she angrily shoved him over, gave him a slap back, and screamed to go away and he ruined their game.
Immediately my bf goes over to his child and tells the other one to go to his mum. We point blank refused to entertain this child and told them to leave us alone. If bf’s child was OK playing with the downstairs child neither of us would’ve intervened. She didn’t though. She also shouldn’t be forced to play with an aggressive and, quite frankly, vile little boy. I’m glad she slapped him actually. Since then the child has left us alone.
Now I was wondering before this if I was the AH but quite honestly I know for a fact no one would blame my bf’s child for lack of emotional control so why blame a childfree adult who has reached a limit? The situation as explained in my original post was weeks in the making. I’ve also read a few other posts about parents screaming at their children and it’s all “yOu’Re A bEaUtiFuL MaMa BeAr! DoN’t BeAt YoUrSeLf Up! wE pArEnTs ArE nOt PeRfEcT!” So then…why is a childfree adult suddenly a monster for not offering some random brat endless patience? Your bitchy baby isn’t entitled to anything from others, let alone free care, endless patience (when even you can’t offer that), attention and love. That’s on you.
Thank you to those who actually could read between the lines and didn’t think I was a psycho for not enjoying childish behaviour or losing it with him. I’m going to watch my bf’s child draw some flowers in the front yard now.
Comments
Sea_Firefighter_4598: NTA. Teaching your child that everyone loves them might have some very unpleasant results. The kid might go with the nice man for the candy and to see his puppy. Mama is a piece of work.
I'm not sure about being able to get your bill paid though.
Old-Run-9523: It's wild to me that they're letting a four-year-old be outside their flat unsupervised to the point that you have to knock on their door to alert them of his behavior.
Secret_Double_9239: I hope you get your medical bill covered. They need to realise that you owe them nothing and that there failure to act appropriately in the first place has resulted in the ruin of all potential for a friendly neighbour relationship.
 

DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

Bright illuminescant flashes bolted through the dark-lit sky, rushing and raging through clouds seemingly made of gossamer and finely woven felt. You could almost reach out and touch them if not for the raging storm ripping and hollering. It shone and splintered along the sky, splitting into a thousand arcs, each converging and convexing along the stars. Electrical currents spun like lavender spider webs along a farmhouse wall. The arcs traveled, painting a vibrant tapestry along its wake before reaching their climax and releasing a wicked KRAK as the lights slowly faded.
The gossamer clouds wept tears of dull acidic rain that fell, cascading downwards. Down to the swampy fetid fields below. Their droplets splashed and sizzled against the sand, slowly fizzing before hardening into a thin velvet glass before beginning all over again. A sad display of god’s fury laid bare and plain for all to see. The rain had begun just a week prior, but its assault had persisted in a constant pattern ever since. The swamp ached and squirmed in an agonizing way as the rain melted away any sign of basic life.
Puddles of the acidic deluge collected along a road leading to the once fertile silver mine, just three miles from the town of Crestfall. Near the edge of the road, a fork splits off into multiple directions. South of the fork leads to the entrance of Deep Rock Mine. The mine’s entrance stands agape, resting at the base of a mountain. The mine’s layout, a cavern of crisscrossing and haphazardly formed tunnels, awaited past the thick darkness entrapping the entrance. They curve and wind up the spine of the mountain, as well as descend deep into the now dead earth.
The face of the mountain was bare but rough. Rocks jutted and sloped along its curvature, forming a near mesmeric pattern of spiked granite. Towards the peak, a malicious and not all entirely natural pattern emerged. As the acidic rain fell, framing the mountainous backdrop, the pattern watched and waited. An almost human-like visage stretched along the face of the mountain like canvas pulled over a wooden frame. It’s design scorn into the rock itself as if meticulously laid out to warn any who dared breach the confines of the swamp.
Silence lingered amongst the misty atmospheric dredge, save for the muffled and subtle ambietic sounds of the rain. Through the dead foliage and gnarled remains of creatures recently passed, a sound rang forth. Distant exclamation and reverberated clanging rhythmically sounded from deep within the mine. Up and down the mine laid stalactites and stalagmites haphazardly stationed around every corner. Their abrupt positioning cast shadows wherever light felt unable to reach. The mine walls were smooth from years of work and toilage, along with the long uninterrupted tunnels, created an almost echo chamber for sound.
Abrupt crashes and distant thrashes echoed through the winding chamber. Its sounds detailed a fierce battle between clashing swords and fervent blows.
Or so it would seem.
A sword, emblazoned with the sigil of a raven, flew across the dimly lit room. Its body crashes and clings as it skips along the floor, its blade slashing and carving thin lines into the granite flooring as it makes contact with the ground. A fierce shadow sprawls along the cave walls, depicting a struggle between foes.
The wanderer-and recent owner of the raven crested blade-crashes to the floor. Leather straps firmly tied around his shoulder blades catch most of the weight of the fall, but pain still echoed through his nerves.
“Hells! You slimy bastard!” The wanderer winces and yells in a blinded fury. “You don’t play fair, and here I thought we were having a nice sport of it.”
No reply immediately came from his opponent, still standing off near a downed torch. Flame wisped and flicked along the ground, casting shadows and dreaded omens as if they were ripped directly from a child’s nightmare.
At once, the foe stepped forward. The shadows sprawled across the walls painted a disturbing picture of horror and grotesque form. Imaginative figures born from shadows were always so much more terrible than the beings that cast them, but in this case it was clearly the other way around. The foe opposite The Wanderer lurched forward, it's body a gnarled vestige of exoskeleton and mandibles. It almost resembled a large insect, like a praying mantis that decided its evolutionary cycle had not quite finished yet.
On multi-socketed legs, it snapped and convulsed along. Every movement of its body felt agonizing, as if the creature was hastily thrown together by a quite absent god. Various olive and violet fluids oozed and dripped from its husk like body as it vocalized terrible sounds. The creature-seemingly unable to speak-produced noises from its mouth that resembled a mix of gargles and marbles being tossed along a wooden floor. All the while, its grotesque pincer like appendage snapped and clicked almost involuntarily.
The wanderer-still recovering from his fall-slowly pushed his body along the cold rocky ground, his arm still pulsing with pain.
“Oh my, what big mouths you have.” The wanderer teased sounding much more worried than he intended. ‘Always good to keep in control of the situation. Confidence is key.’ As he was always want to say, but this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
His arm traced along the ground, reaching and prodding for his recently lost weapon. Daring not look away from the oncoming threat, he felt nothing. His sword was currently resting near the opposite side of the cave room, resting flat along the ground. Away from The Wanderer’s grasp, far away from being of any further use here it seemed.
Doubt surged through his mind, but only for a short time. ‘Doubt breeds more doubt, and further doubt breeds ruin’, another favorite.
Clenched palms moved along the granite flooring. Leather gloves scraped and bruised as The Wanderer lifted back to his feet, regaining balance and fervor. The arm that had broken his fall felt numb and altogether absent.
‘Dislocated most likely, not a big enough fall to break.’
The insect-like foe-still closing the distance between them-snapped and gurgled in an almost territorial display of aggression.
The Wanderer grinned, placing his uninjured arm against its opposite’s elbow, before violently, yet methodically, pushing it upwards. A clear snap, followed by a dull pop echoed through the room. Feeling began pouring back into his arm as the vibrating itch of numbness faded. Both arms began to raise, fists clenched, the leather gloves creased and squelched from the sheer pressure as his hands formed tightly wounded fists. Fists pointed squarely towards the all not entirely normal creature still gurgling and jerking along the shadow filled room.
“Oh...” The Wanderer began. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy every second of this.” His fists raised up, reaching level with the bridge of his nose. “Come one now, give us yer best.”
As if understanding -and altogether disliking- the series of vulgar remarks thrusted toward it, the creature squealed through its deformed face. The jerking motion its movement seemed to have before was replaced with a fluid dash as it quickly closed the distance between the two adversaries. Arms outstretched as its gnarled and jagged hands opened and closed with violent snaps and twinges. Reaching out, grasping the air between them. The gap closed quickly, much quicker than he anticipated, but not enough to catch him entirely off guard as he shifts weight from right the left. The slender frame of his body flanking to the side of the creature.
Shadows arched and flailed with each movement, creating a strange optical illusion across the cave walls. The subtle shifting wind and osculation of the two fighters created an almost mural of events through the flames. Clashing swords, trumpeting horns and creatures that rivaled the tallest spires in Etheral began to converge into an unrecognizable painting of events. The fire loomed, gazing at the creature, at The Wanderer. Its gaze almost purposeful and full of intent. Neither the two beings made any note of the grand display unfolding around them. Fire is known to be a harsh mentor, and an even harsher ally. If one was to wander too deeply into its wounding gaze, one might find themselves trapped, forever living in the tapestry it painted.
The creature was fast, but nowhere as fast as him. Once useless, now repaired, the dislocated arm wrapped between the creatures glistening forearm, interlocking before weight shifted again. The creature stalled as if to reorient itself to face the man, but its movements were not its own. Quickly and deftly, The Wanderer placed immense weight on his forward foot, counterbalancing against the creature as their locked arms rotated and shifted sideways. Arching forward, the shift in balance quickly broke as the creature began to lift in the air as The Wanderer’s rear leg lifted to relegate pressure onward. Flailing and spewing its noxious fluid, the creature flipped entirely, finally crashing to the floor in a savage crunch. The Wanderer stands above, looking downward as it convulses in a fit of pain (could it even quantify pain) and anger.
A greyish foul-smelling slime coated The Wanderer’s chest and forearm. Small indentions formed along the hard leather surface of his jacket, most likely from the not entirely cosmetic spikes embedded into the creature.
“Alright, now I’d say we’re fairly close to a draw here.” The Wanderer began. “How’s say we handle the rest with a bit more diplomacy and grace? No point and making a bigger stink than we already got, but telling by the state of yourself, I’d say you know all about stink.”
The maddening gurgle of the creature slowed as its body began to calm. Its arms moving outward, sprawling along the hard granite rock as its legs raise along with the rest of it. Wet dew drips along the ground, rippling and casting weird reflections from all directions as the creature steps slowly along their puddles. Slow anxious steps it takes. Its demeanor changes from a wild and disturbed animal to a more methodic and wary being. Eyes of bluish gray sink into its head, pupils moving slowly, analyzing and taking in information. It stands straight, back locked into an opposing stance. God it was big. The man couldn’t much get a good measurement before with its body slouched over in a hermit like stance. It must be at least seven feet tall, equally proportioned from its legs to its torso. The head was rounded, almost human, with its bug-like mandibles protruding in a horrific fashion.
The Wanderer had dealt with creatures before. Along his travels he had come across a litany of monstrous beings; Wargs, Secrolants, Jittering Fiends, Goblins, Spiderlings. None of them quite matched the state of this one. Although he had heard of such beings, none had crossed paths before. The way it moved, the way it thought, it all was abnormal. It's quite simple to take a beast down, some you anger and gain the advantage, some you outsmart, others you can simply scare away. But this one.... oh, he was a different breed entirely. The way its mood could change mid-fight, or how it seemingly understood what was being said. And the way it stared. Thoughts were jutting along in the bug brain of its, and when monsters start thinking, all strategy and preparation goes out the window. Unpredictable is what they become, and prediction was The Wanderer’s bread and butter.
Wary now he waits, staring back at the creature. Locked eyes, they waited. Eyes filled with thought, filled with understanding and reasoning -but most egregiously- they were filled with malice. The fight was not over, they had just reached half-time.
“Let it not be stated that I did not strive for peace and harmony at every turn.” The Wanderer quipped, his hand raised once more, ready for another assault.
A flame flickers, casting shadows once again. Shadows of a man holding wolves at bay, hands outstretched to create a distance between them. The wolves circled and plotted, looking for weakness at every tune, but finding none. Leaves fell, becoming ash as they reached the ground. A fire spreads amongst the ash laden floor, consuming the visage, the man, the wolves. All in consumed in an immense concentrated heat, until the shadows fade to nothingness once more.
The creature meanders onward, just a few steps at a time; looking on as The Wanderer holds his footing, fists raised and ready. Each step of its hard glistening exoskeleton crunches against small rocks and debris sprawled along the cave floor, knocking them aside, producing echoed wails that seemingly bounced from surface to surface. After the third step it abruptly launches at the man, arms outstretched once more in a fit of animalistic fury. Thought seemingly left its eyes as they glazed over into a dull grey, the feeling and reasoning sinking further and further to the back of its mind. The Wanderer grinned, his stance loosening as the soles of his feet began to trace an outline of movement, preparing and readying for a counteroffensive. As its dripping breached the outline, The Wanderer shifted his weight once more, quickly flanking the creature to the side once again, but something was off. His eyes traced the movements of its body, of its arms, of its legs. The animosity in them seemed to almost shift mid attack, becoming lucid and methodical. As if the creature was dancing along with him. Even tracing down to the ground, the footing was wrong. Not his footing. He was always perfect. The dance was memorized, trained, honed to a sharp edge. No, it was the creature’s.
Abruptly the creature’s body shifted, its legs tracing backwards, its torso shifting to the side. A corrective action, a counterattack to his counterattack. Shadows of the pair danced along the cave wall, depicting a wickedly abstract waltz. The creature’s arm whipped outward, its claws barreling towards the thin leather separation between his elbow and forearm. God, it was fast. Faster than The Wanderer. Rip, flash, a bright light, then the crashing of feet as the two returned to their original standing.
It all happened so fast. Faster than he could articulate. He was used to speed, used to tracking and understanding battle situations, creating countermeasures, analyzing the most likely move and executing it within a fraction of a second. All of that was done, but it was all wrong. The creature moved in peculiar fashion, acted as if it were moving on instinct while simultaneously acting with thought and strategy. How could it possibly go both ways?
As he thought, mouth slightly open, breath pouring between his lips in a hot and heavy fashion, he hardly thought of anything else. They had made contact, but there was no feeling. Checking for wounds mid-encounter was generally out of the question with beasts. Often, they gave little time for thought or first aid, but the creature stood and waited. The dull grey look in its eyes were gone again, replaced with the methodical gaze of a strategist analyzing a battlefield. The Wanderer lowered his right arm and traced it along the path of his elbow, reaching his shoulder before he felt it. A definite gash traced about two inches wide, the depth of it couldn’t be guessed, but it had breached the leather. As his hand returned to a fist, warm fresh blood dripped between the fingers, falling and coagulating against the dust and pebbles along the ground. He had indeed been injured, but there was no feeling to it. All felt well, and that’s precisely why all was, in fact, not well.
“You’re a strange one. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before, but I’ll get to know you real well soon enough.”
His eyes moved from the creature, scanning along the ground. Before when this was a simple clean-up, a weapon would be handy, but hardly required of someone with his skills, but this was anything but simple. Parameters had changed, he’d very much like his sword back now.
It was nowhere to be seen initially. The room was dark, with little else than a soft glow from the fallen torch illuminating a small area and casting shadows that obscured others. Then it appeared. Near the feet of the creature, the raven crested blade sat where it had since the beginning of this strange dual. Thoughts echoed along in his head, casting suspicions and doubt in every facet of the encounter. Things were not as they appeared.
A slight grin crept along his face again, before quickly subsiding. “Think I have enough time for one more go of it. Care to lead?”
The creature stood, watching and plotting before the dull grey of its eyes appeared once again, launching it into another fury. It lunged, arms outstretched again, running full speed to the man. He simply stood, his hands loosening from tightly wound fists of rock to loosely packed fists of snow. His palms opened slightly; his footing loosened as the heels of his feet digging into the hard rocky floor. They began to move slightly, tracing a straight horizontal line where he stood as he slowly began to back away. The creature, still in a frenzy, closes the distance fast. Seemingly faster than any previous assault as The Wanderer ceased his slow backing retreat, his feet returning to a strong stance, soles digging deep into the earth. He takes in a breath, his heartrate slowing. The light sounds of the cave begin to grow, becoming more apparent and concentrated. Small droplets of dew falling from the ceiling, wind softly blowing along, echoing through the harrowed halls and the flickering of a flame slowly speaking its ancient language. They all converged, mirroring themselves as The Wanderer’s eyes closed. Time seemed to slow as the creature came closer, its steps further apart, its maddening gurgling seemingly floating away. It stepped, stepped and stepped along the ground, pushing pebbles and dust without thought.
Finally, it reached the line carved into the rock. Its foot crunched, making contact with the earth, and in an instant its eyes reverted again. The grey dullness seeping away to its methodically stategistic norm. In that instant, The Wanderers eyes erupted open. The chittering thing’s arms stretch out for his neck, hoping to seize his artery with its horrific claws. Quickly, quicker than anything that day, The Wanderer moved in a fast range of motions that all seemingly happened at once. His weight once again shifted, flanking the creature. His arms locked into a position of counterattack. The creature quickly issued its own countermeasure, once again whipping its body and throwing its claw outward, aiming higher than before, aiming for his neck.
A flame moved. Shadows formed along the walls once more, although they showed a different scene. A scene depicting two swordsman locked in deathly combat. Their swords swinging violently but with grace and purpose. They clashed a thousand times. Each time sending a spray of bright sparks that swelled through the air creating intricate patterns that lingered before slowly fading.
The creature was stuck, unable to move, unable to continue its assault and unable to return to its desired location. The Wanderer's palm grasped the creature's wrist tightly, locking it into a hold. The grey of the creature’s eyes were completely gone now as its pupils darted around in panic. His hand arched forward, his foot kicking –what would assumedly be- the creature’s calf, buckling its knees and forcing it to the ground. Cracking and popping erupted from the joints of its arm as his grip tightened. It’s gurgling became sporadic, as if pleading to be set free. He simply watched it, once against studying its behavior, its patterns, its mannerisms.
“You really are special. Not like anything in the world I imagine, but what makes you so special.” The Wanderer clenched his hold tighter, the creature falls lower, its face pushing into the cold rock. “You were playing a game, weren’t you? You understand what I’m saying too, and that I can assure you is indeed something special. Predicting my movements, using the techniques against me. You weren’t just fighting for a meal. You were learning, weren’t you?”
The creature clicked and gurgled, chittering against the ground as the hard surface of its arm began to crack.
“Now, I’m not opposed to teaching if I aim to gain something from it, but what I won’t abide is being played with. Now...” He plants his foot against the back of the creature's neck, both arms holding its locked appendage in a pulling motion. “I think I deserve to know a little more about you my foul-smelling friend, and if I’m right up until this point, you outta know exactly what I’m saying. I also assume you know a threat when you hear one. So...” His grip tightens, his leather boot slowly crunched against the creature’s skull. “Tell me what you are, and where you learned to be so damn special.”
The creature’s eyes widen, the dull grey returning, filling its retinas as it begins to violently convulse. A shrill screech fills the room, echoing along the walls, traveling through the twisting and winding tunnels of the long-forgotten mine. Shadows creep along the cave walls once more, scattering and convulsing, twisting into horrid and unimaginable shapes. Creatures that belong to fables and horror tales begin flooding along the shapes as the flame whips and crackles. The torch quickly combusts, the flames turning a sharp blackish violet. Heat bellows from the waves of ember emitting from the now monumental display of hellfire as the shadows multiply, taking over every inch of coverage. The Wanderer’s ears tremble at the immense noise, his vision begins to weaken as the shrill echo reaches a climactic crescendo. Any more of this and it’s all over, lights out.
He looks downward to the creature, its mind warped with whatever dark arts influenced it. His grip tightens as his foot presses firmly against the back of its head. Slow crunching and cracking sounds begin to intermingle with the terrible sounds of its cry. As the boot came down, harder and harder, the creature’s terrible screech began to thin and grow in pitch, like the air being slowly released from a balloon. Then, a horrendous snap before the head was no more. Violet and green brain matter covered the area around its neck as small fragments of skull of tissue caked along the sides of his boots. All at once the cry stopped, and along with it the room slowly began to darken. The flame began to slowly dwindle back to its original size, its color returning to a soft orange glow.
The Wanderer stepped back; his eyes firmly planted on the now deceased creature lying before him. A pool of its blood slowly trickled along the floor, reaching for his sword. Slowly, his body lumbered to the lost blade. Its handle was wrapped in scaled pitch blade leather, its blade a vibrant silver, still glistening with oil. The visage of a raven prominently scorn into the finish of the blade itself. Before the foul-smelling blood reaches the blade, the man slowly leans down to collect it. His body ached, his arms felt heavy and as the world around him began to dim, he retrieved the blade. Weighing it in his hand he felt secure, like a lost piece of him was restored with its retrieval. It felt so much heavier than before, or maybe he had just been weakened from the encounter. He gazed down upon it, his hand clenched hard around the dark leather handle. A dark fluid began to pool around his hand, streaming softly down from his arm.
The Wanderer turned his arm over, now looking at the wound he had taken from the creature’s first counterattack. It didn’t seem very bad, or at least not as bad as previous wounds he’d sustained, but the bleeding was alarming. It streamed softly, almost without notice. The blood itself was dark as well, as if it had already begun coagulation. A strange wound. A worrying wound. Suddenly his head became light, the room began to dim, and the walls started to blur. No, everything about this was wrong.
In the strange lucid state he was left in, he almost didn’t notice the changes around him. A quite fell over the room, the flickering flame seemed to even quite down to a faint whisper. A soft noise crept along the ground. Soft tapping, the sound of pebbles and rock being pushed aside, dust parting between single soft strides. The pain in his head grew louder, his heartbeat thumping from his chest to his forearm, ending finally against his forehead.
What is happening to me?
As if to answer, a rapid movement jostled him back to reality as he quickly turned, sword still gripped tightly in hand. A quick flash of movement rushed towards him, its motioned and sounds all too familiar to him. As nimbly as he can muster, he raises his blade outward in an attempt to impale the newfound enemy now barreling towards him, but a twinge of searing pain in his shoulder halts the attack. All he manages is a defensive stance, sword raised, arm placed behind the blade to prepare for impact as the creature crashes into him.
They both fall, splashing into the violet puddle of dank smelling blood that has pooled along the cave floor. A creature –almost identical to the one lying dead beside him- lies atop the blade protecting his body. Its arms crash against the leather bracers protecting his soft flesh. Claws come crashing down, scrapping against leather, making large slashes in them but not enough to break fully through the thick coating. Slime and mucus drip down from its maw, coating The Wanderer’s arms and neck. His arms are placed defensively against the side end of the blade, separating the two, but he can feel himself weakening further and further. Rough outlines of the creature emerge through blurred vision. Heat travels along his arm and forehead, casting confusion and sweat to pour over his body.
What the hell is happening!?
Suddenly, the creature lunges its head down, breaching the space between the blade and The Wanderer’s neck. Its snapping pincer like mandible opening and shutting in rapid and rabid bites. Before it has a chance to make contact, The Wanderer frees one of his trapped hands and grapples the creature’s head. With strength slowly fading from his body, he fruitlessly pushed back the creature's disgusting face. With every inch he pushes, the creature seemingly gains two. A battle of attrition begins. Snapping, clawing, drooling the creature continues its unending assault. Reach for the soft part of his neck in hopes of ending the encounter in a single bite. Just one slip, and its lights out. Forgotten and left to be fed on to a host of disgusting bugs. The thought rips through his mind, his veins fill with hot fire, his muscles contract creating energy that wasn’t there before. He pushes hard against the creature’s head, pushing it past the breach in the sword until his arm reaches full length.
The energy’s fading, the small window of opportunity’s closing, and for once in his miserable life, he can’t think of a thing to do. The hand not grappling with the creatures head pulls free from the back of the sword. His fingers slowly begin moving, drawing a pattern in the air. Faint lines form, like strokes from a dry paintbrush. Lines sparkle and faintly crackle with weak power, power being sapped away. The pattern is rough and unfinished, its edges not straight, its lines fumbling. The feeling in his fingers is weak. Strength fading, the pattern breaks as his hand twitches before returning to the blade. Fire begins erupting from the torch again, the strange violet flame re-emerges and casts strange shadows once again along the cave walls. Shadows depicting men falling in the thousands, figures standing above them. A strange light emits from the wrecked battlefield as the dominant figures rise, floating above, breaching unending clouds and sending a cleansing fire downward. Fire spreads along the walls, engulfing the shadows, casting them far away as it shrieks and flickers violently. The Wanderer’s vision begins to fade. The world around begins to dull. Rocky walls, granite floors, the creature all fade, losing color and becoming shadows themselves. Heat wells in his head, as tears stream down his cheek.
I can’t.
Shadows slowly engulf him as the energy drains from his arms.
I won’t
The creature’s face inches closer and closer to its target.
This is where it ends.
The fire erupts, banishing the shadows away once more, filling the room with soft orange light as the creature lunges uninterrupted at its prize.
Then nothing. The pain of stabbing pincers ripping along his throat never occurs. Instead, a loud CLAP echoes along the walls. It’s deafening and almost endless, but it's over in an instant. A river of fluid splashes along The Wanderer’s face and body. It’s warm and thick like syrup but smells like rotten apple cores. For a moment, he contemplates if this is death. A strange death, and a strange place to end up, but who’s to know. Before long his eyes opened. The creature that stood hunched over him was still there, but its head was entirely missing. Fragments of skull and viscera lined the walls and floor around him as the creature stood cold, dead. Seemingly out of nowhere, its head just seemed to explode.
“Did...” The Wanderer began quizzically. “Did I do that?”
Before an answer could be given, a shuffle could be heard across the room, hidden against the far wall deep within the dark. Slowly The Wanderer rose, knocking the deceased creature away from him, the feeling and strength slowly returning to his body. He stared off to the dark corner, waiting in vain for his eyes to adjust to the dark. They didn’t. Bending down, he grasped his sword in one hand, and what remained of the faint torch in the other as he cautiously meandered to the muffled sound coming from the dark corner.
“Gods, if it’s one more of these disgusting fucking things, I’m straight gone.”
Slowly, the image of a man appears. He almost seemed affixed to the wall due to some form of slightly translucent webbing sprawled across his body. His feet were a few inches raised from the floor as he hung limply against the wall. A thin layer of the same substance covered his mouth as he muffled violently to The Wanderer, his eyes red and spread as wide as they could go. Near the middle of the webbing his right hand was tightly bound, unable to move. On the other side, it seemed he was able to shake loose enough to free it. A silver revolver with gold carved inlays held tightly between his fingers. Faint trails of smoke emanated from the pistol’s barrel. The smell of spent gunpowder lingered In the air, a smell The Wanderer had memorized.
The Wanderer looked puzzlingly at the man stuck to the wall, before a spark of remembrance and realization came to life in his eyes. Sweat beaded down the side of his head, slowing before soaking into his shirt collar. That chance encounter had taken its toll, and had gone on for longer than he thought, longer than he had hoped.
“Hells man, I had forgotten entirely of you. Why not speak up next time?”
The stuck man convulsed in a fit of annoyance and fury as The Wanderer laughed heartily.

Hello,
Female. 27 years old. United Kingdom.
PMH- Ulcerative Colitis
I wondered if I could get some advice please. I have been suffering with occasional stabbing pain near my belly button for a few weeks. However, that's not the worst part.. the pain is worse under the right side of my ribs, right flank pain and pain in the right side of my back and shoulder pain. Please see picture attached of the pain in my back.
My lipase recently was 83.
I'm due to have an MRCP in 2 weeks.
Thank you in advance!

(An animation shows black and white clouds parting) Charles: (Off-screen) Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshipped good and shielded all from evil. Lucy was one of these angels. She was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation. But she was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven. For they felt her way of thinking was dangerous to the perder of their world. So she watched as the angels began to expand the universe in their ways. From the dust of Earth, they created Eve (I couldn't think of a female name that looked like Adam) and Lilian. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Eve demanded control and Lilian refused to submit to her will. He fled the garden. Drawn in by his fierce independence, Lucy found him and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love. Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the fruit of knowledge to Eve's new groom, Adam, who gladly accepted. But this gift came with a curse. For the single act of disobedience, evil finally found its way into Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin. And the order Heaven had worked to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucy and her love into the dark pit she had created, never allowing her to see the good that came from humanity, only the cruel and the wicked. Ashamed, Lucy lost her will to dream. But Lilian thrived, empowering demon-kind with his voice and his songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power. Threatened by this, Heaven made a truly heartless decision. That every year, they would send down an army, an extermination to ensure Hell and its sinners could never rise against them. But Lilian's hope remained. And his dream was passed down to their precious son, the Prince of Hell. (The prince shuts the "Story Of Hell" book) (On-screen) Don't worry, Dad. I'll make you proud. (He holds a key) Vagner: Charles? Charles: Augh! (The key turns into a cat) Oh, shit. Did you hear all that? Vagner: Uh... Yeah, I was right there. Charles: Sorry. I get worked up after an extermination happens. This story helps. Vagner: (chuckles) I know. Don't worry. I enjoy your theatrics. Are you okay? Charles: I'm fine, just...Thinking, ya know, family stuff. Vagner: Did you hear from your dad yet? (Charles shakes his head saying no) Vagner: Oof. How long has it been now? Charles: Not that long, only...Seven...Years...Off something important, I'm sure. But this kingdom was something he really cared about. Something I care about. Vagner: Well, at least you aren't alone. Charles: I just hope what I'm trying to do here will work. Vagner: It will. I have faith in you. (The cat hopes on Charles) Vagner: All right. Come on. Alice says she has something to show us. (Vagner heads to the door and Charles look out of the window and see Hell on fire and goes) (A commercial plays) Alice: Well, hello there you wayward sinner. Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do. That's why you're in Hell! But what would you say there was a place to stay that had none of that? Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucy's delusional son Charleson Morningstar! Come place your fate in his inexperienced hands as he tries to work through his mommy issues by fixing you! Here, we offer fun thing! Such as somewhat functional staff! And 24 hour Pest Control! Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor! Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident. Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! You last desperate attempt at salvation starts here. (The tv suits off) Alice: So, what'd ya' think? Vagner: I'm sorry, what the fuck was that?! Charles: Uh, yeah, one note...Alice, I mean...First off, thank you so much for making this, seriously, amazing, but um...maybe the tone is a bit...Off? We want people to want to come here, this makes it look...ummm... Vagner: Bad. The word you're looking for is "bad". Alice: Funny, I was going for hilarious! Vagner: It didn't explain anything about how we're trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point. Charles: Vagner is right, Alice. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to help them. Alice: Well, my dear, I haven't been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show! The proper medium to express oneself! But YOU insisted on this noisy picture box adversiment! So I had a little fun with it. Vagner: Oh, fun? You had a little fun with it? (Stand on the sofa) Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run the hotel! Instead, you're mocking us. Nobody's going to want to come to a place that a powerful overlord like you thinks is a waste of time! (A demon on a sofa raises her hand) Vagner: What? Angela: If'n ya filmin' a commercial, can I suggest you take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here? Vagner: Angela, you're a porn star. Angela: A famous porn star. I'll have the horniest sinners knockin' these walls down to get in. Vagner: We are not filming a porn as a commercial. Angela: Why not? Sex sells, don't it? I swear if you film me goin' at it with mistress fancy talk-creepy voice here, you'd rollin' in participants willin' to stay at this tacky hotel. Alice: Haha! Never going to happen! Charles: Angela, I appreciate you wanting to use you special skills to, um, attract folks to the hotel, but...I really don't want to exploit you, in that way! Angela: Oh, please, baby. This body was made to be exploited. I got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs. I got the lung capacity-- Oh-oh I got the legs! The gag reflex, the holes... (Charles laughs uncomfortably and his phone rings with his mom calling) Angela: The small tits that make everyone think I'm a man... Charle: Uhhh, hold that thought. I'll be right back! (Walks away) Angela: I could keep goin' all night, baby. (Charles breathes and answers the phone) Charles: Hello? Mom? Angela: Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can't she just make people stay here? Alice: Oh, trust me, (ominously) I can! Hisky: Why the hell do you think I'm here? (The camera goes to Hisky) Hisky: You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fuck's bitches moan all the time if she wasn't forcin' me? Niffter: I like being forced! Hisky: Keep that to yourself, Niff. Angela: What, you don't like being here with me, Whiskers? Hisky: Call me "Whiskers" again and I'll that bottle down your throat. Angela: Kinky. But I like pussies. But keep talkin' dirty. Vagner: Ugh, Angela, let Hisky do her job. And no, we can't force sinners to stay here. They need to choose to. Angela: I'm choosing to be here, and I think is all stupid. We're in Hell, toots. It's kind of the end of the road, ain't it? Vagner: Well, maybe it doesn't have to be. Just because nobody has made it before doesn't mean is not possible. (Angela pust her arm in his shoulder) Angela: Hey, whatever means I can keep crashin' here rent free. Crack is expensive. Charles: (excitedly) Yeah, I acn totally. Yeah, I'll head over there right away...Okay. (Turns off the phone) Hah! YES! YES!!Hahahaha!! Vagner! Holy shit! Vagner: Ahh! What?! Charles: (through closed mouth) Get over here! (Vagner sighs and goes to where Charles is) Vagner: What's going on? Charles: (Inhales) My mom just called. She said that the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet. She asked if I could go instead. (Breathes deeply) Vagner: But... But-- But tbe extermination just happened. What would they want this soon after... Charles: (Singing) I can do this. Somehow, I know it I'll get Heaven behind my plan! Vagner: Charles, hold on. Charles: There's just no way I could blow it. Not this once a lifetime change! Vagner: It's just a meeting. Charles: To change their minds. And touch their hearts. Or whatever angels have. Vagner: This could be bad. Charles: Cheer up, Vagner. This could be swell. Something tells that today will be a happy day in Hell! Vagner: Okay, but just don't... sing to them. Angela: That motherfucker is halfway down the street. Vagner: Is he... Angela: Oh, he's dancin'. Vagner: Ugh, no. Charles: There's a warm fuzzy feeling that wafts through the air! Every street so revealing it's hard not to stare. It's a realm so appealing it beats anywhere! If you don't mind the smell! It's a happy day in Hell! Hi, miss! Demon: Go fuck yourself! Dead Sinner #1: There's a endless trash fire that's burnig my soul! Charles: Hello! Imp: There's a lot of barbed wire to shove in her holes! Charles: Uh, excuse me... Executioner: Doing what is required we all have a role! Dead Sinner #2: I'm not doing well! Ensemble: Another shitty day in Hell! Charles: If I can show them the dream I've dreamed, that any soul can change! Vagner: Those angels minds are hard to change! Charles: Then they know that everyone can be redeemed from the evil to the strange! Vagner: They're bloodthirsty and deranged! Charles: I can hear all their stories, the lost and the displaced! And I know that they're of an acquired taste! But if I open the door and give them a place at my Hazbin Hotel it'll be a happy day in Hell! (Jumps in the back of a truck) From the porn studio where the cinephiles go to watch award winning demon bukkake shows to the Cannibal Town where they don't wear a frown 'cause...Holy shit, ew, my gosh, why?! And I don't give a crow that her brains got in my eye! Cause I know I can spare them from Heaven's genocide! I can do this... Dead Sinner #1: There's an endless trash fire... Charles: I just know it! Dead Sinner #1: That's burnig my soul! Chorus: Ah! Charles: I'll get Heaven behind my plans! There's just no way I could blow it! Demon Sinner #3: I kinda like the barbed wire that's shoved in my hole! Charles: Not this once in a lifetime chance! To change their minds! Trenchcoat Demon: And touch my parts! Charles: Oh...No, thank you. I'm just gonna...Fullfill my destiny! Trenchcoat Demon: Your loss fucker! Charles: I can already tell! Today is gonna be a fucking happy day in Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell! (Charles enters at the lobby) Charles: Hello? (echoes) Hello? Creepy...(He goes to the reception, rings the bell in the table and a paper and a feather pen appear in front of him) Oh, okay! Also creepy. (Signs the paper) (Elevator doors open, Charles goes to them and enters in a dark room) Charles: Hello? Is anyone here? (The lights turn on) Eve: 'Sup? Charles: Holy shit! (Falls in the floor and gets up) Hi, I'm Charles. My mom asked if I could meet you. Eve: Yeah, I know. Charles: Okay, well, it's nice to meet you. (Stands his hand) Eve: Totally. Nice to meet you, too. (Stands her hand) (Charles hand passes through Eve's hand) Charles: Ahh! Eve: Ha! I fucking got you! Did you fuckin' see that? (Luther shaves his head in yes) Eve: Good shit! Charles: Uh, so wait, you aren't here? Eve: No, you think I'd come down there? (Laughs) No. I mean, I love the vibe, totally, I love your tunes. Pretty fuckin' hardcore, don't get me wrong. But, it's such a bummer, man. Everything down there's just so "eugh" ya know? (Chuckles) Ew. Charles: Right. So I'm happy we got this opportunity to meet. There's a project I've been working on that I really want to talk to you about...(Eve puts her finger in his mouth) Eve: Hey, hey, hey, slow down. We got time. How about we get to know each other, mm? How about some lunch? You hungry? I got you! (Shows a plate with ribs) Here's my personal favourite. You'll love it. My husband's receipe. Charles: Uh, thanks! (His arms passes through the plate of ribs) Eve: (Laughing) I got you again, fucker! Haha fuckin' hilarious! Haha! (Back at the Hazbin Hotel, everyone is at the lobby) Vagner: Okay, so Charles is dealing with something very important, so while he's gone, we are making a new commercial. One that representants his vision and what we're doing here. So we need a camera. Alice? (Alice snaps her fingers and an old camera appears in Vagner's hand) Vagner: a video camera. Alice: Hmm? (Snaps her fingers) (A video camera appears in Vagner's hand) Vagner: All right, let's do this! (Vagner films Angela sitting at the bar) Vagner: And...Action! Hisky: "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, can I help you with anything?" Angela: "I've been a bad girl. And I need a big strong mommy to put me in my place...On the path to redemption!" Hisky: Ugh! "Well, you come..." Angela: "Oh yes!" Hisky: (boredly) "To the right place!" Vagner: Cut! Okay, Angela, I need you to be less horny, if possible. And Hisky, can you maybe not have a script in front of your face? Hisky: (Angrily) I ain't no actress, I can't memorize this shit! Angela: Well, we could improve this shit, baby cakes! (Purrs seductively and Hisky push her out of the counter) Ahh! Hisky: Whoops. (Drink a bottle) Vagner: Hisky, come on! (Meanwhile, Charles is bored) Eve: So I was playing this gig, and for some fucking reason this virtue boy was digging on the drummer, and it's like, do you know who I am? I'm fucking Eve. I'm the original pussy! All pussies descend from me. You think you drummer pussy? No way, I'm the Pussy-fucking master! (Eats sloppily) So anyway, then we fucked, and it was awesome. What'd you do this weekend? Charles: Wait, your name is Eve? Like the first woman? That means you...Ohhh...(Enlightened) That explains so much. Eve: I know. I fucking rock. Charles: Well, Eve, ma'am. Mrs. Eve, ma'am. Eve: Call me Pussymaster. Charles: Eve, you seem like a smart...well, stand up girl. Eve: (With the finger in her teeth) Uh-huh. Charles: And I know you are the leader of the angels. And you are a bigger, a revolutionary, a...A genius! Eve: I maen, yout words, babe. Charles: Who would really her name on something. Eve: Fucking love putting my name on shit! Shit's the best! Charles: It's a solution to our biggest problem! Eve: Oh, herpes. Yeah, that's a bitch. Charles: No! Our other biggest problem. Eve: Oh, uh...Ugly people? (Looks the camera) Math? Global warming? Nah, wait that's Earth's problem. Umm... (At the hotel, a bug walks in the floor and a needle tries to stab it) Niffter: Hehehe. Stab. Stab. Stab. Vagner: Alright Niffter. Niffter? Niffter! (Stops him) Your line is "We have the cleanest rooms". Okay? Niffter: Got it. I'm ready. Vagner: (Turns on the camera) Action! (Niffter looks at the camera with his pupil constricted and Angela and Vagner look at him confused) Vagner: Uhh...Cut. (Turns off the camera) (Niffter smiles again) Niffter: (Giggles) How was that? Vagner: Well, Niffter, you actually have to say the line. So let's roll again. Niffter: Okay! Vagner: Action. (Niffter stares deeply at the camera) Angela: You're doing great, Vaginer! Vagner: Cut! Alright, um, maybe wr can try to fix it in the post. Angela: Do you even know what that means? Vagner: (Angrily) I'll figure it out! (In lobby, Vagner is watching the video with the camera connected to the tv) Hisky: (On TV) Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. (Vagner groans, covers his eyes and Alice appears in his side) Alice: Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, hm? Vagner: Ugh, esta pendeja...Why are you even here? Alice: For the entertainment! I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly. Like you are doing now! Good job! Vagner: (Turns on the camera) And here is Alastor, the egocentric piece pf shit that... (Alice gets static on the camera and it starts to spark and Vagner screams and knocks the camera down) Alice: I wouldn't try that, my darling. (Sinisterly) This face was made for radio. Vagner: (Gets angry) That's it! I don't care who or what you are! If you are staying here you are going to make this work! Beause it won't be so "entertaining" to watch an empty hotel will it, shitass?! (Turns around and walks away) Alice: Fair enough. I'll tell you what. Let's make a deal. Vagner: Pft! You think I'm that stupid? Making a deal with a demon like you. Alice: Not for your soul, just a simple deal. I do this for you, and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology ever again. Or...Charles can come back to absolutely nothing! Your choice. Vagner: (Sighs) Fine. (Gets the video camera and raises in Alice's hand and green ghosted skulls fly around it) Alice: Now then! (Makes the camera disappear and snaps her fingers) (Angela, Hisky and Niffter, a lot of filming materials and a ghost recording team appear in the lobby and everyone gets tailor clothes) Vagner: Alright, everyone! Let's make a fucking commercial. (Meanwhile) Eve:...When you take him out for the fifth time and he still expects you to pay the check, but you're like, (In deep voice) "Hey I thought you wanted equality"! Charles: (Frustrated) No! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell! Eve: (Normal) Ohh! Well, that's not a problem! We got that covered! Luther, how many demons did you kill this year? Luther: Got a good 275 this year, ma'am. Eve: 275? Whoa, badass! Awesome job, danger dick! Pound it. (Punch fists with Lute) Charles: Uh, no, not awesome. Those are my people, you know that, right? Eve: Ohhh, yeah...That must suck for you. Pft...Hahahaha! Charles: But these are souls. Human souls, just the same as the ones you have in Heaven. Luther: They're not the same. They had their chance and they earned damnation. Charles: You're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes. Luther: Angels don't make mistakes. Charles: You really think that? Luther: I know that. Eve: Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fucking life. Luther: The only reason you're still here is because Mommy gave you and your Hellborn-kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel? To know how little you matter. (Charles shrinks back) Eve: Oops, almost out of time. Guess we should get into it... Charles: Oh! Fuck!...(Get up from the chair) Okay. I've a lot to get through and not a lot of time and I feel like you weren't really hearing before, so here goes. (Clears throat) (Singing) I know Hell's population is out of control. It's a bad situation, it's taking a toll. If we rehabe these sinners and cleanse all their souls at my Hazbin Hotel! (Normal) Wait I'm getting ahead of myself! Right! Extermination! (Singing) I know you guys fly down just to kill once a year. And it must be annoying to schlep all the way here. If they join you in Heaven that trip disappears! You can wave that chore farewell! (Deep breath) It'll be a happy day in... Eve: (Singing) Let me stop you right there, save us all precious time! Charles: (Normal) Okay? Eve: If what you're suggesting is letting them climb! Up the ladder. Oh they rather cross the Pearly Gates! Sorry, sweetie, but there's no defying in their fates! 'Cause Hell is forever wheter you like it or not! Had their chance to behave better now they boil in a pot! 'Cause the rules are black and white there's no use in trying to fight it! They're burning for their lives until we kill them again! Charles: Okay, but... Eve: Just try to chillax, babe, you're wasting your breath! Charles: (Nervously) Hehe... Eve: Did I hear you imply that they deserve death? Are they winners? Are they sinners? 'Cause it's cut and dry! Charles: Actually, if you take a look... Eve: Fair is fair, an eye for an eye! And when all's said and done! (Said and done) There's the question of fun! (Fun) And for those of us with divine ordainment, extermination is entertainment! (Imitates guitar) Guitar solo, fuck yeah! (Imitates guitar) Hell is forever wheter you like or not! Had their chance to behave better now they boil in a pot! Charles: Where all this people come from? Eve: 'Cause the rules are black and white, there's no use in trying to fight it! They're burning for their lives until we kill them again! (materializes a guitar and play it) Fucking Hell is forever and it's meant to suck a lot! So give up your dumb endeavor 'cause you don't have a shot! (Charles groans, his paper gets on fire and his hair moves in the air and horns appear in his head) Eve: Long as I've got your attention, I guess In should probably mention that we made a determination (Shows a contract) To move up the next extermination! Charles: Can't wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts! (Hold Charles' wrist) I know is just been a week, but we'll be back in six months! (Spins Charles out of the room and plays her guitar) Charles: Um, wait, didn't you...(Goes at the door, but it closes) Awh, shit! (Punches the door) (Charles returns sad to the Hazbin Hotel) Vagner: Charles! (Hugs him) How did it go? Did they listen? Charles: Oh, uh...They sure did...hear it! But, um... Vagner: Oh! Come here. We have something exciting to show you! (Holds Charles to the living room) Alice pulled some strings, and it's about to air. Alice: I pulled a few limbs too! Hahaha! Charles: Wait? The commercial? You all made a new one? Angela: Yeah, one of my better performances, if I do can say so myself. Charles: That's...That's amazing. Angela: Shh! It's starting! Vagner: (On TV) Welcome to the Hazbin Hot... (The TV changes to the 666 News channel and everyone complains) Kallie: (On TV) Breaking news in Hell today! We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before! Do you know what that means, Tomita? Tomita: No. What does that means, Kallie? Kallie: It means we are all royally fucked! (The clock in an hourglass changes to 176 with everyone screaming) Angela: Wait...What? Why?! (A drone laser scans a headless body of an angel laying in Hell and Eve and Luther see then from the ship) Luther: We found the body, ma'am. They've never managed to kill one of us before. We should just go down there now and destroy them! Eve: No, no. We can't risk them catching on. But don't worry, when we come back, there won't be a demon left to pull a stunt like this again. (Breaks the projector and her eyes and mouth glow in the dark) (The end credits start playing)
Sorry, Vivziepop, I had to

28F 5’4” 125lbs No medications, no alcohol, but use nicotine pouches and CBD daily.
I’ve always had this dent in my ribs, I think. I always wrote it off as just a quirk, because I have other weird deformities like symphalangism of my left thumb and a dent in my right clavicle. I have a lot of nonspecific physical symptoms and am trying to get to the root.
These include headaches, neck and shoulder pain (on the right, same side as rib deformity), and reflux.
Please no comments about my weight, this is an old picture and I have intentionally gained about 25 pounds since then. It’s just easiest to see it here. Pic in comments

Originally posted at SFF Insiders.
~Blurb:~
Arcane archivist Harper has always been plagued by dreams of grotesque creatures and bloody deaths. When she bumps into a ghostwalker in the Shambles and has a visceral experience of his execution, she knows it’s a foretelling. Yet fear of the Queen’s Guard stops her speaking out. When her vision indeed comes true, the unusual markings on the ghostwalker’s corpse, combined with his neatly excised vocal cords, send a ripple of terror through York.
The witch hunt is on. As the body count rises, Harper knows her magic is the only way to find the killer – if she can avoid being hanged as a witch. To protect both human and supernatural, Harper walks the thin line between their worlds. She and her demonhunter foster-sister form a multi-faith team with a forensic scientist, a spirit Harper accidentally summoned, and a techno-witch, to catch the killer before more people die.

~Review:~
‘The Hiding’ caught my attention while I was browsing through ‘BookSirens’ for a potential next read. First off, I must say, the cover is really amazing and stands out in quite some manner. That in itself was reason enough for my piqued interest. The description was very intriguing as well, and sounded something right down my alley. And so, I was more than eager to get my hands on the digital ARC on offer, which I eventually did without any hesitation. Hence, I would like to extend my deepest of thanks to the author, the publishers, and BookSirens for giving readers like me the opportunity to review this dark fantasy debut.
What is hidden from sense,
Will be hidden from mind,
Forgotten, unknowing,
Forever entwined.
York, famous for its ghosts, was the most haunted city in England… and was proud of it too. But that’s not the only thing it was famous for. ‘The Shambles’ was the last place anyone with sense would expect to find real magic. The twisting ginnels and alleyways branching from the street promised portals to dark adventures in other realms. Magic seemed to fizz like static in the air. Shoppers disappeared around corners, or possibly were whisked off to faraway queendoms. Each shop dazzled, selling everything from jewellery to paper, from antiques to modern art. And yet, it still gave the illusion that “fae” might be hiding in the gloaming mists… How’s that for setting-up a setting, eh?
Welcome to a world which is “infected” by “supes” (aka the ‘supernaturals’), and York, alongside England, is no exception. Humans, spirits, and the fae (the ‘Faerie’) roamed the streets here in what was like just another day. But the line separating them all was pretty thin, especially when darkness took over…
‘The Veil’ acted as the barrier between the human world and Faerie, kept strong all over England through generations. But that wasn’t the only defense mechanism protecting the people from the otherworldly. The ‘Queen’s Guard’ and the ‘Council of Faiths’ were two such institutions. The former’s official position was that no supernatural had survived something collectively referred to as ‘the Purge’, an event which ultimately had also led to the foundation of the latter. Together, by employing draconian enforcement measures throughout in the present times, they ensured that the “mortal realm” was kept separated from the ethereal one. Even now, hundreds of years later, humans patrolled the great wall surrounding York, always vigilant against incursion from those they called ‘supernatural.’ They came armed with fire and iron, dill and mint, silver crucifixes and blood red hamsa. The core materials changed little over the centuries, honed by each generation to destroy.
But the balance of everything in York was about to be shattered in the most chilling of ways…
“Never scream…”
A tangled medley of disembodied whispers, all saying the same two words, over and over.
“Never scream…”
Meet Harper Ashbury, a junior archivist and collector at the Saint Peter’s Cathedral in York. A specialist in the field of supernatural history, she helped to keep dangerous books out of the public eye, and researched ways to protect people from the supernatural. Working for the church under the guidance of the Archbishop of York himself was one thing, but Harper harbored a secret… one that was not at all welcome by anyone in York, both human or otherwise.
Apart from the horrific nightmares, the eerie visions, and the constant amnesia, Harper could “See” things… thanks to her “Sight”. Her past and her family were a complete blur to her, and she was desperate to find the answers to the seemingly dark and bleak events long gone by. Taking her in after an “accident”, the De Santos had become the family she never had. But they were not just any other ordinary family. The De Santos were demonhunters. The ones who fought against the supernaturals to protect the world from demons and the forces of evil. Curfews were for ordinary people. A De Santos was not scared of the dark. A De Santos was one with the dark.
Grace De Santos, Harper’s foster sister, was a vet by profession, and the only De Santos who wasn’t into demonhunting for the sole reason so that she could stay with Harper and make sure her archivist sister was safe. But the duo was about to be thrust into something far more dangerous than anything they had previously encountered, and their relations were about to be tested to the limits as York, the “night-safe” city, was not at all safe anymore…
The shocking and quite unusual death of a “ghostwalker” sends ripples across the city. Was it just a “death” in the first place, or was it a possible murder? Someone, or something, was carefully targeting people in the night and brutally killing them. With the police out of their depth having no cause of death and no suspects, and the Guard not willing to share anything with the Council, the Archbishop decides to take matters into his own hands. There was nothing a man as important as the archbishop could want with a junior archivist. There was only one reason he would summon her. To hunt something and kill it. And in his own words – “… In this matter, my faith in people is greater than my faith in science. You and Grace are uniquely placed to see the truth.”
The race against time begins as the bodies start to pile up in the most chilling of circumstances. With a helping hand from Dr. Saqib Siddique, a forensic supernaturalist, and a “not evil; just mischievous” spirit/demon, the sister duo embarks upon a path that is both dangerous and equally deadly if one is not careful enough. And one just can’t be careful enough in a place such as York… Can the group set aside their beliefs and differences to act as one and stop the killer in time?
All choice in the matter had been taken from her: use her abilities and risk death or bury them and remain forever lost. Magic was the only recourse left to find her home.
Most people might say they didn’t believe ghosts or supernaturals still walked the streets of England, but deep down, they were never sure.
Harper didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in human evil.
To find the truth, she would need to face the darkness.

~The good:~
· To go alongside the amazing cover and the intriguing description, the whole setting of York, and the world around it in general, was superbly written and depicted throughout. It was as if I was a part of it myself! (real-life black & white pictures of York were present, which helped the cause!).
· The writing was just top notch by all means. It was vivid, highly atmospheric, and genuinely immersive all the way. The multi third-person POV was great, and a fun read.
· The story was excellent, engaging, and very exciting till the last page.
· The characters were very well written, and were memorable in more ways than one (a certain “individual” more so than the others!).
· The themes of religion and beliefs were pretty strong in general, and well depicted.
· The ending was great in my opinion, and sets up the next instalment pretty nicely.

~The “not so” good:~
In all honesty, I don’t have a single thing to complain about, believe it or not!

~Some quotes/dialogues and text to set your adrenaline rolling (as it did mine!):~
· ‘Never show fear, no matter how dark it is, no matter how strong your enemy. Never show fear.’

‘But feel fear. Feel fear. It’s God’s warning. It keeps you alive.’

· “Hurt them. Disable them. Live to fight another day. This is no honourable fight between gentlefolk. This is a fight for survival. Your survival and the survival of the innocents who depend on you. Fight dirty. Fight to win.”

· The ghostwalker removed his hat and bowed low. “Do not linger,” he cautioned his audience. “The night draws close and the mists rise. Death still walks the streets of York. Ghosts, witches, and demons watch from the shadows. No matter how many lies those in power tell, nowhere is truly night-safe. Be careful it is not your tale I tell on future nights. The bridge here is the fastest way back to your cars. Do not stray from the path, for where the ghosts do not walk, the Queen’s Guard surely will, and innocence is harder to prove than guilt.”

· Mist swirled around the car and danced in the fog lamps. The light scraped across black tarmac. Cat’s eyes gleamed, waiting to pounce, razor claws swiping at tires. The moon hovered behind naked silhouettes of trees and stars twinkled through their branches like an adornment of fairy lights. Frolicking stars, fallen from the sky, flickered around the trunk of an old oak, illuminating a skirt of long grasses. Then the tree was gone, consumed by the unending darkness. Harper clutched her shawl closer around her shoulders and settled back in her seat.

· No one comes out when it’s like this, she reminded herself, but it was a hollow comfort. No one human would be out. Everyone knew someone who had a friend whose cousin, or sibling, or child had been lost in the mist. Logic said they fell in the river and drowned, or met some unsavoury human, a quick knife between the ribs. Whispers said something inhuman lurked in the mists and stole souls away to another land. Then there were the people who came back changed, their eyes hollow, jerky movements like marionettes, a dark edge to their looks, hard and uncaring.

· The cemetery was pitch-black but for the wavering light of the guard’s torch. Even that thin beam of brightness didn’t reassure Harper, rather it created more darkness, throwing long shadows behind each blade of grass. Darkness piled upon darkness, pressing in, consuming, suffocating. Clouds overpowered the moonlight as the stars twinkled out, handful by handful.

~Final thoughts:~
A dark fantasy debut which is vivid, highly atmospheric, and sure to set your adrenaline rolling in excitement and intrigue alike. Simply put, ‘The Hiding’ by Alethea Lyons is right up there with one of my favorite reads of the year. York as a setting was so immersive and well depicted that you might end up feeling you’re a part of it yourself! The characters were great, the plot was superb, and the world was excellently put forth. Oh, and if you could not tell already, the writing was top notch by all means. An engaging read throughout with an ending so good that I can’t wait for the next installment! I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that you check it out!